a/n: wanted to finish some drafts to get out of writer's block before starting two recent requests!
headcanons masterlist
Zayne — Light sleeper. He always takes a shower before going to bed; he can't fall asleep otherwise. Has plain pajamas in cool tones, but in summer, he can sleep shirtless (🫦). Doesn't move much during the night and breathes softly, letting soft sighs pass through his lips when he's fully asleep. As a doctor, he is aware of the rule of no screens before bedtime, but 1) sometimes he goes straight to bed after typing reports, and 2) he likes to chat with you before going to sleep, so he doesn't follow it that much. When you're sleeping by his side, he either lets his arm open so you can cuddle beside him or he fully spoons you.
Rafayel — Heavy sleeper, but he wakes up at random noises, yet NEVER the alarm. He doesn't set alarms unless he has plans with you, and yes, he goes 5:50, 6:00, 6:10, 6:20- it's a nightmare. Can sleep very still and stiff when he finally rests after overworking himself (meaning he doesn't fully rest, but sleep is sleep), or in starfish mode. He has a huge bed for a reason, y'know? Gets tangled in the sheets, his pillows get all messy, and he can sleep in the weirdest positions when he's sleeping by himself. If you're with him, he needs to hug you or touch you in any kind of way.
Xavier — HEAVY SLEEPER. I don't think there's much I can say about him. We know he can sleep on the sofa, the bed, his bean bag... and he's definitely a pretty sleeper most of the time. Key word: most. When he's been sleeping for over 12 hours, his face gets all smushed on the pillows, his lips a little puckered, and cheeks squished oh so cutely, you have to take a photo! If you tease him too much, he won't wake up, but will start mumbling and bury his face in the pillows. Cuteness aggression goes hard with him. Rewarding of his clothes... whatever is comfy and warm will do. If you're sharing a bed, ditch one of the pillows; you're either sleeping on top or underneath him, so no more than one pillow is needed at this point.
Sylus — Oh, he's big. He's taking up a lot of space on the bed, that's why he has a custom-made mattress: perfect size, perfect cushioning. Wears fancy pajamas/robes or sleeps straight up naked/in underwear, on his stomach and face smushed on the pillows too... but he's too handsome, even his smushed face looks handsome, and kissable, too kissable... Don't kill me, but I think he snores a little bit, but it's more like a low grumble. He's a heavy sleeper, but his senses are too sharp; he will wake up if he perceives any weird noise. Most likely to sleep on top of you and bury his face in your neck. Sleeping on your bed will force you to snuggle closer, but oh well... can you reaaaally complain?
Caleb — My poor baby is a light sleeper :( I think it's rare if he gets to the REM phase, so he's always alert and frustrated because he can't fully rest. When he was younger, even if he had nightmares, he could sleep a bit more soundly. Of course, his sleep quality goes exponentially up when you sleep by his side. Spooning you is enough for him, and he likes it when you cling to his arm or put a hand on his chest. He feels like he can finally relax.
Tag list: @hirayalia @totallyuniquenut @foxfairylights @cherrysherryblossom @hilliserose @emowitchwithatwist @violasepals @animegamerfox
I hope that tagging you for headcanons is also okay !! If you don't want to be tagged, just tell me :)
I feel like Zayne would unironically get really turned on if he realizes you aren't wearing any underwear under your pajamas. The way the pants seem to cling to your butt, or if you bend over while wearing a night gown. Something about it just entices him, and he honestly gets embarrassed about how fast he'd get hard over it.
You lose count of how many positions Rafayel puts you in for just round one. He'll push your body to it's flexibility limits and then just a smidge further because fuck you're spread so wide and he a see literally everything and it's so... he needs to sketch it. Needs to commit every inch of your cunt swallowing his cock to memory.
Caleb is a whore for BDSM. The thought of tying you up, having you at his mercy? It pleases a sick and twisted part of his head. Even worse, seeing you be so into it? His eyes could roll into the back of his head because he'd never do this to you without your full consent, safe words, and ground rules set. He loves being on the giving or receiving end of it, especially the bondage.
Sylus is loud as fuck during sex, and there is literally nothing you can do to stop him from being that loud. Shit, there is nothing he can do to keep himself from moaning and groaning the way he does. You don't mind when it's just you and him at home, but a quickie at an auction? His lower lip is bleeding from how hard he's biting it, trying so desperately to keep his voice down.
I think Xavier would be into predator/prey play, more or less the idea of chasing you. Typical upstairs neighbor activities but he'd full on be jumping over the couch to try and grab you. Something about the thrill of the chase accompanied by your high-pitched squeals and giggles when he nearly grabs you. The reward of catching you is just as sweet, but don't expect to make it much further than the spot he caught you...
you’d spent the entire evening trying to get a rise out of him. you were sitting on his bed, poking at a how sleepy he was, even joking that he probably wouldn’t wake up if you took all your clothes off right infront of him. you thought it was funny.
until he caught your ankle in a grip that was strong, dragging you toward him until you were flat on your back.
“xavier!” you gasp, your breath hitching as he crawled over you, “wait, i was just—”
but xavier didn’t look tired anymore. no, he looked hungry. he hovers over you, his silvery golden hair falling over his eyes, his gaze heavy and possessive.
“you’ve been talking all night,” he murmured, his voice soft but still weighted with sudden and dark intent. “i think it’s time you used that mouth to say something else.”
“you...you were awake the whole time?” you whisper, your heart hammering against your ribs. god, you love when he gets like this. all the innocence faded. the way his eyes darken and he looks at you like that. so much so that he stops being a gentleman and takes you like a toy. and you want it each time. you want him to show you how nasty he can be when he’s not pretending to be a saint.
xavier smiles. he smiles so soft but you know there is none left in him right now. “every second,” he breathes against your lips, his voice dropping to a low guttural sound that has your core throb.
he dosen’t wait for you to catch your breath. xavier moves down your with quiet, lethal efficiency as he strips you down until your bare. when he settles between your thighs, he shoves your legs wide, pinning your knees back to your shoulders. he stares down at your glistening cunt, watching the way your folds pulse for him and him alone.
“you’re already begging,” he whispers. without warning, he spits directly onto your clit, warm thick glob sliding down into your opening.
“xav....” you moan, your hips jerking at the sudden feeling. xavier lets out a small laugh.
“you like this don’t you? being treated like this,” he says, using his fingers to smear the spit around with the slick, shining mess you’ve already made. “look at how you’re waiting for me. begging to be used. you’re so fucking wet, it’s pathetic. i bet you want me to lick you clean, don’t you?”
xavier leans in, the first touch of his tongue to your sopping cunt making you release a loud whine. he isn’t being gentle, he buries his face into your cunt, his tongue flicking and swirling against your folds with relentless speed and pressure. he uses his mouth to suck you, deep, tongue entering your hole to mimic a rhythmic fuck, driving deep inside your opening before coming out to wreck your clit again.
suck. suck. suck.
the way he’s eating you out is filthy. oh but you love it. he can tell by the strings of moans and whimpers leaving your sinful mouth as your fingers come down from holding your thighs up to tangle in his fluffy hair, pulling him towards your pussy.
“ah..h..xavier, d-don’t stop! more..” you sob, your hands reaching out to pull him closer, desperate for more. “too much... i’m g-gonna-!”
he catches your wrists, pinning them to the bed above your head. he watches you while he eats you, his ocean eyes blown wide and dark, drinking the sigh of your face breaking as he works his tongue. everytime your body jolts from pleasure, he lets out a low satisfied hum, the vibration sending hot sparks up your core.
“is this what you wanted?” he mutters against your wet folds, his breath hot. “to see how dirty i get? to have me eat you out until you can’t stand?”
“yes!... g-god, yes...keep going please, i’m—” you moan and let out unbashedly, eyes rolling yo the back of your head and toes curling into the sheets.
“i know,” he grunts, “i want to taste every bit of your release. i want to swallow your filth and leave you empty. come on, come for me. be a good girl.”
xavier becomes even more aggressive, his tongue darting inside you and licking your walls, mocking the way he’ll stretch and fuck you after. he dosen’t let upp even when the coil low in your stomach breaks, your body arching.
“xavier!.. xavier!” you scream his name, your voice breaking as you come hard against his mouth, stickiness coating his chin and face.
he stays right there, mouth pressed hard against you, swallowing every drop of your cum and licking you clean with long, greedy strokes until you’re completely spent snd trembling. xavier eventually crawls back up, his face flushed and glistening with your release. he pulls you into his arms, and tucks his head into the crook of your neck.
“next time you want to tease me,” he whispers, voice returning to that sweet innocent hum that now feels like a total lie. “just remember that i’m much better at playing dirty than you.”
⋆. — headcanons for dating him while you work in a restaurant (based on this request)
⋆. — slice-of-life + fluff
⋆. — word count: max 700 each ♡
Rafayel
Here’s the thing about dating Rafayel while working in food service: he was simultaneously the best and worst thing that ever happened to your tips.
He became a regular within a week of finding out where you worked. Not because he particularly enjoyed dining out—Rafayel would happily subsist on seafood he caught himself and whatever Thomas shoved into his hands between deadlines—but because the concept of you being somewhere for eight hours where he couldn’t reach you was, apparently, a personal offense against his entire emotional stability.
So he’d show up. Always at the same booth, tucked into the corner near the window where the light was good, sketchbook open, ordering the most ridiculous thing on the menu just to watch you try to keep a straight face while reading it back to the kitchen. He tipped absurdly. Embarrassingly. The kind of tip that made your coworkers fight over who got to take his table on the nights you were hosting instead of serving.
“That’s the painter, right?” one of the newer servers whispered to you once, sliding past with a tray. “The famous one? He literally just ordered a kids’ menu chocolate milk and drew a fish on the placemat.”
Yeah. That was your boyfriend.
The teenagers on staff adored him, which was both predictable and deeply annoying. He was exactly the kind of effortlessly gorgeous, unbothered celebrity presence that made sixteen-year-old hostesses forget how to speak. He didn’t notice, or if he did, he wielded it with well-thought mischief—signing napkins with little doodles when they asked, then immediately turning to you with those shifting blue-pink eyes and a grin that said jealous yet, cutie?
You were not jealous. You were at work.
He learned your coworkers’ names within the first month. Not because he was social—Rafayel’s tolerance for humans that weren’t you hovered somewhere between “barely” and “absolutely not”—but because they were part of your world, and he was quietly, stubbornly invested in every corner of it. He knew your manager’s coffee order. He knew which cook always burned the garlic bread. He’d once spent an entire slow Tuesday afternoon teaching your youngest busser how to sketch hands, their apron still on, while you ran tables around them.
The period thing, though. That was where it got theatrical.
He didn’t pay off your manager. That would’ve been subtle, and Rafayel didn’t do subtle. What he did was show up on one of your bad days—the kind where the cramps sat low and mean in your abdomen and you were running on ibuprofen and spite—take one look at your face, and walk directly to your manager’s office.
You didn’t hear the conversation. You didn’t need to, if you were honest with yourself. Your manager emerged five minutes later looking vaguely shell-shocked and told you to take the rest of the night off, and Rafayel was already waiting by the door with your jacket, his ears faintly pink.
“What did you say to her?”
“Nothing.” He draped the jacket over your shoulders. “I simply explained that my cutie was in physical distress and that her energy was being siphoned by capitalism, and that I would be taking her home now.”
“Raf, you can’t just—”
“I also bought four desserts to go.” he held up a bag, smirking. “The chocolate one is mine. Don’t even think about it.”
You thought about it. You stole the chocolate one in the car. He let you, grumbling the entire drive back to Whitesand Bay, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your knee, thumb tracing slow circles that matched the rhythm of the waves outside his studio.
He drew you that night. Curled up on his couch, heating pad on your stomach, chocolate on your mouth. You found the sketch weeks later, tucked between two canvases.
He’d titled it My cutie, Resting.
Zayne
The restaurant was equidistant between Akso Hospital and your apartment, which made it a logical midpoint for the nights when his shift ended late and yours ended later. He’d come in, sit at the bar if it was available, order something light, and read medical journals on his tablet while he waited for you to finish closing.
Your staff thought he was terrifying.
This was, to be fair, not an unreasonable assessment. Zayne sitting at a bar in his dark coat, glasses on, expression carefully neutral, reading about cardiac valve regeneration while the dinner rush swirled around him, radiated an energy that made your servers instinctively straighten their posture and stop swearing in the kitchen.
“Your boyfriend is here,” became the unofficial signal for everyone to start acting professional.
He didn’t mean to be intimidating. You knew this because you’d seen this man eat an entire sleeve of cookies at 2am while watching a nature documentary about penguins, and because he once got so flustered by a compliment you gave him that his ears turned red for twenty minutes. But the restaurant staff didn’t know any of that. To them, he was the tall, sharp-jawed surgeon who looked like he could perform your annual review and your appendectomy simultaneously.
The teenagers, though. The teenagers loved him. Not in the swooning, blushing way, but in the specific way that teenagers latched onto any adult who treated them like a competent person. Zayne answered their questions. Zayne remembered their names. When one of your teenage hostesses mentioned she was thinking about pre-med, Zayne spent fifteen minutes of a slow Wednesday evening explaining the residency process with a lot of patience, probably the same amount he gave his own residents, and the girl walked away looking like she’d been handed the keys to the universe.
He knew your schedule better than you did. This wasn’t romantic so much as it was clinical—he tracked your shifts the way he tracked your blood pressure, your sleep patterns, your eating habits. Data points in the ongoing project of keeping you alive and functional, which he approached with the tender, relentless focus of a man who had chosen cardiology because the person he loved had a heart condition and he’d decided, apparently at age fourteen, that he was going to be the one to fix it.
When your period hit, Zayne didn’t talk in person to your manager. Zayne did something worse: he texted your manager. A single, polite, medically worded message about the physiological impact of dysmenorrhea on work performance, citing two studies, and suggesting—not demanding, because Zayne was nothing if not professional—that a modified shift might be advisable.
Your manager, who had a healthy respect for anyone who used the word "dysmenorrhea" correctly in a sentence, gave you the afternoon off.
You found out about the text three days later.
“Zayne. You sent my boss a medical briefing.” you bit back a smile, astonished yet not entirely surprised at the gesture.
He was chopping vegetables in your kitchen, sleeves rolled to the elbow, glasses slightly fogged from the steam. He didn’t look up. “I sent her relevant literature. What she did with it was her decision.”
“You cited sources.”
“Would you have preferred I didn’t?” the ghost of something dry flickered at the corner of his mouth. “I could have simply told her you were unwell. But I find that people respond more favorably to peer-reviewed evidence than to emotional appeals.”
You stared at him. He continued chopping, precise and even and utterly unbothered, and the warmth in your chest simmered the way it always did around him—slow, steady, the kind of heat that didn’t burn but never went out.
“You’re unbelievable sometimes.” you scoffed, amused and smiling so big it reached your ears.
“I’m thorough, my love.” He set the knife down and crossed to you. Pressed his cool hand to your forehead out of what you suspected was pure habit, his thumb brushing your temple. “There’s a difference.”
Xavier
Xavier just... appeared.
That was the only way to describe it. One day your restaurant didn’t have a silver-haired regular who napped in booth six, and the next day it did, and nobody could pinpoint exactly when the transition happened. He materialized quietly, without announcement, as though he’d always been there and you simply hadn’t noticed yet.
He ordered the same thing every time. Whatever you recommended. It didn’t matter what it was. You could’ve told him the special was a bowl of lukewarm soup and a bread roll and he would’ve nodded, eaten every bite, and left a neat, precise tip folded under his glass. Not flashy nor excessive, but simply the appropriate amount that suggested he’d actually thought about it, calculated the percentage, and rounded up because that was what you did for someone you loved.
He never sat in your section on purpose. You figured this out after the third week, when you realized he always chose whichever booth was furthest from your assigned tables—close enough to watch you, far enough not to be in the way. If you caught his eye across the dining room, he’d give you that barely-there nod, calm and warm, and go back to whatever he was doing.
What he was doing was usually sleeping.
Your coworkers had opinions about this.
“Is he... is he okay?” your colleague asked you once, genuinely concerned, peering at the silver-haired man slumped gently against the booth wall with his eyes closed, empty plate pushed aside, looking for all the world like a very beautiful, very tired cat in a human suit.
“He’s fine. He does that.”
“Should I bring him some coffee?”
“He’ll wake up when I get off shift.” And he always did. Right on time, every time, like he had some internal clock synced to your schedule. Eyes open, standing, jacket on, waiting by the door. Ready to walk you home because the route was dark and he just had to make sure you’re safe.
The teenagers on your staff were terrified of him, which was genuinely funny because Xavier was about as threatening as a sleepy golden retriever. But something about the way he carried himself at times—the stillness, the quiet intensity, the fact that his eyes tracked every person who got too close to you with a focus that was more hunter than boyfriend—made the high schoolers give his booth a wide berth.
He knew your manager by name. Your manager did not know how Xavier knew her name. This was never addressed.
On the bad days—the period days, the days when you moved through your shift with a heating pad shoved under your apron and your jaw clenched against the cramps—Xavier didn’t talk to your manager. He didn’t make a scene. He just appeared at the end of your shift with a bag from the convenience store near your apartment: painkillers, your favorite brand of chocolate, a hot water bottle and a packet of those instant soup noodles you only ate when you felt terrible.
He handed the bag to you in the parking lot, took your work tote off your shoulder and transferred it to his, and started walking.
“Xavie, you didn’t have to—”
“I know.” he adjusted the tote strap and kept walking. “I was already at the store.”
He was not already at the store. The store was twenty minutes in the opposite direction of his apartment. You knew this. He knew you knew this.
Neither of you said anything else. You walked home in the comfortable silence, his shoulder brushing yours with every step, steady and warm and there.
He was always just... there.
Caleb
The thing about Caleb knowing you worked in a restaurant was that Caleb was a better cook than your entire kitchen staff, and he would never, ever let you forget it.
“The risotto’s overcooked,” he’d murmur, barely glancing at a plate being run past your section, his cap pulled low and his long legs stretched under the booth he’d claimed as his personal territory every Tuesday and Thursday night. “Tell the cook to pull it thirty seconds earlier.”
“Caleb, you can’t tell my line cook—”"
“I’m not telling him. I’m telling you, baby. You can tell him.” He swiped a fry off the appetizer plate you were about to deliver, popping it into his mouth with a grin that was all teeth and zero remorse. “Also, those need more salt.”
Infuriating. Completely, devastatingly infuriating. And right. He was always right about the food, which made it worse.
Caleb became a constant presence at your restaurant the same way he’d become one in every other part of your life—by simply refusing to exist anywhere else. He showed up after flight briefings still half in uniform, jacket unzipped, looking like the kind of trouble that made your hostesses suddenly very interested in the seating chart near his section.
The teenagers worshipped him. Openly. Without shame. He was tall and athletic and had that effortless, golden-boy energy that made high schoolers want to impress him, and he played into it just enough to be charming—remembering their names, asking about their games, challenging your teenage busser to arm-wrestling contests during slow shifts that he won without trying and then pretended were close.
But his eyes always tracked back to you.
That was the part your coworkers noticed. The way he watched you move through the dining room—not casually and definitely not passively. The way a pilot watched a radar screen. Constant, precise awareness. He knew where you were at every moment, which tables were giving you trouble, which customer had been rude, which coworker had stuck you with their side work again.
He filed it all away. You’d learned that about the new version of Caleb—the Colonel version, the one who’d come back sharper and darker and more honest about what he wanted. He didn’t forget anything. He held it, sorted it, and deployed it later with a precision that was equal parts comforting and terrifying to you.
“Table nine was rude to you.”
“Table nine was just impatient, Caleb.”
He ate another fry. His eyes didn’t leave table nine for a very long time. Table nine left a generous tip and exited quickly. You chose not to investigate why.
He knew your staff better than some of them knew each other, because Caleb had grown up studying people—reading rooms, tracking hierarchies, figuring out who was trustworthy and who wasn’t. Your manager liked him because he was polite and charming and tipped well. Your manager did not know that Caleb had memorized her scheduling patterns and had, on more than one occasion, subtly rearranged your availability through a series of very casual, very friendly conversations that somehow always resulted in you getting the shifts you wanted.
When your period hit, Caleb didn’t negotiate with management. Caleb showed up at your apartment before your shift with a container of homemade soup, the heating pad you liked, and a text already sent to your manager from your phone—which he’d unlocked, because of course he knew your passcode, he’d watched you type it once six months ago—saying you wouldn’t be in tonight.
“Caleb! You can’t just do that!”
“Already did.” he steered you back toward the couch with both hands on your shoulders. Gentle but absolute. The grip of a man who had decided what was happening and was deeply uninterested in alternatives. “Sit down, pips. You’re not carrying plates for eight hours when you can barely stand up straight.”
“I can stand up perfectly—”
He raised an eyebrow. You were, at that exact moment, slightly hunched.
You sat down.
He tucked the blanket around you, kissed the top of your head, and went back to the kitchen to finish the soup, humming something under his breath, his shoulders relaxed in the particular way they only got when you were close and safe and exactly where he wanted you.
“I’m calling in tomorrow, too,” he added, back to you, stirring. “Your fridge is empty. I’m making enough for three days.”
“You have briefings—”
“Rescheduled.” He glanced over his shoulder. You caught the ghost of his smile—warm, certain, the smile of a boy who used to carry you home on his back and had simply never stopped. “You come first. You always come first.”
Your chest ached. The good kind. The kind that had been there since childhood and had only grown louder in all the years since—through the separation, the grief, the silence, and the impossible, aching miracle of his return.
You pulled the blanket tighter and watched him cook, and the soup tasted like home.
Sylus
Sylus didn’t come to your restaurant. Sylus acquired your restaurant.
Not literally. Not on paper. But within approximately two visits, every single person on staff—from your general manager down to the dishwasher who only worked Sundays—understood with perfect clarity that the white-haired man in the corner booth was not a person you kept waiting, served the wrong order to, or looked at sideways. This understanding was not communicated through threats. It was communicated through Sylus simply... existing. In their space. With that energy.
The first time he showed up, your floor manager nearly had a cardiac event. Not because she recognized him—most people outside the N109 Zone wouldn’t—but because Sylus occupied physical space the way a thunderstorm did. You couldn’t ignore it. You just had to decide how wet you were willing to get.
“Table for one?” your floor manager had managed, her voice only slightly strangled.
Sylus had looked past her, found you across the dining room, and the slow, proprietary curve of his mouth made your entire section of tables feel like they were intruding on a private conversation.
“I’ll sit wherever she is.”
He tipped like he was laundering money. Which—given his background—you occasionally worried he was. But the staff didn’t ask questions. The staff had developed a collective, unspoken policy of treating Sylus’ visits with the respectful caution of people who understood that this particular regular could buy the building and was choosing not to out of what appeared to be affection for one specific server.
The teenagers were a mixed bag. Half of them were openly terrified. The other half had developed the most transparent, mortifying crushes you’d ever witnessed, which Sylus navigated with the lazy amusement of a large predator watching smaller creatures attempt to bring him offerings. One of your teenage bussers once left a mint on his table with a smiley face drawn on the wrapper, and Sylus pocketed it without comment, and you watched a sixteen year old nearly ascend to another plane of existence.
He knew your staff. Not by effort—by intelligence. The man ran a criminal organization; he could memorize the name, shift pattern, and temperament of a twelve-person restaurant crew in his sleep. He knew which cook to compliment to get your food out faster. He knew which server was skimming tips. He told you about that last one privately, because he didn’t involve himself in things that weren’t his business unless they affected you, and someone stealing from your tip pool very much affected you.
The period situation was handled before you even realized it needed handling.
You’d texted the twins—because some things were embarrassing even when your boyfriend never made you feel embarrassed—that you were having a rough day. Cramps. Didn’t want to call in because you needed the hours.
Twenty minutes later, Luke texted back. In your work locker, you found a heating pad that was somehow already warm, a thermos of something that smelled like ginger and honey, imported painkillers you’d never seen before that turned out to work twice as fast as anything over the counter, and a note in handwriting that was elegant and unbothered and entirely Sylus.
Take these. Finish your shift if you insist. I’ll be in the parking lot at closing.
—S
p.s. If your manager gives you trouble, give him my number. I’d enjoy that conversation.
Your manager did not give you trouble. Your manager had never given you trouble. Your manager had once seen Sylus hold a door open for you and had immediately restructured the schedule to give you every holiday you’d ever requested off.
You finished your shift. He was in the parking lot, leaning against the car, arms crossed.
“You didn’t have to do all that, Sy.”
“Get in the car, sweetie.” he opened the door for you. “I made reservations.”
“Sylus, I work in a restaurant. I don’t want to eat in another—”
“Not at a restaurant. At home. I cooked.” the smirk softened into something quieter. “You’ve been on your feet for nine hours. Sit down and let someone take care of you for once.”
Jealous LADS! What causes the LADS boys to get jealous, the reaction and the solution.
#Fluff, no smut. Lightly alludes to sexual activity but none included.
__Xavier_________________________________________
How jealous is he: 10/10 - He wouldn’t have it any other way too
Cause: Anything. This guy is the jealous king. It's extremely rational in his mind as well; he fundamentally doesn’t understand why someone wouldn’t react the way he does because it's so engrained into him. Definition of “I am yours and you are mine” because he absolutely would feel a certain type of way if you weren’t jealous in a situation that set him off. Do you not care? Nothing unique to set him off, even an object could do it.
Reaction: A cold anger that turns into sulking. He won’t say it out loud (and would probably deny it if you pointed it out) but he expects you to fix his mood about it and definitely takes it out on you. In his mind, you should be showering him with attention because he is your person and he is upset.
Solution: Feed him attention. He doesn’t really care about what TYPE of response you have to his sulking so long as there is one. He then will always use it to worm his way into your bed and will stay there until he feels better. Jealousy is usually intense but relatively short lived compared to some of the others.
How jealous is he: 8/10 - Generally his jealousy doesn’t run deep but is a frequent occurrence on a surface level.
Cause: Being hit on mostly, however he would also be jealous of overly close friendships if they eat into your time together. The reactions would vary slightly.
Reaction:If you are being hit on, the amount of jealousy relates to how highly he views the person hitting on you. If they are some no name with no discernable skills or looks, he really won’t care. Might even tease you about the men you are attracting. However, if they stand out, he is going to immediately turn snappy. Will absolutely say something. Then will sulk and be passive aggressive.
If it was a close relationship, he would get moody and sulky. Will start out with passive aggressiveness before hitting a wall and actually communicating.
Solution: Been hit on? Honestly it's a waiting game. Whether you pour attention into him or choose to ignore him for his behavior, it's going to last longer than you care for. You could spend the entire night in his bed spoiling him rotten, and he’d still have the audacity to make a passive aggressive remark the following morning about you and the person who hit on you.
For someone close, it’d actually be easier to resolve because he wore out his passive aggressiveness in the early stages. By the time you guys can TALK about it, he’ll be more vulnerable.
How jealous is he: 8/10 - Not super common in day to day life (at least not with any intensity) but is a huge problem when it happens.
Cause: He responds worst to you being hit on or seeing you with strangers having a good time. He generally won’t get that jealous if it's someone he knows because he goes out of his way to know almost a creepy amount of information on the people in your life and make sure they are good people who benefit you (and him LOL). He has built his life around you and in turn has tried to build your life to have space for him. He doesn’t like it when new people try to enter since he has to navigate the fear of potentially losing some of that space.
Reaction: He goes through stages. First, the anger and irritation that is hidden behind his smile. Then it will genuinely fade for the rest of the day as you guys hang out. However, once nightfall hits and he has to sit with his thoughts, he will ruminate and make the situation 1000x worse. By the end of it, he feels out of control, depressed and scared. That is when his controlling nature kicks in to correct his spiral, and he starts “problem solving.” This is when it gets bad for you because he is absolutely going to enact a plan that gives him some sense of control when it comes to YOU. It will end in a fight, you being confused because you don’t know WHAT caused it and him feeling like he went a bit overboard. Truthfully, you’ll probably never know the reason for his bizarre reaction.
Solution: Try to catch in an earlier stage like when he is ruminating, if you are lucky enough to notice. If you don’t then, biting back against his controlling nature while also solidifying his place in your life will make for the best overall solution. Lots of aggressive comfort from your end. It gives him the security he needs without tying the solution to his spiral to his more.. questionable behavior. He is going to be VERY loving and sweet after it concludes.
__Zayne_________________________________________
How jealous is he: 5/10: Short lived but gets pretty angry.
Cause: Mostly from being hit on in front of him.
Reaction: Will get cold and mean, real fast. Not towards you, but the other individual. He sees it as disrespectful to you, him and your relationship. So he also views you more as a victim of the situation. He will check on you afterwards to make sure you weren’t made uncomfortable or angry as well. If you were, his anger is going to multiply by 100x.
Solution: I think other than initial comfort after the event, he will get over it pretty quickly. Teasing him will improve his mood, as it will cause him to transition from angry to embarrassed to playful. He’ll absolutely make a dry joke at the expense of the person who hit on you later. Will be a tad bit more clingy that night.
__Sylus__________________________________________
How jealous is he: 4/10: Generally isn’t jealous and handles it okay when he is.
Cause: Randoms hitting on you isn’t a concern for him, he definitely views them as beneath him. In fact, I think he’d view it as an opportunity to claim you in public, embarrassing the other person. When he does get jealous, it's going to be due to someone close to you. It makes him feel a bit insecure when it seems like you are closer to someone more than him.
Reaction: Sylus is probably the most emotionally mature out of everyone, maybe even you. He will get upset, ruminate on it a bit but will pretty quickly come to you to talk about it. He is direct and vulnerable in these moments.
Solution: Be honest and vulnerable back. These moments of vulnerability mean a lot to him. After you guys talk, he’ll generally go out of his way to somewhat befriend whoever made him insecure. Feeling like they have a place in your lives jointly helps feel much better. Go ahead and tease him about it, he will joke back without much shame.
Synopsis: Your Cat Hybrid!Xavier is a menace every single time you are baking. But unfortunately his bratty behavior catches up to him. You just so happen to be caught in the crossfire.
A/n: Yet another lovely Commission as a gift! Remember I’m running my special until Christmas!
Cooking and Baking with Xavier was far from easy.
Xavier's ears perk up mischievously as he watches you move around the kitchen from his spot curled on the couch. His tail flicks with barely contained excitement.
"Mm... rules?" He blinks innocently, stretching languidly before padding over, because yes, he absolutely knows he's not supposed to be in the kitchen while you cook.
But that's never stopped him before.
He slides up behind you, tail curling around your ankle possessively as he peers over your shoulder at whatever you're preparing.
"...Smells good," he murmurs, nuzzling against your neck. "I could help, you know..." His definition of "help" involves stealing bites when you're not looking and attempting to distract you with affection.
He knows he's being a menace. He doesn't care.
His ears twitch smugly as he reachesvery deliberatelyfor a slice of whatever ingredient is within paw's reach.
Xavier watches with a resigned pout as you procure the dreaded spray bottle. His ears go flat against his head, and his tail droops in disappointment. That just makes him look more like a remorseful kitten, which is not helping his case.
"Come onnnnn ..." he whines, giving you his best pleading look. His eyes are huge and watery, and his lip is jutted out in a childish, sulky expression.
Xavier knows he's being overdramatic but he also knows you tend to crack whenever he gets like this.
Sure enough, Xavier sees the hint of a smile flicker across your face, and he quickly pushes his luck. He shoulders up to you, his tail brushing against your wrist as he leans his head against your shoulder, still looking pitiful.
"Pleaseeee...? Just a little taste...?" he asks, peering up at you through his eyelashes. His ears are pointed backward and down, and his eyes are wide with faux guilelessness.
He's laying it on thick now, and he knows it.
Xavier's attempts at persuasion have only been met with your steadfast resolve so far. You're immune to his cute but manipulative act, it seems. Your expression stays resolute, and you brandish the spray bottle with a firm shake.
"Absolutely not." You say, keeping your voice stern. "No begging, no stealing. Go back to the couch and wait patiently like a good kitty."
Xavier's ears flatten completely against his head in frustration. He huffs out an annoyed sigh, but it still sounds like a petulant mewl.
His tail flicks irritably as he shuffles backwards with exaggerated slowness, dragging his feet like a scolded child. Every step away from the kitchen is clearly agony for him, and he keeps glancing back at you with wounded eyes, as if hoping you'll suddenly change your mind.
When he finally flops dramatically onto the couch, he curls up in a sulky little ball, making sure his back is turned toward you pointedly. His ears stay drooped, but occasionally twitch toward the sounds of cooking, betraying his continued interest.
He lets out one last, dramatic sigh just in case you missed the first ten.
"...This is cruelty," he mutters under his breath, but there's no real heat behind it. Mostly just pouty resignation.
The moment your back is turned, Xavier slides off the couch with feline gracelike liquid trouble incarnate. He moves silently, creeping closer with the exaggerated stealth of a cat stalking prey, tail twitching with anticipation.
Attempt #1: "Accidental" Distraction
He knocks over a small decorative vase not hard enough to break it, just enough to make a noise then gasps dramatically.
"Oh nooo, clumsy me" His paws are already reaching for the cooling rack while you turn to check the commotion.
Attempt #2: The Reverse Psychology Ploy
He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, trying to sound casual.
"Y'know... I could be supervising. For safety. So nothing burns." His ears flick innocently but his twitching tail betrays his ulterior motives.
Attempt #3: The Fake Emergency
He suddenly clutches his stomach and groans, flopping against the counter.
"Ughhh... I think I'm starving... Might faint... Only freshly baked cookies can save me" He peeks through his fingers to see if you're buying it.
Attempt #4: The "Helping" Sabotage
When caught midsnatch, he instantly pretends he was just "tidying up."
"These crumbs were clearly a mess! I was just-nom-cleaning. See? Responsible." His mouth is already full.
Every failed attempt only makes him more determined, his schemes growing increasingly ridiculous until he's practically resorting to full on acrobatics just to steal a single bite.
Eventually, he collapses onto the floor in exaggerated defeat, tail flicking indignantly.
"...I hate rules," he grumbles, but there's a playful gleam in his eyes. He’s not done yet.
With all his usual tactics foiled, Xavier shifts strategies, dangerously so. His sleepy, playful demeanor drops into something far more deliberate. A low, rough purr rumbles in his chest as he slowly rises from his defeated sprawl, stretching with exaggerated languidness that makes his sweater ride up just a fraction too high.
The Final Gambit: Faked Rut
His ears press back, pupils dilating as he stalks toward you with slow, calculated stepstail flicking in restless, needy arcs behind him. His voice drops into a throaty growl, edged with just enough desperation to sound convincing.
“...Can’t help it,” he breathes, pressing close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off him, “Instincts are bad right now...” A shiver rolls through him on cue, and he nuzzles against your neck with a whimper that’s just pitiful enough to make you hesitate.
His hands slide around your waist conveniently maneuvering you away from the oven as he doesand he presses a line of kisses along your jawline, each one punctuated by a soft, pleading noise.
“...Need you,” he murmursand then, because he can’t resist one last push, “...Kitty rules. You’re supposed to spoil me...”
And damn it all, it works. Between the nuzzling, the shamelessly theatrical trembling, and the way his tail coils around your thigh, you finally cave with a sigh, letting him steal a victorious bite straight from the tray.
The second the treat is in his mouth, his entire demeanor shifts back to smug, satisfied contentmentears perked, tail high, and a distinctly unremorseful grin on his face as he chews.
“…Told you I’d win,” he mumbles around the mouthful, utterly unrepentant.
Xavier wakes up the following day feeling... odd. There's a restless heat coursing through him, an itch just below the surface that demands attention. It's familiar, but the intensity of it catches him off guardhe's never felt this desperate, this hungry for contact before. It's overwhelming, and it takes all his selfrestraint not to immediately pin you down and take what he needs.
He tries to shake it off, convincing himself it's just lingering effects from his "performance" last night. But as the day goes on, it doesn't fade. It becomes inescapable. His skin burns, his tail puffs up in agitation, and his breathing grows uneven. His ears twitch erratically, betraying how overstimulated he feels. His instincts scream at him to seek, claim, devour, but he grits his teeth, trying to maintain some semblance of control.
Except-
You innocently brush past him in the hallway, and that's all it takes.
With a choked noise, he moves, crowding you against the wall in one fluid motion. His hands tremble where they press against the surface on either side of you, his chest heaving.
"...Fuck," he rasps, pupils blown wide, ears flattened back in frustrated desperation. "T-This isn’t-Hng-fair!” His hips jerk forward involuntarily, rutting against your thigh as his tail lashes behind him.
And oh, the irony is deliciousbecause now he's the one utterly at your mercy, his little act from yesterday coming back to haunt him tenfold.
He glares weakly, panting.
"...L-Laugh and I’ll bite you," he threatensbut it’s undermined by how he nuzzles helplessly into your neck, his entire body trembling with need.
Karma’s a bitch, kitty.
The moment his rut truly takes hold, Xavier dissolves into a shuddering, needy messwhining high in his throat as you guide him down onto the couch, his body pliant under your touch. His claws flex and knead anxiously into the plush yarn ball you press into his grip, his thighs trembling as you straddle his hips, your fingers teasing slow, deliberate strokes along his length.
"Nnh! S-S’too much" His back arches, tail lashing beneath him as he tries…and fails….to stifle the desperate little noises spilling from his lips. His ears twitch violently, pinned back in overwhelmed pleasure, his grip on the yarn tightening until his knuckles whiten.
Every flick of your wrist has him gasping, hips jerking erratically, but the yarn keeps him groundedhis instincts torn between clinging to the texture and rutting helplessly into your hand. Drool dampens his chin, his breathing ragged as he stares up at you with glassy, half-lidded eyes utterly wrecked already.
"P-Please! W-Wait, w-wait" He mewls, legs kicking weakly when your thumb swipes over his leaking tip but his protests dissolve into broken purrs as you continue, his body betraying him by pressing up into your touch, greedy and shameless.
By the time he finally spills over your fingers with a strangled cry, he’s limp, boneless and dazed, his chest heaving as he blinks up at you in dazed wonder. The yarn lies forgotten beside him, his claws still half-curled around it as he nuzzles clumsily into your thigh, murmuring slurred praise between panting breaths.
"...Y-You… ‘m yours…" He slurs, already halfway to passing outthoroughly, thoroughly tamed.
The afterglow doesn’t last nearly long enough.
You barely have time to wipe him down with a damp cloth, all soft murmurs and gentle fingers smoothing over his flushed skin. You wait until his breathing evens out into deep, sated sleep. His tail twitches lazily in contentment, his body finally still for once, his fingers still loosely curled around the halfdestroyed yarn. Peace, at last.
Two. Hours. Later.
A sharp tug on your pant leg interrupts your frosting technique. You glance down to find Xavieralready a mess againkneeling at your feet, his teeth latched onto the hem of your clothes like a territorial kitten. His pupils are blown wide, his cock already hard and dripping between his thighs, his tail flicking in restless, needy arcs behind him. The yarn is clamped tightly in his other handchewed to absolute shredshis claws flexing impatiently.
"…Again," he demands, voice rough with renewed desperation, nuzzling against your hip like he hasn’t just been thoroughly taken care of. "Now."
His ears twitch when you sigh, as if sensing your hesitation and he growls, biting down harder on the fabric in warning.
"…Or I start climbing," he threatens, licking his lips with shameless intent, because he will, and you both know it.
…Guess baking is on hold for a while.
You barely get the words out "Be quick" before Xavier lets out a rough, triumphant noise and pounces, claws catching the fabric of your shorts and yanking them down in one impatient tug. His hands lock around your hips, pulling you flush against him before you can so much as blink, his mouth already searing hot against your skin.
Quick? Oh, no. Not happening.
The moment your fingers tighten around the mixing spoon, Xavier growls low and possessivehis teeth nipping at your inner thigh in reprimand. His claws dig in just enough to sting, his tail lashing behind him as he presses feverish kisses along your hipbone, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
"N-No distractions," he slurs, tongue dragging slow and filthy over your skin, "Only-ah, fuckkk- me."
His hands tremble where they grip you, his hips rutting up against yours in erratic, desperate little thrusts, cock slick and burning against your thigh. Every time you try to focus back on the bowl, he whines high and wounded his teeth sinking in just a little harder in protest.
Eventually, the spoon clatters uselessly onto the counteryour fingers instead tangling in his hair as he finally, finally gets what he wants, his purrs vibrating smugly against your skin.
Yeah. The batter’s gonna have to wait.
Even though you've indulged Xavier's feline needs before, your body never quite gets used to the way his cock feels, the way those subtle barbs catch and drag inside you, sending sparks of pleasurepain racing up your spine. They're not sharp enough to tear, but they're just pronounced enough to make every inch of his thrusts feel impossibly more, the ridges teasing your walls with a relentless, overwhelming friction.
The moment he pushes in, your thighs shakehis cock stretching you in ways a human’s never could, his hips rolling against yours with feline grace. His claws dig into your hips, his breath hot against your neck as he ruts into you with needy, uneven thrusts, his tail lashing behind him in unrestrained pleasure.
"S-So tight" he slurs, voice wrecked, his fangs catching your shoulder as he buries himself to the hilt, "F-Fuck, fuck y-you take me s-so gooooddd."
Every drag out is torturethose barbs teasing your oversensitive wallsand every push back in has you gasping, your nails scratching down his back as he fucks you with single minded desperation. His purrs are ragged, his ears pinned back as he chases his release, his body burning against yours.
When he finally spills inside you, his entire body goes rigidhis cock pulsing as those barbs lock him deep, his hips stuttering through the aftershocks. His teeth sink into your skin, his tail wrapping possessively around your thigh as he murmurs broken praise against your sweatslicked skin.
"M-Mine," he pants, "Alll-ahhh mine…"
The moment you feel those barbs catch, locking him deep inside you, your whine turns into a fullblown, breathless gasp. Your fingers scrabble at his shoulders, legs trembling as Xavier growls low in his throat, his claws digging into your pliant flesh.
"Nu-huh," he slurs, already dragging you down with himhis hips rolling lazily to keep himself sheathed as he collapses backward onto the kitchen floor. The tile is cool against your flushed skin, a sharp contrast to the feverish heat of his body pressed against yours. His tail wags beneath you, his ears twitching with smug satisfaction.
The cookiespoor, forgotten thingsare left to their fate on the counter, the scent of vanilla and sugar mingling with the musk of sweat and sex as Xavier nuzzles against your neck, his tongue dragging over your pulse point.
"C-Cookies later," he mumbles, nipping at your jaw, "M-Me now."
His hips jerk up experimentally, just to feel you clench around himand he groans, his entire body shuddering as those barbs drag inside you all over again. Your thighs tighten around his waist instinctively, and he purrs, nosing against your collarbone with hazy adoration.
The cookies are definitely burning.
He also starts refusing to let you cook, insisting on providing for you himself, even going as far as to swipe ingredients off the counter if he thinks you're going to use them.
Determined to prove himself as your devoted provider, even in the throes of his rut, Xavier takes it upon himself to bring you meals, despite your ironclad "no kitties in the kitchen" rule.
His efforts are... well-intentioned.
Day 1: He presents you with a bowl of cereal proudly, as if he’s slayed a beast for you, except the milk is suspiciously warm he held the bowl in his lap for twenty minutes before remembering to bring it to you and the cereal is half-crushed from his nervous tail swishing against it.
Day 2: He attempts scrambled eggs, whisking them with a fierce intensity only to forget the pan is still heating up. The result is a smoky disaster that sets off the fire alarm, sending him scrambling back to the nest with his ears flat and a mortified hiss.
Day 3: He resorts to takeout but even that becomes a territorial ordeal, his tail puffing up when the delivery guy lingers too long at the door. He snatches the bag with a low growl, then promptly drops it in the nest beside you as if he hunted it himself. "Eat," he demands, nudging it toward you with his nose.
The worst offense?
Day 4: He finds your hidden stash of emergency snacksa secret chocolate bar tucked in the nightstandand brings it to you with an offended sniff. "You don’t need this," he grumbles, tail flicking. "I provide." He then proceeds to gnaw on the corner of it himself, just to prove some bizarre point about sharing.
By Day 7: you’ve accepted defeat, tnestled in a cocoon of blankets while Xavier drapes himself over you like a oversized, purring cape. Occasionally pressing half-chewed treats against your lips with a stubborn, sleepy insistence.
At least he tries.
After days of relentless, barbed claiming, Xavier finally wakes up one morning back to his usual selfno longer lost in the feverish haze of his rut. His ears twitch lazily in the sunlight, his tail curling in contentment as he stretches... and then immediately nudges your thigh with his nose, blinking up at you with his best "adorable but spoiled" expression.
"...Hungry," he announces, as if he hasn’t spent the past week hoarding snacks and setting the kitchen on fire. His voice is back to its usual soft, sleepy drawlbut the demand in it is unmistakable. "Want cookies. Fresh ones."
You groan, dragging yourself out of the tangled nest of blankets with all the grace of a half-dead zombie. Your legs are sore, your back aches, and there’s definitely a bite mark on your shoulder that’s going to bruise. Xavier watches you shuffle toward the kitchen with zero remorse, his tail flicking in anticipation.
Just as you reach the doorway, his voice pipes up again, sweet and completely void of mercy.
"...With extra chocolate chips," he adds, flopping onto his back with a yawn, as if he hasn’t just ruined you for a week straight. "And milk. Cold this time."
headcanon: how i think the boys would react to you asking them to deal with a surprise spider in the house
cw: spiders (which, is, given… lol), established relationship, mostly fluff & banter, you/yours for reader (mc) and presumed fear of spiders
xavier: he rolls up a nearby pamphlet and just… smacks it without hesitation. he blinks when the spider scurries away, only slightly dented at his efforts.
“huh.” he unfurls the makeshift weapon. “that’s a problem.”
“xavier?” you raise your head from the cushion you had plucked to defend yourself with. your eyes are just as wide as his. “xavier, oh no, where did it go-”
“to the next plant… probably.” he scratches his nape and gives you a small smile. reaching for your shield, he replaces it with his hand. “it’ll be okay. out of sight, out of mind.”
“sure, but what did you even hit it with…” you mumble.
a glance to the coffee table shows a slightly wrinkled promotion for bunnies hot pot. something about couples, something about certain cuts of meat being showcased for new customers…
xavier gives your hand a squeeze. “since the spider might be here for a while, why don’t we go out and eat? to get your mind off of things.”
“you just want hot pot, don’t you?”
“…maybe.”
zayne: he calmly asks for a cup so he can do the cup/sheet method and displaces the spider to an opened windowsill. he looks fine overall, but secretly, he did jump a little at first—especially since the spider was bigger than he had imagined.
“my lifesaver,” you sigh, reaching for his forearm when he returns. with a slight squeeze, you add, “what would i do without you…”
“it’s alright,” he says with a slight nod. he pats the crown of your head and adds on, “thank you for letting me know. do you feel better now?”
“i do.” placing your cheek against his chest, your arms loosely wrap around his waist. a beat passes, and you look upwards, poking just past the center of his heart. “but i think i should be asking you that, mister.”
zayne’s ears are slightly pink as he meets your gaze. “it’s nothing.”
“really?”
your fingers make a little walk upwards. past the collar and up the side of his neck, you gently pinch his earlobe. “i’ll keep this in mind the next time a spider decides to trouble us, then.”
rafayel: initially, he shares in that panic you called him over with. pulled out of his sofa-lounging reverie, rafayel stands next to you and frowns.
he readies his hand. “i’ll set it on fire, yeah?”
“okay, wait, let’s not set off the fire alarm either,” you tell him just as quickly, grasping his fingers. “something else, anything-”
the spider lifts a leg, and time seems to stand still between the three of you. then, it begins to crawl in your direction.
“it’s moving closer?!”
you both end up throwing things at the spider in a collective effort before it eventually just scurries away. silence weighs in the air as you look around and realize the place is a bit messier now. papers, spare paintbrushes and even a house slipper; all start to return to how they once were as the two of you pick up the pieces.
rafayel clears his throat. “sooo how about we move in together and away from this place?”
you glance at him. “over a spider?”
“well, duh. i don’t see why not.” he crosses his arms and gives you a wink. “we make a great team anyways, cutie. more of us and less of them sounds pretty good to me.”
sylus: one flick of his evol-studded finger and the spider is gone in his web of red-black. the spot where it once was is now spotless. and yet sylus still sits there, comfy in his chair.
you look at him in slight disbelief. countless times, you’ve seen the flawless execution of his evol in combat—against wanderers and humans alike—but over a rather small mishap is still a surprise to behold.
“is that all, sweetie?”
“i think so.” your eyes scan the floor. “there better not be another one, or i swear…”
the corner of his mouth lifts. he redirects his evol your way, curling around your waist in familiarity and settling you to stand between his legs.
hands on his shoulders, you steady yourself and glance at him with a tilted head. “can i help you?”
“a reward would be nice,” he hums. “i dealt with a nuisance to our lovely hunter. wouldn’t you agree?”
“it might've been a little overkill,” you say with a small laugh, yet cup his cheek nonetheless. “but i can think it over, if you’d like. your standards are quite high these days.”
he leans into your touch. “indeed. that would’ve been a hefty commission fee otherwise.”
caleb: he casually scoops it into his hand and decides to walk closer to you with it. a menace never grows out of their habits.
“ooh, the spider’s gonna get youuu…” he sings, that familiar glimmer in his eyes. “look at his little legs. all eight of them, crawling your way-”
“caleb, you’re a jerk!” there's both a laugh and panic in your voice. you do your best to dodge him. “get away from me! one more step and i’ll make you regret it!”
he laughs as you squirm and decides to send it off outside after entertaining the situation just a little longer. he comes back, dusting off his palms like it’s in a day’s work.
“all gone.” he raises both hands, empty. “see?”
wordlessly, you huff and a curled fist meets his bicep instead.
“ow, ouch.” he feigns an injury, despite the grin. “i just saved your life and this is how you repay me?”
“this is my thanks,” you say with a grumble. “i’ll get you next time.”
he takes your wrist and twirls you around, now effortlessly in his embrace. “you promise?”
“you sound a little too happy about this,” you remark, swaying together in a soundless rhythm unique to the two of you. “i wonder why.”
“maybe i just want to find out what you have in store for me. is that so bad?”
━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 5k words (jesus i even cut 1k out)
━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, spoilers AND alterations to ‘no restraint’ (xavier’s misty invasion card), switch!xavier, slightly dark!xavier, super possessive!xav, so much pussy eating, nose stroking clit, cumming on pussy then using as lube, mating press, sensory play but not actually, thigh biting, ankle kissing, foot massage, slight finger sucking, slight dub-con somno at the end, use of y/n
━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | sylus's version | raf's version | zayne's version
━ ✧.˖ A/N: sorry this is late! I’ve been dealing with some harassment but won’t get into that here. You guys have been waiting so patiently for this one and i’m so excited to finally share it with you guys. I love writing and it’s incredible to have people to share my passion with, so please enjoy xavier fuckers!
part three is our dear xavier! idk how this one got so long i cut 1k words and its still 5k LOL somehow longer than sylus’s? i haven’t written for xavier in sooo long so this was both challenging but fun! I miss him <3 I wrote xavier as more dark!xav than the soft xavier, but there’s definitely a good mix of both
THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.
✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖
As a Hunter, you’ve had to thoroughly train your senses to be as adept and and accurate as possible, to keep yourself, your fellow Hunters, and the citizens of Linkon safe.
Sight. The ability to track every micromovement a Wanderer made and react in milliseconds. Being able to quickly spot things that don’t belong, indicating something more sinister.
Hearing. Being able to detect even the mutest of sounds. The muffled shuffling of leaves, a slight creak in the wind that could warn you of incoming danger.
Smell. The almost imperceptible scent of different species of Wanderers, each one specific to each genus, able to provide valuable information on what to expect.
Touch. The distinct textures of your different UNICORN issued tools and weapons, the simplest grooves and ridges helping you quickly discern what is what in moments of life or death.
What you hadn’t necessarily needed was the sense of taste, but that wouldn’t be a sense you’d need as a Hunter. Right?
In the soft glow coming from the protocore you and him had confiscated from an illegal protocore trade, Xavier sat at the foot of the bed you’d be sharing tonight. The soft orange light emanating from the protocore casts a vaguely romantic atmosphere around the two of you. It was suffocating and addicting all at once.
Perhaps it was your fault, you’d teased him, claiming the protocore in question had dulled your senses, a side effect from its unique Protocurves. A clear and obvious lie.
But you hadn’t expected him to respond so boldly.
To test your sense of sight, moving from his spot across the hotel room to approach the foot of the bed, sitting so closely that you could see the droplets of water dripping down his bare chest, gliding along the grooves of his muscled abdomen.
To test your sense of smell, leaning in so teasingly close to you that the soft clean smell of his pheromones, akin to fresh laundry blowing in the spring breeze, invaded your very essence.
To test your sense of hearing, whispering dangerously sultry but innocent words under his breath to taunt you, seeing if you could hear how much he wanted you.
To test your sense of touch, reaching out to grasp your face into his fingers, warm from the hot shower he’d taken. So daringly caressing your warm cheek in his palm, with a heated desire that you knew could consume you whole.
It was truly all enough to drive you utterly insane, at the point of no return, nearly jumping him right then and there.
Perhaps Xavier could see that, deciding to give you a temporary reprieve from all the “sensory tests” to complete a test of his own
His voice is a faint murmur, “Before the rain stops, is there anything you want to do?” His words sound less like a question and more like a plea. Bordering on a demand.
At his words, your eyes trail to the body lotion you’d set on the nightstand next to the Protocore. You’d just been about to apply it before Xavier had come out of the shower. You bite your lip at the thought of his strong hands rubbing the expensive cream into your aching muscles. Xavier’s eyes follow yours, and he smiles gently, standing up to grab it from the side table.
He unscrews it, the soft scent of strawberries wafting in the space between you. Under the soft glow of the Protocore, Xavier’s face is flushed, his breath unusually heavy. His eyes are focussed on the body lotion, but you can just barely see the stormy heat behind them.
“What, are we testing your senses now?” you tease him, sitting up with your hands hugging your knees.
Xavier sits back down on the bed, the mattress dipping at your feet. Your toes brush against the soft silk of his bathrobe, the knot even looser now, leaving far too little to imagination. His voice is gentle, but urgent, “The Protocore’s Protocurves can…dull a person's senses.”
He places his palm gently on the underside of your thighs, pulling your bare calves toward him. His touch is impossibly soft, yet strangely enough it leaves your skin burning. You let your body be guided towards him until his chest is practically pressed against your knee. With your bare calf in his hands, it makes it difficult to think. But you do your best to speak, “So…are you affected by it too?”
As Xavier smears the lotion across your flushed skin, he murmurs, “Maybe.” He takes another scoop of the cream into his fingers.
“It’s possible…I won’t be able to feel you anymore from now on.” His eyes are trained on your leg as he speaks, fingers wandering from your knee to your exposed thigh. Though you both know his senses were, and would be, perfectly fine, the longing in both his low voice and dark eyes felt completely real.
As his hands rub into your skin, his fingers briefly find their way under your nightdress. He leans down, resting his chin on your knee. He practically hugs your legs to his chest, the opened jar of lotion still in hand. WIth his curious fingers on your thigh, under the lace hem of your nightdress, you try and distract him from your flushed face. You take a small dollop of the lotion in his hands, teasingly brushing it to his nose.
“What’s the fragrance? Can you smell it?” Xavier’s face on your bare knee doesn’t move, but his eyes flit up to yours, dark and amused.
He has a barely perceptible smirk, fingers stroking small shapes into the area where your lace nightie meets the skin of your exposed thighs, “Strawberry.” He sounds uncharacteristically self-assured, his chin moving down so that he can smell your skin.
You shiver as you feel the cool inhale of his nose against your knee. His lips ghost along your leg as he breathes in the scent, lingering for so long you’re nearly quivering against his hold. His hand grips your thigh possessively as he murmurs, “Or maybe...that scent…is cherry.” The way he buries his face into your legs, inhaling so deeply, is nearly enough to have you passing out.
He comes back to nuzzle his chin into your knee, glancing up at you in an expression that is eerily dark and soft all at once, “Was I right?” His words are gentle but there’s an exhilarating taunt underneath them. It only makes you want to taunt him back.
You reach for his ear, noticing it’s unusually peachy pink, stroking along the soft lobe, “Here’s another test. What do you think my hand is doing right now?” Xavier’s eyes close at your touch, his breath heavy and hot against your thigh. His brows furrow, and if it weren’t for the way he leaned into your touch for more, you’d almost think he was in pain.
As his eyes flicker open to meet yours, you take his cheek into your hands. There’s a vague haziness in them, almost like he’s having a hard time keeping them open, drunk off even your slightest touches. He sits up, leaning into your hand.
“You need to do it harder,” he urges, desperation making itself known in his sultry voice. Your hand trails down his ear, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw and making its way to Xavier’s bobbing neck.
Your fingers move intentionally, trailing down to his collar until they rest on his chest, “What about now?”
Though his chest heaves, his blue eyes smolder with an unbridled confidence, “...Too gentle.” He looks at you with an unspoken plea in his eyes, begging you to touch him more. Harder.
You let your shaking fingers toy torturously with the reddened skin on his sharp collarbone, swirling your fingertips on his pounding chest. You bite your lip, enjoying the way his breath comes out in needy pants, the look of desperation on his parted lips growing stronger by the second, “If you still haven’t felt it…”
Xavier continues your thought, cerulean eyes filled with a desperate longing, “If I haven’t felt it…” You gasp as he grabs your wrist forcefully, bringing it back up to his face.
His grip is commanding, caressing your palm with his soft cheek, his breath fanning the inside of your hand. His movements are almost imperceptible, until you feel his lips closing over your middle finger. You’re unable to stop the shiver as his tongue grazes against your trembling finger, his lips caressing your skin in his mouth.
Xavier desperately hopes you keep your eyes trained on his, and not the embarrassingly prominent tent under his thin robe, throbbing for your attention. His breath is hot as he pants against your finger, “...does this mean I’m a lost cause?”
You pull your hand away, unable to withstand the effect his lips enclosing in your fingers is having on your body, your thighs clenching together under your own robe and nightgown.
“What should we do?” you murmur before softly clutching his shoulder, pulling him closer until you can whisper into his ear for a little hearing test. You let your lips graze his reddened earlobe, before whispering.
“Xavier.”
It comes out far more sultry and seductive than you’d originally intended, betraying your body’s true desires. Xavier apparently shares those same desires, because as he hears you gasp out his name his body has a visceral reaction.
His heart pounds so rapidly he’s almost sure you’d be able to hear it, his muscled chest rising and falling in an irregular rhythm. His face looks almost anguished, fighting an internal war against himself. He glances towards you, his eyes dark with unbridled desire.
“Oops. Looks like something broke,” you grin cheekily, thoroughly amused by his reaction, fueled with confidence.
Xavier’s eyes are so dark they’re nearly black as they drink in the sight of your beautiful smile, as you sit with your knees up on the mattress. The next thing you know, Xavier’s is pushing you down, your back hitting the plush mattress and your robe fluttering open to reveal your flimsy nightdress.
Xavier stands above you, before his hand comes down to grip the mattress beside your head, pinning you down. His eyes trail up your body, savoring every exposed centimeter of soft skin, before boring into your beautiful eyes. His body is pressed gently into yours, and you can very much make out just how excited he’s become. The area between your thighs moistens at the feeling of his arousal pressed into your stomach.
“Your sensory test isn’t over yet,” he grunts, his face tortuously close to yours. His eyes are hooded dangerously, an imminent threat reflected in his ocean blue eyes. He leans forward, so close his torrid breath fans against your parted lips.
“Let’s do a taste test,” he murmurs, eyes shutting as he finally closes the distance between your lips in a toe-curling passionate embrace. His tongue prods at the seam of your lips, which you happily part to give him access. He moans into you as he indulges in how delicious you taste, quickly addicted to your soft and warm tongue against his.
When he finally pulls away, he’s a complete and utter mess. His breath is uneasy and rapid, his body contorting with the rhythm of his pounding chest. His fingers have found their way into yours, effectively pinning you securely against the bed under his hard body.
“Xavier…” you gasp, squeezing his fingers, “Even someone like you can lose your composure, huh?”
As your bodies heave together, Xavier takes thick and deep lungfuls of your scent, his face buried into your neck.
“One doesn’t need that much composure,” he groans before diving back into the crook of your neck, lips latching onto your pulse.
As he holds you, gently suckling at your neck, you prod him, “What are you thinking of?”
Xavier hesitates, his lips hovering centimeters above your skin, before murmuring, “Something…indecent.”
You bite back your grin, thoroughly enjoying how needy he’s becoming. With his body still atop of yours, you bring your lips to his ear letting your wet lips stroke against his earlobe.
“Xavier…” you purr, “Tell me what you’re thinking of.”
You can see Xavier’s neck throb with a thick gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly. It’s then he decides he’s done playing games.
He sits up eerily calmly, until he’s on his knees at your feet. His fingers trail down your bare thighs, to your calves, and to your feet. You squirm at his fleeting trail of touches, squeaky moans of anticipation slipping from your lips.
As his hands slide down your legs, he lifts your foot into his hands, fingers kneading your aching sole. You moan, your eyes squeezing shut at just how wonderfully Xavier knows your body, knows how to touch you.
You’re so caught up in the feeling of his hands on your ankles that you don’t notice the way he cups your calf, raising your leg into the air as he caresses it. It’s not until the distinct feeling of his warm lips meet the bottom of your calf do your eyes screw open.
Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight before you, Xavier placing a feathery trail of kisses down your calf all the way to your foot. As he tenderly kisses your ankle, his eyes open to watch you with a hungry gaze.
“The Protocore’s effects…I think we need a stronger test,” he mutters, his mouth rubbing against your ankle still. He sets your leg on his shoulder, gently spreading your thighs apart.
You blush as your legs part, leaving little to imagination as Xavier situates himself between your legs, one propped on his muscled shoulder and one hooked above his forearm, “Xavier?”
He doesn’t respond, eyes trained on the glistening patch of dampness that adorns your panties. It takes all of him not to drool right over your half naked form right then and there. As his head lowers to kiss your thighs, you tremble at his proximity to your throbbing cunt that leaks with desire and arousal.
“I-Is this…strong enough?” you squeak, his tongue lapping slow circles around the areas his teeth graze. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as he indulges in the taste of your legs, eyeing the beautiful way your panties are creasing against the lips of your pussy. He can practically feel the heat coming off you and it makes him bite hard.
You squeal, your back arching up and fingers reaching down to pull at his soft hair. It’s impossible not to enjoy the sharp graze of his canines and the contrastingly adoring caress of his tongue. Too distracted by the pleasure, you don’t feel the embarrassing slick dripping down your thighs.
But Xavier does.
He detaches his lips from your thighs, briefly admiring the handful of flowering red bruises littered against both your plush legs.
“It’s…stronger. But this…” he trails off, and that’s when you feel his fingers hooking your soaked panties to the side. You yelp as his fingers languidly swipe at your folds, coating himself in your arousal and bringing it up to his mouth.
You watch in a mixture of embarrassment and desire as he slips his fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around his digits and eyes shut in utter bliss.
When his blonde lashes finally flutter open, his hazy pupils are dilated amongst the sea of azure, piercing into your own.
“This, I can taste,” he grins gently at you. It’s so effortlessly Xavier, yet something sinister lurks beneath his soft smile. Something that makes you shake to your very core.
You don’t have time to ponder the darkness behind his smile, because Xavier is gripping you by your hips, bringing the apex of your thighs to his waiting mouth, salivating at the beautiful sight of your exposed cunt. His eyes flit from your core to your eyes, your upper body propped up on your elbows as you watch his heated gaze devour you.
“Please…” Xavier rasps, his voice guttural and desperate. The proximity of his face to your weeping cunt lets you feel his hot breath fan against your quivering pussy, “Please let me.”
You’re speechless, so you nod fervently, gripping his soft hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Xavier wastes no time, burying himself into you. You gasp, spine curling at the force of his demanding lips against your cunt.
You’d think Xavier had been starved for days, the way he latches onto your lips, his tongue eagerly lapping at your slit, savoring every drop of your sweet essence. You thrash at the unrelenting pleasure, as Xavier’s bruising grip holds you in place.
“Let me enjoy you, please,” he groans, nose rubbing into your clit deliciously, “Who knows if I’ll ever be able to taste you again?”
You whimper at his filthy words, trying to stay still as he ravishes you with his skilled tongue. The lewd slurps and moans that come from him are enough to drive you to the edge of insanity, unable to contain your furious writhing. Xavier only digs his fingers harder into the plush of your thighs, doing his best to keep you in place.
Xavier moans into you, the vibrations of his pleasured sounds thrumming straight into your body. He doesn’t let a single droplet of your nectar go to waste, his tongue lapping diligently. There’s absolutely no shortage of it, as his pointed nose brushes against your clit, his tongue stroking sweetly into your lips.
“You taste like heaven, Y/N,” Xavier moans into your folds. The vibrations of his filthy words send you reeling and you can barely hear him, only able to respond in the whiniest moans, too wrapped up in the pleasure his mouth so skillfully brings you.
“Xavier!” you cry, toes digging into the ropes of muscles on his back.
You can vaguely feel one of Xavier’s hands abandon your thigh, moving to free his cock from under his loose robe. You can’t see much, but you can see the way his forearm jerks up and down, the veins in his arms bulging as he pleasures himself, fueled by the taste of you.
“O-oh f-fuck!” you cry, your back arched, the soles of your feet pressing into Xavier’s back, “Xavier…p-please don’t – nngh – stop!”
Through your widely spread legs, you can see just how aroused Xavier is by your pleas. His fingers can barely wrap around his thick girth. They move up and down effortlessly, coated in his copious pre-cum. It honestly looked like he already came with just how much of his slick was smeared on himself. He’s so impossibly angry and red as he thrusts into his own fist, your tongue unconsciously licking your lips at the sight.
You’re only snapped out of your mesmerized staring when his lips latch onto your clit, tongue lapping eagerly against the throbbing nub of nerves. His lips suckling at your clit, tongue stroking so sweetly, is just enough to have you coming completely undone all over Xavier’s face.
You try to pull always as you feel the warm gush coming, but Xavier only holds you down harder with his arm wrapped around your thigh, his hands jerking up and down his leaking erection even more desperation. With nowhere to run, your body thrashes erratically in his forceful arm. Your back arches into the air, your head digging into the plush mattress, as you squirt over Xavier’s insistent tongue.
You’re well into the depths of overstimulation, feebly pushing his head away, whispering brokenly, “X-Xavier. S’too much, please.”
But he can’t seem to hear you, too wrapped up in your taste, in you. Your body curls in a stinging pleasure as he continues to devour you, positively starved.
The lewd slurps of his face in your wet thighs, your unabashed moans and cries of ecstasy, the taste of your release against his greedy tongue, and his forceful grip on his cock drive him to his own orgasm.
He forces himself to pull away, his lips wet with your slick, your body collapsing but still slightly elevated with your calf thrown over his shoulder. With his position kneeling at your feet, your right leg still by his neck, his cock spurts right onto your quivering and overstimulated pussy.
“H-holy,” Xavier groans breathlessly, hands still jerking himself up and down as rope after rope lands on your glistening cunt. His spend is so deliciously hot against your sensitive skin that you can’t stop the full body tremors that wrack your body. His copious streams of cum start to drip off your quivering cunt, pooling on the mattress beneath you.
Xavier leans forward, clutching your thigh as his body heaves with an overwhelming satisfaction. His fingers dig into your already bruised thighs, his breath heavy and desperate.
You want to giggle at his ruined state, stroking his back teasingly with your toes, your calf still resting on his shoulder. Your fingers reach for his ear to caress his cheek and tease him with your words from earlier, “So little composure. Adorable”
Xavier’s gaze, longing and soft, twitches. Before you know it, your back is flat against the bed once more, both your legs pressed against your chest. Your feet hang in the air above your head, Xavier’s heaving body pressed on top of you, something hard and wet pressing into your still trembling core.
Out of sheer surprise, you cry out, “X-Xavier?” Your hands instinctively come up to cup his face.
Xavier doesn’t speak, his eyes trained on your cunt as he runs his tip up and down your folds. When he finally looks up at you, there’s a dark almost feral look in the storm of his cerulean eyes. A look of unbridled animalistic heat.
He bends down, his beautiful face dangerously close to yours as he smirks, “Isn’t this what you wanted, angel?”
You shiver at his unusually edged words, eyes widening as you nod gently. Unable to deny the truth of his words. You knew it, and he knew it. You absolutely always wanted him, especially when he was this unhinged.
Xavier smiles, it’s deceptively gentle as you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes, “I know, Y/N. So, please. Let me give it to you.” Though he begs, you can tell he’s not really asking. Not that you minded. You’d give him absolutely everything.
So you nod, peering up at him through your eyelashes. Xavier smiles, finger stroking your cheek. With his other hand, he takes his cock, rubbing his cockhead into your sopping folds, smearing his cum messily around. He’d spurt so much milky seed onto your pussy that it quite literally felt like a bottle of lube had been squirted onto you.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers. For a brief second, the bright light returns to Xavier’s eyes as he adoringly watches you, with so much affection in his azure eyes. It’s gone just as quickly as it comes, his cock splitting you apart as he thrusts into you.
You cry out, unable to do anything but take him, your legs caged against both your bodies. The mating press he has you in is so mean, his hard strong body so imposing as he thrusts into you. It’s so easy for him to slide inside you, his cum on your skin even slicker than lube.
Xavier’s breathy moans wash over you at every single mean thrust, his smoldering eyes never leaving yours as he ruts into you like a madman. A man positively starved. And only one thing could satisfy him.
His hands press into the mattress beside your head, his entire body boxing you in, with only your thighs separating you. You wish he could hold you closer, press deeper into you, as deep as his cock was currently in your throbbing pussy.
“X-Xav…” your squeal. The position he has you in gives him easy access to your most sensitive spots. Xavier only moans in response, not typically a man of many words when it comes to being buried in your guts.
Which is why you’re surprised when he grits out, “Mine.”
You’re so surprised, mind so clouded with his massive girthy cock, that you gasp out, “W-What?”
Xavier’s smirk is faint, almost imperceptible, “You’re mine. I would never leave you.”
His pointed thrusts make you cry out in pleasure, losing your train of thought again. His smile grows more confident at your inability to speak, “Isn’t that what you told James? That your partner left you?”
Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, before realizing he's talking about the man you’d been flirting with for information at the protocore trade, “J-James? You – hnngh – y-you mean Henrik’s idiot – nngh – bodyguard?”
Xavier drives into you with an even more mind-numbing intensity at the mention of another man. You can see his jaw twitches, his eyes swimming with shadowy emotions.
“What do you think he took you up to the sixth floor for?” he growls, uncharacteristically and darkly gruff, “For this?”
To punctuate his point he slams his pelvis into your ass, the lewd pap sound of wet skin against wet skin deafeningly loud.
“It’s too bad for him. You’re mine.” His words are a sweet threat, with no violence and all the passion in the world behind them.
The raw possession in his voice makes you approach your orgasm far too quickly. Your thighs shake uncontrollably at the strain, but even more so at the pleasure Xavier drives into your gummy walls. His cock is so thick that your body burns with pleasure as he stretches you to your limit, your walls sucking him tightly, unwilling to let go.
Xavier moans at the unbelievably incredible feeling of your walls tightening against him, trying to wring him into you. Xavier’s thrusts become more erratic as he comes closer to his own release, and you’re desperate to cum with him, your orgasm impossibly iminent.
You know just how to send him over the edge, as you take his jaw into your fingers, his chest pressed into the fat of your thighs as he folds you quite literally in half. Xavier looks surprised but lets his face be guided to yours, his eyes still holding glimmers of shadows held back by a thin shred of restraint.
“Xavier,” you whisper, trying to keep your orgasm at bay so you can experience simultaneously with the blonde haired man deliciously rearranging your guts, “I’m yours, always.”
Xavier’s eyes darken, his eyebrows furrowing, as his body responds to your sweet words. His thrusts are harder, rougher, and all the more forceful and demanding. He’s utterly desperate to feel you cum atop his cock, his beautiful girl. Entirely and completely his.
“Yeah? Then cum for me, please.” His voice is a guttural growl, matching the animalistic intensity of his body pounding into yours. But he stutters just a bit, as you can practically feel the veins in his thick cock throbbing against your pulsing walls.
With Xavier’s intense eyes on yours, your body folded mind numbingly against his hard chiseled body, his filthy possessive words fanning across your lips, it’s impossible to keep your orgasm back any longer.
You cum with a strangled cry of his name, your elbows bending so your fingers can furiously claw at the sheets by your head. Xavier moans out at how tightly your cunt grips him amidst your climax, absolutely forcing the orgasm out of him.
You’re a moaning whining mess as Xavier fucks his seed into you. Even after his first orgasm, there’s so much cum, both inside and outside. The area where your bodies are joined is a sticky mess of cum and saliva.
Xavier is no better, the grunts and babbles streaming from his own mouth an absolute symphony to your ears.
“That’s it, love,” he rasps, “So good for me. Such a good girl. My good girl.”
You stroke Xavier’s soft blonde hair as his thrusts slow to an eventual stop. His softening cock is still in you, and you wince as you can vaguely feel it slipping out. Your hips scream in discomfort, your thighs still pressed firmly into your chest as Xavier gasps for air above you.
You whimper as he shifts, and instantly Xavier is back to his usual soft self, fawning over you, “Are you okay?” It’s honestly insane how quickly he switches, because as his blue eyes search yours, you notice the darkness is gone. All that’s left is that starry glimmering sea of ultramarine, soft, concerned, and loving.
“H-heavy,” you whine, tapping at his thick shoulders. Xavier’s off of you in a flash, his soft cock slipping out as sits on his knees before you. He hovers over you, careful not to put any weight on you, as he brushes your tangled hair off of your sweaty forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your flushed cheek, “Was I…Did I take it too far?”
“No, never,” you mumble happily, draping your arms over his neck. Through his gentle smile that could move the stars, you can see how exhausted Xavier is, but he continues to stroke circles into your skin. His hands reach down to massage your bruised thighs, hickeys littering every inch of you. The serene intimacy of the moment is enough to lull you towards sleep, despite the mess between your legs.
–
You must’ve nodded off for a few minutes, because when you open your bleary eyes you see Xavier between your legs, carefully wiping the sticky mess away.
“Xav, s’okay,” you whisper sleepily, stirring in his careful hands and barely able to string together complete sentences, “Clean tomorrow, sleep now.”
“It’s okay, angel,” he murmurs, his voice so warm and dreamy. He holds you gently in place as he continues to wipe you off, “Go back to sleep.”
Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his hands soothing your aching muscles, losing the fight against sleep, “You don’t feel tired?”
Xavier chuckles, the sound meeting your ears even in your half-conscious state, “I can still feel. But I think I may need another…taste test.”
You can hear the mischief in his voice even if you’re too exhausted to open your eyes.
“Just sleep honey, let me take care of you.”
Something about the playful heat in his voice makes you doubt he’s just going to be cleaning you up with the warm towel he had in his hands. And the thought of that excites you beyond belief, even as you succumb to sleep.
