summary: in which you tell the lads boys (who are your controversially close bffs) that you were cheated on.
ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb & valko
notes: all of the guys are lovely and want you…that’s kinda the whole thing i fear. no explicit mentions of gender (!!!), mentions of cheating (obvi), perhaps minor indications of violence…but that’s it (i think).
p.s. i cannot stop making xavier use the sun emoji so like sorry but also not rlly that much bc it’s too fucking funny to me
a/n: should i make this one a series let me know…hehe…ty for reading (- -)(_ _)
what does a saturday morning look like with the lads men ... together ?
tags : polyamorous relationship , fluff only , drabble , not proof read
it is saturday, this much you are certain of by how loud the ruckus is in the living room. your blackout blinds are still down, fully shielding you from the sun and the start of the weekend. you blink your eyes slowly, still in between sleepiness and getting awake. right behind you is xavier. his strong arms are wrapped tightly around your waist and his little snores tickle the back of your neck.
you have no idea when he got in your bedroom, but for now, you're not complaining and allow yourself to bathe in his warmness, his usual scent of detergent and lemon fills your nose. xavier always smelled so clean and good. of course, while you are trying to enjoy this cute snuggly moment, the ruckus outside only seemed to grow louder.
muffled voices, clanking sounds, loud footsteps -- any normal person would think that they were being robbed. but no, not you. you ain't normal. not when your love life involves five guys. five possessive, jealous, protective men. and sometimes, they were annoying (this is said out of love).
''rise and shine, pipsqueak!''
that's fucking caleb. of course he is hollering at ... you try to subtly twist your body on the side to look at the clock, careful to not wake xavier up (though nothing really wakes him up). freakin 9:30 in the morning. on a saturday. and he's already yelling.
within a minute, caleb gives three firm knocks and barges in -- not even waiting for your answer. his smile is bright and full of life, his eyes gleaming with completely adoration at your sight until he sees xavier. his eyes literally darkened with irritation as he closed the distance and harshly tug on xavier's pajama shirt.
''get away from her, you stupid alien'', caleb seethes as he continues to tug. not long after, zayne comes in the bedroom wearing an apron. his eyes narrow in annoyance as he whispers to caleb to quiet down as to not wake you up so early.
the damage is already done and too late though. zayne glanced down at you and his scowl disappears instantly. his gaze softens as apology before he walks to the other side and bends down, pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek.
''good morning, my love'', he soothes down your hair as his thumb caresses your cheek tenderly, ''go back to sleep. i'll wake you up for breakfast after.''
caleb had stopped tugging on xavier (who is still stubbornly ''asleep'' and clinging to you) and joined zayne beside. his earlier outrage at xavier seemed to have vanished entirely as he smiles widely at you : ''pipsqueak''.
caleb's tone, when talking to you, is always so full of gentleness and playfulness. you can practically feel love pouring out of his entire body whenever he looks at you. like an excited dog awaiting its owner's return. his hand reaches out to you gently and he caresses your cheek. if you didn't know caleb any better, you'd think that his gesture is sweet, romantic, cute. but don't be fooled.
he's just wiping zayne's kiss without explicitly saying it.
zayne turns and tries to push caleb out of your bedroom, hushing him as he glanced back at you one more time, a small smile plastered on his face just for you. always just for you. before caleb is kicked out, rafayel stops dead in front of the door. zayne groans in frustration and pinches the bridge of his nose, a gesture you've seen him do on a daily basis towards the others.
''caleb, you idiot ! why did you throw my paintbrushes !'' ; rafayel yells, his fists clenched as he looks over caleb's shoulder and notices you. the lemurian god, entirely capable of solving this problem by himself, decides to push past the two men and stomp his way to your figure. he points accusingly at caleb and pouts : ''cutie, he threw my paintbrushes. i just bought them, he's triyng to salvage my inspiration and creativity !''
you also know better rafayel better than others : caleb did not throw his paintbrushes out. caleb would never clean after the other men. he only cleans after you, for you. the others can take care of themselves. it's either rafayel threw it out by accident, the paintbrushes are hidden under his own mess, or he threw it all out (and decided to accuse caleb) so he can use it as an excuse to shop for more with you, together.
knowing rafayel, the last scenario is very much plausible.
''they are so loud, baby'', xavier mumbles against your shoulder before pressing a soft kiss. you can't help but grin at all this ridiculous drama. and yet, you'd trade nothing in the world to miss this. these small moments where chaos erupts, but genuine love is felt from all of them. xavier grabs this opportunity where the 3 men are quarreling to press another featherly kiss at your shoulder, slowly kissing his way down to your arm. chills travel down your spine as xavier covers any exposed skin with butterfly kisses, his touches so gentle and tender but the bulge pressing against your ass isn't.
''hey ! stop this, you pervert !''
rafayel practically yanks xavier's shirt while caleb forcefully takes the blanket off. the soft material rips and everyone stops moving.
''good heavens, this is the 3rd blanket you ripped, caleb. can't control your own strength ?'' zayne says, clearly frustrated now. he takes the blanket from caleb's grip and glances at you. he knows you love this one, and he also knows how difficult it is to find one that is suitable for your sensitive skin.
he adjusts his glasses and extends his hand, his gaze leaving no place for argument : ''let's go, my love. let them be, i'll buy another one for you. tonight, you can sleep with me, my blanket is practically the same hypoallergenic material.''
you try to grab his hand but xavier's hold around your waist is iron and unwilling to let you go. caleb scoffs and rolls his eyes at zayne : ''nice try, zayne. pretending to be the good guy, you're sick.''
zayne feigns innocence as he tries to separate xavier away from you ; ''i'm just trying to help Y /N. she has sensitive skin and can easily get an allergic reaction. it happened last time.'' zayne says factually, his tone cold towards caleb. he didn't bother looking at his childhood friend as he continues to pry xavier (the leech) off.
''and why would she choose your blanket ? mine is the same material too.'' caleb argues, crossing his arms as he glares at the doctor. rafayel goes behind xavier and tries to headlock him, in hopes of ending this idiot's life, who has the audacity to touch his bride.
''at night, she needs to rest. your mouth can't shut up.'' zayne replies, deadpan.
by some miracle, rafayel managed to get xavier to release you (probably because he was about to pass out). zayne practically carried you right away. he'll protect you no matter what, and he knows you're safest with him.
''put her down, i'll help her get ready and you can go back to the kitchen'', caleb snaps at the doctor as he turns his attention to you. immediately, his mood switches and he beams a bright charming smile : ''whaddya say, pips ? i have a new body lotion, i can put it for you.''
before zayne can even reply on your behalf, a laughter erupts behind the men. sylus, leaning against your door, stares at you. his ruby eyes glow with amusement and mischief : ''quite a circus show you have there, kitten.''
he bends down to pick the blanket up from the floor before he toss it on the side : ''i'm the one who bought this. i'll go out shopping with my kitten after. she deserves to be spoiled today, right sweetie ?"
rafayel stops fighting with xavier and stares menacingly at sylus : " she's already going to shop with me after. we need to get more paintbrushes". the lemurian god crosses his arms and turns towards you : "right, cutie?"
before you can even respond, sylus interrupts. he feigns to be interested in his nails and rings, his tone nonchalant though you know he is hoping you will choose him over paintbrush shopping (which is boring and ridiculous in his mind). clearly, his kitten wouldn't want to waste her time with a fishie, right ?
"you don't need more paintbrushes."
"yes, i do."
"no, you don't."
"yes, i do."
"no, you don't. you barely even paint."
"because someone took my muse away. you bastards have been hoarding her for so long, i've lost my creativity !"
"that's what a bad artist would say."
"how dare you, bird face ? what do you even know about art, anyway ?"
"I'm the one who buys them, so yes -- i do know about art."
their bickering went back and forth for a while, their voices acting as background noises. zayne carried you to the bathroom and slammed it shut before caleb (or xavier) could sneak inside. while you were getting ready to start your day, their voices and presences continued on in the back.
and honestly, that was what home and love felt like.
y'all, my single lonely ass had too much fun writing this. giggling while writing, felt like i was going insane lol anyway, hope y'all enjoyed it as much as i did
Authors note: hello everyone! This is not a Gambit fanfic like my usual stuff. This is a sorta Elven fantasy crossed with love and deep space. I’m super obsessed with Baldurs Gate 3, LOTR, LADS and just Elves in general at the moment so I’m combining these and I’ve made my own sort of plotline that I’d like to write about. It’s got sorta medieval whimsy elven vibes going on it’s definitely not for everybody but I hope you enjoy! I’ve got a Pinterest board dedicated to the inspiration I’ve used for this.
I’ll have a separate post with links if anyone is curious to see any moments/outfits/etc I have in mind whilst writing this <3
Morning dew gathered across your window, like a fragmented stained glass. The light came through, scattering across your room in abstract patterns. You never get to enjoy the peace for long, as your two usual maids; Nymessa and Aeverie walk in at exactly the same time, every morning.
Though, today was different. Today was special. Though for the life of you, you could not remember why..
Until.
“Good morning my lady! Up you shall rise!” Nymessa’s voice came through, bright and cheerful. Followed along by Aeverie’s almost hollow voice, “Yes, you cannot be even one second late today.”
“Why?” Your voice came through slightly broken, and raspy as sleep coated your tongue.
Nymessa sighed, her eyes rolling. “Why, don’t you remember? Your Majesty Naemaris, your mother, has arranged for your suitor to visit you today!” Nymessa sighed dreamily, “a lady could only dream…” Nymessa stared off, an almost jealous haze coating her eyes.
“Enough. We have much work to do, Nymessa.” Aeverie retorted, jabbing Nymessa’s arm. Aeverie’s gaze fell onto you, and her eyes working their way through you-deciding what needed to be perfected and what could remain on display for your new suitor.
No later than an hour after you had been awoken, you were ready. Your hair had been washed, dried, sprayed with flowery oils and styled to perfection. Your body, followed suit. Tied up in dresses, corsets, powder-the works. Admittedly, you did look beautiful. Though you weren’t keen to acknowledge it. Moments rushed by you, as one moment you were in your space, your bedroom still preparing and the next you were stood next to both your mother, and father as your suitor opened the door and walked in.
Your father was a tall, quiet man. His beard was long, white and he carried an aura of respect. Your mother, meek. Humble, though that was her public face. Your mother had a talent for switching her personality for public and private. Not much could be said about either of your parents. They’d hardly raised you. But here they were now, standing beside you as if they had spent the last 20 years of their life raising you, caring for you, parenting you. What a joke.
The doors creaking open pulled you out of your daydream, and there he was.
Beautiful
That was the only way you could describe him. His features were soft, graceful. He almost looked like an angel, his lips naturally pouted. His hair was long, blonde, silky. Everything about him screamed royalty and it was right too. He wore a white suit, of which has a beautiful (but large) cape training behind it. His boots clicked across the marble floor as he approached you.
His face, almost unreadable but his eyes… perhaps it was the shade of blue they were but his eyes held an element of sadness to them. He knelt down in front of you, lowering his own head.
“My lady.” His voice barely above a whisper, his own hand reached up, offering to take yours. You gently gave him your own hand, and he pressed a kiss to the back of it.
As he looked up, you could see his eyes were watery. Perhaps he too did not want to marry you. The thought twisted in your mind but settled in your stomach. He raised from the floor, still holding on to your hand as if you would disappear if he let you go.
Your father spoke, breaking the tension which held thick within the room.
“Prince Xavier, of Phobos.”
Your father cleared his throat, continuing,
“I present to you my daughter, as we offer her hand in marriage to you. With this offering, we would be inclined to take a peace treaty, alongside the generous sum of ten thousand gold.”
Xavier, if that really was his name, nodded, taking a quill out of his pocket to sign along the letter your Father had pulled out.
Your mother released a gentle sigh, it was done. “Beautiful,” she murmured, placing her hand on your back. “The wedding, 30 days from now. Will that be okay, Prince Xavier?”
He nodded thoughtfully, offering you a small smile. “Of course.”
“Then it’s settled, let us talk, Prince Xavier. We have much to discuss.”
Your father, and Xavier turned, walking towards a private sector within the castle. Before they left the room, Xavier turned back, looking at you before he left. He smiled, it almost looked genuine.
This wasn’t super long since I just wanted to trial this,, I don’t think many will be interested since it’s kindaaa niche?? Im really enjoying writing about it tho so idm ! If you have any advice or feedback please lmk <3
Yes the other LADS characters will make an appearance, or I can make separate versions for them if anyone desperately wants one !!
Hi! I hope you're having a good day 💕. Mine, on the other hand, isn't—I just had my wisdom teeth pulled and it hurts TERRIBLY. How would the LI's take care of us? It makes me laugh to imagine the faces they'd make if they saw how wisdom teeth are pulled; honestly, it was a pretty shocking sight, even though I didn't feel a thing.
wisdom teeth removal
here ya go :) a bit late sorry lol but i hope you fully recovered and that all went well !
tags : zayne , caleb , sylus , xavier , rafayel x reader (separate) , fluff , just the sweet lads taking good care of us , modern AU
zayne
you already know how the dentist is literally one of zayne's enemies. just a simple teeth cleaning is torture for zayne, so he doesn't even want to know the details of how wisdom teeth are removed lol
his main priority is to soothe your pain and remind you of how infections can easily develop. he'll take the extra step to cook for you, all liquid / soft foods for a while (and don't worry, whatever zayne cooks are filled with good nutrients)
i do believe that he'll use this opportunity to tease you a little bit about how he can freely eat cold sweets, like ice cream, cake, pastries ... he isn't exactly rubbing it in your face, but kind of lol
in all honestly, i do think that zayne will be a bit more concerned and worried out of all the lads, as he knows just how painful the treatment and recovery can be for a while
will absolutely be down to clean the bleeding in your mouth. blood doesn't disgust him anyway, it's part of his job as doctor
caleb
similar to zayne, will not hesitate to cook soft and liquid food for you. he'll even insist that you stop all kinds of activity / movements, because it can increase pain (he's just exaggerating so he can dote on you even more)
will take videos of you if you are under anesthesia lol even if you aren't, he's filming you. will tease you about how you look like a cute hamster, your cheeks are puffed up
every time you ask him for something, he's imitating back your voice in a baby tone, just to annoy you lol
all joking aside, caleb will always make sure that you are ok. he'll do whatever you ask, so take advantage of him (please do, it might make him happier than you)
sylus
i sincerely believe that sylus would try to convince you and the dentist to remove one wisdom teeth at a time (if it is multiple) lol he can't stand seeing you in pain and would absolutely try to avoid too much procedure
he'll be a lot more irritated at the dentists staff (unfortunately) than you'd think ; in his mind, if you are under too much pain, then it means that the dentist did not do a proper job (that's not how it works though, sylus ...)
y'all better believe that sylus isn't letting you off his lap until you fully recover. i believe that internally, he's panicking more than zayne lol he won't let his worry show (to not burden you) but his actions are rooted deep in concern for your health. he'll say something along the line of : if you walk kitten, it can aggravate the pain. there is no need to be strong right now, just rest and let me take care of you sweetie
sylus is like those helicopter pet owners, you know ? their pet is injured and the owner is already grieving lol
xavier
the calmest one out of all the lads lol not because he is nonchalant (we all know he really is far from it) but because he feels kind of ... helpless ?
xavier doesn't want to voice it out, but he genuinely doesn't really have a clue on how to help you. he'll watch videos about the procedure of wisdom teeth removals, the recovery process, the risks of infections, people posting about their own journey, etc ... but still, at the end, everyone is different on what their own recovery journey looks like
definitely the quiet type, rather than trying to make jokes (like caleb) or lecture you (like zayne). xavier can be quite ... intense, when he gets into his calm and quiet role lol
it's like he's staring dead at you, just waiting for you to tell him what you need. it's like he is dissociating from stress lol obviously, even if he isn't too knowledgeable about this, you can still expect xavier to take good care of you
warm blankets, hot and warm foods ready at all times, painkillers, ice pack to help with the swelling, house chores all done
he'll also insist that you sleep on top of him, so that it can help with ''swelling and bleeding'' (totally unrelated, but can you deny him with his cute puppy eyes?)
you can always forget about leaving xavier's line of sight. he'll contain his own need to run a strict program, but don't test his patience. if his own stress and concern overrides his self-restraint, he'll actually become quite dominant and strict / mean (daddy xavier)
rafayel
sincerely believes that it's a dumb procedure and thinks the dentist is just trying to scam people for more money lol
will absolutely crash out if the staff are not giving you the proper queen treatment. rafayel is the type to go on their website and leave a nasty comment (if he deems their behavior unprofessional lol)
while rafayel might be loud and dramatic, he actually is very good at taking care of people. more than what others think
he won't actively voice it out, but concern is rooted deep in his brain and he can't rest properly until he sees you resting
he'll nag and complain about the entire situation (not you, never you), but things are done and you are taken care of. he's very similar to zayne when it comes to taking care of you : clinical, dependable, efficient and strict
he'll pretend to be disgusted at the sight of blood, but will absolutely crash out if you dare change your own gauze, or try to eat by yourself. he'll insist on spoon feeding you
Hii dearr, may i request you to write a HCs of each LIs with AroAce reader? Reader is AroAce but they're not the strict one, like a bit more of Aego or Demi (which they'd still develop/feel romantic feelings but it'll take a lot of work and times), how would they react or treat reader with that info? Thank you!
Hope it's not too hard for you to write it 💗
Gardener - OFC I hope I do this right for you! I did do some extra research on both Aego and Demi, so I hope I dont offend anyone. These are all established relationships too! Its just their reaction to the information (*^￢^*)
Xavier -
When you first told him, he acted like it was casual information (cuz it is). But in only hours after you told him, he was being more cautious about touching you like he was scared of making you uncomfortable. So when you two were trying to watch a movie, and he decided to sit all the way on the other side of the couch, that's when you asked him about it
"Xav, what are you doing?"
"What do you mean.."
"You're all the way across the couch, you haven't made any sort of physical contact with me for hours. And thats not like you."
"I'm just trying to be careful."
That's when it clicked, and you had almost laughed at him. "That's..not what that means."
"Wha—?"
His confused face made you feel a little bad, but it was still funny to see him so in awe. "You can still cuddle me, Xav. Come here."
He had never jumped into your arms so quick.
Zayne -
Part of me feels like he'd know, but it'd still catch him off guard when you confirm it. Like he'd probably confuse it with another sexuality/romantic attraction before you tell him. He'd be shocked (cuz he got it wrong) before immediately doing more research into it and what it means, he'd also look into how people with other Aro/Demi/Aego partners treat their lovers, but he'd do even more of that research with you. Just to make sure he's gotten everything right! (He's just being cautious, his whole profession is based on perfection after all)
"Is this okay?" He'd ask, wrapping his arms around your waist, "Most of the websites I looked into said that it shouldn't change anything, but on the rare occasion people stated that their partners were uncomfortable with being touched certain ways, I want to make sure nothing changes for us."
He felt so relieved when you kissed his temple and told him it was okay to touch you, "Zaynie, you're okay. If I didn't want your affections, promise I'd tell you."
Rafayel -
He'd treat it with the utmost respect by treating it like it wasn't anything new. He never pushed you for anything sexual from the start but now that it was affirmed, he just kept doing what he was doing. He was able to give you physical intimacy without the sex. He's waited 800 years for you, so if you were Aro/Aego/Demi, nothing would change after the news.
"Alright..cutie can you help me name this? Still so hard to name my feelings after putting them on a canvas.."
"Wha— Rafayel! I just told you something important! Does that not change anything?" It almost sounded like you wanted a reaction, but you really just wanted him to explain his feelings.
He turned to face you and shook his head, brows furrowing. "Why would it? I love my cutie, and your way of romance doesn't change that. You'll always be mine, every version of you."
Sylus -
He wouldn't mind in the slightest. He'd try to "make up" for that lack of sexual intimacy in your relationship by spoiling you more with money. Literally he's sending you money everyday. You want a cat? Go ahead and buy one. You want a gaming console? Here's his card. You want a 20 million dollar house where bills could cost more than you'd spend on a car? He won't even look at the total. Not like he would normally, but just know, more frequently, any and everything you want is all yours.
"Sy, why did I get a call from my bank telling me someone transferred 75 million dollars into my account today?"
"Happy pride month, sweetie."
"It's September."
Caleb -
He sooooo knew. He just wanted you to say it first before anything was confirmed. He has been your friend for years, and he always catches onto things with you. Nothing changes with him and his reaction is pretty calm, aside from some theatrics. Your relationship stays the same!
He'd place his wrist against his forehead and pretend he was fainting, leaning against anything nearby, "My sweet pips just told me their sexuality like I hadn't already known. How devastated I am!"
"If you keep being dramatic, I'm going to draw you as a femboy."
"What."
Yeah so there was a conversation about your imagination instead..!
Valko -
Definitely the most chalant about it out of everyone. At first he takes it as a "You cant touch me anymore" before you guys get to "You can touch me". He was going through the stages of grief for DAYS thinking that he couldn't be intimate with you physically, especially considering that he loves being touchy with you. That was practically all he did, nuzzle, kiss and cuddle you everyday, but he was under the impression that you were taking that away from him and he didn't know what to do. It wasn't until day 4 of this nonsense when you caught him sulking in a corner by the TV that it had stopped.
"Koko, what's going on with you?" You were much more concerned than anything else, he looked sick.
"Can't touch you, pancake.." His voice was quiet.
"...Valko what are you talking about." It was more of a statement, and you saw the way he perked up when you called his "full name".
"You said that you're Aro..or something like that. And those kinds of people don't like to be touched, right?" The pout on his face made up for how dumb he sounded.
"Thats a common misconception." You rubbed your temple, sighing at the realization that this man was statving himself of you for four days. "You can touch me, big oaf." You barely took a step forward before he pounced on you, squeezing you like he had never felt your touch before.
More stuff - Gulps loudly! Hope I did you justice anon!
(Doing laundry & dishes with Xavier; Sylus picking you up after work and doing your skincare routine; grocery shopping with Caleb and cooking together; gardening with Rafayel; Zayne leaving sticky notes around his house for you when he's out, and carrying you to bed when you fall asleep on the couch.)
xavier, sylus, caleb, rafayel, zayne ♡ gn!reader
warnings: established relationship, not proofread, petnames ("sweetie" from sylus, "pips" from caleb), reader is mc but gender neutral, nonsexual intimacy (kissing, sleeping in the same bed)
notes: IM ON A GENERATIONAL WRITING RUN RN!!! Also sorry if there are tons of grammatical errors i wrote this maniacally with nothing but a keyboard and a dream
Doing laundry together, washing dishes—and it wouldn't be Xavier if there weren't a good nap thrown in the mix, of course!
"Xavier," you mumble, drowsy. "Xavier, I can't get up."
With his entire body splayed on top of yours, Xavier is, pun intended, out like a light. His mouth hangs slightly agape, the side of his face pressed against your collarbone.
"Xavier," you say again, trying to nudge him. "Xavier."
His eyes flutter open, half-lidded, as he stares at you with those soft-blue eyes of his, the glossiness of sleep layering his irises like glass. Through the panes, you can make out the tenderness of his pupils, dilating ever-so slightly, your figure carving a spot into its refracting light.
He closes his eyes again. You sigh.
"Xavier."
Nothing.
"Xavier."
Nothing.
"Jeremiah."
He's up.
Xavier's brows furrow, the ends of his lips curled downwards as he stares at you from above, eyes blown wide, arms encaging your figure beneath his, head tilted slightly to the side as he blinks once, twice, thrice.
"Why do you know that name?" he asks, bottom lip slowly jutting out the longer you take to respond.
"We met him at Philo."
"Do you know the names of all the men you meet?"
You laugh. Xavier's expression remains unmoved, his question entirely serious.
"That'd be impossible."
"... So, you've met a lot of other men."
"Yeah," you reply, "that's usually how it goes."
He slumps against your figure, relapsing, as his face digs into the curve of your neck and shoulder, head tilted to the side while trailing kisses around your skin, immovable when you laugh from the ticklish feeling.
"Xavier," you manage to say in between giggly breaths, "Xavier, I was joking."
From his spot, just a little below you, by the base of your neck, he looks up, head tilting, blinking owlishly in that feigned-ignorance-and-pathetic way of his.
"Were you?"
"Of course I was!"
He doesn't budge from his spot as your weighted blanket. Face returning to the crook of your shoulder once more, he just wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you even closer to him, limbs a messy tangle.
"Xavier,"—you prod him, but to no avail—"Xavier, we have to get up. Today is laundry day, remember?"
"Five more minutes," he mumbles, pressing you so close he might as well coalesce into you, "just five..."
He did not, in fact, take "just five minutes."
It was three hours.
But Xavier wastes no time when it comes to taking naps together—upon gathering all of your clothes, he's quick to suggest using the machine's washing time as an opportunity to get more sleep. You dismiss his idea, stating that you have dishes from last night's dinner to wash.
He gives you that look of his—soggy and all—before suggesting, again, to use the time after washing dishes, while the machine is working, to get some more sleep in. You agree. He beams.
Xavier's wardrobe has a running theme of pale colors. Sorting them is relatively easy, with most of his clothes in one pile, your occasional shirt sprinkled in, while the darker colors remain significantly smaller in number.
"What scent should we do this time?" Xavier asks, hand on his chin, surveying your detergent options with the meticulousness of a laundry master. You laugh, and tell him that they all smell good in the end. He nods, but he chooses the scent you've mentioned liking on mutliple occasions, knowing it's your favorite.
(Xavier also likes this scent—he's gotten multiple compliments for it, and once, while out shopping with you, an older woman noted how the two of you had the same fragrance to your clothes. Xavier nodded fervently at the observation, pleased.)
While the laundry is running, the two of you return to last night's dishes. After Xavier scrubs at the plates, you place them into the dishwasher, which, in reality, is just a glorified drying rack.
In between the clatter of glassware and the running of water is your voice, existing with Xavier for longer than it does in the air, your words excited as you recall an incident that happened recently at work.
When you smile, the rhythmic motion comes to a halt, and Xavier's attention parts from the plates to look at you, your figure etched into his pupils, tracing through to his soul, imprinted, fitting the silhouette from centuries ago.
"Is something wrong, Xavier?" you ask, noticing his gaze. He shakes his head.
He just blinks, once, twice, thrice; you really don't know, it seems. The light swept over your face, setting your skin ablaze, its brilliance irrevocable—How beautiful, is all he thinks. How beautiful and lovely and sublime.
(For a moment, he half-considered envying the light, its warmth kissing your skin so simply. Xavier has too many enemies, it seems. Lumiere, sunlight, Jeremiah...)
Later, your dryer sings its cycle completion with a jolly tune. While fetching your clothes, you notice a striking abundance of fluff stuffed throughout the creases of your clothes, your nose wrinkling with confusion as you furrow your brows.
"What's all this?" you mutter, piling all your things into the laundry basket, bundles of cotton falling forth from the dryer.
"Oh," Xavier remarks, hovering beside your shoulder, staring down at the mess. "Bunbun exploded."
"What?!"
Just as he predicted, Bunbun's remains fall from the dryer, its stitching undone as half of its cotton stuffing has been scattered throughout your clothes. Xavier reaches for its floppy face, stretching the malnourished plushie, satisfied.
"Well," you say, picking up the bits of fluff. "Let's feed it."
The two of you hunch over the laundry basket, sifting through your clothes to find each individual piece of fluff, stuffing it back into Bunbun. Now fully nourished, Bunbun stands proud (and round), its unstitched back held shut by Xavier's hand and a dream.
"I don't remember ever putting Bunbun in the laundry," you mutter, folding your clothes. "I thought its washing instructions said not to put it in the dryer..."
"Is that what it said?" Xavier remarks. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, noticing that his gaze is directed towards Bunbun's figure, menacing.
"Did you just try to sabatoge Bunbun, Xavier?"
He turns to you, blinking, his bottom lip jutted out slightly as he tilts his head.
"... No."
"You rejoiced when it exploded!"
"What if," he starts, the slightest hints of a smile tugging at the ends of his lips, his innocent expression shifting to reveal the hints of mischief, "what if I said it was a joke?"
"Are you still hung up on what I said this morning?" you reply, disbelieving.
His eyes don't meet yours.
Sylus picking you up after a long day of work, doing your skincare routine, removing your jewelry before going to sleep.
Rain is a cruel mistress; it seems that it only chooses to appear whenever you're working overtime.
Bracing yourself to weather the storm, you raise one measly hand up to cover the top of your head, the other shielding your bag under the fabric of your coat as you step outside the office, wincing slightly, a bright light reflecting the droplets of rain.
It's a car. A familiar one, at that. Squinting, you can make out the shape, its color, black, and a figure sitting in the driver's seat, the door swinging open, approaching you with such leisure, you half-wonder if it's only raining over you.
You look at Sylus, whose gaze has long-acquainted itself with yours. He tilts his head to the side, a smile—which more resembles a smirk—tugging at his lips, while he unravels the umbrella in his hand.
"You didn't think to use it for yourself?" you ask, the rain no longer meeting your skin, your figure now completely dry whilst Sylus's pearly hair drips with rainwater.
"Not at all," he replies, bemused.
"How'd you know I just finished my work?" you then query, Sylus's free hand reaching to open the passenger door, his head lowering slightly as he leans over your figure, putting your seatbelt on, rain still pelting at his skin and clothes.
"And if I told you it was my intuition?" he says, leaving no room for your response as he closes your door, finding his spot in the driver's seat soon after.
"I wouldn't believe it," you remark.
"Then, you can assume it was something else."
You deadpan. "Isn't that how it works?"
He spares you a smile, one hand on the top of the steering wheel, index finger tapping at the material while eyeing you from across the distance of a center console, its actuality minimal despite the way it feels as though a universe separates you from him.
Amidst the rain, the aux plays a slow, melodic tune.
"Well, it was intuition," he says, other hand reaching at your thigh, thumbing at your skin, his palm warm. "And, in part, a little birdie."
"And my location," you add.
"And your location," he reaffirms, smiling still, its shape less like a smirk and more akin to the look only a man so devotedly in love could ever wear, his eyes crinkling slightly, his expression content, malleable under your gaze.
The two of you return to the N109 Zone, the rain stopping at the edges of the city.
Sylus leaves the car first, circling it to open your door, hand outstretched as he takes your bag.
"I have to do it all over again tomorrow," you mumble, referring to your work, "this endless cycle of abuse..."
Sylus chuckles, free hand reaching for yours, fingers entwined, curling slightly as he squeezes your hand.
"How about you work for me? Luke and Kieran could use a court jester."
"Me?! A court jester?"
He laughs again, thumb now smoothing over the back of your hand, so familiar with its shape.
"Perhaps another role can be negotiated."
"It'd be better if there were no role at all!"
After eating dinner, you half-consider just retiring to bed without removing your sunscreen or jewelry—but Sylus, reading your mind, rests his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the bathroom without consideration for protest.
"I'm so tired," you say, voice already marred with the beginnings of sleep, your eyes struggling to stay awake. "Let me sleep while greasy..."
"No can do, sweetie," Sylus replies, sitting you down in front of the mirror, washing his hands with soap before removing your sunscreen with some toning pads. "Just bear it for a little, then you can sleep all you want."
His words are succeeded by a quick kiss to your temple.
You've taught him that products should be applied, and removed, to or from the face via circular motions. Sylus, the ever-excellent student, applies what he's learned meticulously, toning pads featherlight against your skin.
The hilt of a gun is so familiar to his callused hands, and the stains of blood which he's grown so used to washing off—but, even better than a comfortable weapon, or the curl of a fist cushioned within a boxing glove, is the feeling of your face within the palm of his hands, the residue of sunscreen staining his fingers, the ease of your brows as he washes away your long-winded day.
Then, his hand reaches for the back of your neck, unclasping your necklace with ease. Another kiss. He leans forward, removing the locks of your earrings, taking the hook gently through the piercing, tucking it neatly into your vanity's—which occupies nearly half of his bathroom—compartment
A third kiss to your well-loved face. He must sneak these in before he applies your skincare, as you've completely banned him from touching your face once your it's on.
"Wash your hands before each step," you mumble, words slurring together as your head lulls forward slightly. Though you can't see it, Sylus's expression shifts to reveal fondness, irrevocable, with the melting of his vermilion eyes, pupils smoldering, heart ablaze.
Leaning forward once more, Sylus presses yet another kiss onto the bone of your cheek.
"My, so demanding."
More words leave your mouth, all incoherent and jumbled, your eyes fluttering shut midsentence. Sylus, quite the opportunist, takes this moment to seal your lips with his, unable to contain the smile which sweeps over his face, its shape attributed to the gentleness of his touch, the softness of the kiss as he settles the skincare score here.
"Anything else?" he asks, beginning the first step of your skincare (not without washing his hands first, of course!), rubbing the product in circular motions. You don't say anything; Sylus continues forward, ever-the-excellent student.
And, when all is done, your head leans against his chest, your breaths slowing as you succumb to slumber. Ever-the-excellent student, Sylus picks you up, hands supporting your legs and back, carrying you to the bed with the stillness of a statue with a mission: not to wake you up.
Grocery shopping with Caleb, taste testing meals, eating together.
"Really?" Caleb asks, disbelieving tone not matching the smile which tugs at his lips. "More instant ramen, Pips?"
Without a morsel of hesitation, you toss the nuclear-4x-spicy-volcano-eruption package into the cart, pleased with yourself as Caleb continues forward, his exasperation half-committed.
"Your stomach's going to hurt if you eat this alone," he remarks, hand outstretched to ruffle your head, the other resting on the shopping cart's handle as to keep it on course. "Get something cool while we're here."
"That's impossible," you reply, marching forward. "I'm invincible!"
While you disappear into the snack aisle, Caleb makes a stop by the freezer section, grabbing you a bundle of ice cream, the flavors your favorite.
You'll thank me later, is all he thinks. Or maybe not. Actually, probably not. You'll chalk the ice cream's presence up to pure luck, downing it after suffering from spice without a single thought as to where it comes from. That's fine too. What matters is that you don't get hurt.
Per your request, Caleb drafted a list of ingredients to buy in order to make your favorite dish—yet, despite not being a necessary component, he finds himself crossing off the words "ice cream" and "instant noodles" from his notes, pocketing his phone soon thereafter.
Watching you sift through the various snacks, Caleb prepares himself to cross off "soda," too. It's routine to him: the order of which you go through the aisles, the items your gaze lingers on versus which ones you haphazardly sweep over, the way you compare your favorite flavors, brows furrowed, lips pursed as you rack your brain.
"They both look good," you mutter, comparing a strawberry soda to a grape one. "I don't know which to choose, though..."
Noticing the way your gaze adorns the pinkish packaging, Caleb thinks today is a strawberry day.
"I guess I'll have to go with strawberry, then!" you exclaim, shelving grape.
"And these," you start, now holding two different bags of chips. "This is a really difficult one..."
Noticing the way your bottom lip presses against your upper one, the way your nose wrinkles from thought, the way your eyes narrow, reading the packaging of both your options—Caleb thinks there really is no need to choose only one.
"Let's get both, then," he suggests, taking both bags from your hands. "Why choose?"
Your expression brightens instantly. "You're a genius, Caleb!"
He laughs. You continue forward, and, with the shopping cart separating your figure from his, Caleb stares. The slight hop to your steps, the way your head tilts whenever you notice cute packaging, the occasional glance over your shoulder, eyes crinkling when you call his name, pointing at some collaboration between your favorite characters and a candy brand.
Your very existence reduces his heart to a trembling thing, twisting his ribs, curling them inwards—and to think you don't even realize that you hold it within your hands.
All your favorite snacks—as well as the ingredients to your favorite dish—secured, the two of you return to Caleb's home, his arms filled with bags while you drink your soda, satisfied.
"Strawberry was the right pick!" you exclaim, holding the drink up to Caleb's lips, tilting it for him to drink. Sugar on his tongue, he hums, watching you race ahead to the door, unlocking it with your key.
The sweetness travels from his mouth to his eyes, circulating throughout his limbs, melting into his chest, your figure submerged within sunset irises, carving out his pupils, vested safely within the chambers of his heart, satiated.
While Caleb toils away at the meal, you offer him moral support in the form of handing him utensils, arm brushing against his as you observe the status of your dish, boiling in the pot.
He puts a spoon up to your lips, head tilting slightly as he asks, "Taste test?"
"It's good!" you say, giving him a thumbs-up for added effect. Caleb just grins, spoon now placed back in the pot, palm pressed against the counter as he leans in, eyes trailing from your eyes to your lips.
"Taste test?" he asks, again, grinning still, eyes fluttering shut when you press your lips against his.
"Also good," you reply, his hand parting from the counter to cup the side of your face, sunset eyes meeting yours.
"One more?"
You laugh. "I'll allow it."
"Thanks for your kindness," he says. Another kiss. The pot bubbles, and Caleb, though reluctant, turns his attention towards it, stirring it slowly.
Caleb examines the quality of his cooking through the expressions which enrapture your face, the way you nod approvingly upon the first bite, the way you save all of the best parts for last. Caleb examines the quality of his cooking through the dishes you leave, how clean the plates are, which sides you ask for more of.
"So?" he says, face leaning against the palm of his hand, his food growing cold while he watches you eat, the sight alone is enough to quell the rumble of his stomach. "What d'ya think, Pips?"
"You outdid yourself this time!" you exclaim in between bites. Caleb, though flattered, hands you a napkin, brows furrowed slightly as he's reminded of a time from your childhood when you choked on your food midsentence.
His lips part to remind you of that time—and to warn you not to eat so quickly—but the glimmer of your eyes, and the way you shift happily in your seat, stomps out all ideas of saying anything at all.
"Aren't you going to eat?" you ask, eyeing his side dish. He slides it over to you, feigning exasperation, reaching over to flick your forehead.
"How greedy," Caleb responds, laughing.
(But your existence drowns in his eyes, and your figure melts into his bones, and the squeeze of your hands are what allow his heart to contract, and oh, your smile, it crinkles your irises, and it scrunches your nose, just a little, and the expression exists with him for longer than it does on your face—and he wants more, and he wants you, and to covet you is the greediest thing any man could ever do.)
"I'm just helping you out," you say while scarfing down your food, "'cause, you know, this isn't thaaat good..."
Caleb laughs again. The clink of dishware, the sound of voices, the existence of two, melding together, pores sinking into pores, love melting into bones—This is it, Caleb thinks.
Everything; right here.
Gardening with Rafayel, pulling out weeds, taking a nap under a tree.
"I'm going to wage war on the weeds," Rafayel declares, sitting flat on the floor, clothes stained with dirt. "They're going to regret natural selection, the fact they evolved, the ancestors they came from, the—"
"Land versus sea," you remark, holding up two weeds, their roots entangled with clumps of dirt. "I think land would win."
"Excuse me?!"
"It's only been an hour," you say, ignoring his look of utter betrayal and disbelief. "Why are you sweating so much?"
"An hour!" Rafayel repeats, arm raised to his forehead, falling back into the dirt with a harsh thud! as his chest heaves dramatically, damn near gasping for air as his free hand reaches for his chest, palming at the skin above his chest's cavity.
"A whole hour! Oh, the agony! I might shrivel up and die at this rate!" Then, he sits up, pointing at you accusingly. "Is that what you want? Huh, huh?!"
"Just go inside," you say, dismissing him with the flick of your hand. "I'll do it myself."
Rafayel gasps, brows furrowed, bridge of his nose wrinkling while his lips part, hanging agape, head darting to and fro as if to say, "Are you hearing this right now?!" But there's nobody around to share his disbelief. So, Rafayel does what he does best: he feigns nonchalance.
"Fine then!" he responds, standing up, dusting the dirt off his clothes before crossing his arms. "You can fight these weeds yourself. Don't come crying to me when they win!"
He walks away, making no effort to hide the glances he spares in your direction, wondering if you're going to grovel for him to come back (if you did, he'd half-consider continuing to toil away at these weeds with you)—but you don't, because you're heartless (how ironic!) and cruel. And sick in the head. And you really, really don't have an eye for the things that really matter in this world (read: him! He's the thing that matters! Over here! Him!)
Ten steps and twenty glances later, Rafayel realizes that you really aren't looking back. Fine. Whatever. Not like he cares, anyway!
And so, Rafayel returns to his air-conditioned studio, bottom lip jutted out as he sits down at his couch, feeling ill from how sweaty he is, the ache of weed-pulling beginning to sweep through his arms. Leaning back, he stares up at the ceiling, sulking.
He turns to look at you again, your figure now separated from his by a thin layer of glass, hunched over as you continue pulling away at those vile plants.
There you go again, he thinks. Uncaring, unabashed, unafraid. You do things without much regard for anyone else; Rafayel hates that about you. He hates that he can't seem to leave you alone, he hates that his gaze seems to root itself in your existence, unable to be torn away, unable to stare at anything else other than the slight part of your lips as you dig into the dirt, your brows furrowed, arm raised to wipe at your sweat.
You look tired.
A couple minutes later, Rafayel returns to your side with a hat, dropping it clumsily onto your head while he hands you a drink. Crouching down, he meets your gaze with the haughty tilt of his head, pouting, while he drinks in your expression with the insatiability of a couple centuries.
"Are you really going to spend the whole day doing this?" he asks, thumbing at a bead of sweat which trickles down the side of your face, eyes trickling—for the most minute of seconds—to your lips as you drink. His gaze meets yours again.
"Yeah," you reply. "We have to get your garden in order before spring arrives."
He huffs. "What's so good about a garden?"
"Didn't you ask me to help you plant things?"
Rafayel invited you over to his place with the attention of gardening for twenty minutes, and lounging for the rest of the day. He did not intend for you to work away at these damned weeds as if your life depended on it.
Still, it doesn't look like you have the wherewithal to even fathom the enormity of his thoughts—considering, well, you have no memory of anything at all!—so, with a defeated look, Rafayel tugs you away from the weeds, ushering you under a tree where he's so coincidentally set up a blanket.
"Sleep," he mutters, fingers brushing over your eyes, the coolness of his touch contrasting the warmth of your skin. "You're always causing trouble for me, you know?"
You snort. "Me? Have you seen yourself?"
Though you can't see his face, you can make out the offense in his voice, as if he's shocked by your audacity. Before he can even respond, Rafayel notices the shift in your breathing, the relax of your muscles, brows easing over as you drift into sleep.
"Ugh," he mutters, sitting back, staring at your comfortable form as you've come over to his house, freeloaded off of his kindness, and now are sleeping, despite being the guest! There's really something wrong with your standards!
"You're lucky, you know," he says, voice barely above a whisper, wiping away at the sweat which forms across your skin. "Using me like this."
After a couple hours, you wake up, your head propped up against Rafayel's lap as he sketches in a handheld book, his expression incredulous as you turn towards the garden, mouth hanging agape once you realize it was completely weeded.
"What?!" you exclaim. "Where'd all the weeds go?"
Rafayel scoffs. "They all just decided to get up and leave once you fell asleep."
You turn towards him, his hand parting from the sketchbook to thumb at your face, pinching your cheek.
"Is that what you thought I'd say? No! I did everything! While you slept, I was out there, working like a dog, day and night, living off of—"
You laugh. Rafayel's words falter before his complaint can continue on, eyes growing wide as you grin, returning his gesture by cupping his face in between your hands, adoring.
"Thanks, Raf."
He looks away, lips jutted out, brows furrowing. "Hmph. Is that all?"
"I love you."
His gaze returns to you, eyes blown wide, mouth hanging slightly agape as he stares at you, figure drowned in his pupils, expression ablaze as if he had just witnessed the sublime.
"Ugh... Do you think words are enough? Am I an easy fish to you!?"
"I love you and appreciate you very much," you say.
"Blub blub blub."
You lean forward, the shadow of the tree reaching everywhere but your lips. When you part, Rafayel hums, chasing after you again, hand pressed against the back of your head as he presses you towards him.
"I don't work for free, you know!"
Expecting your arrival, Zayne leaves sticky notes around his house for you when he works late shifts, carrying you from the couch to his bed when he does return home.
There are times where you're forced to acquaint yourself with the silence.
Zayne's home feels larger than life when he's not here—locking the door behind you, entering the place with your bags—but, there are hints of his presence everywhere, warmth seeping in through the crevices, the cold beginning to shy away.
As if expecting your arrival (despite you not telling him you'd go to his place after work), there are sticky notes around the walls, on the fridge, on the countertops.
His handwriting, while quick and oftentimes merged, reveals hints of love, etched into the way he writes your name, clearer than other words—or the way he rewrites parts he thinks may be illegible, ensuring he's conveyed everything he needs to.
"Heat up the container with the red lid," the sticky note on the refrigerator door says. "It's your favorite soup. Side dishes are the containers on the top."
On the countertop: "Don't stay up too late. Don't wait for me to come home. Sleep first."
On the television remote: "Take breaks while watching. Don't stare at the screen for too long. Get up and look around."
On the cabinets filled with sweets: "Don't eat them all." You half-wonder if it's because he's planning to go through them all in your stead.
And, on the door to his room, its hinge parting to reveal his bed, neatly made: "Sleep here. Don't sleep on the couch."
When you reach for the container, pulling the side dishes away, there's another sticky note on the lid. The writing, smaller than the rest, clearer and more carefully enscribed, reads, "I love you. I'll be home soon. Eat well."
You pocket this sticky note, smiling uncontrollably, running your fingers over the words as you can feel the indent of the pen, the pressure of his adoration, the tenderness of his words, etched hours ago. Warm, you eat the food he prepared for you, sitting at the couch with a show put on the television, wrapped up in a spare blanket.
Despite Zayne telling you not to wait for him, you find yourself lingering on the couch for much longer than intended, gaze staring at the screen, dazed, as you peer at your phone, noticing the time. Midnight, you think, unable to bite back a yawn, your eyes glossy.
You don't know when you fell asleep after that.
Zayne arrives home, bag in hand, his scrubs folded neatly within as he changes into his slippers at the door, noticing an extra pair in the rack.
You're home, he thinks. The realization makes his heart stutter a little, organ swelling, feeling fuller and wholler and brighter. The buzz of the television resounds throughout the home, accompanied by the scent of food, your presence existing everywhere—in his home, in his chest, in his mind, lingering. He steps forward, noticing your figure on the couch, wrapped up in front of the bright light. He sighs.
"I thought I told you not to sleep here..." he mutters, approaching you from a distance, noticing your eyes, fluttered shut, mouth hanging slightly agape as you sleep without a single care in the world.
Zayne showers quickly, not wanting to keep you there for much longer, but not wanting to touch you before having cleaned himself from today's shift. Afterwards, he's quick to find your figure, lifting you up, still encased in the blanket as he brings you to his room, laying you down in his bed, replacing the spare with his own comforter.
"Zayne...?" you mumble, wiping at your eyes. Zayne's hand raises to your wrist, stopping the movement, lips parting to lecture you about how it's bad for your eyes—but then he catches a glimpse of your expression under the light, hazy, marred with sleep, yet adoration seeping through your gaze, and suddenly, he can't bring himself to say anything at all. He swallows thickly.
You've made such a lover of him, your existence pervading throughout his own, his lips unable to utter any word that is not your name.
"I didn't mean to wake you," he says, quiet. "Sleep."
You lean towards him, burying your face in the fabric of his shirt, breathing in, warmth coalescing. Zayne rubs circles into your back, fingers tracing over the skin, feeling the tenseness of your muscles which he'll address later. For now, all that matters if that he's home, that you're here, and that, most wonderfully, the two of you are together.
he adores cuddling while cockwarming with you #bringbackvalko
he actually disapproves of having it any other way.
he'll have you laying on your tummy with your face nuzzled into the pillow, the man is still rock hard and twitching, still leaking.
the thick buldge has you seeing stars yet he's incapable of granting you his mercy.
he's utterly mesmerized by your warmth and captivating capability to take his overwhelming size with no trouble. your elegance never fails to enslave his mind entirely. this is the reason he simply just can't bring himself to be outside of you. not yet. not now.
his calloused hands gently and ever so slowly caress your lower body, grunting in response to your gorgeous soft whimpers. you then feel his sweaty and strong arms suddenly around you, loosely locking you in place beneath him. he's clinging to you, tenderly holding you like you're the only thing able to ground him in reality.
he lazily starts to fuck into your squelching pussy to adjust himself comfortably between your gummy walls, then halts once again.
he cherishes getting to honor you, getting to lovingly snuggle with you after coming down from your exciting high. he stays in position, rubbing you and leaving sloppy smooches on your right shoulder and the side of your neck.
he won't admit it out loud but...
it's his favorite part of intimacy.
valko, xavier, choso, chris redfield, carlos oliveira
Tags: NSFW, xavier loves your freak (he matches it), oral (male receiving), mentions of sexual overstimulation and edging, pouty!xavier, slight cum play, restraints (handcuffs on xavier), use of safe word (for slowing down), xavier whimpers.
Notes: So I got a taste of Sylus' yogurt milk and I liked it but I immediately thought of blowing Xavier??? Enjoy, xavier fuckers <33
Xavier is finding out more about himself lately, and all of those new findings were linked to you. He never knew he could regard bread with such disdain before, or your baker neighbor who shall not be named.
And of course, the newly arising jealousy he felt for his alternate vigilante persona, Lumiere, who is currently staring right back at him when he opened your fridge.
The sound of a ‘slam!’ summoned you to the kitchen, worried for Xavier since you're the one who sent him to the kitchen in the first place for something to snack on.
“Xavie! What's wrong?” You asked while already searching for anything that might have caused such grievance to your partner.
“Why is he in our fridge?” Now you're immediately alarmed, because your mind already thought of a possibility that there's a man in your fridge. You don't even know which is worse, that the man would still be alive or dead.
You really should’ve paid attention to the numerous true crime documentaries you watched with Xavier so you could prepare better in this (possibly horrifying) situation.
“...there's a man in the fridge?” You inch closer to Xavier, looking at the fridge warily. “Is he dead or alive?” You already dread the answer.
“You know him very well.” Xavier gritted out, scowling slightly but it came out to be more like a pout in your eyes.
“Oh.” You deadpan, finally getting his hint.
You sigh and move to open the fridge, letting go of your wariness once you find out the source of your partner’s distress.
“Did you really have me worried about you because of this?” The emphasis being an innocent yogurt milk in a limited edition carton box where Lumiere was featured with a bunch of animated strawberries.
Xavier only crossed his arms and the edges of his frown tugged deeper down his face. “Why do you even have that?”
“I like the way it tastes. Plus, it was a gift from Tara.” You can't help but poke on his slightly puffed up cheeks, finding it adorable.
“I bet…I would taste better.” Xavier muttered while leaning down to nuzzle his head on your shoulders.
But you know him better, so you placed the yogurt milk down the nearby counter before his hands could sneakily grab it from your hands and throw it in the trash can.
“Oh, really?” You pat his head with your now free hand.
“Yes, really.” Oh how you want to make him regret those words.
---
Xavier’s hands struggle against the EVOL nullifying cuffs chained to the headboard as his hips jerk violently against your hold.
“Xavie, baby, how can I compare your taste with the yogurt if you keep sliding out of my mouth?” You chastised him, frowning at the mess stringing out from his achingly red and swelled out cock.
You wipe the cum dribbling from your chin and stare longingly at the ones that spilled on the sheets.
Xavier would glare at you if he could, but his head was dizzy from the spontaneous edging and overstimulation he received from you in the past three hours.
He could only focus again when you tapped his cheek gently. “Color?”
Xavier felt the embarrassment swell up in his chest because he couldn't believe that this would be the first time he’s contemplating on the word yellow. Over a damn yogurt milk drink nonetheless. However, he knew better than to lie since he also doesn't want you to lie when it comes to intimately sensitive stuff like this.
“...ellow.” He catches his breath and repeats the color. “Yellow.”
You immediately let go of your hold on his hip, and reach for the dry towels on the bedside drawer.
You pat the towel gently on his face, wiping away the sweat down to his chest.
Tossing the now damp towel away, you reach for the water bottle and tilt it to Xavier’s awaiting mouth.
When he starts to breathe more evenly, you ask him for a color again.
“Green.”
You give him a soft kiss on the lips and continue where you left off earlier.
You trace your hands down from his neck to the part where he needs you the most. Even after the much needed break, Xavier’s cock remains standing and pleading for attention, so you give it yours.
Starting with a kiss on the crown, your lips danced against the sensitive length before suckling on a raised vein.
“Starlight—!!” The sound of the handcuffs rattling against the headboard was your only warning before Xavier unexpectedly erupts in shaking breaths and trembling thighs.
“This spot, huh?” You murmured against his skin before laying your tongue flat against the vein and suckling on it once more.
Xavier did not speak again but the tell tales of his nearing release was obvious so you continued with your ministrations.
Your first hand pats three times on his inner thigh to remind him that you're still listening if he wants an out, while the second one moves down and gently brushes your thumb against his balls.
When his abused cock started to twitch in short intervals, your lips immediately slid upward and sealed around the tip. You encourage Xavier with a few pumps before his cum bursts in your mouth.
You moaned at the taste, immediately swallowing the first wave so you can still suck on his twitching cock without the cum blocking your throat.
“Starligh–! Baby!! Fuckkk…” Xavier whimpers.
Whimpers.
The star hunter of the Hunter's Association’s Unicorn Team! Whimpers! For you!
Even that is news to you. That fact makes you eager to hear more from Xavie’s kiss-bitten lips.
You started whimpering back, intent on sucking his cock dry in gratitude for the sounds he’s currently blessing your ears with.
Xavier jolts hard from the extra sensation you provided along with the sound, his hips can't decide whether to grind more against the welcoming embrace of your mouth or pull away from the overwhelming heat of it.
Your jaw starts to slack but you can't help but notice that Xavier still remains hard as a rock in your mouth. Alas, a stiff jaw terrifies you at the moment so you finally released his cock from your mouth in great disappointment.
The two of you pant heavily for air, and eventually, both of your gazes meet.
You wink at him playfully while Xavier looks at you in utter fondness.
“Come closer, starlight,” You oblige his request and your lips converge with his in a heated exchange of saliva, air, and copious amounts of bodily fluids you both don't care to name at this point.
Several glinting strings got caught in the ambient glow of the night light and tied your lips with his own after the exchange.
“So what’s the verdict, partner? That I taste better after all?” Xavier’s half-lidded stare makes you want to do things that throw your dignity and shame out the window.
You chuckle, glancing at his now free hands and the bent handcuffs hanging from the headboard. “I’m afraid I need another round of tasting to form a conclusion, partner.”
“Oh, really?” Xavier blinks innocently but his mouth tugs in a cunning, well-contained smirk. His arms now slowly snake around your waist.
“Yes, really.” You answered, not one to back down. So, you rest your arms on his shoulders and interlocked your fingers behind his head to urge him closer.
And the both of you would go for another few rounds if not for the loud banging on the door.
“Please tone it down or I’ll issue a noise complaint!” The voice was muffled by your door but it was unmistakably from your neighbor…specifically, a baker that needs to tend to his shop in the early morning.
