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.
5 oddly specific things that Xavier gets jealous of
xavier ♡ gn!reader
warnings: established relationship, nonsexual physical intimacy
notes: PATHETIC BOYFAILURE I LVOE YOU XAVIER
1. When you're huddled under your blanket, covers up to your chin.
With your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth hanging slightly agape, your limbs splayed all about the mattress—Xavier thinks you to be the most wondrous creature in the world.
He stares, soft-blue eyes drinking in your existence like some dehydrated man—perhaps he's not too far removed from such a title, though, because then, his gaze trickles towards the blanket, its fabric your favorite color.
It drowns your figure completely, reaching the bottom of your chin as you snooze contentedly, fingers curled around the edges of the fabric.
Xavier damn near clenches his fists.
Approaching your bed, he finds familiarity in the action—all his favorite things in the world, right here: you, the prospect of a nice nap, you again... did he mention you, already?—and, as a seasoned veteran, he crawls onto your mattress like some soggy thing, lips curled into the slightest of pouts.
He eyes your blanket again. It looks back at him, audaciously, rubbing salt in his ever-growing wound because you look so wonderfully cozy and content while he is not. He is the furthest thing from content, actually.
And so, Xavier being Xavier, he slowly peels the blanket off of his figure, gaze meeting yours when you slowly blink awake, groggy.
"Xavier?" you call, with that wondrous voice of yours. He lowers his head slightly, nose digging into your neck, smiling against the skin as he feels you lean towards his touch.
"Sorry," he whispers. "I just wanted to nap with you."
He fails to mention how your blanket, ever so coincidentally, falls off (reads: is banished) from your bed. Dazed, you pat around the cushion, trying to feel where it went. He replaces its absence with his own body, splaying over you, limbs tangling with yours.
"Xavier?" you call again. "Xavier? Where's my blanket?"
With his head buried into the side of your neck, you can feel the outline of a frown against the dip of your shoulder, voice muffled as he replies, "Right here."
2. The Galaxy Kid plushie that he won for you at the claw machine. Most devastatingly, when you sit it up against the couch, and it faces the movie screen.
"Wait!" you exclaim, sitting up. "I forgot something!"
Xavier likes watching movies with you. Well, it's not really like he watches them, anyway—he stares at your departing form as you rush towards your room, scrambling haphazardly for something—it's more like you're watching the movie, and he watches you watch the movie.
Either way, Xavier likes watching you watch a movie, so everything works out in the end.
That is, until you emerge from your room with some wretched thing.
"He can watch with us!" you say, holding up the alien plushie he had won for you at Twinkle Toys. Before Xavier can utter his thoughts (that being: No, he cannot), you sit Galaxy Kid down by your side, arm brushing against his as you gently pat its glassy head.
Xavier stares at Galaxy Kid as if it were the most disgusting thing in the world. When you turn to look at him, however, his expression switches completely—he glances up at you from through his lashes, lips curled downwards, head tilting to the side as he blinks once, twice, thrice, before saying, "Does he have to?"
You laugh. "Xavier, are you jealous of a plushie?"
He just turns away.
"You won this for me!" you say, holding up Galaxy Kid towards him, your hands cradling its bulbous glass helmet. He frowns. Is one alien not enough?
(Xavier mentally prepares himself to fight the whole universe if it means he can be your only alien.)
"I did..." he mutters, staring at the ground, bottom lip jutted out, before his gaze returns to you.
You set Galaxy Kid down, your hands reaching up to pinch at his cheeks. Xavier assumes victory over the pathetic thing.
Galaxy Kid, now sideways on the couch, says nothing in response. That's right, Xavier thinks, giving it a side-eye, know your place.
3. Some random kid that you started pushing on the swings.
Xavier thinks you to be the most wondrous creature in the world.
Much to his chagrin, it seems that other people share the same sentiment.
"Yay!" some kid exclaims, screaming joyously as you push it on the swings, its grubby little legs flailing frantically. "Higher! Higher!"
Not only is it greedy (for hogging all of your attention), it is also audacious (for making demands—and also, hogging all of your attention).
Xavier, arms crossed, just watches you have a splendid time with this random kid. Where are its parents? How very negligent. As a victim of negligence himself, Xavier can't help but resonate with the kid.
Or maybe not. This kid isn't being neglected at all! It has you pushing it so joyously on the swings! What a cruel world this is.
Having enough of this fate, Xavier sits down on the swing right next to the kid, legs pushing off the ground just enough for the set to let out a pitiful creaaak... while not providing enough momentum for him to actually go anywhere.
Creaaak... He looks over his shoulder, both of his hands clasped around each of the swing's chains, bottom lip jutted out as he blinks at you, eyes wide and pitiful.
You stare at him, the excited screams of the kid starkly contrasting the pathetic expression which sweeps over his face like a stroke of light.
"Xavier?"
He stares at you expectantly.
"Xavier, what's wrong?"
"Can you push me?"
"Do you really need my help?
Immediately, he responds, "Yes."
Creaaak...
You sigh. While being pushed by you, Xavier makes the effort to glare at the kid at the height of momentum, eyes narrowed slightly.
"Haha!" the kid exclaims, blowing a raspberry at him. "I'm going higher than you!"
A flash of light erupts from out of nowhere, and all of a sudden, Xavier's height reaches the pinnacle—a record for this particular swingset.
"What...?!" the kid yells. "How's that possible?"
Xavier doesn't say anything. When you miss the last push, however, he does.
"Please push me," he repeats, staring at you from over his shoulder.
"Are you really fighting with a kid?"
No comment.
4. When you talk to your plants—especially when you tell them about your day.
After you learned that talking to plants could help stimulate their growth, Xavier's entire world fell apart.
("I want them to grow up!" you exclaimed, face enraptured with a smile, irrevocable. "Big and strong!"
("Grow?" he had echoed, staring at your plants from the corner of his eyes. Those greedy things. First, they made you water them; next, they took space in your apartment; then, they spread lies and misinformation, convincing you to talk to them?
(Just how many more demands must those weeds make?)
"And so, Tara was like so mad, because all of the tickets for the concert she had been waiting for were out just like that, and—"
A shift in the shadows; a rustle of the leaves; you turn your head, and, amidst all the vases of your flowers and plants, stands Xavier. He makes no effort to swat a leaf out of his face, and he stares at you from behind a sea of green.
"Xavier? What're you doing here?"
From behind the leaf, his eyes meet yours, blinking. "Can I not be here?"
"I mean, what're you doing with my plants?"
"Listening to your day."
"I already told you about my day, though."
"I am listening again."
"Why?"
"... I also need to grow. Big and strong."
"Xavier, you're a grown man."
"I might wilt."
"You? Wilt?"
He shrinks into the plants, head hanging low, only looking up to spare you that pathetic glance of his as he pouts.
"I'm wilting," he says, quiet. "Please tell me about your day."
A couple days later, Philo receives a visitor.
"Welcome! Oh, it's just you," Jeremiah says.
Xavier ignores that last part. He approaches the counter, with Jeremiah's sitting figure behind it, the florist's hands occupied with a newspaper.
"Does talking to plants help stimulate growth?" Xavier asks, fingers curling around the edge of the table.
Jeremiah doesn't look up. "Yeah."
Xavier frowns.
"So, the plants weren't spreading lies and misinformation at all..."
"How could plants spread lies and misinformation?" Jeremiah asks, still not looking up from the paper.
Xavier ignores him. He turns around and leaves the shop without a single word, the only thing left of his arrival being the bell which rings overhead, the doorway closing and leaving Philo empty.
5. Your phone.
Yes. Xavier gets jealous of your phone.
You're always holding it, and you're always looking at it, and you're always searching for it, and—Xavier slumps against your back, arms wrapped around your waist, hunched as he presses his face into your back—you're always with it.
"Xavier?" you say, one hand parting from your phone to trace over his hand. "Are you okay?"
"No," he replies, voice muffled by your clothes, arms squeezing you slightly.
"What happened?"
Before he can reply, a cough escapes your lips, and Xavier jolts up, his face parting from your back, hands raised to hold onto your shoulders as he leans forward, catching a glimpse of your side profile.
"It's because of that phone," he deducts. "You're gravely ill."
"What?"
"Come on," he says, tugging you towards your room. "Let's nap."
"How do any of those things correla—"
He picks you up, hands hooked under the back of your knees, while the other supports your back, before teleporting towards the room (ignoring how the two of you were only a couple steps away).
Delicately, he lays you down on the mattress, and he lifts the blanket to tuck both you and him underneath, his arm over your waist as he stares at you meticulously, again and again.
The blue light of your phone radiates onto your face. Xavier frowns, brows furrowing. His light is much warmer. He leans towards your face, nose nearly touching yours, his head shoving your phone out of the way.
"I think I'm sick," he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut once you dig your fingers into his scalp, threading through his pearly hair. The phone, now discarded somewhere onto the bed, is flung away by Xavier's stray hand, the contact entirely coincidental.
"Is that so?" you remark. "What a shame. I was going to kiss you just now."
His eyes jolt awake, wide.
"I'm not sick anymore."
You laugh. "What perfect timing!"
Xavier leans forward, lips capturing yours. He smiles into the kiss.
Description: You walk in on all the LIs naked by accident / pre-dating. (Here's Pt. 1 where they walk in on you!)
WC: 1k
Y'ALL WHY DID THE FIRST PART DO SO WELL SO QUICK I'M CRYING LAUGHING PLS 😭 Made this because of the lovely @vx3l1's suggestion! Thank you!!! 🫶 Enjoy, lol!
- Blueberry જ⁀➴ ৻ꪆ (Masterlist)
Xavier This is hilarious to me because I feel like it’d happen in dead silence. Similar to Sy (I wrote this out of order ok ok) he’s also very unashamed of his body. You’d walk in and he’d turn around just casual asf like, “Hm?” You’d look at his dick, back at him, his dick, back at him again, and just “I—” but turn on your heel and leave LMAO. He’d honestly just shrug and get back to changing. After a second he’d be like, “WAIT. Oh god…did that make me look like an asshole?” Two seconds later with a subtle brow raise, “Hm…did she like what she saw?” Meanwhile you’re just like FUCK ME he has a cute ass and a nice dick??? Someone kill me. LOL. Xavier’s MC is pretty chill to me but this is progressively making you lose your chill over time!!! He’d be fighting a smile each time you look over at him rapidly blinking at work the next few days.
Rafayel OKAY hilarious I feel like he’d shout overly dramatically, “Ah!!!” Cover immediately, but then be like...wait? I’m...h o t. I want her to see my dick mhm mhm and just instantly uncover. “Rafayel!” “What’s the matter, cutie?” “Y-you! Why are you naked!?” “Why’d you walk in on me naked, hm?” “I didn’t know you were naked!!!” “Well, what do you think?” “OH MY GOD!” then you leave immediately, face HOT. LOL. He’d tease you ENDLESSLY about it my god. It’d be painful. “I saw you blushing, cutie.” “I did NOT.” “You definitely did.” LIKE REEEE he won’t let it go, secretly trying to orchestrate another “accident” so this happens again LMAO. He’d be evil just standing too close the next few days to watch you SQUIRM.
Zayne ALOOF, Mr. Calm Cool & Collected would be relatively nonchalant about it and overall very comfortable with his body. “Zayne—Oh my god—” He’d give you such a deadpan look while you just stare at his dick LMAO. He’d sigh and obviously pinch the bridge of his nose LOL. When you UH stare too long he’d slowly cover himself with a flat hand, “This is hardly appropriate.” You’d RUN tf out of there omg, “I’m—I’m sorry!” The next few weeks you straight up avoid him and when you can’t avoid him any longer you’re just like dear god don’t look at me, avoiding his eye contact as much as possible LOL. When you’re not looking, he has a tiny smile on his lips internally like TEEHEE she definitely liked what she saw, duly noted. Being him, he does NOT bring it up EVER but his eyes tell a DIFFERENT story I’ll tell you what!!! Now, he’s really curious what you look like naked but he’ll never say it. (MC built different I’m dropping to my knees.)
Sylus Douche of the bunch about it, but in SUCH a hot way damn. In the Zone, you’d walk into his room like you own the place, ready to ask him something, “Sylus did you—” You wouldn’t even be looking at him until he cleared his throat. When he DOES, seeing no shirt, you think he’s probably in a towel, but when your eyes fall internally you’re like OH. MY. GOD. AH!!! But whoops can’t look away because um…HOLY SHIT. He’d cock his head to the side and tilt down, waiting for you to meet his eyes. “It’s not going to change the more you stare at it, kitten.” AAHHH!!! You’re running out of there HOT on your heels because WTF!!! He’s hung and felt absolutely zero shame bare in front of you. Your cheeks are BURNING and when you cross the twins path they’re like “Everything okay??” You’re just like, “YEP! MHM!!! Everything is f i n e.” The rest of the day Sy CANNOT wipe the devious grin he wears ALL DAY knowing you’re beyond flustered. He can’t stop smiling privately either because he’s just like ha! She can’t stop thinking about my dick, nice. LMAO!!! Such an asshat.
Caleb ALSO A JERK. Hot. “Are you ready yet—oh my god, Caleb!” Instantly would cover himself with both hands, “Pips! Don’t you knock!?” You’re just staring at his hands LMAO, “S-stop staring!” You’d internally be like oh man oh man OH MAN I SAW IT!!! I FINALLY SAW IT I’M GONNA DIE!!! He’d be quick to notice you blushing when you look back up at him. “Unless you like what you see, then—” “Caleb! Fucking—oh my god, put your hands back!” You’d slap your hand over your eyes. He’d laugh and put his hands back like a good boy mhm mhm but deFINITELY wants you to keep looking. You’d crack your fingers open, squinting as hard as you can while still able to see to check if he’s covered himself again. “You could just leave, ya know.” “Shut up!” You’d find the nearest article of clothing and throw it at him, “Put some clothes on! What’s wrong with you!” “You walked in on me! And I’m getting scolded!?” During this whole conversation/event he at least gets half mast LMAO. (MAYBE MORE TEEHEE) (Having the power to make his dick hard just by looking at it is SO bust worthy jfc.)
Valko Like I’ve BEEN saying about him…HUNG HUNG HUNG!!!!! You’d straight up go WIDE EYED like oh MY FUCKING GOD WHAT!!! He’s tall and huge so yeah…bUT IT DOESN’T MATTER YOU’RE LIKE OH MY GOD??? When making eye contact with you I feel he’d go wide eyed too but also??? Is very comfortable with himself so doesn’t cover right away out of a lack of that instinct. “You—!” “Shit—s-sorry!” THEN he’d cover himself with his hands but it also doesn’t matter because you’re like DEAR LORD TITS!!! LOOK AT HIM!!!!! You’d straight up just stutter and back out of the room slowly before rUNNing away omg, he’d be SOOO cute, “Wait—!” then quieter, “Oh, god,” louder again, “I’M SO SORRY!!!” I love him pls I feel like he’s so abashed and cute pre-dating. He’d definitely bring it up MULTIPLE times to keep apologizing (even tho you walked in on him??? 😭😭😭) and each time you’re like !!!??? “It’s—! It’s o-okay, I’m sorry…” INTERNALLY LIKE SHUT UP LET IT GO I CAN’T GET YOUR DICK AND GIANT PECS OUT OF MY MIND STOPPP!!!!! Teehee you’re both blushing hard every time you have this conversation!!! (I need him back rn...)
Xavier / reader (gender neutral, nonmc): comforting you after a bad day
warnings: none, hurt/comfort and a lot of fluff hopefully!
Why did the worst things seem to happen when you’re home alone? You look around frantically for another towel, trying desperately to stop the kitchen sink from flooding. With one hand you grab another roll of paper towels, and the other is fumbling for your phone to call maintenance. Your hands are wet though, and while you succeed with the paper towels, you end up dropping your phone in the water. Swearing loudly, you reach in immediately and drop it on the driest nearby surface. You lean down and fumble under the sink, finding where the emergency shut off is. After you activate it you pull out your laptop and begin looking up ways to save your phone, and use it to put in a maintenance request. While you wait for a response, you begin trying any of the tips you found online in an attempt to salvage your phone. After trying a couple tricks with little success, you try one more and leave your phone to dry out while you answer the door for maintenance.
Less than an hour later the pipes are fixed, and you are left alone again to try and dry up the mess. While it seems to be relatively easy now, today clearly isn’t your lucky day. You manage to scrape your knees when you bend down to dry the floor, hit your head on the bottom of the sink when you go to stand up, and stub your toe on the cabinets while running the trash out. Finally, you reach your limit when you go to open the door and realize it must have been locked when you closed it. Of course you didn’t grab your keys, and Xavier prefers those over anything more modern, so you begin looking around for another way in. Unfortunately, being on the upper floor means there’s not many options unless you want to attempt some amateur parkour, and with how your luck has been today that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. Giving up, you collapse and curl up next to the door and shut your eyes, trying desperately not to cry. After a while of allowing yourself to feel bad, you make up your mind to go to the convenience store and ask to borrow their phone. Just as you begin to stand, you startle as you see the one person you’ve wanted all day walking down the hall. Xavier pauses for a moment, taking in your appearance before walking a little faster. When he gets closer he takes your hands in his, looking at your watery eyes and exhausted expression.
“I finished up as soon as I could. Why are you out here? Were you waiting for me, my star?” You sniffle a little at his voice and immediately throw your arms around his waist, shoving your face in his chest. He doesn’t hesitate for a moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding you close and tight and running one hand along your back.
“Got locked out, nothing’s gone right all day. I was going to call you, but my phone’s inside after I dropped it in the leaky sink.” He hums, and you feel it vibrate through his chest. Without letting you go, he slowly starts to walk you both back to the door, one of his hands slipping into his pocket to grab the key. You giggle as you both awkwardly waddle over together, and once he opens the door you both nearly fall through the new opening before he catches you and pulls you both inside. The concern on his face from earlier softens at your laugh, even if it was softer and tinged with exhaustion.
“Why don’t we order something for tonight, and we can watch that movie you’ve been wanting to see? I think we still have those coupons you insisted on saving for that place down the street.” Your shoulders relax at his suggestion and you nod, following him over as he starts to get changed into pajamas. You both change together, and every time you pull something over your head or stand up from pulling on your pants he kisses you, smiling more and more at your surprise each time. Xavier opens the blanket for you and slides in after, handing you the remote while he pulls out his phone for you both to scroll through the menu. After you pick out a movie he passes you his phone to pick what you want, and sets the delivery up.
“...what are you doing?” You turn to look at him as he tugs your legs over his lap under the blankets, his hands slowly starting to massage your legs and feet. He turns to look at you, and like you so often do you feel as though you can’t breathe with the amount of love reflected in his eyes, all focused on and for you. He smiles and leans over to kiss your forehead, pausing for a moment before moving back and continuing his motions.
“You were limping a little when we came inside. I know you get tense when you’re stressed, and I thought maybe this would help.” You sigh as tension you didn’t even realize you were holding releases, both from his actions and the tender way he takes care of you. Laying your head on his shoulder, you both only halfway pay attention to the movie. Xavier steps away for a moment to get the delivery when it arrives, and you both set up all the containers so it’s like an all-you-can-eat, eating out of each other’s orders and sharing your own. When the movie is done he grabs all the trash, puts any leftovers away, then comes back in. He flicks off the light at the same time as you turn on your star projector, covering the room in faint constellations with various colors slowly fading in and out behind it. Xavier slides back under the sheets, immediately pulling you close to him. You press your face into his neck, kissing him softly as he sighs happily and hooks one of his ankles over yours. After the day you’ve had, it barely takes any time before you’re fighting to stay awake.
“Xav? ‘re you still awake?” He hums in response, his head shifting a little above yours as he looks down at you.
“Yes, my star? What is it?” You kiss his neck again before responding, voice soft and heavy with sleep.
“Thanks, for everything. As soon as you’re here, everything feels so much better.” Even though you can’t see it he smiles, eyes softening as he kisses the top of your head before shutting them again and relaxing against you, holding you just a bit tighter.
“I never want you to get overwhelmed on your own. We’ll figure out your phone tomorrow so you can call me if anything happens, okay? Go ahead and sleep, any problems can wait for us to handle together tomorrow. After we sleep in.”
credit for the image used here. thanks for reading!
Notes: @/a-short-ass-disappointment was so lovely and expressed a want for a part 2 to Valko’s, and I figured, why not make a part 2 for all six? So here you go.
Taglist: @kingraspberry12-blog
Dating Xavier and MC was… different. Not bad, but different.
You honestly weren’t that sure what you were expecting. He was so quiet and reclusive already, you figured you’d never see him… despite the fact that you lived close by.
The very first day you officially began dating them both, you awoke to him curled around you deep in sleep. MC had slept with you too, but she wasn’t in her room - she was making breakfast, given you could hear dishes clacking together in the kitchen.
As freaked out as you were, you had to admit he was very pretty. He was a little cold, and his heartbeat was slower than expected, but it was nice. The man of your dreams was literally dreaming on you.
You lost track of how long you’d been staring; it startled you when his eyelids slowly opened, long platinum lashes fluttering as he looked up at you with a sleepy smile.
Your face must’ve been red-hot, because he let out a little chuckle. He reached over and gently brushed away some hairs from your eyes.
Even his morning voice was pretty. “Good morning.” He murmured. Oh, even his morning voice was attractive…
“M- morning,” you squeaked.
Xavier paused, lifting his head and sniffing. His stomach growled a little, and he looked away shyly as his face flushed pink. “I suppose it’s time to eat.”
Before you could get up, he beat you to it. He tucked his arm beneath your legs and supported your back, and he lifted you out of bed. You let out a sharp gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Xavier!” You squealed. “What—?!”
“Wow, she was right. You are fun to carry.” He smiled down at you before making his way out of your bedroom.
When you made it to the kitchen, MC was pouring herself some coffee. She looked up and laughed. “Morning, sleeping beauty!”
When he sat you down in a chair, she reached over and patted down your hair and served you a plate. “Just the way you like it,” she said, kissing your cheek before handing a plate to Xavier with a quick peck to his.
—————
It still baffled you how handsy they both were. Well, no— you had expected MC to be handsy. You hadn’t expected her boyfriend to do the same. Whether it was having a hand on your shoulder in public or leaning on you as you sat together, it didn’t matter. He looked up at you with those big blue eyes and napped on you after work days.
You swore you slept at one of their apartments more than your own these days. MC loved dragging you in for dinner and ‘accidentally’ forgetting to walk you back until you were both too tired to make the trip, just as she always used to do when you’d come over after school in your childhood. And in the times when you were invited up to Xavier’s to hang out, he always seemed to coincidentally be sleeping on you by the time you realized you ought to leave.
Sometimes you would get to work and MC would have lunch ready for you. Sometimes fresh flowers would find their way to your desk in the mornings, with a pretty little purple ribbon (one that matched the purple on Xavier’s uniform) around one of the stems that was undoubtedly from the shop that one of Xavier’s friends managed.
Your coworkers teased you sometimes about your admirers. Once or twice a picture would hit the group chat of either Xavier or MC with you after a wanderer attack, and your friends would gush about how softly they gazed at you or how fiercely they looked sitting beside you as you got your bearings. And then one of them captured the moment MC picked you up in a bridal carry when you sprained your ankle - you still cringed thinking about the squealing in your ear when your friends called you after that. They nicknamed your girlfriend ‘Princess Charming’ for weeks.
MC seemed to take it all in stride. Since your circle already knew how close you’d been before you started dating, nobody thought it odd when she would sit you in her lap on the train or hand-feed you things from her plate from her own fork (although you did hope nobody saw when she would give you that heavy stare and lick the utensil afterwards).
Xavier was more restrained, but he tended to stare. Quite a lot, actually. At first you were a little uncomfortable - was he really not into this situation, but putting up with it for his girlfriend’s sake? But then he would help you home after late nights, and meet you at your door with a hot pastry and drink, or he would play games with you into the night on your days off, and then you wondered if this arrangement really was going to work.
“He just likes to look,” Jeremiah, one of his friends, had said once with a gentle smile. “He always used to stare at MC like that before they started dating.”
You liked Jeremiah. You didn’t see him that often, but he seemed wise beyond his years, kind and patient (and he grew beautiful flowers).
You had no idea that Xavier would get jealous of your budding friendship with the florist… not until he actually pouted a little when you said you’d be going over to the flower shop on one of your days off.
“I’ll go with you, then,” he had said. He hadn’t let go of your hand once for the entire time you were in the store.
MC had laughed when you told her about it later. “Poor Jeremiah. He’s been on the receiving end of that for about as long as I’ve known them both. He gets a little jealous sometimes when other people get your attention.”
You had noticed. Around the same time the flowers started showing up on your desk, a couple of the men you worked with - men who had hung around you before - started to back off. When you texted him, he would sound more aloof if you mentioned a friend who hung around you a little too much. Sometimes you would come back to your apartment and find him waiting for you, pulling you in and hardly letting you out of sight.
—————
“I missed you,” Xavier murmured, nose buried in your neck. “What took you so long?”
“Sorry, I got held up at the grocery store.” You answered mildly, petting his head. “But hey, I found those gummies we like. Where’s MC? Still getting takeout?”
He hummed an affirmative, pulling you towards the couch. A blanket was already laid out, as well as a few throw pillows. He claimed the one shaped like a star as you settled into his lap, and he tugged the blanket over you.
His slow, steady heartbeat always seemed to calm your own, whether it was in sleep or while he had you in his lap, such as now.
He was half-asleep when MC came back, announcing her presence by holding the bag aloft with a big grin.
“Aw, don’t you two look cozy,” she teased.
She went into the kitchen to put the food on the counter before coming back to the living room and lifting the blanket, snuggling atop you with a contented sigh.
“So no dinner?” You joked quietly.
She hummed. “I want a few minutes to love on you before I eat.”
You shook your head, running your fingers through her hair. “I’m surprised Xavier hasn’t ready woken up just from smelling it.”
”… smelling what?” He groggily questioned, raising his head. He smiled when he realized MC had come home. “Oh. Hi, starlight.”
”Food’s ready.” She answered, squishing his cheek before she got up. “Since I didn’t get any cuddle time with Yin yet, she’s sitting on my lap for dinner.”
You choked on a laugh while Xavier fondly shook his head. “Okay,” he acquiesced.
