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fluffeebunzzz · 8 days ago

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gilded dreams

★pairing: king of darknight!xavier x f!reader/mc ★wc: 2.7k ★content: spoilers for where stars scatter myth. smut, throne sex, piv, praise kink, biting kink, claiming. angst, internal monologue, yearning, mutual pining, obsessive & possessive xavier, with mentions of his previous lies. inspired by the gilded dreams secret times. ★masterlist

You can't recall just how you ended up in this position. It's hard to think at all with the strong arms wrapped around your waist, cool armor pressed to your chest through the thin cloth of your dress with each slow, deep roll of his hips upwards into yours.

You know it started with the clash of steel and the strong scent of iron permeating the air. Just moments ago you ran through the halls, your heart in your throat and your staff of light materializing in your hands, only for the assassins to be evaporating to dust by the time you rushed into the main hall.

And there he lounged on the throne he had always rebuked, no evidence of a struggle other than the hilt of the greatsword still clutched in one gauntlet, the other bare hand unhurriedly wiping at a smear of dark red across his cheek.

Your king. A dream long before that, a distant light of happier memories, forgotten in centuries of darkness, of waiting. And even longer before that, he had been a companion. Your dearest friend.

"Xavier," you had breathed, just for that briefest of moments where you got to see him nearly falter from the taunt of familiarity in your tone, leaving him wondering if it was yet another dream of you.

You were by his side in an instant. Like you had been trained to do, like the instincts to never be parted from him that still sang in your pulsing blood urged from you.

"That's not my blood," he brushed aside your concerns over him, and you laughed, dark and bitter under your breath.

Like you're not used to his lies. Like you're not the only two beings in this entire world with blood still rushing through your veins.

It is a strange thing, to see him bleed. Even though he is now a familiar face once more, the feelings you'd harbored for countless ages surging up like waves to crash relentlessly against the shore of your mind each time you see him now, there are still so many things you can't remember of your time together.

Had he gotten injured before? If so, were you the one to bandage him up? To heal him with your own hands, to nurse him back to health?

That was how it had started. Fixated on his blood, still wet on your thumb when you wiped it off his chin, body tensed in tune with the subtle hitch in his breath.

The rest is still a blur, intoxication from closeness that had once been so well-known, still etched bone-deep within you when you sat yourself into his lap. Setting yourself as the perfect, pretty bait.

The King of Darknight's whispers, all temptation and dark promises, wrap around you, ensnaring you to him like he was the one who set the trap. A tether of light and darkness, forces forever at play, two halves of a whole made to move in coordination.

He leans back in his throne, gauntlet curled loosely around your waist, tightening his grip on you when you easily shift forward into his chest. Following that natural instinct to stay close, to always stay together.

You struggle with his armor, on a single-minded quest to find his elusive injuries, and he doesn't let you.

He never lets you see him without those walls, to let you have all of him. Even as he himself yearns for you, as he effortlessly demands for all of you, to reclaim every little part that had been lost to him through the cruel, relentless passage of time.

From the charming, gentle prince you'd grown alongside to this Mad King, the Sinner of Philos. A mystery that tenses under your desperate, wandering hands.

It's not fair. It has never been fair with him.

You're frustrated, and he can feel it. Xavier's grip goes lax around your wrists, allowing you to toss useless pieces of armor to the ground. He lets you feel for the soft skin of him, proof of his existence, of his promised return, his body still hidden underneath dark robes that are nothing like what the man you had once loved would've worn.

All the while, he murmurs into your ear, dark words that curl around your spine and dance in shivers down it to the base. Heat pools in your stomach as he urges you on, to take what you want from him, what you need from your king.

Your wit matches his in breathless banter as much as your swords once met in friendly duels, practice bouts to exert your frustrations out in a time long past. A failed exam or an overbearing father, things had seemed so much simpler then, like there were so many places you could still run away to.

Maybe if he had taken your hand and urged you to elope just one more time, told you once more of that beautiful, little planet just for the two of you, you would have gone.

But you're here instead, rocking forward in the Tyrant's lap, hot pleasure sparking from where your clothed core rubs over the curved edge of his growing arousal, still trapped within the dark confines of this new garb of his lonely reign.

He teases you, like he'd always done. It's both familiar and entirely unknown, looking down into sharp blue eyes that watch your every increasingly desperate move with rapt intrigue that bleeds into something darker.

His own affection you'd overlooked in your youthful, blind infatuation grows teeth and claws that dig into you with hardly contained obsession, grown in the dark of centuries without you.

You scramble for the fabric constraining him as his hands glide up your legs, lifting your skirt.

There's no pretense, no buildup when the weeping head of him catches on your dripping entrance. There is only pure relief when you ease down onto him, until you're both where you had always belonged.

It's addicting and entirely unreal, to know this is your sworn knight sinking inside of you, even with the dark crown weighing atop his head as his forehead rests against yours.

His heated breaths warm your parted lips as you eagerly accept him. Your wet heat sucks him in bit by bit until he's as far as he can get, holding onto you for dear life, like he expects to blink awake to you gone again.

He lifts you slowly, as easily as he does that monstrosity of a sword that lays forgotten beside his throne now that he has you in it. You moan in unison when he brings you back down again, sinking into you as much as the reality of this slowly sinks in, as impossible as it seems to finally have this moment.

"Listen to you," Xavier sighs, pure relief and idolatry twisted within him as you sink down onto him again under his careful guidance.

His hands are as steadfast as they had always been, even as they had seen so much more violence in your time grown apart. They are gentle again when they remember the feel of your skin against his.

"You're so wet, my queen," he praises, lips skimming your ear.

And you hear it, the squelch of your body taking him intimately under the low, heady tone of his praise.

You whimper, burying your face into his hair, tangling your fingers into the long, soft strands.

"Don't say—"

He bucks his hips up, smacking his hips against yours, loud and wet, and it steals the breath from your lungs.

You suck the air back in with a choked whine when he pulls back out almost entirely, just to sink slowly back in, grinding his hips up against yours when you're seated on his lap once more.

"What was that?" he murmurs, all dark, smug satisfaction.

You punch him in the shoulder out of reflex, hearing the taunting of a lost duel from your academy days buried underneath the ingrained arrogance of an uncontested leader of a fallen kingdom.

Your face buries against his neck, sweat beading at the nape of it from his carefully controlled exertion, even as he hangs on the edge of losing it. Your tongue laps out, mindless in your consumption of him, and you both moan again when he twitches deep inside of you.

"Don't say such obscene things," you demand, your fist curling into his robe, holding onto him when he bucks up into you again, and again, jostling you in his lap with each mind-numbing jolt of pleasure.

"You don't like it?" he taunts, and you wrap yourself around him, arms around his neck so tight that you hear him suck in a sharp breath.

You relax your grip just slightly, but he holds you closer, encouraging you to claim him, to make him yours.

You hold on for dear life with each drive of himself inside of you, as far as he could reach so as to leave a space for himself in your very being, so you never forgot him again.

His obsession is thinly veiled now that you're joined like this, with the echo of forget him in your ears even as he was unknowingly making such a demand impossible. Your mind drifts farther and farther into a golden haze, reminiscent of the way he once used to glow whenever you made him happy.

"But your entire body is responding to me so well," Xavier praises, and your head tilts back.

His lips attach to your neck to plant wet kisses along the length of it when you present him with another ripe opportunity to claim you. To leave his mark so you would remember the feel of him, the weight of his presence, the certainty of his devotion whenever you were apart—which you never would be, if either of you had a say in the course of fate, try as you both did to master it.

"Aren't you?" he urges, confident even as he yearned for your confirmation, your pleasure, for you.

You moan, quietly, then louder when the nails of his bare hand slip underneath your dress to dig into the soft plushness of your thigh.

"What did you say, my queen?" his dark voice takes on a melodic lilt, teasing again, with that newfound arrogance that sends sparks of pleasure up your spine when he was seated this deep inside of you.

"I am a queen no longer," you answer instead, clinging desperately to familiar banter, trying to ground yourself as the wet smacks of your lovemaking echo in the long, empty hall. The place you'd once waited centuries for him, and where he had waited for you long after.

"This throne belongs to the both of us," Xavier assures you, kissing along your collarbone, tugging the neckline of your dress down to suck bruises into the soft skin of your breasts. "It is yours as much as mine. Do we not make such a claim on it now?"

He lifts you up with his armored hand to yank you back down onto his throbbing cock, filling you again suddenly and completely, as if to drive any lingering doubt of his affection from your mind, and you cry out for him.

"I—" you pant heavily, searching for the thoughts that successfully scatter from your mind. "We never wedded. How am I your queen?"

"You told me you would be." Xavier tugs your dress down further and bites gently around your breast, tongue flicking across the sensitive nipple, and your walls spasm around him. Your arousal gushes out and drenches his lap further, pulling a groan from deep within his throat. "You told me you would become my only important person. Do you rescind your word now that you are?"

When you have always been so? you hear unspoken in the way he possesses you until he's all you can think of, until his love is all you've known.

"N-no," you gasp out, your thighs working to meet each of his thrusts upwards in this old competitive nature, in this new dance. Your hand fists in his hair, pulling his head back, and his jaw drops open when his blown wide pupils meet yours. "I am not the one who does so."

Xavier's brow furrows, gaze darkening as he glances over your face; the determination set in your jaw, and the longing that still lingers on you like the nostalgia of a well-loved perfume, learned for so long that it lasts even now when you are finally together.

His expression softens. For a moment, you see him not as hardened, no longer a disillusioned man cursed to live for so long alone, chained with rule that he'd never once wanted.

But somebody gentler, who once grew flowers until they bloomed. A soft soul who spoke of the power of stories, how the simple act of remembrance meant a lost loved one would always be with you.

"Kiss me," he breathes, not the command of a king, but the devotion of a knight, one that had sworn to stay by your side when this throne had once been yours.

Your lips meet his, with as much disbelief and dream-like desperation as in that field of flowers. A kiss from him still doesn't feel real, even as he gives them to you again and again, whimpering softly as his tongue presses past your lips to taste you.

You hear the wet squelching of your joining, your eyelashes fluttering when his hand slips further under your dress, thumb collecting the slick of your coupling to rub against the apex of your pleasure, your thighs twitching with your breathless cry.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes near silently, moaning into your mouth with the clench of your walls around him at the sound of his pleasure, the tangible proof of your effect on him, even with the cool air of aloofness he'd put on since your reunion. "I can't—"

"I know," you whisper, clinging to him as you roll your hips against his thumb and the grinding of his cock against that spot that makes stars spark behind your eyelids. "Xavier!"

"Please," he begs, a crack in his low tone, a falter in his carefully constructed walls as the wet warmth of you consumes him. "I need you. I can't—I can't be without you, my love. Stay with me, stay—"

You kiss down his neck, biting down onto the soft, delicate skin between his neck and shoulder as you shatter around him, pulses of your release filling your mind with the pleasure of a long sought after climax, a well fought for destination finally reached together.

You cling to Xavier, sucking and mouthing at his skin as it rolls through you, moaning when you feel him follow you over that precipice to fill you with his release at last, to claim you completely.

Your heavy breaths intermingle when you kiss him once more, your hand curled into the back of his long hair, swallowing each breathy moan that you pull out of him in this intimate state. The vulnerability of it has your limbs trembling, your drenched thighs shaking with each lingering wave of pleasure that's pulled out of you.

"Stay with me," Xavier says again, still on that razor thin edge of asking and commanding, and you laugh softly against his lips.

"I should be the one to make such a demand," you counter, breathless and still aching, satiated slightly when you feel another warm spurt of his release coating your walls. "You're the one who leaves."

His lips crash against yours again, as if he can steal the words from you, make them unspoken. Even if you both know it is the truth.

"Then ask it of me," he says, all darkness and light in one, tender and obsessive in how he clings to you and gazes up at you with the eyes of an endless starry night. "Demand it of me. Take my throne, my crown, my life."

Xavier kisses you again, and you melt into him when he whispers against your lips, "It is all for you."

"Stay," you command, rolling your hips forward slowly, a keening noise escaping you when you feel the pleasure stoked again, the urgency coming to life once more between you. "Stay with me, my king."

His hand curls around the base of your neck, keeping you to him like in the flowers when he first kissed you, devouring your every kiss as he promises gently, like all the times before, "Whatever you ask of me, my queen, is yours."

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