#xavier's next :D

[starmocha]

never the same [Rafayel/MC ★ 2216 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] She will be his magnum opus. A/N: Uhh…this can be interpreted as sharing the same timeline as “the day bleeds into nightfall” or it’s in its own individual timeline. Not sure if it explains my mental state, but I wrote this while playing Kitty Cards at 2am.

He had that dream again.

Or rather, it was that nightmare that continued to play on loop every time he closed his eyes.

As the sun glared into his face, Rafayel blinked his grogginess away, his mind still lingering in a haze as the last remnants of his dream slipped away. His eyes adjusted to the room, and he remembered. As he sat up, groaning at the back pain, he realized he had fallen asleep on the wooden floor in the living room again.

He had lost count of how many times that had happened in the last four months. He cradled his head in his hand, groaning as he heard Thomas’ voice ringing in his ears over and over again:

Rafayel…I’m sorry…She is…

Rafayel groaned aloud, burying his face into his hands, wishing he was still asleep, just trapped in a horrendous dream waiting to wake up. He heaved and sobbed, just wishing he could bury the memory of that horrible day, but no matter how strongly he willed it, Thomas’ voice cut through, pained and saddened, but nowhere near the level of grief that consumed Rafayel:

She is…

“…dead.” He stared soullessly at his destroyed studio, canvases were smashed, incinerated, or shredded mercilessly with his blade during his rage. Paintbrushes were snapped like toothpicks while paint splattered everywhere like a crime scene.

Rafayel no longer found joy in his studio. He had not held a brush or pencil in four months except to destroy them in his grief and anger. There was no longer any inspiration or passion for his paintings just like how he no longer found any reason to wake up.

When she had left, she had taken all of the colors out of his palette.

The world had turned to gray, and he found himself stuck in a stagnant, his days repeating the same as he mindlessly scrolled through his phone, looking at the messages he had sent over the months to someone who would never be able to respond to him again. He looked at the last conversation he had sent, just a month earlier:

do you know what the most heartbreaking thing in the world is

withered flowers beached fish

and me when i cant see you

Rafayel sighed and leaned against the window, his eyes drifting to the sparkling sea outside. The water seemed so inviting, like she was inviting him back into her embrace, urging him to let her lull him to sleep and forget this unrelenting pain.

He turned his gaze back down to his phone in his hand, his eyes drifting to the next conversation, dated two months ago:

its been a week and still cant paint anything

i think my inspiration left with something

His breath grew ragged as he scrolled up.

no motivation to paint these days

should i shut myself in

He scrolled up to three months earlier, recalling when he was finally starting to allow the notion that she was gone to enter his mind. He gripped his phone tightly as his hand trembled.

dun even remember what day it is today

the sea outside looks blue but also gray

a gray sea sounds pretty cool? maybe the entire world was gray from the start

He scrolled up to the first text conversation he had sent four months earlier, just three days after Thomas had revealed the devastating news to the painter and subsequently after his own vandalism of his studio.

thomas asked me why i didnt clean up my studio yesterday

nobodys coming over so why would i

When she had left, she had forsaken him again.

He knew she never did it willingly, never intending to hurt him, but the pain was all the same. For once, Rafayel found himself actually walking to his bedroom and laying down on the plush mattress to stare at the domed ceiling overhead. It was still dusk, but within just a few minutes, nightfall would take over, and the stars would come out to shine and illuminate the sky.

He raised his phone, covering his view of the glass dome. His eyes focused in on the last text message she had sent him shortly before her final mission:

Gonna send you messages in drift bottles LOL

The reception is going to be really bad in the mountains. I promise I’m not ignoring you, so don’t freak out again. We’ll go eat seafood when I’m back home! Or do you want sushi again? Make a decision before I come home!

“Neither,” he mumbled to the quiet room, his eyes already drifting back to the first word of the message as he reread it again and again and again, until the sound of waves finally lulled him to sleep under the starry sky.

When she had left, he wished to return to the ocean, becoming the seafoam and forget the cutting pain of mortal life.

The dream was always that same scene of Thomas breaking the news to Rafayel, but each time he had had the dream, the words started getting more muffled, like they were underwater.

This time was no different as Rafayel closed his eyes, wishing to drown out the words and forget the pained look on his agent’s face. When he opened his eyes again, he realized he was underwater. His face relaxed, feeling the familiar cool water embraced him. The brief moment of serenity did not last long, though, as his sight caught a glimpse of a figure slowly sinking into the dark depths of the ocean.

His chest ached with a searing hot pain, his heart responding to her as she drifted further and further away from him. His body went into auto-mode, unaware of the instinctual changes as fin replaced the human legs he had previously. He swam with the swift speed of a black marlin, but no matter how close he should be getting to her, she was always cruelly pulled further out of his reach.

His voice called out to her, his throat raw with pain and desperation as he screamed and reached out, silently begging for their fingers to just touch.

“Come back…” His fin thrashed in the water, propelling him deeper into the cold darkness. He extended his arm, reaching desperately for her limp hand. “Come back…back…to me…”

As the darkness enveloped her, Rafayel woke up screaming and shaking, his chest tightening with pain as the dream replayed over and over in his mind. He buried his face into his hand, screaming and cursing for anyone to hear him.

“Why…why…wh…”

Just how many lifetimes was he supposed to endure, only for her to slip through his fingers like sand time and time again?

Rafayel mindlessly browsed a shopping website on his phone, just adding products after products to his cart without thinking about the actual necessity of the items or the prices. He also ordered art supplies again: new canvases, paint, and tools, but as he finalized the payment, he felt the same emptiness, the lack of desire to create.

His orders arrived the next day, sitting outside the studio for hours until Thomas stopped by and helped hauled the packages inside.

Along with his presence, Thomas had also brought along a bag of takeout food.

“It’s just fried chicken,” his agent commented, laying the greasy fast food out on the kitchen counter. “But it’s better than not eating.” The brunet looked at the painter with shades of disappointment and worries. “When was the last time you have eaten, Rafayel?”

Rafayel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and shrugged. “Dunno. Wednesday?”

“It’s Friday today,” Thomas bit out immediately, voice tinged with a layer of frustration. He sighed, reining in his emotions. “Just eat something. I have a meeting with the press in two hours. What should I tell them about your next project?”

Rafayel walked over and bit into a chicken tender strip. “Ugh, bland,” he quipped, tone unchanging. He waved off Thomas’ question. “Tell them I became a hermit. I ran away and I’m not painting anymore.”

Thomas crossed his arms and looked at Rafayel with a shake of his head, sensing that Rafayel was trying to maintain his usual flippant attitude, but this time, though, the once normal exaggeration seemed genuine. “I’ll tell them you are taking a break then.���

Rafayel waved him off without a glance as he stared at the array of fried chickens, buttered toast, onion rings, and a soda on the counter. “Should I make a sandwich…”

He placed the toast on a plate, spreading mayonnaise on the bread before stacking two chicken tenders and a large onion ring on top. He closed his creation with another slice of toast, pressing down on the sandwich before taking a bite, wishing he could go back to that perfect evening when she and him had shared a similar homecooked meal together.

Days slipped by in the usual monotony of disinterest and solitude, but sometimes Rafayel would break the cycle and sit down on the floor in front of the coffee table with Reddie’s fish bowl on top.

He watched the little fish swim in circles for hours, both of them unaware of the passage of time.

“Do you miss her?” Rafayel asked the fish. “Do you think about her?”

The Lemurian listened to his fish companion respond, and he sighed empathetically. “I do, too,” he admitted quietly as he reached for the bottle of fish food. He gave three light taps, watching the little round pellets float on the surface of the fish bowl.

Reddie immediately swam to the bottom of his bowl, hiding within the modest decorations to avoid his owner.

Rafayel frowned.

“You need to eat,” he scolded the little fish.

Reddie peeked out and opened his mouth, seemingly echoing the same words back to his owner.

For a moment, silence filled the studio, the only sound heard were the waves crashing on the shore outside and sea gulls crying overhead. Eventually, Rafayel relented.

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered, standing up and heading into the kitchen, unaware that Reddie swam to the top of his bowl and began eating again.

Rafayel knew there was no correct or concrete unanimous consensus for the exact appropriate time to grieve, but he still found himself angry with everyone.

The world was already moving on. Her former co-workers have already returned to some semblance of normalcy without her. No one mentioned her or her name. Strangers who had only met her once or pass by her unspoken had no idea a fair maiden had been taken from the world, her mere life exchanged for the sake of others.

The very thought enraged him, igniting the flames within himself.

She would not be forgotten, he vowed. Not by him and not by the world. For the remainder of this mortal life, he would pour his heart and soul into preserving her existence.

Rafayel picked up a paintbrush for the first time in months and he stepped forward, his sight set on the enormous canvas that claimed the entire studio wall.

My magnum opus.

The studio filled up with canvases of varying sizes, all at different stages of completion. Many of them were deemed as failed attempts to capture her beauty, her soul, her existence. Crumbled sketches scattered across the floor, surrounding Rafayel as he lay there staring up at the ceiling. Occasionally his eyes drifted to the large canvas waiting for him to start adding paint strokes to it.

It was not time yet. He hadn’t perfected her, still needing to practice recreating every single part of her on sketch papers and smaller canvases. He needed to perfect the curves of her body as she moved and swayed, capture the way her hair had flowed, and mix the perfect shade of paint that truly was reminiscent of her beautiful eyes.

Rafayel was in a hypnotized daze, losing himself to his newfound obsession of preserving her memory for the world to see.

She was here.

She was here.

She was here.

Through his paintings, he was going to scream to the world that she was here and she would be immortalized alongside the great muses of the past. He surrendered himself to endless nights of painting, trapped in a frenzy as he hurried to capture the images in his mind before they slipped away.

“…here…she was here…” His hand glided across the canvas as his chest throbbed, the desperation to hold onto the image in his mind was etched on his face as he moved quickly to preserve it. “She…is here…”

Dawn broke through the night, the orange glow of the sun taking over, its light creeping into the studio as Rafayel staggered back from his latest creations. He smiled, delirious from the recent spells of sleep deprivation, his eyes taking in the portrait of her he had painted a week prior. The beauty before him smiled radiantly against the backdrop of a blue sky, her eyes locked on his, beckoning him closer to her with an outstretched hand.

One day, in a new lifetime, they will be together again.

“For ‘tis Lemuria’s vow…” he murmured, stepping forward and letting his lips meet hers on the canvas. His eyes closed as he shuddered and sighed, his hand splayed over hers.

A bond everlasting.

[callmetippytumbles]

Today is actually the closest I came to crashing out over a game.

Fuckumean I had to wish 584 times to R3 Lumiere.

Fuckumean, I bought out all the wish packs and still had to use diamonds to R3 this man.

I was brought to hard pity EVERY TIME.

I lost my 50/50s to Zayne TWICE. To the same card too. Not even to his standard myth card. (I love Zayne, I am going to marry that doctor, but still.)

I started this banner with over 56K diamonds and I now only have 24K.

All in all, I did R3 Lumiere, BUT AT WHAT COST?!?

(Guess I have to go protocore hunting to get this crit build going.)

[calqlate]

took me 67 pity to get him home!!

[plutotheplum]

an arcana of hearts (upcoming series)

multi x fem!reader

you’re a single woman trying to get pregnant. being single certainly isn’t doing you any favors, so you decide to turn to your friends for help. oddly enough, they’re more than willing to help.

tags: mdni, modern au, mentions of pregnancy, fluff, smut, breeding kink, unprotected sex

a/n: okay i know how unhinged this sounds but like hear me out!! the first two chapters will be coming next week :3 and if you would like to be tagged, leave a comment :D

chapter one | the proposal (completed)

the spring season seems to have brought on an unrelenting case of baby fever. being single is a problem though... so who better to ask than your five, handsome friends?

chapter two | the magician (completed)

rafayel x fem!reader tags: smut, fluff, kissing, vaginal fingering, blowjob, oral sex, mirror sex, p in v, breeding kink, praise kink, unprotected sex

snippet: “Art of you,” he mumbles, kissing the spot under your ear teasingly. “Perhaps a painting of you, swollen with my child… although perhaps I could capture it better with marble.” Rafayel purses his lips, his gaze flitting towards the sculptures. “Yes,” he breathes out, “swollen stomach, a content expression; I can see it now.”

chapter three | the star (completed)

xavier x fem!reader tags: smut, fluff, kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex, p in v, breeding kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, hickeys, overstimulation, finger-sucking

snippet: “You’re so pretty,” he sighs, his fingers skimming across your cheek, trailing over your lips. “How could I not be jealous?” Xavier whispers, letting go of your hair to lean closer, his fingers sliding under your chin. “How could I not mark you up when you look like this, all pretty and soft under me?”

chapter four | the chariot (completed)

caleb x fem!reader tags: smut, fluff, kissing, oral sex, p in v, breeding kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, biting, bondage, vaginal fingering, handjob, dog tags, inappropriate photos

snippet: “No,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “You’re not leaving.” Caleb stalks towards you, his fingers sliding under your chin, tilting your head up. “You’re not leaving until you’re fucked full of my cum.” He dips his head, the tip of his nose grazing yours. “Understand, sweetheart?”

chapter five | the emperor (completed)

zayne x fem!reader tags: smut, fluff, mild angst, kissing, oral sex, blowjob, p in v, breeding kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, overstimulation, vaginal fingering, belly bulge, confessions

snippet: “Like what?” Zayne whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, slow and sweet. “Like you mean something to me? Like I can’t stand the thought of you marrying Caleb?” He raises his brows, trapping your chin between his thumb and finger, forcing you to meet his eyes when you look away. “Like you’re the only one for me?”

chapter six | the devil

sylus x fem!reader tags: to be updated!

chapter seven | the lovers

rafayel x xavier x caleb x zayne x sylus x fem!reader tags: to be updated!

[amazinglyashy]

Hi hi I just found your blog like an hour ago and I’ve been scrolling and am obsessed with the way you write for the l&ds!! ❤️❤️ if you don’t mind I love a little angst and was wondering if you could write the boys reacting to MC showing up at their doorstep heavily injured from like a fight with a wanderer.

Oh my gosh thank you!!! And I don't mind at all, my friends make fun of me for how much I enjoy hurt/comfort and angst :'D Thank you for the request!

LaDS men react to you appearing on their doorstep, injured and bleeding

Xavier -

If you end up at his door, it's more than likely because your unconscious decided to hit the button for his floor rather than your own. You just wanted to get home, not bother anyone, but he's stood right there. Having just come home from grabbing a late night snack from a nearby convenience store, you stumbled out of the elevator right as he's unlocking his front door.

He drops his keys and his bag.

It's a good thing too, because your legs gave out right then, so it's much better for him to catch you if his arms are free.

He's calling your name, and while you're still conscious, you're not really processing anything anymore. You're in too much shock, and you've lost too much blood by now.

He'll get the door unlocked and rush you inside his apartment, setting you down on his couch as he runs for a first aid kit, calling the association for emergency services while he does so.

"You're going to be okay. I promise. Just continue to breathe, alright?"

Xavier doesn't know if he's saying that to comfort you or himself, but he also isn't stopping to think about it, as he rapidly administers first aid to your wounds to at least slow the bleeding until help can arrive.

It's three in the morning but he's wide awake sitting next to your bed at the hospital, something unnatural for someone so sleep deprived usually.

He can't bring himself to shut his eyes though.

It's not work the risk.

Not until you wake up first.

Zayne -

It's like his brain splits into two the moment that he sees you standing there.

One side is his medical knowledge rushing forward as he moves to catch you as your feet stumble beneath you, trying to impossibly assess the extent of the damage before even getting to see it all. It's the half that's taking you to his kitchen table, because it's the easiest workspace for him right now. The one that's pulling out his doctor's bag from the closet in the hall, and the first aid kit from the cupboard in the kitchen as he cuts your shirt open.

The other side?

Oh honey, his heart is breaking.

If you think there's a day at work where he doesn't pray to any existent or nonexistent god that he doesn't see you today, spread out on a gurney or operating table without warning due to your unconscious state, then you'd be painfully wrong.

It's amazing how well he works while panicking on the inside, his skilled hands patching your wounds after meticulous sterilization, any sutures needed placed perfectly even through your pained groans tugging at his heart.

He knows he needs to get you to the hospital, even though he's taken good care of you in his own home. But he needs to sink to the floor for a minute, his back dragging against the wall as he heaves a deep sigh. It's a heavy toll feeling the stick of the dried blood on his hands- your blood on his hands.

With all his knowledge, he knows you'll be okay. He knows he himself will be okay. But right now-

He's not.

Sylus -

The N109 zone is beyond dangerous, mostly due to the criminals and leeches lurking in the dark shadows, but there's also no shortage of Wanderers, including ones that have been genetically altered to be even worse than they normally were.

So when Sylus sees you stumbling at his doorstep, bloodied hand reaching for the knob as he glances at the camera feed, he's not sure he could say he's ever moved so fast in his life otherwise. "Sweetie-" He breathes, as he catches you, scooping you up and rushing you inside as quickly as he possibly can without aggravating your already extensive injuries.

Luke is already running for first aid, and Kieran is already contacting the doctor. Mephisto is shrieking in the hall as he follows Sylus to his bedroom, protesting the fact that Sylus had needed him for surveillance of a target today instead of watching you.

Sylus knows.

He knows this is his fault.

If he had had someone keeping an eye on you, this wouldn't have happened.

His eyes are glued to your barely conscious form in his arms, the guilt in the recesses of his heart digging deeper with every slather of red that painted your skin.

Sorry to say, you're going to have your work cut out for you when you wake up. It's going to take a lot of heavy lifting on your part to convince him that he's not at fault for what happened to you.

And you will be waking up.

Sylus will make sure of that.

Rafayel -

Don't make his nightmares a reality.

Not again.

He's catching you before you can even begin to sway, and he'll be lucky if he remembers to shut the door behind him, his body melding against yours as he picks you up and runs down to his car.

"No, no no no. You stay awake, cutie."

He's definitely breaking at least a dozen laws just trying to get you to Akso hospital as quickly as he can. His mind is racing as fast as his car is moving down the streets, wondering what could have happened to you, what he should be doing right now, if he should have administered first aid to you before taking off-

But he's there so fast, it would have been nearly identical on the clock regardless of him still choosing to rush you to the hospital, or run to get and administer first aid for you from within his home.

He's there until you wake up- wide awake no matter how long it takes. It could be minutes, hours, days- he can't sleep. The image of you dying before him- the image of you standing on his doorstep as well- etched on the back of his eyelids every time he tried to close his eyes.

He talks to you even when you're not awake, stroking your hand, your cheek, the side of your neck- trying to make sure you're as comfortable as he can make you.

When you wake up again, he has to hold himself back with everything in him from squeezing you too tightly. He doesn't want to burst your stitches or harm you, but his body and arms are all-encompassing on you as he hugs you firmly, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

He really doesn't need you to see him cry.

[mephisto-reporting]

Silk, Satin and Sensual

Premise: Headcanons on his preferences for lingerie and his reaction when he sees you in them. Based on this request. Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. This is suggestive. Please do not interact if you are a minor. Caleb version is out!!. If you wanted to be added to my taglist, please DM, ask or comment :D Content warning: Suggestive. MNDI.

XAVIER

Xavier has a thing for soft, celestial tones like white, cream, silvers and muted golds. He’s drawn to fabrics that shimmer faintly, almost like starlight against your skin. He has a thing for delicate patterns, like lacework.

Sheer materials like mesh and chiffon drive him wild, especially if they reveal just enough to leave him craving more. He prefers the balance of teasing and revealing, where the fabric hints at your curves without fully exposing them.

He’s absolutely obsessed with your thighs and prefers lingerie that accentuates them. Garter belts, thigh-high stockings, and intricate lace shorts are his kryptonite.

If you have small celestial accents like tiny golden stars or moon charms hanging from the garters… good fucking luck. You are not walking the next day.

He has an unapologetic habit of tearing your lingerie when he loses control, so he’s constantly replacing your wardrobe. His explanation? “It’s not my fault they’re made so fragile. I’ll get you something sturdier—next time.”

Once the damage is done and your new lingerie is in shreds, Xavier looks annoyingly unbothered. He’ll casually toss the ruined piece aside and murmur, “Guess I’ll have to buy you another.”

He’ll commission a lingerie set made of delicate ivory lace with gold threads woven into it, shaped to mimic constellations. He’ll surprise you with thigh-high stockings that have faint, shimmering patterns running up the sides. These are always paired with garter belts because he loves tugging on them when he is intimate with you.

He’ll leave the box on your bed, wrapped in soft cream paper with a gold ribbon. Inside, there’s always a handwritten note in his steady handwriting. “For you. You’re too beautiful not to be dressed like the stars themselves.”

His reactions:

The moment he sees you in lingerie, his carefully composed demeanor melts away, replaced by an intense, almost predatory focus. His eyes lock onto your thighs, and his voice becomes a low murmur laced with want. He is the definition of: his eyes darkened.

Xavier likes the idea that these pieces are chosen specifically for his eyes. If anyone else saw you in them, even accidentally, it would ignite a streak of jealousy.

If you walk past him too many times, deliberately flaunting the look, he’ll finally snap. One moment, you’re teasing him; the next, you’re backed against the wall with his hands tracing the garter straps. “Do you want me to tear this off?” he’ll ask, his voice soft but carrying that dangerous edge. Spoiler: He’s already decided the answer.

ZAYNE

Zayne prefers earthy tones—rich browns, deep greens, warm ambers, and muted burgundies. These hues remind him of natural beauty, grounding yet alluring. He loves subtle details like lace trim, delicate straps that crisscross your back, or a ribbon that ties just above your hips—small elements that add to the allure.

Zayne is drawn to pieces that accentuate your waist. Corset-style lingerie, high-waisted panties, or teddies with cinched designs are his favorites. He admires the way they create an hourglass effect, appreciating your silhouette.

He has a thing for materials that feel good to the touch: silky satins, fine lace, and soft mesh. The tactile experience is as important to him as the visual.

Zayne has impeccable taste, selecting pieces that balance seduction with sophistication. Think satin teddies with plunging necklines or lace bodysuits with subtle, sheer paneling. He gravitates toward lingerie sets that emphasize your natural beauty rather than overwhelming it—clean lines, elegant accents, and designs that celebrate your form.

When Zayne gifts you lingerie, he makes it an intimate experience. He’ll lay the gift on the bed, wrapped in tissue paper with a single dried flower,something earthy and subtle, like a sprig of lavender or rosemary. His note is direct: “For when you’re ready to let me admire you properly.”

Zayne picks quality over quantity. He’d rather gift you one stunning, well-made piece than several forgettable ones. His selections are designed to last—not that he always gives them the chance to.

His gaze never wavers. When you wear lingerie, Zayne’s eyes lock on yours before slowly traveling down your body, making you feel like the most captivating thing in the world.

There’s no ripping it off, but it won’t take long before he’s slipping the fabric off. He’s not gentle, but he’s not reckless either. There’s a certain hunger in how he undresses you.

His Reaction:

When you walk into the room wearing one of his carefully chosen pieces, Zayne’s reaction is immediate. His calm is replaced by a sharp intake of breath, his eyes trailing over you with an intensity that makes the air feel heavier.

Zayne’s fingers brush over the fabric with deliberate slowness, his palms lingering against the soft satin at your hips. “Feels even better than I imagined,” he murmurs, his lips quirking into a heated smirk. “But I think it’d feel better on the floor.”

If you tease him, letting a strap fall off your shoulder or adjusting the lace just so—Zayne’s control begins to crack. His hands are on you instantly, his voice dropping to a growl. “You like testing me, don’t you? Keep it up, and you’ll see what happens.”

RAFAYEL

Rafayel is drawn to soft, pastel shade like gentle blues, lavender, and delicate purples. He prefers lingerie that’s sweet and soft, evoking a sense of innocence while still being sensual.

He gravitates towards cuter lingerie like bralette sets with flowing chiffon accents, babydolls with sheer overlays, or high-waisted lingerie shorts. He likes pieces that don’t reveal too much but are so alluring that he cannot keep his eyes off you.

Rafayel is obsessed with fine details such as silver waistbands that drape lightly like jewelry, chokers that gleam with tiny pearls, delicate chain straps on your bra, tiny dangling gemstones, or trims that sparkle subtly in the light.

Sheer robes, flowing fabrics, and fluttering hems draw his gaze as they cling to your skin over your lingerie like water waves. If you are wearing a lingerie, fresh out of the shower with your hair still wet, it is game over for this man.

Rafayel treats every moment with you in lingerie as sacred. He doesn’t rush; instead, he takes his time, savoring every detail like an artist admiring their finest work

Rafayel is the kind of person who doesn’t just buy off the shelf. He’ll have something specially commissioned for you, likely a set of lingerie that reflects your personality and his artistic sensibilities. His commission might even include small charms that are Lemuria inspired.

Rafayel, though loving, is bashful when it comes to gifting lingerie. He would likely have the lingerie sent to you without a grand reveal, perhaps bundled with other gifts like chocolates, perfume, scarves that might distract from his true intentions. His note will be brief, almost casual: “Some pieces I thought you'd appreciate, seeing as you're always so fashionable.”

His Reaction:

The first time you step out wearing one of his custom sets, a soft lavender bralette with delicate gold chain accents and a matching choker—Rafayel freezes. Rafayel can’t stop staring, though he tries to look away, his hand rising to cover his mouth as his blush deepens. “I-I didn’t think it would suit you this perfectly…” he stammers, his gaze flicking back to you despite himself.

“I… I didn’t mean for it to be so… um… revealing,” he stammers, eyes lingering on the intricate lace and the subtle gleam of the small jewels. “But… you look… divine.” When Rafayel touches the fabric, his fingers tremble against your skin. He’s so gentle, almost reverently so, as though touching you in this way is an act of worship.

"It’s like you’re wearing my art… and I can’t stop admiring it." His gaze will flicker between your face and the lingerie, doing his best to hold himself together. “Why are you doing this to me?” he’ll murmur with desire. “I just want to keep you here... like this... for as long as possible.” he whispers, voice barely audible, as though if he spoke louder, he might break the spell.

SYLUS

Sylus gravitates toward bold, classic colors like deep blacks, rich reds, and occasionally luxurious whites, midnight blues or dark emerald greens. These colors resonate with him. He appreciates the elegance of these shades, as they exude sophistication and bold sensuality.

He’s a silk and satin man through and through. These fabrics are smooth, luxurious, and irresistible to his touch. He loves how they glide over your skin and how they feel beneath his fingertips.

He loves classic, timeless lingerie: lacy bras with garter belts, high-cut panties that highlight your legs, and elegant teddies that hug every curve. Think luxury brands and couture pieces that scream sensuality.

Occasionally, Sylus surprises you with bolder, risqué styles: Cage-style bras with open backs, strappy bodysuits that playfully expose just enough skin, lingerie with sheer panels, leaving little to the imagination.

He doesn’t tear or rush; instead, he carefully folds each piece, placing it aside after everything is said and done. “I’ll want to see this on you again.” he explains with a sly smirk

Sylus doesn’t stop at gifting you a single set. Every outfit in your closet has a matching pair of lingerie. You’ll find lingerie for every occasion. Sylus alwayssurprise you with a box containing lingerie hidden among other extravagant gifts—fine jewelry, luxurious robes, or even a custom-made vanity to store your collection: “Maybe my luck is not be so bad if I am the only man who gets to see you in these, sweetie.”

For Sylus, lingerie isn’t just for the bedroom. He loves seeing you lounge in one of his tailored sets, reclining on his sofa as you read or listen to music together. Sylus is content to let his hands roam over the satin, enjoying the feel of it warmed by your skin. “Stay like this,” he’ll say softly, his voice a mix of command and yearning. “I want to keep you close.”

True to his nature, Sylus has a habit of keeping little trophies. He has a drawer in one of his private residences dedicated to these keepsakes  as a reminder of your shared moments. If you ever catch him in the act of placing something there, he’ll simply shrug with a sly grin. “Can you blame me? I keep what’s mine.”

His Reaction:

When you step into the room wearing something he’s chosen for you, Sylus’ composed exterior falters, just slightly. His gaze darkens, and his lips curl into a small, satisfied smirk. He’ll take a slow step toward you, one hand tucked casually in his pocket, the other reaching out to trail a finger down the silk, letting it rest against your hip.

Without hesitation, he’ll scoop you into his arms, carrying you effortlessly to where he wants you—be it the bedroom, his grand leather chair in the study, or even the chaise lounge in front of the fireplace. “I’m not letting you out of my sight when you like this.”

Sylus never tears your lingerie—he unwraps you like the most precious gift, his hands moving with reverent care. “You deserve to be savored, not rushed.” he whispers, his gaze locked on you. He’ll seat you on his lap or lay you down, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate movements along the fabric. The lingerie is not just for his pleasure, it is for yours as well.  

CALEB

Caleb prefers lingerie that’s just for him—sexy yet teasing, revealing enough to drive him mad but covering just enough to make him desperate.

Caleb gravitates toward sleek, understated sensuality. He favors deep, alluring colors like navy, black, and dark burgundy, shades that hint at elegance but still feel undeniably intimate. However, he has a soft spot for delicate lilacs and soft purples, especially when they complement your skin.

Minimal but devastatingly effective designs have him on edge. Thin straps barely holding everything together, high-cut panties that accentuate your legs, delicate bralettes that are more about aesthetics than practicality. He loves when the details like lace appliques or ribbon ties demand his attention. Anything he can tug, unravel, or ruin.

Let’s be real. Caleb is not a man who delicately undresses you. He’s been patient his entire life, watching, waiting, restraining himself. The moment you’re finally his? He’s not taking his time. “You knew what would happen when you put this on, didn’t you?” His voice is low, rough—before the sound of tearing lace fills the room.

If you ever wonder why pieces of your lingerie mysteriously disappear, don’t. Caleb takes them when you’re not looking, slipping them into his uniform pockets or luggage when he’s preparing for deployment. He’s possessive, obsessive, and when he’s away on fleet missions, he wants something of yours to keep with him. A delicate lace garter? A silk chemise you once wore to bed? He’ll tuck them away like trophies, running his fingers over them late at night, mind filled with thoughts of you.

He’s a man who gives gifts with purpose. He knows exactly what you want, and he knows what he wants. If he’s getting you that plushie you mentioned offhandedly, or the book you’ve been dying to read, you will find a carefully wrapped lingerie set alongside it. Every gift is a two-for-one deal—his way of spoiling you while satisfying his own desires. Tucked inside, there’s always a note with cheeky messages: "Making dinner tonight. But if you wear this, you'll be the dessert."

Caleb is the picture of patience in public. He knows what you’re wearing underneath your dress—he saw you put it on, watched every slow movement in the mirror. But he doesn’t let it show. Not a single twitch of his lips, not a single shift in his stance. He leans down, lips brushing your ear, his voice impossibly calm: “You’re going to regret this later.”

There is one thing that drives him past the point of no return— his clothes on you. Seeing you in his oversized shirt is one thing, but if he catches you lounging in his boxers? He’s done. His fingers dig into the waistband, his voice a rough whisper against your ear. “You must really like testing me, huh?” His breath is hot against your neck, his hands already tugging the waistband lower. Any plans you had for the day? Gone.

His Reaction:

When you step into the room, wearing something meant just for him, his expression darkens immediately. There’s a brief flicker of something feral in his purple eyes—desire, possessiveness, raw hunger. He doesn’t say a word at first, just stands there, his breath held. “You expect me to behave after this?” His patience is frayed, and it's clear he’s barely holding onto his composure.

Try to tease him, make him work for it and he’ll let you, for a moment. He enjoys the chase, the way you think you’re in control. But the moment he decides he’s had enough? You’re done for. One second, he’s watching you with quiet intensity, and the next, you’re beneath him, your wrists pinned, your breath stolen by the sheer force of his presence.

When he touches you, it’s as if he can’t get enough—his fingers move with purpose, reverence, but there’s an undeniable urgency. “You’re mine. Always.” And with that, his lips crash against yours, taking what’s his. There’s no gentle teasing here—this is pure, unfiltered desire. It’s clear there’s no going back now. You’ve pushed him past the point of no return. The soft, teasing lace may have been your choice—but now everything that happens from there is his.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

taglist: @cordidy

[dollyswishingwell]

I'm obsessed with your writing style!! Can I request the Love and Deepspace guys the very first time they take you shopping, wanting to spoil you and pick out pretty things for you, but you're still a little uncomfortable?

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Hesitation

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluffff, reader is a bit awkward, i promise i’ll be going through all the requests soon. i hope this is good :D

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You didn’t realise they’ve been waiting their whole life to take care of you

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You didn’t even realize where he was taking you at first. One minute, Rafayel was humming beside you in the sun-drenched car, legs loosely crossed, wrist lazily draped over his knee, then the next, you were standing in front of a boutique with marble steps and gilded trim, its window displays shimmering with silk and starlight.

You looked up at him, confused.

“I thought we were just grabbing food?”

He smiled, soft and lopsided. “We will. After.”

Your arms stayed crossed as he nudged the glass door open, the cool air inside fragrant with expensive perfume. You hesitated on the threshold like it burned. The place was pristine, curated for a kind of woman you never thought to be, draped in chiffon, light on her feet, untouched by blood or plasma discharge.

“I don’t need anything.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I want to give you something.”

He was already drifting inside, fingertips brushing lazily across a rack of pale-colored dresses like he was feeling textures of coral under the sea. His eyes were sparkling, pink and blue both. Not because he cared about the fashion. But because you were here.

You stayed by the entrance like an idiot, hand still on your belt. Rafayel turned, noting the stiffness in your shoulders. Then he padded back to you, soft, catlike steps, always a little too close.

“You look scared,” he teased gently, leaning in like he was about to share a secret. “It’s not a trap. Unless you count being emotionally manipulated by a pretty man who loves you.”

You huffed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he said without flinching. “And always wearing the same six hunter outfits. They don’t even have proper pockets. Let me give you something nice. Please.”

The word please lingered in the air, rare and sincere. It made your throat tighten.

He tilted his head. “You don’t have to like it. Just try something on. For me.”

His tone was so unassuming, so earnest in its quiet request, it disarmed you. A little part of you, tired, sore, always on alert, ached to be indulgent. Just for a second.

“…Fine,” you muttered, glaring at a display dress like it personally insulted you. “But if I look stupid, I’m blaming you.”

Rafayel beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Deal. I’ll take full responsibility. Emotionally, financially, spiritually.”

He plucked the hanger and draped it gently over your arm like a crown being placed on royalty. You rolled your eyes, but didn’t shake it off.

And when you returned from the fitting room, unsure, awkward, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, he stared at you like the stars had rearranged themselves just to form your silhouette.

“…Okay?” you asked, arms slightly lifted in a self-conscious shrug.

Rafayel didn’t answer. Not with words. He just stepped forward and reached out, cupping your cheek with a reverence that made your chest hurt.

“I want to wrap you in every soft, lovely thing,” he murmured. “So the world never gets to bruise you again.”

You swallowed thickly.

“…That’s not how it works.”

He smiled sadly. “I know. But let me try anyway.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The boutique was quiet, too quiet. The kind with glass shelves, polished floors, and a single attendant too nervous to breathe loud. The walls were lined with elegant neutral palettes, coats and dresses hanging like art. You shouldn’t have been here. Not in your boots, not with your hunters permit still sticking awkwardly out from your ID.

You shot Zayne a look.

“This is a little much, isn’t it?”

He didn’t look at you, fingers trailing steadily along the hem of a soft camel coat, his expression unreadable behind silver-rimmed glasses. “You’ll need something appropriate for the hospital gala.”

“I have a black dress.”

He hummed. “The one you wore to a funeral.”

You flushed, defensive. “It’s still in good condition.”

“I’m sure it is,” Zayne said coolly, lifting the sleeve of a deep plum cashmere number and inspecting the stitching like it offended him. “But I’d rather not have the director’s wife think you’re in mourning.”

You scowled. “You said she wasn’t your type.”

“She isn’t,” he said mildly. “But I’d still rather not.”

That earned him a look. You hated shopping. It always felt… vulnerable. You weren’t used to the stillness. The hush of indulgence. You’d spent years with utility belts and reinforced boots, shopping was for people with soft hands and quiet jobs. People who didn’t deal in violence.

Zayne stepped closer, voice lower, a hand ghosting over the small of your back without quite touching.

“You don’t have to like it,” he murmured, tilting his head just slightly. “But I do want you to have something that makes you feel beautiful. Not just… armed.”

You paused.

That soft hum in his voice, that was the problem. The way he said beautiful like it was a diagnosis. Like he could see it whether or not you did. You didn’t know how to handle that.

Still, you hesitated. “…I’m not going to prance around in sequins.”

His lips tugged just faintly. “Noted. We’ll keep it understated.”

You narrowed your eyes, watching him pull a gown from a side rack. Sleek. Minimalist. No fuss. Elegant in the way he was, muted but unmistakably sharp.

He handed it to you. “Try this.”

“…What if I hate it?”

“You won’t,” he said plainly. “But if you do, I’ll find you something better.”

You stared at him, suspicious. “How do you know my size?”

“I’m a surgeon,” Zayne said flatly. “I could recreate your spine from memory.”

You blinked. Your mouth opened. Then shut.

He added, deadpan: “Don’t look so horrified. I meant that flatteringly.”

“…That wasn’t flattering.”

Zayne’s lips twitched again, like he was holding back laughter. He didn’t press. Just waited silently until you retreated into the changing room.

When you stepped out, he looked up from where he’d leaned against the edge of a display table. His eyes flicked over you once, slow, assessing, steady. No smirk. No flattery. Just… a quiet, deliberate stillness.

You shifted, uncomfortable. “Too much?”

“No,” he said simply.

You gave him a skeptical glance in the mirror. He stepped behind you, fixing the off-shoulder sleeve with a careful touch, the fabric gliding under his fingers. His scarred hands looked too rough for the material, and yet he handled it, and you, with absolute precision.

“You don’t have to wear it to the gala,” he said, his tone low, almost absentminded as he adjusted the fit on your shoulder. “But I’m buying it anyway.”

You turned to face him.

“Because it’s pretty?”

“Because you’re pretty,” he said without hesitation. “And I like watching you be reminded of it.”

That stopped your heart for half a second.

“…You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “And you’re stalling. Go change.”

You stomped back into the dressing room before he could see you blush.

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You blinked up at the glittering storefront. Mannequins in flowing satin. Soft lighting. Gentle classical music humming in the background. The kind of boutique you passed without ever really seeing. Now here you were, standing just slightly to the left of Xavier, who was staring at the mannequins like they were alien lifeforms.

“…Are we lost?”

“No,” he said, almost serenely. “This is the destination.”

“…You brought me here on purpose?”

A small nod. His silver hair shimmered slightly under the soft lighting. His expression hadn’t changed since you left the train: calm, unreadable, borderline sleepy. But his hand was resting lightly against the small of your back, guiding you inside.

“I don’t need anything fancy,” you tried, already shrinking under the chandeliers. “I’ve got my uniform. I’m fine.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I like seeing you wear soft things.”

That caught you off guard. You glanced at him, suspicious. “Soft things?”

He paused, thoughtful. “Like… clouds. Or the pastries you like. But on you.”

You blinked.

“…You mean dresses.”

Xavier tilted his head. “I mean things that look good when you spin in them.”

You didn’t even know what to say to that. You were still in your boots. Still carrying the tension of your last mission between your shoulders. You didn’t belong in a place like this.

As if sensing that, Xavier stepped in front of you, hands clasped behind his back. His voice was quiet, but steady. “Do you feel uncomfortable?”

“…A little.”

A beat.

“I will fix it.”

You blinked. “What—”

But he was already off, sifting through a row of garments with the exact same eerie calm he brought to dismantling illegal protocore traders. It didn’t matter if it was dress racks or combat briefings, Xavier was methodical, careful, and just slightly tilted from what was expected.

He returned with a gauzy lavender number draped over his arm. He held it out to you without a word. You stared at it.

“Try it,” he said simply.

“I’m not even sure it’s my color.”

“I am.”

You gave him a flat look. “And when did you become a fashion expert?”

“I’m not,” he said. “But I am very good at observing you.”

Your ears grew warm.

You reluctantly took the dress and disappeared into the fitting room. The whole time, you expected to look ridiculous. Like someone else entirely. But when you stepped out.

Xavier was already watching.

His expression didn’t change.

But something… softened.

He approached slowly, the tips of his fingers brushing over the hem of the dress like it might melt. Then, without a word, he reached up and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His gloved fingers didn’t touch your skin. But it still made your breath hitch.

“…You approve?” you asked, trying to sound dry.

“I do not understand what others consider beautiful,” he murmured. “But I like how you look. I like how you always look.”

You stared up at him. He was still expressionless. Still strange. Still not quite human in how he moved, or spoke, or tilted his head when he looked at you like the galaxy stopped turning.

And yet, your heart squeezed.

“…You’re being really weird.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But I’d like to buy it for you.”

You hesitated.

He added, “You don’t have to keep it. You don’t even have to wear it. But if I imagine you spinning once in it, in a room filled with light, then it’s worth it to me.”

You looked away, ears burning.

“…Fine. But only if I get to choose something you wear next time.”

Xavier nodded solemnly. “Deal. I will wear a pastry if you ask me to.”

“What— no, Xavier—!”

Too late. He was already at the counter, wallet in hand, gently coaxing the boutique worker to wrap it in tissue.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

You’d expected the mission briefing. Trying out new weapoms. Maybe some recon.

You had not expected Sylus to park the car outside a luxury fashion district and say, lazily:

“Get out. We’re shopping.”

You frowned at him.

“You’re joking.”

Sylus didn’t blink. Didn’t even look at you. Just adjusted the black blazer hanging off his shoulders and tilted his head slightly, the red crow brooch catching the light.

“Do I look like I joke?”

You muttered under your breath, “You look like someone with twelve armories and no sense of moderation.”

He smirked. “And you look like someone I’d rather not have wearing knockoff tactical gear while standing next to me.”

Your glare deepened.

“I like this gear.”

“It’s functional,” Sylus said airily, guiding you toward the automatic doors with a hand at your lower back. “But function doesn’t always win wars. Sometimes presence does.”

You knew better than to argue when he was in this mood, calm, smug, and quietly plotting something three steps ahead. He wasn’t just taking you shopping. This was a statement. And you had no idea what kind.

Inside, the boutique was all mirrors and low lighting. The kind of place that didn’t display price tags, just power. A clerk stepped forward. Sylus didn’t speak to her. He just gave her a look, and she vanished into the back to fetch whatever he wanted.

You stood stiffly. He leaned against a gold-trimmed display table, watching you with idle amusement.

“I don’t need you to buy me things,” you muttered.

“I didn’t ask what you needed,” he replied smoothly. “I do what I want.”

You crossed your arms. “Why?”

That made him pause. His red eyes flicked toward you, sharp and gleaming. Then, softly:

“Because I like the idea of you wrapped in luxury. Because I enjoy watching you realize how easily you could own every room you walk into.”

A beat. Then he added with a smirk:

“And because I’m shallow and get bored. So this is also entertainment.”

You scowled.

Moments later, the clerk returned with gowns, gloves, heels, even jewelry, rich reds, deep blacks, all materials that shimmered like oil or bled like wine. Sylus didn’t touch a single one. He just looked at you expectantly.

“No way,” you said, hands raised. “I’m not trying those on.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a hunter, not—”

“Not what?” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Not someone who deserves to be admired? To feel powerful in ways that don’t involve blood or bullets?”

You froze.

Sylus smiled, slow and knowing.

“Let me rephrase,” he said softly. “Go try them on. Or I’ll carry you to the fitting room myself.”

Your stomach flipped.

You grabbed the nearest piece and fled.

When you stepped out again, blood-red velvet, cut close and dangerous, Sylus’s expression didn’t shift. But his gaze burned. He tilted his head slightly, his tongue pressing lightly to the inside of his cheek, almost like he was savoring something.

“Well,” he said at last, voice low. “Look at you.”

“…Too much?” you asked stiffly.

“No,” he murmured. “It’s perfect.”

You swallowed. “I’m not used to this.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why we’re practicing.”

You blinked.

He stepped closer. Lowered his voice. “One day, you’re going to rule rooms like this. You’ll walk into a place like this, and no one will question the cost of anything. They’ll ask if it pleases you. And I’ll be the one standing behind you, amused.”

Your heart stuttered.

“…You think I’ll be like that?”

“I think,” Sylus said, reaching up to adjust a strap with slow, calculated fingers, “that you already are. You just haven’t seen it yet.”

You stared at him.

He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against your cheek like he was crowning you with it.

“Now pick a few,” he murmured. “Before I lose patience and buy out the store.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

You were supposed to be getting parts. Weapons. Something for your mission. Not… standing awkwardly in front of a boutique window while Caleb stood beside you, hands in his pockets, watching you like you were the only star in the sky.

“I don’t need anything,” you muttered.

“I know,” he said softly, “but I want to give you something anyway.”

You turned to him, skeptical. “Why?”

Caleb smiled. Not the playful grin you remembered from childhood, but a softer, grown-up version. Sadder. Warmer. More dangerous.

“You work hard. You never ask for anything. You always think you have to handle everything alone.” He tilted his head. “Let me spoil you, just this once.”

You glanced at the boutique. Soft lighting. Silks and crystals and delicate things you’d never wear in a cockpit. Not your world.

“I’m not the type to wear stuff like this.”

Caleb stepped closer. You felt it before you saw it, the sudden change in pressure, the weight of his presence, like his Gravity Evol was always humming just beneath the surface, calibrated just for you.

“You don’t have to be,” he said quietly. “You’re you. That’s all I want.”

You hesitated.

And then, just like he used to do when you were kids, he reached out, tugged your sleeve lightly, and leaned in with a teasing whisper, “C’mon. You didn’t say no when I bought you five extra sticker packs that summer, remember?”

You blinked at him. “You told Gran they were on sale.”

“They were. Emotionally.”

You laughed despite yourself, and Caleb’s smile brightened. Not cocky. Not smug. Just sincere.

And before you could stop him, he was gently guiding you through the door, palm on your back, already talking to the assistant about “something soft, something pretty, something in her color.” The way he said it made your skin burn.

Inside, you tried to retreat, but Caleb was persistent in the way only he could be. Not pushy. Just present. Patient. Like he knew how many steps it would take for you to give in.

He held up a deep plum piece, simple but elegant, and tilted his head.

“I think this one’s pretty,” he murmured. “It matches your eyes.”

“…Yours are purple,” you pointed out.

He smiled again, and this time, there was heat behind it. “Exactly.”

You snatched the outfit from his hand and stormed off to the changing room just to get away from the flutter in your chest.

When you stepped out, uncomfortable and tugging at the fabric, he was already sitting there, waiting. Legs spread, one arm draped over the chair, dark brown hair slightly tousled from his flight jacket.

His gaze traveled down your body slowly, taking in everything.

“…You like it?” you asked, fidgeting.

He didn’t answer immediately. Just stood, walked over, and reached to fix the collar.

“I love it,” he said, voice low. “But I’d love it more if you didn’t look like you were about to bolt.”

“I’m not used to—”

“I know,” he cut in gently, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “But I’m going to keep doing this. Slowly. Until you believe it’s okay to let me take care of you.”

Your heart thudded.

He looked down at you, purple eyes glowing softly.

“Because I always have,” he whispered. “I always will.”

And when the assistant brought out a pair of heels that matched perfectly, Caleb took them from her hands, crouched in front of you, and, before you could even protest, slipped one on with the same calm focus he used when piloting his favourite aircraft.

“…Cinderella moment?” you asked, flustered.

“Mm,” he smiled, still crouched. “No. My girl doesn’t need saving. But she deserves everything beautiful.”

[fryran]

My headcannons for Sylus!DragonHybrid

Mentions: fluff, possessive; A BIT OF SMUT 18+ (children close your eyes), overstimulation, size difference.

♡ Loves comparing the size of his hands to yours, gently intertwining his fingers with yours—careful, always, because humans are such fragile creatures. Despite the rocky start to your relationship, Sylus can’t help but feel a strange warmth in his chest whenever he sees how small and delicate your hands look next to his claws. It’s oddly comforting.

♡ Sylus would absolutely bite you mid-conversation. It’s his version of cuteness aggression—you’re just so unbearably adorable that he has to do something to keep himself from squeezing you to death. So he bites. Not too hard, but hard enough to leave a mark.

At first, you’d flinch and complain that he wasn’t listening. But over time, you got used to it. Maybe even a little too used to it. It kind of made you question whether you had a bite kink.

♡ Despite being an intimidating dragon hybrid he’s a clingy baby.

“Sy-“

“No.”

You sigh in defeat as he kept you sat on his lap. His hands were snaked tightly around your waist while having his forehead resting on your shoulder, subtly taking in your scent that makes him feel so at peace. You reach out to caress his hair between his horns. He’s silent for a moment before you could feel faint vibration coming from deep within his chest as he lets out low quiet purrs.

♡ He has sensitive horns—and an even more sensitive spot just above the base of his tail. The first time you accidentally brushed against either, he got goosebumps, his breathing turned suspiciously shallow, and sometimes the tips of his ears would flush a deep crimson. It didn’t take long for you to figure it out, and now… Well, you can’t help but tease him… just a little.

Like when you’re cuddling. You’ll start with his usual back scratches, your hands moving in slow, soothing circles. But then, gradually, you’ll let them drift lower, until your fingers are gently scrubbing the spot just above his tail. You do it just to see the way his tail twitches—and how it always lifts, almost involuntarily.

♡ Every day he will make sure that you are scented with his scent to back others away from you. Whether it would be as nuzzling against your neck or as smearing his cum all over your pussy and lower tummy, both are subtle.

♡ Loooooooooves your skin. It’s just so soft and comfortable to nibble and nuzzle against. Sylus develops a habit of falling asleep nuzzling against your soft tummy while his ares are snaked around your hips, gently squeezing your thighs and ass from time to time.

♡ Constantly has his tail close to you, wrapped around your leg, waist, hips, or just rubbing against your lower back while youre doing something, it doesn’t matter. He does it unconsciously.

♡ During your first time with him, and, honestly his FIRST time ever, he’s twice as sensitive than you., turning him into an absolute mess that cannot stop himself from pounding inside your poor princess. He would definitely let out stiffened groans and even small whines into your ears which turns you on even more. He’d bite your shoulders trying to ground himself each time your velvety walls would squeeze one of his cocks (ah. Yes. Another mention — theres two of them :D) not daring him to leave. And once orgasm hits — his slit pupils are full blown wide in daze.

Planning to do Caleb and Xavier next ~

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

lads boys during intimacy

disclaimer : one-shot | mature | explicit | MDNI - minors dont interact | lads smut | spin off

xavier

you thought xavier would be the sweet one. nope. the usually sleepy and quiet xavier is gone — gone, replaced by a starved and mean version that you have never seen ever, never imagined he would enjoy edging you and stop seconds before you come.

and that mean, teasing and confident smirk — it shouldn't look too good on him, but it does, especially with those eyes that were usually soft and caring, turned dark and sinister. he'd whisper dirty things that he'd like to do to you in your ear, enumerate the things you do that makes him go crazy.

he'd make you cry and he loves it.

"look at you, a total mess," he'd chuckle as he slowly pushes in, "all for me."

and xavier is easy to rile up, but is always good in holding back. however, once he snaps - you are in for a ride because xavier is insatiable and could go for hours with no breaks. he doesn't stop, he takes what he wants and you let him.

"xavier — i — "

"you can do one more, baby," he'd say, "give me more."

he lets you see all the emotions he has for you — everything, all the unspoken love and care, devotion and passion — those that he rarely shows on the surface.

rafayel

the ocean god is sassy even during sex. and too damn confident for his own good, well he has the looks and body for it. he knows what he is doing, knows how every action affects you.

he is a softie, loves to watch you on top, hands intertwined the whole time. he'd kiss you intimately, every skin touched by his soft kisses, making sure you are loved like a goddess that you are in his eyes.

"so pretty, so good," he'd kiss your knuckles one by one while he keeps a steady rhythm, "you look like a goddess."

and you'd blush at his words, would try to hide, but he'd always stop you.

"don't hide from me," he'd admonish you lovingly, "let me see everything, beautiful."

but when he is riled up, he bends you over any surface, or against his floor to ceiling windows, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, taking his time with you and your body.

"look at us," he groans in your ear, making you look at your bodies in front if his full length mirror, "look at how good we look. not even my paintbrushes can capture your beauty."

his lips are always on your skin or busy showering you with praises and love, and of course how perfect your bodies look together.

"see that, cutie?" he pants, voice deeper than usual due to lust, "see how my cock fills your beautiful pussy, how perfect and good it feels, fuck.*

and he would moan shamelessly, making sure you know that you are doing so well.

zayne

the brat tamer — literally. if you're being sassy or cheeky with him, you'd be bent over his lap, counting the number of times he punishes your ass with the palm of his hands.

"seriously that mouth of yours," slap, "you think you're being a smart-ass with that attitude?" another slap.

"you missed to count," he'd whisper in your ear, "we'd have to start again from one."

you'd cry, not from pain cause you have experienced worse hits from wanderers, but because every smack sends all the delicious senses straight to your clit — throbbing and aching so bad, needing release.

"zayne..."

"your sobs won't work on me," he'd say in his stern tone, voice lower and rougher, "i have a feeling that you're misbehaving on purpose. could it be because you wanted to be punished?"

another sob, with a moan, peering at him through your shoulder as you bit your lip waiting for the next impact.

"hmm?" he continued while caressing your red-stained ass, "you like being punished. look at how wet you are."

you"d close your eyes, whispering his name as he finally — finally did something to relieve the ache between your legs.

and when he's riled up, you're on his bed, folded in different positions as he rams deeply into you. he'd let you mark his skin with your nails, your teeth — growls every time.

caleb

slow burn. he lives for it. until you are begging for him to take you. he is patient like that, making sure every part of you is loved.

he loves to eat you, loves to make you sit on his face for hours, slapping your ass if you try to pull away cause he wants to be smothered by your wet cunt.

"sit on my face and stop pulling away," he'd pull your hips down to his jaw, keeps you steady and he'd eat you like his last meal.

also, he loves your breasts so damn much that he'd spend hours just kissing, licking or playing with it. and when he realizes you're squirming on his lap, he'd push a digit inside you and make you come.

"so wet for me baby," he'd say while diving once more for one of your tits, making another mark, "wanna come?"

you'd nod, panting hard with your fingers tangled in his hair.

and even while he is pounding in you, he'd suck on your tits — loves to make them bounce and he's trapped in a trance while watching them.

but what riles him up the most is when you touch them while you're riding him, which ends up with you grabbing on his shoulders for your dear life while he keeps your hips steady and he thrusts into you mercilessly.

sylus

the man is the definition of true body worship — from head down to your feet. he wants you adored in everything — including physically regardless of those battle scars, he wants you to know that you are perfect and beautiful in all aspects.

also the other brat tamer.

loves to eat you out on his kitchen counter.

but one of the things sylus likes is cock warming.

he wants you all hot and bothered, loves to watch you squirm on his lap, face all red and skin hot to touch while his huge cock sits inside you, filling you completely in all ways.

"sy-sylus, please," you'd beg, tears edging your eyes, "i can't take it anymore."

"just a few more minutes, darling," he'd kiss your temple, still calm as if this is not torturing you, "just one more call and i'm done for the day. i promise to make you feel good. be a good girl and stay quiet in the next 5 minutes, okay?"

you'd whimper, leaning your forehead in his shoulder, while you try not to move, try not to make a sound while feeling his cock twitch inside you occasionally, knowing he is doing that on purpose.

he'd talk on the phone so casually — composed, calm and collected, while you are so close to losing your mind.

and if you try to move, he'd use his evol to keep you still, placing a finger on top of your lips gently to remind you not to make any sound.

and that command, those red eyes that stares at your very soul, would make your mouth shut.

and sylus? he'd rile you up even more, talking to someone with his lips close to your ears.

"hmmm," he'd raise an amused eyebrow at your expression — a mix of defiance and pleasure, one hand would firmly squeeze your ass, daring you to make a sound, and he'd chuckle when you keep it down by biting your lips.

he'd stare at your lips while he continues to talk, "make sure it's done tonight. i have to go, i have another important business to attend to. disturb me and i'll make sure you'd regret it."

and once he is done with his phone call, all of his attention would be on you — undivided and complete. and he'd make sure that you feel every inch of him, deeper and harder.

what riles him up? when he's jealous and possessive. gone is the worshipful man, replaced by a monster with unlimited stamina, fucking you on every surface of his room.

[kissandtellus]

Could you write something with brat tamer zayne and sylus please? 🥹

Brat Tamer: Zayne & Sylus

Warnings: Smut, spanking, punishment, mention of small wound, collar and leash.

Zayne~

“Did I say you could look at me?” Oh. Y/n KNOWS she’s in trouble. As if being bent over Zayne’s lap, his white lab coat still over his shoulders and his large hand punishing her cheeks wasn’t enough of a clue.

She just wanted to give him those big and wide puppy eyes. But even that was beyond how much she acted up today.

It had all started with simply refusing to eat the nutritious breakfast he cooked for her. His hours with her were already short, but she decided to just have a piece of toast, because she was busy. Even though he said he could pack it up for her.

Okay, fine. He could let that slide.

But then it came time for his break. The two always met up at the Akso Hospital garden. But she had sent him a quick text right as he found a comfortable bench.

“Sorry. Can’t make it. Xavier asked me to spar with him. See you at home!” She ended it with a cute little snowman emoji.

Okay, fine. Having good connections with coworkers was important.

The last straw came in the form of her refusing to talk to him after her hard work day. She had clammed up, and would turn her head aside at dinner whenever he questioned her.

“No. Use your words, Y/n. I am not doing this with you.” Uh oh. Y/n knew that tone of voice.

But still she insisted on keeping her mouth sealed.

“It’s nothing, alright? Just drop it.” That did it. Zayne dropped his fork onto his plate, standing up as he carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“Bedroom. Now.”

And the rest was history. Her poor little ass cheeks were a rosy red. Zayne had his fingers hooked in her waist band of her panties to pull them flush between her cheeks so the outline of her drooling lips were visible

Every 3 spanks was then accompanied by his fingers sliding over the outline of her clit through the soaked fabric. Y/n was sniffling and sobbing, squirming from the overstimulation. Zayne’s face was expressionless when she started to beg.

“Z-Zayne!”

“Wrong.” He pinched her swollen pearl between his index and thumb.

“D-Dr. Zayne!” She corrected herself immediately. “I’m gonna cum Gonnacumgonnacum!”

“No.” He pulled his hand away completely and released her soaked underwear. The fabric clung to her sticky folds and she actually cried as the heat in her stomach raged on. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

The kiss to the back of her head was nearly ice cold.

Oh she couldn’t hate but to love him.

Sylus~

Sylus was a man that always had a schedule. A strict schedule.

Most of that schedule including Y/n. His sweet Kitten who could do no wrong in his eyes-

“Present.” He nearly purred to the woman at his feet on the plush, faux bear rug. The pretty red collar around her neck jingled as she crawled with her back to him, breast against the rug and ass arched deliciously so.

Sylus hummed, taking a sip from his wine cup. “Already wet? Are you wet because you disobeyed me? Or maybe because you enjoy putting your life in danger?”

It was neither of those, not really.

Sylus would have taken the bullet if she didn’t intervene. The target was a lot more slippery than Y/n anticipated.

Sylus stared down at her bandage wrapped arm and his heart throbbed. He’d carried her to his car and stayed silent, aside from his one hand pressing on her bicep to keep the wound from gushing blood.

But now she was at his home, his domain. He stood silently from his seat and kneeled down next to her.

She was stripped naked aside from the collar and chain. He grabbed the leather handle and-

“Bad kitten.” The handle came down right across her aching cunt. She gasped out loud, body lurching forward. But Sylus hooked two fingers in her collar to keep her still.

“No. You are going to learn to follow my orders. Ass up, Kitten. Let me see how disgusting you are.”

Y/n lost count of how many swats her pretty pussy took but all she knew was the bear rug was ruined by her dripping juices.

“Clean it up. Mouth only. Then I’m cleaning that wound and we are going to bed.”

Maybe she should’ve let him take the stupid bullet.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS in Hogwarts AU

AN: Hi anon, thank you for requesting. This was an awesome one to write. Some of these could be multi chaptered but alas I am a woman of few words and even meagre attention span.

Request: a request!! harry potter au :D love and deepspace and harry potter are my two favourites ^^ thank you!!!

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader

Ingredients: 100% Fluff (damn, this is rare)

My Fav: Sylus and Caleb...this is a trend (tell me which ones you like pls)

Xavier:

He is the legacy Slytherin. Pureblood prince of a faraway kingdom, the kind with a family vault older than the castle and buildings named after them.

He sleeps through class but still scores the highest. Doesn’t take notes, but his potions always come out textbook perfect, somehow even better than the textbook.

Even Snape, ever the grump, seems to favor him.

He was your enemy. At least, he was supposed to be.

The nepo baby. The one who walked into Hogwarts with an heirloom wand and a last name that made professors stand up straighter.

You, who ran away from home for magic, scraping together acceptance letters and scholarships, walking into the castle with nerves and nothing else. You, who earned your place.

You hated him. Hated how the system seemed built for boys like him. How Slytherin’s points climbed every time he so much as blinked. How he didn’t fight for the respect he got. He just had it.

And worst of all? He was nice.

Quietly. Gently. Infuriatingly nice.

He held doors open without thinking. Helped carry books for first-years. Always paired with the struggling students in class because, “Well, they need a win, don’t they?”

He never rubbed it in. Never gloated. Never treated you like you were less, which made it worse, somehow. Because you wanted to hate him. Needed to.

But then he looked at you, really looked at you, and smiled like you were someone worth smiling at.

And that… was the beginning of the end.

Rafayel:

You sighed when yet another chair was dragged next to yours at the Hogwarts staff table. At this rate, they might just push you off the end completely.

But alas, such is the fate of a muggle-subjects professor in a school where “Calculus” might as well be a curse word. You’re used to the disinterest, the disapproval. The dark arts will always win over derivatives.

You’re halfway through mentally drafting your resignation letter when the new professor takes his seat, by replacing his legs with an enormous siren tail and dramatically splashing half your legroom away.

"Hello," he says, smiling with too many teeth. "Rafayel. Art professor. Lovely to meet you."

You stare. Shake his webbed hand. Stammer your name.

And then it hits you.

Arts. No magic.

Another outsider. Well—not quite the same. But close enough.

To your complete dismay, Rafayel’s subject is met with none of the disdain yours is. Students flock to his class like he’s handing out enchanted paintbrushes dipped in prophecy. Somehow, he’s the cool muggle professor.

You want to be mad.

But he keeps bringing you snacks during staff meetings. And drawing you in charcoal between grading.

So maybe you forgive him. A little.

Zayne:

“Classroom windows need to be elevated above the two-foot mark,” the man drones, leading you through Hogwarts like he built it himself.

The Ministry has to be trolling you. There’s no other explanation for sending him again.

Zayne. The most regulation-obsessed official alive. The man who’s turned passive-aggression into an Olympic sport.

“Yes, of course, Zayne,” you smile with false sweetness. “Filch and I will get right on it.” (Translation: I will do it while Filch glares and mutters about unions.)

He ignores you. Of course he does. Groundskeepers aren’t worth Ministry time.

Then he stops, turns, and hands you a thick folder. “Every storage hinge in the castle needs to be updated to a new spell protocol. Instructions inside.”

You want to hurl it at his head.

Instead, you smile. “Got it.”

What you don’t know: Zayne spent weeks compiling that list. Researching every obscure policy he could dig up.

All just to have an excuse to come talk to you.

He even bribed Filch to stay out of the way.

So that later, when you’re elbow-deep in cursed cabinet screws, he can show up with dinner.

Professionally, of course.

He’s not an amateur.

Sylus:

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was… a piece of work.

Many a student, mostly girls, a few brave boys, and one very dramatic portrait on the third floor, called him a work of art.

You agreed.

Which was fair, considering you hired him.

Sylus. Your oldest friend. Keeper of far too many of your secrets. Former war general, occasional assassin, and man bound by an ancient oath not to die. Because of course he is.

Was it an HR nightmare? Absolutely.

Did it matter? Not even a little.

You’re the principal with the most peaceful term Hogwarts has seen in decades. No cursed classrooms. No dark lords. No goblin incidents in the West Tower.

They can’t afford to question your hiring decisions, not when it’s working. Even if “working” currently includes the students placing bets on whether the two of you are dating, dueling, or doomed.

There are whispers. Screams, really. Squeals in the hallways every time Sylus leans a little too close during staff meetings. Every time he calls you, by your name, letting go of the official address, with that knowing smile that turns half the seventh-years into puddles.

You pretend not to notice. You also pretend not to see the doodles left behind in your healing arts studies classroom, little hearts drawn in ink, a chemical formula twisted cleverly into your ship name.

"Ten points to Ravenclaw," you murmur with a smirk, holding up the notebook for him to see.

Caleb:

They called it the sweetest story in Diagon Alley.

The Quidditch coach who kept showing up at the same little pub after every match, “for the butterbeer,” he claimed.

(He absolutely couldn’t handle it. Turned red after two sips. Giggled after three. Once tried to do a victory dance and knocked over an entire broom display.)

And the innkeeper, you, who always kept a room open. “Just in case,” you said, as if he wasn’t the reason you looked out the window every Friday night.

Together, you became the unofficial mom and dad to every half-injured, half-homesick player who passed through. Post-win snacks. Pep talks before tryouts. Holiday dinners for those who didn’t go home.

You weren’t just a couple. Your relationship was a blessing.

So of course, when Caleb finally proposed, it had to be with the team. After a big win. Pub packed, cheers echoing off the enchanted ceiling.

He slipped the ring into your butterbeer. A cute idea, in theory.

But you’d just taken a deep sip when he got down on one knee.

Cue: choking, gasping, sputtering.

Half the league panicked. Someone shouted, “She’s dying!” And Caleb, red-faced and frantic, performed the Heimlich in front of two full tables of junior league athletes and at least one reporter.

The ring did come out. Eventually.

You said yes, coughing.

He cried anyway. Ugly, happy, overjoyed tears.

[luvvannie]

NIGHTMARES . . . ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ -> lads when u have a nightmare

syn. in the middle of the night, you're shaken awake after a nightmare. how do they comfort you?

gen. fluff.

cmts + rbgs are super duper appreciated !! :D

꩜.ᐟ SYLUS sits up, awake almost immediately after you are. it's an instinct, at this point. his eyes find yours first, pupils dilated, frantic, shaky. nightmare, he thought to himself.

he wraps an arm around your small trembling frame, pulling you into his chest as he lays the two of you back down, pressing kisses against your hairline, "you're okay, sweetie." he murmured reassuringly, voice slightly croaky.

your hand clutched onto his shirt as you closed your teary eyes, sniffling, burrowing your face in his chest. sylus's much larger hand rests atop yours, covering your body back up in the warm comforter. he doesn't move, allowing you to lay there and lull yourself back off to sleep, listening to his heartbeat.

"sylus?" you called, looking up at him, looking half asleep already.

he looked at you with a light smirk, his other hand resting on your hip. he knew what you wanted to say, "i love you too. now sleep."

꩜.ᐟ ZAYNE squinted as he felt your arms hold onto him tightly, fuzzy vision coming into focus as his gaze met your figure wrapped around him, shuddering and squeezing him as if you were trying to gauge if he was real or not. "is there a reason you're pretending to be a koala?" he asked hoarsely.

you look up at him with glassy eyes, blinking hard at tears, "i-i had a bad dream."

he paused momentarily, before putting an arm around your lower back and pulling you into him, sitting up as he switched on the bedside lamp and picked up your water bottle, unscrewing it and giving it to you to sip from. the coolness hitting your tongue relaxed you a little, as you curled into his side, feeling his hand run up and down your arm. "nightmares can be a sign of anxiety or stress." zayne said, watching you calm down, "is something making you feel overwhelmed or anxious?"

꩜.ᐟ XAVIER was always a heavy sleeper, especially after a long day of hunting. so, when you're awoken by the usual wanderer-chasing-you-and-then-falling-over nightmare, you decide to try to sleep it off. and when that doesn't work, you turn on the lamp and read a book. an hour later, he rolls over to his side, waking up thirsty. as he reaches for his water, he sees you already awake, rubbing his eyes in confusion, "why aren't you asleep?" he questions, "we have work in the morning."

you look up at him as he sits up with you, uncapping his water and drinking from it, "can't sleep... i had a nightmare."

xavier frowned, "wake me up next time." he said, turning off the lamp and putting your bookmark in your page, pulling your glasses off your nose and pulling you into his embrace, kissing the top of your head, "sleep. i'm not going anywhere." he said, rubbing your back.

꩜.ᐟ CALEB can't help but smile a little when you wake him up to tell him you had a nightmare, seeking his comfort and reassurance. he remembered all the time you had done the same as a kid. and he couldn't help but find it endearing.

you grumbled at him you caught the smile on his face as you told him you had a bad dream, knowing exactly what he was thinking about, "are you going to hold me or what?"

he chuckled, "sorry, baby." he said, kissing your nose as he pulled you to lay on top of him.

you looked up at him, still looking a little shaken as you laid your head on him, cheek pressed against his collarbone, "talk..." you mumbled in a whiny voice, needing to hear his voice soothe you back to sleep. caleb knew what to do. he picked his phone up from the bedside table, going to his online library of books as he began to read to you.

꩜.ᐟ RAFAYEL and you had been through the nightmare thing a few times. it took a little trial and error, but you had found the solution after a while. about twenty minutes of quiet colouring in bed with him, and then you were sleepy again and ready to doze back off in his arms. he drew the colouring pages for you himself, and had put all them together in a nice binder in the bedside table drawer, and he always let you use his expensive pigment pencils.

rafayel looked from the side of the page he was colouring it to your side, smiling as he saw it. the pigments had made their way outside the lines a little, probably because you were so tired, but he could tell being able to take you mind off of your stress was helping you. his gaze floated higher to your face, seeing your cute side profile, concentrated on your colouring with your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes still a little shiny. he wrapped an arm around you, "i think you're the best artist i've ever seen." he said, "we're gonna have to put this one up in my next gallery."

rafayel looked back at you when he heard no response, a smile coming to his face at the sight of you, eyes fluttering shut and head lulling forward as your pencil slips out of your fingers, "you must be multi-talented. i've never seen someone fall asleep sitting up."

[saintobio]

the perfect boyfriend, feat. l&ds xavier.

pairings. xavier, fem!reader genre. fluff, smut, established relationship, 18+ tags. petnames (bunny), jealousy, virginity loss, unprotected sex, cockwarming, slight dom/sub play, same timeline!xavier notes. he’s still my l&ds main until july 15th just kidding :’D i love xav sm he’s literally so bf material to me

⋆｡˚ ୨ৎ bf!xavier who had a hard time expressing his feelings the first time he met you. he used to be a man of a few words—or, as you liked to put it, a very nonchalant guy. it’s not that he’s disinterested. in fact, every small interaction he’d had with you lingered on his mind all night. you’re all he can think about until he finally had the courage to confess to you one day, after saving you from a bunch of wanderers, and thinking he’d almost lost you. again. he just couldn’t let that happen.

⋆｡˚ ୨ৎ bf!xavier who always responds to your texts and calls right after you press send or hit the ring button. he values your time and doesn’t want you to feel ignored after that one particular incident… when he fell asleep the entire afternoon and his phone conveniently died, only to see a number of missed calls and text messages from you the moment he woke up. he felt really bad at how worried you got, so he made a promise to always keep himself available for you.

⋆｡˚ ୨ৎ bf!xavier who enjoys hotpot, and has made it a habit to suggest dining at his favorite hotpot place after a successful mission. it’s not just the spicy broth that he loves about that place; it’s also your care in serving him and arranging ingredients in his bowl. you were such a dream girl to look at.

⋆｡˚ ୨ৎ bf!xavier who gets very jealous whenever you’d talk about another male colleague of yours. he wouldn’t say it out loud, but the signs are there when he starts showing that cute, grumpy face. he becomes very competitive too, asking questions like, “so, did you enjoy your time with him?” or “do you usually talk to him a lot?” and you figured that the best way to cut him off during his fits of jealousy, is to squeeze his cheeks and give him a soft, tender kiss, swearing to him that you are his and his only.

⋆｡˚ ୨ৎ bf!xavier who makes it a routine to take note of the way other couples interact. and he’s specifically observing the man more than the woman. he has a journal called, ‘how to make my girlfriend happy’ where he writes about what he would notice guys typically do to make their girlfriends smile and laugh. one time, while he was walking downtown, he passed by an arcade place that had a row of new claw machines. the guy managed to get his girlfriend a stuffed toy, and in seeing how much the girl liked it, xavier invites you the next day for a claw machine date, promising that he won’t stop until he gets you the bunny plushie you wanted.

⋆｡˚ ୨ৎ bf!xavier who loves it when you call him ‘xavi’, both casually and… sensually. there’s something so sexy about hearing you say “xavi~” into his ear, especially when you’re leaning way too close to him that he can smell that sweet scent of yours.

⋆｡˚ ୨ৎ bf!xavier whose mind is as vast as the known universe. he enjoys talking about the cosmos, the galaxy, and the stars alike—sometimes, he’d even be poetic about it. and that’s why he got the nickname ‘galaxy kid’ from you. there are nights where you two would go to the rooftop, watching the stars while lying next to each other. for xavier, there’s nothing more peaceful than stargazing with the girl he adores.

⋆｡˚ ୨ৎ bf!xavier who was extremely nervous on your first night, because you were his first the same way he was yours. he doesn’t want to seem inexperienced in the sex department, so he tried gathering learning resources prior to you spending the night over at his apartment. in his head, he had mental notes, a very explicit and detailed one, of the things he had to do to please you: 1) kiss you, stroke your hair, and lay you in bed 2) slowly undress you, continue kissing down your body, cup your breast, and trace your curves 3) spread your legs open, place his fingers on your clit, then play with your sensitive bud, gently insert a finger or two 4) deepen the kiss when you moan, guide your hand and make you stroke his length, while he pulls his fingers out and sucks his digits to taste you 5) make sure you’re all wet and aroused, place his swollen tip on your entrance carefully, bury his cock inch-by-inch and stop whenever it hurts you, then wait until you’ve adjusted before he starts rocking his hips back and forth. was it a success? of course! he had followed every step diligently.

⋆｡˚ ୨ৎ bf!xavier who ended up asking for two more rounds after your first session. he thought he didn’t perform well the first time because he felt like you made him cum too fast. he just didn’t expect you to be that tight, like your pussy was swallowing his member, your velvet walls wrapping around his girth as if milking him of his cum. missionary was the perfect position to start, but for the second round, he insisted on letting you ride him so you’d find the rhythm you want. and boy, did he go crazy as he watched you move your hips so goddamn sensually. he couldn’t stop his hands from touching your body, kneading your tits, and squeezing your buttocks. “my beautiful girl,” he’d moan, half-lidded eyes staring straight into yours, “you’re so good at this, y/n.”

⋆｡˚ ୨ৎ bf!xavier who finally learned what fetish means after personally experiencing one of his own. it was waking up with his cock still buried deep inside your cunt, his arms protectively wrapped around your frame as you slept soundly. or were you already awake by then? he wasn’t sure, but he could feel your pussy clenching around his shaft and he couldn’t tell if you were doing it on purpose. but damn, isn’t that hot? he’d think to himself, with his member growing harder the more he thought about it. “my bunny’s so naughty.”

⋆｡˚ ୨ৎ bf!xavier who loves it when you pet his hair like a good boy. your hands are magical! he’d fall asleep in a blink of an eye when he’s laying on your lap and you’re running your fingers through his hair. during nighttime though, he’s an absolutely sucker for the more dominant version of you. the way you’d pull his hair, grab his chin, and even as far as playing with his aching member using the tip of your tongue. agh! you’re making him sin.

⋆｡˚ ୨ৎ bf!xavier who has a knack for giving you small gifts and trinkets, like that pretty little ribbon he saw at a store. or that moon-shaped desk lamp. or that pearl bracelet with a bunny charm. his girlfriend isn’t just sexy, she’s also cute. so she needs to have cute things!

⋆｡˚ ୨ৎ bf!xavier who treats you like a princess and makes sure you’re always warm and comfortable around him. too cold? he’d be sure to bring his hoodie for you. too hot? he’d buy you the best ice cream in town. whatever you wanted, he would get it. and he never, ever lets go of your hand whenever you two are walking around. he just can’t let you wander too far off, afraid that he won’t be able to protect you if he can’t see you. he adores you so much, and his heart swells at the mere thought of you. because there’s nothing more precious to him than the first and only girl he’ll ever love in this world. you.

[iraot]

Warnings: Mean & Condescending Xavier, Rough, Big dick, massive dick, think 10 inches with 6.5 girth. Truth or date, reader wins and loses at the same time, College Experiences Word Count: 10.6k Pairing: Xavier/F!Reader AO3

The bass thumped heavily in the house, rattling cheap wall decorations and making the liquor slosh in the red cup Xavier held lazily in his fingers. The game had been going on for a while, drinks making people bolder, more reckless, but he hadn’t expected the question when it came.

“Xavier,” some sophomore he barely knew leaned in, grinning. “Truth or dare?”

He barely even thought about it. “Truth.”

A few knowing glances, giggles from the peanut gallery. Someone was setting this up.

“Is it true—” The girl dragged out the words, probably already drunk enough to forget saying them in the morning. “That you’ve got, like, a massive dick?”

Xavier exhaled through his nose, completely unimpressed. He could’ve laughed, could’ve rolled his eyes, but instead he just took another sip from his cup and said, “Yeah.”

No elaboration. No bravado. Just a fact.

And across from him, she—dark-eyed, skeptical, mouth curled like she’d just smelled bullshit—let out a scoff.

She’d heard it before. Whispers in the dorms. Girls who got drunk enough to spill details, words laced with awe, frustration, and sometimes just straight-up disbelief. “It wouldn’t fit.” Please. What kind of excuse was that? Maybe they just weren’t ready for it, maybe they didn’t know what the fuck they were doing. Either way, she wasn’t buying it.

“Prove it.”

The words left her mouth before she had time to second-guess them, before her brain even caught up with her body. A beat of silence, the air in the circle tightening, a few surprised laughs from the crowd.

Xavier’s brows lifted slightly. Then, just as quick, he smirked—lazy, teasing, but there was something else in his expression too. Something knowing.

He stood up, stretching to his full height, six-foot-one of broad-shouldered, lean muscle in that way athletes tended to be—solid, built, but not bulky. The hoodie he was wearing bunched slightly at the sleeves, riding up just enough to flash a sliver of defined stomach before settling again.

He held out his hand.

“Okay,” he said, voice smooth, casual, but the weight behind it undeniable. “But if you come with me, you have to take it.”

A slow, knowing murmur spread through the circle like a wave rolling through the party. A few people whispered to each other, already making bets.

Her heart kicked up a little—not from nerves, but from the sheer brazenness of it. He wasn’t hesitating, wasn’t blushing, wasn’t playing coy. If anything, he seemed entirely at ease, like he already knew how this was gonna end.

She could back down. Laugh it off, say she was joking. Or she could call the bluff completely.

Fuck it.

She set her drink down on the floor beside the couch, wiped her palms against the denim of her jeans, and slid her hand into his.

Xavier’s fingers closed around hers, firm but not too tight, and he pulled her to her feet effortlessly. There was a weight behind the gesture—not forceful, not demanding, just confident, self-assured.

Xavier barely glanced at the people still lingering in the party as he pulled her toward the stairs, cutting a direct path through the bodies like he had done this a thousand times before. He could feel the eyes on him, the half-drunken murmurs of people placing bets, but it didn’t matter. None of them were coming with him; none of them had made the deal she did. He didn’t slow down, didn’t check if she was hesitating, because he already knew she was following.

Upstairs, the door clicked shut behind them, shutting out the chaos, but the bass still trembled beneath their feet, like the house itself was waiting to see what happened next. The air was different up here—heavier, warmer, thick with unspoken tension. She had asked for this, and he was going to deliver, but he wasn’t going to hold her hand through it. If she wanted to doubt him, to call him a liar, then she’d damn well deal with the consequences.

He turned to face her, slow, deliberate, his gaze raking over her like he was already bored. His hands were still loose in his pockets, utterly unbothered, because this was routine for him. She was just another girl who thought she was clever, thought she’d heard it all before, thought she was immune to rumors. He gave her a lazy once-over before arching a brow.

“You don’t believe them.” It wasn’t a question.

She crossed her arms, standing her ground even as uncertainty flickered behind her eyes. “No, I don’t.”

His lips quirked, just slightly, the same way they might at a particularly stupid joke. “That’s cute. Why not?”

Her jaw tightened. “Because girls exaggerate, and guys let them.”

Xavier hummed, slow, thoughtful, like he was indulging the idea even though it was beneath him. Then, without fanfare, he reached for his belt, slipping it free with smooth, practiced ease. He wasn’t putting on a show; there was no need. If anything, this was just another night, another hassle, another girl who had to see it to believe it.

“You’re actually just—”

“You made a deal,” he interrupted, tone flat. “So now, you get to find out.”

The soft rasp of his zipper cut through the silence, and he could already see the shift in her posture—the tension in her shoulders, the subtle hesitation in her stance. Her mouth might have been ready to call his bluff, but her body wasn’t as confident. He smirked. They never were.

His jeans loosened, the waistband dipping just enough for the weight of it to be obvious even before he pulled the fabric aside. He could see her eyes track it, widening slightly as her lips parted, her breath hitching. She hadn’t even seen the whole thing yet.

Not just a rumor.

Xavier sighed, more irritated than smug, rolling his shoulders like he was exhausted by the entire situation. “See, this is why I don’t bother.”

She swallowed, hard, but he could see the way she was still trying to cling to her disbelief. It was adorable. A last-ditch attempt to save face, like she hadn’t just been hit with the proof she was demanding. He leaned against the desk, watching her expectantly, letting her struggle with reality.

“Well?”

Her jaw clenched, her hands flexing at her sides, but she didn’t move away. No, she did the opposite—she stepped closer. Her arms dropped, fingers twitching before she reached out, hesitating just a fraction before she brushed her knuckles against him.

Xavier didn’t react. Didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as exhale sharply. If anything, he seemed almost bored, like this was just another obligation, another part of the exhausting ritual of getting laid. Her fingers traced along the thick ridge, pressing slightly, her throat working around a tight swallow as her mind caught up to what she was feeling.

“Oh, what’s the matter?” Xavier murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Not what you were expecting?”

She stiffened, eyes flashing up to meet his, and he nearly laughed. She was trying so hard to keep up the bravado, to pretend like she wasn’t standing there, completely thrown off, gripping something she probably thought was a physical impossibility. He let her have a few seconds to adjust, to process, before he reached out, tilting her chin up with two fingers.

“You don’t have to suck it,” he mused, his voice nothing but lazy amusement. “But you do have to get me hard.”

Her breath hitched, and he smirked, because she was already halfway there.

Xavier leaned back against the desk, watching her sink to her knees like it was inevitable, like she was just another girl coming to the same stupid conclusion as all the others. The carpet had to be rough against her skin, but that wasn’t his problem. She wanted to prove something? She wanted to find out? Then she could deal with the reality of what she was asking for.

Her fingers hesitated at his waistband, but he didn’t move to help. Just stared down at her, expectant, waiting, smirk barely visible beneath the shadow of his hood. She had all that confidence downstairs—so where was it now? With a slow exhale, he tilted his head, voice thick with amusement.

"Go ahead, then," he drawled. "Let’s see how long that attitude lasts."

She pulled down his boxers, and he felt the exact moment she realized she might’ve fucked up. Her whole body locked up, hands frozen, mouth slightly parted in silent, stunned disbelief. Xavier huffed a quiet laugh, reaching down to wrap his fingers around the thick base of his cock, giving himself a lazy stroke as he watched her struggle to process it.

"Problem?" he asked, mock sympathy lacing his tone.

Her tongue flicked out, wetting her lips, but she still hadn’t moved. He could see the gears turning in her head, the way her breathing hitched slightly as she stared at him, at the sheer weight of what she’d just committed to. His smirk deepened.

"You were talking all that shit downstairs," he continued, tapping the thick head of his cock against her parted lips, smearing pre-cum over the plush softness. "Now’s your chance to back it up."

She inhaled sharply, eyes flashing up to meet his, but he only stared back, cold, unimpressed. He gave her a second—just one—before bringing his cock down lightly against her tongue, the wet slap echoing between them. Her breath stuttered, body jerking slightly at the sting, and Xavier arched a brow.

"Keep it out if you’re gonna use it," he muttered, gaze dark, daring.

She sucked in a slow breath, and finally, finally, she leaned forward, pressing her tongue flat against the underside of his length. Xavier exhaled sharply through his nose, watching as she dragged her mouth down, tracing the thick vein running along the length of him before circling the flushed tip. A soft, wet sound filled the space between them as her lips finally sealed around him, and his fingers flexed in her hair, gripping lightly.

"There you go," he murmured, watching her with sharp, unyielding focus. "Bet you don’t feel so fucking clever now, do you?"

Her cheeks hollowed, sucking lightly, and he let out a slow, pleased exhale. She was taking her time, trying to ease into it, trying to adjust, but that wasn’t going to be enough. His grip tightened slightly, just enough to make sure she knew he wasn’t about to be patient.

"Less teasing," he warned, voice low, smooth. "Open up."

She hesitated for only a second before obeying, her lips stretching wider as she took him deeper, her throat fluttering as she fought to keep from gagging. Xavier groaned low, rolling his hips just slightly, enough to feel the heat of her mouth tighten around him. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against the back of her head, his smirk widening as he watched her struggle, as he felt every little tremor in her muscles.

"You wanted to know," he reminded her, his voice a quiet taunt. "So take it."

Her hands gripped his thighs, nails digging into the fabric of his jeans as she tried to relax, to breathe through it, to keep up with the sheer size of him. Xavier just watched, breathing steady, unmoving, letting her do the work, letting her struggle with the reality of what she had asked for.

Then, abruptly, he pulled back, dragging his cock free from her mouth, a wet string of spit connecting them for a second before breaking. Her breath came quick and uneven, her lips slick, swollen, her eyes slightly glassy as she looked up at him. Xavier exhaled a slow breath, shaking his head, dragging a hand through his hair as he stared down at her.

"Yeah," he muttered, gaze sharp, unimpressed. "That’s about what I thought."

Before she could even think to respond, he grabbed her arms, hauling her up with ease, forcing her to meet his gaze. The air between them burned, thick with heat, with tension, with something dark curling low in his stomach as he took in the state of her—flushed, breathless, wrecked from just this.

"Come on," he murmured, backing her toward the bed with slow, deliberate steps. "You made a deal, sweetheart. You’re not getting out of it now."

Her knees buckled against the edge of the bed, and before she could fully process it, Xavier was there, pushing her down, his weight following, pressing her into the mattress. His hands weren’t gentle—gripping, dragging, taking, his fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt and yanking it up with no patience for teasing. The cool air hit her bare thighs, then the heat of his palms followed, rough against soft skin as he forced them apart without hesitation. He smirked, gaze dropping between them, taking in the damp spot darkening the lace of her panties before sliding his fingers beneath the waistband.

She gasped as he hooked his thumbs into the fabric, not bothering with slow, deliberate teasing—just peeling them down in one smooth motion, letting them catch for half a second on the curve of her thighs before he yanked them free. He tossed them aside, already settling between her legs, already spreading her wider, already pressing his palm flat against her, rubbing the heat of his hand over slick, sensitive flesh. His thumb dragged up, finding her clit easily, circling once—firm, unrelenting—before dipping lower, parting her with no hesitation. She twitched beneath him, her body betraying her as her hips jerked in response, and his smirk widened.

"You talk all that shit," he muttered, his fingers dragging slow through her wetness, deliberately messy, deliberately teasing, coating his skin in the proof of how ready she already was. He glanced up at her, pinning her with a lazy, knowing look before gripping her face in one hand, squeezing just enough to make her lips part. "But look at you now," he murmured, his thumb pressing just slightly against her lower lip, his other hand still between her thighs, two fingers ghosting over her entrance. "Dripping, shaking—maybe you should’ve thought twice before running that mouth."

Her breath hitched, something sharp and heated curling low in her stomach, but before she could fire back, he bit down on her bottom lip, a sharp sting followed by the slow, deliberate slide of his fingers pressing inside. She gasped against his mouth, her nails digging into his arms, but he didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate—just pushed deeper, spreading his fingers as he filled her, stretching her open with no patience for easing in. A strangled sound escaped her, something between a moan and a whimper, her thighs twitching against his sides as he worked his fingers deeper. "Yeah," Xavier muttered against her mouth, a quiet, almost amused groan slipping from him as he felt the way she clenched around him. "That’s what I thought."

He shifted lower, dragging his fingers free only to smear the wetness along the inside of her thigh, marking her before his mouth replaced them. The first press of his tongue against her clit was rough, firm, no slow build-up, no teasing—just immediate, unrelenting heat. She jolted, a sharp gasp breaking from her lips, but he held her down, hands braced against her thighs, keeping her open, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. He licked into her deep, his tongue pressing hard, slow, dragging from her entrance to her clit with filthy precision, then back again.

Her fingers flew into his hair, gripping, tugging, but it only made him groan, the vibration shooting through her like a live wire, making her legs tighten around his shoulders. He chuckled against her, pulling back just enough to bite at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, just enough to make her jolt. "Relax," he murmured, voice thick, taunting. "We’re just getting started."

His fingers slid back into her, easier this time, deeper, stretching her as his tongue circled her clit, slow but firm, pushing her higher with each flick, each press, each calculated stroke. She whimpered, her back arching, the pleasure sharp, unbearable, but Xavier didn’t slow down. He wasn’t savoring her—he was wrecking her, tearing her apart piece by piece, showing her exactly what it meant to get herself into this situation. And when he finally lifted his gaze, meeting her wide, glassy-eyed stare from between her thighs, he smirked against her, lips wet, breath hot, voice nothing but dark amusement as he murmured—

"You’re not gonna tap out on me yet, are you?"

Her thighs clenched instinctively against the sides of his head, a sharp, involuntary reaction to the relentless pace of his tongue. But Xavier didn’t pull away. If anything, the pressure only seemed to encourage him, his grip on her tightening, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her hips, holding her down, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. His mouth moved slow but deliberately, savoring every flick of his tongue, every soft, wet sound as he licked into her, then sucked at her clit with just enough pressure to send heat rolling up her spine.

"Jesus—" she gasped, her voice breaking, her fingers twitching before finding their way into his hair. The strands were soft beneath her fingertips, slightly damp where sweat had begun to gather, and she tugged—just a little, just enough to make him feel it. The deep, rough groan that vibrated against her sent a shudder through her body, her breath catching as his tongue dragged over her again. He wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t even slowing down. If anything, that reaction only spurred him on, his hands gripping her harder, keeping her pinned beneath him.

"Fuck, you like that, huh?" he muttered against her, his breath hot against her swollen, slick skin. His lips brushed her clit before his tongue slid over it again, slow, lazy, circling, teasing, pushing her higher and higher. "You taste so fucking good." His voice was thick, laced with something dark, something pleased, something hungry. She bit her lip hard, her head tipping back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut.

He was good at this. Too good. Like he enjoyed it just as much as she did, like he had no intention of stopping until she was shaking, gasping, completely undone beneath him. And then—without warning—his fingers joined in. The first press of his index finger against her entrance sent a sharp jolt through her, her hips jerking slightly, instinctively, as her breath caught in her throat. He didn’t push in right away. He dragged it through her wetness first, teasing, testing, making her body crave it, making her legs tighten around his shoulders in frustration.

His tongue never lost rhythm, his movements perfectly in sync, each stroke of his tongue matching the slow, deep thrusts of his fingers. Her back arched, a breathless moan slipping past her lips as he found that spot inside her, the one that made her toes curl, made her head spin, made her body tighten with need.

"Fuck—Xavier—" she gasped, her voice breaking, her fingers twisting tighter in his hair. He groaned against her, deep and rough, the vibration shooting through her like a live wire. "You’re so fucking tight," he murmured, his voice thick, almost reverent, his fingers pressing deeper, stroking her exactly where she needed. His tongue flicked over her clit, sharp, precise, and her body trembled, pleasure coiling tight, winding higher, sharper, impossibly close to the edge.

And Xavier knew it. He could feel it in the way she clenched around him, the way her thighs quivered, the way her breath came in short, shaky gasps. He didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down. He just kept pushing her, kept working her open, relentless, focused, determined to drag her over the edge. And then, suddenly, it hit her.

Pleasure slammed into her, sharp and overwhelming, stealing the air from her lungs as she shattered, a choked moan spilling from her lips. Her whole body jerked, trembling, her walls clenching down around his fingers as her orgasm rolled through her in wave after wave of raw, pulsing heat. Xavier groaned, his mouth still moving against her, slow, lazy, like he was savoring every last tremor, drawing it out, making sure she felt everything. She barely registered the way her body sagged against the bed, boneless, her chest rising and falling in shaky, uneven breaths.

Xavier finally pulled back, his lips slick, his jaw tight, his eyes dark as he looked up at her. His expression was pure, unfiltered hunger, something deep and knowing flickering in his gaze as he dragged his fingers up the inside of her thigh, leaving a slow, wet trail in their wake. He leaned up, hovering over her now, his breath warm against her lips as he murmured, voice thick, rough, and filled with something undeniably possessive.

"Now, let’s see if you can take me."

Xavier’s breath came rough and uneven, thick with the weight of restraint as he finally pulled back, his lips slick from her, his jaw locked tight. A thin sheen of sweat glowed along the sharp angles of his face, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip like he was chasing the taste of her, unwilling to let it go just yet. His hands, large and steady, dragged slow paths down the length of her trembling thighs, fingers pressing deep into overheated skin, massaging, soothing. She was wrecked. Flushed and trembling, her chest rising and falling in uneven waves, pupils wide and unfocused as she tried to catch her breath. The sight of her like this—ruined and open beneath him, her legs spread, her body still quivering from the wreckage of his mouth—made something primal twist, hot and unbearable, in the pit of his stomach. But he wasn’t going to rush this. He wasn’t going to let himself be swallowed whole by the raw, urgent need burning through his veins.

The wooden scrape of the nightstand drawer was quiet, almost lost beneath the sound of their breathing. Xavier reached inside without looking, fingers curling around a smooth, familiar bottle, cool against his heated palm. The cap snapped open with a soft click, the scent of something clean and faintly medicinal threading through the thick air between them. He could feel her watching him, could feel the weight of her gaze flickering between his hands and the still-throbbing length of him resting between his thighs. She was waiting, expectant, but not impatient.

Not hesitant, either.

Just… wondering.

Would it really fit?

Xavier squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, the thick liquid pooling cool against his skin. He shifted slightly, spreading her open with one hand, his grip firm but careful, his thumb brushing along the sensitive dip of her inner thigh. A slow, measured breath left him as he brought his coated fingers to her entrance, spreading the slickness against the heat of her, watching the way her body jolted at the first press.

She was sensitive. Too sensitive.

A soft, breathy gasp slipped past her lips as he eased one finger inside, testing, stretching. A shiver ran through her, her legs twitching on either side of him, the overstimulation making her body tense before it melted into something looser, something warmer. Then—another. His second finger joined the first, working deeper, slow and careful, pressing up against the places he already knew would make her squirm.

She sucked in a sharp breath.

That flicker of tension—brief, barely there—didn’t escape him.

Xavier hummed, low and knowing, his thumb tracing lazy, grounding circles over her hip. “Relax,” he murmured, voice rough, but gentle. “You’ll take it easier that way.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, dark eyes flicking to his, something unreadable flashing behind them. She wasn’t scared. Not reluctant. But that same thought from earlier lingered unspoken in the air between them, sitting heavy on her tongue.

Had they even really tried?

Xavier let out a slow, even breath through his nose, his gaze never leaving her face as he worked his fingers deeper, stretching her, coaxing her body open inch by inch. He could feel it—the way she clenched, resisted, and then slowly, sweetly, gave in. His fingers curled, pressing against the spot that made her breath stutter, and her lips parted, a soft, needy sound slipping free.

“Good,” he murmured, watching her, drinking in every tiny shift in her expression, every involuntary tremble. “That’s it.”

He pulled his fingers away carefully, lingering just long enough to feel the way she clenched around nothing, already missing the pressure. He squeezed more lube onto his palm, rubbing it between his fingers before reaching for himself, slicking the thick length of his cock with slow, deliberate strokes. The gel glistened over every ridge, every vein, dripping down his fingers as he made sure—thoroughly—that there would be no friction.

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, her eyes flicking between his hand and the sheer size of him, and fuck—he saw it, the exact moment it hit her.

Xavier smirked, dark and slow.

Then, he moved.

One hand braced against the mattress beside her head, the other gripping the base of his cock as he lined himself up, the swollen tip pressing against her entrance, hot and slick. A full-body shudder ran through her, her legs tensing around his hips as she felt it—just the pressure, just the weight of him sitting there, not even inside yet.

“Look at me,” he murmured, voice low, steady.

Her eyes lifted to his, wide, still hazy from everything that had come before, but present—focused.

“Deep breath,” Xavier whispered.

She exhaled, slow and measured, and he took that moment to push forward.

Just the tip.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat, her fingers flying up to grip his shoulders, nails sinking in. Her whole body tensed, locking up for half a second before she forced herself to relax, her thighs trembling against him. Xavier groaned, deep and rough, his fingers flexing against the sheets.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his jaw clenching. “You feel insane.”

The heat of her—tight, slick, already gripping him so fucking perfectly—was unbearable. And he was barely inside.

He eased forward another inch, watching the way her brows drew together, the way her lips parted, her breath coming in shaky little bursts. Every movement, every shift, sent another pulse of pressure through her, another slow, deliberate stretch that made her body tense before relaxing again.

She was taking him.

Barely.

But she was.

Her fingers curled against his biceps, gripping, bracing. Her breath hitched as she swallowed hard, voice unsteady when she gasped, “Are you—?”

Xavier let out a weak, breathless laugh, shaking his head. His body was taut with restraint, every muscle locked tight as he fought to hold himself back. One hand slid up her waist, tracing the curve of her ribs before cupping the back of her neck, his fingers threading into her hair.

He pulled her forward just enough. Just enough for her to see.

“Look,” he murmured, rough, low.

Her gaze dropped between them, and—oh.

Her stomach clenched, breath catching, pulse hammering in her ears.

Because he had barely—barely—gotten the tip inside.

And yet, she felt impossibly full. Stretched to the brink. Completely stuffed with just that first inch.

Her throat tightened.

Xavier exhaled against her lips, his voice nothing but heat and wicked amusement when he whispered—

“We’ve got at least eight more inches to go, baby.”

Then, before she could process, before she could even think to respond—

He pushed forward another inch. Her whole body reacted, thighs tensing, fingers tightening where they gripped his arms. A soft, helpless whimper slipped out, her walls clenching around him as he filled her just that much more.

Xavier groaned, deep and guttural, his breath hot against her ear.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he muttered, his hand squeezing the back of her neck, grounding her, soothing her. "Relax for me. Let me in."

He rocked his hips, easing that inch in and out, letting her adjust, making sure she could take it before pushing any deeper.

The stretch was unrelenting, an ache that teetered between overwhelming and intoxicating. She felt herself throbbing around him, her body instinctively clenching, trying to accommodate something it had never taken before. Every shallow thrust, every inch he gave her, made her whimper, her body struggling to decide if it was too much or if she wanted more.

Xavier could feel it. Could feel the way her body fought and then surrendered, over and over again.

He groaned, resting his forehead against hers. "That's it," he murmured, coaxing, praising. "You're taking me so well."

He pushed again, another inch.

Her breath hitched, her nails digging into his skin, and she gasped, "Xavier—"

"I know," he murmured, his voice tight, strained with his own restraint. His lips ghosted over her jaw, his fingers gripping her thigh. "You're doing so fucking good."

The stretch was unbearable. The fullness, impossible. Every inch he gave her felt like too much, and yet—somehow—she took it. Slowly. Carefully. His thick cock pried her open in aching increments, Xavier rocking it in, then out, then deeper, always waiting for her body to accept it before giving her more.

Her nails clawed at his shoulders, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as she tried to process the sensation—the raw, unrelenting stretch of him inside her, filling her past what she thought she could take. He moved with agonizing patience, inching deeper, letting her feel every ridge, every vein, every impossible bit of him forcing her walls to accommodate. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was both at once, and the contradiction made her dizzy, made her toes curl against the sheets, made her moans break apart into helpless little sounds.

Xavier groaned, his forehead pressing against hers, his fingers tightening where they gripped her thigh. He was barely keeping himself together. Every clench, every squeeze of her body around him was a vice, threatening to pull him under, to shatter the last thread of restraint he had left. Sweat slicked his chest, dampening the space between them, and his jaw ached from how tightly he was holding himself back.

And still—he waited.

Waited for her to open. Waited for her to take him.

Ten minutes. Ten agonizing, torturous minutes of slow, relentless stretching, of her gasping, moaning, whimpering beneath him. Of his fingers gripping her thigh, his lips brushing against her ear, murmuring soft, broken praises as she took him—inch by inch, impossible inch.

Then—

Something gave.

Something deep inside her—some final resistance—just melted.

And suddenly, with a sharp, slick slide, he was in.

All the way.

Her body locked up. A strangled, wrecked moan tore from her throat, her back arching, her fingers digging into his back like she didn’t know whether to pull him closer or push him away. The shock of it crashed into her all at once—the stretch, the pressure, the unbearable fullness. She had never felt anything like this, had never been this completely stuffed, this devastatingly wrecked, and for a split second, it was too much.

Her legs flexed, thighs tensing where they wrapped around his hips, and then—before she could even think about it—she was moving, her body instinctively trying to shift away, to escape the overwhelming sensation.

Xavier caught it immediately.

The second she started to squirm, his hands shot to her waist, firm and unyielding, locking her in place. He chuckled, low and rough, the sound pure amusement laced with heat, with possession. His fingers dug into her hips, anchoring her, keeping her from inching even a fraction away from him.

“Come back here,” he murmured, his voice thick with smug satisfaction. He pushed forward, pressing her deeper into the mattress, making sure she felt every inch still pulsing inside her. “Don’t run now, not after you talked so much shit.”

A jagged breath tore from her lungs, sharp and shuddering, her body caught in the razor-thin space between resistance and surrender. Her eyes flew open, locking onto his, only to find him already watching her—amused, enthralled, a dark, knowing smirk stretching across his lips. He was enjoying this. Every little tremble, every fluttering pulse of her body struggling to adjust, to take him, to accept every impossible inch.

Xavier's thumb traced up the curve of her thigh, slow and taunting, dragging goosebumps in his wake. Then, without warning, his hips shifted—just enough, just barely a motion at all, but the deep, grinding press of him inside her sent a bolt of sensation shooting through her spine. She jolted violently, her nails clawing into the solid heat of his arms, desperate for something to ground her as a strangled moan spilled from her lips.

“Xavier—” Her voice broke, half a plea, half a warning.

“That’s my name, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing the line of her jaw, warm, teasing, and entirely unrepentant. His voice dripped with pure sin, thick with a satisfaction that made her stomach twist, made heat coil tighter and tighter in her core. “Say it again.”

Her breath hitched, her head falling back against the pillows as he rolled his hips, the movement devastating in its precision—deep, deliberate, meant to be felt in every nerve, every muscle, every inch of her body stretched tight around him. He was in no rush, no frantic pace, no reckless abandon. Just control. Just that slow, unbearable rhythm that sent wave after wave of electricity crackling beneath her skin.

"You can take it." The confidence in his voice was absolute, unwavering. His grip on her waist tightened, fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her back onto him, as if to prove a point. His eyes burned into hers, filled with challenge, with hunger, with the unshakable certainty that he knew her limits better than she did. "You wanted to prove it, right?" His hips rolled, forcing her to feel every inch of him, thick and unrelenting. "So take it."

Her thighs quivered. Her breath shuddered. And for a fleeting moment, she thought she might fall apart completely. But she didn’t. Instead, she exhaled—long, slow, steady—forcing herself to relax, to let go, to stop fighting the sensation that was already swallowing her whole.

Xavier felt it the second she surrendered.

“There you go,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear, his breath warm and wicked against her skin. “Knew you could.”

And then—he kissed her.

Not soft. Not sweet. Messy, desperate, his mouth crashing against hers in a raw collision of heat and hunger. His tongue slid against hers, tasting, claiming, his kiss a reflection of everything happening between them—deep, consuming, and completely fucking reckless. He knew. He fucking knew. This was trouble. This was bad because now that he had her—now that he’d felt this—there was no way in hell he was ever going to get enough.

Xavier’s breath came heavy, ragged, his forehead nearly pressed against hers as he pulled back just an inch—just enough to feel the way her walls clenched around him, hot, wet, gripping him with every shuddering breath she took. His cock throbbed, thick and unyielding, seated so impossibly deep inside her that the air in his lungs turned to fire.

Then—he pushed forward.

Slow. Deliberate. Devastating.

Her moan vibrated against his lips, swallowed by his mouth, her body trembling beneath him as he filled her completely, stretching her, overwhelming her with the sheer intensity of it. The first thrust was careful, controlled. So was the second.

By the third, his control snapped.

Xavier’s fingers curled into the sheets beside her head, his muscles taut, coiled tight as he pulled back further this time—almost halfway—before slamming back in, driving into her with a thick, deep thrust that ripped a gasp from her throat. Her legs wrapped around him, instinctive, clinging, pulling him closer even as her body struggled to adjust to the relentless fullness of him.

“Fuck—” she whimpered, her nails raking down his back, dragging fire in their wake.

Xavier groaned, low and rough, feeling every squeeze, every flutter, every helpless little tremor of pleasure wracking through her as he moved. He tried to keep it slow. He tried to let her adjust. But with every slick, wet slide of his cock through the unbearable heat of her, his control crumbled, piece by piece, until nothing was left but raw, reckless need.

Her moans grew louder. His breathing came heavier.

And the sounds—the obscene, slick noises of him pounding into her, the creak of the bed, the breathless, gasping way she took every inch—

It was too much.

He needed more.

Xavier pulled back nearly all the way this time before slamming into her hard enough to knock a cry from her lips. His body shuddered, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath hot and jagged as he groaned through clenched teeth.

“Shit,” he panted, his fingers digging into her thighs, spreading her open, holding her still as he rocked into her again—slower, but harder, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure tearing through both of them.

He was losing it.

And he didn’t fucking care.

With a growl of frustration, he grabbed her legs, shoving them up, pressing her knees toward her chest.

Her breath hitched. “Fuck—”

Fully open. Fully at his mercy.

And that was it.

That was fucking it.

Xavier snapped, his hips slamming forward, his rhythm dissolving into something rough, relentless, filthy, each thrust wringing broken, gasping moans from her lips. He was buried so deep now, stretching her so wide, dragging her further and further into something she couldn’t even name.

There was no pain—only pleasure.

Pure, unfiltered sensation.

The unbearable stretch of him filling her, hitting deeper than before, grinding against something inside her that sent her spinning, her body tightening around him in ways that made his vision blur.

Her mouth hung open, slack, wordless.

Her eyes, wide and hazy, completely fucked out.

He braced himself above her, his fingers digging into her thighs, his muscles flexing as he pounded into her, unable to stop, unable to slow down, unable to do anything but chase the unbearable pleasure consuming them both.

“Look at you,” he panted, watching the way she came apart beneath him, his breath hot, his voice thick with something dark, something reverent. His grip tightened, his pace turning brutal. “Taking all of me—fuck, you feel so fucking good—”

Her moans were getting louder, her nails scratching at his forearms, her body trembling as the pleasure built higher, sharper, winding so tight she could barely breathe.

Xavier’s fingers slid between them, rough and desperate, searching until they found her clit. The moment he pressed down, rubbing slow, firm circles against the swollen bud, her body reacted on instinct—a sharp, uncontrolled jerk, a gasp punched straight from her lungs. The pleasure was unbearable, a white-hot current snapping through her nerves, setting every inch of her aflame. He felt her shudder, felt the tension winding so tight inside her it was moments from snapping, and fuck, he needed to push her over that edge.

"Yeah—" he groaned, his voice raw, thick with something dark and demanding. His thumb moved faster, pressing, circling, stroking her with precision, with purpose, his cock still buried deep inside her, stretching her, wrecking her from the inside out. Every thrust sent another wave of sensation rippling through her, dragging her closer and closer to the brink. "Cum on it," Xavier growled, his breath hot against her lips, his forehead pressing against hers as he pinned her beneath him. "Fucking do it."

Her walls fluttered around him, squeezing, gripping, so impossibly tight he nearly lost himself right then and there. He could feel it, the way her body was fighting it, clenching around him like it didn’t want to let go, like she was teetering on the edge but not quite ready to fall. His own release was rising fast, a relentless, searing pressure building low in his stomach, threatening to rip through him at any second. "Come on, baby," he ground out, his jaw tight, his rhythm turning erratic as he chased it, as he chased her. "Let me feel you—let me fucking—"

She shattered.

A broken, wrecked cry tore from her throat, her entire body locking up, then trembling violently as pleasure slammed into her. Her pussy clamped down on him, an unforgiving vice, pulsing, milking, dragging him into the fire right alongside her. Xavier barely had time to process it before he was gone too, before his control snapped like a wire pulled too tight, breaking under the unbearable heat of her.

"Fuck—" he choked, his breath ragged, his hips snapping forward once, twice—

And then he was lost.

His orgasm hit like a wrecking ball, slamming into him so hard it left his vision swimming, his limbs locking up as pure, white-hot pleasure exploded through his body. His spine arched, every muscle seizing as he groaned, his voice breaking, wrecked, his body acting on pure, desperate instinct—thrusting deep, burying himself inside her as he spilled into her, thick and hot and endless. It didn’t stop. It just kept coming. His cock throbbed inside her, jerking with every pulse, every wave of release that crashed through him, dragging him down, deeper and deeper, drowning him in it.

Xavier could feel everything—the way she clenched around him, fluttering, milking, the way her body trembled beneath him, still wracked with aftershocks that refused to fade. It was unbearable, the way she held onto him, like she never wanted to let go, like she was pulling him deeper, taking everything he had to give. His breath was uneven, his skin damp with sweat, his pulse hammering so hard he swore he could hear it echoing in his ears.

He had never cum like this before. Never. And now—now he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover.

His breath hitched as another wave of pleasure surged through him, raw and unrelenting. His cock twitched inside her, overstimulated, still buried deep, still leaking, his release dripping between them, making everything slick and messy where they were joined. His entire body shook with it, muscles locking, heat crawling up his spine like a live wire sparking out of control.

"Fuck—fuck—" His voice cracked on the words, his forehead pressing against the damp skin of her throat as he fought to steady himself. But he couldn’t. His hips ground forward instinctively, chasing every last ounce of sensation, dragging out the unbearable pleasure that bordered on pain, on something too much, too intense, too overwhelming.

His fingers flexed against her thighs, gripping hard enough to leave imprints, as if anchoring himself to her was the only way to keep from unraveling completely.

"Jesus Christ," he gasped, breathless, ruined, his chest rising and falling in uneven, desperate pulls of air.

Beneath him, she was still trembling, her own climax still shuddering through her, waves of pleasure rolling over her body like an aftershock that refused to fade. Her walls pulsed around him in time with her ragged breaths, tightening with every involuntary twitch, and fuck—

He could barely breathe.

Could barely think.

All he knew was her.

The heat of her, the way she wrapped around him so perfectly, the way her skin burned against his, slick with sweat, with desire, with everything that had just happened between them.

His lips found the side of her neck, brushing against the damp skin, leaving the softest, most absentminded of kisses in his haze. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything but the sound of their breathing, the faint creak of the bed beneath them, the lingering wet, sinful sounds of their bodies still connected. He had never—never—felt like this before and now? Now, he knew he was fucked because there was no way this would be enough.

No way he’d ever stop wanting this, wanting her, wanting the way she melted beneath him, the way she took every inch, the way she moaned his name in a voice so wrecked it made his stomach tighten all over again. No, this wasn’t just a one-time thing. He was never going to get enough of her.

Xavier didn’t move.

Didn’t even try.

His body was heavy, muscles boneless, limbs tangled with hers in a mess of overheated skin and slow, exhausted breathing. He should’ve shifted, should’ve rolled off her, but fuck—he couldn’t. He was drained, wrecked, every last ounce of strength pulled from his body and poured into hers until there was nothing left to give.

So he just lay there, pressed against her, his weight solid and unyielding, pinning her to the mattress like an anchor keeping her from floating away.

She didn’t complain.

Didn’t tell him to move, didn’t push at his shoulders or squirm beneath him. If anything, she just let out a long, slow exhale, her body softening beneath him, one leg still hitched lazily around his waist, keeping him there. Her fingers, light and absentminded, found their way into his hair, slipping through the sweat-damp strands with a slow, idle rhythm.

The sensation sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, a warmth curling deep in his chest that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the way she was touching him—soft, gentle, like she wasn’t in any rush to move either.

His breath came slow, measured, his cheek resting against the curve of her shoulder, his lips just barely brushing her skin as he murmured, voice hoarse, “If I die here, just leave me.”

A quiet huff of laughter vibrated through her chest. “Not even gonna try to move?”

“Nope.” He shifted just enough to nuzzle against her neck, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re stuck with me now.”

She snorted, her nails scratching lightly against his scalp, slow and deliberate. “I think I already was.”

Xavier hummed in agreement, his eyes slipping shut as he let himself sink into the sensation. The weight of her beneath him, the warmth of her fingers in his hair, the slow, steady rise and fall of their breathing syncing up—it was grounding, steadying, something he didn’t even realize he needed until this moment.

A long pause stretched between them, comfortable, easy. 

“Damn,” she muttered, tilting her head back against the pillows. “Now I see why no one else could take it.”

His body shook with a rough, breathless laugh, his chest vibrating against hers. “Told you.”

She smirked, her fingers tightening slightly in his hair, giving it a light tug that made his breath hitch. “Yeah, yeah. I get it now. I was talking a lot of shit, huh?”

“Mm.” He cracked an eye open, glancing up at her through heavy lids, his smirk lazy, teasing. “So much shit.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite to it. Just something warm, something fond, something that made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t ready to unpack. Another silence. Another slow, shared breath.

Then, quieter, more thoughtful—“You’re really not gonna move, are you?”

Xavier sighed dramatically, burrowing his face into the crook of her neck. “Nope.”

She let out a soft, exasperated laugh, shaking her head as her fingers resumed their slow, lazy strokes through his hair.

“Fine,” she murmured, voice softer now, something drowsy threading through it. “But if my legs stop working after this, it’s your fault.”

He smirked against her skin, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her shoulder before murmuring, “Worth it.” they lay there—breathless, tangled, unwilling to let go.

— The library was quiet, save for the soft rustling of pages and the distant, rhythmic tapping of someone’s fingers against a keyboard. The air smelled like old books and printer ink, that distinct, slightly musty scent of academia. She had been sitting there for at least an hour, legs crossed beneath the table, a stack of textbooks spread out in front of her, diligently ignoring the persistent ache between her thighs.

She was sore. Very sore, every slight shift reminded her. Every time she pressed her knees together or shifted in her seat, her body sent little pulses of overstimulation through her core, as if echoing—you took all of him. Just as she was absently twirling her pen between her fingers, skimming the same paragraph for the third time, something warm, something firm, something familiar brushed against the side of her neck.

Soft lips. A kiss.

She gasped, a sharp, startled little squeak escaping before she could stop it, the pen slipping from her fingers as she whipped her head around—

Only for Xavier to catch her mouth with his, swallowing the sound before it could fully leave her lips.

His kiss was lazy, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to take her apart right there between the stacks of books and worn-out wooden desks. His tongue brushed against hers in a slow, deliberate tease, tasting like coffee and something sweet, and damn him—he knew exactly what he was doing.

She made a muffled noise of protest, hands shoving lightly at his chest, but he didn’t budge. His lips curled against hers in amusement before he finally, finally pulled back just enough to smirk down at her, blue eyes glinting with mischief.

"You scared me," she huffed, pressing a hand against her chest as if to steady her heartbeat.

His smirk widened. "You liked it."

She rolled her eyes. "I jumped."

"Yeah, right into my mouth," Xavier murmured, his voice low, teasing, the rough edge of it sending a shiver down her spine.

She glared, but it had no real heat. "What are you even doing here?"

Xavier plopped into the seat beside her, his long legs spreading wide, taking up more space than necessary. His hoodie was slightly rumpled like he had just rolled out of bed—probably had, knowing him. His fingers found the edge of her notebook, spinning it idly before he tilted his head and drawled, "I was thinking about you."

Her stomach did something ridiculous.

She folded her arms. "Uh-huh."

His gaze flicked over her, sharp and assessing, before he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "And how are you feeling today?" His voice dipped, smooth and knowing, the kind of knowing that sent heat rushing straight to her face.

Her eyes narrowed. "I hate you."

His grin was immediate. "That sore, huh?"

Her face burned hotter. "Shut up—"

Xavier leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head, the fabric of his hoodie riding up just enough to flash a sliver of his toned stomach. He was relaxed, unbothered, the perfect picture of someone who had not spent the past twenty-four hours dealing with the consequences of a very enthusiastic night.

His smirk deepened as he dropped his arms and leaned in again, his voice a low murmur just for her. "I could help with that, you know."

Her thighs pressed together instinctively. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?" He looked downright smug now, his fingers tracing the edge of her open textbook, barely even pretending to be interested in its contents. "We could go find an empty study room. Lock the door. Help you stretch out those sore muscles—"

"Xavier." Her voice was sharp, warning. 

His grin didn’t falter. "What?"

"You’re ridiculous."

"And you," he countered smoothly, his fingers brushing over the back of her hand now, slow and deliberate, "love it."

She hated that he wasn’t wrong, though she also hated the way her body reacted—how the heat pooled low in her stomach, how her breath caught just slightly when his fingers traced higher, slipping over her wrist, his thumb pressing lightly against the quick, fluttering beat of her pulse.

"You’re impossible," she muttered.

Xavier’s smirk turned wolfish. "And yet, here I am."

She sighed dramatically, glancing around the library, half-expecting someone to be glaring at them for the blatant flirting. But no one seemed to care—either that or Xavier had chosen his moment well, the tables around them mostly empty.

She turned back to him, fixing him with an unimpressed look. "Some of us are actually here to study."

His fingers ghosted higher, toying with the hem of her sleeve. "Uh-huh. And some of us," he murmured, leaning in just a fraction closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, "are still thinking about the way you moaned my name last night."

Her stomach dropped and breath hitched. Her fingers clenched into the fabric of her sweater, and she swore she felt her pulse throb between her legs, an unwelcome reminder that yes, she was still sore, and yes, that soreness was entirely his fault.

Xavier noticed. Of course, he did. His gaze flickered down to where her thighs had squeezed together, and his smirk turned positively sinful.

"You’re evil," she whispered, barely able to get the words out.

He only chuckled, sitting back in his chair as if he hadn’t just wrecked her entire focus in under five minutes. His fingers traced a mindless pattern over her wrist before he finally released her and shrugged.

"You love it."

The quiet study room was dim, the flickering fluorescent light overhead humming faintly, casting uneven shadows against the walls. It smelled faintly of old textbooks and printer paper, but none of that mattered—not when Xavier had her perched on the edge of the vacant desk, her legs spread just enough for him to kneel between them, his broad shoulders wedged comfortably between her thighs.

His mouth was already on her.

Hot. Wet. Worshipful.

His lips brushed over her clit, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud with slow, deliberate care, like he was savoring her, memorizing every reaction. A groan vibrated against her, deep and low, making her shudder.

"Fuck," Xavier murmured against her, his breath hot, his voice thick with something almost reverent. "Still so fucking sensitive, huh?"

She whimpered, fingers threading into his dark hair, gripping, but not pulling away.

His hands tightened around her thighs, fingers digging in just enough to steady her, to hold her open, to keep her from closing her legs around his head no matter how much the pleasure made her want to. He kissed her clit again, softer this time, gentler, his tongue teasing slow, lazy circles around it before flicking over it again.

Her breath hitched.

It was too much—not in a bad way, but in a way that had her squirming, heat curling in her belly, her body still sore from the last time he had touched her. He could feel the slight tremble in her thighs, the lingering overstimulation making her muscles tighten every time he licked at her just right.

His fingers traced higher, slipping between her folds, stroking through the slickness he had coaxed from her with his mouth.

"You’re still so tender," he murmured, almost to himself, his voice lined with something warm, something possessive.

She was swollen, still stretched from taking him the night before, and fuck—he couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the flicker of pride that ignited in his chest at the sight of her, the evidence of what they had done still written into the softness of her body.

He dipped a single finger inside her, slow and careful, groaning softly at the way she clenched around him immediately.

She let out a breathy moan, her head tipping back against the desk. "Xavier—"

"I got you," he soothed, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. "Just relax for me, baby."

His other hand rubbed gentle, soothing circles against her hip, grounding her, letting her adjust as he worked his finger deeper, slow and careful, feeling the heat, the tightness, the way she stretched so easily for him despite the soreness.

He curled his finger slightly, stroking that soft, spongy spot inside her, and she gasped, hips jerking.

"There it is," he murmured, smirking against her thigh, his thumb circling her clit again, gentle but insistent.

A shudder wracked through her, her breath coming in short, hitched gasps. Her fingers clenched in his hair, but Xavier didn’t stop—he eased another finger inside, stretching her, fucking her slow, deliberate, making sure she could take it, making sure she was ready.

Her thighs trembled.

She was so fucking wet.

"That’s it," he praised, his voice rough, thick with arousal. "You’re doing so good for me."

He worked her open with slow, careful thrusts of his fingers, his tongue still teasing her clit, slow and precise, not rushing, just feeling. Letting her adjust. Letting her get to the point where she wasn’t just wet—she was dripping, slick coating his fingers, making obscene, wet noises every time he curled them inside her.

And fuck—he needed more.

His cock was already hard, aching, straining against his jeans, the restraint nearly painful.

When he finally decided she was ready, he pulled his fingers away, a last slow stroke dragging through her wetness before he was standing, unbuttoning his jeans, his breath coming heavier, his jaw clenched tight.

His cock was thick, heavy in his hand as he stroked himself once, twice, smearing the slick wetness from the tip down his length before gripping her thighs, pulling her closer.

"Let me know if it’s too much," he whispered, voice softer now, rough but careful, as he positioned himself against her, the swollen head of his cock pressing against her entrance.

She nodded, her breath coming fast, her lips parted, her body already arching toward him despite the lingering soreness.

Xavier exhaled, steadying himself, pressing one last kiss against her knee before slowly, carefully pushing inside.

She was still so fucking tight, sliding inside her was easier this time. Still tight. Still warm. Still so fucking wet it made his head spin but there was no resistance, no slow stretch like before. Her body took him smoothly, greedily, wrapping around him in a way that felt like she was made for this—for him.

Xavier groaned low in his throat, his grip tightening on her hips as he bottomed out, buried to the hilt, feeling every slick, pulsing inch of her clench around him. His forehead pressed against hers, his breath uneven, ragged.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick, wrecked, his fingers flexing against her skin. “Feels so good, baby.”

She whimpered softly, her hands sliding up his arms, nails dragging lightly over his biceps before gripping his shoulders. Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper, as if she wasn’t already taking every inch.

Xavier didn’t move yet. He let her feel it. Let her adjust. His hands roamed up her body, fingers tracing the soft curve of her waist before gliding higher, thumbs brushing over the swell of her breasts through her shirt.

He didn’t even hesitate—he tugged the fabric up, pushing it above her chest, exposing her completely.

His cock twitched inside her at the sight, his breath catching.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmured, his thumbs skimming over her nipples, watching as they pebbled under his touch. She made a soft, needy sound, her back arching slightly.

Xavier smirked, rolling one nipple between his fingers, pinching lightly, testing. So he did it again, rolling and tugging just a little harder this time, watching as her lips parted, as her walls fluttered around him.

“You like that?” he murmured against her lips, his voice a warm rasp.

She nodded breathlessly. Xavier’s mouth curved before he dipped his head, catching her lips in a slow, deep kiss. His fingers tugged at her nipples again, just enough to make her gasp into his mouth, her body tightening around him in response. The sensation sent a sharp pulse of pleasure through him, made his grip on her tighten, made his restraint crack just a little.

He couldn’t wait anymore. He needed to move.

So he did. His hips pulled back, just enough to feel the delicious drag of her walls clenching around him, and then he thrust forward again, sinking back into her warmth with a steady, measured pace.

She moaned softly against his lips, her hands gripping his shoulders as he found a rhythm, rolling his hips with a slow, deliberate precision, fucking her with deep, steady strokes that left no space between them.

His mouth never left hers,  kissed her through every thrust, swallowing every little gasp, every moan, every breathless sound she made. His tongue brushed against hers, his teeth catching her bottom lip, tugging lightly before sucking it into his mouth. Thighs clenched around his waist, her body melting beneath him, pliant, eager, desperate for more. Xavier growled low in his throat, breaking the kiss just long enough to murmur against her lips, voice rough. “Hold on to me, baby.”

The way his hips moved—relentless, deep, precise—she couldn’t even think. Couldn’t breathe. Every thrust sent shockwaves through her, striking something inside her so devastatingly perfect it left her vision blurry, her body unraveling with every roll of his hips. She wasn’t in pain. No, far from it.

This was something else. Something beyond pleasure, beyond any sensation she had ever known before. It built too fast, too strong, tightening low in her belly, curling hot and desperate until it snapped without warning. Her release crashed into her, stealing the air from her lungs, her body locking up as a strangled moan ripped from her throat. She clenched around him, hard, her walls squeezing in waves that had her nails digging into his back, her legs tightening around his waist.

Xavier choked on a curse, his rhythm faltering for half a second before his body seized, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises as his own release hit him just as fast. He buried himself deep, groaning against her lips, his whole body shuddering as he spilled into her, heat flooding her as he twitched inside her, as his hips gave one last slow, stuttering grind before he slumped against her, wrecked.

Their breathing was ragged, uneven, the room spinning around them. Xavier’s forehead pressed against hers, his breath hot and unsteady as he let out a rough, breathless laugh.

“Jesus fuck,” he panted, pressing a lazy kiss to her jaw, his lips curling into a smirk. “You just came all over my dick, baby.”

She groaned, tilting her head back against the desk. “Shut up.”

His teeth grazed her throat as he chuckled. “Make me.”

She tried to glare at him, but her body was still pulsing with aftershocks, her brain still foggy from how completely he had just wrecked her.

Xavier kissed her again, slower this time, softer. His hands smoothed over her thighs, rubbing gentle, lazy circles, soothing the tremors that still lingered in her muscles. When he finally pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes were darker, something warm and smug flickering beneath the surface.

“Think I just found your new favorite study break.” The weight of him was still pressed against her, their bodies tangled, breaths uneven, the air between them thick with something neither of them had the words for yet. Xavier’s fingers traced along her cheek, slow, almost hesitant, the roughness of his calloused fingertips a stark contrast to the softness of her skin. His thumb brushed over her lips, lingering there for a second before he leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss to her mouth.

It was different this time. Not hungry, not desperate—just soft.

Almost unsure. When he pulled back, his eyes searched hers, something raw flickering behind the lazy confidence he usually carried.

“You’re mine, right?” His voice was quiet, lower than usual, like he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

She blinked at him, caught off guard by the question, by the sudden vulnerability in his tone.

“Who else’s would I be?” she asked, brows furrowing slightly, genuinely confused, just like that, Xavier exhaled, tension melting from his shoulders, something deep inside him settling.

His lips twitched, his smirk returning, softer this time, more real. “Yeah,” he murmured, brushing his nose against hers. “That’s what I thought.” as if for a moment he hadn’t had the flicker of uncertainty flood through him. Then he kissed her again, slow and deep, this time with confidence, with certainty—like he was claiming her.

[dpspcehntr]

I love all your writings on LADs!! I somehow imagine all the Lads having dick piercings (tongue piercing is even better) for some reason. It would be a great if you write it but it’s totally up to you!!

I hope you are having a great day today 🫧🌊🎧🕯️

Firstly, thank you so much 😭😭! I’m always worried my writing isn’t good so thank you so much! Secondly, your mind is a beautiful place to think of this and I’ll gladly give this a go! (Had to do a quick google search and I didn't know there were so many! I'm shocked!)

Warning: genital piercings, tongue piercing, smut, p in v, oral (f and m receiving), handjob

My ask box is open! Send me your NSFW head cannons/thoughts/confessions about the LADS main 4! I might even write some of them up!

Zayne

"I don't see what the issue is but yes I do in fact have one. It was during my more "adventurous" early 20s. Do you wish to see it?"

Zayne sat in the chair in front of you as you sat on the edge of his desk. His head resting on your thigh as you absentmindedly play with his hair. It was his down time during his night shift and he asked you to stop by to keep him company.

"I thought I knew everything about you. Of course I want to see it."

He blushes a deep shade of pink and clears his throat. He pushes his chair back and stands up. He's slow to take off his belt, hoping you'll say you're just joking but you stay silent as he finally takes himself out his boxers. You eyes instantly zone in on the pretty piercing on the head and reach out to touch it. He turns his head as you take in in your hand. Your touch is enough for him to blow his load but he tries his best to hold his composer.

"It's pretty. Does it have any sexual benefits?'

You muse as you pump him faster in your hands, his composer faltering. Without making eye contact he turns back toward you.

"I d-don't know. Maybe we can try it out."

He takes your hand away from him and pulls you into a kiss.

Xavier

Your clit throbs with over stimulation as he finally sits back up after being between your legs for what felt like hours. Edging you all night with his tongue and the piercing in it. Your legs shake slightly as he leans into you for another kiss. You swirl your tongue in his mouth, tasting yourself on him and moaning loudly into him.

"Just a little bit more, okay. I promise you'll get what you want."

He whispers into your lips as you tighten your grip on him. You feel him line himself up with your dripping entrance and slowly push in. The piercing on the head rubbing your walls deliciously as you clench down further on him. He groans into your mouth as he pushes further in.

"Just a little more, you're doing so well for me."

He bottoms out with a groan as you release onto him. The feeling overwhelming as he continues to thrust in and out of you, prolonging your orgasm. You thanked the powers at be he kept the piercing as your next orgasm begins to build up within you.

Rafayel

"Why did you get it?"

He looks over at you from his painting with a blush.

"It was a dare from a friend of mine in art school and uh well I let my ego win. Though I don't regret it, it makes things more fun."

You cross the room to stand right behind him. You wrap your arms around his waist and lean your head in the crook of his neck.

"Can I see it?"

Your hands slide lower and lower on his body as he tries his best to ignore you and finish his painting. It doesn't work, your hand is already sitting at the top of his pants waiting to slide into his underwear.

"Shit. Gimme a sec."

He sets the paintbrush down and unbuckles his pants. You slide your hand into his underwear and slowly rub him off, paying special attention to the piercing on the head. Soon enough you find yourself on the floor of his studio with him panting over you holding himself at your entrance. Feeling the ball of the piercing hitting your g spot sends a wave of unexpected pleasure over you. He lets out a satisfied grunt as you clench down on him just a bit more. You could get used to this.

Sylus

“Well I usually take them out before you get here, but I was in a bit of a rush today, kitten.”

You look down at the piercing on the head with curiosity as you finish taking him out of his boxers. Your mouth salivates at the idea of having it in your mouth and eagerly take in in your mouth. A hiss slips past his lips as he cards his fingers through your hair. The feeling of the piercing in your mouth and his own noise makes your head spin with desire. Your underwear already wet with your slick as you take him deeper into your mouth. The fingers in his hair tighten just slightly and you're seeing stars. You moan around him as you cum untouched, ruining your underwear and leaving a wet spot on your pants. You shiver as he pulls himself out of your mouth and gives you a look.

"Did you make a mess, sweetie?"

You can only nod as he places a hand under your chin to look up at him. He looked absolutely ravished and all you wanted was to make him cum.

"It's only fair that I clean it up. Turn around."

[burts-baked-bees]

One of a Kind

D&WGambit! x X-Men97!Fem! Reader

Warnings: Slight Angst, X-Men 97' Spoilers, Pining, happy ending, two idiots, hurt/comfort, mention of character death

WC: 1686

“Have you been watching the news?” Scotts voice came as Y/n entered the mansion. The mutant looked up at the team leader with a look of confusion as she placed her bag down on the counter. 

“No? Why?” Her brow furrowed as Scott swallowed hard. He moved quietly to the small TV on the kitchen counter and flipped it on; Y/n watched in horror as images of the aftermath of a full scale attack on Genosha flashed on the screen. She felt a chill run through her body as flames danced in her vision and ashes coated what was once a proud and new country. She gripped the counter as Scott watched the unfolding news with her. 

“We have people there.” Y/n croaked as she kept her gaze locked on the screen. “Scott. Rogue, Kurt and Magneto are there.” Her eyes moved to her leader as his emotionless sunglasses reflected her distressed expression back at her. “Scott.” She said sternly. “Remy is there.”

Scotts brows furrowed as he opened and closed his mouth, like he was trying to speak but couldn’t find the words. Y/n Felt her stomach drop as the horrors of the news broadcast played in her ears. 

“Are they okay?” She asked, her voice breaking as she gripped the side of the counter. The same counter that Remy taught her to make jambalaya at. The same counter she had sat on and shared a late night bowl of cereal with him just a few nights before. “Scott.” She practically snarled. He took a step forward, his arm reaching out, almost like he was looking for comfort as well, like he was trying to tell her he had lost something too. 

Lost something.

“Scott. Is Remy okay?” 

…

 “Eva’ since you wandered up in ‘ere, you been lookin’ at ole’Gambit like you seen a ghost sha.” 

Y/n was ripped from her thoughts as she glanced at the man next to her. She was suddenly reminded she was in the Void and not the kitchen of the Xavier Mansion grieving loss all over again. 

“What?” She asked horsley as she looked up at the tall man on her left. He gave her a small smile. 

“Sha, you been up in ‘ere a few weeks now, yeah? When you gon tell Gambit why you lookin at him like dat? Hmm?” The Cajun sat down across from her his gaze intense as he perched his elbows on his knees. Y/n couldn’t bring herself to look up at him, she kept her gaze on the floor, on his boots. His voice felt like a million knives in her chest as she fiddled with the frayed ends of her shirt sleeves. It wasn’t him; not her version of him anyways. He sounded like Remy, moved like Remy, laughed like Remy… His eyes were different though, clear green instead of a red iris surrounded by black.His hair was slightly different too, not red but a natural brown. He gave her a pointed look, as if to say he wasn’t leaving till she answered him. Y/n sighed. 

 “Don’t know what you mean…” She spoke softly rubbing her face; Gambit chuckled. 

“You don know? Or you jus’ don wanna’ say, sha?” He sat back slightly, fidgeting with his deck of cards like he always did. Shuffling in an endless loop just to keep his hands busy. She watched his hands intently, bile rising in her throat as she watched the dance of the cards, feeling that same emptiness she had when Kurt gave his homily at the funeral…. 

“Been tree’ weeks since you popped into da void, been known you was an X-Men from da way you fight. We had a lot of X-Men up in ere’, but not like you.” He sighed, hands still moving and shuffling, but his eyes never left her face. Y/n sighed again, swallowing down the lump in her throat. 

 “So? Why do you care?” She asked, finally looking up to meet his gaze. He gave her a small smile, almost proud of her for finally looking at him head on. She felt sick again. 

“Gambit cares. He always does, sha. ‘Specially when one of his own kind gets dumped in dis hellscape.” His words were soft, like he was speaking to a cornered animal. Her Remy never talked to her like that. He was always obnoxious and snarky, pushing her buttons and trying to get a rise out of her. She scowled before leaning back. 

 “I've got my own reasons to be apprehensive. Everything here, everyone, it's all very new… Very… real…” Her eyes drifted away again as Gambit nodded in an understanding way. 

  “No one here knew da Gambit when dey first seen him. But you? Toi mon amie, you took one look at da Gambit et, mon dieu thought you was gonna combust on da spot. You looked at me like you known me. But da thing is, sha. Gambit don’t know you.” 

Her eyes glossed over at that statement; he didn’t know her. He was intrigued by her, but he didn’t know her. She scoffed,

 “Guess I don't exist outside of my timeline. Everyone seems to have variants except me.” She spoke with a shake of her head. She had seen countless Deadpool’s in the void since she got here, a few other versions of her teammates and even some Avengers, but she had never seen another Y/n. She was the only one, and now she had been put here. 

The last thing she remembered was Charles and Magnus asking her and her teammates to pick a side. The answer was clear for most of them, Rogue went with Magneto and so did Sunspot. The rest stayed loyal to a cause that didn’t seem to have a point anymore. She had fled the choice, unsure how she was supposed to pick a side when the only person she had fought for was dead. Humans had killed him. And she hadn’t even been there to tell him she loved him… to tell her best friend that after all this time, she had loved him more than she had ever loved anyone in her life. 

That’s when the TVA showed up, spouting something about how she was a danger to her timeline and needed to be removed to ensure the survival of the true X-Men. She had been thrown in, against her will, to a hellish landscape that was fitting of a reject like herself. She had fought tooth and nail against bandits in the wastelands before she came across a face that she hadn’t expected to ever see again. 

“I lost you ‘dere, sha. Where you gon off too now?” Gambit’s voice cut through her memories like Logan’s claws as she snapped her eyes back up to him. He gave her a warm smile before shuffling his deck again. She watched his hands again and he chuckled. “People are like cards, sha. Different suits, but all made of da same material. I like to tink’ of myself as a jack of all trades-” He flipped the jacks of the deck out to face her before shuffling them back in. “You doe? You give da Gambit a very specific type’o vibe.” 

Y/n watched as he shuffled a bit more before the queen of hearts flipped from the deck. Her blood ran cold. That wasn’t her card. That was Rogues. It had always been Rogues. Never her. Gambit's smug smile fell as she stood up abruptly, her eyes flashing with a twinge of panic. He stood up with her hands out in a show of surrender as he chuckled airly.

    “Gambit done take things too far. I apologize, meant no ‘arm in it. Je suis désolé mon amie.” 

She shook her head before reaching forward and taking the deck from his hand. He protested but watched her as she pulled the Joker card from the deck and pressed it back in his hand, atop the Queen of Hearts. 

 “This card. You always said this was me.” She pressed the glossy paper to his palm, staring at the jester printed in black and white. “You would pull this card and laugh at the resemblance, saying I was a damn couyon.” She frowned as tears pricked her eyes. “That Queen was reserved for far better than me. Never for me. Don’t you dare.” Her voice sounded labored as she locked eyes with him; his green eyes flashed with sympathy and hurt as he slowly closed his hand around hers. She didn’t pull away, instead she felt her breath hitch as a wave of burning hot emotions flooded her chest and mind. 

“Comment une personne si belle peut-elle être si triste?” He spoke softly. “You did know me den? Where you come from?” 

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat before nodding. 

 “I did. But I lost you.” She choked out. 

He squeezed her hand softly. 

“And me and you? Was we…?” He asked softly, eyes searching hers. “Dis Gambit only ever known da Void. Pretty sure I was born here, neva known another way.” 

  “He was my best friend. My whole world.” She choked out with a sad smile. “But I was his couyon, never his queen.” She laughed, remembering the way he used to throw that word around with a charming smile running away from her playful wrath everytime. This Gambit gave her a sad smile.

  “He must have been blind ta not see da gift he had.” He spoke softly. Y/n shook her head. 

 “If you knew Rogue, you wouldn't say that. A Queen of hearts through and through. I could never blame him for picking her.” With that she dropped his hand, the lingering warmth fading from her skin. 

“Dis Gambit wants to know you more, sha. Dis Gambit don't wanna’ leave you lone.” His words were followed by him placing a card in her palm.

Y/n smiled softly before looking at the card he had handed her. “You aint no couyon-” He chuckled. 

Ace of Hearts.

“You one of a kind.”