SILENT COMFORT

Xavier is for the people who have always listened to other’s woes but themselves never been on the receiving end of the same gratitude. He will hear you out and let you cry and rant to your heart's content.

Xavier is for the people who have always had to do everything on their own and have become used to only relying on themselves. He’ll let you do your thing but will always have your back when you need him.

Xavier is for the people who have always been in positions of responsibility. He’ll let you take the lead but will also be there to himself lead and take care of things if you ask him to.

Xavier is for those who enjoy museum dates and book fairs. He will share random historical facts with you. He will read to you as you two cuddle in bed. He will discuss and rave about those minor characters in obscure book series that no one talks about.

Xavier is for those who sometimes just don’t wanna head out and would rather chill at home. He’d order your comfort food, co-op with you on your games and join you for movie nights, and warm snuggles.

Xavier is for the people who sometimes don’t wanna talk and simply enjoy the comfortable silence. He'll lay out with you on the rooftop or join you at the balcony/window so you both can quietly stargaze, and enjoy the serenity of each other’s company.

Xavier is for those who find it difficult to express themselves, who have always been so guarded, who feel a lot but simply can’t find the right words to say. He will be patient and wait for you, no matter how long it takes.

Xavier is for the foodies. He will never judge your weird eating habits and will even join you for a late night snack.

Xavier is for the people who cherish small, seemingly insignificant gestures. He’ll place his hand on the sharp corners of a table when you bend your head to pick up a fallen spoon/fork. One look into your eyes and he’ll do that task that you wordlessly request him to. He’ll twirl your locks around his fingers, play with your hair, and kiss you out of nowhere at random times ♡

this was requested by someone on reddit DMs ♡ who saw similar posts for other LIs..

» MASTERLIST «

©️ Xavier divider is my own. Credit me if you use ♡

"For so Long I've Waited"

pairings: Xavier x female reader (MC)

genre: fluff

summary: Xavier is a prince (crowned prince of Philos), you are a princess of a neighboring kingdom, your parents forced you to marry him (arranged marriage for formality and status, reputational.), he loves someone else, her name is unknown, only he knows, unfortunately, the one he loves has no royal blood and her reputation as a knight will destroy Xavier's family, soon after your marriage, the girl tries to kill you or make Xavier abandon you since she's jealous, but she fails and angers Xavier, when he snapped, he made his guards lock her up in the dungeons, in the end, he ends up confessing his feelings for you, for the longest time you've waited and longed to hear the words of love and affection from him.

warnings: this might be cheesy since this is inspired by my character.AI AUs, bear with me

It was time - your marriage that you didn't want to be in, or even get married, you walked down the aisle, Xavier, your soon-to-be husband for a few more minutes, and your marriage will be official. Xavier watched, a blank expression that he rarely wore, he always was smiling, or just looking gently at someone he loved-but it wasn't you, he loved someone else-his knight, he always watched her train in the garden, but now, he was getting married to someone he barely knew or loved.

As you approached the altar, the priest started preparing you both for your marriage, as you both said and told your vows, it was time to accept that he was your husband now, and he had forced himself to say, "I do." when the priest asked if he accepted you as his wife.

After a good amount of time of your wedding, you didn't sleep with him in your shared room, instead you slept alone in your own bed and room. Until one night, he knocked on your room, asking softly, "Hey, are you in there? We need to talk ...", when you heard him, you were in your bed, sitting while reading a novel, as you heard him speak, you put your book aside and open the door, your hair was in a braided bun (you know what hairstyle I mean, right?), he looked at you, he had to admit to himself, you were very beautiful, he walked inside the room, taking notice of the organization, it was neat, neater than his own room and office, you waited for him to speak, he finally spoke up after a good few minutes, "I know it's been...awkward and tough since that day...but I want to make things more comfortable and make things feel like home to you...so, will you let me help you feel like you're at home?", you felt.. butterflies in your stomach as he said that your mind reeling with indecisiveness and comfort, as you nodded, he smiled softly, when you looked at his smiling face, your heart fluttered softly, seeing him smile for the first time was heartwarming, he spoke once again, "I'm glad you're letting me do this for you, I'll see you later'', he walked away and out of your room.

One night, you were in the garden, looking up at the starry night sky, you loved looking at the stars, you could see constellations and other stars that reminded you of your family when you were younger-when you didn't have to be in this mess yet, you heard soft footsteps from behind you, you turned to look, it was Xavier, he approached you softly, sitting beside you on the bench, looking at the stars too, somehow, both of you seemed to like looking at the stars, he spoke up, breaking the silence, ''Since when did you like looking at stars like me too? I love looking stars, even from a young age'', he waited for your reply, you soon started to open your mouth, your voice raspy from the lack of voice usage, ''I started from a young age too, I found comfort in stargazing more than I found it in humans ...'', he looked at you, his gaze softening, he did find more comfort in stargazing mire than finding it in humans, he had to agree with you on that.

Ever since that night, you started warming up to him, also finding comfort in him, he was like a shining star to your dark sky, you were the dark, gray sky that needed light in its galaxy.

One starry night on a full moon, you were on the balcony this time, to get a better view of the sky, the stars shone bright along with the full moon, you heard sharp footsteps behind you, it didn't match with Xavier's steps, it wasn't as gentle and calm as his. You turned around, expecting a guard or Xavier, but you saw the female knight he loved, she had an irritated expression her face, she stepped forward, closer to you, you stepped back, each forward step she made, made you go backward until you were pressed on the railing of the balcony, centimeters- no, millimeters away from getting pushed off, she grabbed you by the neck, strangling you, she spoke in a deep, menacing tone, ''You stole him away from me... he was mine, I was his first love, not you, so snap out of your some sort of dreamland and wake up-he's mine...or I can just end it all and push you off and I can be his again...'', she said as she strangled you harder, pushing you closer to the edge-if it was even possible anymore, you let out grunts and struggled groans, until there were soft footsteps behind you both, it was Xavier.

Xavier spoke; his anger was evident in his voice "what are you doing? don't touch her-hurt her I'll throw you in the dungeons for touching my wife ...'', the knight was stunned, her hand shaking with anger and disbelief of what he said, she gripped your neck harder, as if she was trying to force your soul out of you through your throat.

Xavier couldn't take it anymore and pulled her away from you, yelling at the guards to throw her in the dungeons cell, she protested, kicking and screaming like a child throwing a tantrum, before taking her away, the words she managed to say were only ''I was your first love! Not her! Take me back!''.

As she disappeared into the distance, her screams fading, Xavier put his attention to you, dropping to his knees, tears welling in his eyes, he helped you up, he spoke once more, ''are you okay, my love? I should've done that to her a long time ago, I should've known she was jealous of you-'', you shush him, hugging him tight, you spoke weakly, your throat dry and soar from the strangling, ''it's okay, Xavier, it's not your fault, she was the one who started it... so please, don't blame yourself.'', he hugged you back tightly, softly whispering in your ear; ''I love you...to the moon and back'', your eyes widened, hearing the words from his mouth, you spoke as well, whispering back, ''For so Long I've Waited...I longed for you to say that...and, I love you too...''

At last, you shared your first kiss with him ...

Imagine the six days scenario with the boys, but it turns out the mission was supposed to be done in one day, and the reader went through he'll to get out and is met with this reaction? Imagine when she finally tells the reason she was away, would they regret their actions? How would they react? Don't know if if you take requests, if you do, consider this one.

If not, I am glad I got to read this masterpiece, thank you ❤️

Thank you so much for the request — I absolutely do take them, and I really appreciate this one! ❤️

I tried so hard to keep it short, since the “Six Days” theme has already been thoroughly explored... but, well, I failed spectacularly 😅 So here’s another deep-dive into a what-if/imagine scenario — one that can be read as either an alternate branch of the original storyline or... something else entirely. I’ll let you decide 😉

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you read it — truly means the world to me!

I’ve received so many requests for continuations — especially for Xavier — and yes, his already has a full-length, dramatic follow-up (because how could I not?). This one here is more of a request-based scenario, but it can absolutely be read as its own kind of continuation. Think of it as an alternate path the story could have taken. (One day I’ll write full versions for all the boys… but for now, consider this a little taste.) Hope you enjoy — and as always, I’d love to hear what you think! 💬💔 Here are the links to the previous parts in the series, in case you want to revisit or catch up:

Original Post | Xavier's Story

CW/TW: Psychological trauma, PTSD themes, Forced isolation, Violence / combat injuries, Mentions of starvation, Emotional manipulation, Past emotional abuse, Mental breakdowns, Intense guilt / self-blame, Brief implications of suicidal ideation (in self-sacrificing context), Adult intimacy (emotionally driven, not graphic)

The Truth — What Really Happened

It was supposed to be one day.

A clean, strategic infiltration. In and out. No complications. No room for error.

But no one accounted for the Wanderer.

No one predicted that the target—some nameless, faceless shade masquerading as a rogue—would be more than just dangerous. That he'd found a way to twist Protocore into something ancient and volatile. That he would trigger a fracture in time itself.

In a single blink, the world split. You fell into it. And the loop began.

Six days for them. Six weeks for you.

You lived, died, and bled your way through the same endless day.

Again. And again. And again.

Locked in a cycle of violence, decay, and despair—while everyone else moved on without you.

You clawed your way back—half-starved, half-mad, barely remembering your name. And when you finally escaped the loop, stepped back into their world, broken and still breathing—

They were waiting.

Angry. Unforgiving. And utterly, terrifyingly unaware.

Until now. Until you tell them.

💛 Xavier

It only felt right to write Xavier’s piece after the continuation I posted earlier. The original scene stood strong on its own, but this one—this is what came next. The moment after the storm. The truth laid bare. A quiet, alternate branch of the story, or perhaps a natural consequence of the one that already unfolded. Either way—I’m glad it found its voice.

You don’t ease into it. You sit across from him in the quiet of the morning, sunlight creeping up the walls like it’s unsure of its welcome, and you tell him.

Not six days.

Six weeks.

A loop. A fracture in time. An engineered nightmare that left you bleeding against the same hours, over and over, clawing through shadow just to return to him. Alone. Lost. Dying.

Xavier doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even blink.

But something in him breaks.

Not loudly. Not violently. It’s quieter than breath. Slower than thought. His fingers slip from the edge of the cup in his hand, and it falls. Shatters against the floor with a sound so sharp it startles the silence—ceramic shards skittering like teeth across stone.

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

He stands, but not with purpose. With instinct. His body moves before his mind can catch it. He turns, walks toward the far wall like he’s searching for air, like the room is suddenly too small to hold what’s happening inside his chest.

You rise—hesitant, aching—but he lifts a hand to stop you. Not cruelly. Gently. Like he’s afraid that if you touch him, he’ll fall apart in a way he can’t recover from.

He presses his palm to the wall. Just one. The other curls into a fist at his side.

“I thought you abandoned me,” he says at last, voice raw in a way you’ve never heard from him. “And I punished you for it.”

He turns back.

And there’s nothing left of the man who told you to ask again in six days. Nothing of the controlled strategist, the ever-collected ghost of war. His jaw is clenched too tight. His eyes are glassed over with fury—but not at you.

At himself.

“I accused you. I mocked you. I dismissed what little strength you had left and threw my pain in your face like it was the only thing that mattered.”

He crosses the room again, slower now. Purposeful. His hands don’t tremble, but his voice does.

“I let you stand there, in front of me, broken... and I thought I was the one who’d suffered.”

He kneels.

Not dramatically. Not for effect.

He lowers himself before you like a man who no longer believes he has the right to stand. His gaze stays down. One hand reaches inside his coat, and when it returns, you see it:

A blade.

Polished. Ritual-cut. Ceremonial. One of the old ones—etched with language you don’t recognize. But you understand that these words mean oath, atonement, belonging.

He offers it to you in silence. Flat in his palm.

“Where I’m from,” he says, quietly, “a wound like this is paid in blood. A betrayal like mine is not survived—it is surrendered to.”

Your hands don’t move. Your breath barely does.

“If you want justice,” he whispers, “take it.”

You stare at him. The weight of the blade between you. The weight of everything.

And then—slowly, gently—you take it from his hand.

Only to let it fall.

The sound is soft this time. Barely a whisper of steel on floorboards.

Then you fall with it.

You drop to your knees in front of him, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and let your tears fall freely.

“I don’t want justice,” you breathe into the curve of his neck. “I want you.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t speak. Just holds you, arms banding around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder like he’s trying to memorize what survival feels like.

When he finally speaks, it’s not confession. It’s surrender.

“After what you endured… after what I made you endure alone… I don’t know what anything means anymore. Not the mission. Not the cause. Not the point.”

You pull back, just enough to see him.

His eyes are hollow with grief. But deeper still—something flickers.

“I thought I understood devotion,” he says, voice barely above a breath. “But I was wrong. What I gave you wasn’t loyalty. It wasn’t love. It was pride. Control. Fear, dressed in logic. And I used it to wound you when you were already bleeding.”

His jaw tightens. His gaze falls.

“I was cruel.”

It’s not said for effect. There’s no tremble in his voice, no self-indulgent break.

It’s simply true.

“And I’m sorry.”

The silence that follows is soft. Dense. Not empty.

You brush your fingers across his cheek, tilt his face toward yours.

“I forgive you,” you say. Steady. Clear. “Because not everything in this world is black and white. And I understand why you did what you did. I know the shape of your fear.”

Your thumb brushes beneath his eye. His breath catches.

“I didn’t tell you to hurt you. Or to punish you. I told you because…” You pause. Your voice thickens with truth. “Because you’re the only one I trust with all of it. The only one who would understand. Who wouldn’t fall apart under the weight of what I’ve lived through.”

You lean forward.

Kiss him. Gently. Not desperate. Not demanding.

Just there. Warm. Real. Home.

Your hands slide up to his temples, fingers massaging slow circles at his hairline, coaxing the tightness from his brow. You feel it—inch by inch—how he softens beneath your touch.

“Let it go,” you whisper. “Don’t carry this weight. Not for me.”

He exhales, shaky. Silent.

You hold him tighter.

“You are my light, Xavier. You illuminate the path. You anchor me when everything else turns to ash. And in that place—those six weeks—do you know what kept me alive?”

Your voice breaks, but you keep going.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you mourning me. That’s what kept me breathing.”

He says nothing for a moment.

Just rests his forehead against yours. One hand moves to your chest, flattening over your heart like he’s grounding himself with your pulse.

Then—softly, firmly, as if carving the words into stone:

“You will never carry pain alone again. Not while I draw breath.”

No grand vow. No poetry.

Just fact.

And somehow—that’s what makes it a promise.

💗 Rafayel

The morning sun slips in like melted gold, tracing the edge of the sheets, catching the soft arch of your cheekbone. You lie half-curled beneath the covers, his T-shirt clinging to your body like second skin.

And in that sacred hush before the world stirs—you speak.

Not because he demands it. Not because you owe it.

But because somewhere between the echo of his heartbeat and the way his arms wrapped around you like the only anchor you had left—you remembered how to breathe.

You tell him.

About the mission. The Wanderer. The fracture in time.

About the loop.

How six days for him were six weeks for you.

How you woke up every day inside the same nightmare. How you died. How you clawed your way back. Alone. Over and over.

And when you fall silent, your voice scraped raw from remembering—he still doesn’t speak.

He just looks at you.

Like the sun never rose until he saw your face again.

His hand brushes your cheek, feather-light. His voice—when it comes—is almost a whisper.

“Are you ready to share the rest?”

You blink. “The rest?”

“The weight of it,” he says. “Not the facts. Not the fight. The dark. The ache. The part that still won’t let you sleep.”

His voice is gentle. Too gentle for a man like him. It trembles with caution, as if even asking is a violation.

You hesitate. The memories flicker like shadows across your mind—distorted, aching, sharp.

“No,” you answer truthfully. “Maybe not ever.”

His gaze doesn’t falter.

He nods once. No protest. No press.

Then his voice, lighter this time—almost a whisper:

“Then I’ll just have to help you forget.”

And he does.

He lifts you carefully, as if your body might shatter beneath his hands. You expect the weight of a blanket, but instead—he wraps you in something else entirely.

A covering like seafoam. It feels like nothing you’ve ever touched—gossamer, weightless, but cool and smooth against your skin. A whisper of silk and tide.

“It's from home,” he murmurs, adjusting it carefully over your shoulders. “Woven from the ocean’s first breath. They say it keeps sorrow out.”

Then—he scoops you up like you weigh nothing. Carries you to the kitchen with quiet reverence, as if this moment is sacred.

He sets you down on the marble countertop and kisses your knee.

Then he starts making coffee.

He hums as he moves—something aimless and tuneless and purely him. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the scent of roasted beans and vanilla settle around you.

And then—

“So,” he says casually, not looking up, “a cat broke into the studio last night.”

You blink. “A cat?”

He nods solemnly. “Orange. Loud. Looked like he owned the place. Knocked over three canvases and nearly drank my turpentine.”

You raise a brow. “And naturally, you assumed this was my doing.”

“Who else would weaponize cuteness to such chaotic effect?”

You laugh—quiet but real. “I’m not that cruel.”

“No,” he agrees, turning to face you with a soft smile. “But I do suspect you’re still hoping I’ll change my mind about cats.”

You sip your coffee. “I might be.”

Later, the bath is warm, the water laced with something lavender and soft. He sits behind you, your back pressed to his chest, his arms a steady weight around your ribs.

His fingers move slowly—massaging your shoulders, your forearms, your palms, like he’s trying to erase every echo of pain from your body with touch alone.

You both talk, but nothing heavy. Just stories. Old memories. Little things. The shape of the moon that night. The smell of burnt sugar in his favorite gallery. How he once mistook a mannequin for a person and apologized to it for five minutes.

You laugh again, softer this time. And it makes something in him melt.

He wraps you in the softest robe he can find. Carries you again—this time to the bedroom. The ocean glows outside, waves catching the last of the sun like pearls tossed across the horizon.

But he doesn’t stop there.

“Come,” he says, offering a hand. “Tea. Sunset. Company far superior to mine.”

You smile. Follow.

And when you step onto the veranda—there it is.

A small white basket. A red ribbon.

And inside—

A snow-colored kitten, curled like a pearl in a nest, blinking up at you with impossibly blue eyes.

You freeze.

Turn to him, wide-eyed.

He shrugs, just slightly. Nervous. Like he’s bracing himself for mockery. For rejection.

You blink again. “You—Raf, you hate cats.”

He exhales through his nose. “I fear them. Different thing.”

Your eyes shimmer.

He moves toward you slowly, hands lifted in surrender.

“I wanted to make you smile,” he says simply. “That’s all. Just—smile. Like you used to. Before I—” He swallows.

He crouches down before you. One hand comes up to gently stroke the kitten. The other finds your knee.

His eyes lift to yours—and there’s no performance left in him now. Just Rafayel. Just the man beneath the glitter.

“I was so awful to you.”

You open your mouth, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t say it wasn’t that bad. I know what I am when I’m scared. I threw wine over grief and laughter over longing because I didn’t know what else to do. I ruined canvases with your name on my tongue and strangers in my house, and the whole time—I just wanted you to walk through that door.”

His fingers tighten on your leg.

“And when you did—when you came back—I was so full of rage at the idea you’d left me, that I didn’t even ask if you were okay.”

He breathes. One hand comes up, presses lightly to your ankle.

“I don’t know if I deserve this. Any of it. You. The right to hold your hand. To be the one who touches you when you’re tired. Who makes you laugh. Who paints your name into the ocean.”

You slide your fingers into his curls, threading gently through the soft waves.

And he stills. Like he’s afraid to move.

You whisper, “I never wanted perfect. I wanted you.”

He exhales.

“I swear,” he says, softly now, firmly, “on every color I’ve ever touched—never again. I’ll never put my pride above your heart. I’ll never leave you alone in the dark I made.”

Then—he leans forward. Presses his forehead to your knee.

The kitten meows softly, curling into the basket.

And finally—you smile.

Because this?

This is home.

💙 Zayne

You expected something.

A tremor. A breath. A word. Anything.

Instead, Zayne listened. Like a doctor reviewing a chart. Like a man auditing loss.

He didn’t speak when you finished. He simply nodded—once—and turned away, reaching for the drawer by the bedside as though the moment hadn’t cracked the very floor beneath his feet.

His hands, always precise, always godlike in their stillness, carried a faint tremble now. Just at the edges. So minor you might’ve doubted your own eyes, if you didn’t know how obsessively exact they always were.

“I asked,” he said, adjusting a monitor. His voice was quiet. Neutral. Not for you—for himself. “I asked if you’d caught a cold.”

He finished adjusting the drip, typed something into the tablet. Still no eye contact. Still no softness in his voice. But the line of his shoulders was off. A degree too low. A breath too far from centered.

Then—he turned back to you.

His gaze met yours at last. And though his voice didn’t change, the words did.

“I would like to conduct a full diagnostic. Neurological, cellular, metabolic.” A pause. Then softer, with exquisite restraint: “Please allow me.”

You hesitated—not because you doubted him, but because you recognized the plea underneath the logic. He wasn’t doing this for the data. Not really.

You nodded.

And he breathed again.

He worked in silence. Gentle. Thorough. Every sensor placed with hands that barely touched your skin. Each test executed with a reverence that spoke more than words ever could. He treated you like something sacred—something already broken that could not, must not, fracture further.

When sleep finally came, it swallowed you whole.

And when you opened your eyes again—the world was still. Dim. The sterile light of early morning filtered through the blinds.

Zayne sat in the chair beside your bed. Unmoved.

He hadn’t changed clothes.

The same shirt. The same faint stain near the cuff from yesterday’s blood draw. One elbow rested on the arm of the chair, his fingers curved over his mouth, gaze lost in some calculation too heavy for paper.

When he noticed you stir, his posture didn’t shift. But his eyes warmed—just barely. Just enough.

“I cancelled my procedures for the week,” he said simply. “Transferred patients to colleagues. For now, my only case is you.”

You blinked, silent. Then your gaze drifted down, to the low table by the bedside.

There, lined with the kind of hesitant care that comes from someone unused to gifts, sat a modest row of familiar things. A bouquet of white jasmine, fresh and fragrant. Two of your favorite candies in delicate wrappers. And—absurdly, heartbreakingly—three new plush toys, small and soft and so clearly chosen by someone who’d spent an agonizing amount of time in the gift shop second-guessing every decision.

Your heart folded inward.

“Am I dying?” you asked, quieter than you meant to.

He didn’t smile.

But his voice, when it came, was soft and absolute.

“I won’t allow that.”

A long silence passed.

Then you shifted—carefully, your muscles aching—and reached for him.

“Come here,” you murmured.

For a moment, he hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because some part of him still didn’t believe he deserved the invitation. But he came. And when he lay beside you on the narrow couch, his body held a tension that didn’t ease until your head rested on his shoulder.

He stayed still. Let you move first. Let you curl against him the way you needed. His hand hovered over your back, uncertain, until you nudged it gently into place.

Only then did he hold you.

Not tightly.

Not desperately.

But with the kind of quiet conviction that said he would stay as long as it took.

You felt his breath in your hair before you heard his voice.

“I don’t pray,” he said, low, clinical as ever. “I believe in medicine. In numbers. In protocols.”

A pause. His fingers brushed your spine, feather-light.

“But if you hadn’t come back... I would’ve made an exception.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because some things, even with Zayne, are understood in silence.

And in that silence, held against the rhythm of his heartbeat, you felt it clearly: you were no longer his patient.

You were his entire world.

❤️ Sylus

For a moment after you speak, the room holds its breath. So does he.

Sylus doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t demand proof or press for detail. He simply stands there, stone-still, with your words unraveling him from the inside out. The way you say it—quiet, unshaking, without accusation—is somehow worse than if you’d screamed.

His gaze drifts over you then, and you feel the moment the veil lifts.

It’s in his eyes first—how they widen, flicker, and fixate. He takes in the shadows beneath yours, the pallor of your skin, the hollowness in your cheeks. His breath catches when he sees how your clothes hang looser than before. How your hands tremble faintly, barely perceptible unless one knows you too well.

And Sylus knows you.

His chest rises once, sharp and shallow. Then he moves.

Not fast. Not sudden.

But with purpose.

The next second, he’s in front of you, reaching—his fingers brush your jaw, feather-light, as if afraid that even the weight of his touch might bruise. He doesn’t speak as he leads you gently—gently, from a man whose hands have broken bones—into the nearest chair. One knee hits the ground beside you. He opens your jacket with slow precision, not to expose, but to check. To see. To know.

“You’ve lost weight,” he murmurs, voice rough and uneven, like gravel sliding beneath steel. His fingers glide down your arm, finding the sharp edges of bone where softness used to be. “Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

You try to speak, but he shakes his head, already rising.

He moves through the room like a storm with no wind—silent, but charged. Opens drawers. Pulls out clean clothes, a blanket, a glass of water. Then he’s back at your side, crouching again, one arm draped over your lap like a bridge between his fury and your exhaustion.

His hand wraps gently around your ankle, thumb pressing lightly against the bone there as he stares at it like it personally accuses him.

“I told them to take you.” His voice is lower now. Hoarse. “Told them to scare you. Make a point.”

He looks up at you. And for once, his face is completely unguarded.

“I hit you.”

It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t brutal. Not for someone like him.

But it was enough.

His voice falters, only slightly.

“And then I said I wouldn’t look for you.”

He exhales, and it’s not a breath—it’s a confession.

“That was the worst one, wasn’t it?” he asks. “Out of all of it. That’s the one that stayed.”

Your silence says enough.

And something in him breaks again—quietly, like a structure folding inward with no one left to hold it up. His forehead presses lightly to your knee, his arm tightening around your thigh. You feel him breathe you in, like scent alone might bring you back from the half-place you escaped.

“I should’ve known the second I touched you that something was wrong. I should’ve seen it on your face.” His voice cracks, just once. “But I was so angry. So fucking angry I couldn’t feel anything but the space where you weren’t.”

He pulls back. Looks at you again—slowly, steadily. And something inside him hardens, not with rage, but resolution.

“You’re not lifting a hand again. Not for food. Not for water. Not for anything. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what it costs. You’re going to rest, and I’m going to fix this—you—with my own hands, piece by piece.”

And when he stands, it’s not the usual slow menace or calculated power.

It’s reverent.

He lifts you—not like someone injured. Like something sacred. And when he carries you out of the room, wrapped in warmth and silence, there is no doubt in your mind:

Sylus will not let go again.

Not even if time itself tries to take you.

💜 Caleb

You aren’t even halfway through when it hits him.

Not like a punch. Not like a wound.

Like an organ failing.

He blinks once. Twice. And then nothing. No movement. No breath. Just silence.

Then, quietly—almost absently—he mutters, “I’ll resign.”

You look up, startled, and the absurdity punches out of you in a short, cracked laugh.

It’s the wrong moment. Too sharp, too bitter. But it slices through the tension like a scalpel.

And still—he doesn't move.

His hands press against the table, white-knuckled. Not to steady himself—he isn’t swaying. He’s rigid. Locked. Like something in him has calcified to hold him upright.

“I’m not fit to lead,” he says, voice flat, low, scorched. “Not when I see betrayal in the only person I’ve ever trusted.”

Whatever breath of amusement you had left dissolves instantly.

“I didn’t just fail as someone who was supposed to protect you,” he adds. “I failed as your—” He stops. Chokes it down. His jaw clenches so hard you can hear the sound of his teeth grinding. “As your Caleb.”

And then—he moves.

Quick, purposeful. Gone in a flash. You hear the kettle filling, the sharp click of a drawer, the dull thud of something fragile hitting the counter too hard. The way he clutches at control would be laughable if it weren’t so violent.

Then the bathwater starts.

Hot. Too hot. He’s not measuring anything. Just pouring. He throws open the cabinet, snatches towels, drops one, curses.

When he returns—his phone is in hand. “I’ll call Dr. Navik. I want a full neurocardiac scan, and we need to rule out—”

He stops. Mid-sentence. Thumb poised over the screen.

You don’t say a word. You just watch as something slows in him. As if time, for once, is merciful.

He lowers the phone. Turns toward you.

His voice—when it comes—isn't clipped or cold or distant. It's frighteningly gentle.

“Pip-squeak.”

He kneels before you, as if he’s afraid standing over you might shatter what little is left between you.

When he reaches out, it’s so slow. So reverent. The back of his fingers graze your cheekbone, barely there. Not because he doubts you—but because he doubts himself.

“How do you actually feel?” he whispers. “Not what I can fix. Not what the scans will say. Just you.”

You breathe. Only once. It shakes.

“Like roadkill,” you murmur. Then softer, almost smiling: “A hot bath wouldn’t hurt. And sleep. Maybe a week of it.”

Your faint attempt at a smile breaks him.

Not loudly. Not outwardly. He doesn’t cry. But something in his face folds in on itself, like it’s suddenly too heavy to wear. He draws a slow, trembling breath.

“I accused you,” he says, and now his voice is wrong. Hoarse. Quiet. Dismantled. “I accused you of being with someone else. After you went through six weeks of hell.”

You try to speak. He doesn’t let you.

“I thought you left me,” he says, and this time his voice cracks—just barely, but it’s there. A faultline in steel. His eyes are on the floor now, unfocused, as if he’s speaking to ghosts.

“I believed you would.”

His breath falters, like the truth is costing him oxygen.

“That it made sense. That I wasn’t enough.”

A pause. His throat works hard around the next words.

“Or worse—too much.”

His hand curls into a fist against his thigh, knuckles white. Not from anger. From restraint. From the effort not to collapse under the weight of everything he’s never said.

“That you’d finally find someone who doesn’t smother you with love that borders on obsession.”

He shifts, like his own skin is too tight. His jaw clenches. His eyes squeeze shut for half a second before he forces them open again, forces himself to keep looking at you—even if it kills him.

“Someone who wouldn’t try to chain you close,” he whispers, “just because he’s too selfish to breathe without you.”

He looks at you now—really looks—and the devastation in his gaze is endless.

His voice breaks on the last word.

“Someone who wasn’t… me.”

And for a moment, he’s not a soldier. Not a leader. Not even a man.

He’s just Caleb. That boy who loved you before he had language for it. And who never stopped. Even when it ruined him.

His hands curl into fists against his knees.

“I interrogated you. Like a stranger. Like a traitor. And all the while you were trapped—alone, dying, fighting—and I was worried about your silence in my bed.”

A breath. And another. Like he’s drowning in air.

“I loved you before I even knew what that word meant,” he whispers. “I carried it for years, swallowed it, starved it. I told myself it was wrong. Forbidden. And the moment I finally had you—really had you—I destroyed it with my own hands.”

He doesn’t look at you. Not until your fingers find his.

Then he shudders. And looks up.

“You always forgave me,” he says, voice breaking now. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. But this time… if you don’t. If you can’t…”

His hand trembles in yours.

“…I’ll understand.”

You shake your head. Just once.

And in that second—he folds into you, arms curling around your waist, forehead pressed to your stomach like a prayer he doesn’t believe he deserves to say out loud.

When he finally carries you to the bath, it’s not in silence. He keeps murmuring things—small things, promises, broken confessions, names only he calls you. He doesn’t try to be strong. He only tries to be there.

And when you’re finally in bed again, drowsy and warm, you find him already beside you. Fully clothed, facing the ceiling, his hand resting on the sheets between you like a lifeline.

You whisper his name.

He turns his head, eyes dim in the dark.

You reach for him, and he comes to you instantly, without hesitation. He lies down beside you, and when you press your head to his chest, he exhales like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in years.

His hand strokes your hair once.

And then, quiet—so quiet it almost isn’t real—

“I’ll never be the same.”

You don’t respond.

Because you both know it’s true.

And because you both know he doesn’t want to be.

🤣🤣🤣

Lets glitch together while having chips in a flower shop

😉🤣😂

MC: “Do you think we’re just NPCs of someones gameplay?”

Xavier: “And that someone is another NPC of another someone’s play through. Like an infinite gameplay…”

Jeremiah: “If that is right why the hell are you both programmed to lay down in the middle of my shop EATING CHIPS???? YOU’RE SCARING MY CUSTOMERS!”

MC: “We are simply…”

Xavier “glitching.”

Xavier is as fast as light

he may appear laid back, harmless and “tired” most of the time—but u have to understand he’s very attentive and quick on his feet, particularly when it comes to defending or protecting MC

so imagine Jeremiah getting too comfortable with you, and playfully says “fuck off..”

before you can respond, Xavier’s much quicker to bark back “watch it”, now fully awake.

In which Jeremiah would raise his hands in defeat “sorry, forgot he’s here—don’t fuck off then”

‧₊˚🌷༉‧₊˚. 𐦍༘⋆ Warmth of Spring

Tags! Love and Deepspace Xavier x Reader, Angst

✿⋆.ೃ࿔*:･. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁✿⋆.ೃ࿔*:･. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁✿

It had become a lullaby of sorts for Xavier. The rhythmic clicking of the clock as its little hand ticked in circles. No matter how much he stared at that clock that was slightly off center on the wall across his bed, he couldn’t tell you how much time has passed since he’s been confined to the uncomfortable mattress provided by the hospital.

While Xavier stared off into the distance through the window of his hospital room, watching the orange and red leaves of fall dance in the wind, a sudden crash of metal thins and utensils pulled him from his thoughts. With a curious gaze, Xavier turned his head towards the door. His soft eyes met your wary ones.

“Uh-! Sorry,” You scrambled around to pick up the items that you just dropped, “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Xavier just stared at you, wide eyed and confused. Why were you here of all places? He wondered to himself before stretching a smile at you.

“It’s alright. I actually don’t mind the company.” Xavier’s voice was like soft silk as he tilted his head and lightly chuckled. “You… Don‘t look like a doctor or nurse.”

You smiled and shook your head as you stood up, carrying the metal thin in your arms, “I’m a volunteer,” You motioned to the name tag on your shirt. “I was bringing this back to the storage room and, you know, tripped.” A small laugh came from you in an awkward attempt to cool your burning cheeks of embarrassment.

“No need to feel so embarrassed, I’ve had plenty of falls.” Xavier laughed along with you as you walked into the room. “I’m Xavier, and you are…”

“Y/n, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” That cheerful and carefree voice of yours made his heart ache. It was too much, but he forced the lump in his throat down.

That was the first meeting Xavier had with the you he knew now. Although you were different, so much of you were still the same. Like your smile and sparkling eyes that rivaled the stars. Ever since than you had started to pay him visits every now and then even long after your volunteer work was done. You two had a blossoming friendship.

“And then, there was this really tall mascot! It scared some of the kids away and I just couldn’t help but laugh!” You chirped on about your weekend to Xavier as he listened intently to your words.

All your visits have been the same. You would come back and tell him stories about your vacations, hobbies, events, and even just the mundane things that he seemed particularly interested in. Although he was stuck in bed most of the time, you seemed to breathe life into the porcelain white walls of his hospital room.

Xavier laughed along with you, “Did you get any pictures with it?” He sighed out with that gentle smile of his.

“Nope! I didn’t get the chance, I was too busy trying to calm down my nephew.” You frowned and sighed with a shaking head. “I’m so bummed! I would’ve love to show you it.”

“It’s fine. Hearing your stories is more than enough.” Xavier sincerely spoke out with a light hearted chuckle.

This was enough. Just being in the same room, talking about life, and having you by his side again. Even if his condition was getting worse, your being there made it bearable, until it became hard to ignore.

Xavier was getting thin. Sickly thin. He knew he didn’t have long until his time would be up, but he had already anticipated this. He knew it was only a matter of time before his body started to succumb to being in a foreign world. In his attempt to spare you any grief, Xavier would deny your visits and sleep. Until you had enough.

“Xavier, talk to me.” You had stormed into his room. “You’ve been denying my visits and even hide under the covers whenever you see me. Why? I thought we were friends.” The pain in your voice wasn’t hard to ignore. You were upset.

Xavier continued to lay in his bed with the blanket pulled over his head. He didn’t want you to see him like this. Not when he had gotten so weak and frail. But even though he didn’t want you to, he couldn’t help but pull the covers down and smile up at you.

“I’m getting worse.” Xavier spoke out with an unsettling smile as if he wasn’t dying. “They say I probably have a year left, but…” He bit his tongue and looked out of the window to watch the gentle snowflakes float down. “…I’d say I won’t even get to see spring.”

“What?” You were in disbelief. You couldn’t believe what he was saying and you couldn’t believe your eyes matter of fact. It had only been a month. “How are you so sure?”

“I just do.” Xavier looked back over at you and reached for your hand. “Don’t look so sad. I like it much better when you’re smiling.” His slender thumb brushed your palm gently.

Confusion and pain was clear on your face as you shook your head and grabbed his hand. “I’ll stay by your side, Xavier. Please don’t push me away anymore… I can’t stand it.” His eyes widened slightly as you brought his hands up to your warm cheeks.

And just like that, you two went back to the life you knew. You started to visit him more frequently and even started to take pictures of your outings so you could share them with him. While the weather was cold and frigid, you felt warm and safe being with him. Slowly, the snow covered streets and pavements melted as the weather warmed. And just as Xavier warned, he was getting weaker as the days went on. Spring was just around the corner.

“Do you like spring?” Xavier suddenly spoke out, his eyes locked on yours.

“I do. It’s warm and cool. And there are more things you can do compared to winter.” You nodded and smiled over at him.

“I wish we could spend next spring with each other. I would’ve loved it.”

“They said you had a year left… We’ll see next spring together again.”

Xavier’s expression wavered for just a moment before he chuckled and nodded. “Yes, we will.”

The weeks flew by and more snow melted as the creeping spring season approached. With a bouquet of fresh flowers in hand, you cheerfully made your way to Xavier’s room to celebrate the first day of spring. You were holding yourself back from rubbing it in his face how he would indeed make it till spring.

“Xavier~!” You cheered as you walked into his room and begun to prep the flowers. “These are the first flowers of the season. Mmm! They smell so nice!”

Xavier weakly looked up at you and smiled before reaching for your hand and holding it, yet he didn’t say anything.

“…Why are you so quiet? Come on, I told you you’d make it till spring. Look.” You pulled away and opened the window to let the warm air in. “It’s spring, Xavier. Spring.” You grinned happily to him.

“I know…” Xavier nodded slowly as he stared up at you with the wind brushing through your soft locks. “…But it makes this harder…” His usual meek expression hardened into a pained expression.

“…We’ll see next spring together too… so, it’s not too bad.”

“…I wish we could… I wish we could see everything together… not just spring…”

“…When you get better, let’s go see the world. I’ll take you to go see that mascot… Instead of bringing you flowers, we can just go see them…”

His hands laced into yours, mustering up enough strength to give your hand a reassuring squeeze. Even if you two never said it, you could tell what we wanted to say. He loved you.

“…Thank you for letting me see spring with you… Even if it was just one more time…” Xavier weakly smiled and brushed his thumb over your hand.

Xavier knew his words sounded strange to you, but he didn’t care anymore. He never cared about anything other than you whenever you were by his side. As of right now, all he really did care about was getting you to smile despite the tears that welled in your beautiful eyes he loved so much.

“You know… Your smile is much more lovely than any flower…” Xavier breathed out in a whisper, intending those words to only ever be heard by you.

Tears begun to fall as you sat on his bed and brought his hands up to your cheek with a sad smile. “Yeah, I know…” You sniffled, trying to ignore how cold his hands had gotten.

Slowly, Xavier’s eyes closed for the last time with his hands on your cheeks that could feel the stretch of your smile. As he held your cheek limply, his smile never wavered as he drifted into an eternal sleep. For once the room that was always filled with your laughter silenced to the pitiful sound of your sobs and the deafening beep of the monitor.

Tears streamed down your cheeks with your hand tightly grasping Xavier’s as the once soothing spring breeze wafted through the opened window. The breeze now unnaturally cold as it danced through your hair.

Xavier was gone and he took the warmth of spring with him.

.

.

.

(Not proofread!)

my babyyyy! 😣 look at him sulking and pouting😭🤍

full credit to artist: @fishbone0306 on X!

hi long one but this is a very important hc / imagine that me and a friend felt is important to share, this is yet another part of the LADS future children series (i made one about rafayel and having twin lemurian babies you can find it in the masterlist here)

taglist: @feralkuromi (if you wanna be added lmk :D)

Anyway without further ado

Xavier adopting a son with you

Have we ever talked about how alienated and alone Xavier felt in his family? How estranged he is from his father and just doesn't seem to fit in?

Xavier would adopt because he probably wants to give a home to some kid that feels just as alone as he did. He wants to give someone a family, a family he didn't have, and he wants to be a good father. He really just wants to be there for a child that doesn't feel like they belong, or even give a kid a home. Wants to give someone that was like him long ago and chance to feel like they belong, or that they at leave have somewhere they can return to and feel safe in.

He will discuss this with you at length, seeming calm, but super nervous because adoption is a lot and he doesn't know your thoughts on it. If you agree to it, just know he will be extremely happy. This doesn't push the idea of having kids being born off the table by the way, he just... really wants to adopt first.

Xavier will do EXTENSIVE research, by the way, this isn't a spur of the moment thing. He's probably been thinking about this for the longest amount of time, and he wants to make sure he does this parenting thing right, especially with a kid who already had a family and must have gone through so much. Genuinely, he is so thoughtful about everything, he will do research alongside you as well.

Paperwork is fun, but hey, you both get through it and end up getting approved.

You end up being matched with a young boy who's about 11-12. His parents were lost in a Wanderer attack when he was 3, and he has no relatives willing to take him in, so he was sent to a home. He had been in about 2 families before but sent back simply because there just wasn't that 'spark', or it wasn't the right fit, etc...

The boy liked taking care of the younger kids. He would tell them bedtime stories or fairy tales, he'd always reassure them... he got used to being there. So when he got matched with both of you, he was surprised (most people who visited usually went for the younger kids because they were deemed 'less troublesome' and had 'no baggage').

There are a lot of pre-placement visits once matched. The first one is nerve-wracking on both ends.

You end up taking the lead in the beginning, learning about the boy, trying to get him to feel comfortable in your presence (he's a little anxious himself), meanwhile Xavier is just quiet beside you (man is overthinking a lot about what to say or do).

In the end though, you leave the two to their devices for a bit (under excuse of 'going to the bathroom') and they start talking. And they get along well.

The boy wants to be a Deepspace Hunter when he gets older so no more kids end up losing their parents to Wanderers. He's currently practicing how to use a sword in school because he wants to be like the knights in stories he read when he was younger, and he always plays the knight whenever playing pretend with the younger kids.

Xavier explained that he's a Deepspace Hunter, and offers to see the boy's technique. And the two begin bonding almost instantly.

As the end of the visit drew near, the boy asked Xavier a question: "If I was your son and you were my dad, would you take me to eat hotpot?"

And Xavier replied: "I would take you anywhere, regardless of if you wanted me as your dad."

The next visit, at the boy's request, you and Xavier took him out to hotpot. And you found out that the boy also had quite the appetite on him.

He and Xavier are alike in many ways. He fit right into your little family. But of course, the boy is the one who must consent to the adoption.

This is a very slow process of building up trust with the boy, but Xavier is adamant on making it work. He's learning how the boy grew up, the environment he's used to, what his daily routine looks like, and already adjusting the home in order to be more familiar to him.

Xavier is also asking the foster parents on advice almost constantly. He's making such an effort to ensure the boy feels right at home (he really wants to get this right, he doesn't want to fail the boy). Man is scouring forums, reading books, everything.

Then the boy does end up being placed in your home with you and Xavier. Things still need to be legalized and finalized in court of course—right now, it's the moment of seeing how he ends up fairing in the household.

He ends up liking the place well! You and Xavier help decorate his room, there's new games that have been bought, and more snacks and food filling the kitchen. The pantries have more silverware, and now there's three plates at the table instead of the usual two.

You introduce the boy to the garden you and Xavier cultivated, you show him the piano (and even play a bit together)... he's making himself at home, really.

He does express fear that you and Xavier may return him back, that neither of you want to go through with this. Because this was the moment when he was sent back the past few times. But, both of you continue to shower him in love.

Xavier really is a good father-to-be, and you recognize that as he helps the kid study for school, knows when to be kind and slightly stern, is doing his best not to overstep boundaries... reminds you of when he was first navigating his relationship with you, and when you realized what a kind and thoughtful partner he is.

It's when the boy one day calls Xavier "dad" and calls you "mom/dad/[insert gender neutral parental title here]" that both of you break. Up until that point, he'd been calling Xavier "Mr. Shen" and you in a similar fashion". But then he told you he wants to be your son. For real. And you and Xavier could not be happier.

After everything is finalized and he's officially adopted, not much has changed. Because truth is, the boy had become a part of the family, had already been seen as your son the moment Xavier met him.

He will grow up into a fine young man, with both his and your guidance. And I know for a fact he will feel loved and cherished by the both of you.

The bite of Xavier

You Drive Me Insane // Xavier x Reader

God someone put me down please. I need to go touch some grass. Please don’t even perceive me. This is my first time writing smut, so hopefully it’s okay

This is pure smut, no plot in sight. Pure filth. Be warned. Minors DNI! Concept: Sexy times with Xavier Tags: Smut, Plot? What plot?, Oral (F! Receiving), riding, biting, fingering, creampie (wrap it before you tap it), rough sex, praise, fem! Reader Word Count: 1605 Masterlist

His lips lapped at your core like a man starved, like you were his favourite liquor, his last meal. Moans and whimpers escape your lips, your fingers tightening in his already tousled hair as his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, keeping you spread open on his mouth. You feel a groan rumble from his chest at the feeling, resonating against your clit, adding and adding to the pleasure coursing through you. The tight coil in your abdomen wound tighter and tighter, his name leaving your lips like a prayer. His long fingers slid in and out, in and out of you, stretching and caressing as far as they could reach, your juices spilling out with every move, adding to the puddle that has formed under you. Not a single thought echoed through your mind apart from his name, the lustful haze clouding everything else. 

Xavier’s dark gaze caught yours, his pupils blown wide, as if he was drunk off of you, his own eyes distorted with pure want. You could feel yourself clench around him, another wanton moan escaping you. The desire built within you with every skillful swipe of his tongue, with every suck and every thrust of his fingers. His arms pulled you even closer, until he reached the spot that made your eyes roll back and your toes curl.

The heat built, built, built, his unforgiving pace not giving you a chance to catch your breath. It was unbearable, unimaginable to be able to feel this much all at once, and yet here you were, wanting to escape but never wanting this to end at the same time.

Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes as your thighs trembled, trying to close but restrained by his strong grip, a grip that promised to leave bruises.

He kept up the pace, his fingers curling into that spot within you, his tongue licking up all the juices spilled, until your pleasure peaked, that coil snapping with a cry. Your muscles seize up as you throw your head back, bucking your hips against him. 

He didn’t let up, letting your orgasm ride out wave after wave after wave. The obscene sounds from where he was connected to you filled your ears as the overstimulation took hold, and all of a sudden it was too much. Tears trailed across your cheeks, as you fell slack against the bed, the aftershocks making you whimper as he pulled himself away, just far enough to leave a trail of soft kisses against your inner thigh. 

“Good girl. You did so good for me.” Soft praises left his mouth, as he slowly crawled up above you, leaving small kisses wherever he could reach, until his lips met yours, in a slow sensual kiss. His calloused hand cradled your cheek, wiping away the stray tears with his thumb. 

“You okay sweetheart?” Xavier’s voice is soothing, bringing you slowly back to your senses, as you lock eyes with him. 

“Yeah, more than okay.” You breathe, a small smile appearing on your face as he gives you another soft kiss. His eyes are still blown out, still dark with a hunger that’s yet to be satisfied. Against your hip, you can still feel his erection, hard and hot, precum dripping and spreading against your skin. 

You keep your eyes locked with his, a mischievous glint echoing through your gaze, as you reach down, your hand grasping where he needs you most. He gives a sharp hiss, eyes closing at the sensation, before grasping your wrist, stopping your ministrations.

“F-fuck. You sure you want to continue?” The darkness swimming across his eyes should make you nervous, should make you shy away, but instead it pulls you in, makes you want to bring this man to ruin. 

You pull your hand up gently, before pushing him over, switching your positions until he is beneath you. His eyes widen at the sudden movement, his hands landing on your waist, holding you steady as you straddle his lap. 

“It’s my turn to take care of you.” You whisper into his ear, punctuating your statement with a bite to his earlobe. Your fingers run from his cheek, to his neck, to his chest. Lower and lower, the trail of your touch followed with your lips, nips and kisses decorating his pale skin. He’s so sensitive. He’s squirming beneath your touch, fighting the urge to roll you over and take the control back. His breathing quickens, his chest heaving as you switch to small bites across his neck, decorating it with red marks, a reminder of tonight just for him. Your hands trail lower, teasing touches on his thighs, tracing his abs and v-line. So close yet so far.

“Darling, stop with the teasing. Please.” His voice is rough, punched out, teeth gritted together as he tries to maintain even an ounce of composure.

“Shhh, you’re doing so well. I’ll give you what you want soon enough baby.” You bite your lip to hide your grin. God you loved the effect you had on him, the calm attitude crumbling beneath your fingers, red staining his cheeks. The grip on your waist is firm, nearly painfully so, as his eyes scrunch closed. 

Finally, you decided to have some mercy on him, your touch trailing down to his dick. You thumb at the head, precum already coating your hand and the sound that comes out of him is something you’d like to hear for the rest of your life. You need to hear that sound again. You move your hand, twisting and pumping just like you know he likes it, but much slower than he wants. Your thighs protest as you reposition yourself, still trembling, so pleasantly sore. You guide his cock to rub against you as you grind down, covering him with the wetness dripping from your hole, a moan escaping both of you as his head catches your clit. His hands guide you down to grind on him again and again and again. You steady yourself with a hand on his chest, calling his name until his eyes open and land on you. His pupils are blown wide, his silver hair disheveled and redness spread further across his face. He looks divine. What a sight he is, underneath you, looking so fucked out already. 

You bite your lip as you guide him against you, maintaining eye contact as you sink down on his cock. Bit by bit, you take him slowly, a strangled whine leaving both of you.

“Feels so good- so tight.” He sounds breathless as he grinds his hips up into you, bottoming out. 

You have to take a second to breathe, adjusting to his size. You feel so full it’s almost overwhelming. You can feel every vein pulsing deep inside you, the stretch around him adding the sweetest ache to the many sensations coursing through your body. 

A moment passes before you’re rising up until just the tip remains inside you, before grinding back down, setting a brutal pace. His breathing is shallow and rough as his hips snap up, keeping up with the tempo you set, hitting deeper and deeper and deeper inside of you. Hitting that sweet spot that has you faltering your movements for just a second. His grip around your hips guides you along, his eyes falling to your chest as you move one of his hands to your breast. He kneads it desperately as you lean down to spread an array of kisses and bites across his neck. Sweat drips down both of you, adding a deliciously salty taste to your kisses. 

You swipe along his neck, swirling your tongue around his Adam's apple before biting down on it. His hips stagger in response to the sting and you soothe the ache with a soft kiss. The pressure builds within you, your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire with every thrust, with every touch. 

“Gods Xavier, s-so good for me.” The words leave your mouth with a desperate tone as static fills your mind. The sounds leaving him are music to your ears as you swivel your hips, feeling him twitch inside you, delirious kisses being left across your shoulder. 

“‘m close, so close.” His words spur you as you slam your hips down, going even faster. 

“Fill me up Xavier.” You bite his ear as the pressure in your core unravels once more, your muscles spasming as you squeeze around him.

“Fuck I-” He doesn’t finish his sentence as the rhythm between you falters. You feel warmth fill you, painting your insides, dripping beneath you. You ride out your orgasms together, panting, desperately trying to catch your breaths. You lean up, your lips meeting his as you come down from your high together. You pull away just far enough to meet his eyes, gently brushing the hair from his forehead. A gentle smile braces his lips, his hands massaging your aching thighs.

“God, you drive me insane.” His voice is breathless, exhaustion evident on his features.

“Good, I’m doing my job well then.” You give him a soft, teasing grin.

“I love you sweetheart.” 

“I love you too baby. Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?” You exchange a few slow, lazy kisses before you lift yourself off of him with a soft groan. You feel the wetness drip down your thigh as you attempt to stand, but your legs betray you with their shakiness and you have to brace yourself on the bed. You hear a tired chuckle before Xavier stands up beside you, lifting you into his arms before carrying you to the bathroom.