Benediction -a Drabble

🤡

Xavier hands her a spaghetti plate, only with ice cream "noodles" and raspberry "marinara" and cake pop "meatballs" and small white vanilla sprinkles for "parmesan"

See? I told you I'd make dinner.

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕋𝕒𝕡𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖

Pairing: Xavier x Fem!Reader Prompt: “No, you can't stay here.” Words: ~1.1k Genre: Angst, No Comfort Notice: Some spoiler of Xavier's Myth, Shooting Stars, although not entirely aligned

[ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

He staggered back, clearly surprised by how your muttered words reverberated loudly in the otherwise dimly lit room. Cerulean orbs searched for yours skilfully, eyes bright as they were when tracking Wanderers in the darkest of nights.

“What did you say?” A hint of disbelief was palpable in Xavier's voice.

You stepped away from the shadow, hands trembling as you struggled to steady them. Despite anticipating this moment, when confronted with reality, you found yourself questioning whether you could truly accept your sacrifice without harboring any regrets.

“I said, no, you can't stay here.”

Revelation dawned on him. Despite Xavier’s frequent drowsiness, he remained inherently sharp. It was one of the attributes that had made him a highly respected hunter.

“How long have you known?”

“Enough time to understand the over-complicated truth.”

Irritation briefly flickered in his eyes. He looked at the thinning veil behind him, clearly cursing the other party that stepped through it earlier. “Jeremiah told you.”

“I was the one who convinced Jeremiah to tell me everything. You shouldn’t kick his ass when you see him again.”

Xavier couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly at that. Jeremiah, though physically not imposing, could defeat anyone on mind games. That’s why he brought him along on the mission as he needed a logical partner.

He couldn’t comprehend why Jeremiah had agreed to divulge the secrets they swore to keep between themselves—especially to the one person he had hoped would never uncover the truth.

“Besides, you’re not as secretive as you thought, Xav.” You gave him a small, sad smile. “I guess that's what makes us human, right? Despite not being a normal one, having an aether core-fused heart, or having lived for a hundred years, we still can’t stop ourselves from showing our deepest desires during moments of vulnerability. I used to believe that she was your unforgettable first love or perhaps an ex who taught you a crucial life lesson. However, that’s just me shying away from the undeniable.”

As much as you had steeled yourself for this moment, your vision began to blur, and Xavier was fast to engulf you in his hug. You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around his lithe but muscular figure, feeling his warmth and further breaking your heart.

He buried his face in your hair, taking a deep breath to blanket himself in your scent like he always did.

“That’s not true,” his voice came out shakier than he intended.

“But it is, Xavier. You don’t know how many times you called out to her in your sleep. Or sometimes when you look at me, I can tell that you don't truly see me for who I am in this current existence. You can’t deny this, because in doing so, you’re also hurting her…me.”

You had to force your head up to fully face your light. Xavier wouldn’t let you step away from him.

Gently cupping his cheeks, you urged him to focus on your next words. “Face it, Xav. Your queen and I… our resemblances are solely physical. We’re two entirely different persons, made up of distinct personalities. If she was the reason why you were in this timeline in the first place, you cling to the hope of going back to her one day, don’t you? You wouldn’t abandon her eternity, right?”

His hug tightened. “I’m sorry,” he said after some time, head bowed in shame. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Truly, deeply sorry for making you feel less than your worth.”

Despite his painful acknowledgment, you found yourself relaxing, accepting your fate. Xavier's thumbs gently wiped away the tears that had escaped from your eyes.

“But you’re going to be here all alone,” his voice cracked, almond eyes cloudy. “I can’t go back and live peacefully knowing that.”

“If what Jeremiah told me is the truth, I have left you more than once. It’s your time to experience having someone be there when you’re back. This is the time to redeem myself, even when the timeline has gone haywire.”

Xavier shook his head furiously. “We won’t know if the alternative aether core would work. If I go back and learn that I will lose you again and Philos, I would rather stay here with you in the past.”

“You know it will work, that’s why you were so insistent on sending Jeremiah back alone with it, and selfishly waiting at the other end just to make sure it disappears, an indicator that Philos has accepted the aether-core. You know how much Jeremiah wants to go back there, and for everything he has done for you, you believed it was your turn to help him. I can’t take you away from her; it’s not right. It’s not my time to have you.”

“What difference does it make when I’m also willingly leaving you here? You understand that once I step through that veil, we’ll never meet each other again in this timeline.”

As if aware of its existence, the veil dimmed. You eyed it wearily, realizing that the swirling vortex of electric blue and silver had turned almost transparent.

“Xavier,” you sighed when he cupped your hand, reveling at the contact, “we both know that my time in this realm will end, I can’t be immortal here. I would rather face the certainty of our eternal bond in another dimension than linger in the fleeting confines of this world.”

You placed your fingers against his lips, silencing his upcoming argument. “You do realize that if you abandoned me in the future, I would despise you, don't you?" you made a playful comment to lighten the mood, but he was miserable. Filled with guilt and disappointment that he couldn’t control the situation.

You guided his head down to meet your lips halfway. As both of your lips touched in a bittersweet embrace, a silent farewell woven into each tender touch. The palm pressed against his heart felt its rapid beats.

“Goodbye, my light. Be happy,” you whispered those words to his lips.

Xavier should have known that whenever you were around, his caution melted away. That was his greatest weakness. He registered the force that caught him entirely off guard a second too late.

Xavier reached out his hand, losing momentum. “Y/N! Wait—!” he called out, voice tinged with urgency.

As his body was hurled into the closing veil, it snapped shut, swallowing his unfinished words. Sobs wracked your body, each wave of emotion sent your body crashing to the wooden floor.

Moonlight peeking through the windows cast its glow upon the intricate gold of the gigantic frame before you.

Where the veil had shimmered moments before, there was now only emptiness, revealing a cold cement wall that stood as a cruel reminder of the end of a chapter you could never revisit.

While seemingly nearly empty every night, a profound silence enveloped Philo Flower Store differently. Vibrant blooms began to wilt, their once lively hues fading into desolation, while the lush vines that once cascaded down nearby buildings now curled and browned.

⤷ ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST

When the Dawn Hesitates, the Light Trembles | Oneshot

shen xinghui | xavier x reader

synopsis:

Despite growing up as close companions from childhood, you've always been attuned to the difference in status that separates you and the prince. And yet, as rational as your mind is, your heart on the other hand is an unruly beast that you cannot fully control. With his wedding and departure to a foreign kingdom looming on the horizon, the question still remains on how you'll let go of your feelings and live in a future without him. And if he's willing to do the same.

tags: childhoodfriends!au, royalty!au, mild? angst with a fluffy ending (this is probs the fluffiest/non-dark themes this blog will ever see), unrequited love that's actually requited, prince!xavier x knight!reader

word count: 6.5k

a/n: thank you everyone for the support for the first chapter of my caleb fic! here's a oneshot that was actually written for my friend's bday as evidence that I also write for the other LIs hehe and a throwback to my days writing royalty!aus on tumblr! :> as always, please feel free to send in asks/request!!

You had encountered the prince for the first time as a little girl. He was quiet with the maturity of an adult, despite only being a year older than you. Your mama was his wet nurse. It was only natural for her to introduce you to him.

You remember that your first thought was that he was beautiful—the light of the early spring sun had casted his hair silver, and his eyes were the shade of blue you had heard about only in the fairytales your mama had whispered to you before you fell asleep. He looked exactly like the young prince in the one book your older sister had pointed out when you had passed the bookstore in the square.

You remember pointing at his hair and shouting, “Look, his hair glows like light!”

His gaze, which had looked uninterested, suddenly turned to look at you. Those blue eyes came to life then, and something had shown in them that you, back then, had viewed as mockery rather than amusement. “Is it always your first instinct for you to comment on others’ appearances?”

With a burning heat to your face, you had realized that he was teasing you. You had glowered at him then, and in a fit of childish immaturity, you grabbed a fistful of dirt from the ground and flung it straight onto him. Not your best moment.

Now, many years later, you don’t really remember how your mama spanked your butt red that night and how you had sobbed and said you’d never do it again and how she had forced you to kneel and apologize to the prince and then reverently express gratitude when he had just shrugged it off, when really he had the right to kill of your entire family.

But you do remember how his skin had turned red in his fluster, how his hair still glowed despite the dirt, and how his lips had twitched in agitation. You remember how his eyes had still dazzled you then—emotion, even if it was surprise, had made them a startling azure. These were all things you would always remember, for however long time would pass.

You wouldn’t ever dare say any of these words aloud to anyone. No, these were memories that only you were the keeper of, that you were certain of.

🌙✨

“Haven’t you heard? The King has sent out a declaration that Prince Xavier is getting married!” a maid clamored, as she rushed down the hallway with her friend.

“To who?” her friend gasped.

“To the princess of the neighboring Lucis Kingdom. Oh, I heard she’s a beauty! A perfect match for our prince! He deserves it, after he won over those hordes of wanderers at our border and made a glorious return!”

Her friend tittered in response. “My, perfect might be too strong a word! I bet even a fair princess would have difficulty trying to enthrall our unfeeling prince! I doubt he knows anything beyond the sword.”

She was the first to turn the corner of a hallway, when she collided into a force. “I’m so sorry—,” she was in the middle of her words when she looked up. Her mouth fell open, and her face flushed a bright red.

You had the unfortunate pleasure of being the wall that the maid had bumped into. And, as she probed your face to determine whether you had heard what she had just said (which you had), you opened up your mouth and slowly spoke, “I would be cautious of the words we say aloud in the palace, just as much as we are to be careful while turning the corners.”

The maid looked like she was cowering. But really, you thought, for what reason?

Yes, it was true that you were infamous in the palace for your quickness to anger, especially when it came to the prince. When the royal seamstress had said that Prince Xavier looked less flattering in red, you had threatened to use the blunt edge of your sword and destroy her supplies. But in all honesty, with how calm you had sounded, there really was no reason for her to be looking at you like you were some smoke-breathing dragon.

The maid quickly bobbed her head up and down in agreement. And then her gaze fell to the person behind you, and her face paled white like a sheet. “G-greetings, Y-Your Highness!” she jolted straight up before quickly falling into a bow, and her friend quickly followed her.

You peered around your shoulder, and when you saw a familiar presence lurking behind you, your mouth flattened into a straight line. “Your Highness,” you said flatly, bowing your head down.

He held your gaze, firmly. Your mouth felt dry all of a sudden, and you felt your face redden. This damn temper of yours! And he overheard it all!

But the two of you grew up together. He must’ve been used to your bouts of anger, even now. You don’t even know why you felt heat crawling up your neck. You turned your head away in indignation.

His eyes travelled beyond you to the two maids, and he nodded once. “You may go.” His tone was disinterested, and the maids hastily bowed again before scurrying away past him.

When they left, it was just the two of you left in the hallway. It was tense, and you felt yourself ready to run away, right behind the maids. You tipped your head and was about to turn away when-.

“I didn’t know you still defended me.” His voice was softer this time, unlike the more frigid tone he had used with the maids. “Are we still friends then, I presume?”

Your lips pursed. Memories of last night flooded through your head. You downing the pint of ale. You furiously pointing a finger at him and shouting at him how he could have been so foolish to have thrown himself at you to push you out of the way during battle and get hurt by the sword of the wanderer when it should have been you protecting him and not the other way around. Him yelling back at you—though, what he said and what happened after, your mind could barely remember over the jumble of your brain buzzing with alcohol and anger. You just remember waking up the next day, head pounding and vowing to never drink again.

And here he went again, with that cursed word. Friends. How could you ever be friends? He was a prince, and you were just some lowly ranked girl whose only luck was that her mother had raised him at her bosom. Other than that, you were nothing. You had only your knight title. Nothing like the precious princess of a wealthy kingdom.

You were about to bite out a vicious comment that reflected something along those lines, but something stopped you from spewing out the first vowel.

He would be leaving soon after his wedding. He didn’t have to stay in this kingdom, not when his older brother was already set to sit on the throne. And you wouldn’t follow, not when it would tear you apart to see them together, to keep seeking above your station when you knew it was unfeasible. So friend, that horrible ill-fitting term, you would hold onto until you couldn’t. You felt yourself wilt in response, and you were certain he had picked up that something was odd about you today.

So you sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “Friends, if you can say that, Your Highness.”

The corners of his lips tugged up in amusement. “So you’ll stop calling me Your Highness then? You know my name. Use it.”

Your mouth was dry all over again, and you felt like you were going to heave all over the floor. It must’ve been the leftover ale brewing in your stomach. It must’ve.

You forced a smile. It probably looked menacing. “People will overhear, and it’s not good for someone like me to be calling you by your name when you’ll be mar-.”

His gaze remained steady.

You swallowed. Fuck.

“Is it an order?” you murmured. Your rude tone, if the head palace maid had heard you, would have sent you straight to a flogging. But Prince Xavier, aside from when you had thrown dirt on his head as a little girl and...and last night, was magnanimous. Nothing could unsettle him, well...maybe except for you.

You did remember that time one of the other knights-in-trainings had been spewing insults about your background and yes, you maybe thought then about swinging your sword down on him (blunt or non-blunt side unconfirmed) but you wouldn’t have done it, not when it would have put your own position as a trainee at risk and left you unable to stay by Xavier’s side.

Xavier had been different though. He had challenged that knight-in-training in a duel during practice and left him black-and-blue. And then that trainee had somehow been removed from the ranks and ended up leaving back to his hometown.

But maybe that was all just wishful thinking on your part.

Hearing no response, your eyes shifted back to him briefly. He just stood there, looking almost pitiful. And it seemed like he had turned slightly so that the bandaged part of his arm was even more obvious to you. A prince? Pitiful? You could guffaw in amusement.

You let out a long sigh.

“Xavier,” your voice was barely above a hush.

He gave you one of those rare smiles of his, the kind that had you breathless as a little girl and breathless even now. On days when he did smile at you, you could never fall asleep. Whenever you closed your eyes, you would see his smile and the way his blue eyes had shone. Oh, tonight would be no different.

You needed fresh air.

You swiftly turned on your heel and headed out towards the pathway to the gardens. His footsteps sounded after you, even as you quickened your pace. But let him follow you—it wasn’t any of your business what he was up to in his free time. And honestly, you didn’t even have a destination in mind.

As the sun warmed up your skin and the smell of flowers sweetened the air, you felt yourself reminiscing. These days would be long gone soon. It was already against propriety for the two of you to still be this close, especially after both of you had come of age. Maybe, maybe it would be good for you to leave all of this behind when Xavier left. So that you didn’t spend the rest of your days an old bitter hag surrounded by reminders of the past.

You were lost in your thoughts as you ambled your way. You were about to take a step forward when you felt a tug at your sleeve, and suddenly, you were falling back. Your back hit a firm chest, and you winced at the collision.

“Ow! What’d you do that for?” you grumbled. You turned your head back, about to bite out another complaint, but your mouth hinged open when you realized that your face was much tooclose to his. You could see the flecks of light blue in his eyes, the way his light-colored eyelashes were trembling, and the slight reddening tint to his skin. He was somehow warmer than the spring air, his body heat seeping against your back. And he smelled like soap and something deeper that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You turned and pushed him away by the chest, stumbling back and crashing right into the trunk of a tree.

As you swore under your breath, you heard the sound of laughter. You looked over, irritated. He had his finger raised, pointing right behind you. His other hand attempted to cover his face but you could catch a glimpse of his smile.

“You were about to bump into a tree. I was trying to,” he huffed in a shaky breath, “to stop you from falling.”

Your mouth opened in protest, and you swiftly clamped it shut. Some knight you were. You could take down wanderers of any size and difficulty, but a mere tree was apparently your biggest opponent.

And suddenly you were laughing now too. All the anger, resentment, and bitterness from earlier seemed to fade away. You didn’t think of the past. You didn’t think of the future, of him wedding a beautiful princess and raising heirs with his silver hair and her colored eyes, of you never seeing him again for the rest of your lifetimes. All you thought that it felt good to be standing here with him.

🌙✨

The queen was a beautiful woman. With her long silver hair coiled up in an intricate hairdo and her silver eyes, she looked like a celestial beauty that had fallen onto earth in a gown of deep blue. You could see that Xavier had gotten his looks from her. But while Xavier had the mild temperament of the King underneath his seemingly cold exterior, the Queen was all fire and ice.

“Your Majesty,” you kneeled down onto a knee in a deep bow. She was silent for a long time, taking a long sip of tea from her cup. It was one of the petty tricks that she often played when she was displeased. But you were a knight—what was kneeling on a plush carpet for a little bit compared to sleeping on the cold ground of a forest, unable to rest properly in case a wanderer appeared?

After a seemingly endless time passed, you heard her set down her cup. Her voice tinkled out like bells. “Rise, Dame.”

You rose to your feet. You kept your head bowed.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten a good look at you,” she spoke, “Raise your head.”

You tilted your head up but kept your gaze lowered. She hummed out. You could hear the bracelets that adorned her wrists clinking together as she tapped a finger thoughtfully onto her bottom lip.

“You’ve become more beautiful these years. One wouldn’t expect you to be born from a mere commoner. Even unwomanly duties such as knighthood have not tarnished you.”

“This lowly servant is not worthy of Your Majesty’s praise,” you spoke, as you lowered your head again. You felt unsettled. Compliments from the Queen always had another purpose.

“Hush, child. I can see why even my son has softened towards you.” She hummed, her voice light and airy. “You see, when I married His Majesty, I was a year younger than you are now. I had lived as the princess of a small kingdom, so when his proposal came, there was no choice for me other than to agree. But I tried anyways.”

You remained silent.

“You see, the foolish me of my youth had loved a knight then and wanted to elope with him.” She laughed. “But when I tried to run away with him, my father caught me and had the knight stripped of his titles, tortured, and banished. All those years he had spent in service of our kingdom, and look what he threw away for a fleeting passion.” You felt her gaze fall back onto you. It felt sharp, like a blade.

“You understand my meaning, don’t you? Xavier is set to wed a princess. A political alliance with the Lucis Kingdom will be beneficial for everyone’s sake. A commoner like you.” She paused to laugh again. “Well, I am pleased that you have been able to make a knight of yourself. But make no mistake, that’s as high as you can climb up.”

She gestured a hand out, and you saw a wooden chest enter your periphery. “This is more than enough money to support you and any other ambitions you may have. You’d never have the opportunity to get your lowly hands on this much money. Take this money, and leave. Leave the palace as soon as you can, before the end of this season, so that Xavier does not hesitate in his upcoming nuptials with Lucis’s Princess.”

You raised your head to make direct eye contact with her then. Your eyes were fierce as you sternly shook your head. “Your Majesty, this lowly servant is well aware of her own station and does not dare to go beyond it. This lowly servant is not worthy of your noble gift, for her lowly hands would tarnish its value.” You dipped into a bow again before swiftly turning on your heel and marching out of the room.

You heard the crash of her cup hitting the wall from behind you, but you kept marching forward. Though you felt pity for the maids who would have to deal with her wrath, you knew that it would not have done you any good to have accepted her money.

You had been truthful with the Queen. You did know your station, and you also knew that you would never be able to go beyond it.

Your decision had been made long before you stepped into the room. In fact, it had been made even before you had heard news of Xavier’s nuptials.

It was final then. You would leave on your own terms, using your own money.

🌙✨

You knew you couldn’t stay in the capital. Linkon was a place full of reminders. If you peeked close enough, you could see the alleyways where you and Xavier had snuck bags of toasted walnuts when he was still young and still looked sweet enough to hide his stubbornness—though now, this sweetness had melted into a mildness that still hid his stubbornness well. You could remember the place Xavier had gifted you a small flower pin from the day you were admitted to knight training. And you could remember on one of those excursions where your cape had gone loose and he had reached out to tie it—the brush of his fingers against your lapel and the way your head had swelled up in a rush of blood...How could you stay in a place with all these reminders?

Sure, your family would miss you a little, but after your parents passed away and your siblings grew up, they were more worried about making a living and taking care of their own families. And besides, you could always visit them some time in the distant future.

No, you wanted to go somewhere peaceful and isolated, where nothing from the past could affect you.

As Linkon prepared to send its prince off to a wedding, you spent your time preparing for your own plans. When you weren’t training or taking on missions to take down wanderers, you found yourself perusing over a map that you had bought off a passing merchant.

The nearby city was too close, barely a day’s ride away by horse.

The region to the East looked good on paper, but you knew the noble families that had their territories there had close ties with the Queen. It wouldn’t be good for you to stay in a place where it would be easy for her to keep tabs on you. After all, you wanted to leave for the sake of your own freedom away from any royal’s influence.

Your pointer finger skimmed towards a small town to the West. It was about a week’s ride from the capital, 6 days if you pushed your horse, and near the border, so it was often experiencing unrest from stray wanderers. You could keep making some money there by going on small missions. And with the wages you had saved up and the money you could get from pawning off the uselessly luxurious gifts Xavier had given you over the years, even when you were old and unable to make money off of fighting wanderers, you could still live quite comfortably.

When you made your final decision, you quickly sprung into action. But when you asked Xavier for some time off, he had peered over his documents and looked at you skeptically. You could see why he saw it odd—you hadn’t taken a day off the moment you had entered knight’s training. But with the issue at the border contained, you were able to convince him that it was for the sake of spending some time traveling to get your head back on right. With reluctance, he stamped his seal of approval on your request.

You set off the following day. You didn’t need to prepare much—just enough money for food and your lodgings. But you felt odd as you went from city to city and then eventually from city to town.

It felt like someone was tailing you. The feeling started the moment you had left the gates of the capital, and even when you were deep into the crowds of an inn, you still felt a gaze on you. But whenever you looked, you would see the faint white of a cloak before it vanished.

It must’ve been one of the Queen’s people. So when you were about to reach your next town, only a day’s travel away from your intended destination, you decided to veer off course. Instead of going straight through the main road, you sharply turned off into the woods and urged your horse deep into the undergrowth. You then quickly dismounted and let your horse stray.

By the time the person following you entered the woods and saw your horse by itself, it was too late. You swung them off their horse, shoving them right into the dirt, and pressed your blade against their throat.

“Did the Queen send y-?” You hissed, reaching out to yank the hood down. The rest of the words you were about to say died in your throat as you squinted down at the familiar face. “Xavier?”

He looked at you with the firm steady look in his eyes, as if that was enough to convince you of whatever lie he had spun. But his ears flushed red—a clear giveaway. “What a coincidence...I was planning on checking the state of the borders, and we happen to be headed the same way.”

You laughed dryly. “Certainly, Xavier. Then you don’t mind if we part ways at the next town. I’m planning on taking a restful and slow vacation, and you must be in a hurry to get to the border then.”

He shamelessly shook his head. “I mean, the issue at the border is settled and wouldn’t change in less than a fortnight. They don’t need to see me there that urgently.” His lips curled up faintly at the corner.

You scowled. This prince! He was lying right to your face, and he didn’t seem like he had an ounce of guilt about it. “Well, what would other people think about us then? Only a married couple would be traveling together. Do you want people to presume about our relationship, Your Highness?” You threw your hands up. “And what about your safety? There isn’t a single other knight here from the squad!”

He shrugged his shoulders lightly. “Well, that’s for them to assume. And if you call me by my name, then no one would know who I am, and I wouldn’t be in danger. Besides, I don’t need other knights either. We’re already a good team, aren’t we, Partner?”

You huffed and spun around on your heel, about to start your search for your horse. There was no winning with him. As you found your mare and hoisted yourself up onto her, you squinted down at Xavier, who still looked idle.

“And where’s your horse?” you crossed your arms.

He looked around for a second and then looked back up at you. “It looks like it left. You don’t mind me riding with you, right? Besides...,” his voice softened, and his eyes looked sleepy all of a sudden, “Sleeping these past nights haven’t been too restful for me. I worried that I’d wake up and you would be already gone. I can catch up on some sleep if we ride together.”

Before you could protest, he had already settled himself behind you. His arms looped around your waist. When you turned around to gape at him, flabbergasted, he already had his head tilted down and his eyes closed.

You turned back and grabbed the reins, urging your mare back to the main road. When you were certain that he was actually asleep, you let yourself relax for a bit. You’d drop him off at the next inn and send a carrier back to the palace. By the time he woke up the next morning (or noon, with how his sleeping schedule was), you’d already be almost to your destination.

You were lost in thought and didn’t notice his grip around you tense a bit, not until you heard his voice murmur from behind you. “What did you mean about my mother? I heard she had forced you to meet with her as of late...What did she do?” Despite its softness, you could hear a slight edge to his voice.

You bit your bottom lip, trying to decide what to say to him. “She didn’t say or do anything. Just that, you know...she helped me realize that it would be good for me to start thinking about my future, beyond the castle.”

There was a pause.

“And how are you planning on doing that?”

You cleared your throat. “I mean...I only became a knight because it was a good way for me to help the kingdom and to stay by your side. Now that you’re getting married and leaving, I...I can’t say I know what my next steps are. But it’d be good for me to see more of the world, beyond fighting wanderers and...and as much as I enjoyed it...beyond being your childhood friend.”

After all, you had naively thought you could have stayed by his side forever. How naive of you.

It was silent. Seconds and then minutes and then more passed. You assumed then that he had fallen asleep.

But even as the ride was quiet, both of you slightly swaying with the movement of your horse and his eyes were closed, you didn’t even notice that his fingers were trembling.

🌙✨

The next town was exceptionally quaint. The two of you had reached it right after when the sky was almost beginning to dim and the heat of the sweltering sun had finally dissipated. There was the smoky smell of meat grilling, and groups of children ran past the two of you laughing and pushing each other around. You could hear string music just ahead, and a crowd was gathered around a skit.

Xavier and you talked little as the two of you traversed the space. Only when you had been planning on buying a skewer of lamb had he gently nudged your fingers away from your coin pouch and placed his own coins down. “Allow me,” he hummed. The two of you walked in silence as you nibbled on the meat—even though it originally came from a more rough cut, the way the vendor had cooked it had made it tender and fragrant.

As you scanned the trinkets of the vendor, your fingers lingered on a small hairpin. It was a white flower with a blue gem in the middle, the same shade of blue as Xavier’s eyes, attached to a fragile silver stick. You thought about purchasing it then. A little trinket, that you could carry around as a memory of the night.

Your fingers flexed, as if to grab hold of it.

And then you dropped them. No, it wouldn’t be good for you to carry around all these reminders. You gave an apologetic smile to the vendor and turned away, carrying on to the next stall.

“Why didn’t you buy it?”

You turned around at the sound of Xavier’s voice and bumped into him. You knew he had been following you, but you didn’t know when he had gotten so close—maybe it was the crowd jostling the two of you together. But, as you scanned the surroundings, most of the crowd had already wandered off to gather around a stage where a play was taking place.

“I just,” you felt flustered at having been caught. “It’s not the most fitting for me. It just seems-,” you swallowed dryly, “like it’s beyond my station.”

The two of you had stepped off into a small quiet corner. Despite how dim the lighting was, you could still see the flecks of light in his eyes. He was quiet for a moment before pulling out something from his pocket.

When you saw the glint of blue, you sputtered out, “W-what! Xavier, you shouldn’t have!”

He tilted his head to look down at you, in a way that made every nerve of yours prickle. His gaze was intense. He reached out with a hesitant hand and placed it tenderly against the side of your head. “May I?” his voice was low.

You relented, nodding.

He nudged your head so that it would turn. With quick nimble fingers, he coiled your hair and slid the hairpin through. But even when he was done, his hand hadn’t left you. It instead slid down so that it was cupping your chin.

“I just remembered how you used to wear the flower pin all the time. But then one day you stopped.”

His thumb softly brushed against your skin. God, your throat was dry again.

“Why?” his voice was searching.

Of course, you knew why. You loved that pin. You still love that pin. And even when you had gone on wanderer excursions you had kept it on you still, tucked under your clothes. But the day you had heard news of his engagement, you had thrown it away.

But you couldn’t say that. Instead, you shrugged your shoulders and reached up to push his hand off you. You couldn’t look straight at him.

“I...I don’t know. It just...fell out of use.”

He hummed out a sound that sounded like disappointment. “Is that like us? Do you think we fell out of use too?”

You jolted and looked at him. “No...Xavier, I’m...I’m not someone who deserves to be close to you. You’re...”

“I’m what?” He sounded almost desperate now. But he couldn’t have been desperate about you, could he?

And you didn’t know what to say, but you knew what you wanted to say: You’re getting married. You’re leaving. You can’t keep giving me false hope that I’m special.

But you didn’t say anything of that. And maybe what you said next was worst than all of those statements combined. You just looked at him, with something that you were certain was akin to anguish in your eyes.

“I love you, Xavier.” And when you started, you couldn’t stop. “I have loved you since the moment I saw you. But...you’re...You’re not mine, Xavier. And you’ll never be.”

The moment you registered what you said, you were horrified. Your hands flew to your mouth and before you knew what you were doing, you had turned and started sprinting.

Your mind was spinning. Screw the waiting until the next morning. You couldn’t keep seeing him any longer. Now that you said everything that you shouldn’t have. You didn’t even look at where you were going but you knew you just had to be away, to gather your thoughts and dignity that the next time you saw him again, you could laugh and pretend that it was just the sips of ale that you had taken earlier and you were actually talking about a different Xavier.

Before you could fully slip away, you felt hands wrap around your shoulder and pull you back. You turned sharply, just in time to miss colliding with a group of kids that had tumbled out of seemingly nowhere.

“You can’t just,” Xavier’s fingers were firm, but you could feel them trembling around your skin, “say that and leave.”

Your eyes darted around your surroundings. God, the play had ended and the crowd was already dispersing. You didn’t want to attract any more attention, but you were frantic with distress. You let him pull you away from the crowd and set you down to a seat, staying silent until you were certain there were no other eyes on you.

“I’m, I, I just can’t,” you were shaking now too. Or had you already been shaking? “Can you just forget it, everything I said?”

He laughed. It sounded sarcastic. “Like I was meant to forget what you had said that night when you were drunk, how you said you would never leave my side for the rest of your life.” His voice softened then. “And how I was meant to forget that you had kissed me.”

You buried your face into your hands and let out a groan. “I’m...I did that? Of course, I said something foolish like that.”

And then you registered his second sentence. You bolted up to a standing position. “I kissed you?!”

He seemed calm, but you knew every detail about him—his ears were flushed red, and you could see that his face was hazy with a soft pink. Oh, how foolish were you?

“My sincerest apologies!” you blurted out. “I should have never, I would have never. I said that? I did that?!”

You were hysterical now. Perhaps you should grab your sword now and stab yourself through the heart with it. Your hand was about to reach for your sheath when a hand stopped you.

“If you had not decided to run away before you could listen, to hear my response to your promise,” he spoke firmly, “you would have known that I have shared the same feelings as you.”

You stopped.

“The moment we met, the moment I saw that girl and had her fling dirt on me and how even when she apologized for doing so there was a fire in her that showed that she didn’t think what she did was any wrong,” he laughed. His hands moved up, until they rested on your waist, “I have to admit that I have been hopelessly captured by her. The way she smiles when she finds the dishes she likes and frowns when they aren’t up to par, the way she falls asleep deeply in a second with her mouth wide open, the way she never hesitates to rush in to defend someone with her sword.”

His hands then dragged up until they were once again cupping your face.

“And how I have never been courageous enough to tell her all of these things. That behind it all, when it comes to her I am just a cowardly man. That I get anxious when she doesn’t talk to me, when she decides to do something she’s never done, to such an extent that I become a foolish man who can’t even say a word out of fear of losing her. Because to me, she is my most beloved.”

He swiped his thumb against your bottom lip. His face was getting closer to you. You didn’t push him away.

The kiss was soft and gentle. It felt like sunlight brushing against your lips. You melted under his touch. Prickles of heat surged underneath your skin. 

When you finally parted, he asked, his voice slightly strained, “Will you forget about this too?”

You hadn’t even registered that you were tearing up until you felt him brush away the first drop as it hit your cheek. “I -I must. You are engaged. You will marry another.”

He shook his head. “And in doing so, lose my beloved? Those were all rumors that the Queen had made to force me into this engagement, because she recognized that I love another. That I love you. That I would only marry one, if she would have me.”

You wanted to implore more then. To ask more questions about what it meant for you to say yes and whether it was truly moral for you to allow your Prince to cast aside his duty for you and would it even be worth it.

But you had spent a long time overthinking and asking yourself all sorts of questions. You didn’t want to worry about the future, about the consequences, and what it meant for you to fully defy the Queen’s orders.

All you thought about was how, out of all the questions you have ever had, he had answered the first one.

That memory of the first time you met, he too was a keeper of them. The feelings of those simpler days, when the two of you were young and not quite aware of the difference in status between you and you had kept watch for the head tutors when he would skip his classes to sleep under the great tree but found your own eyes slipping back to him, surged through you.

And to you, that was enough to let you close your eyes and pull him in for another kiss.

Whatever came tomorrow came tomorrow. If you chose to stay, if you chose to leave, rather than uncertainty plaguing you like it had before, you felt certain that this warmth would never leave your side.

✨Extra✨:

He had been careful to not spoil the surprise. It was the day that you would finally start knight training, and he had spent the last couple of days carefully stitching each petal together onto the hairpin.

He had always acquired skills easily, but even though the tutor had complimented his work, he still felt a little embarrassed of the quality. Sure, you would look beautiful in it because you looked beautiful in anything. But was it good enough for you? Would you like that it came from him?

He felt the pin in his pocket again. Should he wait for you to be done? Where should he wait for you?

You had found him the second you were done, your skin flushed and glowing with sweat. His mouth felt a little dry then as you beamed at him.

“We just started training to boost our stamina but pretty soon I’ll have the sword in hand and we’ll be defeating wanderers left and right!” you motioned a sword with your arms. “But training is pretty intense, as you can remember, Sir Head Knight. I won’t be able to come find you like I usually do.”

He didn’t remember how he got to presenting to you with the pin, but as he placed it in your hands, he remembered his mind went blank and suddenly he spoke: “I bought it just now. It’s not the best quality, so if you don’t wear it, it’s alright.”

You had already snatched the pin from his hands and was already working it into your hair. When you were done, you gestured wildly at it and grinned. “A gift for your future accomplice?”

He swallowed again. You really did look even more beautiful than he could have imagined.

Before he knew it, he had come closer. A thick strand of your hair had fallen out of the hairstyle, and he had it in his clutch, pressing a soft kiss on it. Your smile went stiff.

“No, it’s a gift for my future partner.”

A/N: let me know your thoughts! fics are always unedited so if any grammar mistakes or run-on sentences catch your eye...uhhhh no they didn't! and as always, my inbox is open!

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

full credit to artist: @fishbone0306 on X!

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS AND KISSES

warning(s) mention of insomnia, comfort, established relationship, pet names, food/eating, physical touch and affection

synopsis xavier gets a call from you in the middle of the night. you have a last minute sleepover to help soothe nerves and connect more with your silver-haired lover! . ⟡ authors note a request from @sadfragilegirl hope you enjoy and sorry for the long wait! ⟡

the relationship between you and xavier was a new thing; a bit awkward and fidgety in the beginning, but blossoming and soft. you were used to his distinct smell of lavender and fresh laundry drifting through your apartment, the twinkle of his blue eyes, and his soft laugh that spread sparks of warmth through your body.

tonight, you were missing his presence. your apartment felt foreign and the silence all too loud. you bit your lip in the darkness of your room, finger hovering over the call button of his contact. you both had just finished a hard mission earlier today and decided to part ways for the night to rest and recuperate.

but the spot beside you in the bed felt too cold, empty of his long limbs and soothing voice lulling you to sleep. now, that sleep refused to come, and you tossed and turned until you finally bit the bullet and pressed call.

“what’s wrong?” his voice, still thick with sleep, immediately answered the phone. you could distinctly hear the rustle of linen bedsheets shift as he sat up, patiently waiting for your response.

you chewed your lip before answering, embarrassed beyond belief and nervous that you completely interrupted his rest. “I…well, I can’t sleep. was wondering if you could come over tonight—?”

you waited with bated breath, heart beating in your chest as there was a pause. then, “I’m heading over now. want me to bring some snacks?” you didn’t even have to respond— you heard the rustle of your favorite chips he kept stocked in his kitchen, making you giggle softly.

“see you soon, xavi.”

“I’ll be over soon.”

you occupied yourself with tidying up a bit before his arrival, setting comfy blankets and pillows onto the couch. you both loved soft mood lighting, no glaring overhead lighting to be seen, so you even lit a few candles around the surfaces of your apartment.

soon, you heard the distinct rap of your boyfriend at the door. you couldn't help a little thrill buzz through you in anticipation, quickly padding to the door and opening it with a flourish.

there stood your loverboy in fluffy checkered pajama pants and a plain white shirt, still rubbing sleep from his hazy blue eyes. his arms were wrapped around a bag of chips and a blanket.

you grinned up at him and a loopy smile greeted you back, as you then pulled him into the apartment with a click of the door. “y'know I gave you a key so you could come in yourself,” you teased lightly, watching as xavier dumped the assortment of objects onto the dining room table before turning back to you.

“I know. but still…” he murmured back, still wiping at his eyes before wrapping his arms around you for a hug. you greatly accepted it, immediately feeling better with his arms around you.

“I didn’t disturb you— did I?” you whispered after a beat, still a bit nervous at disturbing your cat-like boyfriend from his slumber.

in response, you felt the chuckle rumble through his chest before you heard it. his arms pulled you impossibly closer and lithe fingers soothed down your waist.

“silly, of course not. I missed you too, it was hard to sleep in my bed.” he confessed easily, patting your head affectionately when you pulled away to glance up at him. love is what you found in his eyes, steady and pure and adoring.

“so what should we do first?” he mused, yawning into your ear and practically leaning his full body weight onto you. you fought a dopey smile from breaking across your face, enamored by his relaxed aura he openly showed to you.

“skincare!” you clapped your hands together, startling him a bit as you pulled him to the bathroom. you pushed a pink my melody headband onto his head, securing his silver locks back. you fitted a kuromi one onto your head as he stared into the mirror.

“why do I get the pink one?” he questioned after a beat.

“because you’re adorable and cute, just like my melody.” you answered smoothly, grinning through the mirror as xavier’s cheeks immediately blushed a light pink. he rubbed the back of his neck as you laughed, setting the various bottles and ointment on the sink. he followed your instructions slowly, until you both walked out with matching hello kitty face masks.

“xavi, look over here!” you hummed excitedly. when he glanced over, you quickly whipped out your phone and took a picture with lightning quick reflexes.

he let out a startled gasp, playfully reaching for your phone as you laughed and twisted away from him. “hey!”

“now all our coworkers will know how cute you are at home. not the stuck-up they think, huh?” you purred, smiling as xavier groaned and slumped onto you again. you stumbled for a second under his weight, laughing once you realized this was another one of his tactics to get you to hand over the condemning evidence.

“I’m just joking. I have to keep your cute side all to myself,” you pouted, setting the picture as his contact photo instead. “this’ll do.”

xavier perked back up at that, but not before pinching your cheek as a warning. “‘m a little hungry. let’s make some cookies?” the silver-haired boy piped up, pulling you into the kitchen as you nodded eagerly. there was no way you were going to turn down his chocolate chip cookies— you had quickly realized that he was an astounding cook, able to make most anything from scratch, and his cookies were the best.

you hummed out a soft alexa, play favorite comfort song as you both maneuvered around each other. naturally, you found yourself sitting on the countertop watching as his distinct silver-hair moved back and forth. light conversation easily flowed between you both, and all you could feel was peace.

soon xavier came over to you, slotting between your legs and holding a finished cookie to your lips in a silent request. you obediently bit down, chocolate warmth and a nutty goodness spreading throughout your tastebuds. xavier’s eyes twinkled at your satisfactory hum of approval, popping the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

after removing the face masks and setting the cookies on a plate to cool, you both ended up wrapped in a shared blanket on the couch. a movie cut down on low played quietly in the background as you snuggled up closer to xavier’s distinct warmth.

“thank you for coming over,” you whispered up at him. he hummed back softly, setting his chin on your head as he gazed down at you.

twinkling eyes met you back. “of course. anytime you need me, I’ll be here. now let’s get some sleep.”

and sleep came easy again.

© SWEETEAAS 2024 do not repost/edit/copy my works. જ⁀➴ reblogs are appreciated!

Brother ... someone at last.. wrote it

THANK YOUUUU

Omggg

Bookish MC .. lets goooooooo

Hello again May I humbly request hcs for the LADS with a bookish MC wherein they are a voracious reader and they love going to bookstores and book fairs to collect and read books

Sorry for the wait @yukiotacon hope you enjoy. sorry for any mistakes i didn't catch

Sylus

The moment he realized books brought you peace, Sylus took it as his personal mission to create a sanctuary for you.

He literally bought you a whole bookstore. Not just any bookstore a gorgeous, two-story haven filled with sunlit reading nooks, old wooden shelves, plush velvet chairs, and a built-in café that always has your favorite teas, pastries, and snacks.

The store's stocked with both modern titles and incredibly rare finds. You never know what's going to show up next on the "New Arrivals" shelf but it always happens to be a book you've been dying to read.

He never interrupts your reading, but he always makes sure your space is comfortable adjusting your blanket, slipping in a warm cup of tea, or brushing your hair back when it falls over your eyes.

Quietly watches you read with a small smile, because seeing you that content is his favorite view.

Zayne

Zayne isn't showy with it, but he's so deeply thoughtful. He remembers everything you say in passing, including those hard-to-find books you've mentioned once five months ago and somehow, they appear.

You'll come home to a package on your desk with a note in his handwriting

You said you read it once in middle school but couldn't remember the title. Thought this might be the one." And it always is.

Loves curling up in bed with you, both of you reading in peaceful silence under soft lighting. Sometimes your legs are tangled, other times he has an arm wrapped around you while reading over your shoulder.

he really enjoys discussing books with you. He asks thoughtful questions, and he listens because your mind fascinates him.

Secretly uses your favorite quotes in conversations. You catch him sometimes and it always makes you smile.

Xavier

Your shared love of reading is your love language.

You and Xavier have a weekly book club, just the two of you. You pick a book each week and meet in your favorite cafe or your living room floor with snacks to discuss it like you're presenting at a conference.

Sometimes you read the same book aloud to each other, switching off chapters. It often ends with him laying his head in your lap, eyes closed, just listening to your voice.

Your dates often involve indie bookstores, secondhand shops, and seasonal book fairs. He lives for seeing your face light up when you find something new.

Also the type to annotate books you've both read with little notes in the margins like "This reminds me of us." or "Tell me what you think of this scene....I had....ideas"

Caleb

Caleb's not a huge book guy, but you loving books? He's been supporting that since day one.

He used to save up his allowance to buy you books when you were kids and to this day, if there's a release you're excited about, he's already preordered it for you.

Has surprised you with signed copies of your favorite author's books more than once. You're still not sure how he managed it, but you caught him on the phone once saying, '"Yeah, she cried. Worth it."

Loves watching you get immersed in a book, your little facial expressions, the way you chew your lip or gasp dramatically and will absolutely tease you, "Don't fall in love with some fictional nerd when you've got the real deal right here."

Will carry your books for you without complaint and has mastered the art of finding a cozy spot to wait while you spend two hours in a bookstore.

Rafayel

he loves that you're a passionate collector of stories.

Uses his vast network of connections to do the most youve met your favorite authors, attended private book launches, and once, he surprised you with a signed first edition of a book you thought you'd never even see in person.

When you're stressed, he whisks you away to iconic libraries around the world

And he's always right by your side, letting you explore at your own pace, hand intertwined with yours.

Has a whole room in your shared space set up as a private library, complete with elegant shelves, hidden reading nooks, warm lighting, and a lounge that practically whispers "read here."

He may not always understand your love for fantasy or tragic romance novels, but he loves hearing you talk about them. His eyes are glued to you as you rant, theorize, or quote dramatic lines with flair.

Occasionally reads something you love just to impress you and of course he always pretends he didnt cry at the sad parts (he did).

LaDS React to a Reader with a Skin Condition

Request: Anon- Would you be comfortable writing headcanons about how the boys would react to you having skin problems? Like acne and eczema. I get really self conscious about my skin and I just feel like they’d know just what to say.Whether or not you choose to write this thank you for taking the time to read this. I really appreciate all you do, you’re an incredibly talented writer and you’re such a wonderful part of this community. 💕

AN: Hi anon, thanks for requesting! As someone with psoriasis this is close to home. I hope you like this >< evil laughter because I changed the OG reaction order

Pairing: LaDS boys x fem reader

Ingredients: 90% comfort, 10% sulking

My Fav: None. I felt writer's block writing this :(

Caleb:

He’d seen you grow up with psoriasis.

He remembers the way you never let go of your long sleeves. The way your friends’ eyes lingered in the summer, glancing at your covered arms with quiet curiosity. The way your smile would dim when someone’s gaze lingered too long.

Hell, he was the one who held you when you sobbed, terrified before every new school year. The one who sat with you in silence while you rubbed at your sleeves until the fabric thinned.

But he had also seen you change. Watched as long sleeves were traded for shorter ones. Saw how you learned to love your skin through the endless cycle of steroids, topicals, and shots.

Flare-up or not, you were strong. You became more than the spots on your skin. And he was proud.

The person he once comforted no longer needed saving. You had learned to love yourself.

But even now, if you stumbled, if you slipped, he’d still be there. Not because you needed him. But because he never stopped wanting to stand beside you.

And when you catch him watching you, when you raise an eyebrow and say “What?” he just smiles.

"Nothing." He wraps his arms around you, his hands mapping your arms with utmost focus. He watches the way you don’t flinch anymore. The way you let him touch you without hesitation.

"You’re just beautiful."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush. He sees the quiet pleasure in the smile on your lips.

"I mean it." His pulls you closer, against his chest, burying his face in your shoulder.

Zayne:

He held your hands, applying the topical carefully. His fingers moved slowly, brushing over the irritated skin with quiet precision. Your fingers twitched in his grasp, skin red and peeling. It looked painful.

Just a night out had done this. The restaurant soap had reacted poorly.

And now here you both were.

"I'm sorry, Zayne. I was stupid." You whisper, trying to pull your hands back. "I ruined our plans."

His grip tightens slightly, keeping you from slipping away. His breath steadies as he rests his forehead against yours. Warm. Soft. Familiar.

"You have nothing to apologize for." His arms circle around you, pulling you carefully into his lap. His hand slides to your wrist, thumb brushing over the curve of your pulse.

He blows gently over the drying cream on your skin. His breath ghosts over your fingers, the warmth easing the sting.

"I prefer this." His lips brush your temple. "How else do I get to hold you like this?"

Your breath hitches. His mouth curves faintly against your cheek.

"And kiss you however much I want?"

You laugh weakly. "You’re ridiculous."

"Probably." His lips trail down the side of your face, soft and deliberate. His touch light and careful as he smooths over the cream.

"But you think too much." His forehead presses against yours. "You didn’t ruin anything."

"Zayne, it was your time off in so long, and we-"

His fingers lace between yours. His thumb strokes along your palm, calm, steady. "I’d rather be here with you, holding you, than anywhere else."

You close your eyes, breath slowing beneath the weight of him.

"So stop apologizing." His voice drops to a whisper. His mouth hovers over yours. "You’re already giving me exactly what I want."

Rafayel:

He finds you crouched in the closet. Crying. Clothes scattered around you in every direction.

"I look awful." You look at him tearfully. "Everything looks terrible with the breakout. I can't go to your exhibition, Rafayel."

Your face crumples, eyes red and swollen. Your period isn’t helping, it makes you even more susceptible to unwarranted emotional breakdowns every passing hour. You bury your face in a dress and sob like a kicked puppy.

Rafayel stands there for a second, his brow furrowing. Then he sighs and sinks down beside you, his knees brushing against yours.

His hands rise to your face, caressing your cheek with care. "My bodyguard always looks the most beautiful." He tilts your chin to kiss the tears away.

"Don't kiss me, I feel gross." You try to pull away. "And look at all this acne. How can you even...?"

"I'm not kissing the acne." Rafayel smiles faintly. His eyes soften as he takes in the sight in front of him. "I'm kissing you, you dummy."

"And right now?" His grin sharpens as he leans back slightly. "You look adorable."

"I can’t go to the exhibit, Rafayel." You whine annoyed by the sound of your own voice as overstimulation crowed your senses.

"Good." His voice is lazy, his arms sliding beneath your legs. Without warning, he lifts you effortlessly, adjusting you against his chest like you weigh nothing.

"Rafayel this is ridiculous." You bury your face in his chest.

"Shhh." He silences your protests with a peck to your lips. His arms tighten around you, carrying you toward the bed.

"You know how much I hate those things." His tone is light, but his hand slips beneath the curve of your knee, holding you securely. His mouth skims the side of your temple. "Honestly, you just gave me the best excuse to skip."

"But..."

"Nope." He sets you down on the bed, brushing your hair back from your face. "We’re staying in."

He slides in beside you, one arm looping beneath your shoulders. His hand splays low across your back, pulling you closer.

"If you feel awful, the least you can do is suffer with me." His mouth tilts against your temple. "And if you think this breakout makes you less beautiful, I guess I’m going to have to kiss you until you figure out how wrong you are."

"Starting now." He pulls you into an onslaught of kisses.

Sylus:

You drag another air purifier into the room, sneezing hard enough to make your head spin.

"God, this sucks." You flop onto the floor between the circle of purifiers, rubbing at the irritated skin of your neck. "How did natural selection fail this badly?"

Your breath hitches, throat burning. You close your eyes. Maybe if you just stay here, the purifiers will summon clean air or a new respiratory system.

That’s when you feel him.

"Did I interrupt your ritual, darling?"

You crack an eye open. Sylus stands above you, arms crossed, looking thoroughly amused.

"This is serious." You sniff, voice wrecked.

"Sure it is." He crouches down, invading your circle of air purifiers. "Should I sacrifice a goat or something?"

"You could bring me a tissue."

Sylus grins. "Or…" His hands slip beneath your arms, lifting you effortlessly. "I could just kidnap you and nurse you back to health myself."

"Sylus, what are you...?"

Without a word, he drops you onto the couch, pressing his hand against your forehead. His eyes narrow. "Hm. You might not survive the night."

"Stop it,"

"I’ll have to keep you in bed." His mouth curves wickedly. "For observation."

"Sylus!" You protest, trying to get up.

"No talking. Doctor’s orders."

His lips press against your burning cheek. His hand slides through your hair, nuzzling into you. His smile softens at the sound of your stuffy breath.

"Just relax." His voice lowers. "I’ve got you."

Xavier:

"You don’t have to stay." You reason trying to get your boyfriend out of your misery cave. "You’re tired. You’ve been running around all day."

"So?" His voice is quiet.

You glance at him through swollen eyes. Your skin is blotchy from the allergic reaction, red patches climbing up your neck and across your cheeks. You feel gross.

"So you don’t have to deal with this."

Xavier sinks down onto the floor beside you, resting his head on the bed where you lay draped. His gaze drops to the irritated skin on your throat.

"I’m not here because I have to." His hand lifts, hesitates, then curls gently around your hand. His thumb traces the tender skin of your palm.

"You look uncomfortable." You wince, voice thin.

"Yeah. I am." His smile is faint, almost fragile. "Because I hate seeing you like this."

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off.

"Not because of how you look." His hand rises to your neck, cupping it carefully. His thumb brushes over a reddened patch of skin. His eyes darken. "Because I hate not knowing how to make it better."

"It’s just allergies."

"I know." His breath steadies. His eyes soften. "But I still wish I could fix it."

"You’re not going to scare me off." His voice drops lower. "You don’t have to look perfect for me to stay."

"But I feel—"

"I know." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. His breath catches as your gaze meets his. "Stay with me anyway."

At last i did start my fanart of Xavier. ..

Lets goo.....

😛😛😝 but i dont know when i will finish it ...

😅😅

Eury working his way up from poverty to become Odys second in command and wooing Ctimene is my roman empire all over again

I AM SCREAMING ...

Someone save me

N v m i am beyond saving

I need this man in my life .... ahhhh

Kill me

🫠☺️🥴🥹

Masquerade Rendezvous

❤︎  tags and content: masquerade ball, hidden identities, oral, rough sex, wall sex, ferality, f!reader, feral xavier ❤︎  author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @cafekitsune Fic: @moongirlcleo  

The Hunter’s Association masquerade was meant for indulgence, for secrecy, for one night where masks and titles didn’t matter. But when you accept a dance from a man draped in white and gold going by Lumiere, you don’t realize what you’ve started. He’s magnetic, controlled, dangerous—leading you through waltzes, through whispered challenges, through a slow-burning game of tension that neither of you are willing to lose.

But when you whisper his name in the dark, the game ends. And Xavier? Xavier doesn’t like to lose.

The ballroom gleamed under the flickering glow of chandeliers, their golden light refracting against the cascading crystal strands that hung like frozen rain from the vaulted ceiling. The Hunter’s Association had spared no expense for tonight’s masquerade—gilded arches, velvet-draped tables, and an endless sea of masks concealing sharp eyes and sharper intentions.

The air was thick with the scent of spiced wine and warm candle wax, mingling with the distant notes of a string quartet that played something slow, something indulgent. A place built for spectacle, for indulgence, for the careful dance of pretense.

You had expected formality—stoic conversations over expensive champagne, the subtle weight of duty pressing into your spine as you navigated the political undercurrents beneath every greeting. But this… this felt different.

The Association’s best and brightest moved like ghosts through the room, their identities swallowed by the night’s elaborate disguises. Rich silks, dark brocades, the glint of gold threading through the sea of bodies. It was intoxicating in a way you hadn’t anticipated—the anonymity, the blurred lines between colleague and stranger, the way the night whispered promises of something reckless, something dangerous.

Your gown was regal, woven from deep midnight blue that shimmered with every step, the fitted bodice dipping scandalously low before spilling into layers of flowing silk. A crown—delicate but commanding—sat atop your masked visage, the final touch to your carefully curated disguise. A queen, untouchable.

Or so you thought.

Because then you saw him.

Across the room, dressed in the ridiculous, theatrical splendor of Lumière himself—white and gold embroidery cascading down his tailored coat, gloved hands moving with effortless grace as he accepted a glass of wine from a passing server. He was tall, poised, his silver hair falling in soft, deliberate waves over the high collar of his costume. The mask obscured his face, but the sharp line of his jaw, the composed stillness of his posture… something about him sent a shiver down your spine.

And when his gaze lifted—cool, assessing, burning even through the layers of decorum—you felt it. The inevitable pull.

The masquerade was meant for secrecy. For pretending.

The night spun around you in a blur of gilded masks and whispered laughter, the symphony swelling as bodies moved in perfect time. You had taken the hand of a stranger—a man whose name you hadn’t asked, whose face was obscured beneath a mask of silver filigree—and let him pull you into the slow, intoxicating rhythm of the waltz.

It was easy to get lost in the music, to let the careful choreography lull you into a false sense of security. Your partner’s grip was firm but not possessive, guiding you through each measured step as you swayed beneath the grand chandeliers.

Still, something felt… off.

Like the moment before a storm breaks, when the air thickens, charged with something unseen.

You felt it before you saw it—an unmistakable presence at the edge of your periphery, someone watching, waiting.

And then, just as your partner spun you in a graceful turn, your gaze lifted—straight into the piercing blue of a masked man dressed in white and gold.

Lumière.

He stood just beyond the reach of the dancers, one gloved hand resting lightly against the gilded railing, the other holding an untouched glass of wine. His presence was undeniable, though he hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. He didn’t need to.

Something about the way he watched you—calculating, amused, intrigued—made the room feel smaller, the air warmer.

Your partner murmured something polite, something about how well you danced, but you barely heard him. Because Lumière had moved.

He placed his glass down with meticulous precision, then stepped forward, cutting through the swirling figures with effortless grace. His stride was slow, deliberate, like a man who already knew how this would end.

When he finally reached you, he didn’t look at your partner. Didn’t acknowledge him at all.

Instead, he extended a gloved hand toward you, tilting his head just slightly.

“May I have this dance?”

It wasn’t really a request.

Your partner hesitated, torn between politeness and the unshakable sense that he had already lost.

You inhaled, pulse thrumming against the delicate line of your throat. And then—without a word—you placed your hand in Lumière’s. His fingers curled around yours, warm even through the silk of his gloves.

The masquerade swallowed you both whole.

<hr>

Lumière pulled you into the dance with the kind of effortless confidence that suggested he’d done this before—many times. His grip was sure, guiding, not forceful, but leaving no doubt as to who was leading.

And yet, the moment your palm settled against his shoulder, the very moment your bodies aligned in the measured closeness of the waltz, something shifted.

The masquerade blurred.

Your world shrank to the point of contact, to the warmth seeping through his gloves, the slow, calculated press of his palm against your waist.

He moved like someone who had memorized the language of motion, each step a silent command, each turn a quiet conversation. He kept a respectful distance, but it didn’t matter—not when the air between you felt charged, thick with something neither of you had named yet.

“You dance well,” you murmured, voice low enough that only he could hear.

Lumière’s lips curled into something close to amusement. “You sound surprised.”

You tilted your head, gaze flicking over his mask, searching for something beneath the disguise. “I expected someone in a costume like yours to be a little less…” You trailed off, letting the thought hang between you like a thread waiting to be pulled.

His grip on your waist tightened, just slightly. “Less what?”

“Disciplined.”

The faintest chuckle—low, rich, indulgent. “I assure you, discipline has its benefits.”

Heat licked up your spine before you could stop it.

The waltz continued, but the dance was no longer just about the music. It was about the way his thumb skimmed the fabric of your gown in a barely-there stroke. The way his breath fanned against your temple when he dipped you, holding you suspended for just a second too long. The way your body responded, leaning into the moment before sense could catch up to instinct.

The first song ended and neither of you moved to step away.

The strings swelled again, and without a word, Lumière adjusted his grip, seamlessly carrying you into the next dance as if the thought of parting hadn’t even occurred to him.

You should have hesitated. Should have stepped back, should have broken the spell before it tightened its hold.

But you didn’t.

You let him keep you close, let the slow, deliberate motion of the dance unravel something inside you.

“You’re not asking my name,” you said after a moment, studying him from beneath the edge of your mask.

He hummed, thoughtful. “Would you give it to me if I did?”

A slow smile curved your lips. “Would you?”

Lumière’s head tilted just slightly, considering. “Names are dangerous things at a masquerade.”

“So is this,” you countered, shifting just a fraction closer, your bodies nearly brushing with every measured step.

The air between you crackled.

He exhaled, slow and controlled, as if keeping something at bay. Then, after a pause, he murmured, “Then perhaps we shouldn’t name it.”

The dance continued.

You had forgotten the world outside this moment, outside the way his fingers pressed against the small of your back with each turn, outside the almost imperceptible way his chest rose and fell just a little too sharply when you exhaled against his throat.

Two strangers in the dark, playing a game neither of you wanted to end.

But the music was winding down. And as the final note lingered in the air, a question hung between you—unspoken, heavy. Would you leave this dance behind? Or would you follow wherever it led?

Lumière’s hand slid from your waist. His fingers traced the edge of your wrist, featherlight, as if testing the weight of a decision.

<hr>

You weren’t prepared for the moment he let go.

The music had barely finished settling into silence when his fingers slipped from yours, the warmth of his touch evaporating as though it had never been there at all. No parting words, no lingering glance, no indication that the last two dances had meant anything beyond the rhythm of the waltz. With careful precision, he stepped away, retreating into the crowd with the kind of quiet grace that made it seem as though he had never existed in the first place.

The ballroom didn’t falter in his absence, didn’t still or quiet or even acknowledge that something—someone—had been lost to the sea of masked figures and gilded artifice. The string quartet continued, seamlessly weaving the next melody into the fabric of the night, and around you, dancers reassembled, switching partners, reforming lines, their conversations uninterrupted by the ghost of a man who had been there only moments before.

But you felt it. The absence of him. The space he had left behind.

Your hands, still curled slightly as if expecting to find the shape of his gloved fingers lingering in your palm, felt empty in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Your breath was uneven, your body still attuned to the careful way he had held you, the deliberate way his grip had tightened just slightly when you leaned too close, the way his voice had curled around you with quiet, unmistakable intent. Walk with me, he had said, as if the outcome of this night had already been decided.

And yet, he was gone.

Not in some dramatic, attention-drawing departure, but in the way a shadow dissolves beneath shifting light—there one moment, blurred the next, retreating into the edges of the world as though he had never truly been part of it at all.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That this had been nothing more than a dance, a fleeting moment of indulgence in a night designed for such things, that you had no reason to feel the slow, curling frustration creeping up your spine, no reason to scan the room as if searching for something you had no business searching for.

But no matter how many times you reminded yourself of these things, you couldn’t stop the way your pulse betrayed you.

It was ridiculous, really. You didn’t even know his name.

And yet, despite your best efforts, despite the way you forced your expression into something composed and unbothered, despite the way you accepted the next hand extended toward you with the same easy grace as before, you couldn’t stop your gaze from flickering back to where he had once stood.

You were a queen tonight, untouchable, regal, above the game of masks and fleeting glances.

And yet, for the briefest of moments, you had felt hunted.

The night moved on without him. Another song played, another glass of wine was placed in your hand, another masked figure leaned close with idle conversation you could barely register, and yet the sensation of searching for something just beyond your reach refused to loosen its grip.

You wouldn’t chase him. That much you knew.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t the only one searching.

Somewhere in the depths of the masquerade, obscured but not lost, the man in white and gold was still watching. Still waiting. Still allowing the tension to stretch and simmer, to settle just beneath your skin, to become something that would not fade so easily.

Because this was not over. Not yet.

The masquerade moved around you, swirling in gilded opulence, but the haze of music and conversation felt distant, dulled beneath the lingering pull of something unseen. You had let another dance slip through your fingers, had let another conversation pass without truly hearing it, had let another glass of wine be placed in your palm without tasting it. It was becoming absurd—this sensation, this restless hum beneath your skin, as though something had unsettled the very balance of the evening and left you reaching for something just out of sight.

You needed a moment. A breath. A distraction.

The refreshment table stood along the edge of the ballroom, a long, lavish spread of imported wines and crystalline glasses arranged beneath the warm glow of candlelight. It wasn’t the wine you truly wanted—wasn’t even the moment of respite you claimed to be seeking—but it was something tangible, something to occupy your hands and your mind while you exorcised the ghost of a man you had no business thinking about.

Your fingers trailed absently along the stem of an untouched glass as you approached, reaching for the deep, velvety red of something dark and rich, something that might chase away the warmth that had settled in your bones during that last dance.

And that’s when you felt it. Not a touch, but the weight of attention.

It was instant, visceral, the kind of awareness that struck without warning, creeping down your spine with a slow, deliberate certainty. You didn’t need to look to know—to feel—that someone was watching you. Not in the way one might steal a passing glance at an intriguing stranger, but in the way a hunter watches its prey, waiting, unhurried, assured in the knowledge that there would be no escape.

You lifted the glass, bringing it to your lips in a practiced motion, slow, unbothered, unwilling to betray the way your pulse had shifted into something uneven, something entirely too aware.

But curiosity had already won.

You turned your head just slightly, just enough to let your gaze flicker over the gathered tables along the ballroom’s edge, scanning past costumed figures and polite conversation, past the blur of faces you had no reason to linger on—

Until you found him seated at one of the smaller tables, half-shrouded in shadow but unmistakable beneath the flickering candlelight, was Lumière. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t so much as lifted his own glass in greeting. He was simply watching.

Elbow resting against the arm of his chair, fingers curled beneath his jaw in a position of casual, effortless ease, his mask concealing all but the sharp line of his jaw and the faintest curve of his lips. He didn’t beckon, didn’t tilt his head in invitation, didn’t offer any indication that he had been waiting for you—

But you knew. You could tell he had. And worse than that, worse than the realization that he had anticipated this moment, that he had known you would seek respite here, was the quiet, undeniable truth creeping into your chest.

You had been waiting for him, too.

You set your glass down with careful precision, the delicate clink of crystal against marble swallowed by the hum of conversation around you. He hadn’t looked away—not once—hadn’t so much as feigned the courtesy of glancing elsewhere, and that alone sent a slow, simmering warmth curling beneath your skin.

If he was waiting for you to pretend not to notice, he was about to be sorely disappointed.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, tilting your head just enough to let the light catch the edges of your mask, gold filigree gleaming beneath the chandelier’s glow. It wasn’t a question, wasn’t some breathless observation of a woman caught off guard—it was a challenge, a deliberate acknowledgment of the pull neither of you had chosen to ignore.

Lumière—if that was even his real name, which you doubted—didn’t startle, didn’t shift, didn’t so much as blink in feigned innocence. He only smiled, slow and knowing, as if pleased that you had finally decided to call him on it.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, as if that alone explained everything.

A lesser woman might have flushed at the shamelessness of it, at the way his voice dipped low, smooth as velvet and just as dangerous. But you were not a lesser woman. You only lifted your glass once more, taking a slow sip of wine before setting it down again, gaze steady.

“Many here are beautiful,” you pointed out, the edge of a smirk curling at your lips. “And yet, you’re still looking at me.”

He exhaled softly through his nose, a quiet sound of amusement, but he didn’t deny it. “I am.”

“Why?”

His fingers tapped idly against the table, a single measured beat, before his voice dipped just a little lower, the weight of his attention pressing against you in ways that had nothing to do with physical proximity.

“I enjoyed the way you danced.”

It was simple, almost benign, but the way he said it—slow, deliberate, the words rolling over his tongue with something bordering on indulgence—made it clear he wasn’t speaking only of waltzes and carefully choreographed steps.

A warmth settled in your chest, creeping downward, curling around your spine like something electric. You should have left it there, let the words hang, let him keep waiting, let the anticipation stretch just a little longer.

But you were feeling bold. You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbow against the table, fingers ghosting over the stem of your glass. Your voice, when it came, was soft but certain, each syllable laced with quiet intent.

“I can move in other ways.”

The flicker in his gaze was immediate—sharp and assessing, as if measuring the weight of what had just been offered, deciding whether to take the bait or let it drift.

He took it.

“I have no doubt,” he murmured, his head tilting just slightly, as if imagining it already, as if mapping the possibilities in the space between words.

The warmth beneath your skin deepened, pooling low, dangerous in the way a drawn bowstring thrummed with tension before release.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The ballroom spun on around you—music, laughter, the clinking of glasses—but it might as well have been another world entirely.

Lumière’s gaze flickered, something dark and unreadable shifting behind the polished ease of his expression, his fingers still idly tapping against the table in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. He was considering something, weighing it carefully, as though calculating the exact moment to strike.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he stood.

The movement was fluid, effortless, like everything he did, his gloved hand extending toward you with the same quiet command as before. There was no question of whether you would accept.

“Dance with me,” he murmured, the words barely louder than the hum of music behind him, but they sank into you like a whisper against bare skin.

Your fingers slid into his without hesitation, and the moment his grip tightened around yours, your fate was sealed.

He pulled you onto the floor with practiced ease, guiding you back into his arms as though you belonged there, as though every other dance before this had been nothing more than a rehearsal for this moment. The world narrowed once again, reduced to the slow, intoxicating rhythm of movement, of the subtle press of his palm against your back, the gloved fingers curling just slightly around yours as he led you through the sweeping turns.

This dance was different from the others.

Slower. Heavier.

Less about technique and more about the way your bodies moved together, the way the air between you felt charged, the way his fingertips traced the smallest of patterns against your spine with every step.

His breath was warm against your cheek, his lips so close to your skin that you swore you could feel the phantom press of them, the teasing suggestion of something withheld, something just out of reach.

“You make it difficult to look anywhere else,” he murmured, so quietly that only you could hear.

A slow, deliberate shiver worked its way down your spine, but you didn’t falter, didn’t hesitate in your response, tilting your head just enough to let your lips nearly brush the edge of his jaw.

“Then don’t.”

He exhaled, something low and pleased vibrating deep in his chest, and for a moment, just a moment, you swore he was going to kiss you right there, consequences be damned.

His hand at your back slid just a fraction lower, the hold just a fraction tighter, his head dipping just slightly as though drawn forward by something beyond reason, beyond choice, beyond even himself.

And then he stopped.

Close. So damn close that his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm and steady, but he held there, lingering at the precipice, waiting.

For you. For permission. For a request, an invitation, a demand.

The space between you felt razor-thin, your pulse a betraying drumbeat against your ribs, the warmth of him sinking into your skin, unraveling you bit by bit until there was only one possible outcome.

“Take me somewhere else,” you whispered, the words slipping past your lips before you could think better of them, before you could remember why you shouldn’t.

Something flickered in his eyes—satisfaction, hunger, a silent finality—before his grip tightened ever so slightly.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask if you were sure. He simply took your hand, and without another word, led you away from the dance floor, away from the crowd, away from the golden light and into the shadows where no one could see.

<hr>

The world beyond the ballroom faded into insignificance the moment he led you past the grand arches and into the dimly lit corridors that stretched beyond the golden glow of the masquerade. The murmur of voices and music softened into a distant hum, swallowed by the quiet hush of the hallway, where the air was cooler, thicker, charged with something far heavier than the weight of candlelight and whispered laughter.

You had barely registered how far he had taken you before he moved.

In one fluid motion, he turned, pressing you back against the cool marble wall, his body closing in, surrounding you, his gloved hands bracketing either side of your waist. It wasn’t rushed—wasn’t careless or impatient—but deliberate, controlled, a slow, measured inevitability that made the anticipation coil low in your stomach, winding tighter with every second he held back.

And he was holding back.

You could see it in the way his jaw tensed, in the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly before settling at your hip, in the way his gaze flickered between your lips and your eyes as if committing every detail to memory.

For a man who had spent the evening watching you, who had danced with you like he already knew the shape of you, who had drawn you away from the crowd without hesitation—he was giving you a chance to stop this.

You weren’t going to take it.

With a slow inhale, you reached up, gliding your fingers along the edge of his mask, just enough to feel the warm skin beneath, to trace the sharp line of his jaw, to savor the way his breath hitched at the contact.

He made a sound—low, almost a growl—and then his restraint snapped.

His mouth was on yours before you had a chance to exhale, crushing, demanding, his body pressing flush against yours as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him. The warmth of him sank through the layers of fabric between you, the heat of his breath, the press of his chest, the firm grip of his hand tilting your chin just enough to deepen the kiss.

You melted into him, letting the urgency of his touch unravel you, your hands sliding beneath the lapels of his coat, fingers curling into the fine embroidery like you needed to anchor yourself before you lost all sense of where you were. He tasted of wine and something darker, something intoxicating, something that made your knees weaken just as his hand slid down your waist, pulling you closer, as though any remaining space between you was unacceptable.

He kissed you like he had been waiting all night.

And you kissed him like you had, too.

But even with the way his mouth claimed yours, even with the way his hands traced the curve of your body in slow, possessive strokes, even with the way your breaths tangled between desperate, heated kisses, you could feel it—the hard press of him against your thigh, undeniable, insistent, aching.

You smiled against his lips, a slow, wicked curve, and then—without breaking the kiss—you let your hands slide lower, skimming over the smooth brocade of his coat, down to his belt, down to where he was already straining against the confines of his clothing.

He sucked in a sharp breath, breaking away just enough to meet your gaze, his pupils blown wide behind the mask, his lips parted, his body tense beneath your touch.

“Careful,” he warned, voice low, rough, frayed at the edges of restraint.

But you only smirked, sinking slowly—deliberately—lower, your hands already working at the fastenings of his belt.

“I thought you liked the way I moved,” you murmured, looking up at him through the dark lace of your mask, watching the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers curled against the marble, the way his chest rose and fell in a sharp, uneven rhythm.

His jaw clenched, breath shuddering. “You’re going to—”

“Shh,” you soothed, pressing a kiss just below his navel as you freed him from the constraints of his costume, reveling in the way his muscles tensed beneath your hands, in the way he exhaled sharply, already fighting to keep himself steady.

The moment your lips ghosted over his skin, just beneath the fine embroidery of his coat, you felt the sharp intake of his breath, the way his fingers curled against the marble like he was already struggling to hold himself together.

Good.

He had spent the entire night watching you, guiding you, leading you into the palm of his hand with deliberate ease. Now, it was your turn to unravel him.

You sank lower, letting your nails trail over his hips, feeling the slow, delicious weight of his cock press against your palm, thick and hot and already aching. A sharp exhale escaped him, his head tilting back just slightly, exposing the taut line of his throat, the barely-there tremor in his breath.

You couldn’t stop the satisfied hum that curled in your throat, reveling in the way he twitched beneath your fingers, in the way his entire body coiled with restraint, in the way he was trying—desperately—to stay composed when you could already feel him slipping.

“I thought you were disciplined,” you murmured, tracing your tongue along the groove of his hipbone before pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his skin, your breath fanning warm against him.

His hand moved before he could stop it, fingers tangling into your hair, not forcing, not guiding—just holding you there, like he needed something to keep him grounded. “Don’t test me.”

But that was exactly what you planned to do.

You glanced up at him, taking in the sharp set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths that weren’t nearly as steady as he wanted them to be. He was barely holding on, teetering on the edge of something dangerous, and you wanted to push him over.

So you did.

Your lips brushed the head of his cock first, featherlight, just enough to make him suck in another breath, his fingers tightening in your hair. Then, without hesitation, you parted your lips and took him into the heat of your mouth, slow, deliberate, savoring the way his entire body shuddered the second he felt the wet, silken glide of your tongue.

“Fuck.” His voice was low, wrecked, a single, bitten-off curse that made arousal pool between your thighs, made you press your own legs together as you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, letting him feel the slick drag, the deliberate tease of your tongue along the underside.

His control was slipping. You could feel it.

The way his hips jerked ever so slightly, as if fighting the urge to thrust deeper. The way his breath came shorter, uneven. The way his fingers flexed in your hair, torn between keeping himself steady and ruining you.

But you weren’t done with him yet.

You pulled back, slow and teasing, letting your lips drag against him before flicking your tongue over the head in a light, taunting stroke. His breath hitched, his grip tightening, his head tipping forward as if he couldn’t believe you had the audacity to tease him like this.

“You’re shaking,” you mused, voice sweet, lips brushing against him as you spoke.

His jaw clenched. “I swear—”

But whatever he was about to say cut off with a sharp inhale as you took him into your mouth again, this time deeper, your fingers tightening around his base as you let the slick heat of your throat pull him in.

That was it. That was the moment he broke. A low, guttural sound tore from his throat, his fingers curling hard in your hair, his hips pressing forward before he jerked himself back, as if forcing himself to stop, to regain control before he lost himself entirely. But it was already too late.

His free hand shot down, grabbing your arm, pulling you up before you could blink, before you could gloat—before you could even breathe.

His mouth was on yours in an instant, devouring, punishing, kissing you like he needed to claim you, like he had to remind you exactly who had been in control this entire night. His grip was tight, possessive, dragging you against him, letting you feel the heat, the frustration, the barely-contained desperation rolling off of him in waves.

Then, suddenly— 

He was shoving himself back into his pants and pulling you with him, backing you toward the nearest door, his steps quick, determined, his breath still ragged against your lips. You barely had time to register the cool wood against your back before he reached for the handle, shoving the door open, and pulling you inside.

The door slammed shut behind you. And now you were really alone trapped in the dark with the man you had just broken.

The second the door slammed shut, you barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you.

No more restraint. No more careful control. No more of the measured, deliberate touches he had kept himself confined to all night.

He snapped.

His mouth crashed against yours in something closer to a claim than a kiss, his hands already gripping, taking, roaming with a desperation that sent a fresh wave of heat rolling through you. His fingers dug into your hips, pinning you against the door as if he could brand himself into your skin, as if he needed to feel every inch of you beneath his hands before his mind fully unraveled.

And oh, was it unraveling.

Gone was the composed, mysterious stranger from the ballroom. Gone was the poised man who had watched you with quiet amusement from across the dance floor. In his place was something raw, something feral, something that had been straining against its leash all night and had finally been set loose.

"This is what you wanted, isn’t it?" His voice was low, wrecked, barely more than a growl against your lips, his breath hot and uneven as his hands yanked at the fabric of your gown, fingers curling in the delicate silk as if he had half a mind to tear it straight from your body.

You didn’t answer—couldn’t—because the moment your lips parted, his teeth grazed your jaw, his mouth dragging down the column of your throat, open-mouthed, hungry, sucking a deep, bruising mark against your skin that sent a sharp pulse of arousal straight to your core.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice rough, his grip tightening as he rolled his hips against you, letting you feel exactly how hard he still was, how much your little game had ruined him. "Tell me this is what you wanted."

"Yes," you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, your head already spinning from the sheer heat of him, from the way he pressed against you, overwhelming and all-consuming. "Yes—fuck, yes—"

That was all he needed.

His fingers ripped at the ties of your gown, pushing the fabric down over your shoulders, shoving it past your hips until it pooled at your feet in a shimmering heap, leaving you bare beneath him. His breath caught for a fraction of a second, like the sight of you had knocked the air from his lungs.

He spun you before you could process it, shoving you up against the door, your palms slamming against the wood, your body arching instinctively at the feel of his chest pressing flush against your back.

"Stay right there," he rasped, his hand sliding up your spine, fingers curling into the back of your neck, holding you in place, his lips grazing your ear, voice dark and dripping with satisfaction. "You want to tease me? Make me wait? Drag me to the edge just to watch me fall?" His teeth scraped against your throat, his hips grinding against you in a slow, devastating roll that had you whimpering. "Fine. Now it's your turn."

You barely had time to draw in a breath before his hand slid down, between your thighs, fingers pressing against your slick heat with a teasing, infuriating laziness.

"Fuck," he exhaled, voice wrecked, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for a half-second as he felt how wet you were, how ready you were for him, how your body had been waiting for this just as much as his had.

You squirmed, pushing back against him, needing more, but he just laughed—low—before pulling his fingers away just as quickly as he had touched you.

"You don’t get to be impatient now, sweetheart," he murmured, dragging his mouth down your shoulder, sucking another bruise into your skin as his free hand pinned you against the door. "You started this."

Your hands curled into fists against the wood, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as he toyed with you, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against your inner thigh, everywhere but where you needed him most.

"Please," you gasped, arching back against him, begging, not even caring how desperate you sounded, not caring that he wanted you like this, that he was relishing the way you were starting to unravel beneath him.

"Please what?" His voice was taunting, amusement curling at the edges of it, but there was a strain beneath it, a barely-leashed hunger that told you he wasn’t far from breaking either. "Use your words, sweetheart."

You whined, pressing back against him, hips rolling, your body aching for relief. "Please, Xavier—"

He froze. For the first time since he had touched you, he stilled. A sharp inhale. A beat of silence.

"What did you just say?"

Shit.

Your heart stumbled, your entire body going rigid, your mind catching up far too late to the name that had just slipped past your lips.

Xavier.

Not Lumière.

Not some stranger.

Xavier.

As if confirming the horrifying, thrilling, devastating realization, his fingers tightened around your throat, just enough to make you shiver, just enough to make sure you were listening.

He leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, his voice impossibly dark, impossibly wrecked.

"You knew?"

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a demand. A command for the truth.

Your breath hitched, your pulse hammering beneath his grip. "No," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper, the confession slipping past your lips before you could stop it. "Not until just now."

Another sharp inhale. Another beat of silence. Until– he laughed. Low. Dark. Dangerous.

And before you could react, before you could say anything else, before you could process the fact that the man wrecking you against this door was the same one you had fought beside, worked beside, known—

His grip yanked you back, spun you around, and his mouth was crushing against yours, claiming you, owning you, ruining you.

"You should have never said my name," he growled against your lips, voice wrecked, threaded with something almost feral, something that sent a violent shudder racing down your spine. "Now you don’t get to fucking breathe without saying it again."

Gone was the teasing, the slow, measured strokes of a man savoring his victory. Now, there was nothing but hunger—nothing but the sharp, desperate edge of need as he wrenched you away from the door, his grip punishing as he walked you back, step by step, until the backs of your thighs hit the nearest surface, a heavy wooden table that groaned under the sudden force of your body being shoved against it.

Your gasp barely had time to escape before he crushed his mouth against yours, consuming you, devouring you, his hands already shoving at what little remained of the delicate fabric clinging to your skin.

"Xavier—"

The sound of his name against your tongue made him snarl, his fingers tightening at your hips, bruising in their grip, claiming, because now he knew, now there was no veil, no mask, no carefully curated illusion between you.

It was you. It was him.

And he was about to make sure you never forgot that.

Your thighs barely had time to part before he was between them, hands gripping the backs of your knees, spreading you wide as he dragged you closer, the blunt heat of his cock pressing right against your dripping cunt, teasing, taunting, not yet pushing in, but making sure you felt it, making sure you ached for it.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice low, guttural, his lips brushing against your jaw as he throbbed against you, as he let you feel just how hard he was, just how fucking wrecked you had made him.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, your breath coming sharp, uneven, a desperate, pleading sound slipping past your lips as you rocked against him, needing him to move.

"Xavier," you gasped, a plea, a prayer, a surrender.

His grip tightened.

"Again."

"Xavier—"

The word had barely left your mouth before he thrust, burying himself inside you in one brutal, devastating stroke that tore the breath from your lungs, that sent white-hot pleasure lancing through every nerve, that had your fingers clawing at his back as you choked on a scream.

"Fucking louder," he snarled, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear, his hands gripping your thighs harder, spreading you wider, holding you open for him as he pulled back only to slam into you again, dragging another wrecked, gasping Xavier from your lips.

He was relentless, driving into you with a force that sent the table beneath you creaking, the sound of skin against skin, ragged breaths, and his name filling the empty space of the room.

"You wanted this," he growled, his hand sliding up your body, fingers curling around your throat, tilting your head back so he could watch you, so he could see every inch of your face twisted in pleasure. "Wanted to fucking ruin me, didn't you?"

"Yes—fuck, yes—"

His grip tightened, his hips snapping forward, hitting deep, pulling another helpless, trembling "Xavier—" from your throat, and his eyes darkened, something dangerously satisfied flashing behind them.

"That’s fucking right," he rasped, pounding into you now, his rhythm raw, desperate, claiming. "Scream it for me. Let the whole fucking masquerade know who's fucking you."

Your nails scraped down his back, your body arching, every nerve singing, every inch of you burning, stretched and full as he drove you higher, pushed you closer, forced you right to the edge—

Unitl he took you over.

Your orgasm slammed into you, a sharp, violent wave that shattered through every inch of your body, a sobbing "Xavier—" tearing from your lips as your walls fluttered around him, gripping him like a vice, pulling him deeper, harder, making him swear beneath his breath as he chased his own undoing. And then, with a sharp, guttural groan, he broke, his body tensing as he buried himself to the hilt, spilling into you in sharp, jerking thrusts, his name still trembling on your lips, wrecked and ruined in the only way it ever should be. For long moments, neither of you moved, bodies tangled, chests heaving, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged and hot against your lips.

Then—slowly, still buried deep inside you—Xavier laughed. Low. Hoarse. Dark with satisfaction.

"Fuck," he rasped, pressing his lips against your throat, letting his teeth graze over the bruises he had left behind, his grip still firm at your waist. "What the fuck have we done?"

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers threading into his hair, still barely capable of thought, still feeling wrecked in the best possible way. You hummed, a slow, satisfied sound curling at the edge of your lips as you tugged him closer, dragging your nails down his scalp.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

The only sounds in the dimly lit room were the heavy cadence of your breaths, the distant murmur of music still filtering in from the ballroom, and the slow, satisfied hum you let slip as you lazily dragged your nails through Xavier’s silver hair.

His head was still tucked against your shoulder, his body pressed warm and heavy against yours, his arms bracketing your waist as though letting go simply wasn’t an option yet.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice rough, hoarse, still thick with satisfaction as he nuzzled against the curve of your neck. "Fuck."

You laughed softly, still feeling wrecked in the best possible way, still feeling the delicious ache of him deep inside you, the remnants of your pleasure humming through every inch of your skin.

"That bad?" you teased, tilting your head just enough to brush your lips against his temple, the small gesture almost tender despite the absolute destruction he had just delivered.

Xavier let out a low, wrecked groan, his grip tightening around your hips like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull you closer or start all over again.

"That good," he corrected, his voice still raw, still utterly ruined, still settling into something dangerously satisfied.

You smirked, shifting slightly, reveling in the sharp inhale he took as you clenched around him, still warm, still full, still soaked in the mess you had made of each other.

"So," you murmured, pressing your hands against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. "Ready for round two?"

Xavier froze. You saw it—the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers twitched, the way his entire body tensed like a man seconds away from losing whatever shreds of restraint he had managed to claw back in the past minute.

"No," he said, voice strained, like he hated the word even as he forced it past his lips.

You blinked. "No?"

His hands tightened on your waist, his head dropping forward as he exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was physically trying to regain control.

"Not here," he ground out, his voice dipping into something dangerously low, something threaded with something almost pained. "Not in a fucking supply closet—"

Your laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, the sheer absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once.

You had just been wrecked—utterly ruined—against an old wooden table in what was, apparently, a supply closet, at a masquerade ball hosted by the Hunter’s Association, by a man who, until tonight, had been nothing more than your coworker.

And now, now, he was drawing a line?

"Xavier," you wheezed, gripping his shoulders as you shook with laughter, "now you have standards?"

His hands flexed against your skin, his jaw clenching so tight you thought he might crack a tooth. "I have always had standards," he muttered, offended, but his voice hitched slightly when you shifted against him again, clearly testing just how strong those standards were.

You grinned. "Uh-huh."

Xavier growled, a low, warning sound that made your stomach flip, but when he lifted his head, his eyes were heated, his pupils still blown wide behind the faint glint of his mask.

"You want round two?" he murmured, his fingers trailing slow, dangerous circles along the dip of your waist, his voice dropping to something just above a purr. "Then I’m taking you back to my place, where I can actually—"

He cut himself off, his nostrils flaring slightly, his gaze dragging over your thoroughly ruined form before his fingers dug into your skin, his restraint visibly fraying at the edges again.

You arched a brow, waiting, breath catching slightly as his gaze lingered on your lips, then dipped lower, like he was already imagining what he was going to do to you when he got you alone again.

"Where you can actually what, Xavier?" you teased, voice sweet, but your smile was anything but.

His grip tightened as he stepped back. You immediately whined, your body protesting the loss of his warmth, of his weight, of the way he had fit so perfectly against you.

"Xavier," you complained, trying to tug him back, but he only grinned, still utterly wrecked but determined, the sharp glint in his eyes promising ruin if you so much as challenged him right now.

"Get dressed," he ordered, buttoning his coat, exhaling through his nose like he needed to physically force himself to look presentable again. "Before I change my mind and fuck you here again."

Heat flooded your body all over again.

You huffed, shifting your sore limbs, bending to reach for the crumpled mess of your gown—only to realize, with some degree of horror, that the delicate ties and fragile silk were completely shredded, torn apart by the very same hands that were now adjusting the cuffs of his elegant sleeves like he hadn’t just ruined your entire evening ensemble.

You turned, glaring. "Seriously?"

He barely glanced at you, completely unbothered, straightening his collar with a satisfied, lazy smirk.

"Looks like you’re stuck in my clothes," he mused, already peeling off his coat, tossing it over your shoulders before pulling you flush against him one more time, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, low and smug,

"Let’s go home, y/n."