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⋆. — headcanons for how the LADS the boys react to a clumsy, flustered mc. (based on this request)
⋆. — content: soft, wholesome, a little embarrassing (for you). tooth-rotting fluff.
⋆. — word count: max 600 each ♡
Rafayel - The Paint on Your Cheek
You’ve been at his studio for an hour and you’ve already knocked something over.
A jar of brushes, this time. They go everywhere—under the table, under the couch, one heroic survivor rolls all the way to Rafayel’s bare foot and stops there like it’s surrendering. He looks down at it. He looks up at you. You’re frozen with both hands clapped over your mouth, eyes huge, already mid-apology.
“Oh no,” he says, deadpan. “My brushes. My livelihood. How will I ever paint again.”
“Rafayel, I’m so sorry, I’ll pick them—”
“Cutie.” He tips his head, and a piece of his hair falls into his eyes in that ridiculous way it always does, because it always makes him look pretty. “Breathe. They’re brushes. They roll. That’s their whole personality, don’t even stress your head, okay?”
He’s been watching you the whole time, which is half the problem.
You always get clumsier when he watches you. He knows this. He absolutely uses it. He’ll lounge on the couch with one knee up and his chin in his hand, just looking, and you’ll lose the ability to operate a doorknob. Today he’s been sketching you in the corner of his page—not the painting he’s supposed to be working on, the commission one, the important one—and you caught him at it earlier and went so red he had to put the pencil down because his own face was getting warm.
He crouches down with you to gather the brushes.
You’re both on the floor now, knees almost touching. He hands you one, and his fingers brush yours, and you flinch like he’s electric.
“Y’know,” he says, conversationally, lining a brush up on the tile, “for someone who’s been kissed by me a frankly impressive number of times, you still go pink like it’s our first date.”
“I— I don’t—”
“You do. It’s my favorite thing.” He grins, eyes crinkling. “Don’t ever stop.”
There’s paint on your cheek and he refuses to tell you.
You only realize it when you catch your reflection in the window—a streak of pink swept right across your cheekbone, from when you’d rubbed your face earlier. You whirl on him. He’s already laughing, that bright, unbothered laugh of his, head thrown back against the couch cushions.
“Rafayel!”
“What? It suits you, cutie. It’s my color. You’re branded now.”
“You let me walk around like this—”
“For at least forty minutes, yes.” He gets up finally, and crosses to you with that lazy, unhurried gait. His thumb comes up to brush at the paint gently, careful in a way his voice never is in moments like this. The teasing slides off his face for half a breath. “There. Almost gone. Mostly.”
He kisses the spot anyway. Light. Quick. Like he’s signing it the way he signs his canvases, which you might as well be, at this point.
“There,” he murmurs, and he’s smiling, but his ears have gone faintly pink and he won’t quite meet your eyes. “Now it’s mine.”
You hide your face in his shirt. He lets you, one hand settled at the back of your head, and pretends, for your sake, that his heart isn’t doing anything embarrassing at all.
Zayne - When You Drop the Mug Again
He hears it before he sees it hit the floor.
The clatter of ceramic against the kitchen tile carries down the hallway, followed by the small, mortified sound you always make when you’ve done something you wish nobody had witnessed. Zayne is in the doorway within seconds, still holding the medical journal he was reading, one finger tucked between the pages to mark his place. He takes in the chipped mug on the floor, the puddle of tea blooming around your slippered feet, and your wide eyes—and his expression doesn’t change at all, except for the faint lift at the corner of his mouth that you’ve learned, over time, is his version of trying not to smile.
“Don’t move,” he says.
He goes for the dustpan, not for you.
It’s a thing he does on purpose. He told you once, late at night with your face pressed into his shoulder, that he doesn’t want fussing over you to feel like a verdict. So he sweeps up the shards in that quiet, methodical way he has—same hands that handle patient charts, same hands that tie his scarf for him in the mirror every morning—and only when the floor is dry and safe does he straighten up and look at you properly.
“Feet,” he says, and crouches.
“Zayne, I’m fine, it didn’t even—”
“Feet,” he repeats, in the same tone he uses on patients who try to lie about whether they’ve been taking their medication.
He checks for tiny cuts even though there are none.
You sit on the edge of the counter because he’s lifted you there, his palm warm at the back of your knee, and you can feel your ears going hot in that traitorous way they do whenever he’s this close and this serious. He turns each of your feet over in his hand like he’s reading them. Nothing. Of course there’s nothing. He knew there’d be nothing.
“Was it hot?” he asks.
“Lukewarm. I let it sit too long again.”
“Mm.” That single syllable contains an entire diagnosis. You forgot it on the counter because you got distracted reading. You always do.
He kisses your knee before he lets you down. It’s quick. Almost businesslike. If you weren’t paying attention you’d miss the way his ears go a shade darker under his hair, the way he turns toward the cabinet for a clean mug a beat too fast.
“I’ll make you another,” he says, with his back to you. “Sit. Don’t help.”
“I can hel—”
“Sit.”
Later, you find the chipped mug glued back together on the windowsill.
He doesn’t mention it. He never does. But that night, when you apologize again into the dark of the bedroom—I’m sorry I’m such a mess, I’m sorry, I—he sighs, pulls you closer by the waist, and murmurs into your hair, “Stop apologizing for being someone I want to take care of.”
And you don’t know what to do with that, so you just hide your face in his chest, and he lets you.
Xavier - The Counter Is Too High Again
He’s half-asleep on the couch when he hears the stool wobble.
Xavier sleeps the way cats sleep—anywhere, instantly, with one ear still on the world. So even though his eyes are closed and his hair is a soft pale mess against the cushion, he’s already sitting up by the time the legs of the kitchen stool screech against the floor. You’re up on your toes, reaching for the jar of honey on the top shelf, the one he keeps meaning to move down and never does because you keep insisting you can get it yourself.
You can’t get it yourself. Both of you know this.
“Wait,” he says, voice still rough from sleep.
You don’t wait. The jar tips. You make a tiny, panicked noise.
He’s across the room before the honey hits the counter.
It’s the speed that always startles you—that quiet, easy way he moves, like distance is a suggestion he chooses not to take seriously. One of his hands closes around the jar mid-fall. The other settles, warm and steady, at your waist, anchoring you on the stool so you don’t pitch forward after it.
“Got it,” he murmurs.
“I almost—”
“I know.”
He says it without any of the I-told-you-so other people would lace into it. Xavier doesn’t scold. He just notes things, the way someone might note the weather, and then he handles them. You look down at him from your slight height advantage on the stool—a rare angle—and his hair is soft and rumpled and his eyes are the color of a sky you’ve been trying to remember.
You go pink. Of course you go pink.
He tilts his head a fraction. There’s a slow, drowsy smile spreading across his face, the kind he only ever wears for you, the kind that makes him look about seventeen years old and very far from anything dangerous.
“What?” you whisper.
“Nothing.” He hands you the honey jar like it’s a small, ceremonious gift. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“Xavier.”
“That’s my name.”
He doesn’t let you climb down by yourself.
You try. He doesn’t allow it. His hands come up under your arms and he lifts you down off the stool like you weigh nothing—because to him you do—and sets you on your feet so gently your slippers barely make a sound on the tile. His thumb brushes once, absently, over your hip before he lets go.
“You could’ve just woken me up,” he says.
“You were sleeping so well.”
“I’m always sleeping well. You’re more important than sleeping well.”
He says things like that all the time. Quiet, true, unadorned. Like it’s nothing. Like he isn’t slowly dismantling you sentence by sentence. You hide your face in your hands. He laughs softly, low and very fond, and pulls your wrists gently down.
“None of that,” he says. “I want to see you.”
He makes the tea himself after that.
He moves you to the counter—not the stool, he gives the stool a small, suspicious look, like it’s personally offended him—and stands between your knees while the kettle heats. You play with the hem of his sleeve. He lets you.
“Honey?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
“Mm.” He reaches past you without looking, gets the jar, sets it down. Kisses your forehead on the way back. “See. Easy.”
You don’t trust yourself to answer. He doesn’t seem to need you to. He finds you adorable anyway.
Caleb - The Loose Step on the Porch
He warned you about that step three times this week.
The third one from the top. The wood’s gone soft from winter and he keeps meaning to fix it on his next leave, but his next leave is this leave, and he hasn’t gotten to it yet because you keep finding more interesting things for him to do with his afternoons. So when he hears the small, surprised yelp from the porch—followed by the unmistakable thud of someone going down hard—he’s out of the kitchen before the screen door has stopped swinging.
You’re sitting on the floorboards with one hand bracing behind you and the other clutching a paper bag of groceries that, miraculously, you’ve kept upright. An orange has escaped and is rolling, with great purpose, toward the steps.
He stops in the doorway. He takes one look at the scene. His mouth does that thing where it tries very hard not to smile and fails completely.
“Honey,” he says, holding back a laugh..
“Don’t.” you hiss.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.” you huff.
“I was going to ask if you’re okay.” He crouches down in front of you, elbows on his knees, head tipped to one side. His hair falls into his eyes—that soft, sandy brown he never bothers to push back unless you do it for him. “Which step?”
“…the one you told me about.”
“Which one did I tell you about?”
“Caleb.”
He’s laughing now. Quietly. Mostly to himself.
He takes the grocery bag out of your lap and sets it aside with care. Then he takes both your hands and turns them palm-up, checking for scrapes. Methodical, unhurried, all of his focus settled on you. There’s a small graze along the heel of your left hand. He frowns at it like it has personally offended him.
“Stings?”
“A little.”
“Anywhere else?”
“My pride.”
“Well.” His thumb brushes very lightly over the graze. “That one I can’t kiss better. The hand I can do something about.”
He does. Just a press of his mouth, warm and quick, against the inside of your wrist. You feel it everywhere. You always do. He glances up at you through his lashes and catches the color rising in your cheeks, and his smile goes a little crooked, a little pleased with itself.
“There it is,” he murmurs.
“There what is.”
“That face you make every single time. The one where you pretend you’re not embarrassed and you go pink anyway.” He sits down beside you on the porch floor, knees drawn up, shoulder bumping gently against yours.
He retrieves the orange before he retrieves you.
It’s almost at the bottom of the top step by the time he ambles over and scoops it up, tossing it once in the air and catching it without looking. He’s wearing the soft grey t-shirt you stole twice last month, and he looks so much like home in the late afternoon light that you have to look away for a second just to remember how to breathe normally.
He notices that too. He notices everything. It’s a problem.
“You’re doin’ it again, pip.” he says, settling back down beside you with the orange in his hand.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like I just walked through the door after six months.” His voice has dropped, lost the teasing lilt. “I’ve been home a week, sweetheart.”
“I know.”
“I know you know.” He turns the orange in his palm, smiling. “I just like that you still do it.”
He helps you up like you’re made of something breakable.
His hand is broad and warm at your lower back, and he lifts you mostly with that one point of contact, the other hand finding yours and not letting go even once you’re standing. You shift your weight tentatively. Your ankle’s fine. Your knee’s fine. Everything’s fine. The only thing that’s not fine is the way your face refuses to cool down, because he’s still looking at you with that quiet, careful attention, like checking you over is something he gets to do now, like he gets to be the one who does it.
“Verdict?” he asks.
“I’ll live.”
“Great.” He bends, picks up the grocery bag, tucks it against his hip. The other hand stays in yours. “Cause I’m fixing that step tomorrow. First thing.”
“You said that last week.”
“I mean it this week.”
“You said that last week too.”
“Pips.” He pulls you in by the hand until you’re tucked under his arm, and presses a kiss into your hair, and you can feel him smiling against the top of your head. “Are you tryin’ to start a fight with the man who’s about to make you dinner?”
He does fix the step. Not tomorrow. That evening, after dinner, with the porch light on.
You watch him from the doorway in his soft grey t-shirt, sleeves shoved up, a pencil tucked behind his ear that he doesn’t appear to be using. He whistles while he works. He glances up every minute or so, just to check that you’re still there, and every time he catches you watching him he grins like he’s won something.
You think, watching him, that he’s been home a week and the house already doesn’t know how to be a house without him in it.
You don’t say it out loud for him to hear. When he comes back inside, dusty and pleased with himself, he takes one look at your face and says, very softly, “I know, baby. Me too.”
And that’s the whole conversation.
Sylus - You Spilled Wine on His Shirt
The shirt is black. The wine is red. The math is, frankly, in your favor.
You realize this approximately half a second after the glass tips, which is approximately half a second too late. The stem slipped—your fingers were nervous because he was looking at you the way he looks at you, like you’re the only interesting thing in a room full of people he’s been politely tolerating all evening—and now there’s a dark patch of wine spreading across the front of Sylus’ very expensive, very tailored shirt.
You stop breathing.
He looks down. He looks at you. He raises one brow.
“Sweetie,” he says, in that low, gravel-and-honey voice of his, “you missed.”
He is, somehow, smiling.
It’s the smallest version of his smile—the one that lives mostly in the corner of his mouth and the slight narrowing of his red eyes—but it is, undeniably, a smile. You can feel your whole face going hot.
“I’m so sorry, I’ll— let me—” You grab a napkin. You grab three napkins. You start dabbing at his chest with a bit too much panic, even for your embarrassed state. “It just slipped, I don’t know why, my hand just—”
“Mm.” He doesn’t move from his spot. He lets you fuss. His hand finds your wrist gently, and stills it. “You’re making it worse.”
“I’m sorry—"
“Stop apologizing.”
He says it the way he says most things—like an order dressed up as a suggestion.
You go still. The napkin sits crumpled in your hand. He’s still holding your wrist, his thumb tracing one slow, idle circle against your pulse point, and his eyes are doing that thing where they soften only at the edges, where you’d miss it if you didn’t know him.
“It’s a shirt,” he says.
“It’s an expensive shirt.”
“They’re all expensive shirts, kitten.” His mouth tilts. “That’s the point of having too much money. You get to be casual about ruining things.”
He plucks the wine glass out of your other hand and sets it well out of reach. A precaution. You catch the small, amused tilt of his mouth as he does it, and you go even pinker, if such a thing is physically possible.
“You did that on purpose,” you accuse, weakly.
“I did.” His voice is unrepentant. “You’re quite clumsy with stemware. I’m protecting my furniture.”
“Sylus—”
“And my floors. And my staff. And—” he leans in, voice dropping low, just for you “—my sanity, which you ruin nightly, by the way. In case you were keeping score.”
You make a small, strangled sound. He looks delighted.
He takes the shirt off right there.
Casually. Like it’s nothing. Buttons undone with that easy, practiced flick of his fingers, and then it’s draped over the back of a chair and forgotten, and he’s standing there in a plain black undershirt that does absolutely nothing to help your current condition.
He notices you checking him out. His smile sharpens.
“Eyes up here, sweetie.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Oh, but you were.”
He hooks one finger under your chin and tips your face up. His expression has gone almost gentle—the version of gentle that only exists in private, the version most of the world will never see and would never believe in if they were told.
“Breathe,” he says quietly. “It’s a shirt. You’re allowed to drop things in your own home.”
Your own home. That’s what undoes you. He always says it like that, like the question of whose home it is was settled a long time ago, and you simply haven’t caught up yet.
Later, he absolutely tells Mephisto the story.
You hear him from the next room, low and amused, and you hear Mephisto’s offended kraa, and you bury your face in a cushion and you think, with a kind of helpless, baffled warmth, that you have never, in all your life, been this loved by anyone half this dangerous.
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fluff! zayne meeting reader again after years of not seeing each other, inspired by 20cm by txt— reader is smaller than zayne here, exam season is finished so expect big things coming hehe
zayne wished he remained by your side. cutting contact with you was the hardest decision he had to make, but he did it for your safety. but after seeing you again in the university halls, it's like time never stopped.
he approaches you nervously, only to sigh in relief when you remember him too as you hug him. he cautiously wraps his arms around you, his heart pounding as he realises the height distance between you and him.
you almost jump into his arms, getting up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck as you rest your head on his chest.
and it was at that moment, he knew he would always want to stay by your side.
you sit next to him in the library, the scent of your strawberry shampoo tickles his nose and all he wants to do is gently pat your head lovingly. the feelings of something more than friendship bloomed in his heart, unsure of whether to contain them or selfishly tell you how he feels.
but as you began to know each other again, he couldn't help but notice every single thing about you. the way you would write cute notes as encouragement, check in to see if he got enough sleep, the way you look so small next to him.
for every day zayne goes another day without confessing, the longing, yearning desire in his heart only gets stronger.
so when zayne comes to you, the stoic walls he selfishly built up come crashing down. when he looks at you as if you hold all the answers in this confusing world, asking if you would consider him as more than a friend, how could you say no?
A/N: Inspiration struck me like a brick to the face so here we are. I too, wish Xavier could live between my thighs (for sweet and sexy reasons ☺️)
It was a quiet Saturday morning in Xavier's apartment. You sat comfortably on the couch with a sleepy Xavier resting his head between your plush thighs.
A blissful sigh escapes his slightly parted lips. "Mmmm....I wish I could live here forever." he mumbles against your inner thigh.
You chuckle softly while gently petting his head as he lets out more sounds of contentment. He's exactly where he wants to be. Seeing him so comfortable you can't help but wanting to tease him a little.
"You can't live here Xavi, but you can come and visit whenever you want." you say with mischief on your mind. If Xavier's eyes were open he'd see the growing smirk that adorns your face. Lucky for you he's too busy basking in the warmth of his favorite pillows. Xavier happily nuzzles your thighs unaware of what's to come.
"I'll even offer you a meal from time to time." you emphasize your words with a light squeeze of your thighs. This gets his attention just like you hoped it would. His eyes snap open immediately and when he looks up at you there is a noticeable difference in his gaze. The soft and cuddly Xavier who was here just mere moments ago is nowhere to be found.
You bite your lip and move Xavier's disheveled bangs from his eyes hoping to get a better view of what you've done.
"What?" you smirk knowingly. "Is my esteemed guest hungry?"
Xavier's jaw twitches ever so slightly at your comment. His eyes are lidded and pupils blown with need. The rise and fall of his chest becomes more noticeable as his breathing quickens in anticipation.
I Wish I Could Live Here Forever Part 2 [Vagina Version]
[Part 1] [Penis Version]
Xavier x Reader
CW: 18+ MDNI, reader has a vagina, Xavier's spit, cunnilingus, fingering, Xavier makes a mess in his pants
A/N: Originally I wasn't gonna post a part 2 but several people wanted it so I decided to give it a shot! Part 1 is gender neutral and I wanted to keep that for part 2. To keep it inclusive I've made one for vagina havers and one for penis havers. Overall they're the same except for the parts involving specific anatomy.
The look in Xavier's eyes is enough to send a shiver down your spine. He had given you the reaction you wanted but now that you have his full undivided attention your previous courage goes out the window. Heat rises to your face under the intense gaze of the man before you.
"Don't get shy on me now, my star." Xavier rasps as he gently caresses your cheek while his thumb runs along your lower lip. You can feel the ravenous need radiating off of him like the sun on a hot day.
Xavier smirks as he notices the growing wet patch on the crotch of your pajama pants. Your breath becomes ragged as you begin to feel a pulling sensation in your core. Your heightened sensitivity makes you acutely aware of just how close Xavier's face is to your aching cunt. A teasing hum leaves his lips as he looks you up and down like you're a four course meal.
"Looks like my meal is ready." His voice is low as he looks back up to you for permission to enjoy you to the fullest. Your heart is pounding. Beads of sweat begin to form across your body as you feel your temperature rising from excitement.
"B-bon appetit..." Your voice shakes despite your best effort to sound teasing and confident. Though the words didn't come out the way you intended, it seems they still had an effect on Xavier whose gaze only grows hungrier.
As soon as you give the okay, Xavier leans down to mouth at your cunt through your pajama pants. A soft groan leaves him as he licks and kisses up along your clothed folds, face pressed against you allowing his nose to grant you stimulation as he moves. Your hands instinctively tangle themselves into his already messy hair. Your eyes follow his every movement as he continues teasing you through your clothes.
When Xavier finally reaches your clit, after slowly kissing and licking his way up, he uses the flat of his tongue to push directly against your most sensitive area while simultaneously rubbing circles around your entrance with his thumb. A shaky whimper spills from your lips and your brows furrow in pleasure. Your cunt aches with need. These clothed touches just aren't enough. You need to feel him on your bare skin now. Hands, mouth, whatever he'll give you.
As if sensing your growing desperation, Xavier pulls down your pajama pants and underwear in one swift motion allowing the cool morning air to greet your newly freed cunt. Wasting no time, he licks a stripe from your hole to your clit sending a wave of pleasure through your body. He stops and hovers above your cunt, making sure you're looking directly at him before releasing a stream of spit that connects to your clit and drips down between your splayed folds.
His fingers keep your lips parted while his other hand kneads your thigh tenderly. Once his spit starts to pool around his fingers he drags them up and down, lathering his spit between your folds. When he deems it slick enough he finally takes your clit into his mouth, tongue rolled out like a red carpet welcoming you in as strings of spit drip from it's tip.
He pushes two fingers into your cunt agonizingly slow while he gently suckles on your bundle of nerves. Whines and moans fill the air like music to his ears. He loves to tease you but his own patience was starting to wear thin the louder you got.
"Fuck...p-please Xavi-" a guttural moan rips through your body as Xavier pushes his fingers in knuckle deep without warning and circles your clit with his tongue. The sound pulls a muffled moan from Xavier, vibrating your clit, only adding to the pleasure coursing through you.
With his patience now completely gone, he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you at increasing speed. He alternates between deep and shallow strokes as his tongue swirls around your clit. His strong arms keep your thighs parted while his unoccupied hand grabs and squeezes at them desperately. Xavier rocks his hips into the couch below him frantically trying to get some relief for his throbbing cock.
Your hands grip and pull at his hair as you watch him devour you. Filthy wet sounds accompany his every move, echoing in the stillness of your surroundings.
Feeling your climax approaching, you grip Xavier's hair in your right hand and caress the side of his head with your left in order to give yourself a solid hold before proceeding to buck up into his mouth. Xavier's eyes roll back in pleasure as you fuck his mouth with fever all while he continuously pumps his fingers in and out of you.
Grunts and moans fill the once quiet room as both of you desperately chase your impending release. Your bucking becomes erratic as you near your release. One flick of Xavier's tongue on your clit is all it takes to have you gushing on his fingers with a whimper. Seconds later he moans as a shiver takes over his body and his previous grinding stops. Your cum drenched his fingers while his own now coats the inside of his sweats.
Xavier pulls out his fingers slowly while placing a chaste kiss on your sensitive clit. You shudder at the overstimulation while he happily begins lapping up your cum from his fingers.
Once he's done he rests his head on your thighs and nuzzles them sweetly just like before. A blissful sigh leaves his lips and his eyes flutter shut.
"That meal deserves five stars...mmm..." He mumbles as drool peeks out from the corner of his smiling mouth. You can't help but chuckle as your breathing returns to normal. You smooth out his hair that was sticking up in all directions and pet his head to further soothe him.
"Hmmm....I get to eat my favorite meal....while lying in my...favorite place....with my favorite person..." he says between sleepy nuzzles and yawns. The last thing Xavier hears before succumbing to sleep is your soft confession:
I Wish I Could Live Here Forever Part 2 [Penis Version]
[Part 1] [Vagina Version]
Xavier x Reader
CW: 18+ MDNI, reader has a penis, Xavier's spit, blowjob, Xavier makes a mess in his pants
A/N: Originally I wasn't gonna post a part 2 but several people wanted it so I decided to give it a shot! Part 1 is gender neutral and I wanted to keep that for part 2. To keep it inclusive I've made one for vagina havers and one for penis havers. Overall they're the same except for the parts involving specific anatomy.
The look in Xavier's eyes is enough to send a shiver down your spine. He had given you the reaction you wanted but now that you have his full undivided attention your previous courage goes out the window. Heat rises to your face under the intense gaze of the man before you.
"Don't get shy on me now, my star." Xavier rasps as he gently caresses your cheek while his thumb runs along your lower lip. You can feel the ravenous need radiating off of him like the sun on a hot day.
Xavier smirks as he notices your growing hard on below him. Your breath becomes ragged as your pajama pants grow tighter and tighter against your straining member. Your heightened sensitivity makes you acutely aware of just how close Xavier's face is to your aching cock. A wet patch forms where your tip leaks in anticipation. A teasing hum leaves his lips as he looks you up and down like you're a four course meal.
"Looks like my meal is ready." His voice is low as he looks back up to you for permission to enjoy you to the fullest. Your heart is pounding. Beads of sweat begin to form across your body as you feel your temperature rising from excitement.
"B-bon appetit..." Your voice shakes despite your best effort to sound teasing and confident. Though the words didn't come out the way you intended, it seems they still had an effect on Xavier whose gaze only grows hungrier.
As soon as you give the okay, Xavier leans down to mouth at your length through your pajama pants. A soft groan leaves him as he licks and kisses up along your clothed shaft, face pressed against you allowing his nose to grant you stimulation as he moves. Your hands instinctively tangle themselves into his already messy hair. Your eyes follow his every movement as he continues teasing you through your clothes.
When Xavier finally reaches your tip, after slowly kissing and licking his way up, he uses the flat of his tongue to push directly against your most sensitive area while simultaneously rubbing up and down your length with his thumb. A shaky whimper spills from your lips and your brows furrow in pleasure. Your cock aches with need. These clothed touches just aren't enough. You need to feel him on your bare skin now. Hands, mouth, whatever he'll give you.
As if sensing your growing desperation, Xavier pulls down your pajama pants and underwear in one swift motion allowing the cool morning air to greet your newly freed cock. Wasting no time, he licks a stripe up the underside of your shaft sending a wave of pleasure through your body. He stops and hovers above your cock making sure you're looking directly at him before releasing a stream of spit that connects to your tip and drips down the rest of your length.
A hand rests at the base of your cock while the other kneads your thigh tenderly. Once his spit starts to pool around his fingers he gives your cock a few pumps, lathering his spit across your length. When he deems it slick enough he finally takes your cock into his mouth, tongue rolled out like a red carpet welcoming you in as strings of spit drip from it's tip.
His decent down your length is agonizingly slow. Whines and moans fill the air like music to his ears. He loves to tease you but his own patience was starting to wear thin the louder you got.
"Fuck...p-please Xavi-" a guttural moan rips through your body as Xavier takes the rest of you into his mouth without warning. The sound pulls a muffled moan from Xavier, vibrating your cock, only adding to the pleasure coursing through you.
With his patience now completely gone, he begins bobbing up and down your length at increasing speed. He alternates between deep and shallow strokes as his tongue laps at the underside of your cock. His strong arms keep your thighs parted while his hands grab and squeeze at them desperately. Xavier rocks his hips into the couch below him frantically trying to get some relief for his own throbbing cock.
Your hands grip and pull at his hair as you watch your cock disappear into his mouth over and over again. Filthy wet sounds accompany his every move, echoing in the stillness of your surroundings.
Feeling your climax approaching, you grip Xavier's hair in your right hand and caress the side of his head with your left in order to give yourself a solid hold before proceeding to buck up into his mouth. Xavier's eyes roll back in pleasure as you fuck his mouth with fever.
Grunts and moans fill the once quiet room as both of you desperately chase your impending release. Your bucking becomes erratic as you near your release. One flick of Xavier's tongue is all it takes to have you spilling down the back of his throat with a whimper. Seconds later he moans as a shiver takes over his body and his previous grinding stops. Your cum paints the back of his throat while his own now coats the inside of his sweats.
Xavier pulls off slowly, trying to savor the feeling of you. He swallows before sticking out his tongue and milking any remaining cum from your spent cock. You shudder at the overstimulation while he happily laps up all that you give him.
Once he's done he rests his head on your thighs and nuzzles them sweetly just like before. A blissful sigh leaves his lips and his eyes flutter shut.
"That meal deserves five stars...mmm..." He mumbles as drool peeks out from the corner of his smiling mouth. You can't help but chuckle as your breathing returns to normal. You smooth out his hair that was sticking up in all directions and pet his head to further soothe him.
"Hmmm....I get to eat my favorite meal....while lying in my...favorite place....with my favorite person..." he says between sleepy nuzzles and yawns. The last thing Xavier hears before succumbing to sleep is your soft confession:
abstract: your boyfriend just does things that makes your heart flutter and your panties dampen <3
ft. rafayel, sylus, zayne, xavier, caleb
cw: insp by the tiktok trend ; fluff + smut; body worship, somno, riding, fingering | [implied short reader with caleb + chubby reader w/ rafayel; implied yandere! caleb] - unedited <3
⊹ ࣪ ˖ rafayel qi ; the way he’s so clingy
whenever rafayel manages to get some time with you, of course he's going to be clingy. his arms are going to be glued around your plush tummy for the whole time he's lounging around with you. his head resting on your shoulder while doing any task with you in front of him. even when he paints, he'd have you sitting between his legs or on his lap, one hand caressing and rubbing circles on your love handles or plush thighs, while the other focuses on the canvas in front of him.
but of course, his clinginess isn't only limited outside the bedroom. and that alone, gets you so turned on.
"shh, don't run away. stay w'me..." he'd whine, an arm wrapped around your tummy and only tightening the more you arched your back away from him. it was tortuous—absolutely insane. normally, he'd be sassy with it, still having a little bit of a joking tone, but when he's fucking you, holding your leg up while he bullies his cock inside you from the side, he turns so needy and clingy, and you fucking love it.
"so pretty... so gorgeous... c'mon, i like it when you're close to me..."
⊹ ࣪ ˖ sylus qin ; the way he moves you gently by your waist
even though you're at a stage in your relationship where you're comfortable with everything sylus does, you still find your heart beat faster every time sylus gently moves you by your waist to get you out of his way.
"move, sweetheart." he'd speak so smoothly while he just moves you so gently, so . of course you'd be acting all shy and flustered. but oh, even when you two have sex, his touches just hold so much weight.
he’d be sitting on one of his elaborate chairs, with you propped up on his lap grinding against his cock before he could ever be inside you. then, even when you try to sink down on him, sylus would have his hands on your hips, slowly pushing you down and helping while you cried out.
“don’t cry, pretty girl. shhh, don’t cry…” you’d be clinging onto him, arms wrapped around him while you could feel him fill you up—and not even being able to take all of him. you would be struggling, but of course, he’d help you. he'd angle his own hips, slightly slouch while keeping the hold on you firm while slowly slamming you onto him. and then when you choose to move your hips all sensually in figure-8s, his light touches would continue and he would rub circles on your skin—a contrast to how he'd move you.
"shit...yeah, sweetheart. keep moving those hips like that."
⊹ ࣪ ˖ zayne li ; the way he lifts his sleeves up + holds eye contact
you know that zayne gets busy as a doctor. but you can't help but just stare at he way he lifts his sleeves up whenever he has a demanding task. you really can't help but stare at the way his arms. the way that the veins on his forearms would be more evident every time he flexed without even knowing how that affected you.
"you know, some people try to be more subtle when they stare." he’d say something like that, because of course zayne pays attention to how you’d stare. he'd notice how you'd look away or how your expression would falter every time he held eye contact with you. you just got flustered over everything.
oh and it's especially even hotter when he enacts on his observations.
"so impatient for me, aren't you?"
he’d roll up his sleeves, crouching down while you’d sit on his desk, panties pulled down while he played with your pussy. he would be rubbing on your clit with one hand and thrusting his pretty fingers with the other; a slightly flustered expression would grace his face. but god, every time he did so, every time he would do that, he would look up at you and hold eye contact, wanting to see your cute little reactions as he ruined you on his desk.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ xavier shen ; the way his voice gets when he wakes up
there's something about the way that xavier's voice gets every time he wakes up beside you. maybe it's the way that it's much quieter and deeper than usual, or that hot vocal fry that adds onto his usually meek voice. he can get quite clingy, especially in the morning, but the way he says things when he barely wakes up—the way he speaks so gently, makes you so flustered.
"shh... just 3 more minutes. let me just hold you for a bit more." he'd snuggle up against you, muttering some weak pleas on how he doesn't want to get out of this position with you just yet. and same thing for morning sex…
“don’t wanna get out of this position…” he’d have you in pronebone, with his arms caging you and yours wrapped around his neck while he’d slowly fuck you, his body and weight pressed against you. the both of you would still be half asleep, clinging onto each other under the covers.
maybe if you were in a hurry, you’d yelp a little ‘we have to get up!’, but your pleas would fall upon deaf ears.
“mmm..not yet.”
⊹ ࣪ ˖ caleb xia ; the way he would condescendingly tease you
the nickname he's implaced upon you being 'pipsqueak' is teasing and condescending enough, but sometimes when he's feeling really sassy, caleb just keeps going with that. it's bad enough that he's taller than you, but he would just crouch down—a smile etched on his face and speak with a tone that was laced with playful malice.
"mhm? yeah? how nice." and of course, even with that dark tone and accompanying mocking smile, your heart just does a little leap in your chest; you can't help it, despite him doing so just to mess with you. something is too high up? he'd mess with you with a 'awh, can't reach up and get it?'
but when you have sex, that condescending tone gets worse; his teasing overall gets worse. "awh, pips. can't take it, huh? c'mon sweet girl... you can do it, can't you?"
even in the most basic position like missionary, it's hard to get away from whatever remarks he might make, but regardless, it was still hot. just the way he would slam into you, pressing your tummy bulge hard with his free hand while he held your hand with his other, tangling your fingers together.
oh god... he was mean. you would be crying and he’d have such a dark look on his face, relishing in the fact that he’s the only one to have you like this.
because he knows damn well you like that.
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a/n: first lads post ever... what do we think...? (i'm so fucking scared i'm a baby lads fan i'm not that seasoned yet...)
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high school hc: mc used to play britneys songs around the house all the time. one time caleb made her really upset she gave him silent treatment that lasted for days, which was longer than usual. so caleb, who couldnt take it anymore, decided to apologize by serenading mc with baby one more time 🤣
caleb just can’t seem to let you out of his sight on his birthday
"wouldn’t you like to know?" he hisses, kissing you all over your face, pounding into you so fast yet so passionately that you almost reached a state of utopia where you came alot of times.
"c-caleb i can’t take it anymore s-slow dow— aah-" yours moans were barely controllable due to him not being able to keep up with his own pace because dear oh dear he was determined to make you feel so good that when you do cum, your whole body shakes uncontrollably.
“that’s it, baby,” caleb growls against your ear, voice thick and wrecked, “let go for me again. wanna feel you squeezing my cock just like that- fuck, pipsqueak, we can get closer.”
his hips snap harder, making you shiver, cake and sweat make everything slippery and messy between you two, your breasts bouncing with the force of it as he drives into you. he latches onto one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking hard while his fingers dig into your thigh, spreading you wider for him.
you cum again with a broken cry, your slippery walls fluttering and clenching around his thick cock so intensely it almost pushes him out. but caleb doesn’t stop. he fucks you straight through it, groaning low and filthy as your orgasm milks him.
“good girl… my perfect little pipsqueak,” he praises between heavy breaths, kissing your tear streaked cheeks and swollen lips. “one more. give me one more, baby. i know you can.”
his pace turns punishing, cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you over and over. one of his hands slips between your bodies, thumb circling your sensitive clit in tight, messy strokes. the overstimulation has you sobbing his name.
only then does caleb let himself go. he buries his face in your neck, hips stuttering as he thrusts deep one final time and spills inside you with a guttural moan of your name, filling you up until you feel warm and full.
you both stay like that for a while, panting, bodies sticky with cake and cum and sweat. caleb finally lifts his head, eyes soft despite how wrecked he looks, and presses gentle kisses all over your face again.
"you okay, baby?" he whispers, voice hoarse but full of love. "this right here pips- has to be the best birthday gift ever… but i’ll run that bath now, yeah? then we can get all messy again after."
Turth be told, Sylus has never had such a genuine and at ease smile on his lips as he had the first time you finally, finally fell asleep with him.
It was an uphill battle. For one, you struggled to sleep normally. Always going to bed too late snd waking up just before he was about to sleep himself.
And for two, even when hed try to go to sleep with you, you wouldn't. Not unless he was asleep. You'd cuddle with him, yes, but never sleep. Sylus kept his thoughts to himself, but he thought It was very cat like how you couldn't sleep if he was watching.
But tonight? You were just about tired enough. Your eyelids heavy as you laid in his arms, when normally you'd swear you two were just horizontally hugging.
And then you fell asleep. Breath evened out, body relaxing.
A victory in its own right. Sylus didnt even dare to breathe, in case his chest moving or warm air hitting your head would stir you. Even when his body started to feel numb, he didnt move.
Sylus would keep you here forever, if he could. Hopefully this was the first of many. A part of him, while wanting to just watch you all night, can't help but feel sleep, which is normally elusive at this hour, tug at him. Maybe due to the weight of you on his chest. Or, the snores leaving your mouth that youll deny come morning.
And well... when you finally do wake up, its to sylus' own gentle snores. He's so loud... but you arent too annoyed when you scoot closer and shut your eyes again.
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