what if you punished Xavier for breaking his promises?
⟡ pairing: xavier x reader
⟡ word count: 2.6k
⟡ content: hurt&comfort(heavy on the hurt, comfort coming in part 2), what if MC was much angrier at Xavier for keeping secrets, punishing Xavier, and then he flips the script, semi-canon compliant, sorta established relationship(?), well this def ain’t their first time, explicit sexual content, posessive! Xavier, slightlymanipulative! Xavier
⟡ A/N: feverish attempts got me by the throat and didn't let go. pt II
The mug clatters on the quartz countertop, ringing with a ferocity that fractures the night air.
Whoops.
Normally, if you weren’t in such a foul mood, you would’ve checked if it chipped. Maybe even run an apologetic hand over its ceramic surface. But you only feel a vindictive twinge before you tug open the fridge, pretending not to hear the creak of the bedroom door behind you.
When you turn back with the mug of water in hand, you’re not surprised to see him.
“What,” you snap, “afraid I didn’t know where to get the water?”
Like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar, Xavier offers a sheepish smile, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. Maybe, before today, in the wake of the umpteenth broken promise, you would’ve caved at such an expression. If it wasn’t for bumping into him at the hospital— the awkward pause before Jerimiah’s hastily made excuse— if it wasn’t for dropping by his apartment on a whim— the yawning silence that greeted you as you opened his door— if it wasn’t for you insisting for his coordinates— panic clawing up your throat as you raced through the mist, your stomach sinking when you found him, an ominous red glow collaring his throat, his body slumped against yours—
Stone.
You are stone.
He shifts his weight from one foot to another, moonlight skimming the outline of his body. Silver hair slightly mussed, doleful and slow blinking blue eyes— the celestial glow lovingly caresses his form, blurring shadows and edges, like even the night is helpless to his will. An angel fallen to earth— too easy to trust, too beautiful to doubt. Built to be good, crafted to be yours— he offers himself in careful submission, a silent apology.
But you know better.
Xavier lingers a moment, and then leans casually against the counter, the black cotton of his sleepwear gaping open at the chest. The faint blush of fever taints his skin, adding a rosy pink hue to the shadowed hallows—
You jerk your eyes away.
“Here.” Stiffly, you present the bottle of medicine and mug of water in each hand. “Drink it and take your medicine.”
“Oh…” His hands gingerly take them, brushing your fingers. The weight of his stare burns into your head. “Okay.”
The clink of the mug and the soft slurp of water tells you that he’s obediently doing as you said. So his ears do work just fine—
“Are you going home?”
You flinch, not expecting his voice to be so close. His steel blue gaze— still and fathomless as dark lake waters— meets yours, watching you with a careful intensity.
“What do you think?” you snipe.
The corners of his mouth twitch downward.
“If you leave,” he says in that soft voice of his, closing the distance with another measured step, gaze flicking across your face— eyes, mouth, jaw. “And my fever comes back in the middle of the night…”
He stops just a hair's breadth away, hot breath puffing at your lips.
“What if I die?” His eyes are wide and glossy underneath the moonlight. “Will anyone notice?”
You snort despite yourself. Transparent— clearing fishing, hoping to reel you in. But when you place your hand on his shoulder to keep some distance, your concern spikes anyway. Annoying how easily the worry rises, how instinctive it still is.
“Then my fragile neighbor better get back in bed.” Both of your hands clasp onto his shoulders, turning him back around.
“But—”
Steering him back in the direction of his room, you ignore his plaintive protests that trail behind you. It’s not hard— he lets you, grumbling but pliant as you gently bully him back into his bed and under the covers. As you rise to leave, his hand clamps around your wrist.
“You’re not going to ask… why?” His voice, soft and plaintive, tugs at you; you refuse to look back at him.
“You can ask where I’ve been, who I’ve met, what I’ve done without telling you…” With each pointed question, his hands coax you inch by inch, step by step until your knees buckle, and you stumble backward into the bed. Your back meets his chest, and he folds himself to you— like he’s trying to curl back into the warmth he was torn from, like hands desperately cupping fading sunlight. You keep your spine ramrod straight, refusing to melt into his warmth.
“If I asked, would you tell me everything?” you say lightly, and for a blessed moment, you sound as hollow as you want to feel. “Not that it matters. I know you already came up with excuses— probably rehearsed them all in your head.”
His breath hitches, his grip tightening around your waist.
“If you’re angry,” he murmurs in the crook of your neck, “take it out on me. I’m too weak to fight back.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I will,” you promise darkly. “Just not now.” You squirm, hands prying open his, trying to escape his hold. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“Xavier,” you snap. “I mean it, I’m not doing this anymore—”
A startled yelp escapes you as the world tilts, and then, you’re sprawled on top of him, thighs straddling his hips. His sleepwear hangs crooked on his frame, the buttons long undone, the fabric slipping off a shoulder and pooling at the elbows. It drapes across his body like provocation, framing the sculpted lines of his arms and the rise and fall of his bare chest.
“You said I needed to be cared for,” he says, dipping his head, gaze slanting through his lashes. Your wrist is locked in his grip, palm flat against his chest, right over the frantic pounding of his heart. “Is leaving me alone in this room how I’ll be taken care of?”
“I’m not in the mood—” His grip is gentle, but when you tug, it doesn’t budge.
“Then punish me,” he breathes.
Tendrils of heat crawl up your spine like wisps of smoke— a clenching of your jaw, a tightening in your ribs. You try to breathe it away, try to cling to the cool detachment you’ve constructed like armor.
“Please.” His gaze tries to catch yours. “Don’t go.”
Your pulse spikes. He’s too close. Feverish and warm and maddeningly there, a presence you can’t ignore. Your palm burns against his chest where he’s pressed it, the wild pulse vibrating into your skin, echoing in your head. Heat radiates from him— heavy and cloying— seeping into you like a slow infection, infuriating in how easy it worms past your defenses.
Why?
Why does he keep doing this to you?
Why does he make promises he just plans on breaking?
“What does it matter?” you grind out. “You’ll just do it again.”
“I’m sorry.”
Your breath hisses past your clenched teeth— white hot rage splintering your brittle composure with the sickening crunch of bone fracturing under pressure. Your fist slams into his shoulder, but it barely makes him flinch— only uselessly rebounds, as if glancing off stone.
“Stop— stop saying that! You say whatever you want but you n-never—” Your armor is in tatters, shattered into smoldering shards; the words choke up your throat. “You never change—”
“I know. I know. It's my fault.” His voice— usually even and soothing in its unfazed cadence— now wavers with the slightest tremor. “I broke my promise. Hit me, curse me, I’ll take it. I can take it all.”
His flushed skin is satin underneath your palm. The heat of him seeps in, thick, suffocating, like trees blazing on all sides, smoke scalding your every inhale. You can’t think, can’t breathe—
“I’ll take everything,” he murmurs, “any punishment—”
Surging forward, you crash into him, mouths meeting like steel locked against steel. The kiss lands like a brutal blow, fierce and unforgiving— the ensuing thud rattling in your head. All teeth and fury, you kiss him like it hurts you to do it, pressing every ounce of rage into his body like a blade held to his throat. But it doesn’t deter him— if anything, he welcomes it, inhaling deep like you’re his collapsing star and he’s your gravity, dragging you close until you’re chest to chest, as if wanting to crush your hearts together through skin and bone.
You bite down hard on his lip; iron blooms on your tongue. He only groans, mouth parting wider beneath yours, his chest rising under your hands. Tongues sliding with bruising intent, you devour his breathless penance the way a storm devours light, scraping teeth and spite-laced breath. When he exhales your name— all reverence, aching devotion you can’t stand to feel— you tear away from him like a snapped wire, a thread of spit stretching between your lips before it breaks. Xavier follows, torso swaying forward, like his body can’t help but chase yours— sky blue eyes darkened to a starless midnight, the weight of his need hard against your thigh.
“Any punishment?”
You hate your voice. How hurt it sounds, how raw.
“Any,” he whispers, fingers hot against the edges of your jaw, as if angling for another kiss—
“No.”
Your hand forces him away, pushing him down until his head knocks with a thud against the headboard.
“You don’t move.” You shove his hands off your hips. “You don’t touch.”
Your nails dig into his chest in warning.
“Or I leave. Got it?”
Xavier stares back up at you, breath a touch too fast, blue burning at the rim of his pupils— the corona of an eclipse.
He nods.
Your hands are claws before they’re curling into the soft knit of his sleep cardigan, dragging him up to your mouth. The kiss is sharper this time, angled like retribution, catching the split skin on his lip. You don’t stop, even when he bleeds— he tastes like fever and metal, salt and heat, blood and regret. Your hips grind into his, and he gasps into your mouth, his touch ghosting up your waist. You swat his hand away with a resounding slap, wrenching yourself away with a hiss.
“I said, don’t touch.”
Fingers splayed across his flushed skin, your nails drag down heated flesh, carving furious pink welts in their wake. Your hand finds the nape of his neck, threading through his hair, curling tight with a subtle yank. He surrenders with a grunt, tilting his head back to bare his throat. Your gaze locks in on the vulnerable line of his neck as he swallows hard, chest rising in quick, shallow bursts.
You want him to hurt.
Your teeth sink deep at the juncture between his neck and collarbone, burying resentment in purples and blues. Xavier jerks, arching into you as a strangled sound spills from his lips. You drag your mouth over the blossoming bruise— sucking hard— until he’s shuddering into your grasp, muscles taut as his hands fists the sheets.
A searing constellation of bites follows the meandering path of your mouth, each mark crimson against his fevered skin. You take your time, slow and deliberate— feasting in every grunt and choked sound he makes in the back of his throat. Your tongue curls to tease at the jut of his collarbone, tasing the salt of his sweat. Hands roam lower, running across the planes of his chest. Hard muscle honed by hours of swordplay and battles with Wanderers, forged more like a weapon than man. Like he’s more steel than flesh and bone.
But under your touch, he’s steel gone pliant, molten metal just barely holding form, bending to the shape of your fury like glass held to flame. Your rage simmers, tempered now to something slower, smoldering— your tongue tracing soft, lingering licks over angry bruises, pressing a kiss to his nipple, tongue circling the dusky pink nub—
A splintering crack— like a tree splitting under the weight of an axe. Your gaze jerks up.
His fingers are still splayed where they’ve gouged into the headboard, knuckles white. A jagged split runs through the wood, groaning under the pressure of his grip— yet he hasn’t moved, hasn’t even bothered to look.
Eyes blown dark, his gaze is fixed on you, black and bottomless as the space between the stars. Bite swollen lips, ears and cheeks flushed crimson, Xavier looks like he could devour you whole.
“Please,” he husks, tongue swiping his bruised bottom lip. “Let me… let me touch—”
“No.”
You shove him back again— first with a hand to his chest, and then with a pointed foot, holding him in place as you shift down the bed. He makes a low, feral sound of frustration— more vibration than voice.
“Liars don’t get to touch.”
Something in his gaze falters, a shallow breath too sharp, chest stalling like he forgot how to breathe. His eyes flick away, and for a moment, the cold you were reaching for touches you at last.
You should feel vindicated.
You want to, so badly.
But all you feel is the sting behind your eyes, the growing ache in your chest. You’re so damn tired— tired of this ache that keeps dragging you back to him, tired of hurting for someone who keeps hurting you.
You’re desperate to feel anything else.
Tossing your shirt over your head in one swift movement, a graceless shimmy out of your shorts follows until you’re left in nothing but your underwear, knees spread wide. His gaze is back on you, drinking in every shift of your body, clinging to you like a wolf tailing the scent of blood. It isn’t until your fingers trail down your stomach, flirting with the waistband of the underwear that he freezes— the realization hitting him like a blow, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow.
You’re wet.
You know this because you have been the moment you kissed him, because your fingers sinking in your folds make an obscenely loud sound of slick on skin. He makes a choked sound, low and ragged, as if the sound is being torn from him, as if he’s unraveling at the seams.
Xavier looks ruined.
“Please.“ His voice is hoarse. ”I need you.”
Your fingers slide in and out of your soaked cunt.
“Liar.”
You’re so worked up, you’re already close. Every stroke of your fingers against your swollen clit sparks stars behind your eyes. Your lashes flutter, your body shuddering— solar flares licking up your spine, stardust melting in your veins. Soft, stuttering moans tumbling from your lips when—
Everything blurs.
You’re hauled up and over with dizzying speed, your back slamming hard against the mattress, air punched from your lungs. Before the shock can settle, your legs are hoisted, stretched taut— ankles sliding over his shoulders, thighs pressed flush to your chest.
He is on top of you, weight pressing you deep into the mattress, a wall of heat and muscle pinning you in place. You’re folded back, your body bent beneath his, spine arched, breath coming in shallow gasps. He’s everywhere— his scent, his touch, his searing warmth and you can’t twist away, can’t think, can’t hide. Not from the bruising possessiveness of his grip or the all-consuming hunger of his gaze.
“Xav—!”
His name dies on your tongue when he rocks forward, the imprint of his cock sliding against your soaked underwear, a hot jolt of desperate need straight to your cunt. Your whole body draws taunt, a frustrated whimper catching in your throat when you can’t move.
“Isn’t it my turn yet?”
His whisper curls in your ear as he shifts, his body crowding closer, collapsing the remaining space between you. Like the weight of a dying star, like the inevitable pull of moons into orbit, he pulls you closer—
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Imagine the flowers started small. Just stray petals in her palm, trembling against her skin before dissolving into nothing. She crushed them quickly, before anyone could see. They weren’t real, she told herself. Just the desert dust, or the dry air, or her body playing tricks on her. Because it couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense.
Imagine Caleb always put her first. Always. Even when the world screamed his name, when orders weighed heavier than bullets, when everyone demanded a piece of him. He turned to her. He shielded her from the worst of it, carried her weight alongside his own, and when everyone else faded, he stayed.
so Imagine why? Why was she coughing flowers? Why did her chest feel like it was caving in, as though every breath carved roots deeper into her lungs?
Imagine she hid it from him. Of course she did. He had enough to carry already. And besides, what if this was all a mistake? If she just ignored it, maybe the petals would stop. Maybe her heart would fall back in line, like a soldier at attention, disciplined and silent.
but Imagine, the flowers didn’t stop. They grew.
Imagine, some nights, she found herself on her knees in the bathroom, gripping the sink as petals spilled past her lips, staining the porcelain with color. She gagged them down, washing them away before dawn, smiling through the hollow ache in her chest when he checked in on her. He’d ask if she was sleeping enough, eating enough, resting enough. And she would lie, because it was easier. Because she couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing.
Imagine then came that night. His voice carried softly through the thin wall between their rooms. Lower than usual, softer, like velvet fraying at the edges. She froze, caught by the tenderness in it.
"She’s coughing more often now." Caleb murmured, guilt heavy in every syllable. "It’s worse. I can’t forgive myself for this." Her heart stuttered. He knew. He knew.
Imagine the way she pressed her fist to her lips, stifling the sudden rise of petals threatening to betray her.
"She won’t admit it." He continued, quieter now. "But I can see it. And I can’t abandon her- Not when she’s like this. Not when I’ve always known…"
Imagine her breathing shuddered. Always known. Always known what? That she loved him? That her heart bloomed for him until it was choking her? Or that he could never return it, no matter how desperately she prayed for it? She pressed her back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, trying to swallow the ache.
Imagine his tone shifted, gentle, almost reverent. "Thank you for understanding." He whispered. "I don’t know what I’d do without your patience. I love you, (Your name)." The phone clicked silent and the words pierced deeper than any blade.
Imagine the way she crumpled against her sheets, chest seizing as flowers clawed their way up her throat. They tore at her, ripping sobs from her lungs until petals scattered across her bed like confetti for a funeral only she attended.
Imagine, of course he would say it like that. Of course he would bare his heart so softly. But not to her. Never to her.
Imagine, all this time, she thought, no, she believe that his heart was hers. That she was enough. But those words weren’t meant for her ears, not really. They belonged to someone else. Someone who had already claimed him, quietly, inevitably.
Imagine the way her tears blurred the ceiling, the petals bitter on her tongue. Because the truth was simple. Caleb Xia was in love. Just… not with her. But with you.
2. What would they do if they got hit but already have a partner?
TYY SMM🥳🥳🥳
Sup, luv u too dude
1. Vee is a light weight. Ash is a heavy drinker. Col, as long as you still have a functioning liver, you can’t outdrink him.
2.
Vee: You guys would be doing something outside when this happens. He would stare at the person, then at you, then back at the person again, then grab you and put you next to said person, then ask the person to repeat what they said, then go GASP, oh mah gah, MC did you hear that??? Are you hearing this?? Oh wowww, he can’t BELIEVE it!!! Can you?? Cuz he can’t!! What are the fcking odds??? Ok he’s hungry now. Then he will just grab you and both of you go get snacks or something
Ash: He would say thanks but that he already has a partner then walks back home. He then casually brings it up when it’s just the two of you alone.
A: Apparently got hit on today, what are the odds
MC: mm
A: ……. (mm. mm? mm????That’s it?? Should he have not mentioned it?? Did he mess up?? Are they tired?? Of him???? MC are you done with him?? Did anything happen yesterday?? Is something wrong?? Did he forget anything?? AH-)
*DING
MC: Oh dinner’s ready
A: Oh you’re right
Col: He would stare at that person, then slowly backs away, then picks up the speed, then proceeds to backpedal his way all the way back and into the house, then randomly fcking grabs you while you’re in the middle of something, then walk backwards to his room, then throw both himself and you onto the bed, and then the two of you sleep, night MC, and no you can’t leave for now.
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I have noticed on Tulmbr or any site for that matter there are very little obey me! demon headcaanons that actually make demons act like animals! I will not stand for this! I will be getting my fix of animalistic demons one way or another soooo let me tell you about my demon headcaanons.
Warning: this book has suggestive content and weird headcannons.
Let's get one thing clear first demons are pact animals. They live in large groups and are VERY protective over their families. This is because demons are protective over something that is, theirs. So this also translates to members of the family. So when it comes to the demon brothers in the early lessons can you imagine how HEARTBREAKING it was to have belphegor away? Especially because he was the youngest and therefore the weakest and hence in need of more protection. To have their baby brother away in the human realm (well to them... But he was just in the attic). For all they know he could be in danger! And as far as Beel was concerned his beloved twin could not be eating enough and of he isn't eating enough he is weaker... And if he isn't strong as he could be he could be hurting and he isn't there! "LUCIFER! please send him back he could be in danger!" - Beelzebub a day into the exchange program
Also this leds onto another point. SCENT. If your fimilar with... The dark side of Ao3, wattpad and Tulmbr (Omegavers) you probably get what I mean. But just in case you don't have issues. Animals have scent glads in their body. This marks what is their's now this translates to our favorite demons because they also have that. Meaning if they rubbed their wrist, cheek or like you know that part of your neck where it starts your chest? (Actually is that the collarbone? No clue) well that too. That has the most active scent glads. It will leave a smell that says to other demons that that thing is their's and if you mess with it. Except death.
Soo just imagine in Beelzebub's and Belphegor's room obviously is going to be full of their scent. But of course with belphi not there. It's going to fade isn't it? So that also makes beel upset. Because yes he KNOWS not actually? He was like in the attic Belphi is in the human realm apart of his brain is crying because his brother scent isn't where it should be so he's not there? Where is he? Is he safe? Is he eating? "LUCIFER! please send him back he could be in danger!" - Beelzebub 9 days into the exchange program. So that is also why he didn't want MC to be getting their "weird" smell on Belphi's bed when they had to share a room. Because it's already fading and he doesn't want it to go any faster!
Alsoo speaking about scents... Let's talk about heat/runts and their courting behaviors because omegavers is definitely influenced my life.
So like ever month or so demons go into heat and runts just like how girls get their period. During this they are wanting to breed. They also are very uncomfortable and boiling hot. So of course how does this effect them? So pretty much their scent glads produce a different scent that just says "I'm available please fuck me" this also gives them hard baby fever. You know how like penguins are fighting over baby penguins? THATT. If you were to for what ever reason bring luke anywhere near them they will SMOTHER that poor boy. Because all that they can see is; small thing. Small person. Small child? child?! That's it! PROTECT THAT MF-. They are never nicer to him then when broody.
Let's talk about courting behaviors. Because I refuse to believe that they don't do it. So let's just start off with that courting is a thing to start a relationship. It's flirting but better? So for demons they often do things like giffting them many stuff of their interest traditionally they would give them a dead human or hard to kill monster... Some still do that- looking at you Nobel demons- but like jewelry anything really that their courted would like. It could be stickers! Then we get to the services part. They would do something simple like holding a door open or like helping them with Manuel labor. It doesn't matter but they do acts of service for them. Later on if all is going well you get to scent them. It just yells "their mine fuckers" and then dating. Another thing I refuse to believe they don't do is presenting... Not in the face down, ass up way. But in the wings out, tails out. I'm also you best believe that pride demons are just like peacocks and shake their wings AWWW so cute. Just imagine Lucifer doing this-
More one this, greed demons. Crows or Ravens. Come at me. So they coo at their courted- and later on they nuzzle them MY HEART IS MELTING. IMAGINE MAMMON, a normal thing is for winged is to just puff out their wings and to totally do a mating call. This goes for ALL. Maybe it's not a full on song. (Sometimes it will be) but a little noise that translate to *looks at a book labeled "is your demon horny or just wanting to kill you?" Flipes several pages* wanna fuck?
I will be writing more. And maybe explain better if y'all want more of my weird hadcaonns but enjoy. But if you want more let me know!
