hi my name is tumblr user and i have to invent a new english phrase every single day or they take the shot um and today's was smarls smeegly and i am noticing that you're not using it and i a,m getting kindof scared
synopsis: this beautiful thing continues to grow between you and xavier, and you become a bit bolder—as does he.
★pairing: xavier x f!reader
★wc: 8.4k
★content: fluff galore. the cute, giddy, still a little awkward stage of realizing your crush is returned. flirting! they're a tiny bit cringe but they're free. xavier reciting poetry. a lot of wanting to kiss but still being a bit shy. mc is lowkey a little horny too.
★a/n: crazy that in a month it'll be a year since I started this series. where does the time go? I'm sorry updates are so sporadic, but I still love this story so much and I'm so excited to share this chapter. (also thought this ch wouldnt be as long LOL)
★part viii ★read on ao3 ★series masterlist ★part x (coming soon)
The rest of the night felt like a whirlwind, stirred up in your chest and sweeping you away.
Even as you had sobered up under Xavier's watchful gaze, sipping at your water and snacking on pretzels at the kitchen counter while the party dwindled down, you felt buzzed. Your skin thrummed with heat, tingling just under his attention, sparking where your shoulder was pressed to his while you hunched together over his phone screen.
"This one's name is Puffball," he told you, pointing to the picture of the rotund yellow songbird. "He's my favorite, and he knows it."
You giggled, peering closer at the bird's talons wrapped around Xavier's slender finger in the photo.
"See, I knew you were a Disney princess," you teased, unable to help it.
When you looked up to see the perplexed look on his face, you couldn't help but laugh.
The way his expression melted when you did made you want to bury your face in your hands. But you just settled for bumping his shoulder, grinning to yourself when he bumped yours back.
At the front door, you had both lingered on the steps, illuminated softly by the buzzing lightbulb overhead. Moths were drawn to the flickering light, as you were to the happiness that radiated from Xavier's soft smile.
His goodbye had lingered in the air, his gentle voice low. It blurred the line towards intimate, even with the little space still left between you. And even when that distance grew as you walked towards your car, you were simultaneously thrilled and eased with the knowledge that this wasn't really a goodbye at all, but one said only for the excuse to soon say hello again.
That exuberant, giddy feeling lasted from the drive home until you were laying in bed. You fell asleep while replaying the night's revelations in your mind, and woke up the next morning already smiling when they replayed in tandem with your hazy dreams.
Now, you turn onto your stomach, stifling your sleepy giggles into your pillow while you mentally recount each and every smile, every heartfelt word. Hugging it to your chest, you kick your feet until you're a tangled mess in your blankets.
Early morning light slips through the slim gap left in your curtains, and as your excitement naturally slows, uncertainty creeps in. Turning onto your back, you stare up at the ceiling you'd pondered at for so many years, growing pensive.
Between the moments of happiness—as bright and consuming as they are—you can't shake that lingering feeling of being disheartened by the turn of events last night. Embarrassment still reared its ugly head whenever you thought of what happened in the living room. (And maybe a small part of you wanted to give Isaiah a piece of your mind the next time you saw him, emboldened by Xavier's voice echoing that his cousin was "an asshole.")
And yet, you were still so, so happy.
How such contrasting feelings could coexist inside you, you didn't know. Your chest ached from cracking it open to bear your heart and soul. You felt empty, and full. You felt the pain of picking at an old scab, and relief at seeing that it could heal over again.
Your mind felt clear for the first time in weeks, maybe even months, long before you came back home. A path forward had finally revealed itself to you: overgrown, but traversable. A way out.
And then you think of Xavier's smile from last night, and something inside of you glows.
Or, maybe even better. A way through.
You would find a way through again.
Reaching out, you fumble with your phone on your bedside table. The time on your lockscreen showed it was still early—a good thing, since the date reminded you that it was Monday and that you did, in fact, have a life and job you needed to return to.
But the text waiting to be read from ten minutes ago has you feeling giddy all over again.
Xavier★: Good morning
The simple greeting, nestled under the Ill find you from last night (and he did, you think with a lovesick smile), is accompanied by a photo that makes you laugh.
In it, Jeremiah is sprawled out on the couch. His head is head hanging off the edge, mouth wide open in a snore you can practically hear. Peeking from the corner of the picture is Xavier, mirth glinting in his eyes through the screen, holding a thumbs up.
me: you stayed the night?
You set your phone back down, sighing as you mentally prepare yourself for the arduous task of pushing your warm, comfy sheets off. There was no coffee waiting to be made now either, per doctor's orders. You'd have to make it through work on good old hydration and sheer will alone.
But you hold off on the rest of the world a little longer when your phone dings almost right away.
Xavier★: Yeah
You snort, bemused at his ever short text messages. But much to your surprised delight, the typing bubble pops up again.
Xavier★: Started cleaning up after U left
me: aw, that's sweet of you :3
You don't even have time to set your phone down again before he swiftly replies.
Xavier★: Really
An emoji follows, that little bunny mascot peering close, eye widened through a magnifying glass. You eagerly watch him type again before the next message nearly stops your heart.
Xavier★: Tell me more about how sweet I am
You feel your face get hot, an embarrassing noise escaping you in the privacy of your room. Rolling around in your bed, you smack your pillow in gleeful disbelief.
Dear god, was he flirting?
Was Xavier actually flirting with you?
At 7 in the morning?!
Last night's revelations still had you flustered, reeling as you revised the one-sided history in your mind to make room for two. If he was going to start flirting outright, you really would melt into that pile of goo you kept feeling dangerously close to.
Or explode into a million pieces (for the millionth time).
One of the two.
You stare at the words on the screen, teeth grazing over your bottom lip. Your heart skitters in your chest, nervous and something else, something very…indecent to be feeling at this ungodly hour.
But maybe ungodly hours make for ungodly thoughts…?
Your breath hitches, and you shake your head. God, no, be normal! This…this was just starting.
Still, the message taunts you. It's such a simple request, but you feel hot all over that he's asking it of you.
Or demanding it, something in you imagines, and you quickly shove that away before you implode.
Chewing on your lip, you type out a few different replies.
While you write, you imagine him sitting on Jeremiah's living room floor, watching you type with the golden morning light sneaking through the curtains to highlight his face. Is he smiling? Are his eyes all soft again, like they were last night when his forehead was pressed to yours?
You fluster yourself with the mental image, and hesitate over the send button before quickly pressing it.
me: I changed my mind. you're absolutely wicked, Xavier Shen.
You blink and already have a reply to read.
Xavier★: who, me?
The little bunny has a halo in the next emoji he sends, and you snort.
me: yes, you!
You add a pointing emoji, and grin while you quickly type before he can get the upper hand on you again.
me: now stop distracting me, I have to get ready for work!!
A crying bunny reacts to you, and you shake your head fondly. By the time you've gotten up and opened your closest, your phone has gone off three more times.
Xavier★: Okay, fine
Xavier★: Ill see U soon
Xavier★: ?
Sitting on the edge of your bed, you look at your high school backpack nestled in the corner of your closest, picturing the unsent confession still hiding away in that zipper compartment. You gaze from the worn star keychain, down to the message waiting for you.
This really was your life. It always has been.
me: yes, you will.
Work is made considerably difficult by the memory of warm, soft-spoken, almost-but-not-quite-but-still-just-enough confessions rotating in your mind. You doubt you made your quota in cases coded today, judged on how many times you buried your face in your arms to squeal over soft smiles and words, your heart swelling until it was about to burst in your chest.
And in those moments when you did manage to reign yourself in, you would catch a glimpse of the forget-me-nots in the lightly fragrant bouquet proudly displayed on your desk, and you'd start giggling madly all over again.
So, it's really no surprise that the minute you clock out for the day, you make it about all of ten minutes before you're out the door and on the way to the library.
You drop off your latest borrowed book in the returns before your feet quickly retrace the steps towards the table in the back. When you eagerly peek your head around the aisle that leads down to it, and see the sunlight grazing the familiar head of silvery hair, you don't even try to bite back a grin.
Said head is currently resting atop folded arms, his face turned away from you. You watch the steady rise and fall of his breathing while you quietly approach, your excited smile softening into something so fond it almost hurts to hold it all in.
Before taking the seat across from him, you lean in, head tilted to try and catch a glimpse of his face. His fluffy bangs are mostly covering his eyes, but at the right angle you can see the flutter of his long lashes, how his hair shifts a bit with each heavy breath in his sleep.
Cute, you think, swallowing the temptation to squeal before it can interrupt the quiet moment. So, so cute.
He shifts in his sleep, and you freeze, eyes wide, until he settles again. There's a rustle and slight crunch of papers beneath him, and you turn your attention to the book he had fallen asleep on.
Curiosity overtaking you, you circle around behind him, tilting to the side to try and capture some of the words on the pages. One of them was covered up by his cheek squished against it, but you can manage to glimpse a few lines on the opposite page.
Murmuring softly lip to lip,
Along the grass, along the sands,
Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands
"Huh," you make the sound thoughtfully, quietly, fingertips grazing along a few of the words.
Was Xavier a fan of poetry? The idea of learning more and more about him has you smiling again. Him being tangible, knowable, real and with you makes you feel like you're in way too deep already.
And then you remember how he looked at you last night, what he said, and you don't feel all that self conscious about being this head over heels at all.
Your head tilts the other direction, leaning in further to read more. In your distraction, you don't notice when Xavier's breathing starts to turn from heavy to shallow.
Not until he makes a soft, sleepy sound, and your eyes snap to his as they flutter open.
The blue of them looks darker as he wakes up, blinking slowly a few times. You're struck by how content he looks in the crossover between sleeping and waking, snapping back into yourself only when a smile grows across his face.
It's small at first, then brighter, unabashed while he wakes and his eyes lock with a clear focus onto yours.
"You came," Xavier murmurs, and you feel a familiar, yet sharper thrill of infatuation go through you at how happy he sounds.
The thrill turns into a spark that almost consumes you when his fingers brush against yours on the page. You gasp, jolting back purely on instinct.
"Sorry!" You straighten up when you realize how close you'd gotten, smiling bashfully. "I didn't mean to invade your space. I just—I wanted to see what you were reading."
"Oh."
His brows furrow when you give him space, a look you can't quite catch flashing in his eyes. Was he upset with you for being nosy?
Xavier doesn't say anything about it though. Straightening, he stretches his back out with a pop of his joints. He makes a quiet, satisfied grunt that immediately sticks into your mind.
Oh, cool, more ungoldy thoughts at a totally normal hour.
You swallow thickly, clearing your throat. Xavier rubs his hand across the cheek that had been pressed to the book, and you giggle softly at how red it was from the pressure.
He turns back to you and smiles at your laughter. It's more faint now, a bit more tempered than when he'd first woken up, but no less fond.
Fond, you think again, remembering last night: his ardent reassurance under the fairy lights, the affection in his gaze when the fireworks lit up his face. You hadn't second-guessed it for a second, not like you used to. But it still hits you again as Xavier smiles just for you—at that little table he'd saved for you again, sunlight dappled in his hair, eyes sparkling—that this is real.
You might get addicted to this feeling, if you're not careful.
He adjusts the book in front of him, tugging it closer to the edge so you can see it better. He peers up at you through his thick lashes and, yeah, you don't really want to be that careful.
"This is my favorite poet," he tells you, showing you the cover to reveal When You Are Old: Early Poems, Plays, and Fairy Tales by William Butler Yeats. "I revisit this collection a lot." Xavier pauses, scratching at the side of his neck. His gaze slides away from yours when he admits quietly, "Especially when I have something to contemplate."
You glance back at the poem, eyes automatically catching on the words softly lip to lip, and feel your face grow hot.
Of course your mind would jump there first, without even reading the rest of the poem. But just the idea of him thinking about it too; Xavier kissing you, slow, intentional. Fingers cupping the nape of your neck, pulling you close…
"Oh," you say softly, a little breathless at your consistently overactive imagination when you were right in front of him!
Xavier looks at you, a nervous twitching of his lips at the corner. You wet your own subconsciously, hoping he doesn't notice.
There isn't much he doesn't notice, you've come to realize.
His gaze falls down to the motion, then away, his lips tilting further up. Your stomach flips, your chest hot. You're so transparent, aren't you?
"Join me?" He offers, tilting his head towards the book, and you're relieved by how he doesn't mention it. You were still…adjusting, to all this. To what you were finally, fully allowing yourself to want. "I can show you some of my favorites."
The idea of Xavier personally recommending—no, sharing—his favorite poems with you has you nearly swooning, and any response gets stuck in your throat. So instead, you make a very eloquent noise that might sound like you got a piece of food lodged in your throat, and hurry towards the chair on the other side of the table.
But you pause when Xavier stands and beats you to it. And not only that, but he tugs the chair over to his side of the table, until there's hardly any space between them.
He stays standing, gesturing for you to sit, and you squeak out like you're still choking on that imaginary piece of food before sinking down into the seat.
When Xavier sits back down, you feel the press of his hoodie sleeve against the bare skin of your arm. Your mind takes off like a plane gaining speed and lifting into the air because he's warm, so warm, and the fabric is soft. He must use a fabric softener, and it smells good too; fresh, like laundry right out of the dryer. There's no more teenage deodorant scent, but something subtle, deeper—is he wearing cologne? Does he usually? Or does he just naturally smell like fucking flower fields and angels?
Okay, chill, you tell yourself, taking a slow, deep breath.
But you think you still see a little stain on the front pocket of his hoodie from your coffee you spilled on him that first day you saw him again (so many years later but it still felt like the first time he caught your eye, every time feels like the first time) and you should feel bad you ruined it. But somehow, in some strange way, it feels like a tangible mark you've left on him, and something possessive but warm curls up in your chest.
You jump when you hear your name, falling gently from his lips. Your cheeks feel too hot when your attention goes first to those lips, transfixed by them yet again. They look even softer than his hoodie, his hair, but his eyes. Oh god his eyes are warm, gentle and you're so down bad to an even worse degree now that it's not even funny.
Those full lips curve up under your attention, one side tilted up more than the other. It's a familiar, sly look, like when he slid that smutty book across the table to you the first time you sat here together. Some impossible cross between an innocent smile and knowing smirk. And when you catch his eyes and see that same spark of mischief, you jump, your full wits finally snapping back to you.
"Sorry!" You breathe again, laughing shyly. You duck your head down, turning your attention to the book. "I don't mean to just stare." This time.
"You don't have to be sorry."
He sounds so genuine and you know how much he is now. It has your heart racing, hands curling into fists in your lap, mimicking the knot of nerves that stubbornly persist in your stomach. It's an exhilarating feeling, being this close to him, now more than ever.
"You can keep looking at me," Xavier whispers to you, like he was telling a secret. "However much you want."
His expression is wide-open when you do, and his eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile.
"Ah," he sighs. "There."
Xavier's eyelashes tremble, glancing down at your lips when you bite them. You don't delude yourself now that he hasn't been looking at them every time you've bitten them for weeks, and your face is so hot you feel like you're about to burst into flames.
The longing in your chest stretches out even further, and it tugs on you, like an invisible string that ties you to him. Begging you to close the distance between you now that it's gotten even shorter. In the library, of all places, hidden in this little golden alcove among the shelves of dusty pages and worn ink.
But you like him, you like him so much, and he's looking at you in a way nobody else ever has. In a way you may have missed every time you looked away, all those years ago. Like he's been waiting just as long, and when you think of last night again, you almost cave, the words kiss me dancing on the tip of your tongue.
But then Xavier looks away with a growing smile. He brushes his fingers over his lips, pressing them against his mouth, and yours tingle.
Wordlessly, he pulls the book between you, one page before each of you. His arm presses against yours, more firm now, and you go from tense to relaxed in seconds. His presence is steady, reassuring, and it's the most confusing contrast to how your heart is still racing at a mile a minute.
"There's one I want to show you," Xavier says, taking the pages into his hands sections at a time.
He flips through the book quickly, not looking at page numbers as much as he's moving on instinct. His fingertips trace the edges of each page, feeling out the place he's looking for by touch, memory alone.
Xavier flips backwards a couple pages, and nods.
"Here."
He pushes the book a little more in your direction so you can see the whole poem clearly. You take in the title: When You Are Old, the namesake of the collection, and glance from it to his expectant face.
Xavier smiles a little, and leans his head in closer, until his bangs just barely brush your forehead. His smile grows a fraction when you inhale a quick, quiet breath, before he looks back towards the page.
"When you are old and grey and full of sleep," he starts reciting from the page, and oh, this is the end of you. A very happy end, honestly—lightning could strike you right here and now and you'd feel eternally at peace with the low, melodic lilt of his voice with the rhythm of the poem. "And nodding by the fire, take down this book."
You tear your attention from him back to the book then, soaking in the words he quietly recites:
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
Yeah, you'd have to call Zayne again because your heart truly couldn't take this.
You watch Xavier's finger find the next few lines, tracing the words. He doesn't seem to be tracking it, as the way he reads this sounds more and more like he could do it in his sleep. You've caught him tracing his page once before while reading, and wonder if it's a habit of his; revering the words, soaking them in. Trying to touch something intangible, make it real.
He was like you, that way.
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
When he goes to read the second half of the stanza, you just barely catch the hitch in his breath. His voice goes quieter, hard to hear even in the relative silence of the library. You find yourself drawn in, naturally leaning further into him.
"But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you," Xavier breathes out, the warmth of it grazing your cheek. You read along with each word that falls from his lips, "And loved the sorrows of your changing face."
He pauses for a breath. His arm twitches a little where it's pressed to yours, and his gaze is heavy on your face, but you find you can't find the courage to look at him just yet.
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
For one brief, strange moment, you feel so very far away. Like it has taken a long time to get here. Like you were always meant to come.
You blink it away and see Xavier smiling shyly towards you, but not quite meeting your eye. His fingers retrace the last stanza, and his bangs cover his eyes when he leans forward. But you do notice, with a flip of your stomach, that the tips of his ears have gone bright red.
If time was kind, you think distantly, it would never move on from this moment.
Swallowing thickly, you finally manage to say, "It's very lovely."
Xavier looks back up at you. There's almost a…glow, in how his eyes light upon you. It must be the sunlight behind him, casting a halo effect around his hair as well. He looks very much like that distant star you'd always seen him as.
Except now, that distance isn't so far. He looks so real, and you're tempted to reach out, to feel the heat of his pink cheeks against your hands.
You don't, not yet. But you think, like many things, he can tell exactly what you were thinking anyway.
Xavier sounds breathless, a little lost when he agrees, "It is."
It's funny, how when you first came home, you were going crazy with how Xavier seemed to be everywhere you went. And now, only weeks later, here you were, seeking him out at each place you knew he'd be.
And the best part was that the urge to see each other again was mutual.
Monday night, as you were getting to settle into bed with Xavier's favorite book of poems (he'd insisted you checked it out, eager to hear your thoughts about them next Monday), your phone chimed with an invitation to stop by the high school on Thursday, when he'd be helping coach the fencing team's practice.
The few days separating you from that time feel impossibly long. You fill it by spending some extra time with Gramps, watching his favorite TV shows with him. It's a comforting pastime, listening to his chuckles and dry comments, and you sink farther into the familiar, worn cushions of the couch.
You drift off for a while like that, and wake up with an extra blanket tucked around you. One you wrestle out of in order to get him some water and his medication. You've found that he has a harder time dodging your request when you hand them directly to him and give him a look.
You also manage to get together with Harper on Wednesday afternoon, and she tugs you along to a new, surprisingly trendy boutique a few doors down from Jeremiah's shop.
You stop and jump up and down outside his windows on the way, striking poses until Harper joins in too, and you both get his attention. His watering can slips forward when he finally notices you, nearly drowning some poor, yellow chrysanthemums as his face twists in a laugh you can hear clearly in your mind, even outside the building.
He practically drags you in and doesn't let you leave before a little conversation that turns long, especially when it's both certified yappers Jeremiah and Harper together. He pawns off a few plants to you both while you're out the door: a little succulent that's seen better days for you to nurture, and some sunflowers for Harper, a long-time favorite of both her and her mother's.
At the boutique, you make some much needed updates to your wardrobe, thanks to Harper's enthusiastic insistence and the fact that your last paycheck was a fun one. Your fingers graze the fabric of a flowy dress that stops just above the knees, lingering on the little blue flowers speckled throughout the design.
She doesn't even have to try and convince you to get that one.
When Thursday finally rolls around, it's not the dress you wear, since you want to keep saving it for something a bit more special. You do put on some of your other new clothes, feeling much more refreshed somehow just by wearing them.
After making sure Gramps had everything he needed, you head out the door with more confidence than you've felt in a while. Tucked inside the tote bag you carry with you, wrapped up carefully in a purple Tupperware container, is the product of Gramps' and your hard work in the kitchen just the night before.
"I hope he likes it," you had murmured to yourself as you rearranged the last few strawberry slices on top of the cake slices again.
You made a point to ignore the warm, knowing chuckle beside you, and shooed him out of the kitchen before he could even think to stand on his feet for too long and do the dishes.
Pulling your car into the high school's parking lot brings forth a host of feelings you're not sure how to digest. It's been years, and you suddenly feel those years as you cut the ignition, watching a group of teenagers running, shrieking and laughing about something that they'd probably forget about when they got as old as you.
Not that you were old, but it suddenly felt like it as you hold the tote bag tight to you, walking through the main entrance. You head down the halls that were emptying out after school hours, treading a familiar path towards the gymnasium.
If you slow down a little bit when you pass your old locker, and even slower while passing Xavier's a few more down—wondering how many times you had missed him looking at you, right here in this spot—well, who's to blame you for the rush of nostalgia?
You hear the sound of sneakers scuffing the vinyl floors, echoing from the wide-open doors as you near the gym. Peeking your head in, you glance over the small group of students going through fencing drills, touches and parries that you're surprised you recognize, even years later.
It doesn't take you long to see Xavier, it never does. He's demonstrating something to a student with a sabre. A technique for a parry, it looks like, before he hands it back to the kid, who nods with determination and eyes glowing with admiration for their coach. Xavier nods back with a faint smile, exuding patience and kindness even across the room, and you smile.
There's a little shuffle of movement near you as a couple of the students notice you. The confusion ripples from them to another pair, a quiet din of conversation and distraction among the group that quickly reaches Xavier.
He turns towards where you linger in the doorway, and his smile grows, eyes lighting up. When he swiftly makes his way towards you, you hear the conversations growing in excitement, curious eyes fixed to you.
You hear girlfriend a few times from the kids closest to you, and when Xavier stops in front of you, smiling and cheeks tinted pink, you feel both incredibly shy and also not at all eager to correct anybody who thinks so.
"Hey," you wave, adjusting the strap of your tote bag.
"Hi," Xavier grins a little, brushing his bangs from his eyes, and gestures towards your bag. "Do you want me to take that for you?"
"Oh, no, that's okay."
You sway on your feet, hands clasped in front of you, and Xavier watches your excited movement, blue eyes shining bright.
You lean forward, feeling bold in your new clothes, and with time to think about this beautiful thing growing between you. Especially through all the increasingly flirty texts exchanged with him this week.
And maybe you're also feeling a little conspiratorial, a bit mischievous with what everybody in the room is thinking about you two right now.
"I have a surprise, you see, and I don't want it to be ruined."
There's keen interest in Xavier's eyes, his smile shifting into that sneaky little smirk that makes your heart skip a beat. "You think I'd ruin it?" His lips jut out in a playful pout, and you cover your mouth to hide your sickeningly lovesick smile.
"I think," you start slowly, rubbing your finger over your chin before pointing at him. "That you're a lot more devious than you let on, Xavier."
He shifts from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his neck. He manages to look a little bit bashful at your accusation, but the curved corner of his lips when he ducks his head down tells you he's also unashamed by being caught in it.
You shake your head, affection warming you from the inside out, and point towards the bleachers.
"I'll hang out until it's break time," you offer. "And then you'll get to be thoroughly surprised."
"Thoroughly," Xavier repeats.
"Thoroughly," you confirm, nodding, and he nods back.
"Okay." He watches you turn, halfway to the bleachers before he announces to the group unceremoniously, "It's break time," and your laugh is more joyful than you recognize when it echoes through the gym.
Contrary to Xavier's stubborn insistence and frequent pouts, the fencing team's main coach does not allow for an immediate break. So you get to watch as Xavier, brows pinched and frowning, insists on a demonstration bout between them instead.
"Why is Coach Shen trying so hard today?" a girl whispers to her friend, on the front of the row of bleachers that you sit in the back of. You hadn't even realized when you went right for the same spot you'd always sat in for his matches, not until he gets into position for the demonstration, and you're struck with intense déjà vu. "He always does these with, like, less than half-energy."
"Oh, come on," her friend sighs, nudging her. "You know why."
They both glance back towards you and then spin away, giggling to themselves as your face warms.
You feel a little silly for clapping when Xavier moves so swiftly, gaining another point from an elegant touch against the other coach. You feel less silly when the students oo and ahh and clap along, and even more shy when Xavier's eyes immediately find yours again, like they have after each point he gains.
The other coach snorts, pushing their ponytail off their shoulder. "Quit showing off, Shen," they accuse.
Xavier's wide eyes are the perfect picture of innocence when he refutes, "I'm just showing."
And then his eyes narrow, immediately locking in as he presses the advance for another point, and it shouldn't be as damn attractive as it is but it is.
Especially when he shoots you a satisfied smirk that time.
Once a break finally comes, the students disperse to hydrate, and snack, and try to make it not look so obvious as they watch Xavier join you on the bleachers.
"How'd I do?" Xavier isn't out of breath in the slightest, even with the way his bangs stick to his forehead with a thin sheen of sweat from the practice bout.
You laugh a little, teasing gently, "Come on, do you need me to say it?"
His lips twitch, and he rubs the back of his neck. A little shy, a little proud. "I'd like to hear you say it."
Your throat feels thick, and you force yourself to swallow, busying your fidgeting hands by rifling through your tote bag.
"Well, I think you're brilliant," you admit quietly, not missing the hitch in Xavier's breath at your sudden, unguarded honesty. "But I think you already know I do, as much as you know how good you are."
You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and this time, his wide eyes look genuine. The flush from exertion on his face deepens, spreading down his neck, and you smile.
"Oh." Xavier scratches idly at his ear, blinking. "Thank you."
You'll have to make an effort to keep building your confidence, just to tease him more. Most the time he was the one flustering you, and you loved it, but this—seeing him blush so readily at your praise, smiling to himself when you do, the way you do when he's the bold one—was a real addiction.
"And now," you say, hands wrapping around the Tupperware in your bag. "Prepare to be surprised."
You present the strawberry shortcake with a flourish and a ta-da! that has Xavier perking up instantly, eyes lighting up.
"I didn't forget," you say, pulling out a couple paper plates and plastic forks to slide the cake onto. "And I wanted you to be able to taste how good the strawberries are."
You hand him his plate, then reach back into your bag, feeling around blindly for the napkins.
"So?" you ask, smiling in triumph to yourself when you find them. "Are you surprised?"
When you look back at him, his face is already stuffed with cake, about half of the slice already missing. He flushes a little more when you laugh once in surprise.
Xavier swallows, nodding in thanks when you pass him the napkin to dab at the crumbs on his mouth. That mischief is back in his gaze when he says, "Thoroughly."
You giggle, knees turning towards him, and he follows your position, bumping his just slightly against yours. He pulls back, but does it again every now and then as you talk.
And you talk. The words are starting to come easier now, and he listens as attentively as he did at Jeremiah's shop, giving as much back to you as he did at the party. You still feel the tingles of excitement, maybe even stronger now—you didn't know if you'd ever stop feeling them, not for a long time.
But the apprehension you'd once felt around your crush was steadily melting off you in waves. You felt comfortable with Xavier, especially since that night under the fairy lights, the night everything had changed.
Because he wasn't just some crush now. He wasn't a daydream anymore. He wasn't the Xavier Shen, idolized in your youthful infatuation.
He was Xavier. Just Xavier, painfully human in how he eats so much and so fast that he looks like a bunny with his cheeks puffed out. Tangible in every brief brush of his knees against yours, wanting to be close like you do. Not quite sure how to breach the distance yet, but growing closer.
He's never seemed so real s he does now, in the things he reveals to you about himself, bit by bit to unravel a larger picture you'd always wondered at.
In a brief lull in conversation, as you eat the last slice of strawberry on your plate, you start to think about the party again, of the heavy words you'd confessed to him. You think of your way through, and then, a little farther out: a sunlit little apartment, two seats at a kitchen counter, sharing a plate of strawberry shortcake fresh out of the oven.
You blink it away. It's still much too soon for any of that, you know that.
But before you can stop yourself, you ask in a rush, "Have you ever wanted to leave?"
Xavier blinks at you, head tilted in confusion, not following.
"Town, I mean." You clarify, and chew nervously on the inside of your cheek.
"Oh."
Xavier scratches at his neck again. Something you're learning he does when he's uncertain, or thinking things over.
"I…" He looks at you, his shoulders stiff. His face seems more closed off than before, but glancing over your face, he must find something that eases up that tension a little. "I think I'd like to travel."
You perk up at this new bit of information. "Really? Where to?"
"Anywhere," he answers quickly, and then blinks, shying away a little. "All around the world, I mean."
"No place in particular?"
Xavier hums thoughtfully. He looks up and away from you, picturing something you couldn't see. "Not really. I think I'd like to just walk, for a long time. To go wherever I want, and see things nobody else has."
He stops, glancing at you briefly. He's still a little unsure, and it makes your heart ache. Has he never told anyone this before? Has anybody made him feel guilty if he did? "Does that make sense?"
"Yeah." You nod, smiling warmly at him, and he relaxes completely. "It sounds really nice. I didn't know you had such an adventurous soul."
His lips quirk up in half a smile, eyes catching onto yours. He leans in, more confident, "I'd like to go to college, too." You lean in too, happy to hear more about him, that he was sharing it with you. He continues, quieter, "I burned out after high school. My father hated it. But I think I'd like to go, someday. Just for me. For the things I want to keep learning about."
Your knee presses against his, gentle, reassuring. When you pull it back, his follows for another brief touch.
"What do you want to study?"
Xavier huffs out a quiet breath. "Don't laugh."
You arch a brow, then frown. "Why would I laugh at you?"
He stills, eyes widening a little at your genuine confusion. Then he softens. "You wouldn't," he realizes aloud; quiet, in wonder. Clearing his throat, he reveals, "I'd like to major in astrophysics."
You nod slowly, taking it in, filing it away with all the other things you've learned about him. "So, science about space?"
He nods, and you smile.
"It suits you," you say warmly, thrilled when he blushes. "Tell me more."
Xavier's eyes light up, two stars fixed on you as he starts telling you the basics on it, gaining in quiet enthusiasm as you listen and ask questions.
You'd always known he was smart, acing all his classes, but you also knew he tended to catch a lot of naps in them. So to hear him talk about something he was so clearly knowledgeable about, and realizing that he was studious in academics as much as he was a lover of literature and poetry; it was as attractive as his fencing prowess, if not more.
And when the break is over, and his brows furrow in irritation, frowning and nearly sulking at having to go back to coaching, he's suddenly so painfully human and real that you're endeared to him more than ever before.
"Did you go to school with Xavier?"
You're loitering around the doors as practice clears out, when the other coach, Morgan, stops next to you. Xavier's still talking to a couple of students as they pack up, answering their questions, and you look away from him at the question.
"Yeah, we were in the same class."
Morgan nods slowly, glancing back towards Xavier with you. They laugh a little, like they're wondering about something, or realizing it.
"Mm, makes sense." They nod to themselves again, and then consider you. "I always wondered if there was one that got away."
Your mind freezes, and you blink.
"Huh?"
They smile a little at your blank expression. "I've seen him lingering in the hallways a few times after practice. Not at the trophies, like I would've expected from somebody who won so many competitions in school." They shake their head. "He stops at a locker. I asked him once if it was his." They wave with their hand a little, like gesturing to something further down. "He said no, and pointed to one a few away. That one was his."
Oh, you think, heart racing, mind spinning, your very soul aching. Oh, Xavier.
He's walking up to you now, smiling, footsteps picking up a little when he glances from you towards his co-coach. Morgan waves goodbye to you both before heading out the doors.
"Ready to go?" Xavier asks when he stops in front of you.
You nod, but your mind feels far away again when you hum, "Mhm."
You walk the silent halls with him, something you had never done back in school. There was only the time he carried you to the nurse's office, and you think of the squeak of his sneakers against the floor, how he couldn't meet your eyes when he gave you your favorite drink.
You look at him now, side by side, and think of the pale yellow sweater of his uniform, his gaze finding yours each and every time you admired him.
He looks back at you now, older, so much older and so are you, and yet you didn't forget. Neither of you forgot.
By some old instinct, your footsteps naturally slow when you pass by your old lockers again. You think of sliding letters into his before hurrying back to yours. You think of him stopping here throughout the years, caught in the passing thought of you.
He's always thought of you.
The back of your fingers brush against his. You don't know who reached out first, or if it was another instinct, a pull of gravity.
Your fingers twitch, but you don't pull away. And when you don't, Xavier's index finger grazes yours again.
You look at the places you'd stood at so long ago, when neither of you did a thing about it.
You stand where you are now, and Xavier's finger hooks around yours. It's long, and warm, and a little callused from all those years of fencing. It's also gentle, almost tentative in how loose it is, before you curl your finger back around his.
Neither of you let go.
You're not exactly sure of how you got here. It felt like a rush, from the moment you left your alma mater together, the slow walk back to your car. How he didn't let go of your finger, and you didn't let go of his.
You made no move to unlock your door. The goodbye to say hello again waits to be shared between you, but neither of you have the heart to say it.
"Are you still hungry?" you ask instead, and Xavier's eyes light up.
"Almost always," he says immediately, only half-joking, and smiles when you laugh.
He smiles so much, now. More than you've ever seen him, more than you can count.
And now you're seated in a booth at the old diner you and Gramps used to always go to for big occasions; celebrating progress down another road to recovery after a surgery, your high school graduation. You came here with Harper and Aarya sometimes too, and distinctly remembered one occasion during Senior year where Jeremiah hopped into your booth out of nowhere, and yelped when Aarya accidentally kicked him in surprise.
You enjoy your grilled sandwich, a bit of a healthier choice for your heart than the massive burger Xavier had already eaten half of.
"I didn't know you had such a big appetite," you muse aloud, and Xavier blushes a little.
He swallows a bite, and takes a sip of the strawberries and cream milkshake he'd ordered. Your own strawberry one is already mostly finished beside you.
"I like meat," he admits simply, and shrugs a shoulder.
"Mm. And fries," you note, glancing pointedly at the few left on his place. "And strawberry shortcake."
Xavier pouts a little, but it's as teasing as your words. "You tempted me with the cake."
"I surprised you."
"Yes, thoroughly," he replies without missing a beat, nodding seriously, and you both break and laugh a moment later. It's a stupid, silly joke, but it's yours and his and you love it.
"Well," you say slowly, then distract yourself with chewing another bite of your sandwich before admitting, almost under you breath, "I think it's cute."
Xavier hears you, though, judging by how still he goes. When you dare a glance up at him, his eyes shift. He leans in, his voice lowering with his lashes, hardly missing a beat when he says, "I think you're cute."
You try to swallow down the squeak of surprise that almost escapes you at the sudden flirting. Even though you were getting more used to this, he still did it so out of the blue sometimes, so boldly that you couldn't help but react so strongly.
He watches you flounder around a little, pulling your glass closer to yourself only to loudly suck up nothing from your straw. He doesn't even hide his smile at the reaction he'd gotten from you. No, he seems to revel in it, chin propped up in his palm. Warm. Satisfied.
"Cute," he whispers again, more to himself than you, and you bite back another embarrassing noise.
You let out a sigh instead, the sound fluttering from you.
"Oh, stop," you mutter with no heat, shifting in your seat. You drop your face in your hands, mumbling into them. "You make me feel all flustered."
"Really?" Xavier hums, a glint of pride in his eyes. That same mischief that has your pulse skittering each time it appears. But it's…deeper.
Satisfied, you think again. Then you remember the text from earlier that week: Tell me more about how sweet I am.
"Wicked," you whisper again. There's that spark in his gaze again, darkening, and you laugh breathlessly, shaking your head. "Oh, you know you do."
He chuckles, inhales softly. But he doesn't push it.
It's a pattern you're starting to learn, a dance that he does. Getting close, closer, teasing and watching for your reaction. He waits for it, then he pulls back, just a little, but keeps you revolving around him.
Each time, you get closer.
Each time, it's not quite close enough.
But this time, his knee gently presses against yours under the table.
Unlike in the gym, he keeps it there, a constant point of contact that has heat licking up your spine. You meet his searching gaze, and when you smile at him, he puts his arms on the table, leaning closer, nails picking at some writing carved into the table.
"I like when you look at me like that," Xavier admits quietly, warmth coating his words, shining from his gaze.
You hold your breath, your voice barely a whisper, "Like what?"
His head tilts slightly. His eyes flicker all over your face, and settle back on your gaze. Fixated by it.
"Like no time has passed." His gaze trembles, drops down to your parted lips, then drags back up to your eyes. "Like I'm still what you want."
All you can think is, is he going to kiss you? Now? Here?
Xavier's lips twitch, a barely noticeable desire to smirk, but you're learning his tells. You see him realize what you're thinking, the glint in his eyes before he turns his face away.
He grabs the stem of his glass, drawing the milkshake between you. He plucks your straw from your finished glass into his.
"Help me finish this," he says casually, and you don't know if you want to strangle him, or hook your arms around his neck and pull him in right here, right now.
All you do know is that you're trying very hard not to stare across the short distance, at his plush lips as they wrap around his straw.
And you know that he isn't trying hard at all to hide how he stares at yours.
giddiness rushes over you as you watch sylus sitting on the couch with a book on one hand. you bite back your giggles as you skitter to your rightful place, his lap, batting his hand away to make a bigger opening for you to slip through within the cages of his arms.
“hi,” you whisper, staring at the amusement in his eyes, the quirk of his eyebrow after you get comfortable. his gaze is always intense; it makes you a bit shy but you’re determined.
“comfortable?” he puts his book down and steadies you with his hands, his warmth palpable.
as an answer, you place a kiss on his forehead, pulling back to giggle at the little surprised sound escaping his lips. before he can say anything, you kiss the little part of his skin at the corner of his eye that crinkles when he smiles and then another kiss to his cheek.
his arms tighten around you as he hums, searching for your eyes. “what’s that for, kitten?”
a rush of fondness threatens to undo you. you meet his gaze, feel your heart stutter at the vulnerability in them. you cup the cheek you just kissed, leaning in until your noses brush, sharing a breath. you kiss him on the lips, gently and softly, taking your time savoring him.
never in a million years you’d think you would willingly do this to anyone but he makes you so soft. you hardly believe it’s you somehow.
you lie your head on his shoulder in contentment, stealing a quick kiss in the underside of his jaw. “i just wanted to.”
you hear him hum above you, bringing you closer. tonight, he doesn’t tease you, choosing instead to drop a kiss to the top of your head. in the silence of the moment, you feel your cheeks heat up once you realize what you’ve done.
“now, read to me,” you demand, hiding your face on his chest, which rumbles with a chuckle.
“so demanding, kitten,” he says with no bite, picking up the book as he reads you to sleep.
———————————————————————
end notes:
my flex is i wrote this before touring in love ch 5 drops and i was v proud to have my hc of demanding sylus to read as canon. v validating. sorry i just want to love on him ok and i need to stop thinking abt him but it's him. look at him.
There's many reasons you love it when Sylus wears his your hoodie.
read on ao3
➻➻ ABOUT | 2000 words. sylus x gn!reader.
➻➻ TAGS | slice of life. domestic fluff. established relationship. teasing. banter. self-indulgent. (very self-indulgent).
NOTE: Sylus in a hoodie has plagued me for more than 24 hours now so I had to do something about it xx
He was almost always in suits.
Sharp, dark, tailored swaths of high-quality fabric that pressed him into the shape of a man meant to intimidate. Meant to dictate, govern, and rule.
Everything about him was buttoned up, molded into perfect presentation, each polished pleat a reminder that he belonged to no one in the room. That he was steel-edged and unreachable.
Sylus was a man born to battle, his clothing was his armor.
That was, until he knew he had a day at home with you. That's when it all fell away. That's when the head of Onychinus became Sylus. Casual, no pretenses, no reputation or intimidation to uphold. The belly of the beast exposed only to you.
Sometimes it was sweatpants, sometimes silk robes. Sometimes it was his boxers and a cotton tee. Sometimes he even kept the fuzzy socks you'd slip onto his feet, quirking a brow in amusement but doing nothing to take them off.
But your favorites were his hoodies.
Thick, warm, oversized in a way that only seemed to magnify every inch of his broad shoulders, sturdy chest, and wide biceps, Sylus' hoodies were perfect for admiring, laying on, burrowing into, and, of course, stealing.
His hoodies signified comfort. Home. And most importantly, that he was staying with you.
“That’s definitely the same model I showed you the other week. Look at the grip.”
“No, it isn’t. The barrel’s too long.”
The film on the screen was half-forgotten, its pivotal scene just background noise as you and Sylus debated, your attention far more on each other than the plot. His arm was stretched across the back of the couch and you were curled into space it made at his side. Head nestled into the warm notch between his neck and shoulder, the hood of his hoodie serving as your pillow while you finished off your carton of ice cream.
You were enjoying the feel of his rumbling voice, but you straightened at his remark, gesturing toward the screen with your spoon before you set it and the carton down on the coffee table.
"That's just the angle of the camera," you asserted, stretching feeling back into your frozen fingers as you leaned back into him. "I promise you, it's the same one."
"Sweetie, I've handled more weapons than you can name. Are you really trying to argue about guns with an arms dealer?" Amusement painted his expression as he pulled his phone from his pocket and started typing. "Here, I'll just check the production company's website. I'm sure the list of every model they've used has been-" A quiet pause.
Your grin widened. “Say it. I was right.”
Sylus pursed his lips, an attempt to hide his rueful smile, you were sure. Though, there was a spark of admiration in his eyes as well when he cleared his throat, theatrically took your cold hand into his warm palm, pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles and humbly admitted, "You were right, kitten." He glanced back up at you, a thread of sincerity lacing between the humor. "I'm sorry for doubting your gun knowledge. Now... how can I make it up to you?"
"Hm," you mused as your hand, still not fully thawed from your frozen indulgence, slipped out of his grasp and straight into the wide sleeve of his hoodie, pressing against the hard lines of his forearm. "I think this'll do."
The heat radiating from his arm soaked into you instantly, soothing the chill in your skin.
He quirked a brow. "And what, exactly, is 'this'?"
"You stole my moment of genius, I'm stealing your body heat to avoid frostbite." Your fingers rubbed back and forth along the path of his veins, the muscle there flexed instinctively. "I feel like it's a fair trade."
Sylus exhaled through his nose, shaking his head affectionately when you nestled yourself back into his side and faced the screen.
He looked at you, down at two forearms in one hoodie sleeve resting in his lap, and muttered, "First deal I've ever made where I wanted my opponent to ask for more."
The morning light slanted through the windows, painting the room in muted oranges and pinks as the shadows in the living room lightened. Sylus was stretched longways on the couch, his long legs making his feet press up against the arm rest as he read to wind down his day. The hoodie he wore hung comfortably over his frame, sleeves slightly pushed up, the soft fabric tracing the lines of his shoulders and arms in a way that made him look relaxed but still impossibly appealing.
His eyes had been skimming the pages, but he looked up, features softening when you approached. "You alright, sweetie?"
"Yeah, I just thought I'd join you."
“I'll move over." He started shifting to make room when you stopped him.
"No, no need." You motioned to him to still his movements. "I don't want to disturb you."
Then, without another word, you reached out, plucked the book from his grip, and placed it onto the coffee table. He let out a quiet hum of confusion when you lifted up the hem of his hoodie as high as it would go and started sliding underneath, staying utterly still the entire time you wriggled through it until your face popped out of the (now rather constricting) neck hole and pressed your face into the contours of his throat.
You couldn't move, what with your arms trapped at your sides by the straining fabric of his hoodie, but you couldn't deny the comfort of being pressed so closely to him, warm, languid, connected.
Suddenly, tucked into your new shell with your chest pressed against his, your whole torso shook as a deep, rich chuckle rolled from him, crescendoing into a hearty laugh. “Is this your way of not disturbing me?” he asked.
You hummed in agreement as you felt the weight of his surrendered arms finally secure around you — one hand splayed across your back, the other cupping the base of your skull — completing your cocoon.
He chuckled once more, low and amused, before tugging gently at the lobe of your ear. “I could just get you a blanket, you know. Something designed for this exact purpose.”
You tipped your head back enough to meet his eyes, stubborn fire in yours. “No blanket. Just this.”
"As you wish, kitten." Sylus let out a resigned sigh, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before letting his cheek rest against yours, his warmth and steady heartbeat lulling you both toward sleep.
His hood was slung over his head, revealing only a few tufts of white hair and shadowing his face while the late afternoon sun stubbornly broke through the blinds. On weekdays, he used this time to nap before you arrived home from work, but today was Saturday and his focus was locked on the screen and his thumbs flying over the controller.
His character was winning.
You narrowed your eyes at the screen, not willing to glance away as you pushed your character to catch up. “Don't look so smug."
“I'm always smug when I win,” he quipped back, eyes also glued to the screen. “You’re being too predictable.”
"Predictable," you scoffed, leaning forward and mashing the buttons with sharp precision. "Just because you know me well doesn't mean I can't still keep you on your toes."
He tilted his head, the hood slipping lower over his forehead as you closed the distance between your characters. “Is that so? Then why has your character been two steps behind mine this whole game?"
That's what pushed you over the edge. What made you spring from the comfort of your custom gaming chair, lean into his beautifully surprised face, and pounce on the dangling drawstrings of his hoodie to yank them taut.
"I'll show you predictable," you muttered. The hood was cinched shut, leaving only a nose and lips poking out of the circle of fabric as you plopped back into your chair and grabbed your controller.
He was frozen in place, to your delight, showing no evidence of predicting your move as he dropped the controller to release his hood.
"Seems I've drawn out the kitten's claws." Laughter shook his chest as he tugged at it to loosen the strings. The chant of your character's in-game victory resounded from the screen. "Are you sure you're prepared for the consequences of this declaration of war?"
Content with your win, you stood up and bent down to kiss the top of his fabric-covered head. "If the war's against you then victory is my only outcome."
With a low huff, he finally tugged the drawstrings loose, pushing the hood back into place the nape of his neck. His eyes caught yours, gleaming with promise.
Before you could react, his hands found your waist and, with one fluid movement, lifted you up and threw you over his shoulder.
“We’ll see about that," he growled through your squeals, the game screen still showcasing replays of your win to the empty room.
It was an object of curiosity for him, your knack for stealing his hoodie. Freshly laundered from his closet, off the back of a chair after he'd already worn it. At first, he thought little of it. Just one of your habits, like leaving a half finished drink on every surface of the flat, humming under your breath when you cooked.
But the more it kept happening, the more the curiosity had lodged itself in his mind. You’d worn the damn thing more than he had at this point, he was sure of it.
His phone buzzed in the pocket of his sweatpants and he swiped it open. "Sweetie."
“Hey,” you greeted. “Sorry I'm late, I’m on my way now. Shouldn't take me too long to get there."
"You don't need to apologize to me," he said warmly. "Luke and Kieran on the other hand… they might need more than that. They were excited for you to be the guest while they attempted cooking tonight."
Your laugh crackled through the speaker. "Suddenly, I'm kind of glad I got held back at work."
He’d offered to buy you one of your own on more than one occasion. The same cut, the same color, brand new and all yours, but you always refused and he wasn’t sure why. You’d matched clothing with him before, wearing similar cuts or styles and didn't seem to mind. In fact, you were the one who'd encouraged it and the more he'd thought about it, the more he'd liked the idea of you wearing the same garment he wore.
So he didn’t understand. Not until this moment, when he’d picked it up from the bathroom counter—left behind after you’d slept in it the night before—and pulled it over his head to wear before you arrived.
Because as the fabric fell into place, the scent of you ensconced him. Your shampoo, your skin, your sweat. And beneath both, subtle but unmistakable, the added scent of him. Both of your fragrances swirling around him into something familiar and unique and special. The lingering ghost of you pressed against him as surely as if you were still there, crammed into the torso of the garment with him.
"You guys want me to bring anything?" you asked.
"No need," he reassured, taking his phone from the counter. "Once you arrive, we’ll have everything we need here.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he found the website on his phone with one swipe. And with one more, he cancelled the order for the hoodie he'd ordered for you.
This one was the only one he wanted you to wear from now on.
post after post flashes on your laptop, the screen’s light painting your frowning face in multicolored hues.
their technique? stronger than yours. their concepts? more creative. even their aesthetic is nauseatingly perfect.
your cheeks burn.
scorn. envy. embarrassment.
“why don’t you take a break?” zayne offers, face drawn in gentle concern.
you look at him. and then you burst out in laughter, the sound shrill and bordering on hysteric. “i don’t need a break,” you say as if it’s obvious. “i just need to get better.”
he hums contemplatively, taking in your hunched figure on the armchair you haven’t left in hours. “is ‘better’ something you can get?”
you’re already wound up—anxious and ready to strike. so his words hit like a drop of blood in the ocean.
“what?” you snap defensively. “you don’t think i can? you don’t think i’m good enough to?”
his eyes narrow. “i never said that. don’t put words in my mouth.”
the taut coil of your anger loosens at his sternness. chewing your lip, you look to the side and lower your laptop screen. “sorry.”
nodding his acceptance, he crosses one leg over the other. “you’ve been staring at your computer all evening. i’d be concerned about your eyes, but i’m more worried they’ll burn a hole through the screen before the night is over. what’s wrong?”
a heavy sigh deflates the rest of your body, and for the first time in what seems like forever, you set your laptop on the coffee table. battling the numbness in your folded legs, you pull your knees to your chest, shoving your chin between them with a thud that makes zayne wince.
“i feel…bad,” you begin, tired eyes trained on the carpet. “it feels like everyone is more talented than me. or more successful. and it makes me feel bad.”
when you look up, kind hazel eyes greet you, as if he expects you to keep going. but when all you do is fidget with your fingers, he knows you’ll need a bit of help.
“i feel bad sometimes, too. what happens when you feel bad?”
“i get stuck,” you mumble, cheeks squished between your kneecaps.
“stuck?”
“i can’t do anything when it happens. i just sit there and watch and think of what i don’t do well. and how i can do it differently—better. i just get stuck.”
he thinks for a moment. “dr. greyson is better at septal myectomies than i am.”
raising your head, you scan his face for signs of teasing and find none. “thanks…but i don't know what that means.”
his lips quirk. “it’s an open-heart procedure. greyson can remove the problematic tissue fairly quickly, whereas i take more time.”
“you know that’s not anywhere near the same thing,” you grumble, plopping your chin back down with a huff.
“but how is it different?”
you don’t answer.
zayne sighs. “come here,” he instructs simply.
sliding your gaze over to him, you see the expectant look on his face. with a sigh of your own, you untangle your limbs and pad over to his seat, where he pulls you into his lap.
“how is it different?” he repeats, splaying a soothing hand on your back.
you pluck at his shirt. “your whole job is being talented and successful. you’re a heart surgeon!”
“and even heart surgeons have weaknesses. everyone does. but if they strive to be someone else, they lose what makes them unique,” he murmurs, cupping your tender cheeks in his hands. “it’s alright to want to improve. i admire you for it. but if you spend your time wondering how to get better, i’ll be a very lonely man. do you want to know why?”
“why?” you whisper.
“because i’ll be here to celebrate your strengths, even when you can’t see them.”
omg hi!! i saw that your requests are open could i request a scenario with xavier using your safe word and ita super fluffy with hurt/comfort. thank you!!
yesssss ofc!!! thank u for ur request bby and sorry for the delay! ⤵︎
your days seemed to never end—each one annoyingly presenting you with something new, whether it be welcomed or unwanted. unfortunately, most of it happened to be the latter.
apart from school and its bottomless pit of pressure to maintain good grades, assignments, and more, your social life also seemed to be deteriorating, with people who you thought of as friends acting differently out of nowhere.
you were drained, and the only other person who was and has been there for you was your boyfriend, xavier.
you were so thankful for him. he was the only one who understood you, who stood by your side, who tried his hardest to make you feel better whenever possible.
but on one good day in a sea of bad ones, you had gained one lone spark back.
up until this point, you, understandably, had no energy to partake in sexual activities with your boyfriend. but all it took was hearing some good news that activated the drive that you thought would never return.
when you came home, xavier was surprised to see you push him down on the couch and take what was yours.
what were, at first, moans and hard, pleasure-chasing grinds of your hips—turned into nothing. it was as if your excitement had completely dissipated.
more specifically, it felt like you were coming down from a high. actually, it felt like you were crashing down to the ground in a harsh descent from hope and happiness.
you don't know what happened, truly. it felt so good to finally be intimate again, and then just like that, it was gone.
it was only after he had propped you on your knees, with your face against the cushion, ruthlessly pounding into you from the back and caging you in, that you experienced the fall.
it all just hit you so fast. the lewd noises coming from the two of you blurred together just as your eyesight did the same thing. your heavy breathing steadily transformed into hyperventilation—and before you knew it, your safe word had slipped out.
his movements immediately stilled, and he felt his heart drop into his stomach.
quickly slipping out of you, he sat up and turned you around—his eyes softening at the tears streaming down your face as he brought you into his arms.
he had your face pressed against his hot chest with a palm spread against the side of your head, the other arm wrapped around your shaking body.
"'m sorry, baby," he repeatedly murmured into the top of your head, placing soft pecks on your hair in an effort to soothe you.
and that's all that was said for a while as he softly caressed your hair, waiting for your breathing to calm down.
xavier had known everything that you were going through, so he understood exactly what might've been behind your sudden breakdown. but also, you hadn't come to him with anything that was distressing you in a while, so he had assumed everything was going well.
"can i have water?" you muttered, voice unsteady after being silent for a while.
he nodded his head, humming. "yeah. i'll also run you a bath, okay?"
the warm water slowly engulfed your body, steadily soothing your nerves as you laid back and shut your eyes.
xavier sat on a stool right beside you, clothed and delicately washing your body. he really hated seeing you cry—hated to see you hurt in general. he couldn't risk you breaking again, so he kept his motions small and gentle.
xavier wasn't the type to barge, which you were extremely thankful for. he simply let you sit in silence for as long as you wanted, until you were ready to talk to him.
"i didn't hurt you, right?" he questioned somberly after a while, his eyes focused on where he was softly rubbing the washcloth against your skin.
you looked at him, letting out a soft, breathy chuckle. "you're the only person not hurting me right now."
meeting your gaze, the ends of his lips slightly tugged upwards. his hands were so, so gentle on your body.
"are you ready to talk?"
bobbing your head slowly, you let everything that has been troubling you tumble out like ginormous boulders rushing down a mountain.
and he just sat there, listening and holding on to every word. he didn't interject, didn't impose—just looked into your eyes with a warmth that single-handedly eased your nervous system.
and every time you came close to crying again, he just held your hand in a silent reassurance that made your heart melt.
"i would do anything to take away your pain," he whispered, hand moving to cradle the side of your face, "why didn't you tell me sooner?"
avoiding his gaze, you lowered your head in shame. "i thought it wasn't a big deal...i didn't want to bother you."
you felt his hand drop slowly from your face as his deep-blue eyes narrowed in hurt at your view of him. "why would you ever think that?"
you stayed silent, reluctantly meeting his eyes. he looked so betrayed, and that just tore you apart. you felt terrible.
"please tell me everything," he pleaded, voice growing quiet as he lowered his head. "it hurts me to see you cry... especially when i'm supposed to be making you feel good."
water welled up in your eyes as you took his hands up to your lips, pressing a kiss on them gingerly. "i'm so sorry, xav," you sniffled, a tear running down your face, "i promise i'll tell you everything from now on."
you felt sick to your stomach finding out that you were causing him just as much pain as you were in yourself.
"it's okay," he murmured, thumb coming up to rub away the stray tears on your face. "as long as you're okay."
"i love you, xavier."
smiling, his other hand came up so that both hands were cradling your face. "i love you too. that will never change, no matter what happens, okay?"
hey🥰!! Humbly requesting (if possible) what the Lads guys do when you kiss them and then run away ig? to tease them.
And happy December 1st✨️🤍
When you kiss him and run away
𝜗℘ feat. rafayel, xavier, zayne, sylus, caleb.
A/N: Happy December everyone!! I know I’m late but exams are chewing me alive ( ◜‿◝ )♡
— 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋
The kiss is quick, a soft brush of warmth against his lips and you’re gone before his breath even leaves him.
Rafayel freezes.
You watch his face change in seconds: surprise, wounded pride, disbelief… and finally, a quiet ache he tries to hide.
Slowly, he stands from his seat, fingers still stained with color from whatever painting he abandoned the moment you touched him.
You hear a dramatic sigh echo across the room.
“Oh,” he says, voice wounded enough to be framed in a museum. “So this is your new hobby? Kissing me and fleeing before the colors settle?”
He walks toward you not with the speed of someone chasing, but with the deliberate elegance of someone approaching a canvas that offended him personally.
“Cutie,” he calls, the word slicing through the silence, “you’ve left me with more questions than brushstrokes.”
You’re cornered by the time he reaches you, not trapped, just enveloped in his presence, in the intensity that follows him like spilled ink.
Rafayel leans in, fingers lifting your chin, eyes simmering with something softer than his pride wants to admit.
“You kiss me like that,” he whispers, “and then run?” A breath, warm and trembling. “That’s cruel, cutie.”
He presses his forehead to yours. You can feel his small smile, pained, fond.
“Next time… don’t run from what you started. Stay, and let me do the rest.”
He hooks a finger under your chin and pulls you in with theatrical precision, kissing you with dramatic, intoxicating depth. His arm slips around your waist, holding you close like you’re the center of his world. When he finally breaks the kiss, his lips brush yours as he murmurs, “Kiss me like that again… and don’t you dare run.”
— 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑
Your kiss lands against his cheek soft, fleeting and then you disappear like a startled spark.
Xavier blinks. Once.
His lips curl into a small, warm smile you almost never see the kind that settles into your bones.
He doesn’t chase you.
He simply stands, brushing off imaginary dust from his sleeve, and starts walking toward where you fled. Each step is measured, quiet, and unhurried. He looks like someone following the wind, not a person.
You hide behind a column, your heartbeat loud enough to echo.
He stops a respectful distance away.
“…Are you hiding?” he asks softly.
Not teasing, not mocking, genuinely gentle. His voice is dusk settling over the world.
“You don’t need to.”
You slowly peek from behind the column and meet his eyes steady, reliable, and warm. He doesn’t move. He lets you come to him.
And you do.
He lifts a hand, brushing a knuckle along your cheek with barely-there pressure.
“You startled yourself more than me,” he murmurs.
There’s something in his gaze, a quiet understanding that makes your chest warm.
“If you need me,” he says gently, “I’ll always come at your pace.”
He cups your face with both hands, drawing you in with a soft, trembling breath. His kiss starts gentle, almost shy, then slowly deepens with warmth, he’s too quiet to speak aloud. When he finally pulls back, cheeks flushed, he whispers, “Even if you run… I’ll always find you.”
— 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄
Your lips touch his for the shortest moment barely a kiss and then you vanish.
Zayne doesn’t tense, doesn’t jump, doesn’t even blink too fast.
He just straightens his posture, exhales, and mutters something that might be a quiet laugh.
Then he starts walking.
Not chasing. Following. His steps are steady, calm, almost silent the way he moves during missions, controlled and grounded.
You turn a corner, thinking you’ve gained distance.
You haven’t.
He’s already waiting there.
One shoulder leaned casually against the wall, arms folded, gaze steady like he predicted your escape route from the moment you sprinted.
“You ran fast,” he admits softly, “but not far.”
He steps toward you calm, composed, unhurried every movement precise and purposeful.
“You don’t have to run from me.” His hand rises, fingers brushing your jaw gently. “Or run to get my attention.”
Zayne tilts your chin just enough to meet his eyes.
“If you want a kiss… ask. I’ll always answer.”
He steps closer, his hand lifting to your jaw with that steady calm only he carries. He leans in without hurry, kissing you slow and deep, the kind of kiss that feels like warmth settling into your bones. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours as he breathes, “If you want me… you never have to run.”
— 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒
You kiss him quick, bold, mischievous and dart away.
Sylus freezes for half a second. Then a grin unfurls across his face, sharp and beautiful.
“Oh?” he hums, voice curling low. “You’re really going to try that on me?”
He doesn’t run, and doesn't even walk fast.
He simply appears wherever you aren’t expecting him.
You duck around a corner he’s already there, leaning against the wall, smirk shimmering.
You hide behind a door, his shadow slides across the floor a moment later.
You sprint down the hall he keeps pace effortlessly, voice lilting behind you:
“You’re predictable, sweetheart. I can read your steps like code.”
You whirl around, breathless and he’s practically nose-to-nose with you.
“How cute,” he murmurs, brushing a hair strand behind your ear. “You thought running would get rid of me?”
He cages you in with one arm above your head, smirk deepening.
“Next time you kiss me… don’t run. I want to kiss you back properly.”
He catches your waist and tugs you flush against him, lips brushing yours in a teasing whisper before he actually kisses you. The kiss is playful at first, then deepens with heat and a smile he tries to hide. He pulls back just enough to murmur, “Next time, sweetheart… I’ll be the one you chase.”
— 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁
Your kiss is gentle, affectionate, warm and then you bolt.
Caleb stops existing for a moment.
His hands go slack. His breath catches. His ears flush crimson.
Then something in his eyes sharpens soft possessiveness igniting like a spark catching dry leaves.
“Hey–! You can’t just run away!”
He chases you with his whole heart.
He nearly trips over his own feet catching up to you, breath uneven, eyes wide and shining with emotion he can’t quite hide.
When he grabs your wrist, his hold is gentle but unyielding like he’s terrified you’ll slip away if he lets go.
“You surprised me,” he says, voice trembling. Then, quieter, rawer: “I didn’t like when you ran.”
He steps closer, forehead nearly touching yours. His voice drops to a whisper, thick with something vulnerable and fiercely devoted.
“If you kiss me don’t run. Stay. I want you close.”
He pulls you in by the hips with a firm, possessive grip, kissing you hard enough to steal every breath you have left. His fingers slide into your hair, holding you there like he has no plans of letting go. When he finally breaks the kiss, voice low and rough, he murmurs, “Run again… and I’m carrying you back.”
i believe he only farts loudly around you lmao. he is probably reading his book, or the reports on his tablet. while you'd be minding your own business peacefully near him.
you just so happened to glance at him when stretching your neck to see him smirking to himself. his crossed leg bouncing slightly as if anticipating something. and then comfortable silence between you two are shortly destroyed when loud BRRRP pierces the living room.
"sylus!"
"sweetie! what a loud thunder that was!"
another highlight of his farting habit, he's probably the type to fart before bed too. you'll be lying in bed, ready to drift off when suddenly it sounds like a motorcycle backfiring under the blanket.
you swear the bed fucking vibrates.
"for fuck's sake, sylus!"
rafayel
i think he farts quiet. usually when you are cuddling and then there's this tiny puff of air radiates off him.
but he'll never admit that he farts.
rafayel doesn't speak, he is still holding you closely like nothing happened. and you can't say anything if he's not saying anything.
"..i know you farted."
"cutie, i don't know what you're talking about. you know i don't fart." he quickly ends your accusation, tucking your tilted head back into his chest.
zayne
he farts quiet too, mostly on accident when he can't predict his gassy stomach. but he always acknowledges it. sometimes you don't even hear it but zayne is already apologizing.
he will freeze after he realises he just farted out loud before looking at you to see if you notice it. you probably don't but he's grimacing to himself.
"i'm sorry, my love."
"what? why?"
"i believe i just let out a fart and i apologize for disrupting your peace."
he frowns, his expression is sheepish as he waits for you to react. the sight is so adorable you can't help but bark out a laugh.
"it's okay, zayne. it means you have a healthy gut after all."
he sighs, still embarrassed but agrees with you nonetheless to help himself feel better.
caleb
farting around you is normal for him. he's loud and proud with it. the first one might be by accident. but caleb senses the next impending farts and readies the both of you.
he makes you listen to him as he farts loudly. "that's the one."
and caleb makes sure to rate each fart he lets out too. "that one's like a solid 8, pips."
"caleb, how do you even rate those? they sound so loud all the same."
"you don't get it. every one of them is unique!"
right, his favorite is when he's plopping down on the couch beside you and a loud gassy noise erupts from his ass unexpectedly. he sighs in relief and satisfaction. "i fart the best around you, i swear."
xavier
he farts quiet as well. soft pfft when you're cuddling or in bed. xavier tenses when the two of you make eye contact after he farts.
he's easily flustered too, the tip of his ears reddening when your lips curl upwards.
"xavier, it's fine!"
"i'm so sorry." he splutters at the same time while your body is shaking from laughter.
"ugh." his face seeks your shoulder to bury in as he groans in embarrassment.
"i think it's cute, xav."
"how can farting be cute?"
"you don't think my fart is cute then all this time?"
"your fart is different from mine. you and your fart can do no wrong. everything about you and your fart are lovely and cute, starlight." he huffs weakly as he listens to you laughing harder now.
it’s 12:06 when the jingle of keys tells you he’s home.
rubbing sleep from your eyes, you straighten your nightclothes and switch on the floor lamp, lighting his path through the midnight shadows.
zayne enters the room just as you settle on the edge of the bed. his usual greeting, tired but warm, never comes.
he needs prompts, sometimes. conversation starters. so you give him one. “long day?”
no response.
“did something happen?” you try again. “i missed you today.”
still, he doesn’t answer. but he does turn around.
and zayne stands before you, looking at you—at your lap—with skittish uncertainty.
“i’m sorry for waking you,” he rasps quietly, eyes flitting from your face to your lap before settling on the floor.
“i’m glad you did. i said i missed you,” you reply, letting a fond smile grace your lips.
you don’t repeat the question—you don’t need to.
because when your eyes meet again and you beckon him forward, zayne sinks to his knees before you and, with a shuddering sigh, lays his head across your lap.
fighting your instincts, you resist the urge to coo at him. he’s fragile, right now. vulnerable. and if your care comes off as condescension, he’ll deem those things unsafe.
wordlessly, you pull him to your chest, running a careful hand through his thick onyx hair. and with the way he stays, it’s clear that silence was the right move.
moments pass, but zayne doesn’t calm; his breaths quicken, his body trembles. and when a low whimper leaves him, he abruptly retreats from your warmth, blinking profusely to no avail.
catching his reddened face in gentle hands, you stare into his teary eyes, swimming in sparkling pools of hazel. when your thumbs brush his cheeks, as tender as the smile on your face, those pools overflow.
as the first tears fall, you return him to your chest, stroking his hair between soft kisses. he’s quiet like this—how else would he be?—but his faint, muffled sobs pierce your heart like the loudest wail.
you don’t keep track of how long you hold him. for as long as he needs, you just do, letting the drops seep through your shirt and into your skin.
but as his tears dry and breaths even, zayne still won’t relax. he grows more tense, more rigid, and you can feel the heat of his apprehension—feel his unease over breaking down on you like this.
so you talk to him. tell him about your day, your mood, your plans for tomorrow—rerouting his mind until his shoulders slump from fatigue.
he’ll tell you when he’s ready. and until then, you’ll wait.
lulled by the comfort of your voice, zayne nuzzles further into your chest, where the soft vibrations mix with the steady pulse of your heartbeat.
CONTENT WARNINGS: gender neutral reader for all but use of petnames like 'darling', 'cutie', etc., crack, profanity, xavier threatens to kill someone for you (what's new??), zayne is exasperated (lovingly), suggestive in rafayel's (he's also fulfilling the chronically fucking online agenda), sylus is never beating the boomer allegations, nsfw & possessiveness in caleb's part (do not ragebait this man under any circumstance)
NOTE: i had too much fun with this one bye LMFAOO that's why they're a little long! enjoy lovelies muah
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@kamieow 2025. reblogs are greatly appreciated! <3
ᯓ★ things sunarin posted on his snap story for you.
⋆ credit for this idea/inspired by @/seumyo’s kenma version ⋆ ⋆ (tik tok template created by @/seumyo) ⋆ ⋆ all pics found on pintrest, i own none of them ⋆
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