Xeno Houston Wingfield x Reader
Note: You are an idiot, and you decide to flirt with the evil, super smart, and attractive scientist who is about ten years older than you. There is absolutely no way this works. Unless�
CW: age gap (you're 20 here, he's 30), secondhand embarrassment, flirting like an idiot, female reader-insert, reader is implied not to be American and to have an accent.
The worst part was that you had not planned to flirt.
At least, not this badly.
You had imagined yourself being normal about it. You had imagined walking into the lab, asking one or two reasonable questions, maybe making him look at you for longer than three seconds, and then leaving with your dignity mostly intact. It had seemed possible when you were outside, when the air was cooler and Xeno Houston Wingfield was still only a terrifying concept in your mind instead of a real man standing several feet away from you with his sleeves rolled back and his voice low enough to make every word sound deliberate.
He was bent over the worktable when you entered, one hand resting beside a spread of notes and measurements while the other adjusted the position of a glass container with calm, exacting care. Sunlight came through the uneven gaps in the workshop wall and caught along the side of his face, tracing the sharp line of his cheek and the faint movement of his mouth as he murmured something to himself. Everything about him looked composed. Elegant, even here, surrounded by crude tools and stone-world materials, as if the entire world had fallen apart and he had simply decided that was no excuse to look anything less than refined.
You should have turned around.
You did not turn around.
Instead, you walked in like an idiot.
Xeno lifted his eyes before you said anything. He did not startle. He did not seem surprised to see you even. His gaze only moved from the paper in front of him to your face, slow and precise, and somehow that tiny motion made your heartbeat stumble like it had missed a step.
"Did you need something?" he asked.
There was nothing suggestive in his tone. It was polite, controlled, and faintly distant, the way he spoke when he was giving someone the chance to prove whether or not they were wasting his time. That should have helped. It should have reminded you that he was dangerous, older, smarter than nearly everyone in the room on any given day, and absolutely not the sort of man anyone should attempt to charm without a plan.
Unfortunately, the only thing your brain registered was that his voice sounded even better when he was speaking directly to you.
"I was just wondering," you said, and immediately regretted opening with that because it sounded suspicious. You forced yourself to continue before he could ask what exactly you were wondering about. "Where are you from?"
Xeno's hand paused on the edge of the table. Not much, only enough to show that the question had not been the one he expected. His eyes remained on you for a moment, unreadable, and then the corner of his mouth lifted with the faintest sign of amusement.
"The United States, naturally," he said, with the mild surprise of a man who had assumed that much was obvious.
And it was. You knew this already...
You nodded too quickly. "Okay."
That was it. That was all you had. Your body had brought you here, your mouth had started the conversation, and now your brain had abandoned you in front of an attractive older scientist with evil posture and vocabulary too elegant for survival conditions. You could feel yourself standing there with the expression of someone trying to act casual while her insides were actively catching fire.
Xeno watched you for another second. "And you?"
For some reason, that simple question was the one that destroyed you. It was easy. Embarrassingly easy. There were hundreds of truthful things you could have said, and several vague things that would have worked if your survival instincts had been functioning. You could have told him your actual country. You could have said it was complicated. You could have said anywhere, anywhere at all, and let the conversation continue like a normal person.
Instead, because you wanted something in common with him and because his eyes were still on you, you smiled with the doomed confidence of a woman already halfway off a cliff.
"The United States."
Xeno's eyebrow rose.
It was a tiny movement, barely more than a shift in expression, but on his face it felt devastating. He did not even have to say anything. He only looked at you, and in the space between one breath and the next, you realized exactly what you had done.
Oh my god. MY ACCENT.
Your smile stayed frozen in place.
Oh my fucking god, I have an accent. I do not sound American. I have never sounded American in my life. Why did I say that? Why did I say that to him? He is literally FROM THERE HE KNOWS what Americans sound like. I need to kill myself.
"Is that so?" Xeno asked.
His voice was mild. That made it worse. If he had sounded confused, you might have recovered. If he had sounded mocking, you might have become defensive. But he sounded interested, and that was somehow the most dangerous option.
"Yes, i-it is so, yeah," you said, because apparently you had decided to die committed to the bit.
Xeno leaned back slightly from the table. The movement was unhurried, almost indulgent, and his eyes did not leave your face. "How unexpected."
You nodded again. It was becoming your only strategy. "Yeah..."
"Which part?"
There it was. The question you should have anticipated from the very beginning. You could hear the answer approaching you like an executioner, and still, somehow, your mouth moved before shame could stop it.
"I um, what part are you from?"
A faint smile touched his mouth.
You knew, immediately, that he knew. He did not expose you. He did not say that you had avoided the question. He only let the silence stretch for one second too long, just long enough for heat to climb from your neck to your cheeks.
"Houston," he said at last. "Texas."
Houston.
Of course it was Houston. His name was literally Xeno Houston Wingfield. You knew that. Everyone knew that. The information had already been in your head, but somehow hearing him say it in that smooth voice made it feel like a gift from fate. The kind of gift a person with no self-preservation would take and immediately swallow whole.
Your eyes widened with bright, doomed enthusiasm.
"Really? Wait that's soo crazy," you said. "Me too."
Xeno went still.
You knew you had made a mistake before his eyebrow even moved this time. You felt it in the air, in the sudden quiet around the worktable, in the very refined way he looked at you as if you had just presented him with a fascinating but poorly constructed hypothesis.
"Houston," he repeated.
The word sounded different in his mouth. He was fully aware of your crimes.
You nodded. "Yeah."
"Truly..."
"Yes," you added, nodding with painful confidence. "Yeah, raised and born."
The sentence came out so smoothly that for half a second, you almost believed you had saved yourself.
Then your own words reached your ears.
Raised and born.
Your fingers tightened around your sleeve. The phrase was wrong. You knew it was wrong. Everyone alive and their mom knew it was wrong, probably including people who had never spoken English before. You had taken one of the easiest expressions in the world and flipped it around directly in front of a man whose entire existence made you feel academically underqualified.
Xeno did not correct you.
His eyebrow stayed where it was, and the corner of his mouth moved just enough to show that he had heard every single syllable. He looked like he was being very polite about not smiling, which somehow made you want to sink through the floor more than if he had laughed in your face. His eyes remained on yours with that unbearable calm, patient enough to let you continue and cruel enough not to rescue you.
"Is that so?" he asked.
"Yes."
His expression remained calm, but there was something terrible and amused in his eyes now. You could not look away from it. You also could not stop talking, which was becoming a very serious problem.
"We probably lived close," you added. "Maybe. Like, not close close, obviously, because Houston is big. I know that. Obviously. But maybe we were, I don't know, in the same area and never met. Like, I guess neighbors, or distant neighbors. But obviously we never met..."
Xeno's mouth curved another fraction.
"Mm. An elegant tragedy," he said.
Your heart tripped over itself. The words were probably meant to make fun of you. They were absolutely meant to make fun of you. But he said them so beautifully that for one stupid second, your brain treated them like flirtation and rewarded you with a dizzy little spark of hope.
You were doing good! Nothing's not going according to plan, but you're still talking with him, and he hasn't brushed you off yet, so clearly you're doing something right.
Then a voice spoke from behind you.
"You're not from Houston."
Your entire body locked.
You turned slowly, already cold with horror, and found Senku sitting near the other workbench with one knee drawn up, a tool hanging loosely from his hand. You had not known he was there. Somehow, that made it feel like he had materialized out of the air for the sole purpose of ruining your life.
He looked at you with no visible amusement.
"You're not even American," he added. His blank eyes flicked once toward Xeno, then back to you. "And he's about ten years older than you. You know that, right? You should know that."
The silence after that was so complete that you heard something small shift on the table behind you.
Your face burned.
"Senku!" You whisper-yelled, horrified.
"What?" he replied. His voice stayed calm, almost bored. "That's what's happening."
Xeno made a quiet sound behind you. Not quite a laugh. That would have been too merciful. It was only the smallest breath of amusement, soft enough that no one else might have noticed it, but you noticed it because you were currently experiencing the worst moment of your life and he was enjoying it.
You spun back toward Xeno too quickly.
"No, oh my god, no that's not what this is," you said, the words rushing out before you could arrange them into anything dignified. "I was just asking where you are. I mean, from. That's normal. People ask that. And Senku, he doesn't even know me like that, so I don't know why he's acting like he knows my entire life story. Pfffft, 10 years older? Why would he even say that, when we're like, we're just talking. But like, I am an adult, side note. Of course, it doesn't even matter, since we're just talking."
Senku stared at the back of your head. You could feel it.
Xeno's eyes narrowed slightly with interest. "He does not know you?"
"Not like that," you said immediately, which did not mean anything and helped nothing. "We just really recently met. He doesn't know where I've been. He doesn't know my background. He doesn't know if I've been to Houston."
Senku spoke again from behind you, still brutally calm.
"You asked what state Texas was in."
Your mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Xeno's smile appeared slowly, and that was somehow worse than if he had laughed outright. It was refined, almost courteous, but there was no hiding the enjoyment in it now. He looked delighted in the quietest, most devastating way possible.
You turned toward Senku with betrayal rising hot in your chest.
"That was private," you hissed.
"You asked in front of six people."
"I was testing you."
"No, you weren't."
"For science," you said, because Xeno was watching and you were trying very hard to sound like the kind of person who belonged in a room with him.
Senku blinked once.
Behind you, Xeno repeated, softly, "For science."
The way he said it made your knees feel unstable. He did not sound convinced. He sounded entertained.
You nodded with painful seriousness. "Yeah..."
Then he leaned one hand against the table and tilted his head.
For a second, you thought he was about to say something that would finish you off completely. He had that look on his face, the calm, interested one that made you feel like he had opened your skull, glanced inside, and found your thoughts embarrassingly simple.
You looked down at the edge of the worktable because looking at him directly was becoming impossible.
"...I panicked," you admitted under your breath.
Xeno was quiet for long enough that you almost regretted saying it. Then his voice softened, still amused, but not sharp.
"Mm. So I gathered."
Your eyes flicked up before you could stop yourself.
He was still watching you, and the worst part was that he did not look offended. He did not even look bored. His smile was small, elegant, and terrible, like the entire thing had entertained him far more than it should have.
"You wished to have something in common with me," he said.
Your face went hot all over again. "No."
"No?"
He tilted his head a little more, and somehow that made the single word worse.
"No," you said too quickly. "I was doing science."
Behind you, Senku muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Jesus Christ."
You shut your eyes for half a second. "Senku..."
"No, that's it," Senku said, and you heard him set something down behind you. "We're done. Time out."
"What? No." You turned toward him in alarm as he stood from the workbench and came toward you with the exhausted determination of someone removing a dangerous object from a room. "Wait, please, I'm not done."
"Yeah, that's the problem."
"Senku, stop. I'm having a really important conversation with Dr. Xeno!"
He caught your wrist and started pulling you away before you could find a way to recover even one piece of dignity. You stumbled after him, looking back at Xeno in a panic, because somehow leaving now felt worse than staying and embarrassing yourself further.
Xeno had not moved. He only watched the two of you with his hand still resting on the table, his mouth curved like he was trying not to enjoy this quite so openly.
"I'm not actually from Houston," you said quickly, because apparently this was the important thing your brain wanted to clarify while you were being dragged out.
Senku stopped dead and turned his head toward you. "No kidding."
"I know you know that!"
"Then why are you still explaining it?"
"Because he was there."
Xeno's smile deepened.
Senku stared back at him for one long second, and his expression shifted into something almost offended, like he could not believe Xeno had watched this entire circus and somehow come out of it looking pleased.
"Don't encourage her," Senku said. "Don't even start."
"I have done very little," Xeno replied.
You tried to pull your wrist back, but Senku did not let go. "He's not encouraging me. He's being polite."
"He is not being polite. He's enjoying this."
Xeno gave a quiet hum, neither confirming nor denying it.
You looked at him again, mortified and hopeful in the same breath, and that was when his gaze settled back on you. His amusement was still there, but softer now, almost thoughtful.
"For the record," he said, "you did not need Houston."
Your breath caught.
Senku's face changed first. He looked from Xeno to you, then back to Xeno, with the faint disgust of someone realizing that the worst possible outcome had happened. The stupid plan had worked. Badly, embarrassingly, with no skill whatsoever, but somehow, against all logic, it had worked.
Xeno's smile returned, faint and elegant. "Your accent was already charming."
For a moment, you could only stare at him.
"I..." Your voice came out too small, so you tried again. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Xeno said.
Senku made a sound under his breath and dragged you the rest of the way toward the door before you could say anything else.
You nearly tripped over your own feet trying to look back at Xeno one more time. He had already lowered his eyes to his notes again, but he was not as composed as before. The corner of his mouth was still lifted, faint and private, like he was smiling to himself.
That almost killed you worse than the compliment.
"What the hell was that?"
Senku did not let go of your wrist until the two of you were far enough from the workshop that Xeno could no longer hear you. The second his fingers loosened, you ripped your hand back and turned on him with your whole face hot.
Senku stared at you. "What the hell was that?"
"I literally had him in the bag!"
His expression went blank in a way that made you angrier. "You can't be serious."
"I am so serious." You pointed back toward the workshop, nearly stumbling over your own feet because you were too worked up to stand still. "You should have seen his face."
"I did see his face. That's why I dragged you out."
"No, you don't get it. He was smiling. AT ME. Or, because of me. Same thing."
Senku looked at you for a long second, then his face twisted with open disgust. "You're both weird as hell."
You gasped. "You're just jealous."
"Of what? Watching you pretend to be from Houston?"
"Of my charm."
"You asked what state Texas was in."
"That was one time. Stop dragging it!!"
"That was yesterday."
You crossed your arms, still breathing too fast, still trying not to think about Xeno's voice when he had said your accent was charming. The memory hit anyway, soft and elegant and unfairly warm, and your mouth moved before your shame could stop it.
"So what if he's older?" you muttered. "I'm an adult too. It's not even that deep."
Senku's eyes narrowed. "I didn't even say that yet."
You froze.
His stare sharpened with immediate horror. "Oh my god."
"Stop."
"You were thinking about it."
"Stop talking."
"He is ten years older than you."
"So?" you snapped, then immediately lowered your voice because it came out too defensive. "I mean, not so. I mean, whatever. His voice is just really hot. Of course I panicked..."
Senku looked like he wanted to leave his own body.
"Yeah, you're done," he said, turning away. "Thank god I got you out of there before you said something even stupider."
"Senku."
"Stupid ass."
"Stop, you don't even get it..."
"I get it," he said, not looking back. "That's the problem."
You followed him anyway, still flushed, still annoyed, and still longingly glancing back over your shoulder at the workshop.
"His pomidor is so pretty."
"It's called a pompadour, idiot."
