hi!! can you write something with all the Lis with a reader who struggles with facial hair a lot? 😓 could be pcos or just genetics its up to you! thank you in advance and obviously feel free to ignore this if its not your vibe <3
Thank you for the request! I had some stuff going on in my life last week so it took me a while to get to it, but here we go! I should have a lot more time to write now!
I hope you enjoy it!
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Xavier:
You stared in the mirror, letting out a frustrated groan as you brandished a razor. It felt like a never-ending battle against your facial hair. You wanted to not care. But you couldn’t. Between fashion magazines and your friends' flawless skin, you felt out of place.
You raised the razor and started shaving, but the blade was dull. Nick after nick drew blood, your face turning into a scene straight out of a horror movie. Just as you went to clean up, there was a knock at the door.
“Fuck!” you yelled. Xavier was picking you up for a date, the reason you’d even started shaving. “I’ll be right there!” you called, hoping he could hear you.
“Are you okay?” His voice floated through the door.
“I’m fine! Just a minute.” You hurriedly tried to blot the blood from your cuts, tears pricking your eyes.
Concerned, Xavier let himself in, and you heard his footsteps approaching. You tried to close the bathroom door, but he was too fast. You hid your face in your hands.
“Starlight, what happened? Are you okay?” His panic was obvious as he spotted the blood. “Are you hurt? Show me.”
Slowly, you lowered your hands, revealing a mess of tears, dried blood, and shaving cream. “I just wanted to look nice for tonight… and I messed it up,” you whispered, voice tight with frustration.
Xavier grabbed a washcloth, dampened it with warm water, and gently wiped your face clean. His touch was hesitant and careful.
“My star,” he said, holding your chin to meet your eyes. “You are the most beautiful person to ever exist. You don’t need to change anything. You’re perfect just the way you are, and that will never change.”
Looking into his eyes, feeling the warmth there, you smiled. “Thank you,” you whispered. “I don’t think you know how much I needed that.”
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Zayne:
For as long as you could remember, it felt like your body had chosen every possible moment to betray you. When puberty hit, your period was inconsistent at best, and when it did come, it was heavier than you thought should be possible. It took years to find a diet and exercise plan that let you maintain your weight. And then there was the hair, more than any other girl in your class, not just on your head, but everywhere.
At first, you thought your body genuinely hated you. It took several doctors to pinpoint the issue, and by the end of high school, you finally had a formal diagnosis: Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. Something you’d heard of in passing, but weren’t ready to deal with full time.
Now, years later, Zayne was over, and you were venting, again. “I just… I can manage the periods, I can manage the weight,” you said, tugging at a loose strand on your chin. “But the hair, Zayne. Everywhere. And every doctor I’ve seen just wants to talk about diet and birth control. I’m so tired.”
He listened quietly, pulling up a chair. “I know it’s frustrating,” he said softly. “Medically, we can manage androgen levels with things like combined oral contraceptives, spironolactone for excess hair, or sometimes metformin if insulin resistance is an issue. But none of that changes how exhausting it feels.”
You groaned, leaning back. “I don’t care about all that right now. I just want it gone. Or to not care. I just…” Your voice trailed off, heavy with defeat.
Zayne reached out, grabbing your hands gently, massaging them with his thumbs. “Hey,” he said gently. “Stop. Look at me. You are a goddess. Every inch of you. PCOS doesn’t define you. None of this changes how incredible you are, or how lucky I am to have you in my life.”
You blinked, a flush creeping slowly up your neck. “A… goddess?”
“Exactly,” he said, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “Hair, periods, everything else, it doesn’t touch your magic. You are beautiful, strong, perfect. And right now, that’s all that matters to me.”
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Rafayel:
"Does it ever bother you that you're prettier than me?" The words flew from your mouth before you could even fully register them. Rafayel stopped dead in his tracks, and the quiet of the art museum felt deafening.
"Cutie?" He asked, turning to face you. "What are you talking about? I know I'm gorgeous, but that takes nothing away from your beauty." Although teasing, you heard the sincerity in his voice.
"But you're so beautiful, your hair, your eyes, your skin. Every inch of you is flawless. And… and well, I have more facial hair than you. That isn’t beautiful," you admitted, your voice pained.
Rafayel stepped closer, taking your hand. "Hey," he said softly. "Look at me. Stop comparing yourself to me. Beauty isn’t a contest."
He guided you toward a nearby exhibit, pausing in front of a vibrant painting of Frida Kahlo. "Look at her," he said, pointing. "She’s stunning, right? Unique, bold, undeniable."
You nodded slowly. "She is… amazing. But that’s her. She can pull it off because it’s Frida Kahlo. That’s not me."
Rafayel smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Why not? Beauty comes in so many forms. Frida’s striking, yes, but you? You are the most striking version of yourself. Every mark, every strand, every curve. That’s what makes you unforgettable."
You hesitated, glancing down at your hands. "I don’t feel like it… sometimes I just feel… messy."
He cupped your face gently. "Messy isn’t you. Gorgeousness isn’t just hair and skin and eyes, it’s confidence, it’s how you hold yourself, it’s your heart. And your heart is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known. You have my heart, forever. That’s permanent. That’s unshakable. And yes, your beauty? It’s unmatched."
You swallowed, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You really mean that?”
"Every word," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "You are a masterpiece, my love. And no one else compares."
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Sylus:
You were so focused on your laptop that you didn’t notice when Sylus entered the room, barely registering the weight of him settling onto the bed beside you. You tried to close the computer quickly, but it was too late.
“Electrolysis versus laser hair removal?” he read aloud. “Sweetie, what are you researching?”
You swallowed hard, trying to find the least embarrassing way to answer. Staying quiet wasn’t an option—he’d keep prying.
“I… I was looking at ways to remove body hair. Specifically my facial hair.” Your voice trembled. “I’m just… tired of looking like this.”
“Sweetie,” Sylus said softly, brushing a gentle hand across your cheek and catching your tears before they fell. “What did you find out?”
“Well… generally, electrolysis is more permanent but more painful and definitely more expensive. I’d have to go in so many times to have needles stuck in my face,” you rushed, words spilling out. “And it’s not like I could afford it anyway.” You sighed, staring at the closed laptop.
“Kitten, if this is really what you want, you know I’d pay for it,” he said gently. “But I want you to think about it carefully it's a big decision and will take some time.”
He pulled you into a hug, letting you rest your head against his chest. “Look at me,” Sylus whispered, lifting your head to meet his eyes. “You’re not defined by hair, or any surface thing. What makes you breathtaking is your soul, your mind, your courage, your heart. That’s the part of you that stays with me, always.”
You blinked, quiet, shocked by the certainty in his voice.
“I don’t care about anything else,” he continued, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I see you. All of you. Every thought, every laugh, every fight you’ve fought, you’re remarkable, in every way. You’re extraordinary, and you have me, eternally.”
For the first time in your life, it felt like you were being seen for more than what you saw in the mirror.
“And just so we’re clear,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, “I wouldn’t trade a single part of you for the world. Ever.”
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Caleb:
The door swung open, and Caleb stepped inside, grinning. “Damn, Pips,” he said, eyes sweeping over you. “Your mustache is coming in thicker than mine.”
Your stomach dropped. Heat rushed to your face, and a tight knot formed in your chest. Without a word, you turned on your heel and bolted down the hallway to your room, slamming the door behind you.
“Pipsqueak, wait!” Caleb called, but you didn’t respond. You pressed your back to the door, fighting the sting of tears.
A few moments later, there was a soft knock. “Hey… I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean it. I was joking. I just thought… I thought you’d grown out of it, that you weren’t… you know…”
You sniffled, trying to even your voice out before you spoke. “I… I know,” you murmured, your voice muffled against your hands.
“Look, Pips,” he continued, voice earnest, “you’re beautiful. You’re mine, the apple of my eye. I love you. I never want to hurt you, especially not with a dumb joke like that.”
You bit your lip, letting out a soft sigh, Caleb had always been there for you and you knew he hadn't really meant to hurt your feelings. “Okay… I accept your apology,” you whispered.
There was a pause, then a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But seriously, that mustache? You might just be catching up to me, Pips.”
You rolled your eyes, chuckling. Before he could say anything else, you swung a not so playful punch at his shoulder. “Behave, Caleb,” you warned, trying to keep a straight face.
He grinned, rubbing his arm. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll behave… for now.”
You peeked up at him, shaking your head but still smiling. “You’re impossible.”
“Only for you, Pipsqueak,” he said softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Only for you.”
Does anyone write fanfics with a reader who has PCOS and who struggles with hirsutism because of it? I love how everyone is becoming more inclusive with plus size readers, I just hope that this will be included as well. 💙
