hi, my name is rie! ŮŠ(ËáË*)٠⥠I'm a novice writer here to share my fics on tumblr as well as AO3! I write primarily x reader and ships I like as a hobby, so I apologize in advance for inconsistent posting. this is a sfw fic blog, so expect a lot of fluff and hurt/comfort~ âĄ
you can find all my fics in this masterlist!
all non-fic posts will be tagged with #riesaysđ
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happy 800 days with the cutest bunny ever (â áľ â:) some of my fondest early lads memories are about playing crane games with Xavier at 3 in the morning after finishing cramming for exams.... even when I had to delete the game bc of storage, I rielly missed playing hahhh
I was dragged back into this rabbit hole late last year and was surprised to see that there were two new LIs (and that a lot of new players didn't like Xavier at all??) but I'm so glad I did come back. I'm happy I got to experience his lore in full, that I have the opportunity to write fics that other people enjoy, and that I got to meet so many fellow fans who love him as much as I do! ૮ ŕžŕ˝˛á´Í . á´Í ŕžŕ˝˛á here's to another 800 days~
The honey-glazed voice jerks you back to reality. Your eyes trail from your paper to the girl sitting next to you. Her ash blonde hair sways as she leans towards you, tapping her pen against the desk, bringing you back to the problem at hand: statistics. It was the only required course outside your major, one youâd been putting off since first year in hopes of it magically completing itself. Itâs not that you werenât good at itâ you were just fine at anything you actually put effort into. Your perfect attendance record did you no favours when you left every lecture with a blank document, the only thing etched into your mind being the face of the sleepy, adorable girl youâd caught a glimpse of on your first day.Â
It was purely out of curiosity that sheâd caught your eye. Sheâd always show up early to lecture, dozing off before it even started, and then perking up meteorically whenever the prof had walked in. Her reaction time was insane, and her performance on the midterm despite her odd tendency to sleep was intriguing, to say the least.
It only took a month and a half for you to muster up the courage to talk to her, beginning with offering her an iced americano from the campus cafĂŠ one evening in the library. From then on, the two of you became something like study buddies, reconvening during lecture breaks and study sessions you could squeeze in between your packed schedules. Being in different majors, it wasnât all that easy to find her around campusâ but when you did, when your eyes locked in passing on your ways to separate classes, or across the dining hall in the mornings where sheâd sit with her friends and you with yours (because you werenât really friends with her, just stats classmates)â the small smile sheâd give you, accompanied by a delicate wave, was all it took to ignite a crush in your heart.Â
âIs there anything I can help with?â Xavier pouts, her brows drawn together as she watches you in confusion. Warmth spreads across your cheeks as her heavy-lidded azure gaze seems to pierce the veil of your soul. Sheâd always had this half-asleep look in her eyes, the calm twin lakes of her soul trapped in a state of constant drowsiness that even the coffee youâd bought her couldnât quite shake off.
âUh, right, I still donât get this question.â The words tumble out of your mouth too quickly, too eagerly for someone meant to be stumped over her upcoming stats exam. You can only hope she hasnât noticed that you havenât even looked at the paper before you.
âHm? Oh, this is easy. To start with, you justâŚâ Xavier tucks the curtain of pale hair behind her hair, revealing an array of silver piercings adorning her ear and eyebrow.Â
Your misbehaving eyes remain on the curve of her mouth, entranced by the light dancing across her snake bites. Sheâs saying something, but all that your eyes seem to catch is the plush of her lips, the bunnyâs tongue pink gloss giving it an absolutely tantalizing sheen.Â
You were not her strongest soldier.Â
Xavierâs eyes flit to yours, catching you in the act of admiring her. She shoots you a questioning look, a shy smile tugging at her lips as she taps her pen against your notebook again, drawing you back to the problem at hand. Instead of any sort of explanation, a few dozen star doodles ornamented your page, sketched around your question like some sort of protective bubble. Xavier sets the pen down, an eerie calm emitting from her.
Is she mad? But of course she isâ sheâd taken precious time out of her day to teach you, and here you were, wide-eyed and stupidly staring at her.
âPerhaps we should just end this session early today,â she says with a light sigh. Xavier shuts her laptop in one swift motion.Â
âSorry,â you sputter out, face flushing in embarrassment. Your crestfallen face is beyond obvious, but you canât help but be ashamed of your own unproductivity.
âDonât be,â she says, her gaze tracing your lashes, your nose, before falling to your lips. Her thumb reaches for your face, softly brushing the curve of your lips. A smirk creeps onto her face as she leans towards you. âWhy donât we⌠study something else?â
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The honey-glazed voice jerks you back to reality. Your eyes trail from your paper to the girl sitting next to you. Her ash blonde hair sways as she leans towards you, tapping her pen against the desk, bringing you back to the problem at hand: statistics. It was the only required course outside your major, one youâd been putting off since first year in hopes of it magically completing itself. Itâs not that you werenât good at itâ you were just fine at anything you actually put effort into. Your perfect attendance record did you no favours when you left every lecture with a blank document, the only thing etched into your mind being the face of the sleepy, adorable girl youâd caught a glimpse of on your first day.Â
It was purely out of curiosity that sheâd caught your eye. Sheâd always show up early to lecture, dozing off before it even started, and then perking up meteorically whenever the prof had walked in. Her reaction time was insane, and her performance on the midterm despite her odd tendency to sleep was intriguing, to say the least.
It only took a month and a half for you to muster up the courage to talk to her, beginning with offering her an iced americano from the campus cafĂŠ one evening in the library. From then on, the two of you became something like study buddies, reconvening during lecture breaks and study sessions you could squeeze in between your packed schedules. Being in different majors, it wasnât all that easy to find her around campusâ but when you did, when your eyes locked in passing on your ways to separate classes, or across the dining hall in the mornings where sheâd sit with her friends and you with yours (because you werenât really friends with her, just stats classmates)â the small smile sheâd give you, accompanied by a delicate wave, was all it took to ignite a crush in your heart.Â
âIs there anything I can help with?â Xavier pouts, her brows drawn together as she watches you in confusion. Warmth spreads across your cheeks as her heavy-lidded azure gaze seems to pierce the veil of your soul. Sheâd always had this half-asleep look in her eyes, the calm twin lakes of her soul trapped in a state of constant drowsiness that even the coffee youâd bought her couldnât quite shake off.
âUh, right, I still donât get this question.â The words tumble out of your mouth too quickly, too eagerly for someone meant to be stumped over her upcoming stats exam. You can only hope she hasnât noticed that you havenât even looked at the paper before you.
âHm? Oh, this is easy. To start with, you justâŚâ Xavier tucks the curtain of pale hair behind her ear, revealing an array of silver piercings adorning her ear and eyebrow.Â
Your misbehaving eyes remain on the curve of her mouth, entranced by the light dancing across her snake bites. Sheâs saying something, but all that your eyes seem to catch is the plush of her lips, the bunnyâs tongue pink gloss giving it an absolutely tantalizing sheen.Â
You were not her strongest soldier.Â
Xavierâs eyes flit to yours, catching you in the act of admiring her. She shoots you a questioning look, a shy smile tugging at her lips as she taps her pen against your notebook again, drawing you back to the problem at hand. Instead of any sort of explanation, a few dozen star doodles ornamented your page, sketched around your question like some sort of protective bubble. Xavier sets the pen down, an eerie calm emitting from her.
Is she mad? But of course she isâ sheâd taken precious time out of her day to teach you, and here you were, wide-eyed and stupidly staring at her.
âPerhaps we should just end this session early today,â she says with a light sigh. Xavier shuts her laptop in one swift motion.Â
âSorry,â you sputter out, face flushing in embarrassment. Your crestfallen face is beyond obvious, but you canât help but be ashamed of your own unproductivity.
âDonât be,â she says, her gaze tracing your lashes, your nose, before falling to your lips. Her thumb reaches for your face, softly brushing the curve of your lips. A smirk creeps onto her face as she leans towards you. âWhy donât we⌠study something else?â
Ren knows he should be overjoyed at Akechi's reappearance on New Year's, but something isn't right.
âCome in,â Ren said as he pushed open the frosted door of LeBlanc. He beckoned his company inside with a lazy wave of his hand. The two of them stepped into the cafe, cold huffs of breath evaporating in the warmth.
Akechi rubbed his hands together and took in the atmosphere properly for the first time today. It had been so long since heâd been at LeBlanc for the sake of relaxation. Sure, heâd first come in at Sae Nijimaâs recommendation (to get in her good graces, obviously), but he had to admit that a part of him had always found cafes quite lovely, and LeBlanc especially had grown dear to him. He didnât say that aloud, though. Ren would gloat at the very notion of it.Â
Ren set down his jacket on the nearest chair and tied his apron. Today, LeBlanc was noticeably empty. Sojiro and Wakaba must have gone out to Akihabara with Futaba. And MorganaâŚÂ
Ren shook his head. Older brother? Impossible. Having a cat as an older brother who sounded suspiciously like a white-haired character from one of Futabaâs anime games was out of the question. And worseâ with Futaba as his younger sister, wouldnât this make Ren the middle child of LeBlanc? He shuddered at this thought and began brewing coffee instead.Â
Heâd grown a lot better at making coffee since heâd first started brewing at Sojiroâs advice. It wasnât all that hard, and it was a pivotal part of the Thievesâ Metaverse exploration, too. Beyond that, Ren found himself at peace whenever he was brewing coffee at LeBlanc. The rich scent of beans. The worn leather seats. The chipped wood counter that Sojiro made him polish and polish again until its rough edges softened. Nothing, not even the wrongness of today, could change the comfort it brought him.
âHere,â Ren said as he set down two cups of coffee before Akechi and himself.Â
âThank you.âÂ
He took his place on Akechiâs left. To think the day would come where he could see Akechi againâ the very idea of it made his heart beam.Â
âYouâre in an awfully good mood,â Akechi said with a hint of annoyance. He didnât spare him a glance.
âFinally getting rid of that princely facade, huh? I guess youâre getting too comfortable around this âattic trash,â Mr. Ace Detective.â
Akechi shot him an icy glare and returned his attention to his coffee. âWhatever.â
Ren leaned back in his own seat and took a sip, his eyes fixed on Akechi. They hadnât been able to talk much, what with the whole warped reality thing going on. In fact, this was the first time heâd really gotten a proper look at the detective. It wasnât all that easy to tell what had changed about him. It looked like⌠everything and nothing, all at once. Maybe the way he carried himself? His posture was a little less straightâ not that he was slouching, but just a little less⌠on guard? Almost leisurely. He let his gaze wander across Akechiâs face. That look in his eyes was a little darker, he thought, a little wearier. No less determined, but definitely void of that false twinkle it used to have. Ren tapped his fingers rhythmically on the counter. The deathly pallor of his face was a little hard to ignore.
Akechi set down his cup and sighed. âWhat the hell are you staring at me so longingly for? Itâs creeping me out.â His words were as sharp as ever. At least that hadnât changed.
Ren averted his gaze. âYour skin looks real pale. Havenât been sleeping well lately?âÂ
Akechi shot him a look. âItâs the middle of winter, obviously I wouldnât have a tan. Seriously, Ren, youâre soââ he grumbled something else to himself, just quiet enough for the other boy not to hear.Â
Ren snuck another glance at Akechi. This time, his eyes lingered on Akechiâs hands. His left hand noiselessly picked up the coffee cup off the counter. Akechi brought the rim of the cup to his lips and took a sip, soundlessly. Nobody drinks that gracefully, he thought to himself, not even Haru. It was as if Akechi had been making a conscious effort to be as elusive as possible. Or maybe it wasnât a conscious effort?
Ren propped his face on his hand and watched closely.Â
Akechi was lost in thought, mindlessly tracing his right index finger in circles on the worn counter. He didnât take off his gloves despite the warmth of LeBlanc. Maybe heâs cold? He does look like heâd be anemicâŚÂ Ren absentmindedly slipped his own cold hand into his jacket pocket and paused.Â
He looked down at the swath of black fabric heâd pulled outâ a thin, black glove. Slender, long, and fit for a right hand.Â
âHey, AkechiâŚâ
âHm?â Akechi spared him the briefest of glances before returning his focus to the swirling abyss of coffee in his cup. His eyes werenât as cold anymore. What is he thinking of so tenderly? Ren thought to himself. It wasnât jealousy speaking, no. Curiosity, maybe. It was the kind of tenderness heâd had whenever he thought about Akechi. He wondered if maybe that tenderness was reciprocated.
âAre your hands always cold? Youâre wearing gloves even when drinking coffee.â
Akechi leaned back against the seat, turning his head towards the frost-lined windows of the cafe. âI donât like to get my hands dirty.âÂ
Dirty.
He was a mass murderer, wielder of Loki, the culprit and genius who caused and solved so many cases. Heâd probably gone to hell and back for his goals. Done the unthinkable. Lived a thousand lives. And yet, he was afraid of dirt somewhere as clean as LeBlanc?
âEven after all the people youâve killed?â is what he wanted to say, but he knew Akechi wasnât in the mood for sarcastic jokes. Not today, at least, Ren thought to himself. Not now. He couldnât stop thinking about that look in his eyes.
âSojiro would be sad to hear that.â
âLike I care.â
âWell, Iâm sad to hear that. I do all the cleaning here, you know.â
âHonestly, Ren, that makes me all the more wary.â
Ren looked taken aback. âWhat the.. Okay, then. Itâs heartbreaking to hear that. I think Iâll just go upstairs and curl up in a ball and cry myself to sleep or whatever,â he said, wiping away non-existent tears. He snuck Akechi a glance and saw complete and utter disgust.Â
Akechiâs silence was humbling.
Ren, however, did not falter under his cruelly disinterested response. There was more he had to say.
âAkechi,â he began.
âHm?â
âWhat have you been doing until now? Since⌠you knowâŚâ Renâs voice trailed off. He didnât want to pressure Akechi into talking about Shido. He didnât want to give him another reason to be distant.
âIâve just been in my apartment, is all. Studying and whatnot. I didnât want to be in the public eye when Shido was taking the brunt of the Phantom Thievesâ wrath. The police called me in for questioning after, and I complied. Thatâs all.â
Heavy silence hovered between them. Akechi had said everything and nothing at all. He was skillfully dodging the question.
ââŚI see,â Ren said, finally. He hoped the hesitation in his voice wasnât obvious. A stream of questions floated around in his mind, bouncing off the walls of his consciousness and multiplying into a myriad of possibilities. How did you escape from Shidoâs palace? Why wonât you tell me what happened? And, most importantlyâŚÂ
âWhat are we?âÂ
A dreadful chill permeated the air. Ren could feel the colour leaving his face. He could just barely process his own surprise; he wasnât supposed to say that. He couldnât let his curiosity show. Not now, not ever. ShitâŚÂ He bowed his head in an attempt to hide his embarrassment.Â
Akechi tossed his head back in Renâs direction and scoffed. The dark red of his eyes were tainted with contempt. âTwo people fulfilling a contract.â He set down his cup with a little too much force and stood up. âIâll see you tomorrow, Amamiya-kun. Donât forget our deal.âÂ
With a quick turn of his heel, Akechi was gone. The bell did not chime him farewell; he left as quietly as heâd come.Â
Ren let out a sigh. The only evidence of Akechiâs presence was the dredges at the centre of the white coffee cup, staining its otherwise spotless appearance.Â
He took another sip of his coffee. It tasted a little more bitter than usual.
contents- cashier!altvier x f!reader. suprisingly dreary. like i really thought this would be more light-hearted but it's not. lots of religious imagery and references. @xinghuisknight i hope you like it! original thought post.
strange figures move in the dark, shadows scattering and re-converging with the yellow flickering of street lights. like something foul, your skin bears the hue of jaundice, visible from where your limbs poke out of your pyjamas.
it's late. only druggies and other lost souls roam these parts. and then there's you, trekking onward to your final destination, feet heavy like there's lead in your slides and tar between your toes.
the chill nips at your cheeks, exhaust fumes and a hint of blueberry muffin vape puffed out by night time fiends. holding your breath, you're reminded of the tightness at the back of your throat. sorrow swirling, with no apparent origin or ending. thoughts like jagged rocks tear through the soft tissue of your mind, hateful things about your appearance, situation in life, and the like amass. swallowing it down, you've bypassed the juvenile smoke.
glass doors slide open up ahead, anticipating your entry. you don't bother with a trolley. heading inside, the air changes. fresh and crisp, a little too cool, but a welcome reprieve from the wasteland outside. everywhere you look, white blinds you.
grabbing a basket, you contemplate how to hold the damn thing for a moment. it's a hefty size and weight, but bears the most stiff, immovable handle you've ever encountered. slipping the cage onto your arm, it pokes into your side uncomfortably. won't this be wonderful once it's full with your spoils.
muscle memory kicks in, you body moving with a few simple goals in mind. a biological drive. you enter the cosmetics aisle. at the end, you're met with a menagerie of vibrant colours and alluring promises like 'discreet' and 'extra. because you're extraordinary.'
scanning the displays, you pick up a contender, feeling the soft plastic with your fingers and palms. the back of the packet is printed with a diagram, assuring you that the pads you're about to buy do everything a diaper does without being one. ah. the joys of womanhood. your clunky basket shakes with the weight of the packet.
travelling across the shiny, marble floor, you pass the half-stocked milk bottles and avoid an oncoming couple who laugh and tease each other cutely. willing your face not to contort into some mean expression, you successfully make it past them without a hitch and turn down the closest aisle. the shelves beam bright with the agents of obesity, whispering of moments of indulgence and pleasure that often spiral into unintended, empty wrappers. but for tonight, you're not here to fight off their gruesome threats disguised as sugary seduction.
it's a tough decision, but you leave the aisle with a heavier basket. looping back to the medicine aisle, you secure a box of panadol. the song overhead changes. it was insignificant before, but now, you find yourself nodding to the beat. pain strikes in your stomach, like someone has grabbed a fistful of your guts and twisted them to the side. wincing, any inkling of your infantile good mood has vanished.
dragging your feet to the self-checkouts, your eyes remain downcast until wheels come into view. glancing up, you notice the empty trolley blocking the entrance. your head whips about, no signs of life about except for one person. their collared shirt stands out, the logo of the supermarket stitched into their left breast. you change course.
as you approach the cashier, you avoid eye contact with them as if you went to high school together. propping your basket up on the conveyer belt, you begin to unload it.
"hi, how are you today?" the cashier's voice is surprisingly soft.
"good, thanks. and you?" you mumble, your basket now empty. stowing it underneath the conveyor belt, you finally gaze at the man serving you. and holy face cardâ
why?! why now out of all the times you've ever existed must god bless you with a tall, silver-haired, alt baddie?! the rings encircling his plump lips are tantalising, as are the half a dozen studs in his ear, a chain dangling that invites you to play with it like you're a cat, overcome by mischievous instinct. in the space between your thoughts, a crushing feeling consumes you. this angel before you, perfect in all his honour, graceful and unwavering despite your attempts to taint his heavenliness with your mere presence.
averting your eyes only makes it worse, for you see the chipped black nail polish he wears, long and slender fingers wrapping around your overnight pads. should you start praying? make the sign of the cross and whisper a quick psalm 51 beneath your breath? it's too late. you are the devil incarnate, a gluttonous fool before all that is good and holy.
"i've never tried this chocolate bar before. is it good?" the angel has spoken. like some confused prophet, you frantically look about, like the voices in your head have become too loud.
"i've tried the ginger and lemonâoh, and the raspberry ones. but i haven't tried this one," he remarks, scratching the side of his face now that the belt is empty.
you rush to reply, stumbling over your words as you do so. "it's r-really good! yeah, i always buythâi mean, buyâi always buy this one. it's very, uh, smooth and creamy. you should try it!" internally, you grimace. what are you? a 13-year-old speaking to her crush for the first time? your heart pounds in your chest, blood rushing to your face and warming it to a nice, unmistakable crimson.
"would you like a bag for 25 cents?" he asks, gazing at you with a small smile. the curve of his lips and the slight crinkle of his gentle eyes makes your heart pang. why?! why, why, whyâ
"yes, please." you nod, like a dog begging for treats. can't you just act normal for once?! it doesn't matter. you're never going to see this hottie again. that's how the world works, you see one and then you never see 'em again.
grabbing a bag, the divine cashier begins carefully packing your things, his side profile immaculate from this angle. starlight strands fall over his eyes; he brushes them back with ease.
turning back to the screen, he murmurs, "was that on card?"
"yes, please." like the loser you are, you reef your purse out of your pocket only to drop it with trembling hands. and when you bend down to pick it up, somehow you drop it again. clutching the small leather thing like its your lifeline, you whip out your card and tap it against the small screen.
"i believe it's up top. if youâ" beep. sale approved. the receipt prints out.
"and were you collecting the wildlife cards," the angel asks you while placing your receipt in the bag.
"uh..." you had only heard whispers of the new collecting event at the supermarket, something so trivial it didnât make it onto your priority list. but before you can decline, the cashier dumps a handful of little brightly-coloured packets into your bag, far more than what you would have earned during this shop. drawing the bag off its supports, he hands it to you, your fingers brushing as you hastily take it from him. compared to your sweaty palms, his skin is smooth and cold, like the statue of archangel michael. your mind malfunctions. you almost yelp.
"get home safely." those are his parting words, brilliant blue eyes burning into the depths of your soul as you smile back and reply with something unintelligible, steadily backing away and beelining for the exit.
stepping out into the night air, you find it just as stale as it was before. but overhead, the moon shines down upon you, guiding the bounce in your steps. a giggle escapes you, unprompted and mentally ill to any onlookers. but something has changed within you. not the cramps that threaten to take you to those pearly gates any moment now. nor the melancholy that plagues you, but it's withering away. this radiant feeling replaces it bit by bit. and in the short walk home, you realise that sometimes, life isn't that serious.
Š jellyelle 2026. do not copy, repost, translate, or feed my works into ai.
finally crossposted all my Xavier fics <3 it's been rlly fun figuring out how the Tumblr algorithm works + which fics do better on what platforms.... if anyone cares:
aria of the lonely star = roughly the same on both platforms
half a sorrow = flopped on ao3, did pretty well on tumblr
love's hallow'd temple, this soft bed = did great on ao3, flopped on tumblr
ngl I don't expect "on the edge of salvation" to really do well on either platform because it's quite lore heavy... but a girl can dream... ૮(â ⸠â )á
that aside, thank you for all the love on my fics so far!! I'll post all my shuake fics in June for pride month next >á´< also maybe expect some lads drabbles in the future!
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Xavier trudges into the washroom. He pulls off his shirt and unceremoniously tosses it onto the ever-growing pile of laundry. Did he even have any shirts left to wear at this rate?
Sighing, Xavier turns to the sink, absentmindedly running his hand under the cold water until he feels more like himself. He lets the icy water pool in his cupped hands before splashing it at his face one, two, seven times. He stops the tap.
It really wasnât enough to make him forget his nightmare.Â
Xavier glares at the sluggish image reflected in the mirror, inspecting his face clearly under the bright bathroom lights. His hair was disheveled, just a tad bit longer than heâd liked it to be. The bright blue of his eyes were duller now, ringed with insomnia. Heâd never let his skin get this bad (never knew it could, for that matter), and the glaring realization that he was less and less his usual self only deepened his misery. What would it take to get back to normal? What would it take for him to stay as the Xavier you lovedâ gentle, warm, and eternally loving? What use was a fading star?
âXavier?âÂ
He starts at the soft, somewhat groggy voice that calls out to him. He bites back a woeful smile. It was almost comical; the one thing heâd feared the most was waiting for him on the other side of the bathroom door. Thereâs no backing out now, he thinks. Heâs been caught.
* * *
Cold, empty, nothingness greets you when you reach for Xavier. Heâd typically be snoozing next to you, strong arms wrapped around your figure all throughout the night.
You reach for the lamp on the nightstand, but no light greets you as you turn it on. The bulb isnât dead; you know that well enough. The two of you remain submerged in darkness, his occasional stifled huff puncturing the heavy air between you. What the hell happened for him to go as far as blacking out the whole room with his Evol so you couldnât see him?Â
Xavier stands at the edge of the room, clutching fistfuls of fabric to stop his hands from trembling. It was disgracefulâ how much more avoidant could he get, choosing to kill the lamplight so he didnât have to bare his pathetic state to you? Itâs humiliating, and he relishes in that depraved mortification, let it wash over his wretched form as his mind works to find an appropriate response.
âXavier,â you repeat, and this time his breath comes out sharp, quick, wrong. You can feel the fear radiating off his body in waves, and it takes everything in you to not reach out to him and hug him. Xavier would burrow himself through the crust of the earth and into the depths of hell before he would open up to you. Coaxing him into emotional vulnerability would take more than youâd thought.Â
But heâd promised to try, and he wasnât one to break promises.Â
âItâs fine,â he hisses, like the words are painful to speak. âIâm alright. Just a bit shaken up, is all.â
His lousy attempt at nonchalance tugs at your heart. How often had he suffered like this alone?
âXavier, youâre not alright.â
âIâm fine,â he echoes, the words coming out harsher than before. A sharp exhale follows. âJust⌠Iâm sorry, I donât feel so good.â His voice quivers with the apology, and you see your opening.
You silently pat the Xavier-less spot on the bed next to you.
He takes the bait.
Xavier climbs into bed next to you, and you take this chance to pull him into a hug before he can object. His body stiffens momentarily before he melts into your embrace, burying his face into your collarbone. His arms wrap around you securely as you feel his shallow breaths against your skin.
The two of you stay like that for a moment, relishing in the comfort of each othersâ presence before Xavier lets go. His eyes glisten with suppressed emotion as he cups your face, tilting it upwards so he can scan your features under the glow of his Evol.Â
Before you knew it, the lights were back on.Â
Xavierâs gaze softens as he looks at the naive concern in your eyes. He hugs you once more, fingers trailing the curve of your spine as if to confirm that you were real and not an apparition, an extension of his nightmarish torment.
âI left them,â he breathes out. âI⌠I left you.â
You remembered it briefly, the time youâd spent with Xavier when he was a Lightseeker on Philos. The memory of his disappearance, the ache of his absence⌠you felt it in your bones, but those borrowed memories from a different âyouâ were still hard to grasp. Whatever really happened on Philos, it was clear that Xavier was still suffering the repercussions of it.
You rub Xavierâs back as his breathing stabilizes, letting him hold you as you do him. It was the only real comfort you could offer: proof that you were alive, living, safe in his arms.
âIâm sorry,â Xavier mumbles after some time, raising his head to finally face you. âIâm sorry for not being able to protect you. For making you suffer alone, when I said Iâd always be there for you. For being so pathetic, so pitiful in front of you. I justââ
âYouâre none of those things,â you cut him off. âYouâre the greatest hunter at the Association! The legendary Lumiere (at this, he grimaces), the leader of the Backtrackers, and above all, youâre someone I love. Donât belittle yourself, Xavier. Youâre my whole universe and more.â
You wipe a stray tear from his eye, frowning at the expression on his face. You give him a quick peck on the cheek, hoping itâll stop another influx of tears. Instead, Xavier looks away. A slight rosy hue tints his ears and cheeks, stark against his otherwise pale skin.
Heâs blushing.
You reach out and grab his hand, holding it tightly in your own. âIâm so used to being comforted by you in my worst momentsâ after Iâd failed that exam, when Iâd lost my wallet and cried about it the whole way home, that time you slept with me when I was sick, or when weâd failed a mission because of my incompetence and endangered both our lives. Youâd been there for everything, anchoring me to you and providing me with comfort that I never needed to ask for.â
So why wouldnât you do the same?
You fiddle with Xavierâs fingers, trying to verbalize the boundless love you feel with him. âWhat Iâm trying to say is⌠In every timeline, in every world, youâve always been there for me. Thank you for finding me, Xavier.
âItâs not your fault that the Traceback II crashed. Hate me if you must, but Iâm glad it did. Otherwise, I never would have been able to meet you on Earth.âÂ
You flush at your own selfish confession, but Xavier seems to pay it no mind. He ruffles your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead in response. âThank you,â he whispers against your skin, âFor letting me be with you.â
He lies down, pulling you with him until youâre impossibly close.
When he wakes up tomorrow, youâll be thereâ asleep in his arms, safe and sound.
A/N: thank you for reading!! I realized averaging 2.5k words per fic is not the most ideal for Tumblr, so I hope this format was a bit easier to read~ ( â¸â¸Â´ęł`â¸â¸)
Itâs well into the night when Xavier finally wakes up. Midnight yawns, darkness stretching through the room, heavy, foreboding, strange.Â
Itâs a subtle difference that only the trained senses of a Light Evol user would be able to perceive. Darkness didnât end at sightâ Xavier could feel it seep through his flesh, sinking into the marrow of his bones. Yet, it wasnât unfamiliar.
He runs a hand through his hair, contemplating the foreign familiarity of his bedroom. Leather chafes his forehead, and he stills. Curiously, he flexes his gloved hand, his fingers snugly moving within the fabric. Gloves? He certainly didnât sleep with those. The rough brush of his gloves against his face is interrupted by a familiar rip in the fabric. Not just any glovesâ his Lightseeker uniform.
Xavier glances down at his hands, but nothing meets his gaze. Light blooms from his fingertips for a moment. A blink, and itâs extinguished. He sighs, suspicions confirmed by the absence of warmth.Â
A nightmare.Â
He bitterly closes his eyes at the realization. After a moment, he opens them again.Â
The scene changes.Â
Mist curls around him, opaque tendrils dissipating at the brush of his fingers. Within seconds, they reappear, coiling around his hand again. Itâs this kind of push-and-pull that he hates the most, the brief moment heâs awarded hope before despair so cruelly clamps around his throat. Xavier remains perched on the edge of the bed, waiting.Â
Nothing happens.
He didnât mind. After all, Xavier was quite good at waiting. Patience was a virtue, and he was a virtuous prince. Or at least, heâd been expected to be for the better part of 400 years. Old habits die hard.Â
He steadies his heart for whatâs to come. He strains his eyes in the dark, tracing the vague lines of the thatched cottage room above from his memory. He didnât need to see it to know it was there. His fingers skim the hard mattress beneath him. At least some semblance of this dream was still solid. They catch on a thin, tattered blanket. The periwinkle fabric has long decayed since he first arrived here, and now he can feel the rough threads fraying at the edges.Â
A few beats pass.Â
Exhausted, Xavier relents to the dream. It took quite a few runs to figure it outâ the vaguely game-like dream sequence wouldnât progress until he did its bidding. He never stopped trying to stall it, thoughâ that sort of stubbornness came easy to him. Heâd ignored the well-tread path of fate to forge his own uneven trail right next to it. But for now, heâll play along.Â
Xavier leans against the hard body of the mattress; It doesnât creak under his weight. The room seemed to exist in a cosmic vacuum; no sound arose from any of his movements. He canât hear the beating of his own heart, only feel the irregular drumbeat of his pulse echoing in his chest. He places his hand over his heart, desperate to cling to the faint reverb of it. Itâs the only indication that heâs aliveâ and as long as he was alive, heâd always make his way back to you. He promised, after all. Xavier Shen wasnât one to break promises.Â
At another stretch of nothingness, Xavier relents to the whims of his subconsciousness. Sleep, it speaks. He pulls the thin sheet over his body. The threadbare rag barely covers his torso, blanketing his midriff alone. It offers no warmth, but he lets himself pretend. Itâs after heâs peacefully settled that the odour hits him, assaulting his senses. Heavy, foreboding, familiar.Â
Decay.Â
He sits upright with a start. Xavier instinctively reaches for the other side of the bed. There isnât anything there, he knows, heâs known the last hundred times heâs done this. But he reaches anyway, because something is different this time. Something is wrong. Wronger even in this nightmarish dreamscape.
His fingers catch on something long, a weapon, he realizes. For a second, hope glimmers within the depths of his soul. The inevitability of space-time on which his dreams had been pillared on had now collapsed. His actions had changed something.
Xavier pulled it toward him, his belated realization drawing a noiseless sound from his throat. A human spine. At its apex, a skull. The soulless, fleshless remnant of life gleams white in the vast darkness, its empty sockets locked into his.Â
From the depths of the fog, a scream erupts.Â
âŚ
Xavier runs his hand through his hair, slick with sweat. His shirt clings uncomfortably to his back, soaked in trepidation.Â
The guilt doesnât get any easier after 214 years. It was just another perk of being near-immortalâ heâd remain trapped in this body, encased in eternal youth as his soul decays. Philosians werenât the type to get attached, knowing their fates. And yet, Xavier foolishly believed the path heâd carved for himself would lead him elsewhere, let him defy the nature of his being to be with you.
He couldnât change fate. You were destined to die, no matter what he did, and heâd sworn to find you as long as his heart kept beating. But what after that? When the clock of his life had ceased to tick, and youâd remained a knightless queen waiting for a dead star for an eternity? How much longer could he go on like this?
It was easier to bear the guilt when he was asleep, but even that momentary reprieve has been stolen away from him. Once his breathing steadies, Xavier dares himself to look at you, slumbering away next to him. His pupils trail your undulating chest. He leans back against the bedframe, a small sigh escaping him.
Youâre alive, youâre alive, youâre alive. And as long as youâre alive, as long as youâre safe and within his reach, it was okay. Heâd bear the weight of it all on his shoulders for you.Â
âI hope your dreams are sweet,â he mumbles, his voice hoarse with emotion. He lightly pinches your cheek. âAt least one of us deserves to be happy.â
He takes the flutter of your lashes as an affirmation of his wish.
Part 8! A queen who didn't have anything. Next time remind me not to draw 25 hands in one drawing... He was supposed to match Leonas card but I got carried away and got side tracked oops. But he fills in the gap between all the cards color scheme so I guess itt'sss finnnneeeeeeeee
Rafayel was hunched over in a terrible position, constantly shifting in his seat to ease the slight pain that would ache in his back. His odd posture would feed into the lump that would form in his back in the coming years. A portion of the blame would be placed on his obvious older ageâhowever, given the time he has dedicated to painting, it would be impossible to place the blame solely on him.
He continues to stroke at the canvas, mixing the hues of the candescent white, highlighting the shine with a pale purple. He reaches for the palette knife once more, scraping the deep grey of the palette to slide on the canvas.
Rafayelâs inspiration finally came to him in a dream after a week of a blank mind, however, yesterday, an image flashed in his mind. He tried to recreate the very scene, had you stand in the same position, listen to him hum the same tune. Yet, the image still remained a fleeting thought. For the rest of the day, Rafayel couldnât even mention the word paint without writhing in agony over his lost ideas.
When you awoke the next morning, Rafayelâs side of the bed was empty. When you finally found him, he was sat like a shrimp trying to capture the coast of some beach he had recalled in his memories on the rough canvas.
Tiptoeing around him, hoping heâd maintain his focus on his craft. You rest a bowl of fruit on the table to his left, touching his back as you pass. Heâd raise his head slightly, meant to utter a âthank you,â but nothing came from his mouth insteadâjust small intelligible mutterings. He was in too deep, wanted to recount the vision that played in his head before it would fly away.
The intensity of his passion was adorable, the way he would stick his tongue to his lip and suck on the corner of his lip in concentration. Maybe it was the way heâd hide his hand underneath the opposite arm and squeeze his chest slightly that made you feel some case of adornment for him. You kissed him once on his cheekâshortly, then pulling back to take in the view of his work.
Rafayelâs mind had reset, a blank slate now replacing the illustration he had captured in his mind. Your hand could feel his curved back turn straight, his fingers brushing across his face against where your lips had previously touched. Heat spread through his body, his eyes slowly shifting to you.
âWhat? I canât kiss my sweet boyfriend?â You tease, trying to overcompensate for the nervousness that was simmering in your chest. Rafayelâs expression doesnât change as he suddenly towers over you, his head leaning down to your face. He starts out soft, gently capturing your lips before becoming ravenous. He begins to fiddle behind his back, quickly removing the sweater he had on. âRaf,â you try to speak, but as he draws in his breath, his lips find yours again.
Finally, you turn your head, giving yourself enough time to get a handle on the situation. But there would never be enough seconds to truly wrap your head around the current situation, let alone let yourself weasel out of it. His body is pressed to yours, full of desire as he takes a single gulp. Rafayelâs desperate eyes search yoursâon pause as you issue him a command.
âRaf, you should finish your painting,â you say timidly, still avoiding his gaze. You were a terrible liar, trying your absolute best not to turn around and return his kiss. âIâm all done,â he whines. You could feel the mischievous smile on his face taunt youâhe pulled you closer to him, nudging his nose into your sensitive neck. You tried your best to hold back a reaction, gritting your teeth visibly to prevent yourself from succumbing to his methods. âYouâve just started,â you turn your head back to glare at him. His face was flushed with red, ears dipped in the same rose color, not of embarrassment but passion.
Rafayel couldn't care less about the silly paintingâhe could paint for thousands of years, produce pieces for dozens of decades. Kissing you was a rare contingency, a devout promise he would renew each time you connected. Heâd abandon the deficient quantity and fame for just a mere chance to show his appreciation once more.
âOh, come on, I can finish it later. There are other important things I must tend to,â he replies, softly pecking your neck.
âMy love, yesterday, you had me contort myself into various positions,â he snickered, â⌠get your mind out of the gutter, fish boy. The point is youâve been trying so hard to remember your inspiration.â
âBut your kiss,â he pouts, âitâs way better than some painting.â
âIâm not sure if Thomas would agree.â Rafayel shoots his head up, offense played throughout his face.
âTo hell with Thomas.â
Rafayel begins to kiss all over your face, evoking sweet laughter from you.
âThomas can wait another weekâunfortunately, you canât.â
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