that one friend that's too xavier shen

hi, my name is rie! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ 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~ ♡

you can find all my fics in this masterlist!

all non-fic posts will be tagged with #riesays🎐

──────── ✩ °｡🎐 𓏲⋆.🧺 𖦹 ₊˚ ────────

interests: lads, persona, enstars, twst, kpop

byf: this is a purely sfw blog, so please do not leave nsfw comments or notes!

dni: lgbtq+phobic, proship, zionists

──────── ✩ °｡🎐 𓏲⋆.🧺 𖦹 ₊˚ ────────

happy 800 days with the cutest bunny ever (◜ ᵕ ◝:) 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

fem!xavier tries to help you study for your exam, but you're too distracted

hello everyone (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) yes I did finally commit to this... save me fem xavier with snake bites and an eyebrow piercing... #happypridemonth

Ი𐑼 ♪⋆.✮ ─────────────────── ★ ˙ ̟｡

“You’re distracted.”

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 you’d been putting off since first year in hopes of it magically completing itself. It’s not that you weren’t good at it– 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 you’d caught a glimpse of on your first day. 

It was purely out of curiosity that she’d caught your eye. She’d 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 café 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 wasn’t all that easy to find her around campus– 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 she’d sit with her friends and you with yours (because you weren’t really friends with her, just stats classmates)– the small smile she’d give you, accompanied by a delicate wave, was all it took to ignite a crush in your heart. 

“Is there anything I can help with?” 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. She’d 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 you’d bought her couldn’t quite shake off.

“Uh, right, I still don’t get this question.” 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 hasn’t noticed that you haven’t even looked at the paper before you.

“Hm? Oh, this is easy. To start with, you just…” Xavier tucks the curtain of pale hair behind her ear, revealing an array of silver piercings adorning her ear and eyebrow. 

Your misbehaving eyes remain on the curve of her mouth, entranced by the light dancing across her snake bites. She’s saying something, but all that your eyes seem to catch is the plush of her lips, the bunny’s tongue pink gloss giving it an absolutely tantalizing sheen. 

You were not her strongest soldier. 

Xavier’s 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 is– she’d taken precious time out of her day to teach you, and here you were, wide-eyed and stupidly staring at her.

“Perhaps we should just end this session early today,” she says with a light sigh. Xavier shuts her laptop in one swift motion. 

“Sorry,” you sputter out, face flushing in embarrassment. Your crestfallen face is beyond obvious, but you can’t help but be ashamed of your own unproductivity.

“Don’t be,” 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. “Why don’t we… study something else?”

Ი𐑼 ♪⋆.✮ ─────────────────── ★ ˙ ̟｡

Ren knows he should be overjoyed at Akechi's reappearance on New Year's, but something isn't right.

“Come in,” 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 he’d been at LeBlanc for the sake of relaxation. Sure, he’d first come in at Sae Nijima’s 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 didn’t say that aloud, though. Ren would gloat at the very notion of it. 

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 Morgana… 

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 Futaba’s anime games was out of the question. And worse— with Futaba as his younger sister, wouldn’t this make Ren the middle child of LeBlanc? He shuddered at this thought and began brewing coffee instead. 

He’d grown a lot better at making coffee since he’d first started brewing at Sojiro’s advice. It wasn’t all that hard, and it was a pivotal part of the Thieves’ 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.

“Here,” Ren said as he set down two cups of coffee before Akechi and himself. 

“Thank you.” 

He took his place on Akechi’s left. To think the day would come where he could see Akechi again— the very idea of it made his heart beam. 

“You’re in an awfully good mood,” Akechi said with a hint of annoyance. He didn’t spare him a glance.

“Finally getting rid of that princely facade, huh? I guess you’re getting too comfortable around this ‘attic trash,’ Mr. Ace Detective.”

Akechi shot him an icy glare and returned his attention to his coffee. “Whatever.”

Ren leaned back in his own seat and took a sip, his eyes fixed on Akechi. They hadn’t been able to talk much, what with the whole warped reality thing going on. In fact, this was the first time he’d really gotten a proper look at the detective. It wasn’t 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 straight— not that he was slouching, but just a little less… on guard? Almost leisurely. He let his gaze wander across Akechi’s 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. “What the hell are you staring at me so longingly for? It’s creeping me out.” His words were as sharp as ever. At least that hadn’t changed.

Ren averted his gaze. “Your skin looks real pale. Haven’t been sleeping well lately?” 

Akechi shot him a look. “It’s the middle of winter, obviously I wouldn’t have a tan. Seriously, Ren, you’re so—“ he grumbled something else to himself, just quiet enough for the other boy not to hear. 

Ren snuck another glance at Akechi. This time, his eyes lingered on Akechi’s 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 wasn’t a conscious effort?

Ren propped his face on his hand and watched closely. 

Akechi was lost in thought, mindlessly tracing his right index finger in circles on the worn counter. He didn’t take off his gloves despite the warmth of LeBlanc. Maybe he’s cold? He does look like he’d be anemic… Ren absentmindedly slipped his own cold hand into his jacket pocket and paused. 

He looked down at the swath of black fabric he’d pulled out— a thin, black glove. Slender, long, and fit for a right hand. 

“Hey, Akechi…”

“Hm?” Akechi spared him the briefest of glances before returning his focus to the swirling abyss of coffee in his cup. His eyes weren’t as cold anymore. What is he thinking of so tenderly? Ren thought to himself. It wasn’t jealousy speaking, no. Curiosity, maybe. It was the kind of tenderness he’d had whenever he thought about Akechi. He wondered if maybe that tenderness was reciprocated.

“Are your hands always cold? You’re wearing gloves even when drinking coffee.”

Akechi leaned back against the seat, turning his head towards the frost-lined windows of the cafe. “I don’t like to get my hands dirty.” 

Dirty.

He was a mass murderer, wielder of Loki, the culprit and genius who caused and solved so many cases. He’d 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?

“Even after all the people you’ve killed?” is what he wanted to say, but he knew Akechi wasn’t in the mood for sarcastic jokes. Not today, at least, Ren thought to himself. Not now. He couldn’t stop thinking about that look in his eyes.

“Sojiro would be sad to hear that.”

“Like I care.”

“Well, I’m sad to hear that. I do all the cleaning here, you know.”

“Honestly, Ren, that makes me all the more wary.”

Ren looked taken aback. “What the.. Okay, then. It’s heartbreaking to hear that. I think I’ll just go upstairs and curl up in a ball and cry myself to sleep or whatever,” he said, wiping away non-existent tears. He snuck Akechi a glance and saw complete and utter disgust. 

Akechi’s silence was humbling.

Ren, however, did not falter under his cruelly disinterested response. There was more he had to say.

“Akechi,” he began.

“Hm?”

“What have you been doing until now? Since… you know…” Ren’s voice trailed off. He didn’t want to pressure Akechi into talking about Shido. He didn’t want to give him another reason to be distant.

“I’ve just been in my apartment, is all. Studying and whatnot. I didn’t want to be in the public eye when Shido was taking the brunt of the Phantom Thieves’ wrath. The police called me in for questioning after, and I complied. That’s all.”

Heavy silence hovered between them. Akechi had said everything and nothing at all. He was skillfully dodging the question.

“…I see,” Ren said, finally. He hoped the hesitation in his voice wasn’t 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 Shido’s palace? Why won’t you tell me what happened? And, most importantly… 

“What are we?” 

A dreadful chill permeated the air. Ren could feel the colour leaving his face. He could just barely process his own surprise; he wasn’t supposed to say that. He couldn’t let his curiosity show. Not now, not ever. Shit… He bowed his head in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. 

Akechi tossed his head back in Ren’s direction and scoffed. The dark red of his eyes were tainted with contempt. “Two people fulfilling a contract.” He set down his cup with a little too much force and stood up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Amamiya-kun. Don’t forget our deal.” 

With a quick turn of his heel, Akechi was gone. The bell did not chime him farewell; he left as quietly as he’d come. 

Ren let out a sigh. The only evidence of Akechi’s presence was the dredges at the centre of the white coffee cup, staining its otherwise spotless appearance. 

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(◞ ‸ ◟ )ა

even after 214 years on earth, the nightmares persist

this is a two-part Xavier nightmare hurt/comfort fic. part one can be found here.

Ი𐑼 ♪⋆.✮ ─────────────────── ★ ˙ ̟｡

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 wasn’t enough to make him forget his nightmare. 

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 he’d liked it to be. The bright blue of his eyes were duller now, ringed with insomnia. He’d 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 loved– gentle, warm, and eternally loving? What use was a fading star?

“Xavier?” 

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 he’d feared the most was waiting for him on the other side of the bathroom door. There’s no backing out now, he thinks. He’s been caught.

* * *

Cold, empty, nothingness greets you when you reach for Xavier. He’d 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 isn’t 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 couldn’t see him? 

Xavier stands at the edge of the room, clutching fistfuls of fabric to stop his hands from trembling. It was disgraceful— how much more avoidant could he get, choosing to kill the lamplight so he didn’t have to bare his pathetic state to you? It’s humiliating, and he relishes in that depraved mortification, let it wash over his wretched form as his mind works to find an appropriate response.

“Xavier,” 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 you’d thought. 

But he’d promised to try, and he wasn’t one to break promises. 

“It’s fine,” he hisses, like the words are painful to speak. “I’m alright. Just a bit shaken up, is all.”

His lousy attempt at nonchalance tugs at your heart. How often had he suffered like this alone?

“Xavier, you’re not alright.”

“I’m fine,” he echoes, the words coming out harsher than before. A sharp exhale follows. “Just… I’m sorry, I don’t feel so good.” 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 others’ 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. 

Before you knew it, the lights were back on. 

Xavier’s 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.

“I left them,” he breathes out. “I… I left you.”

You remembered it briefly, the time you’d 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 “you” were still hard to grasp. Whatever really happened on Philos, it was clear that Xavier was still suffering the repercussions of it.

You rub Xavier’s 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.

“I’m sorry,” Xavier mumbles after some time, raising his head to finally face you. “I’m sorry for not being able to protect you. For making you suffer alone, when I said I’d always be there for you. For being so pathetic, so pitiful in front of you. I just–”

“You’re none of those things,” you cut him off. “You’re the greatest hunter at the Association! The legendary Lumiere (at this, he grimaces), the leader of the Backtrackers, and above all, you’re someone I love. Don’t belittle yourself, Xavier. You’re my whole universe and more.”

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 it’ll stop another influx of tears. Instead, Xavier looks away. A slight rosy hue tints his ears and cheeks, stark against his otherwise pale skin.

He’s blushing.

You reach out and grab his hand, holding it tightly in your own. “I’m so used to being comforted by you in my worst moments– after I’d failed that exam, when I’d lost my wallet and cried about it the whole way home, that time you slept with me when I was sick, or when we’d failed a mission because of my incompetence and endangered both our lives. You’d been there for everything, anchoring me to you and providing me with comfort that I never needed to ask for.”

So why wouldn’t you do the same?

You fiddle with Xavier’s fingers, trying to verbalize the boundless love you feel with him. “What I’m trying to say is… In every timeline, in every world, you’ve always been there for me. Thank you for finding me, Xavier.

“It’s not your fault that the Traceback II crashed. Hate me if you must, but I’m glad it did. Otherwise, I never would have been able to meet you on Earth.” 

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. “Thank you,” he whispers against your skin, “For letting me be with you.”

He lies down, pulling you with him until you’re impossibly close.

When he wakes up tomorrow, you’ll be there– asleep in his arms, safe and sound.

Ი𐑼 ♪⋆.✮ ─────────────────── ★ ˙ ̟｡

even after 214 years on earth, the nightmares persist.

Xavier nightmare hurt/comfort fic inspired by To Your Yesterday and his Shining Traces 4*

this is a two-part fic, part two can be found here

Ი𐑼 ♪⋆.✮ ─────────────────── ★ ˙ ̟｡

It’s well into the night when Xavier finally wakes up. Midnight yawns, darkness stretching through the room, heavy, foreboding, strange. 

It’s a subtle difference that only the trained senses of a Light Evol user would be able to perceive. Darkness didn’t end at sight— Xavier could feel it seep through his flesh, sinking into the marrow of his bones. Yet, it wasn’t 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 didn’t sleep with those. The rough brush of his gloves against his face is interrupted by a familiar rip in the fabric. Not just any gloves— 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 it’s extinguished. He sighs, suspicions confirmed by the absence of warmth. 

A nightmare. 

He bitterly closes his eyes at the realization. After a moment, he opens them again. 

The scene changes. 

Mist curls around him, opaque tendrils dissipating at the brush of his fingers. Within seconds, they reappear, coiling around his hand again. It’s this kind of push-and-pull that he hates the most, the brief moment he’s awarded hope before despair so cruelly clamps around his throat. Xavier remains perched on the edge of the bed, waiting. 

Nothing happens.

He didn’t mind. After all, Xavier was quite good at waiting. Patience was a virtue, and he was a virtuous prince. Or at least, he’d been expected to be for the better part of 400 years. Old habits die hard. 

He steadies his heart for what’s to come. He strains his eyes in the dark, tracing the vague lines of the thatched cottage room above from his memory. He didn’t 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. 

A few beats pass. 

Exhausted, Xavier relents to the dream. It took quite a few runs to figure it out— the vaguely game-like dream sequence wouldn’t progress until he did its bidding. He never stopped trying to stall it, though— that sort of stubbornness came easy to him. He’d ignored the well-tread path of fate to forge his own uneven trail right next to it. But for now, he’ll play along. 

Xavier leans against the hard body of the mattress; It doesn’t creak under his weight. The room seemed to exist in a cosmic vacuum; no sound arose from any of his movements. He can’t 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. It’s the only indication that he’s alive— and as long as he was alive, he’d always make his way back to you. He promised, after all. Xavier Shen wasn’t one to break promises. 

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. It’s after he’s peacefully settled that the odour hits him, assaulting his senses. Heavy, foreboding, familiar. 

Decay. 

He sits upright with a start. Xavier instinctively reaches for the other side of the bed. There isn’t anything there, he knows, he’s known the last hundred times he’s 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. 

From the depths of the fog, a scream erupts. 

…

Xavier runs his hand through his hair, slick with sweat. His shirt clings uncomfortably to his back, soaked in trepidation. 

The guilt doesn’t get any easier after 214 years. It was just another perk of being near-immortal— he’d remain trapped in this body, encased in eternal youth as his soul decays. Philosians weren’t the type to get attached, knowing their fates. And yet, Xavier foolishly believed the path he’d carved for himself would lead him elsewhere, let him defy the nature of his being to be with you.

He couldn’t change fate. You were destined to die, no matter what he did, and he’d 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 you’d 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.

You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive. And as long as you’re alive, as long as you’re safe and within his reach, it was okay. He’d bear the weight of it all on his shoulders for you. 

“I hope your dreams are sweet,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse with emotion. He lightly pinches your cheek. “At least one of us deserves to be happy.”

He takes the flutter of your lashes as an affirmation of his wish.