#lads qi yu

[goddess-reborn]

Rafayel calls you his girlfriend (English dub)

[kykyonthemoon]

How to babysit a wounded little Hunter

Injured after a mission, you now indulge yourself in his special tender loving care.

ಇ. Character x Female Reader fanfic,

including Caleb, Rafayel, Xavier and Zayne

ಇ. Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, early stage of established relationship

A little heads up: The writer will not take responsibility for any side effect (such as toothache) that might come after reading the fic.

ಇ. Word count: 4k

ಇ. Requested by Wytchie Pie and x

ಇ. Masterlist ♡ Request a fic ♡

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

You dimly sensed footsteps in the bedroom, and then one side of the bed sank. The acquainted scent and warmth embraced you. A cool hand rested on your forehead. In an instant, the heat in your body subsided.

So as soon as that hand was gone, you seized it.

"Don't go…"

You mumbled in a daze. There was a quiet laugh close to your ear, and then that palm brushed against your forehead again.

"If you don't let go, how can I take your temperature then, pipsqueak?"

You recognized that voice. It was Caleb's. So you acted even more aggressively. You yanked his hand tighter, so much so that his entire body appeared to collapse into the bed, just a little above yours.

"Huh? Aren't you a little too strong for someone who is sick?" Caleb laughed again. The sort of laughter that made you feel considerably better.

"I'm not sick." You were persistent, still. "Just feeling a little sleepy."

Caleb's hand tried to pull away from you. But perhaps he kept it that way on purpose, since given your current state, he would have no problem withdrawing if he truly wanted you to let go.

Caleb's hand patted you a little tenderly. He managed to grab the thermometer with his free hand. He took your temperature, then exclaimed: 

"Almost forty Celsius!"

You exhaled heavily, almost a moan. Every part of you felt irritated and heated. Despite this, you dismissed it, saying:

"I'm not... sick..."

Caleb used the chance to release his wrist from you. You opened your eyes slightly and gave him a disappointed expression.

"You have such a high fever, yet still saying you're not sick?" Caleb mumbled, but you caught every word. He handed you medicine, but you did not take it.

"Too bitter." You said.

"Quit whining. "Just take it and go to sleep."

"If I take it… you'll have to stay here with me, okay?"

Caleb sighed. "Only until you sleep, pipsqueak."

You smiled faintly and fast to accept the pills from Caleb's hand. You clutched his hand securely as you drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the Wanderers, the escapes, and the secrets in which you were a part of. Then, when you woke up again, you noticed Caleb seated beside the bed.

“You're awake now, pipsqueak?” He smiled at you. He was rather relieved. He put a hand on your forehead again. “Yup. No more fever."

Caleb's presence seemed to chase the nightmares away. You removed his hand from your forehead and held it tightly.

“How long have I been sleeping?”

"Let's see…" Caleb brushed his chin. "When you arrived home last night, you went to bed right away. You got a high temperature around early morning. From the time you took the medicine and fell asleep until now, I've finished a whole movie, cooked a delicious pot of porridge, and measured your temperature three times."

"What nonsense are you talking about?"

Caleb laughed. He squeezed your hand once. "You've just been asleep for a few hours. But it is past noon now. Are you hungry?"

You shook your head.

"Are you sure?" Caleb asked again. "I made a super delicious pork rib porridge for you though."

You opened your eyes wide and looked at him. Pork rib porridge was a dish he would often cook when you were sick and no longer in a mood to eat anything. That dish always helped you feel better, even just hearing about it was enough to make you crave food again.

"Pork rib porridge…"

You could only whisper that much when Caleb pressed the tip of your nose and said:

“I knew right away that you couldn't resist food.”

A minute later, the room was filled with the aroma of a still-hot bowl of porridge. Caleb put it on a little tray over the bed. You lay back against the cushion, staring at the meal in front of you as if it were a rare delicacy, despite the fact that the ingredients were absolutely basic.

You looked over at Caleb. He was observing you. "What's wrong? Still no appetite?"

“It's too hot…” You pouted. “Besides,… both my arms and body are aching…”

It took a quite difficult mission in extreme weather, and a high fever to receive special care at your bedside. How could you not enjoy it?

Caleb read you right away. He said: “What? The Hunter in Linkon wants me to feed her? Weren't you delirious this morning, saying you had to go fight off Wanderers?”

“When did I say that? But it's okay if you don't help me. I don't want to eat anymore.”

“Are you still a three-year-old then?”

Even though he grumbled, Caleb still smiled very gently. He scooped a spoonful of porridge, blew on it to cool down, then held it out to you.

You opened your mouth really wide, making him chuckle. When he saw that you were eating well, Caleb felt relieved. He teased:

"I thought you're a grown-up now and wouldn't need me to take care of you anymore."

You replied, still with a mouthful of pork rib porridge: "When you lose your cooking skills, I won't really need you anymore then."

Caleb laughed aloud. He patted your head and said: "I didn’t expect my vacation to turn into a part-time job for babysitting. If I catch a fever from you, you must take care of me in return.”

You rose up in a sudden and pressed your still-hot face into the crook of Caleb's neck, nearly dropping the porridge spoon.

“Then I’ll cook pork rib porridge for you. Just heads-up though, even if it tastes yucky, you must eat it all!”

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

The door to the hospital room opened. Rafayel's curly purple hair appeared. And immediately, your phone lit up with a text message from Thomas:

[The little devil is coming for you. Sorry, I did my best.]

You exhaled. Clearly, he had not done his best. That was why Rafayel was here, staring at you with such a deep gaze from the entrance.

"Er… "Hello, Rafayel..." You waved your arm, attempting to greet him with a warm smile.

"Rafayel?" He frowned. "Do you still remember that we know each other?"

"Huh? Why did you...?" You left your sentence incomplete as Rafayel surged inside. He placed his hands on his hips, his expression filled with slanderous words as he accused you.

"Who are you? Do I know you? It's been eight hundred years. Jellyfishes are walkin' naked. Sea turtles climb trees. Sharks are eatin' grass for free! And finally, you remembered me?"

You frowned. Why was there something that rang so familiar with this scenario? Yet it was still off.

“Rafayel, I—”

“When are you going to tell me you're hurt?”

Rafayel pointed a finger directly to your shoulder, where the white bandage was visible through the hospital gown. That was the real reason he was precisely distressed.

“Even Thomas knew you were injured. Yet you didn't say a word to me?! You left me waiting alone for three hours at the exhibition. I can't believe you stood me up!”

You lifted your hand, intending to remind Rafayel to keep his voice down because you were both in the hospital. But he gave you no opportunity to speak.

"Do you realize how scared I was? When Thomas told me you couldn't come, I thought about all the things that could happen to you!”

"Rafayel…" You finally found a chance to interrupt him.  “Let's calm down first. I didn't mean to hide it from you, it's just... I haven't told you yet..."

Rafayel crossed his arms. He was still irritated.

“I can't believe it! You deliberately manipulated me with your innocence so that I would let you get away this time!”

You felt dizzy in the head, and your ears were ringing with Rafayel's nagging words and accusations. The injured one was you. Why did you feel as if you had just committed a great sin?

"ARGHHH!" You shouted and clutched your bandaged shoulder. "It hurts!"

Rafayel quickly forgot the rage in his heart. He moved right away to the bed and gently raised your arm. His eyes were full of concern and anxiety.

“Are you hurt? I'll call the doctor here right away!”

You grasped Rafayel's hand, urging him to stay with you.

“See? I'm still very strong. Just a little hurt."

"How much is a little?" Rafayel frowned. You could feel his hot glare on your shoulder, soaking into the bandage and searing your wound.

"… This much." You clasped your thumb and index finger to form a circle, then held it up for Rafayel to see. He grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest.

"I don't believe you anymore." He continued to speak with a condescending tone. "I have to check it out with my own eyes."

"Huh? What do you mean?…” You suddenly blushed. Rafayel looked at you with serious eyes, yet very sincere. He replied:

“Your wound. I want to see it."

The mere notion of Rafayel wanting to look behind your garments made your cheeks flame. You withdrew your hand and refused:

“I told you I'm fine… Don't make such a scene…”

“If I don't see it, how can I be sure you're not lying to me? This isn't the first time you've hidden your injuries..."

That was all Rafayel said. You gazed at him for a second. Aside from being concerned about you, he was also saddened since you had repeatedly hidden your wounds from him. A great deal when you did not want to bother him, he always found out and became much more frustrated.

"Alright then…"

Eventually, you had to give in. You turned your back to Rafayel and carefully slipped the shirt collar down your shoulder, displaying the neatly wrapped bandages around your torso.

You could see your reflection in the front window. Your face turned crimson. And Rafayel stood next to the bed, attentively investigating you, his fingers softly caressing the gauze, causing you to bow slightly in pain as well as anxiousness.

“Yet you said it was just a little wound.” Rafayel muttered. It was his hand that drew your collar back up. And the next thing you knew, you were upgraded to the best room at the hospital.

You weren't used to how wealthy people spent their money. You looked at Rafayel, who had constantly been by your side during your hospital stay. He requested you to remain in the most advanced hospital room, with the greatest level of care. More than that, he refused to leave your side even when you asked to be alone.

"You don't have to do this, Rafayel." You spoke as he was peeling the fruit for you.

"Open your mouth." He handed you a slice of mango. Even if your lips stated it wasn't required, you nevertheless welcomed all of his attention.

"I'm serious…" As soon as you finished swallowing the mango, he gave you another slice. "Really, um... This mango is truly delicious..."

"Do you crave anything else?" Rafayel purposely ignored every time you told him he didn't need to stay there all day and night to care for you. Your wound had improved significantly.

“I think I can be discharged from hospital and get back to work now…” You said. “I don't want to bother you anymore…”

"What's that?" Rafayel pretended not to hear you. “I think I heard the sound of abalone porridge just being delivered to the hospital. Let me go grab it.”

You sighed. Another expensive meal he had prepared for you. But you knew how much you would miss these things when you left the hospital at last and could no longer benefit from his tender loving care.

“Maybe I'll stay here one more day... You're spoiling me too much...” You muttered beneath your breath, but Rafayel overheard everything. He pinched your cheek and responded:

“You're staying because of the delicious food, not because of my devoted service? This is so heartbreaking! Then, after you've recovered, I'll make you repay everything. You have to work overtime as my bodyguard too!"

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

You crept along the hospital's vacant rear door. You were just hospitalized in the afternoon due to an injury suffered while on job. Even though the doctor advised you to stay for additional examination, you believed the damage was minor. On top of that, the mission was not yet over. You needed to get back to headquarters.

Unfortunately, your escape did not go well. You ran into a familiar shoulder before you could complete the corridor.

"X-Xavier?" You became pale, but not because of the pain. It was only that you were astonished and a little ashamed when caught red-handed.

His look was incredibly complicated, ranging from apprehensive to serious and somewhat furious.

"Where are you going?" he inquired.

You didn't dare to reveal the truth, so you invented an excuse: "Ah... well... The hospital room is quite boring, so I decided to go for a stroll."

"From the back door?"

"Er… I heard the nurse say this is a quicker shortcut to the garden..."

Xavier gazed at you for some time. You clutched your hand tight, terrified that he would not believe that ridiculous excuse. Yet, Xavier nodded at you: "Then let's go together."

Before you could respond, Xavier grabbed your hand and led you outside. It was night time, the wind blew, sending you a slight chill. Xavier took off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. That incredibly gentle gesture made you feel more guilty than ever for lying to him.

“Lead the way.” He told you shortly. For some reason, you had the impression that he was in extreme anger over you.

During the stroll, you didn't dare to speak, and Xavier did the same. He strolled close to you, as if keeping watch rather than walking together. You wandered about for a long time, but there was no trace of the hospital's garden anywhere. Xavier continued to follow your every step in such silence. Him being like that evoked even more guilt in your heart.

At last, you couldn't take it any longer and had to confess: "Xavier... Actually... The truth is, I don't know where the garden is..."

At that point, he spoke up and asked: "So why did you leave your hospital room?"

You didn't dare look into his eyes, so you just stammered an explanation: "Ah... My injury is nothing to be concerned about... That's why I... planned to return to headquarters..."

You noticed Xavier's hands clenching into fists. Fearing he'd be upset, you added: "The doctor also said my injury wasn't too serious— Ah!"

Xavier abruptly pulled your wrist, causing the wound on your arm to hurt. He read through your face which was miserable but still faking a smile. His voice turned sharp:

“If I hadn't caught you, would you really have sneaked away from the hospital?”

Your body convulsed in pain, but you were more concerned about Xavier's rage. You said, "I'm sorry... I was wrong... I'll return to the hospital room right now..."

"Good." Xavier responded curtly. Then he quickly leaned down and held you up in the attitude of a princess being carried.

"W-What are you doing, Xavier?"

"Let's take you back to the hospital room." His expression remained frigid, making you both terrified and embarrassed to be carried by him in such a manner.

Xavier did not return to the same path you had taken. Instead, he took you into the front entrance, where many people, including patients and hospital staff, could see you.

"Xavier? You... put me down! "They are looking at us!"

"I want them to see, so they know you intend to escape the hospital and will monitor you more closely."

Your cheeks became scarlet with humiliation. You swore you saw a kid pointing at you and chuckling, "Mom! I want to be carried like that princess, too!"

And you swore you saw Xavier smirking at that.

After an embarrassing journey, you finally arrived at your room. Xavier set you down on the bed. He chose to remain silent with you as punishment for your unsuccessful escape. You saw him sitting in the corner of the room, peeling a red apple for you.

“Xavier?”

You called out, but he didn't look at you and just replied curtly:

“Rest.”

“Are you angry with me?…”

Xavier's silence revealed the answer. You groaned and pulled the warm cover up high, as if to conceal yourself away from Xavier's rage, but he remained as quiet as a cloudless sky.

When he finished with the apple, he brought it over and gave you a slice. "Eat."

You did not enjoy this cold and distant demeanor of Xavier. If he was upset with you, he should have expressed it directly. You knew it was your fault, and he was so concerned about you that he got mad when you lied to him like that.

"Xavier, I'm sorry…" Your hands seized Xavier's wrist, which was clutching the apple slice. Your eyes widened as much as possible, even giving the impression that you were going to cry.

In the end, the ploy worked. His gaze had softened completely. He placed the plate of apples on the bed and used his other hand to elevate your chin a little. He said: "If you know your fault, then obediently eat all of these and rest."

His hand softly separated your lips, and his other hand inserted a slice of apple for you to eat. You were back in the sunshine, coaxing him to sit on the bed next to you.

"I'll give you three days to recover." Xavier spoke, his voice still agitated, but you could feel his boundless care and love.

"Then I shall bother you to watch over me for a few more days!"

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

You had just returned to your private cabin at the icy mountain base when you heard a tap at the door. You answered the door, wondering who was seeking for you at this hour, and there was Doctor Zayne, holding a first-aid kit while standing outside.

“Zayne?” Your eyes caught the blood on his face and neck. Snow adhered to his dark hair. You took a step back and allowed him inside. "Why are you here?"

Your team had accepted the mission of rescuing people caught in an avalanche created by a group of Wanderers on the mountain. You had learnt that a team of physicians from Akso Hospital was also on their way. But you did not expect to see Zayne here.

Zayne set the first aid pack on the table and then turned to you. He went on to say: "I'm here to do my duty as a doctor."

You widened your eyes and inquired him again, "Your duty as a doctor?"

Zayne pointed to your abdomen, which was soaked from your own blood oozing through the gauze you had recklessly covered earlier.

"Oh dear…" You cried out. You were so engaged in battles that you didn't have time to look at your wound. Your head began spinning as a result of excessive blood loss.

Zayne's powerful arms directed and assisted you to the table. He put you to the wooden table and took a chair to sit in front of you.

"Doctor Zayne, what are you going to do?"

You noted this when you found his hand on the hem of your shirt. He seemed to want to lift it up.

"Treating you."

You knew that. But you were still extremely nervous when thinking that he was about to lift up your shirt. So your hand was still securely grasping his, preventing him from moving any further.

“I've already bandaged it. A nurse also helped me stitch up the wound earlier..."

During the turmoil, you recalled being stabbed in the abdomen. A nurse assisted you in stitching it up, but because there were so many others with more serious injuries, you let her tend to them while you put bandages over yourself and returned to the battlefield. Perhaps your clumsiness caused the wound to bleed a great deal more.

Zayne used his other hand to remove yours before pulling your shirt up. The gauze surrounding your abdomen was drenched in blood. He slowly withdrew it as you writhed in pain and embarrassment.

"Try to sit still for a bit, will you?"

Zayne's soothing voice burst out, calming you down a lot. You sat on the table, your hands lifting your body up while you looked down at the doctor who was treating your wound. The fact that you had to display your skin beneath his gaze made you uneasy and desire to cover your face. But Zayne was quite professional. He remained silent and entirely concentrated on his work. He cleansed the wound and applied a new layer of gauze. His warm breath occasionally wafted against your skin, causing you to tremble slightly. Even when his frigid fingers touched you, it seemed like you were being scorched.

"It's done."

Zayne said after fixing the new layer of gauze. You were a little discontent when his fingers left you. You were ready to pull your top back down when Zayne lightly rubbed his fingers against your abdomen.

“Ouch!” Even though the place he touched was not wounded, you were still startled and embarrassed.

“Just checking it again.” Zayne elaborated. He had you sitting on the table, your bandaged abdomen at his eye level. You could feel his stare through the gauze, pausing a bit too long in areas that were not covered by anything.

“Doctor Zayne… Are you done now?”

You attempted to keep your speech cool, but your crimson cheeks could have given you away. Zayne appeared to flash a little smile. You felt the icy sensation of his fingertip on your skin again as he slid it beneath the hem of your shirt, then pulled it back down.

"I am now." He answered while returning the supplies to the first aid kit. "Don't be so reckless next time. You have to care for yourself first before you can save others.”

"Hold on." You stopped him. You altered your position and stared into his eyes. "You always say so, but can you actually do what you say?"

Zayne tilted his head to look at you. You took advantage of the moment and raised his chin to have a better look. He had a minor cut on his forehead, and the blood on his body was most likely someone else's.

"You rushed here to take care of me, while you, yourself, are in this condition."

You spoke. His hand found your wrist.

"I barely got a few scrapes. Not as concerning as someone who rushed into the battlefield with a bleeding stomach."

"Whether the wound is big or small, it can be critical." You stated precisely what Dr. Zayne told you whenever he saw you injured, even if it was only a little cut.

Realizing that he had just tasted his own medicine, Zayne let out a small laugh. Then he tugged your hand, causing you to almost lean towards him. He gazed into your eyes for quite a while.

"So, my doctor, will you treat me?"

You blushed again. Zayne relinquished his hand, allowing you to properly wipe the blood off his face. You had to confess that you were a little awkward, owing to your unexpected closeness to Zayne in such a private and calm setting. He probably could hear your heart racing. He supported your hand which was holding a sterilized cotton pad and said:

"If you want to become a skilled doctor, in situations like this you must be even calmer."

"I'm not as professional as Dr. Zayne." You answered with a little caustic tone. "You were able to treat my wound so calmly just now."

Zayne gazed at you for an instant. His face remained calm, but his eyes were not.

"I'm a skilled doctor. Yet, it doesn’t imply that I wouldn't feel anything while treating the girl I like in such a... condition."

[archonfurina]

Love and Deepspace: Rafayel

[beneathashadytree]

“MY PERIOD’S LATE” - PRANKING THE LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MEN

Warnings : mentions of sex & pregnancy, kinda NSFW but also not too much, reader is AFAB!

Genre : spicy fluff I guess??

Additional notes : This was requested by anon who chose one of my all-time fav boyfriend pranks😭 Loved making this as usual🙏🏽

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[revasserium]

promise (to be holy)

rafayel; 1,745 words; fluff, fluff w/out plot, established relationship, kinda?spoilers for raf's lvl 55 affection story, no "y/n", genderless!reader, very suggestive but not actually nsfw

summary: oh, didn't you know? promises are sacred things beneath the ocean...

a/n: @syneilesis thank u for being my lad screaming buddy; this one's for you and for raf the little slut

The ocean has always been a certain kind of poetry, hasn’t it? You smile to yourself as you blink yourself awake and the world is the size of your sunlit bedroom. Rafayel’s breaths are even, his lashes so dark and long they remind you of a certain kind of midnight — the kind that catches starlight in her hair and has magic in her fingertips.

The kind of midnight that inspires wonder.

“If you really are that enamored with me… I can paint you a portrait. It’ll last longer.”

You blush, even as Rafayel’s eyes flicker open to catch yours, his lips pulled into a teasing, sleep-heavy smile.

“I — I wasn’t staring. I just woke up too and you were blocking my sun.”

You try to turn away, but Rafayel is faster, his arm looping around your middle to pin you to him, his breath warm as it kisses the skin of your bare shoulder. He cocks his head, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“Oh? Is that so?” he asks, shifting so that your eyes are level. The morning light paints his outline in liquid gold, and from here, the shade of his eyes makes you think of all the secrets the sea might keep from the sky.

“Mhm,” you nod, licking your lips, and watching with some satisfaction, as his eyes flick down to trace the movement. His skin is warm and his fingers soft as they press into the bend of your waist to pull you closer.

“Liar,” he says — whispers, before he dips down to graze his lips against yours.

You sigh against him, grinning as you curl your fingers into his hair and tug. The way he gasps makes a certain, unnamable hunger surge within you, pushing you forward till you’re pressing him back into the bed, your thighs on either side of his hips.

“Y-you — ngh —” Rafayel hisses as he tips his head back, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, his fingers inadvertently into your skin. You cock your head — and perhaps it’s the tantalizing line of his neck as he leans back, straining beneath you, or perhaps it’s just the morning light, falling like a lover’s caress across the smooth of his skin, the soft wave of his hair as it splays across the pillow — dark against light.

“Now… who’re you calling a liar?” you ask, flattening your palm slowly against his chest, reveling in the way his stomach tenses beneath you, how his breaths seem to quicken as you lean down and down and down.

“Y-you —” he almost musters up a glare as he hisses, “bullying the weak…” he murmurs as he tries to turn away. You twist his face back towards you with a finger beneath his chin and watch as his eyes go wide.

“Oh? You think this is bullying? But… I haven’t even gotten started yet…” you don’t miss the way his pupils dilate, the way his entire body goes rigid and then soft.

“I — you — I’m not accustomed to the ways of you humans! T-to a Lemurian like me… this is — this is —” The words die on his lips as you lean down to skim your lips along the bend of his neck, dropping phantom kisses on the long line of his collarbone, your fingers still holding his head in place.

“Hm?” you hum, grinning as he arches up into your touch, his fingers digging crescent-moon grooves into your hips and thighs, “this is… what, exactly?”

Rafayel makes a broken, keening noise at the back of his throat as you pull away, a fox-fire smile twisting your lips. You blink down at him, feigning innocence.

“Didn’t you say you were going to tell me all about Lemurian traditions? Why not start now?”

His eyes narrow as he forces himself to look away from you. You can almost feel the heat radiating off him in waves, burning from the tips of his ears all the way to the roots of his hair.

“I — you —” his lashes flutter and you can’t help your own laughter as it bubbles from you.

“C’mon, let’s get up — didn’t you want to go to the paint shop today — oh!”

You make to pull away, swinging your legs off him, but the world tilts as a pair of hands pull you back, and a moment later, you’re being pressed into an ocean of tangled sheets and pillows, Rafayel’s face hovering above yours, his expression caught between annoyance and ill-concealed desire.

“You shouldn’t start something you can’t finish,” he cocks his head, lips drawn into a delightful pout as you try to tug your hand away. He huffs as he pins you down harder, the redness in his cheeks deepening even as he leans in.

“Who said I was starting anything?” you ask, batting your lashes up at him even as he scoffs.

“Words aren’t the only way to make promises, y’know,” he says, and you feel his grip on you loosen. But there’s a tantalizing lilt to his voice that holds you in place, a dark, faraway look in his eyes as he leans back slightly, his gaze grazing down the shape of you, splayed out beneath him.

“Yeah? Then… what’s another way of making a promise?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows as he shifts back to allow you more space. You shift and the pair of you find yourself sitting face to face, the sheets rumpled around you like a white-sand beach, the remnants of the night before scattered in the folds like footsteps in the sand.

He looks at you before his eyes cast downwards. Your fingertips itch toward him and you reach out, brushing aside a stray strand of hair. Quick as a flicker, he catches your hand, pressing his cheek to your palm, eyes falling shut as he sighs.

“There’s… lots of ways to make a promise…” he says, murmuring it against your skin as he turns his face to press a kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist. You shiver as heat chases up your arm, tingling through your body as you swallow.

You sit there, frozen, as he leans in, slow and slow and slow — till you can feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

“You see… words are a little harder when you’re underwater, so sometimes we make promises by touching palms —” he turns his hand around yours till your fingers lace, “sometimes… we brush cheeks…” he grins as he leans in further, his cheek brushing by yours.

“And sometimes…” he pulls back ever so slightly, till you feel your own breath catch in your chest. His voice is deep and warm and soft and sweet — tugging you in as the moon on the tide, and you can’t help but wonder at the mysterious forces that might’ve pulled you towards one another in the beginning.

Chance, or perhaps something much less nebulous — like gravity.

Your lips meet like magnets clicking into place, and it’s far from the first time you’ve kissed but somehow here, in the morning light, with the windows of the bedroom thrown open to welcome the sea, the salt hanging solid and heavy in the air, it feels like the first time. You can taste the smile on Rafayel’s lips, can feel the eager way he presses in, tongue sweeping across your lips as you gasp open for him. You feel the weight of his body as he pulls you in, pushes you down, and the gentle give and take of it all somehow rings out against the slow shushing of the rising tides.

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless. You wonder, briefly, dazedly, if he might’ve been able to go on kissing like that forever. Do Lemurians even need to breathe? What might it be like to kiss like that and never feel the burning ache of oxygen in your lungs? It’s a dizzying thought, and you let yourself linger on it for a second more before Rafayel’s laughter breaks your train of thought.

“What? Was it so good that you’ve gone into shock?”

You blink, shaking your head as you feel heat wash up into your cheeks.

“No! I — I was just wondering… what does a kiss promise, exactly?”

And at this, Rafayel’s cheeks darken again, but he sighs and lowers himself onto the bed next to you, a finger trailing idly along the bend of your ear.

“Well…” he says, “it depends on the kind of kiss.”

You yelp, swatting at him with a pillow as your stomach flips inside you at the implications. His laughter is bright and pure and sweet, but as you both settle down again, he shrugs, pulling you closer to nuzzle his nose against yours.

“But mostly… a kiss just promises that there’ll be another kiss.”

You smile, leaning up to graze your lips against his, “Like that?”

He lets out a soft groan before pulling you in, his lips parting yours, slow and sensuous.

“Yeah… just like that.”

“And so… if you kiss once then…” you press a finger to his lips to stop him from leaning down again, “you’ve gotta keep on kissing? Forever?”

Rafayel grins, tugging away your hand, “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

You purse your lips, humming as you feign contemplation. Rafayel scoffs and makes to move away again, but you pull him back, laughing.

“You can’t leave yet! We’ve got a promise to keep, remember?” and with that, you kiss him, and he softens. As he always does.

“I think…” he says, a little breathless as the pair of you sink back into the sheets, “we’ve got a bit more than one promise… but I think we can start with this one…” and he leans in to capture your lips in his, fingers drifting to the skin of your waist. And as the dawning day watches from beyond the window, the ocean shushes itself against a stretch of forgotten beach, water through sand like tangling lovers’ fingers, reaching and holding, pushing and pulling.

And for lovers like that, there will always be promises to keep, and keep, and keep.

pls come talk to me about love and deepspace oh m ygod

[gojosatoruwifey]

rafayel is cuddled up next to you, his face on your neck as he tries to sleep despite your insistent talkative self appearing at the most inconvenient time — just as the moon is high in the sky, the stars are awake and sleep is bugging him to leave the waking world.

“talk to me more?”, rafayel frowns and moves closer to bury his nose deeper.

your whispered voice is laced with mischief. you’re up to something, he just knows it.

“rafayeell” you whine.

“ppsst, rafayel. you’re still awake. talk to me. psst.” you can’t help it okay? the cure for boredom is curiosity and curiosity has no cure unless rafayel wakes up and lets you see what he is wearing. it’s late at night you get to be free from your hunter work and cold nights must be spent with your partner. also, you remember he is texting you every five minutes earlier begging you to come home as much as possible but when you open the doors and see his curled-up figure in the bed, you suddenly feel a little bit defeated.

you promise you will make it up to him…

however, rafayel proceeds to topple you over to him and covers you with a blanket.

you narrow your eyes when you feel the unusual material he is wearing, unlike his usual sleepwear despite being buried by the fluffy blanket.

now, that got your attention.

“my pretty and awesome mister, so dreamy–” you tilt your head to kiss his forehead, “ —so sassy—” rafayel scoffed. “ —sweet pea, the love of my life and my all-time favorite lover boy—-”

rafayel shuffled and sat up, pinning a piercing glare in your direction.

you laugh out loud seeing he is wearing your lingerie.

there’s a blush painting on his cheeks and with the moonlight inside the dim room, he looks even more alluring but you can’t find yourself to stop laughing not when he is pouting at you, offended at your reaction as he had his arms crossed against his chest.

"i let you borrow my clothes, but when i try to borrow yours, you find it funny? stop, stop laughing!”

sitting up, you wrap your arms around his waist as you coax him to lie in the bed with you, planting a coy kiss on his naked shoulders, “i’m not laughing..”

“liar,” rafayel is quick to crane his neck as your lips climbed up to the sweet spot you knew had him shuddering. with your body pressed close to him like this, you feel him sighing and slightly trembling. his pretense wall crumbling under your touch, cheeks, and ears flaming red, his half-lidded eyes tempting you to leave a mark on his pale skin.

in the art of dealing a sulky rafayel, you’re proven to be a skillful master.

[d3vonss]

If Rafayel’s new banner wasn’t enough proof of Big Tiddy Rafa, then take a look at this-

he has boobs. and they BOUNCE. boing boing boing.

…if you need a bra you can just ask-

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

recently popular mermaid tail nail art on xiaohongshu

[yuzuocha]

Zayne: That is called a traumatic experience.

Zayne, turning to Rafayel: Not "lmfao".

Zayne, turning to Xavier: Not "oof".

Zayne, turning to MC: And DEFINITELY not "oof lmfao".

[jieunsies]

[scribeofnight]

⸝⸝ ꒰ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃. 🫧ㆍ₊⊹

✦ 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 ;; rafayel x gn!reader ✦ 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 ;; fluff, pure fluff and brainrots, not fully coherent thoughts ✦ 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ;; 0.7k ✦ 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖾'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 ;; obsessed and thinking about husband rafayel 24/7 - so a little filler drabble while i finish up the zayne oneshot and before i go to bed. enjoy my seashells <3 (currently can't add my yellows - i'll edit the format tomorrow)

✦ 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘦 (𝘧𝘪𝘤/𝘩𝘤𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯!!) ♡.

⟢ husband! rafayel who makes sure there's always a place for you to sit or lay down on when you're in the room watching him paint

⟢ husband! rafayel who smears paint on your cheeks while you're sleeping, only to feel bad and paint a small sunset or ocean or sunrise or the sky or anything, really, across your cheeks

⟢ husband! rafayel who will trace miscellaneous shapes on your collarbones and shoulders - connecting every freckle and mole

⟢ husband! rafayel who looks at your stretch marks and kisses them gently, tracing every curve and smiling up at you, stopping to only tell you how much they look like stardust

⟢ husband! rafayel who would cave when you give him puppy eyes and a pout - he's weak for you, he knows

⟢ husband! rafayel who once reserved a whole restaurant because he remembered you saying you don't like eating in front of a lot of people, just so you would be comfy on your date night

⟢ husband! rafayel who would collect seashells everyday as he walks on the beach with you, telling you stories about his adventures when he was a little kid in lemurian waters; placing them in a tiny jar that he gives to you - and his grin is so blinding and hug so warm and kiss so tender when he sees it on your desk and in your bag.

⟢ husband! rafayel who thinks you look exceptionally pretty in pearls, but he thinks you're ethereal when you're in his bed, curled up around him, bed hair and sour breath and all

⟢ husband! rafayel who grew fond of cats because of how much you love them - who fell in love with the way you looked and loved cats, and could never think of cats as harmful ever again (especially when you look at them like how you look at him)

⟢ husband! rafayel who buys you dresses upon dresses, if only to see you wear them and spin around like the disney princess you deserved to be but couldn't affort to be

⟢ husband! rafayel introducing you to little fishies during a swim in the ocean, calling you his wife and watching with awe as the fishes boop your nose and circle you two, guiding you both through the waters to the prettiest coral reef ever

⟢ husband! rafayel who lets you see his silvery scars from fighting for his kingdom, letting you trace them even though he flinches from the memories - only soothed by your fingertips and gentle kisses to his skin, your calloused thumbs wiping away falling tears

⟢ husband! rafayel dedicating a whole exhibit with every painting of everything you've ever loved and liked, with the centerpiece as both of you dancing at the banquet, with the words "for my ocean" as its caption

⟢ husband! rafayel who has never thought of having kids until he took one look at you with your nephew, and decided he wanted some then and there

⟢ husband! rafayel who brings you trinkets and tidbits from wherever he travels to, be it in Linkon or overseas, because every little thing reminds him of you (he'd rather live with your memory and you by his side than have to lose you again)

⟢ husband! rafayel that would not let you go anywhere without him - he knows you can defend yourself, but he wants to be able to see you and touch you just in case; he likes protecting you (if only to make up for all the time that he wasn't there to protect you - could you blame him? he wanted you to forget, he was sure you would)

⟢ husband! rafayel that would cook for you when you return home from work, shit-faced and weak, wobbly, exhausted legs - who would feed you and hold you close as your words slurred, a fond smile on his face as he squished your cheeks, watching you fall asleep, your features so beautifully calm and peaceful

⟢ husband! rafayel who never wants to see you cry, but would sit there on the bathroom floor at 5am, wiping your tears away when memories of you both together centuries ago flooded your mind, his heart aching as he watched you cry over not remembering him when it really was his fault

⟢ husband! rafayel who would hold your hair back when you didn't like the way it felt, tying it up into a bun and decorating it with little seashell clips so you felt pretty

⟢ husband! rafayel who would see his child hold a paintbrush, painting a very wonky looking apple and sing with glee - who would frame the apple painting and title it "[child's name]'s first painting"

⟢ husband! rafayel who would tell his child how wonderful of a mother you are, spinning the baby around before he tucks the baby onto his hips, holding her close

⟢ husband! rafayel who would rest his forehead against yours at least 5 times a day, loving the peace and love that radiates from you, seeping into him and soothing his bones, a quick kiss on your lips sealed the deal

⟢ husband! rafayel who always tells you that he's glad to finally be yours, to kiss you and hold you close

⟢ husband! rafayel who looks at you like you hung the moon and stars when you tell him you love him

⟢ husband! rafayel who is just so happy you come home to him everyday

♡. head empty only husband rafayel.

✧˖°. header creds ;; @editshan <𝟑

♡₊˚ 🪼・ copyright @scribeofnight all rights reserved ;; do not copy, steal, plagarize, reword or repost to other platforms without proper permission || all credits to original owners and creators of the characters from the media + pictures that are not my own.

[goddess-reborn]

Rafayel calls you “Cutie” (English dub)

And then gets shy when you call him it back

[kykyonthemoon]

The spaces between my fingers are where yours fit perfectly

When comparing hands, you realize how tiny you are to him.

ಇ. Character x Female Reader/MC

(Included parts in order: Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne)

ಇ. Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, established relationship, comforting and healing, size gap, long-distance relationship (for Caleb's part)

ಇ. Word count: 3k2

ಇ. Requested anonymously

ಇ. The title of this fic is a lyric from Owl City's song - Vanilla Twilight.

ಇ. Masterlist

ಇ. Request

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

Since childhood, you had always loved holding Caleb's hand.

You adored putting your small hand in his palm. To feel such warmth. His hands were usually larger than yours. At first, there was not much difference between the hands of two children. But as you got older, the gap widened. You began to notice this and frequently inclined him to compare hands.

“Hey Caleb, give me your hand.”

"What for?"

“Just do what I said, and give me your hand.”

Caleb was thrilled, waiting for you to place a piece of candy or anything intriguing in his hand, which had just expanded to its full size. Then he got upset when he felt the touch of your hand instead.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmmph." You pouted. "Still not as big."

You put your hand on Caleb's, measuring front, back, left and right. He eventually lost patience and said:

“Why are you measuring my hand?”

“Because I want my hands to be as big as yours. Only with such big hands can you hold so many gifts and pies from Grandma..."

Your face was extremely serious as you spoke, but it made Caleb roll around in the grass, laughing until his stomach hurt.

“Why are you laughing at me?!” You felt a little offended. You struck Caleb hard on the arm. It was painful.

"Ouch!" He yelled, then got up to face you. His hair still had grass in it. "Listen up, pipsqueak. Your hand will never be bigger than mine."

"Why?"

“Because I will always be taller than you, bigger than you. I must be taller to protect you and Grandma! My hands must be bigger to always hold yours!”

Having said that, Caleb curled his fingers around your palm. You grinned naively, believing that such large hands were ideal for doing all of the chores or lifting heavy objects for you.

One time, while learning to cook with Grandma, Caleb burned his hand. He tolerated pain very well and did not whine. On the contrary, it was you who frantically ran to find ointment to apply to him. You were crying:

“Caleb, you have to be careful! You have to take care of these hands... If something happens to them, who will do the housework for me?..."

Caleb laughed. He used his other hand to pat your head. “What are you worried about, pipsqueak? I will always protect you. Who did I start learning how to cook for?"

You sobbed. Honestly, you felt so terrible every time Caleb got hurt.

Time seemed to fly by. You both were growing up. The space between the two hands also extended. At one point, suddenly, just comparing hands with him turned your cheeks red.

But these days, you did not get to do that often anymore. Caleb went to the academy so far away, and then his long missions left him with few opportunities to visit home. In his free time, you could only chat with him online. You really missed the feeling of his large hands shielding yours. You said:

“Caleb. Give me your hand.”

On the laptop screen, he burst out laughing. “What now? Even though I'm so far away, you still want to measure my hand?"

“Just do what I said.”

Caleb shook his head in defeat. He brought his hand close to the camera and spread out five slim fingers. His hands were thin and smooth, but after being accepted into the academy, you could feel the roughness or new calluses there. You smiled, raised your hand to the screen and pressed it against his.

“Looking from this angle, my hand is bigger than yours!”

“Wow, pipsqueak has grown bigger and stronger than me!”

Oh, how much you missed him! You were about to burst into tears and tell him to come home to you right that moment. It had been a long time since his last return. You longed to hold his hand.

But you wouldn't make Caleb worry if he had to embark on a mission away from home. You tried to show him your brightest smile. And you whispered:

“Yeah. You've always taken care of me since I was little. Now it's my turn to be stronger to take care of you."

Caleb knew you so well, because you were always the thing in the palm of his hand he cherished most in the world. He was silent for a long moment, then gently said:

“Pipsqueak, don't be sad. I'll come home to you next weekend, okay? Make sure you eat plenty. If I return home and notice that your hands have thinned even just a little bit, I will be very displeased!"

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

The first time you met him, he left an impression on you with his large and steady hand.

You found Xavier on a mission. Since he did not move, you came closer and gently shook him. Then his large hand gripped your wrist securely. You were astonished by the sudden vigor with which you were seized. To be honest, you were afraid at the moment.

The second time you met him, his big hand protected you once more and took you out of danger. That hand placed around your waist, not squeezing hard to the point you became uneasy, but it was a gentle touch, as if he was frightened you might vanish if he held you too closely. Perhaps from that moment on, you felt the warmth and safety of being in his arms. And all your walls eventually collapsed, embracing the way he entwined his soul with your own.

Then you became used to holding his hand as you walked together. When you had to maneuver through a congested area, he would gently squeeze your fingers, as if to remind you to pay more attention to him. And as you two went along a quiet street or sat on the subway with his head resting on your shoulder, he tenderly rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb. A gentle gesture, just enough to let everyone know that this girl was his.

His knuckles were hardened from sword practice. His skin was also consistently dry. He was clueless about how to take care of himself. So you began to learn about lotions for nourishing hands.You always carried a tube with you. On one occasion, you took it out and applied it to Xavier's hand.

"What's this?" He inquired.

“Hand cream.” You murmured this as you massaged the soft white cream into Xavier's obediently outstretched hands. “Your skin is so dry. I bought this for you to use.”

He did not answer, just stared intently at you taking care of him. When the thin layer of cream was absorbed, he turned his hands over and observed with a blank expression.

You giggled, then held out a hand in front of his face and said:

“Put your hand here.”

Xavier displayed confusion before placing his hand on yours and softly hitting the palm.

"High-five?" He inquired, continuing to appear perplexed.

"No." You answered, grasping Xavier's wrist to keep his hand close to yours. "I want to see how large your hands are. Hmmm…"

Xavier's hand was a little bigger than yours. You loved these hands. They constantly offered you a sense of security. On any endeavor, you could put your life in his hands without any hesitation. In daily life, you would always reach for his hand whenever you went out, or when your free hand wanted to feel his warmth. The only thing you never dared trust in these hands was, perhaps, cooking.

Xavier smiled. His hands felt significantly smoother after applying the cream, and they retained a very subtle flowery aroma. He laced his fingers with yours, then leaned down and placed a kiss on your hand.

“My hands smell like yours now.”

"Of course." You replied while blushing. “It's the same type of hand cream.”

Xavier did not respond. You caught him pondering for a long time. The next day, you found him applying the entire tube of cream on his hands.

"Oh dear! What are you doing? There's no need to apply that much!”

You quickly went to get a towel to help him clean up. He sat on the sofa, looking rather bewildered while you asked him:

“Are you going to use up the entire tube like that?”

Xavier responded: “Yeah… Since… This morning when I woke up, I couldn't smell your cream anymore. I want to use it all so the fragrance lasts longer.”

You rolled my eyes at Xavier, and a few seconds later you fell down laughing on the sofa. "Oh my! You did it in vain. These things don't last long."

“Is that so…” Disappointment was evident on Xavier's face. Seeing that, you sat close and tangled your hand with his. You said:

“If you like this scent, I will buy more for you.”

“What I like is your scent.” Xavier replied. His thumb caressed your hand. “I like the scent of your hair, your clothes, your hands… Everything that belongs to you…”

You were surprised, and delighted. Your face was more radiant than the sun outside the window. His hand felt so large and warm. If you could, you would never want to let  go.

You squeezed his hand once. Fingers pressed closely together. You progressed from being terrified of this foreign hand to when it became familiar, and now inseparable. It was weird, since despite only knowing him for a short time, it felt like you had loved him your whole life.

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you whispered:

“Xavier, don't ever let go of my hand, okay?”

"Never."

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

You preferred to visit Rafayel's studio more frequently these days. Of course, compared to staying in a small apartment alone, coming here to work with him, drenched in sunlight and sea breeze, surrounded by flowers and grass, was definitely a much more sensible choice.

But the main reason remained Rafayel. You enjoyed watching him in silence, as he concentrated on painting. His long fingers wrapped around the brush, perfect as if he was the work of art. You had undoubtedly noticed Rafayel's hands since the first time you met, when he demonstrated his incredible fishing talents. He was adept at wielding a racket and far more skilled at holding a brush. The hues of the mythical world depicted in the painting gradually revealed itself under his magical hands. He did not always use a brush, instead dipping his hands in the paint, and as his fingers started dancing on the white canvas, you believed you saw a rainbow even though it was not sunny that day.

You loved how Rafayel rotated the brush in his palm while contemplating before getting started with painting. You loved the way his fingers held the chopsticks and  transformed the food into a culinary movie. You liked the way he wrapped his long finger in your hair to play with it. It seemed that everything he did with his hands was perfect, and unreal.

“Rafayel. Can you raise your hand?” You asked him that out of nowhere one afternoon at the studio. He was focused on an art book, so he did not respond and simply executed what you asked.

You extended your hand, intending to press it against his. Yet he raised his hand a bit higher. You grimaced and lifted your palm high. He did that again, and again, until his arm was stretched to its full length, and so was yours. The only thing was, since yours was shorter, you could not reach his palm.

“Rafayel!” You shouted fiercely. He closed the book he was reading and flung it on the sofa. On his face was a triumphant smile.

"What? Can't reach it?"

With an irritated expression, you rose up and seized his hand. Fingers intertwined, perfect as if he and you were made for each other. You used a great force to push Rafayel down into the sofa, while your other hand maintained your body weight by positioning it near his neck.

The smile on Rafayel's face disappeared. The scarlet hue of a ripe tomato gradually crept across his statue-like face and reached his ears. Rafayel seemed displeased.

“Are you bullying me?”

“Who bullied who first?” You argued back.

Noticing that Rafayel had begun to move beneath you, his hand entwined with yours now yearning to escape, you held him even tighter. His hands were slender and cool, velvety like a baby's skin. The veins were barely visible underneath the thin skin. The fingers were extremely lengthy; they belonged to an artist rather than a warrior like you. Even his nails were tidy, pink, and well-filed. Looking back at your hand in his, it was dry and small, with short fingers and nails that were neglected due to a lack of time, you were unable to avoid feeling envious.

“Hey, if you want to hold my hand, just say it.” Rafayel gazed at you furiously. “Is it necessary to pin me down like this?”

“I don't want to hold your hand. I just want to compare it with mine.”

Rafayel scoffed. He replied: “Comparing hands, why? We all know for a fact that I have the most gorgeous hands in the world.”

Seeing how he started praising himself, I sat up bored, intending not to joke with him again. But Rafayel refused to let go of your hand. The other curled around your waist, clutching you hard.

"Where are you going? We haven't finished talking yet, have we? If you like my hands so much, how about I give them to you?”

"Huh?" You were a bit startled. In your mind a scenario of receiving a huge gift box. When you opened it, you discovered Rafayel's severed and bloody hands inside...

Rafayel squeezed your face, as if he knew you were thinking nonsense.

“Whatever you're thinking, with that expression, I'm sure it's not what I want. Follow me.”

Rafayel led you into the warehouse, he pulled out some plaster powder and a few necessary tools. Later that day, there was a new piece in Rafayel's studio, yet not a painting. It was a statue of a small hand tangled with a larger one. A precise duplicate of yours and Rafayel's.

“Come to think of it,” he said as he looked at the final work with you. “My hands are most beautiful when intertwined with yours.”

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

Doctor Zayne's hands were often cold.

You still remembered learning to knit with Grandma and making gloves for Zayne when you lived close. Unfortunately, you did not get a chance to present them to him yet. You kept them in your old box at home till this day.

At the time, his hands were already significantly larger than yours. They were chilly since his Evol was occasionally unrestrained. In situations like that, he would put his hands in his pockets, look down, and leave fast. Even though you chased him down to ask him questions, he declined to speak, much alone show you his hands.

At the time, there was no scar on his hands.

Presently, when you put on his large gloves, you noticed how enormous his hands were. Your hand was buried beneath a thick layer of wool, only taking up about half of the glove's space. You rolled your eyes.

“Doctor Zayne, look!” You raised your gloved hand for him to see. The wool glove's fingertips had extra room and swung to the rhythm as you waved them. Obviously, the glove was excessively big for you.

“Stop playing around.” Doctor Zayne replied. He took the other glove and put it on your other hand. “Put this on.”

“It's too big. I feel like I'm a monster with gigantic hands!”

You laughed. Zayne grabbed your hands and hoisted them up. He inhaled to keep them warm and responded: "Because someone has lost her gloves on the way here, she must accept her fate of becoming a monster."

Zayne chuckled, but his serious expression made you question if he was fooling or condemning you for being irresponsible. He and you were on holiday in the snow-covered mountains. How silly of you to have misplaced your gloves and not remembered where you had put them. Hence he had to let you temporarily borrow his.

Even after you bought a new pair, you preferred the feeling of putting your hands in Zayne's gloves. Especially when they still felt his warmth lingering inside.

Zayne's hands were always so big, they were twice the size of yours. Your body shape was average, but when you stood next to him, you appeared strangely tiny. He could easily lift you up. He could hold both of your hands together with only one of his. And he could hold all five snow seals lined up side by side in one hand at your request.

His hands were covered with scars. When you inquired about their history, he just made up an explanation that he washed his hands too thoroughly. He saw you as a three-year-old child. Of course you did not believe it at all, but would not ask more until he was comfortable enough to share his story with you. You adored tracing the scars and veins that bulged beneath his skin. Sometimes, he felt ticklish. Other times, he would tell you to stop messing around while he was working. But he never truly pushed your tiny hand aside.

There were times when his hands became very cold. Extremely cold. As his habit, he buried them in his layers of garments without letting you know. He would not dare touch you since he was frightened you would catch that cold. Yet in moments like that, all you ever wanted was to hold him close.

You removed his hands from his coat pockets. They felt as frigid as ice when you touched them. Doctor Zayne frowned. He wanted to withdraw his hands but you clutched them hard. Your little, trembling fingers curled around and cherished those cold hands. You offered them your warm breath.

“Let go of them. You will be cold.” Zayne expressed worry. But you shook your head.

“Just wait a little longer and we'll both warm up.”

“I will… hurt you…”

That was what terrified Zayne. What if he lost control and accidentally hurt you? He would never be able to forgive himself if that happened. There had been many times he had avoided or hidden from you, but in the end, you were always the one who ran to his side when he needed you the most.

Eventually, he gave in. He relaxed his hands in your palms. He rested his head on your forehead, his eyes softly closing. In you there was always the warmth that he yearned.

After a while, Zayne warmed up. You were not cold anymore. Between the hands was an immeasurable warmth that both he and you desired to cherish forever.

That winter, you gave him a pair of new gloves with snowmen on that you had knitted. They clasped securely around Zayne's fingers, a reminder that no matter what, you would never let go of his hands.

[archonfurina]

Love and Deepspace: Rafayel - 5* Deep Sea Promise

[beneathashadytree]

“CAN I TIE A RIBBON AROUND YOUR BICEP?” - TEXTING THE LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MEN

Warnings : suggestive (implied NSFW) but not explicit, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : spicy fluff ig?

Additional notes : My number one motto with these men is to make them regret ever loving the MC🙏🏽

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[revasserium]

hiii, can I still request a drabble? if yes, I want to ask for prompt 1, vocabulary list: stay with rafayel. bcs I think this boy is definitely a tsundere, will do and say literally anything but the truth that he wants you to stay with him. clingy rafayel is just so cute! thank you, I love your writings by the way ✨

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

24. vocabulary list: stay

rafayel; 2,073 words; fluff, fem!reader, pining, slight!spoilers, no "y/n", teeth rotting fluff

summary: 5 times rafayel asks you to stay + 1 time you do instead

a/n: it's just cuteness u__u

001.

“Stay.”

You are both children, and the summer sea is lapping at your feet. Sand squeezes between your toes and shells glitter like diamonds scattered across your stretch of secret beach. Rafayel’s pinky is hooked through yours. You laugh a laugh that sounds like heartbreak, even though Rafayel is too young to know what heartbreak means —

He wonders, later, if creatures of the sea are both with heartbreak in their bones — because what is heartbreak if not the sea? With the way it sings to an endless sky, the way it cups the world in its palm, the way it loves so helplessly — the beach, the seafarers, the rain — only for its loves to sink into its depths and never rise again.

“I can’t — you know I can’t!” you’re still laughing, digging your toes into the sand, as if this were all just a game.

Rafayel huffs, “I don’t! I don’t know!” and he knows he’s being petulant, being childish. But he figures he still is a child, by the measure of the sea, so he should be allowed at least this.

“I’ll be back tomorrow!” you say, you promise, so carelessly, as humans are wont to do.

Rafayel bites his lips, and a part of him knows that you won’t be. Still, he forces a smile, a sigh, and nods.

“Okay then… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

002.

“Stay…” he’s drunk. He can taste it in the weight of the humid air on his tongue. It’s late — the summer moon hanging huge and turgid on the horizon. Even the tide is lazy as it sloshes against the long stretch of shore just outside his window, weighed down by the summertime dreams of long lost loves, the shrapnel bits of broken promises.

You sigh as you look down at him, your eyes bright in the dim lighting of his giant studio.

“I really should be getting back…” you glance at the large clock on the wall, but your eyes flicker back towards him and Rafayel seizes on the chance, pushing himself up and tugging at your sleeve.

“You told me you’d come back and now… you’re leaving again…” he knows he sounds like a petulant child but he feels like a petulant child, the half-bottle of champagne dulling his senses and muffling his usually razor sharp wit.

“I —” a frown creases your forehead as you crouch down beside him, looking over his face, “I said I’d… come back?”

Rafayel sighs again, letting his eyes fall shut, “You don’t even remember…”

He feels the cool of your palm against his cheek and fights down the urge to moan and lean in closer, to press you to him.

“You must really be drunk, huh…” your voice is soft and helpless, but he can hear the hint of your resigned laughter. A moment later, he feels the couch dip as you sit back down, tugging his head into your lap as you run an absent hand through his disheveled hair.

He shakes his head, “Not drunk…”

“Shh… just sleep, okay?” you murmur, pressing your hand to his forehead and smoothing out the tiny frown threatening to crease his brows.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” he asks, even though he doesn’t really want to know the answer.

Your laughter is soft, and maybe even a little sad as you caress his cheek.

“Maybe.”

003.

“Stay… still.” Rafayel has both your wrists pinned above your head, his eyes narrowed as he looks down at you. You tug at this grip, cheeks flushed as you glare up at him.

“Stop! It’s fine —!”

“It is not fine,” he bites out as he reaches down to tug up your shirt. You squirm beneath him, your skin burning hot as his eyes skate down the length of your torso to catch on your lower abdomen, where you can feel the wound you’d gotten during your latest mission splitting open, oozing a steady stream of warm blood onto your freshly laundered sheets.

“This — you —” his eyes are wide as he looks up at you before his gaze is drawn back down. A look of horror seeps into his face as he lets go of your wrists.

“I’m — it’s okay — I’m okay…” you say, wincing as you push yourself into a half-sitting position, him still half-hovering over you with an expression caught between anger, terror, and confusion. You sigh, looking down at the large, rather ungainly gash on your lower abdomen.

It’d hurt like hell, sure, but now, it’s mostly faded to a dull throbbing and the occasional zing of pain that shoots up your spine. Vaguely, you wonder how many stitches it’ll have to be this time.

“Y-you’re…” Rafayel sounds distraught, and even though he glares at you again, you can hear the tremor in his voice.

“I just need some sleep… and tomorrow, I’ll go get it checked out.”

Rafayel slumps sideways onto the bed next to you, an arm thrown over his eyes.

“I’ll come with you.”

“If you want,” you lay back against your pillow, shifting gingerly so as not to agitate the wound even more.

“Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Yeah, in the bathroom — but —”

You can only sigh as Rafayel makes his way to the bathroom and comes back a moment later with the first aid kit and a determined frown.

“Now really — stay still.

004.

“Stay close…” Rafayel’s voice is sweet and warm by your ear.

You bite down a rack of shivers a second before he pulls away, laughing at something someone is saying. The bright lights of the exhibition are a bit overwhelming but you’d promised to show up, and so you had.

The dress you’re wearing is a bit tight, but you hitch a smile to your face as a wealthy art collector smarms at Rafayel, waxing poetic about canvases and colors and the sea. You watch with a muted amusement as Rafayel charms the man into a purchase, and then, as soon as he’s got the signed check, sends the babbling socialite on his way before turning back towards you with a soft shudder.

“I think that’s enough networking for one night.”

You blink, blustering as he tugs you off to one side, grabbing two more glasses of champagne as he goes.

“Wh — but — what about the other buyers?”

Rafayel rolls his eyes, “I really only need to make one or two big sales a year, and then the rest —” he flaps his wrist with a painful, marked nonchalance, “that’s all just for clout, anyway.”

You heave a deep sigh, swallowing down a laugh as Rafayel sips at his drink.

“Shouldn’t you at least try to appease some of the other attendees?” you ask, looking around at the various glitterati of Linkon society.

“Nope!” Rafayel sounds too pleased as he grins at you, reaching out to clink his glass against yours, “I don’t really care what most of them think, anyway.”

“Most? So… you do care what some of them think?” you probe, curious now as to who’s opinion Rafayel might put above his own.

Instead, he leans in, pressing in so close that you feel his hot breath against the lobe of your ear, feel the weight of his words ricocheting down your spine —

“No… just the one.” He pulls back and your heart stutters in your chest.

“And… who might that be?” you ask, your voice breathy and thready and just a tiny bit jealous.

Rafayel’s smirk pulls wide, “Oh… a certain Hunter with a mean streak and a weird obsession with claw-machine plushies.

005.

“Stay with me… please…” his voice is hoarse with want, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallow the midnight magic of his eyes.

“Rafayel, you’re burning up!” you press your palm to his forehead and frown, your other hand wrapped around his wrist, his pulse fluttering beneath your grip.

“D-don’t worry — it’s just — it happens ever year —”

“Still! We should go see a doctor —!”

“No! No — no doctors…” his voice is harsh and he pulls you back towards him with such force that the wind is knocked clean from your lungs as you sprawl against his chest, held there by the weight of his arms and the aftershocks of surprise still coursing through you. Vaguely, you note that he’s much stronger than he’s ever let on — less vaguely, you note that his thumbs as pressing into the bare skin of your side as he bites his lips and looks anywhere but at your face.

“Rafayel? Are… are you okay?”

“It’s — I’m fine —” he lets out another ragged breath and you know implicitly that he’s lying.

“You’re not fine — I’m going to grab some ice — o-oh!” you topple backwards as he pulls you back, strong arms encircling your middle as you try too get up and make for the kitchen.

“R-Rafayel?”

He lets out a long breath as he hooks his chin over your shoulder; in your periphery, you can see the dark blush blooming across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, can feel the heat seeping through his thin shirt and yours to your skin. You can smell slightly salty sweetness of his skin as he holds you to him, his eyes closed, lashes almost damnably long in the moonlight as he tugs you back and slumps against the couch.

“I don’t need anything else but you… so… can you just… stay?”

His voice is soft, almost pleading.

You swallow; you nod; you sink into his embrace, wondering briefly if you’d felt something similar to this before. Or perhaps you’d made a promise like this, once upon a time. But the moon is soft and low and heavy on the horizon, and the sea outside is sweet as it shushes against the long stretch of beach, the water casting a myriad of dancing starlight scattering across Rafayel’s studio ceiling.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, leaning back into his embrace.

“Good…” he says, nosing into the soft spot between your neck and shoulders; you shudder as his lips brush against the sensitive skin there, “good,” he says once again before leaning down to press a longing kiss to your shoulder.

006.

“Stay…” you peer blearily up at him through the haze of sleep, all your limbs feeling both heavy and weightless all at once. The events of the night prior flashes behind your eyes and you flush hot at the memory.

Rafayel lets out a soft chuckle, “Oh how the tables have turned.”

“Hm?” you make an uncomprehending noise, frowning slightly as he leans in to press a soft kiss to the back of your hand, still sitting up, the soft white sheets pooling around his middle, the morning sun casting him in a halo of silver and gold.

“Nothing. I’m just gonna go grab some breakfast — I’ll be right back.”

Still, you pout, digging your fingers into his wrist as you shake your head and whine.

“Don’t… don’t leave.”

Rafayel lets out a soft sigh, laughing as he leans back down to kiss your bare shoulder.

“I’ll just be in the kitchen… I won’t go any further than that — I promise, okay?”

You loosen your grip ever so slightly, “Can your promises be trusted?”

He tuts, gently tugging his arm free, “Of course they can — I found you again, didn’t I?”

You hum, burying your face back into the soft linen cover of the pillow as Rafayel gets up to prep breakfast.

He returns less than ten minutes later with a silver tray and a helpless smile as he looks down at your slumbering form, before he leans down to press his lips to yours, curling his fingers into the baby hairs at the nape of your neck and shimmying back under the blankets with you.

He loops his arms around you and smiles to himself as you burrow deeper into his chest, mumbling incoherently.

“Stupid girl… as if I could ever, ever leave you again.”