#lads au

[lyn31]

Campus Fair (Zayne/MC)

Summary

A chaotic campus fair, a stubborn bet, and one disastrously spicy decision—all under Zayne’s unimpressed yet undeniably fond gaze.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader College AU, fluff, banter, silly, chaos, games, cute.

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The second you step onto the fairgrounds, your eyes light up. The entire campus is buzzing with neon lights, game stalls, and the mouthwatering scent of deep-fried food. Students weave through the crowd, arms full of plushies and snacks, laughter echoing in the air.

Meanwhile, Zayne looks like he just clocked into a nine-hour shift.

“You’re actually excited for this,” he notes, sipping his caramel macchiato like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Obviously,” you scoff, dragging him forward without hesitation. “What, are you too sophisticated for a campus fair?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

You roll your eyes. “You say that now, but I will get you to have fun.”

He hums, clearly unconvinced, but follows anyway.

Your first target? The game stalls.

You zero in on a ring toss booth, eyes set on a massive stuffed animal hanging from the top shelf. “I need that.”

Zayne follows your gaze, unimpressed. “You do realize these are rigged?”

“Coward talk.”

He exhales slowly, but before he can walk away, you grab his wrist. “Wait—let’s make a bet.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“If I win,” you smirk, “you have to wear something ridiculous for the rest of the night.”

Zayne glances at the rack of bunny ear headbands.

He crosses his arms. “No.”

You grin. “Yes.”

“No.”

“You scared?” you taunt. “Afraid I’ll actually beat you?”

That gets him. Zayne exhales but you catch the split-second hesitation before he reaches for his wallet. “And if I win?”

You pause, then shrug. “You get to pick the prize.”

A slow, knowing smirk curls at his lips. You suddenly regret everything.

Five minutes later, Zayne, as it turns out, is suspiciously good at stall games.

“You have got to be cheating,” you accuse as he lands another perfect shot.

He pockets his winnings with an infuriatingly calm look. “Steady hands,” he says, as if it’s that simple.

“Okay, surgeon.” You fold your arms. “What are you picking?”

Zayne considers the selection of prizes. Your eyes drift toward the giant plush, already mentally preparing to claim it—

Then, right in front of you, he reaches for the tiniest, most pathetic key chain-sized plush.

He plucks it off the rack and hands it to you.

You stare at it. Then at him.

“…This,” you say slowly, “is what you chose?”

He meets your deadpan stare with smug amusement. “You have to carry it around all night.”

You gape at the insultingly tiny plush.

You glance back at the massive stuffed animal you actually wanted.

You squint at Zayne.

“…You did this on purpose.”

He says nothing, but the ghost of a smirk is enough confirmation.

Your eye twitches. “I hate you.”

Zayne is already walking away, annoyingly pleased with himself. “No, you don’t.”

You glare after him, but he’s not even looking at you—his gaze has shifted, subtle but deliberate, toward a nearby food stall. It takes you a second to realize what’s caught his attention.

Of course. The cake stand.

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Zayne still has a funnel cake with him. You have no idea how it’s lasted this long—he’s been casually picking at it since the food stalls, unfazed by everything else. Even now, as you step into the haunted house, he takes another bite like this is just a casual evening stroll.

You, on the other hand, actually try to enjoy the atmosphere. It’s a typical setup—cardboard gravestones, fog machines that are way too heavy on the smoke, and students dressed up as “ghosts” who can’t even scare a toddler. Yet, you find yourself smiling. It’s cheesy, but fun.

That is, until a fake skeleton rattles right behind you.

You jump, eyes widening.

Zayne notices, his voice low and teasing. “You’re scared.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, quickly straightening your back like you were just casually moving. “It’s just… I didn’t expect that.”

Zayne’s expression is unreadable, but you can feel his amusement. He doesn’t react to a single thing—the skeleton, a pop-up ghost, the rattling chains—all things that would typically make most people flinch. He just keeps walking, funnel cake still in hand, like nothing is happening.

Another prop shifts in the corner.

Your body freezes for a split second before forcing yourself to move again. You refuse to look at him, knowing full well he’s enjoying this.

Then, you realize—he’s walking closer.

He takes another slow bite, watching you. “…Why are you walking closer?” you mutter, half annoyed and half amused at your own reaction.

Zayne stops beside you, tilting his head slightly. “Do you want me to leave you behind?”

“You can try.” You narrow your eyes—even as your hand instinctively reaches for him.

He huffs a quiet laugh, squeezing your hand briefly before going back to his funnel cake. “Not scared, huh?”

You smack his arm lightly, snorting in defiance. “Shut up.”

He just hums, clearly entertained. “Yes, yes.”

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Somehow, only the two of you end up in the escape room challenge together.

“This is a teamwork game,” the student volunteer at the entrance says, clearly doubting your ability to work together.

You exchange a glance with Zayne.

“…We’ll be fine,” you assure them.

Five minutes later, you are not fine.

“Okay,” you huff, pacing the room, “there’s clearly a clue in this book.” You flip through it aggressively.

“There isn’t.” Zayne is already fiddling with a lock in the corner.

You ignore him. “It says something about a ‘hidden message’—”

“That’s a red herring.” He clicks the lock open.

You blink. “What—how did you—”

“You were overthinking.”

Your brain struggles to process how effortlessly he’s solving everything. “You didn’t even read the book!”

“I didn’t need to.”

You squint. “You’re annoying.”

“Mm.” He unlocks the last door. “And yet, you still lose to me every time.”

You glare at him. This isn’t over.

You’re not done yet.

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Your next challenge? The Spicy Inferno Eating Contest.

Zayne gives you a look as you approach the sign-up table. “This is a terrible idea.”

You wave him off. “You don’t understand.”

“What exactly don’t I understand?”

You tilt your head toward the first-place prize hanging behind the stall—a black hoodie with an embroidered anatomical heart on the sleeve.

It’s perfect. It screams Zayne.

“I’m winning that for you.”

Zayne stares at you. Then at the challenge rules, which basically translate to “this will ruin you.”

He exhales. “That’s not necessary.”

“Of course it is.” You flash him a grin. “You complain that I keep stealing your hoodies, so I’ll get one for you.”

Zayne presses his fingers against his temple.

Still, he doesn’t stop you.

Twenty Minutes Later.

You are suffering.

Your tongue? On fire.

Your stomach? A disaster zone.

Your dignity? Nonexistent.

You somehow managed to finish the final round, but at what cost?

Across from you, your opponent—a grizzled senior who’s clearly done this before—claps you on the back. “Not bad, kid. Thought you were gonna pass out halfway.”

You can’t even form words. You just nod weakly, chugging the milk they finally gave you.

Zayne, watching from the sidelines, unimpressed but assessing. Then, without a word, he moves.

When the announcer hands you the prize hoodie, you barely have the strength to lift it.

You stumble toward Zayne, shoving it into his arms. “Won it… for you.”

You expect a snarky remark.

Instead, Zayne catches you immediately, his hands steady, firm. His gaze sweeps over you—calculating, assessing.

“You can’t even stand properly,” he says, voice flat with disapproval.

“I’m fine,” you wheeze.

Zayne pointedly ignores you. Instead, he moves. One second, you’re attempting to stay upright—the next, you’re off your feet, hoisted effortlessly into his arms.

You yelp, clutching at his shoulders. “Hey—! I can walk!”

“You can’t.” His tone is final.

“Zayne, put me down.”

“No.”

“I’m not dying—”

“You might as well be.”

You groan, hiding your face in his shoulder. “This is so dramatic.”

“Says the person who just poisoned themselves over a hoodie.”

“…For you.”

Zayne exhales sharply, shaking his head. Then, softer. “…Idiot.”

Still, he holds you closer.

And despite everything—despite your stomachache, your suffering, your poor decisions—you can’t help but feel warm.

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Notes

I love them so much! and I'm so single help 🫶🏻😩 this Caleb experience and Rafayel experience👀

[lumieresdreams]

y'all.... ideas are flOWIN' what do you think of filipino lads + college au?

cause i'm about to turn it into a reality no matter what anyone's opinion is LMAO

[purinbunnii]

Inspired by @luli-lads post here https://www.tumblr.com/luli-lads/777829040791977984/how-theyd-bite-you-if-they-were-vampires ! This will have 15 chapters, the other love interest’s fics will also have 15 chapters.

I am also taking requests! So please don’t be afraid to DM or post on my page 💛🐰

A Prison of Kindness

Hours passed.

You sat by the fire in what must have been a library, the heat slowly returning feeling to your limbs. He had given you dry clothes—fine, warm, and far too elegant for someone like you—and left without another word.

You should have left the moment the storm calmed.

And yet, you stayed.

The castle was eerily silent, as if it had been abandoned for centuries. You wandered once, only to realize that the doors leading outside would not open.

You were trapped.

Panic had nearly overtaken you, but then he returned.

“You should not have come here,” he murmured, standing in the doorway like a wraith.

You clenched your fists. “I didn’t have a choice.”

He tilted his head slightly, those strange eyes narrowing. “No,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “You didn’t, did you?”

A long silence.

Then—

“I will not harm you.”

It should have been reassuring. It wasn’t.

“Then let me leave.”

He exhaled, slow. “The storm has not passed.”

“That’s not true. I saw the sky clear through the window.”

Another silence.

And then he stepped closer, slow, deliberate. You fought the instinct to retreat, to flinch beneath the weight of his gaze.

“You will not survive the way back alone,” he said softly, as if the words held a deeper meaning. “You will stay until I say otherwise.”

Your breath caught. “So I am a prisoner.”

Something flickered in his expression, something unreadable. “You are a guest.”

“A guest who can’t leave?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he turned away, his coat sweeping behind him as he disappeared into the darkened halls.

[digi-diareis]

"We need to talk" Prank

with the LaDS love interests, implied that the LI's are already in a relationship w you

Xavier

Oh he's pulling out the puppy dog eyes immediately, lower lip jutting out and ready to start crying.

"I'm sorry." "What? Do you even know what you're apologizing for? Also, why are you apologizing?"

This guy is ready to admit to any and all the faults he's made the past week, from cooking without permission, eating her secret stash of snacks, forgetting to feed the cat on time, etc.

"Please don't break up with me, please please please please-" "Xavi, baby, calm down, I'm not breaking up with you"

Anyways, the prank doesn't even last a minute because you break the moment he pulls out the kicked puppy look and he starts begging for you.

You guys end up cuddling the entire day because he won't stop sulking and being worried that you're tired of him so you can't really leave him alone because this is your fault.

We love a loser like Xavi <3

Rafayel

Dramatic ass man and pranks like these are like perfect tiktok material.

"Oh, you are NOT breaking up with me. I don't give you permission to." "I don't recall breaking up having to need permission from both parties." "Well, now you know."

Anyways, you're both just bickering over stupid shit now. You've strayed from the "we need to talk" to now pointing fingers at who's the bigger drama queen between the two of you.

Zayne

Oh sweet summer child, takes you very seriously.

"What is it, love? Did I do something to upset you?"

Oh, you just know how guilty you'll end up feeling when you keep up with the prank. You last a solid 3 sentences before you slowly turn quiet because he's listening so patiently and looks like he's truly reflecting on everything you've said.

"Okay, I'm sorry it was a stupid prank but I can't stand looking at you this guilty. You've been nothing but an absolute sweetheart, I could never ask for more."

Zayne sighs, relieved that it wasn't actually something major.

"Please, try not to do pranks like these again. I love you but the way my heart dropped when you said those words is not healthy."

You give him a big hug and lots of smooches to make it up to him, vowing never to do pranks like these on him again.

Sylus

Oh, you are looking forward to this. There's a power trip of sorts when you remember how much power you actually hold over this man. And this is perfect.

Some say this might be a red flag of yours but you're dating a wholeass criminal big boss so it's not really that big of a deal.

When you start the prank, he raises an eyebrow. Feeling like it might be a prank since he did spoil you and didn't do anything to piss you off recently.

"And what is it this time, sweetheart?"

Okay ngl, I think this prank goes way too far because he would correct / contradict / defend every single reason and excuse you come up with. That it just becomes a wholeass debate of whether you even have an actual reason to be unsatisfied with your relationship.

At the end of it all, you are breathless and out of excuses. So you just glare at him. Sylus simply smirks knowing he won this 'argument'.

"I'll get you someday, look forward to the day that you're begging for me on your knees." "Oh sweetheart, I'd get on my knees for you anytime, if you just asked."

Caleb

You feel like this might be the worst idea you've ever had, knowing full well how possessive Caleb can get but anything for the gram or whatever the kids say.

"Say that again, buttercup? I think I misheard you."

Oh, the way his voice dropped an entire octave got you both nervous and also maybe turned on?

You try to be strong and push through, repeating what you said.

"Sure, we can talk. Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you? Did you find out about the hidden cameras? Is it the new guy at work, did he give you any ideas? I knew I shouldn't have stopped at a few broken ribs-" "CALEB WHAT THE FUCK"

Prank is forgotten, you are now giving him an hour long sermon about hidden cameras and not beating up every man who has any interaction with you.

What you say is definitely passing through the other ear for him, he's just pleased he managed to distract you from the original topic. Its better that you feel responsible for correcting him and being stuck with him rather than you getting sick and tired of him.

Caleb - 1 : You - 0

(i tried my best but i feel like these are very ooc aaaaaaa)

[papercraneswemade]

Just a random fleeting thought but imagine you're just an ordinary college student studying in Linkon National University, bumping into the Faculty of Aeronautics' star student Caleb. Dropping his hot coffee on his shirt, you apologized over and over again but he just pat your head and snorted, "it's fine... Pipsqueak."

Then, as days went by, you start to see him more often, passing by each other in the hallways in-between faculty buildings. You thought it was normal, until your friend mentioned something about your faculty building and his being pretty far.

He started getting bolder with you, and it took you a while to register until you realized he was flirting. He asked you out one day, and you accepted, and your first date was in his apartment, with him cooking for you.

It was cute. And heart-warming. You never felt an ounce of romance before this. When you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, you looked around, before twisting the knob.

Once you walked inside and flipped the lightswitch on, your jaw dropped in shock.

There were multiple photos of you taken from various angles in different places. A lot of them had blurry edges, and you quickly realized he hid behind corners to stalk you. Some of them were even taken inside your dorm. There were multiple photos of you sleeping, studying during class, even taking a bath.

As you turned around, he stood in the doorway, his smile bright, albeit deranged, "pipsqueak... I never wanted you to find out like this."

He bared his teeth, stepping forward, "but I guess life just throws in surprises, huh?"

Just like when you accidentally spilled his coffee on him.

[sayangrafayel]

Crow family Pt. Simone calling MC (and kindergarteners!Luke and Kieran)

Simone: Hey bitch!

MC: Oh no no, I'm with the twins right now.

Simone: Oh, hey bitches!

MC: Simone! They're kids!

Simone: Hey.. little bitches?

MC: hangs up

Simone: What did I do wrong?

[arcadia-of-pluto]

LADS! Idol Group AU — The Boys

(art by @/AngyFdez on X and the idea was partially inspired by this post)

Hey guys! So this idea suddenly came to me because I realized I've been using "OT4/5" for the male leads in my works, and I noticed that no one else does that. I, then, realized why because they're not a k-pop group (I'm not sure if OT– is a k-pop only thing, but I've always seen it when I read bts fics). So, I thought "why don't I make them an idol group and continue using OT5 on all of my fics!" It's honestly so much easier than writing out ____ X _____ X reader.

First and foremost, a bit of backstory before I get into their character sheets!

Their company is called UNICORNS INC and Miss Grey is their manager. Sylus joined first, then Zayne, Rafayel came next followed by Xavier, and lastly Caleb was added! Zayne was 22, Sylus was 23, Caleb was 20, Rafayel was 19, and Xavier was 18. The next drabbles, besides the prelude, will be based five years after they've been a group and grew in popularity.

Each of their Y/n's will have a different name along with the Poly Y/n (who is their manager).

Zayne's Y/n — Petal

Sylus's Y/n — Kitten

Caleb's Y/n — Pipsqueak

Rafayel's Y/n — Cutie

Xavier's Y/n — Starlight

Manager Y/n — Grey

(In their respective drabbles, I will use Y/n, however these placeholder names will be used outside of that or the non-love interests will use she/her.)

Now, onto the boys;

⛄️❄️🐻‍❄❄️🐻‍❄❄️🐻‍❄❄️🐻‍❄❄️🐻‍❄❄️🐻‍❄❄️⛄️

Zayne Li

Stage name — Zayne // He has no need for special names or anything. He'll just stick with his own.

Fan-given nicknames — Z, Zaynie, Snowy,

Age — 27

Hair / Eye colour —He has hazel eyes and black hair. He will sometimes wear clear contacts during performances, so his prescription glasses don't get broken or lost. 

Evol — Ice

Position in the Group — He is the Leader, Sub-Rapper, Sub-Vocalist, and he produces and writes a majority of their songs. He can't dance and doesn't bother trying. (He will attempt the simplest of dances on stage for the fans, but he does best with a partner.) 

Sub-units — Snow Crow ⛄️🐦‍⬛(aka the Two-left-feet unit); This duo, while the eldest of the group, is somehow the most clumsy. Separately, it's not that bad. But when they're together, it's absolute chaos. They have to be choreographed far from each other or else they'll trip over each other's feet. 

Emojis — 🐻‍❄⛄️❄️

Before Joining — Zayne graduated highschool at 16 and was the valedictorian. Before joining LADS, he was 22 and had been in medical school for 5 years, so he had a year left until he graduated. He thought being a doctor would be something he would enjoy, but all these years of school while watching his retired parents travel the world…It really tore him down. He realized he didn't want to be stuck inside a hospital for the rest of his life, working day in and day out. Yes, the thought of saving someone with his own hands did appeal to him, but it just didn't feel right anymore. The moment he was scouted, he jumped at the chance and dropped out without a second thought. He already had debt accumulated, so what harm would it do to add more to it? 

Fun facts — He has a pet flying squirrel named Clopidogrel. If he overuses his Evol, it hurts himself, but he tries to hide this from fans and his bandmates.

Personality — He is usually calm, cool, and collected. He always cares about others more than himself, and puts others first. He keeps a close eye on his bandmates and makes sure no one is over exhausting themselves. He only ever loses his cool whenever Caleb or Rafayel willingly throw a challenge (on a show they're on) when they're on his team – just so Zayne is forced to take a punishment as well. 

🖤❤️🐦‍⬛❤️🖤🐦‍⬛🖤❤️🐦‍⬛❤️🖤🐦‍⬛🖤❤️🐦‍⬛

Sylus Qin

Stage name — Sy // He would prefer Sylus, but it's honestly the fans’ choice

Fan-given nicknames — Sylie, Sy, 

Age — 28

Hair / Eye colour — His hair is dyed white and he occasionally has his natural black roots showing whenever he forgets to touch them up. He has cognac brown eyes (brown eyes that are warm in colour with varying shades of orange and red mixed in – or simply amber eyes), he'll sometimes wear red contacts on stage.

Evol — Energy manipulation 

Position in the Group —He is the Lead Rapper, Sub Vocalist, and The Center, He can't dance but will try regardless of if he gets laughed at or not.

Sub-units — Snow Crow ⛄️🐦‍⬛(aka the Two-left-feet unit)

Emojis — 🐦‍⬛❤️🖤

Before Joining — When Sylus was younger, he was rather sickly. He was born with a heart condition and so, to have a successor to his company if something were to happen to Sylus, his father adopted Luke and Kieran. Shortly after the twins were adopted, Sylus had open heart surgery and miraculously recovered. However, he didn't want to succeed his father, he'd rather the twins do so. In fact, Sylus has always wanted to be on stage – to see the world. After recovering from his injuries, he discovered an underground club, called The N109 Zone, and eventually became the leader of a rap group, Onychinus. With this experience under his belt, Sylus went to an agency and at 23, he pitched the idea of a band that used their Evols while performing. He originally wanted this group to be solely a rap group, but…plans changed. 

Fun facts — He has a pet crow named Mephisto. He has to wear prescription contacts on stage, but otherwise, he rarely has any lenses on. He can still see fairly well, but he does wear his glasses whenever he reads. He has a scar on his chest. 

Personality — He's another calm member. He tends to sleep more during the day and stay up late, so he's always a bit more quiet and sluggish on the days they have to record early. However, he also has a somewhat sassy and teasing side that always comes out whenever the younger members of the group try to pick on him. He's always down to do anything for the bit (for the joke), even if he ends up getting laughed at. He's an animal lover at heart and if he had his way, the LADS dorm would be filled with stray animals, so instead he makes constant donations to shelters.

🍎🐶🍏🐶🍎🐶🍏🐶🍎🐶🍏🐶🍎🐶

Caleb Xia

Stage name — Tango // He wants to choose a name that's more sentimental to him, something he was called in the past.

Fan-given nicknames — Cal, puppy 

Age — 25

Hair / Eye colour — He has dark brown hair and has central heterochromia. His iris is lined with a darker blue ring, mostly a lighter shade of blue, with a thin yellow-green ring around his pupil. 

Evol — Gravity manipulation

Position in the Group — He is the Lead Vocalist, Main Dancer, and Sub-Rapper.

Sub-units — Apple Fish 🍎🐠(also known as the Party Unit); Rafayel and Caleb are the hyperactive duo of the group. They're always seen playing around, pranking the other members, but when they're together on stage…They both captivate and amuse their fans. 

Emojis — 🐶🍎🍏

Before Joining — He was a pilot at 20. He loved to take to the skies and feel so free in his plane. Since he reminded most of his co-workers of a dog, they would usually call him Tango – jokingly calling him to and fro like a dog, to which he'd happily go along with it. There was unfortunately an issue nine months prior to him being scouted. He had been flying for two years now, had more than enough experience, but he had his first critical malfunction. Doing some routine maintenance on one of the ships, something must've gone wrong and triggered an explosion. By the time Caleb woke up, he was already in the hospital and his right arm was gone. He got a hefty sum of worker's comp and more money on top of that to get himself a nice new arm. And while he was in his final stage of recovery, that’s when he was scouted. His childhood friend pulled a few strings, called in a few favours, and just asked the agency to try and scout Caleb out. That it would definitely be worth it in the end. And that’s how Caleb joined as the final member of LADS. 

Fun facts — He lost his right arm in an accidental explosion that happened at his previous job. He wears contacts on stage that are purple. Only his right eye's contact is prescription since the blast that blew off his arm, slightly affected his eyesight. He had a malinois named Twix when he was younger (and he hopes to get another dog soon). 

Personality — He's always been an easy-going, lovable person. He gives off “boy-next-door” vibes. He's hyperactive and teasing, and he's almost always seen smiling. Though, he does have his bad days…reminiscing on when he still had his right arm, annoyed by the phantom pains he feels. But, for the most part, he's a mischievous duo with Rafayel and especially so on stage. Never missing a chance to play with the confetti cannons or throw water into the crowd.

🌊🐱🐠🌊🐠🐱🌊🐱🐠🌊🐠🐱🌊🐱

Rafayel Qi

Stage name — Fay // Since he's one for dramatics, he wanted multiple stage names, but the company said no. So unfortunately, he can only have one. He really wanted to use Mango, thinking it would be comical to rhyme with Caleb's, but Mangos don't fit him…Then he thought of Durango, but again…it just didn't feel like him. Eventually he decides to just use his name, but only a part of his name. He settles on Fay, another variation of the word fae. As a Lemurian, any way to slot his culture (or anything similar to his culture, seeing as mermaids and fae are in the same realm) into his work is a win in his eyes. 

Fan-given nicknames — Raf, Raffie, Fishie

Age — 24

Hair / Eye colour — Rafayel has dyed purple hair (that oftentimes has his light brown roots peeking out) and he has sectoral heterochromia. His eyes are half blue, half green. 

Evol — Fire

Position in the Group —He is the Main Vocalist, and The Visual, The face of the group, He can't dance because of a previous leg injury, but still tries his best.

Sub-units — Apple Fish 🍎🐠 (also known as the Party Unit)

Before Joining — Rafayel was an avid painter, a well-known artist within the community. He went by the name, Tidus, and would often show up to his own exhibits in disguise to hear what people really thought of him. He was scouted by his agent Thomas and his main reason for joining was Zayne. He was curious as to why a budding doctor would leave five years of college behind to join an idol group and honestly – he also loved the attention. Sylus might've felt a little bit of panic whenever he saw pretty boy Rafayel waltz through the doors. Especially since he was a good singer. (Sylus was spiraling, at this point. “We're turning into an idol group, Zayne — why do they keep recruiting singers?”) 

Emojis — 🐱🐠🌊

Fun facts — He has a pet super red half-moon betta fish named Reddie. He wears contacts on stage that are pinkish blue, they aren't prescription – he just loves the attention he gets while wearing them. His aunt, Thalia, is an extremely popular soloist. He originally wanted his official emoji to be a fish, however once the fans learnt of his aversion to cats...His emoji was already decided by the majority. 🐱

Personality — He's always been eccentric. He's energetic but laid back, domineering yet pouty. His emotions are constantly all over the place, but that's just something you'll have to get used to since this is just how Rafayel is. He'll stop mid-practice to paint, if he is hit with a burst of inspiration. He'll run around, demanding piggyback rides from everyone. He won't hesitate to take a photo or sign an autograph while out and about. He's always buying or wearing luxury brands and doing modeling deals. 

🐥☁️🌟🌔🌓🌒🌑🌘🌗🌖🌕🌟☁️🐥

Xavier Shen

Stage name — XV (fifteen) // He honestly doesn't care for stage names. He wouldn't have chosen one if the agency didn't pester him until he finally did. XV means nothing to him, it just sounded better than any of the cheesy names the company tried to come up with. (Which was “starboy”)

Fan-given nicknames — Xav, Xavi, Starlight

Age — 23

Hair / Eye colour — Xavier has blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes. 

Evol — Light

Position in the Group —He is the Sub Vocalist, Main Rapper, Lead Dancer, and The Maknae/Youngest.

Sub-units — Star Fish Apple 🌟🐠🍎 (aka the troublesome trio); While Xavier is usually laid back and sleepy, whenever he gets around Caleb and Rafayel - and is in the mood for mischief - these three are an unstoppable trio who will stop at nothing to annoy their, usually calm and collected, eldest band mates. 

Emojis — 🐥🌟👾 (I know 🐰 is the obvious emoji for Xavier, but hear me out —)

Before Joining — He was the valedictorian of his class so many had high expectations of him. This would be a good thing since he passed all of his classes with flying colours and was on the track of being the val in college as well – but, his biggest problem was that classes were so boring. They were too easy for him, so he'd usually finish his work and nap until class was over. Or even nap during testing. It got so bad that he was eventually expelled and decided to just do part time jobs for money so he could rest more at home. He was scouted in a surprising way. The talent agents were off duty, just hanging out together, and they suddenly stopped at a café in confusion. The employee behind the counter had a long line, but it showed no signs of moving. They could hear the complaints from all the way outside, so whenever they entered the café, they had to do a double take. The negligent employee that was napping on the job looked ethereal. With the sun shining on his face, the talent agents bypassed the crowd, woke Xavier up, and gave him a business card so that he could call them later. Weeks passed with no answer, the agents go back to the café, learn Xavier was fired, and eventually find him selling flowers on the sidewalk for a nearby florist who was taking advantage of Xavier's good looks. That's when he finally gets scouted. Sylus is, again, distraught. Thinking “oh no…we were supposed to be a rap group”, but as fate would have it, Xavier was an excellent rapper. 

Fun facts — He originally wanted a pet cat but, since Rafayel is afraid of cats, he settled on a turtle named Fluffball. He doesn't need contacts, his eyes are perfect and he loves to rub this fact in. The fact that every other member needs contacts besides him — until Rafayel smacks him on the back of the head, reminding Xavier that his contacts are also non-prescription.

Personality — While you'd expect the youngest member to be expression and bouncy, Xavier is quite the opposite. Though he has his spikes of high energy, he's usually very calm and sleepy. He naps while getting his hair and makeup done, during concert breaks, and he'll even sometimes fall asleep mid-interview. However, he doesn't have any medical condition, he's just sleepy all the time and there's nothing he can do about it. But when he's hyper, there's no stopping him. Whether he's hopping around like a bunny, peeking over his bandmates shoulders during interviews, putting his hand in anyone's pockets – he's just LADS’ clingy, sleepy, youngest member. But also, whenever he's happy, he literally glows (and the fans adore this).

That's all I've got so far!

I'm still coming up with more as I go along so let me know if y'all have any more nicknames ideas and the like! Oh, and the name of their fans! I was contemplating on using "Lovers", but I'm still not 100% certain on what to name their fanbase.

I have Caleb and Rafayel's Y/ns pretty much conceptualized since they were the easiest to come up with, however I'm still struggling a bit for the other three, along with the Poly Y/n. (This is going to be a drabble type of series, so nothing too intense or detailed.)

Also! Nobody come at me for changing three of their eye colours. This is an au and I think it makes sense for them to wear their specifically in-game eye colours as contacts since a lot of idols wear contacts on stage! Since irl Sylus wouldn't have red eyes unless he had albinism while Caleb and Rafayel would have to have some form of heterochromia to have their original eye colours.

I'm going to add this here as well, but this is an AU. Evols are present, but there is no threat of Wanderers. Only criminals who misuse their Evols, similar to the world of My Hero Academia and the like.

<3 I'll be back whenever to post the prelude! And also, if you're here for ToF, Divisa, or Inertia — I'll try to post on ToF and Inertia soon!

[abyssconqueror]

A brief look through Kali’s phone

Contact: Sylus

[milkiisss]

For those that aren’t here from my twitter, I’m planning on posting Bridgerton Lads AU Drabbles for each of the Li’s!!

Caleb’s is done and should be posted at some point today, but I thought it would be worth mentioning that if they get popular enough, I plan on making Spicy Pt. 2’s for all of them!! Below are the tropes you can expect for each Li.

- Caleb; Childhood Friends to Lovers (Posted 02/24)

- Rafayel; Fake Dating/Matchmaker gone wrong

- Zayne; Running from a scandal (will most likely be a bit spicy in pt. 1 regardless)

- Sylus; Marriage of Convenience

- Xavier; The Prince and the “Commoner”

Stay tuned!!! 🤭🤭 You can follow my twitter for updates!

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

mall security guard!Caleb catches MC shoplifting...

au: they don't know each other // cw: dubcon, creep!Caleb, lingerie, orgasm denial

Caleb was sick of this job. It's wasn't like being a security guard was his passion- it was just something to pay the bills while he was in school. Usually all he had to do was kick out rowdy teens and reunite old ladies with their lost purses. But today was different. Today, he had a pretty little shoplifter in his office, pouting in the chair across from his desk.

"So. I heard you walked right out of a store without paying for anything, is that right? That's a bold move. Sorry it didn't work out this time."

She rolled her eyes. "Is it really that big of a deal to you? What a boring life you must lead." She leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs. "How often do you do this, huh? Act all high and mighty, cosplaying a real cop?"

Caleb narrowed his eyes. "How often do you steal shit from the mall? Most delinquents grow outta that around sixteen." He knew she was just trying to get a rise out of him, but he couldn't resist adding, "And I don't need a gun."

She laughed. "Right, you're real intimidating Mister..." She leaned forward to squint at his nametag. The sudden proximity brought a rush of her perfume to his nostrils, sharp and sweet, like flowers wrapped in aluminum. She tapped her acrylics on the desk and he startled, his cock twitching guiltily against his thigh. "Caleb. Or should I call you Officer?" She smirked at him from beneath her eyelashes.

Did she? No. She couldn't have noticed that he was half-hard, sweating at his hairline- she was just trying to play him, get off easy with a little flirting. He wasn't about to make this easy. "You don't need to call me anything. You just have to wait here until the police show up." That threat finally seemed to have some effect. She stiffened, the fake smile falling off her face.

"You didn't call the police. I barely even took anything!"

"Barely even took anything?" He parroted, with a grin of his own. "Careful, pretty thing. Sounds like you're incriminating yourself. Let's let them handle the charges, hm?"

She flushed at the pet name but bit back a retort. Caleb walked slowly around the desk and stopped beside her chair. She had to tilt her head back to see him now- he noticed her pulse ticking in her neck. Good. Maybe she could learn her place after all.

"Now, where did you hide the stolen goods?"

"I don't-" Caleb put his finger to her lips, relishing in the way it made her gasp, freezing to the seat.

"Shh. Don't lie to me, now. Either you can tell me where you stashed 'em, or I can search you." He ran his thumb over her bottom lip then let his hand fall to her shoulder, squeezing softly. "I know which option I'd prefer."

"You're a fucking creep." She jerked her shoulder away, but he just shrugged.

"Fucking creep, fake cop, I don't really care what you call me, sweets. As long as you understand that I'm in charge. Do you need me to make it clearer?" Caleb leaned in and ghosted his lips over her neck, breathing deep.

"Okay, okay, ugh!" She pushed him away and reached under her shirt. He raised his eyebrows, but she just scowled and yanked out a bundle of fabric, tossing it at him. It was still warm from her body heat. Caleb unfolded it slowly, trying not to look too curious.

He revealed a set of expensive lingerie, all delicate lace and straps. It was rich, juicy red, like a ripe apple. He couldn't help but laugh, more so when he caught the expression on her face. The girl looked like she wanted to melt through the floor, her cheeks as red as the underwear. "Shut the fuck up, okay? That's all I took, I swear."

With effort, Caleb controlled himself. He held them up in front of her face and let out a low, mocking whistle. "Nice choice. Really nice. Who're you lifting these for, huh? Some deadbeat boyfriend who couldn't buy them for you himself?" She glared at him and he knew he'd hit the mark. "Poor thing. It's a shame. I'm sure you'd look stunning in this."

"Wouldn't you like to know, asshole."

"You know what? That gives me an excellent idea." He tossed the set into her lap and made a show of turning around, his hand over his eyes. "Put it on."

"Excuse me??"

"Well... I have no intention of letting you take these home. But I know you need someone to give you the attention you crave so badly. You won't be able to show it off for your sad little boyfriend, why not me?" He turned back to give her his most charming smile, the effect ruined somewhat by the jingle of handcuffs on his belt. "Am I so bad?"

Her eyes were locked on the handcuffs. "This is insane."

He shrugged, still smiling. "A fashion show beats a trip to the station, doesn't it?"

"You're getting off on this, freak."

Caleb didn't deny it. "I'm waiting."

For a moment, she scrunched the fabric up in her fists as if she would throw it back at him. But she slumped under his firm gaze. She didn't have the power here, and they both knew it.

"Fine. Just, turn around."

Caleb smiled and nodded condescendingly. "Of course."

She hesitantly lifted her shirt, watching to make sure he kept to his word. Out of sight, Caleb licked his lips at the sound of rustling fabric. His pants were uncomfortably tight now, his cock straining at the crotch of his uniform. But he didn't turn around.

Shameful heat prickled up her neck as she stripped. Not wanting to be fully naked for even a moment with him, she put on the lacy bra before stepping out of her panties. Now for the bottoms- a strappy mess of elastic and garters. She swore as the straps tangled around her thighs. Why did she have to pick such a complicated set?

"Need help, sweets?" Caleb laughed, and she hated him even more.

"Absolutely not." She tried to tug them up, but both her legs were in the same hole, and the seams threatened to rip around her thighs. Fuck, she just wanted this over with, needed to-

"You're useless on your own, huh?" Suddenly, he was in front of her, grinning smugly, bright eyes locked on her exposed pussy. "Poor thing." He dropped smoothly to his knees and began untangling the straps. His hands were huge, and strangely warm- he lifted her leg out of the knot and guided it into the right hole. "There we go."

He pulled the panties up and settled them on her hips. His touch was possessive, confident, sucking the fight from her without words. It took too long for her to find her voice again, to shove his hands away- "I didn't ask for your goddamn help."

He sat back on his heels, looking wounded. "But you needed it." He said it so sincerely, like it really was that simple. Again, she felt herself being lulled into the sense of security he offered, the ease of letting him- no no no! This whole thing was so fucked- he was taking advantage-

But now those strong hands were around her thighs, pushing them wider, kneading the soft flesh. Now that disarming smile was pressed against her inner thigh, soft lips moving closer to her core, an unwanted arousal growing between her trembling legs. "I was right," he murmured.

"I- huh?" She tried to catch her breath, suddenly dizzy. Her skin burned in every place his lips touched.

He pulled back and smiled up at her. "You do look stunning in this."

She hated herself for blushing, for momentarily accepting the compliment from the man who had just forced her to strip for him, for feeling her heart pound at his cocky smile, the way he knelt in front of her. She stepped back, trying to put distance between them, to clear the fog in her mind.

Her back hit his desk and she stumbled. Caleb rushed forward to catch her, so easily, like he'd seen it coming- she was too flustered to notice the way she almost floated into his arms, hardly falling at all.

He looked down at her with faux concern, imperceptibly turning off his Evol. "You really are helpless." She could feel the corded muscles of his arms around her waist and shoulders. The lingerie barely covered anything, and Caleb took full advantage, his gaze roaming hungrily over her body. "Beautiful and helpless. It's a dangerous combination, ya know?"

His fingers traced the hem of her bra, then grew bolder, cupping her breasts. The thin lace did little to hide the way her nipples peaked as he thumbed at them. He tugged teasingly at the straps, slipping one down her shoulder. "I could do anything I wanted to you right now."

She fought to keep her voice steady. "You said you just wanted to see me in this. And you have, so we're done here, right?"

"Aww but now that I've seen you, it's hard to let you go, sweets..." Caleb held her closer and bent his head to her neck, breathing in her scent. Sweat, perfume- he couldn't help pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her neck, sighing as he tasted her. "I could take good care of you..." The words were almost lost against her neck, a heated mumble.

Trapped between his hold and the desk, she could only turn her head and push weakly against his chest. His broad, chiseled chest, straining the buttons on his uniform...she was caught between wanting to give in and wanting to get the hell out of this office with some of her dignity intact.

Caleb seemed eager to make the decision for her. His cock throbbed, pressing into her ass as she squirmed in his arms. "Come onnn. Let me show you a good time. Maybe I'll even let you keep that set, hm?" His wandering hand dipped down between her plush thighs, fingering the deep red lace.

"You don't think I'm that cheap, do you?" Her breath hitched as Caleb's fingers found the damp spot on her panties. She felt him smile against her jaw.

"This all for me?" He pressed lightly, smearing the slick over her lips. "You filthy girl. So much for returning these." Her wetness bled through the thin fabric, coating the tips of his fingers. Caleb brought his hand to his mouth and sucked it off with a soft moan.

The sight of it brought another flare of heat to her core- wanton and wanting. She spread her legs, just the tiniest bit, and he groaned. "There we go. Let me take care of you." He bent down and placed her on his desk, then hooked his hands beneath her knees and pressed them wider apart. He bent down and looked up at her. "C'mon, say ya want me."

She bit her lip and looked away. He had to be more convincing, then. Caleb nipped at the soft skin of her inner thigh, laughing at her squeak of surprise. He kissed his way higher until she felt his warm breath puff against her core. "She's twitchin' for me," he breathed, brazen now, eyes locked on the outline of her folds against the dampening crotch, translucent with slick. "And I don't see ya stoppin' me."

He pressed his lips to her pussy, the lingerie more like tissue paper now, hardly anything between them. He hummed into her warmth, holding her hips against the desk. She squirmed, clinging to his shoulders as if to ground herself, but there was no gravity to hold her down anymore. Caleb licked a thick stripe up her cunt and she bucked her hips up into his mouth, instinct taking over. She hid her burning face in his hair, still pressing up into his eager tongue.

"Eager, huh? Where's that mouth of yours gone?" Caleb pulled her panties aside with his teeth, and she throbbed at the tease, needing more- even though the smirk in his voice made her want to slap him.

"Shut the fuck up," she managed, but it sounded weak even to her own ears.

"If that's what you want..." Caleb sing-songed, before hooking her legs over his shoulders and burying his face between them. He ate her sloppily, like he was starving for it, using his lips and tongue and teeth to taste every part of her, holding her wider so he could slurp at her clit before letting go just to feel her thighs close around his head.

It was too intense, too fast- he didn't warm her up, just dove in like she belonged to him. She writhed and whimpered under his mouth, spewing curses and praises in the same breath. "Fuck you, you fucking- oh my god, yes..."

For all his intensity, Caleb was paying attention- when a certain spot made her breath hitch and break, he doubled his efforts, sucking hard or licking deeper until he felt her hands yanking at his hair in a desperate attempt to slow him down.

"You can handle it, that's a good girl, little fuckin' thief..." His face was a mess, spit and juices coating his chin when he came up for air. She tried to push back, to catch her own breath, but too soon Caleb was back to devouring her- filthy and smug, knowing he had her dizzy with every lap at her sticky-sweet walls.

She hardly even noticed that she was panting "please", not sure anymore if she wanted him to free her, to fuck her, or make her cum on his tongue. She was close to the last one, at least, but Caleb felt like being mean.

Her head was thrown back, fists clenched in his hair, teetering on the edge of orgasm and fighting to hold back moans- almost past the point of caring where the pleasure came from as he built her up to her peak. Caleb waited until he felt her cunt spasm, her puffy clit twitching in his lips, then pulled away completely.

"What- what the fuck!!" She stared at him in hazy disbelief, rolling her hips up as if to chase his mouth. Her voice was almost a whine, desperate and deprived: "Why did you stop??"

Caleb picked up her discarded shirt and wiped his mouth with it. "You're a shoplifter in my mall." He shrugged, an infuriating smile on his face. "Why should I make you cum?" He patted her cheek condescendingly. "What kind of lesson would that teach, hm?"

"Lesson? Oh you arrogant assh-" She was cut off as Caleb tossed her clothes at her and turned back around, as if he hadn't just been tongue-fucking her senseless.

"Go on, get dressed. I'll let you off with a warning. No cops, you're welcome." He mock-saluted at the wall.

Still half in disbelief, she stripped off the lingerie and put her clothes back on, wrinkling her nose at the mess he'd left on her shirt. Her pussy ached, soaked and needy for something she clearly wasn't going to get. The embarrassment settled back into anger as she zipped up.

He turned back around, her embarrassment flaring back into anger at how casual he looked, hardly a hair out of place as he walked back over to her. "The stolen goods?"

She rolled her eyes. "What, I can't keep them now?"

"Sure, keep the bra. Maybe your boyfriend will like it after all." He held out his hand. Her cheeks burned, but she understood what he wanted. She dropped the soaked panties into his palm. He held them to his nose and inhaled, making sure she was watching, then winked and tucked them into his uniform pocket.

She glared at him, but he only chuckled. "You're really cute. Come steal somethin' again soon, okay?"

He opened the door and held it for her, gesturing her through like a perfect gentleman. She made it halfway out, then paused and looked over her shoulder. "Fuck you, Caleb."

He gave her his most charming smile. "Maybe next time."

an: my first time writing for lads! I want to do more of it - would love requests if anyone has them! my personal favs are Zayne and Sylus but I'd write for anyone :3

[lyn31]

Sleep-deprived

Summary

Sleep-deprived Zayne accidentally discovers the true nature of fruit, and you are absolutely not letting him forget it.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader College AU, fluff, silly, nonsense, short, sleep-deprived.

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It starts when Zayne, fresh off a brutal study session, finally collapses onto your dorm bed like a corpse. His hair is a mess, his glasses are crooked, and he’s blinking at you with the sluggish confusion of someone who has lost all sense of time.  

You, on the other hand, are very much awake—and halfway through eating a banana when you glance at him.

You take another bite, watching him with amusement. He’s a mess, his usual perfect posture replaced by a boneless sprawl across your sheets.  

Feeling mischievous, you lean over and poke his cheek. “You want a bite?” You hold up the banana.

Zayne finally lifts his head just enough to glance at it. His eyes, unfocused and bleary with sleep deprivation, narrow slightly. Then, after a long pause, he mutters, “Bananas are just knives. Soft knives.”

You stop mid-bite. “What?”   

“They—” He takes a slow breath like this is a fact he must personally deliver to the world. He lifts a sluggish hand, gestures vaguely at your banana—then lets his arm drop, like even that took too much effort. “You hold them like a knife. They’re shaped like weapons.”  

You stare at him. He stares at the banana.  

This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard. But instead of correcting him, you decide to see how far this can go.  

“Are you telling me bananas are nature’s stabby fruit?” you ask, trying not to laugh.  

Zayne blinks slowly, like he’s processing the question in slow motion. “Yeah. But, like… soft.”  

You lean in, utterly fascinated now. “Okay, then what are oranges?”  

He frowns, deeply contemplating this question like it’s an exam problem. “Grenades.”  

You choke on your banana. “Oh my god.”  

“Grapes are tiny water balloons,” he adds, with a matter-of-fact tone.

At this point, you’re gasping for breath. “And pineapples?”    

A long pause. Then, in the most serious voice possible: “Maces.”  

You lose it. You’re laughing so hard you have to set your banana down before you drop it. Zayne, confused but too tired to question himself, just blinks at you like you’re the weird one.  

“I need to record you when you’re sleep-deprived,” you wheeze.  

He groans, rolling over and burying his face into your stomach. “No. This never happened.”  

“Oh, it definitely did.” You grin, running your fingers through his hair as he mumbles something incoherent into your shirt.  

He’s asleep within minutes, and you? You’re already planning how to bring this up tomorrow.

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Notes

It's on my drabble collection, I thought this is a good time to release it here 😂 I was not gonna but reading it back, too silly not to ahahaha

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

ERrOr 0.2

Love and Deepspace Various! / Reader

《File welcomes you! Enter! ... Good Luck.》

-

Wiping down a few menus scattered around the café, you glance at the cloudy skies.

Not quite sunny, but rather plain. Reaching over to the blinds, you lower them down. Ready to close up since you had the key.

DING!

A young man wearing a familiar smile comes in, a jacket wrapped around him as hands laid in his pockets.

“...Are you still open?” He asked politely, the friendly and attitude lighting up the rather quiet cafe. 

Blinking at him, rag in hand. A somber, almost knowing grin creeps up your face. “I… Yeah, please. Come in.”

You move away from the blinds, barely having the courage to look at his handsome face. Setting yourself up at the register, you ask for his order, rag held tightly between your fingers.

He eyes the menu behind you, scanning over the titles until he settles on a few things. Two mini apple parfaits and a single coffee. 

Not even bothering to right down the order, you keep eye contact when asking for his name. Voice almost shrill as the rag becomes tatters in your grip.

“Oh! It’s Caleb.” 

-

Holding the tearful girl in your arms, you keep your mouth shut. Patting her back as she wails incoherent nonsense by your ear. 

While, you wished to tell her the truth, you knew deep down you couldn’t. The only solace you could offer in her time of sorrow were merely gestures of comfort. Hoping it would be enough to appease the both of you.

Glancing at the apple parfaits sitting on your kitchen counter, you hold MC tighter.

-

Xavier blinked at the small bunny shaped dessert, the white porcelain plate glimmering against the sun from the window. You sit in front of him as he blinks the sleep away from his eyes, his lunch barely touched.

“Hi..? Are you awake?” You smile far to chipper, blinding him more the sun rays. Expecting the fawning gaze you directed at him, his lips part into a frown.

The expression you wore was unfamiliar to him. 

“...Mn, ‘sorry.”

“It’s fine, I thought some dessert would wake you up. Don’t worry, it won’t be on your bill!” You wink.

Amused, he nods, grabbing a spoon, lightly poking at the jiggly rabbit shaped pudding. You giggle, enjoying his actions openly. Xavier relaxes a bit, forgetting the small details from before.

“Hey… Is…” You pause, biting at your lips,nervously gripping the tray.

“Hm?” He hums, his beautiful blue eyes keeping sole attention on you.

“Is MC-... I mean-! So, are you and MC doing anything later? I’m free after closing, maybe we get something to eat?” You ask hopefully, knowing you would be dismissed from the offer. You even asked Zayne a day ago if he’d like to meet up for some grub.

Not knowing the next chance, you would be able to see him out and about! Yet before he could even give an answer, he got an urgent call from the hospital. Leaving in a hurry as he grabs your notepad and pen, writing something down before placing it on the table. Leaving soon after… Checking what he wrote in such a rush … HIS NUMBER!? 

You recall skipping home, swinging the paper about joyously.

“I would-”

“FINALLY! I FOUND IT!” 

Rafayel beams, the doors bell announcing his entrance as a sweating MC follows behind. Features censored for readers! 

“YOU…!” She grits out, before gasping and making a beeline towards you. Eagerly like a cat drawn to milk. “I’m so sorry about him, (Y/N)! I’ll kick him out right now!”

Yet she makes no move to do so as she sticks to you like glue, wrapping a hand around your waist easily. She plucks the cafe tray from you.

She holds it as if she were a brave knight, the tray her shield to protect what a knight holds dear! 

Glaring at the purple haired male. “Go, shoo fishy~!” She waves him off, the merman in question scowls.

“Sorry Miss Bodyguard, but I can’t at the moment, now if you would move-” Rafeyels tone was filled with annoyance as the female hunter shakes her head.

“Excuse me, I’d like to order…” 

Blinking, you regain your bearings as MC hisses at the new voice.

“Right! Sorry! Coming right over!”

Moving out her grip, you walk over to the disguised Sylus, you follow after him like a loyal dog. 

   “Not him too..!” She grunts stubbornly under her breath, exasperated. Sighing before receiving a text from Zayne that he was about to stop by the cafe for lunch. Asking if she wanted anything.

With another reluctant sigh, she texts back.

Rafayel huffs, scanning the small cafe, before his eyes settle on the small fish doodle placed near the menu, a few other animal drawings scattered around as well.

-

{Part 1. Side Story 1. Side Story 2. Side Story 3. Side Story 4. Side Story 5.}

[To celebrate the Caleb update! A two parter! I hope you guys like this new installment, if you guys got more caleb ideas or your favs, let me know! Thanks for reading! See yall later!]

@mangooes @deputy-videogamer @yoongi-tunes @3ophelia3 @kuni-k @paledonutking @i-literally-dk @liz9898

[slimepuparibaba]

Love and Deepspace | Linkon Chibi Chaos

■ Linkon Boys [Azure’s Echo Day]

💌 The boys have gotten gifts from their MCs today! What were they given, and how do they feel about it?

(AKA I drew a Linkon Chibi Report-styled comic with the Chaos in Linkon AU, where the guys each have their own MC and all of them are in a friend group.)

[hellinistical]

Priest! Vampire! Rafayel x Nun! Reader.

synopsis: when a charming new priest is sent to your convent amidst the winter freeze, you're naturally untrusting. unfortunately, he's more knowledgeable of the faith, and you could learn a thing or two, especially if you want to protect yourself from the recent vampire attacks.

trigger warnings: (heavy plot!). minor and major character death, blood, dubious consent, sacrilegious themes (Not Christianity or Catholicism; made up religion but using synonymous terms), gore, porn with plot, fingering (fem. receiving), hand jobs, piv, non-consensual vampire transformation, bodily horror, drinking blood, playing with blood, human consumption, unwilling cannibalism, afab reader- usage of female anatomy (though not descriptive of size/skin markings). fem. reader- she/her used. biting. choking. manipulation. blasphemy. overstimulation. virgin reader. corruption. monster fucking. slight belly bulge, bondage. incorrect use of holy water. wax play. this list may expand and/or be altered.

trigger warnings: (for this chapter): afab. reader. fem. reader. body horror. vomit. descriptive ruin of flesh. trauma exploitation. careless discard of a body. blood. death of minor character. implied death of a child. maiming. pet names. manipulation. emotional manipulation. suffocation. descriptions of flesh and membranes. breaking of a neck. misuse of religious beliefs. the start of an obsession.

a/n: this piece holds no actual religious scripture or quotes, I just needed those terms as they were synonymous. This is in NO WAY a jab at those faiths nor is it meant to spread hate or harm to them. It is also not an insult to those who practice. I tried to write with care, which yeah may be hypocritical of what I have here, so I apologize. Additionally, thank you to everyone who voted in the poll. While it was originally intended to be a one-shot, I felt it would be better to break it into chunks as this is very plot-heavy. Thank you for your support! Reblogs are highly appreciated.

word count: 7.5k

masterlist | taglist | prev. | next.

III. La Sorella

"When the rooms were warm, he'd call,"

Gods above, you had smelled divine. 

Rafayel leaned back in his chair, fingers brushing over his lips as he exhaled through his nose, tasting the memory of it. It had been subtle, carried by the warmth of your skin, woven into the fibers of your habit. He imagined the way it must cling to you, pressed into the nape of your neck, tucked behind your ears, threaded through your hair.

How unfair, he thought, tongue running over the tips of his fangs. He had spent centuries with the scent of blood, of damp stone and dying prayers, yet here you were—brimming with life, untouched by decay, and smelling of something so achingly pure that it made his jaw tighten.

Rafayel exhaled sharply, shaking his head. It was just a scent. A passing thing. Nothing more.

And yet, deep in the marrow of his bones, he already knew that was a lie.

How unfair. How cruel, really, for something so fleeting to leave such an imprint.

The moment you stepped into his office, the scent had wrapped around him like a whisper of something forbidden, something intoxicating. It was warm, faintly sweet—like honey drizzled over ripe peaches left to bask in the summer sun. Beneath that, something softer, cleaner, the lingering trace of soap and the crisp linen of your habit, worn and washed a hundred times over. But it wasn’t just that. No, there was something alive in your scent, something human, something red.

It clung to the air even after you had gone, weaving itself into the wood grain of his desk, settling in the old stone walls like an invitation he hadn't asked for. He inhaled deeply, letting it fill his lungs, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as if trying to taste the ghost of you that still lingered.

You had stood so close. So unaware.

He closed his eyes, fingers twitching at his sides as he exhaled slowly. There was something sinful about the way you smelled—like warmth on a cold night, like blood rushing just beneath delicate skin, like something he wanted.

Regardless, he'd have plenty of time to be close tomorrow.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached for his scripture, the old leather cover worn smooth beneath his fingertips. He licked his thumb, the taste of parchment and dust lingering on his tongue as he flipped through the fragile pages, scanning the familiar words. Verses of devotion, of faith, of divine wrath and holy retribution. The very foundation of Astra’s will.

But his mind was elsewhere.

Tomorrow, he would walk beside you, close enough to catch the warmth of your breath in the winter air. Close enough to see the way your pulse fluttered at the base of your throat. Close enough to watch the light shift in your eyes when you smiled at the villagers. Would you smile at him, too? Would you laugh, let your voice rise like a bell in the quiet streets of Linkon?

His fingers stilled on the page.

“And on the third day,” Father Rafayel intoned, his voice steady, measured, almost instructional, “The Vampires set off to find brides of their own,”

He moved slowly through the pews, the hem of his robes whispering against the stone floor as he passed. His hands were clasped neatly behind his back, fingers idly tracing the spine of his scripture. The flickering candlelight carved sharp planes into his face, but his expression was calm, thoughtful—he was not simply preaching, but teaching.

“To this, Astra spoke: ‘Man shall know no fear but of me, for I am ever the protector.’” He paused, letting the words settle in the air before continuing. “And so, in His divine wisdom, Astra cast the Vampire into eternal cold. For if the Vampire were to know warmth, would they not still refuse to repent?”

He turned slightly, addressing the room as a whole. “What is warmth, my flock?” His voice was softer now, almost coaxing. “Is it merely the sun on our backs, the fire in our hearths? Or is it the love we hold for one another, the kindness we offer, the devotion we show to Astra?”

A murmur of agreement spread through the congregation, heads nodding, some lips moving in whispered prayer.

Rafayel smiled faintly, satisfied, and resumed his slow pace down the aisle.

“To be cast into coldness,” he continued, “is not merely a punishment of the flesh, but of the spirit. The Vampire are forever condemned to hunger, to crave what they cannot have. They are forever seeking, but never satisfied.” He stopped near the front, tilting his head slightly. “And so, my dear postulants, what lesson do we take from this?”

Silence hung in the air as the room awaited his answer.

“That to seek what is not given to us by Astra is to invite suffering.” His gaze swept over the congregation, his voice unwavering. “That desire unchecked is a cage of our own making.”

He exhaled softly, letting his words settle before offering a small, composed smile.

You raise your hand, clearing your throat. "If desire unchecked is a cage, then why is it not when it is checked? Wouldn't a cage be limiting you instead?"

A flicker of amusement passed through Father Rafayel’s eyes as he turned to you, his expression unreadable yet attentive. He tilted his head slightly, considering your words with the patience of a scholar indulging an inquisitive student.

“A thoughtful question,” he mused, stepping closer. “Desire itself is not inherently evil, nor is it a cage by nature. But tell me,” his gaze locked onto yours, “when man desires something beyond his reach, something that is not his to take, does it not consume him?”

He paused, letting the room linger in the weight of his words.

“A cage is not merely bars and locks—it is the torment of longing unfulfilled. It is the hunger of the Vampire, forever seeking what has been denied to them.” His voice was even, yet there was something beneath it, something deeper. “Unchecked, desire festers, twists, becomes something monstrous. But when it is tempered—when it is acknowledged, understood, and held within the boundaries Astra has given us—it ceases to be a prison.”

He stepped back slightly, offering the faintest ghost of a smile. “Tell me, postulant, do you feel caged?”

"I do not. But...I also dont see why there are so many restrictions on the Vampire. What did they do? If we have power to limit them ourselves, why would Astra not just eradicate them?"

A silence settled over the room, thick and heavy. The other postulants shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between you and Father Rafayel. Even Simone, usually bold, looked at you as though you had just spoken something forbidden.

Father Rafayel, however, did not react with outrage or condemnation. If anything, there was a glint in his blue-and-pink eyes—something sharp, something intrigued. He regarded you for a long moment.

Instead, he laughed.

Low and quiet at first, but with a growing amusement that unsettled those around you. He shook his head, exhaling through his nose as if he had just been presented with the most fascinating puzzle.

“A fair question,” he said, and just like that, the room exhaled. His tone held no scorn, no reprimand—only consideration. “You ask why Astra did not simply eradicate the Vampire, rather than shackle them with restriction?” He clasped his hands behind his back, beginning to pace through the pews, as though contemplating aloud.

“Consider this: why does Astra allow the wicked to walk among the righteous? Why does He not strike down every thief, every liar, every sinner the moment they transgress?” He paused, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Because even the condemned have a role to play in this world. Their suffering, their struggle—it is a lesson, a warning, and a test of our own devotion.”

He stopped pacing, turning to face you fully. “The Vampire were not always as they are now. Long ago, they were men—until they defied Astra’s will, hungered for that which was forbidden, and sought to claim it. Their punishment was not to be erased from existence, but to endure. To be stripped of warmth, of sustenance, of life as they once knew it.”

"But Father, why are we so focused on the Vampire anyways as of late?" Simone asked, a puzzled expression on her face. 

“A perceptive question, Sister Simone,” Father Rafayel murmured, settling into his chair with a composed ease. He adjusted his glasses, the flickering candlelight catching in the lenses, making his irises gleam.

He flipped through the scripture deliberately, the rustling of parchment the only sound in the heavy silence. When he found the passage he sought, he tapped a finger against the page, though he did not read aloud. Instead, he looked up at you both.

“The Vampires have always been a topic of importance in theological study,” he began smoothly. “They represent the boundary between man and monster. The consequence of unchecked desire. It is not merely about them, but about us—what we allow to fester in our hearts, what we fail to restrain.”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze drifting over the assembled postulants. “And yet, it is true—recently, the discussions of the Vampire have grown more… pressing.”

His fingers drummed lightly against the arm of his chair. “You’ve heard of the murders in Linkon, haven’t you?” His voice was calm, but something about it made the room feel colder.

A few of the younger postulants shivered. Simone nodded, hesitantly. “Yes, Father. But surely, it can’t be—”

He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “Can’t be? I wonder, Sister Simone, how many bodies must pile before we stop dismissing the possibility?”

Silence.

“Astra’s teachings are not just relics of the past,” he continued, tapping a page with a gloved finger. “They are guidance for the present. The Vampire are not just myths, nor are they merely the evils of old. Their hunger is eternal, their presence... insidious.”

A beat of silence. Then, softer, more deliberate:

“It is our duty to be vigilant.”

He leaned back slightly, exuding the calm authority of a scholar, though something in his expression—something behind his ever-so-patient eyes—felt oddly satisfied.

“Does that answer your question, Sister Simone?”

You frown. Sureley there was more to it. 

When you open your mouth to speak, Rafayel closes his book. "That will be all. We will begin our donations, in one hour. Get your food and drink, and you all grab your coats." his smile is kind, easy as he gets up.

 Pressing your lips together, biting back  the words sitting on the tip of your tongue. Something about his answer—about him—still doesn’t sit right with you, but there’s no point in pushing now.

Father Rafayel’s smile is warm, pleasant even, as he stands, robes shifting around him like a flowing shadow. But when his gaze flickers toward you, there’s something beneath the kindness—something watchful.

"Come now," he says, tone as gentle as a lullaby. "Astra blesses those who give freely. Let us not keep the good people of Linkon waiting."

You nod slowly, following the others as they file out of the pews.  

The bread felt dry as you swallowed, your gaze fixed on Sister Jenna. She stood near Father Rafayel, their heads bent in close conversation. Her brows were knitted in concern, lips moving rapidly as she spoke. Father Rafayel listened intently, his expression calm, occasionally nodding in response.

You couldn't hear their words over the ambient chatter of the dining hall, but the tension in Sister Jenna's posture was unmistakable. She wrung her hands together, a gesture you recognized as a sign of her deep worry. Father Rafayel, in contrast, remained composed, his demeanor almost soothing as he replied to her. 

Simone set her plate down beside you. "You would think they'd get tired of soup. But noooo." she tears her bread in half, dipping it in the soup before throwing a quick, "Thank you Astra.", and biting a good bit off.

You smirk, tearing off a piece of your own bread. "Soup is easy. Keeps everyone warm, keeps everyone fed. Besides, I think it's tradition at this point."

Simone chews thoughtfully before swallowing. "Mmm. Maybe. But still, a little variety wouldn't kill us. Imagine—roast duck, maybe a sweet pudding for dessert." She sighs dramatically, resting her cheek on her hand. "One can dream."

You chuckle, but your eyes drift back to Sister Jenna and Father Rafayel. She's still speaking, her hands now clasped tightly in front of her chest. Whatever she's saying has her nervous—agitated even.

Simone follows your gaze, raising an eyebrow. "What's up with Sister Jenna? She looks like she just found a rat in the bread bin."

You shake your head. "Not sure. But whatever it is, she’s not happy."

Father Rafayel murmurs something to Sister Jenna, and though you can't hear him, his expression remains smooth, almost reassuring. Sister Jenna, however, doesn't seem entirely convinced.

Simone nudges you with her elbow. "Bet it’s about the Vampire stuff." She lowers her voice mockingly. "Bewaaare, the Vampire walk among us, waiting to steal your warmth."

You roll your eyes. "Shh, someone's going to hear you."

Simone grins, tearing off another piece of bread. "Oh please, everyone’s too busy praying over their tasteless soup to notice."

"Still- he's rather...impish, don't you think?" Another plate settles beside you- Yvonne. "I think he's rather handsome." 

You snort, covering your mouth as you chew. "Handsome? Yvonne, really?"

Yvonne shrugs, taking a dainty sip of her soup. "What? He is. Those eyes, that voice—he’s got presence."

Simone huffs, rolling her eyes. "Oh, come on. He’s unsettling. He always looks like he knows something we don’t."

Yvonne tilts her head. "That’s called intelligence, Simone. You might not be familiar with it."

Simone glares, flicking a breadcrumb at her. "Ha. Ha."

You glance over at Rafayel again. He's now watching Sister Jenna leave, his expression unreadable before he turns back to his own meal.

You lean in slightly. "Impish is a good word for him," you admit. "He’s...polite, but there’s something beneath it. Like he’s always amused by something we’re not in on."

Yvonne hums, tapping her spoon against the rim of her bowl. "That’s what makes him interesting."

Simone makes a face. "That’s what makes him creepy."

"Ya know, it's weird. Priests can get married and stuff but we can't." “Not how it works, Yvonne." "Father Thomas is married." "Okay?"

Simone waves her spoon dismissively. "That’s different. He was married before he joined the priesthood."

Yvonne shrugs. "Still. Feels unfair." You smirk. "You thinking of running off and getting married, Yvonne?" She grins. "Depends. Maybe if Father Rafayel asks nicely." Simone groans, throwing her head back. "Oh, please!" You chuckle, shaking your head. "I don't think he’s the marrying type." Yvonne sighs dramatically. "Shame. I’d make a great priest’s wife."

"Good thing you’re not allowed, then," Simone teases, nudging her.

Yvonne pouts. "Still, it’s not fair. Why can’t we?" You shrug. "I don’t think that’s the point, Yvonne. We’re supposed to be devoted to Astra, not distracted by… earthly things." Yvonne smirks. "You say that, but if Father Rafayel asked you to marry him, what then?" You nearly choke on your soup, coughing as Simone snickers. "That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard." "Is it?" Yvonne teases, nudging you. "You’re always asking him questions. Maybe you’re just curious about more than scripture." You glare at her, cheeks warming. "I ask because I want to understand, not because—ugh, never mind." Simone stretches her arms. "Honestly, if he did get married, I feel like it’d be to a book. Or his own reflection."

Yvonne sighs dramatically. "What a waste of a handsome face."

You roll your eyes, but as you take another sip of soup, you can’t help but glance at Rafayel again. He’s speaking with another sister now, his expression pleasant, charming even.

Your eyes meet Father Rafayels for a moment, and you don't miss the crows feet when his eyes smile, all too gone before his gaze returns to Sister Jenna. Yvonne and Simone were too busy talking to have noticed. 

Your heart skips a beat. Was that...a hint of warmth in his gaze? You quickly look away, feeling a heat rise in your cheeks. There’s no way. He’s just being kind, like he always is. Right?

But the way his smile reached his eyes, how it seemed to linger just a bit longer than usual, leaves you wondering. The curiosity gnaws at you, but you shove it down, forcing yourself to focus on your meal.

Yvonne continues, oblivious. "I still think we’re underutilized around here. I mean, we could do more than serve soup, right?"

Simone laughs. "Don’t tell me you want to be handing out more donations. I can’t imagine carrying all those bags around."

You shake your head. "It’s not about what we’re doing. It’s about why we’re doing it. We’re helping others."

"That’s one way to look at it," Simone says with a shrug. "But we could still use a little more excitement."

You can’t help but glance back at Father Rafayel. His attention is still on Sister Jenna, but now, the thought of that smile lingers with you. What if there's more?

Trying to clear your head, you focus on the conversation again.

"Here you go ma'am," you hand a care basket to a woman. "No- no more- I don't need help from the church," "Pardon?"

The woman recoils slightly, her eyes narrowing as she looks at the basket in your hands, then at you. Her tone is sharp, defensive, as though she’s been caught in something she wants no part of.

"I don’t want anything from the church," she repeats, her voice low, almost trembling with unspoken anger. "What do you want? To keep me quiet? To pretend you’re doing some good?"

You blink, unsure how to respond. The other villagers, some further down the path, keep their distance.

Father Rafayel, noticing the exchange, steps forward, his presence looming. "Ma’am, this is simply an offering from Astra’s followers. No strings attached. It’s just food to help you."

She glares at him, almost looking through him. "It’s never just that, is it? You think you’re fooling us? I know what’s behind all this." Her voice cracks, and she steps back, shaking her head. "I don’t need your charity."

You hold the basket in your hands, unsure of what to do. Father Rafayel seems unphased. 

"My son is missing after one of your 'donations,'" she repeats, her voice trembling but steady now, as if she’s found strength in her grief. "He was taken, just like the others. Don’t think I don’t know how these things work. You make promises, give a little, take a lot."

You feel a knot form in your stomach, an uncomfortable silence stretching between you, as all eyes from the group of villagers flick toward the woman. Father Rafayel’s calm demeanor falters for just a fraction of a second, but it's quickly masked by his polite smile, though his eyes are sharp and calculating.

"I’m afraid I don’t understand," he says, his voice soft but firm, yet with a subtle edge that betrays a hint of something darker beneath. "I assure you, every donation we make is done with good intent. There is no malice in our charity."

The woman steps forward, her face contorted with a mixture of sorrow and rage. "I watched him take that toy one of you left... Then he vanished." Her eyes flicker toward the other villagers, who are all pretending to be preoccupied but watching intently. "Now, I ask you, where is he?"

"Ma’am, please," he says smoothly, stepping closer to the woman with measured steps. "Accusations like these cannot be made lightly. I am certain there has been some misunderstanding."

“No! My son is gone, Father! Dead, like the others! Where is Sister Agnes? She is the only one suitable to lead Linkon!”

Father Rafayel puts a hand on your shoulder, cold and firm, before pulling you behind him. 

His smile softens, almost as if he’s pitying the woman. He steps forward, his posture unthreatening, but there’s an air of assurance in his every movement. His grip on your shoulder loosens, and his voice drops to a soothing tone.

“Please, ma’am,” he says, his words gentle but full of weight. “I understand your grief. We all feel it, in our own ways.” His gaze shifts to the villagers standing around, their worried expressions now caught between fear and uncertainty. “But I promise you, nothing has happened here that you don’t understand yet. There are things beyond our control—things that even I, as a servant of Astra, cannot explain fully.”

He places a hand on the woman’s arm, his touch tender yet firm, guiding her emotions as if his mere presence could steady her heart. “The disappearance of your son, the pain you feel... I understand it more than you know. But blaming the church, blaming me—won’t bring him back.” His voice is like a balm, his words measured with the intent to comfort and convince.

“Do you trust me?” he asks softly, leaning just enough to meet her eyes, his expression almost fatherly, as if he has known her all her life. “I am here to help. But we must look for answers together, not through anger, but through faith. Through Astra's guidance. And I promise, we will find the truth.”

He steps back, his posture open and inviting, like a shepherd trying to calm a scared flock. “I can help. But you must trust that the road we take will be one of patience and peace. We cannot rush this. Come, let us speak of this calmly, and let me help you. Let me ease your burden.”

His tone is persuasive, persuasive enough to dull the sharpness of the woman’s accusations. She stands there, silent, her face still twisted with anguish, but there’s a flicker of doubt in her eyes—an opening.

“I know it's hard,” Rafayel continues, his hand never leaving her arm, “but I swear on Astra's name, I will do everything in my power to help you. And we will find the answers—together.”

The woman softens, hugging him as she tears up. 

“Thank you, Father.”

Father Rafayel’s smile falters just for a moment—so brief that only the sharpest eyes might catch it. It’s a subtle shift, but enough for you to notice. For that fraction of a second, his face twists into something unreadable, and his grip on the woman’s arm tightens ever so slightly, as if disturbed by the closeness of her vulnerability, as if he’s disgusted.

Then, in the blink of an eye, it’s gone. His expression smooths back into that calm, almost pitying demeanor, the one that lures people into trusting him. He takes a slow breath, clearly controlling his reaction, and his eyes soften once again as he gazes down at the woman who now leans into his touch, tears brimming in her eyes.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, voice soothing, laced with false warmth. His hand remains on her arm, steady, even as his internal discomfort grows. “It’s my duty to guide you.”

But the moment lingers longer than it should, and for a heartbeat, there’s a coldness that creeps up his spine, a reminder of how easily the facade can break.

He gently pulls away, guiding her back toward the rest of the crowd with a practiced ease. “Now, let’s take a moment to breathe, together. Astra will guide us all through this.”

He steps back a fraction, his gaze flickering momentarily to you, as though assessing you for some deeper understanding, before returning to the woman. But that flicker of discomfort is gone, as if it never existed at all.

“Please Father, you too, Sister, come in.”

Father Rafayel’s smile widens, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he steps forward, his movements smooth and assured. He gestures toward you, subtly guiding you behind him as he enters the woman's home. “Thank you, but we must insist. We are here to help.”

You follow in his wake, feeling the air shift as the woman leads you both inside, her voice shaking but insistent. The warm scent of soup still lingers in the air, mixing with the cold, earthy aroma of the house. Rafayel’s hand is still on your back, a gentle, guiding pressure, even though you can sense the undercurrent of his control in every gesture.

As the door shuts behind you, the woman wipes her eyes, now grateful but still fraught with grief. “Please, come sit,” she urges again, her voice softer now, as if the presence of the priest and his gentle authority has given her something to hold onto in her overwhelming sorrow.

You step further in, feeling the tension between you and Rafayel, a quiet hum of awareness between you two, as if there’s more to the moment than the simple exchange of care baskets. The whole scene feels eerily domestic, like you’re merely actors in a play that’s unfolding without you quite understanding the script.

You settle into a seat, glancing up at Rafayel, who already seems at ease. His presence fills the room, effortlessly shifting the energy. "Thank you for your hospitality," he says warmly. 

And then he does something truly unexpected. 

He grabs the woman’s face. 

The room is suffocating as Father Rafayel’s fingers twist and press into the woman’s face. Her eyes bulge, the pupils rolling unnaturally as her body shudders with the struggle to break free. But there’s no escape. His grip tightens further, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her face, pressing her eyes deep into their sockets until—

A sickening crunch echoes through the air, her screams choked by the brutal force. Her body goes rigid, her mouth opening in a silent, grotesque scream, but no sound comes. Her eyes are utterly ruined, blood and fluid leaking from the sockets where his hands had crushed them.

Before you can react, before you can even scream, Rafayel's hand moves again—swift, clean. His fingers snap around the woman’s neck, and in one cruel, efficient motion, the bones snap under his strength. Her body goes limp in his grasp, crumpling in a heap as the life is ripped from her with terrifying ease.

You stand frozen, your throat tight, heart hammering in your chest. The room is dead silent now, except for the faint sound of the woman’s body hitting the ground, her blood pooling beneath her.

Rafayel doesn’t even glance at the corpse at his feet. He straightens up, brushing his hands together nonchalantly, as though he'd simply gotten rid of a bothersome insect.

"See?" he says, his voice low and calm, almost casual. "This is the price of questioning. Disrespecting." He looks at you, his eyes cold and unblinking, like a predator that has just satisfied its hunger. "A lesson in obedience." He kicks the body. “Not even worth drinking from, the damn whore,”

You can barely breathe, your mind reeling, unable to fully comprehend the violence that just unfolded before you.

His gaze turns back to the lifeless woman, a fleeting flicker of something like irritation crossing his face before it's quickly replaced with that eerie calm. “I’ll take care of the body,” he says, not even looking at you. "Come along."

The words don’t register at first. You’re too trapped in the horror of what just happened—the snap of her neck, the crushing of her eyes, the sickening finality of it all.

But you hear his voice again, smooth and unwavering. “It’s over now. Let’s move on.”

You don’t move for a moment, your heart beating slowly. 

Rafayel’s gaze flicks to you, his expression unreadable. The air feels heavy, suffocating. The body at his feet—still warm, still oozing—is a silent testament to what he just did. To what he is capable of. 

His lips curl, just slightly. “Apologies, Sister,” he says smoothly, taking a step closer. “I did not mean to startle you.” 

Your breath is uneven, your body rigid as he moves within arm’s reach. The scent of blood clings to the air, thick and metallic. Your stomach churns violently, and you press a trembling hand to your mouth.

“Breathe,” he murmurs. “We wouldn’t want you fainting now, would we?” 

Your vision tunnels. The corpse is there, crumpled like a discarded doll. The woman’s face—what’s left of it—is grotesque, ruined. Her mouth still twisted in an expression of agony she never got to voice. 

This isn’t real. This can’t be real. 

“You—” Your voice cracks, your throat burning with bile. “You killed her.” 

Rafayel exhales through his nose, head tilting as if you had just stated something obvious. “Of course.” He steps around the body, walking toward you with that same composed grace, his expression patient. “She was becoming… a problem.” 

Your pulse is deafening in your ears. 

“You—” Your words are failing you. Your thoughts are failing you. The bile rises higher. You need to get out of here. 

But his hand is already reaching, fingers barely grazing your wrist before you recoil violently.  

His eyes darken, just for a moment. “Careful,” he says, voice still impossibly gentle. “Fear is unbecoming of you.” 

You stagger another step back, shaking your head. “This—this isn’t right—” 

Rafayel sighs as if this is all terribly inconvenient for him. “Sister.” His tone shifts, taking on something firmer. “Compose yourself.”

Your breath comes in shallow, panicked gasps. You’re going to be sick. You are sick. 

And yet, the way he watches you—it’s as if he’s enjoying this. Studying your every reaction, memorizing every flicker of horror in your expression. 

“Now,” he continues, as if nothing had happened, “we still have work to do.” He gestures to the body with a gloved hand, his fingers flexing absently. 

“Shall we?”

“No! We most certainly shall not! You-” “Careful now, sweetheart.”

Your breath stutters in your chest. The way he says it—sweetheart—makes your skin crawl, like something sickly sweet masking poison underneath.

“I—” Your words catch. Your pulse is hammering. You glance down at the woman’s lifeless body, her head lolling unnaturally to the side, sightless eyes ruined and dark. The smell of copper thickens, and your stomach twists.

His voice is low, almost amused, but there’s an edge to it—something warning. “Don’t let that pretty head of yours get ahead of itself.” He steps closer, deliberate, calculated, the heels of his boots clicking softly against the ground. "I'd hate to see you become distressed over a little… inconvenience.”

Your stomach lurches. The bile in your throat burns. “A little inconvenience?” Your voice wavers, barely above a whisper, but the fury is there, tangled with the fear. “You murdered her! She—she didn’t even get to scream—”

Rafayel exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly, like a teacher watching a foolish student struggle with a simple lesson. “Yes, I suppose that was rather quick of me,” he muses. “Would it have been better if I had let her beg first? Cry a little longer?”

Your body goes ice cold.

His lips curl, a poor imitation of something kind. “You’re shaking.” He reaches again, fingers brushing your elbow, but you wrench away, stumbling back.

He stills.

The moment stretches. The air feels wrong.

Then, his hand lowers, and he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Ah. So you do have some fight in you.” His smile lingers, eyes hooded. “Good. I was beginning to worry you’d crumble too quickly.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs, a desperate, caged thing. “Stay away from me,” you rasp.

His expression doesn’t change. “Sweetheart.” He says it so sweetly, so condescendingly, like he’s scolding a child for throwing a tantrum.

“I own you.”

The words sink into you like teeth, cold and cruel.

Your breath stutters.

“You belong to the church. The church belongs to me.” He watches you carefully, studying every shift in your face. “And what kind of shepherd would I be if I let one of my flock stray too far?”

You don’t realize you’re crying until the salt stings your lips.

He leans in just slightly, enough that his breath ghosts over your ear. “Now… are you going to be good for me?”

His hand tilts your chin up so you face him. A playful smile rests on his face, even reaching his eyes this time- a genuine smile. 

You feel the membrane of the woman’s eye on his gloved hand, now on your chin. Your stomach twists violently, revulsion clawing up your throat. The slick, gelatinous smear of ruined flesh clings to your skin, an obscene mockery of what used to be someone’s sight. Father Rafayel hums, watching your reaction like one would observe a butterfly pinned to a board. 

“There it is,” he murmurs, almost fondly. His thumb strokes over your jaw, slow and deliberate, smearing the filth further. 

His eyes, those eerie irises of blue and pink, gleam with something dark. Something hungry. You choke on a sob, barely able to force words out. “You’re insane—” He tsks, shaking his head as if disappointed. “Now, now. That’s not very kind, is it?” His grip tightens just enough to remind you it’s there. Rafayel hums, tilting his head as if studying a delicate piece of art. His gloved thumb—still damp with the remnants of the woman’s ruined gaze—glides across your cheek. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rich with amusement. 

Your pulse thrums beneath his fingers. He must feel it—how rapid, how unsteady.

“There, there,” he soothes, like he’s comforting a trembling child. “You mustn’t look so horrified.” He leans in, voice dipping lower. Sweeter. “Astra wouldn’t want that, would He?”

You shudder, every nerve in your body screaming at you to run.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

His smile widens, catching the way your eyes dart—searching for an escape that doesn’t exist.

Then, without warning, he releases you. You stagger, your legs nearly giving out beneath you, but he simply watches, hands clasped behind his back, utterly unbothered by the horror he’s just committed.

He flicks his gaze down at his glove—at the remnants of the woman still staining the leather—before pulling it off with a sigh, tossing it onto her still-warm body.

“Now then. Shall we continue?”

He offers his arm, not waiting as he grabbed your own, linking it with his. “Let’s finish our charity.”

So you let him guide you forward, his arm linked with yours in a grotesque parody of companionship. The two of you walk past the cooling body, the scent of blood thick in the air, as Rafayel hums a pleasant little hymn under his breath.

Your body convulses, another wave of sickness ripping through you as you clutch the sides of the basin. The acrid burn of bile scorches your throat, and you gag, spitting out the last remnants of whatever meager meal you had managed earlier.

Your fingers tremble against the porcelain, knuckles white from how tightly you're gripping it. The room spins, the world tilting on its axis, and for a moment, you think you might collapse right there on the cold, stone floor.

The phantom sensation of Rafayel’s touch lingers—his gloved fingers against your chin, the slick, ruined remnants of the woman’s eyes smearing onto your skin. You scrub at your face furiously with your sleeve, but the feeling doesn’t leave. It clings, seeping into your pores, like a stain that refuses to be washed away.

You shudder, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

He had smiled.

He had hummed.

And he had walked away as if nothing had happened.

Another wave of nausea hits you, and you retch again, but there’s nothing left to bring up. Just dry, hollow heaving that leaves your stomach aching and your throat raw.

The world outside continues as if it hasn’t just shifted into something dark and terrible. As if a woman hadn’t just been silenced.

As if you hadn't stood there, frozen in horror, and done nothing.

You can still feel it—him. The icy press of his fingers on your chin, the sickening squelch of ruined flesh, the way he smiled as if he hadn’t just—

A sob chokes out of you, swallowed quickly by another dry heave. Nothing left to expel. Just the raw, hollow ache of terror curling deep in your gut.

The door creaks. Your breath stills.

Boots click against the stone floor, slow, measured steps. A shadow looms over you.

A handkerchief appears in your vision, crisp and clean. “Oh, Sister,” Rafayel sighs, his voice warm with something almost like pity. Almost. “If I knew you had such a weak stomach, I would have warned you.”

The scent of him is wrong—clove and something metallic beneath it, something that lingers too long in your lungs.

The handkerchief dangles between his fingers, an invitation. A mockery.

When you don’t take it, Rafayel hums, shifting ever so slightly. "Come now, Sister. You’ll make yourself sick all over again." His voice is smooth, patient. A priest soothing a distressed flock. A man coaxing something fragile just to watch it break.

You stare at the porcelain, focusing on the tiny cracks running along its edges. Anything but him. Anything but the weight of his gaze pressing against the side of your face.

A sigh. Soft. Disappointed. And then the handkerchief brushes against your cheek.

You flinch.

He works with the precision of a man performing a sacred ritual, slow and methodical as he wipes away the remnants of your sickness. The linen of the handkerchief is soft, but his touch is cold—too cold, even through the fabric.

You should recoil. You want to recoil. But your body won’t move, locked in place by the sheer wrongness of it all.

“There,” Rafayel murmurs, brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead. “All better.”

You stare at him, throat tight, heart hammering. He doesn’t seem to mind the fear written across your face. If anything, he looks almost pleased.

He folds the soiled handkerchief neatly and tucks it away like it’s nothing at all.

"Are you well? It didn't trouble you so, did it-" "Get away from me, Father Rafayel."

His expression stills. The ever-present smile remains, but something behind his eyes sharpens, a glint of something dark and unreadable flashing through the blue and pink.

For a moment, he simply watches you. The silence stretches, thick as congealed blood.

Then—

A laugh. Soft, breathy, amused.

“Oh, dear Sister.” He kneels slightly, lowering himself to your level, his head tilting like he’s studying a particularly fascinating insect. “You wound me.”

You press yourself against the cold stone wall, as far from him as possible. Your breathing is shallow, rapid, your pulse a drum against your ribs. He notices. He enjoys it.

Rafayel sighs, straightening again, brushing nonexistent dust from his pristine robes. “You’re upset,” he states plainly. “That’s understandable. But don’t be dramatic. I only did what had to be done.”

Your stomach lurches again.

You turn away, gripping the edges of the basin as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. You can still feel him watching you, like a weight pressing into your spine.

Rafayel exhales, a soft, almost disappointed sigh. “I’ll have Sister Jenna come to collect you.”

It should be a mercy. A reprieve. But the way he says it—so calm, so unbothered—makes your skin crawl. Like you’re a child throwing a tantrum, like your revulsion is inconvenient to him.

His boots click against the stone as he turns to leave. But before he steps out, he pauses.

A beat of silence.

Then—

“I do hope you’ll feel better soon,” he murmurs, and when you finally dare to glance over your shoulder, he’s already gone.

"What's got you so sick lately?" Yvonne and Simone sat on your bed, having decided to stay the night despite the elder sisters firm threats of consequences if anyone was out of their rooms after 9:00 p.m.

You stare at them, trying to piece together an answer—one that won’t make you sound like you’ve lost your mind.

Nothing comes.

Nothing safe, at least.

“Probably just something I ate,” you mumble, forcing a weak smile as you pull your blanket tighter around yourself. “It’ll pass.”

Yvonne hums, unconvinced. “You’re pale as a ghost.”

Simone leans in, scrutinizing your face. “And you’ve barely eaten all day. I mean, I know the soup is garbage, but still.”

You swallow. If you close your eyes, you’ll see it again—the ruined sockets, the twitching fingers, the sound of her neck—

Your stomach turns.

“I’m fine,” you say, a little too quickly. “Just tired.”

Yvonne and Simone exchange a look, and for a terrifying moment, you think they might press further. But then Simone flops back against your pillows with a sigh.

“Well, if you die in the night, I’m taking your blanket,” she announces.

Yvonne snorts. “And I get her pillow.”

It’s quiet for a moment. 

Yvonne tilts her head, studying you. "You sure you're not pregnant?" You whip your head toward her, eyes wide with disbelief. "What?!" Simone bursts out laughing, slapping her knee. "She’s got a point! Maybe that’s why Father Rafayel’s been so concerned—" "That is not funny!" you hiss, heat crawling up your neck. "Relax, we're just messing with you," Yvonne grins, nudging your arm. But then she sobers, her gaze searching. "Seriously, though. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. What have the sermons been about?"

Simone and Yvonne exchange a glance.

"Same as always," Yvonne shrugs. "Discipline. Humility. The Vampire."

"Yeah," Simone frowns, pulling at a loose thread on your blanket. "Father Rafayel’s been really fixated on them lately. More than usual. Keeps talking about how they need to be 'understood' before they can be judged. Whatever that means."

You swallow hard, your throat still raw. "Understood?" Simone nods. "Yeah. Like...he’s making it sound like they're not just monsters. That there’s something more to them." Yvonne snorts. "Creepy way to put it, if you ask me." You grip your sheets tightly. Rafayel’s cold fingers on your chin, the wet smear of another person’s ruin against your skin—it all flashes back in an instant. "What else did he say?" Your voice is quieter this time, urgent. Yvonne gives you a curious look. "Why do you care?"

"Cause I'm missing them? We have exams on these if you've forgotten." You point out, coming up with the excuse swiftly. A half lie. Another exam would be coming up in your training to be a nun soon enough. 

Simone groans, flopping back onto your bed. "Ugh, don’t remind me. I’d rather scrub the floors of the entire chapel than sit through another exam." Yvonne smirks. "Maybe if you actually paid attention, you wouldn’t have to cram last minute." Simone swats at her. "Shut up, Yvonne."

Forcing a small smile, your fingers are still clenched in the fabric of your sheets. "So? What else did he say?"

Yvonne hums, thinking. "Well...he talked a lot about temptation. Not just the Vampire, but people, too. How those who question too much might lead others astray. How faith should be absolute."

Simone rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, same thing they always say. 'Doubt is the doorway to sin' or whatever." But Yvonne doesn’t look convinced. She shifts, lowering her voice. "It’s not just that. He was watching everyone while he said it. Like he was waiting for someone to react."

A chill creeps up your spine.

You exhale through your nose, keeping your voice steady. "Who reacted?" Yvonne shrugs. "No one. Not openly, at least." Simone huffs. "Not all of us have a death wish, Y/N. You heard what happened to Sister Agnes." Your stomach twists. "What happened to Sister Agnes?" Yvonne and Simone exchange another glance. This time, it’s hesitant. Uneasy. "You…you really haven't heard?" Simone asks quietly.

"No? I've been forced into bed rest for 2 weeks, Simone.I thought she left for the capitol since we hadn't seen her for a month.”

Yvonne scoffs, crossing her arms. "She was supposed to. But then she got sick. Really sick. Fever, coughing up blood, the whole thing."

Simone nods. "Yeah. They quarantined her in the infirmary for a while, but then one day—poof. Gone." She snaps her fingers. "The elders said she must’ve gone to the capital after all. That she recovered enough to travel, but no one saw her leave."

Yvonne sighs. "Probably just left at night. You know how she was—never wanted to make a fuss."

You feel ice creep through your veins. That doesn't make sense. If she had been so ill, how could she have just up and left? No farewells? No word to the sisters she was closest to? It doesn’t sit right with you.

"You're worrying too much, Y/N," Simone chides, nudging your shoulder. "You should be resting, not getting yourself worked up over rumors."

Yvonne smirks. "Yeah. Besides, Father Rafayel would have told us if something was wrong. He always does."

Your throat tightens. You force yourself to nod, though your hands curl into fists beneath your blanket.

Father Rafayel always knows.

©hellinistical 2025 do not copy, translate, distribute, plagiarize, or reproduce in any form without permission, and do not share to any media outside of tumblr.

[somepinkthing]

Crowfish AU where sylus first meets rafayel when he breaks into the art studio and forcefully takes his lemurian blood in order to save MC's life. He also takes rafayel to his place in case more is needed. Rafayel eventually does forgive MC for this (easily done as she was passed out and dying at the time) but sylus could not have possibly made a worse first impression.

Turns out, the blood taken was a bit much and sylus has to house a weakened rafayel for a bit. Neither of them are happy about it but sylus agrees for MC's sake. Rafayel doesn't. To his credit, sylus tries to get the injured lemurian to warm up to him since MC clearly holds him in high regard and is furious over the whole ordeal, threatening to cut off their deal if rafayel isn't returned safe and healed. And he miiiight feel a little bad about how this went down after doing some digging into lemurian history. Maybe. His efforts are... poorly received to say the least. But all the same, sylus grows a begrudging respect for the little fish. Not only does he fight like and animal (he slashed sylus's throat just about daily during his stay and no one could ever find out how he kept getting a hold of sharps), but he's incredibly cunning too. In the end, sylus himself had to play nurse after rafayel sent multiple people to the hospital and ducked every guard sylus put him under. He reminded sylus a little of a certain sorceress.

Rafayel is eventually sent home more or less recovered, with their relationship no better than how it started. Out of her own indignation at not even being consulted about sylus's plan and respect to rafayel's upset, MC decides to stay away from sylus for the time being until Rafayel is feeling less hurt. Sylus, realizing that this has set him back leagues in his get-MC-to-trust-me plan, decides he has to MAKE this guy forgive him. And preferably not make him afraid in the process, that would be counter-productive.

So anyways AU where sylus falls first and fast for his (ex?)lover's kinda-boyfriend who wants him dead in a ditch

[luminecosmo]

Xavier found your old diary...

im ngl after listening to Caleb's lvl 85 Secret Times, I may or may not have felt smth, so as an apology to my oshi,Xavier here's some scenario I thought of 👉👈

I just got back from visiting Grandma and Caleb, bringing up some of my old stuff along the way. Meanwhile, Xavier—who I haven't seen in weeks, (my savior!!!!) volunteered to help clean out my apartment. Of course, he also had an ulterior motive—which is making up for all the time we haven't been together.

As we sorted through the mess, Xavier suddenly walked up to me, holding a familiar notebook in his hand. His expression was unreadable.

“So… Caleb, huh?”

I frowned, confused. “What do you mea—” Then it clicked.

He was holding my old diary.

The one from my teenage years.

My eyes widened.

“How did you even—” I reached to grab it, but he was faster, lifting it just out of my reach. His eyes flickered with something—something sharp, Uh-Oh am i in trouble?

“I asked first.”

I avoided his gaze and shifted nervously, biting my lip. “...What about Caleb?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I think I like him—July 17, 20—”

My eyes widened, and before he could finish, I quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, my face burning. “Okay, okay! No need to read that out loud!...That was when I was a teenager! You know how it is…it.. It happens.”

Xavier stepped closer, caging me in with his arms. “it happens?.." not looking very happy with my answer, "..then what about now?"

I blinked. “Huh?”

His face was suddenly right in front of mine. He gently grabbed my chin, tilting it up so I had no choice but to look at him. “Do you still like him?”

I scoffed, I can't believe what I just heard. I pushed him back slightly. “Xavier, are you serious? You’re my boyfriend! I like you—no, I love you more than anyone else.”

His serious look softened, and before I could say anything else, he leaned in and gave me a quick, warm kiss. When he pulled back, he was smiling again, his whole face and surroundings are all glowing again.