#rafayel au

[harmonyrae]

The Voice of the Viscount

Synopsis: Performing at the first ball of the season was your mother’s idea, you had no idea a famous opera singer was in attendance. The real surprise, however, was his praise for your voice. If his compliments left you breathless, his offer could certainly mean your end. 

AN: When you see the 𝄞 symbol, click the link to listen to the song. When you see the symbol again you can stop the music. TRUST ME, it’ll give you goosebumps.

Content Warnings: SFW (future works could have NSFW elements fyi), a lot of plot & some cute angst, OMG the FLUFF, death of parental figure mentioned, Regency era terms are used

Word Count: 5.3k

“I can’t believe you’re going through with this.”

Your sister pulls the lacing of your bodice harshly to drive her point home. She’s not wrong, you had successfully delayed your debut a year to help your mother manage the estate and care for Eleanora. But she was not willing to let you delay any further, your “future” depends on it.

“Sera, please. Mama wants - ow!”

Sera yanks the lacing once more and you’re fairly certain you felt a rib crack. You take a deep breath and try to steady yourself against the bed frame.  

“Mama wants the estate to stay in the family, I know, I know. And the only way to do so is for one of us to give birth to a boy. Damned corset!” 

“Seraphina!”

Your mothers voice makes you both jump. You look over your shoulder to see Sera bite her lip. She gives you a desperate look and you can’t help but snicker, knowing she will be getting an earful. 

“Move, I’ll do it.”

Sera happily steps aside to let your mother finish tying your corset. She taps your shoulder and you stand up straight. You brace for another harsh pull, however, you feel your corset loosen instead and you sigh as your lungs expand freely.

“If you’re going to sing tonight, I want you to be able to breathe.”

“Mama…” “Cordelia, you are behind a whole year. You must take this opportunity to stand out. Prove yourself worthy of the Queen’s approval.”

“I already have her approval! The ceremony went well today, didn’t it?”

When your mother doesn’t reply, you look back to see her staring at Sera. While your debut was relatively uneventful, if not a tad lackluster, Seraphina’s was… tragic. You were thankful to be debuting at the same time as your sister, you could share the anxiety and confide in each other. Unfortunately, Sera inherited your fathers two left feet and if you hadn’t been holding her hand, she would have fallen flat on her face in front of the Queen. 

“You may suffer from your sister’s misfortune. You both have to prove yourselves tonight and yes, Sera, you must attend. It’s the first ball of the season!”

Sera continues to pin her dark curls out of the way, avoiding her mothers gaze. You turn to face her and lift your arms so she can slip your favorite soft pink dress over your head. The slightly darker pink floral appliques flutter up from the hem and along the sleeves. Your mother tried to get you in a white gown with matching gloves, but you convinced her that you would need to feel comfortable if you were to sing. 

You’re not particularly talented, but your voice has always been praised by all who hear it. You grew up singing while Ellie played the piano and Winnie danced. You’ve always loved making your sisters laugh, but even more so since your father died. 

“Mama… I might as well sit out this season and try again next year.”

Your mother drapes a necklace around your neck and you turn for her to secure the clasp. You can feel her hands shake and you give Sera a stern look. 

“So Mama, how long will we wait for callers in the morning? I am so looking forward to the performance tomorrow night.”

“We shall accept callers for as long as possible. And be sure to tell them you are attending the opera!”

When you heard rumors about a new opera singer joining the company right before the debut of The Magic Flute you were sceptical. Until the papers confirmed the singer was the famous Viscount Rafayel. Gossip was merciless, predictions regarding why he was returning home from Italy after nearly 4 years were salacious to say the least. Did he have an illegitimate heir he had only just found out about? Was he accepting an arrangement? If so, to whom? Was it because of the trouble he supposedly caused in Verona?

“Imagine if you had allowed Cora to audition for the company we might be watching her perform with the Viscount.” 

You glare at Sera once again, she’d promised to stop criticising your mother for her hand in ruining your dream. As you grew older you realized she didn’t deny you to be cruel, she was a grieving mother of 5 who needed help. And opera singers have reputations, she wanted something better for you. While you couldn’t imagine anything better than traveling to gorgeous opera houses and performing, you didn’t resent her for it. You slip your feet into your heels and give your mother an apologetic look.

“Sera, stop, not tonight.”

Your mothers voice was tired, strained. Your debut was supposed to be the beginning of the end for her. Once you and your sisters were married, she could finally rest and properly mourn for her husband. 

You wrap your shawl around your shoulders and lean down to kiss your mother on her cheek. Her weary eyes brighten and she gives you a small smile. 

“I’m going to check in on your sisters and make sure they’re in bed. Then we’ll leave.”

As soon as she’s closed your door you spin around and slap Sera’s shoulder.

“Ow!”

“I told you to stop! Mama has enough to worry about without your snide remarks.”

Sera puts her hands on her hips. You poke her shoulder and she rolls her eyes before turning around, allowing you to fix her hair - the pins already falling under the weight of her curls. 

“Can you please put on a happy face and at least try to be cordial tonight?”

Her shoulders slump and she grunts - you assume she is agreeing and let the matter drop. You grab her wrist and hurry down the hall to the entryway to meet your mother. 

The Ashby’s always host the first ball of the season, just a few hours after the formal presentation before the Queen. It’s the time for young ladies to present themselves in a more personal manner. Many of them will keep to themselves and focus on filling out their dance card, but those who want to stand out will perform in some way. 

You watch Genevive Pearson perform a rather dull piece on the piano and laugh as Lady Ashby drags Isabella Wilton away from the harp. Before you can stop her, your mother tugs on your arm and you find yourself in front of the piano with an expectant audience. You clasp your hands together and curtsy. Your excitement nearly bubbles over and makes you giggle, you cover it up by clearing your throat and leaning over to confirm your name with the pianist. His eyes light up upon recognizing the sheet music with your name on it. You run your hands over the front of your dress and take a breath.

“In honor of the company debuting a new cast for The Magic Flute tomorrow night, I will be performing 𝄞Ach, ich fühl's, Pamina’s soliloquy.”

Whispers breakout amongst the crowd as they step closer. As the first notes ring out from the piano, you can’t help but close your eyes. You feel your cheeks burn as you smile, you’re in your element. You sing with your heart, your hands gently clutching the front of your dress as the heartbreaking words fill the room. When you open your eyes you notice your audience extends to the second floor as well. Your teary eyes blur the features of a particular man leaning over the balcony. You blink several times, finally getting a better look.

Sunset eyes meet yours and they don’t look away, in fact, they almost sparkle when he realizes you’re looking at him. Wispy bangs fall across his forehead, the dark dusty purple color warm under the glow of the chandelier. He traces his jaw with a finger, the silken sleeves of his dress shirt falling down to reveal golden bracelets with large purple gemstones. The golden necklaces around his neck are nearly lost in the ruffle front of his dress shirt. Unlike the other men in attendance, he only wore a waistcoat. Its ostentatious color and gold accents make his narrow waist even more defined. When you finally return your gaze to his face, the corners of his pretty mouth are turned up in a knowing smirk. You instantly close your eyes and put all your focus on the song. 𝄞

The applause is deafening and your cheeks ache from smiling. Lady Ashby’s arm circles your waist and you flinch. She places a hand over her heart and sighs dramatically. You dig your fingernails into your palm, the fabric of your glove barely dulling the sharp sting.

“How lovely Miss Raeton, absolutely divine! I just must know what our esteemed guest thinks of the performance. I am honored that Viscount Rafayel agreed to attend tonight! Surely, the man portraying Tamino himself must have a critique or two.”

Your heart stops, you’re sure of it. You search for your mothers face in the crowd and when you do, her barely restrained anger tells you all you need to know. Lady Ashby requests all of the ladies performing tell her what they intend to do. To “properly prepare” she says. Lady Ashby was told nearly a week ago that you intended to sing a song from The Magic Flute. She would have known Lord Rafayel had accepted her invitation and allowed you to perform anyways. Angeline Ashby stood at the front of the crowd, a smug expression painted across her haughty face. She was behind this, you’re sure of it. 

You finally look over at Lady Ashby, whose arm is raised as she points out Lord Rafayel. You follow her arm and as realization settles, you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. The man you’d stared at while you sang, raises his hand and bows. When he stands up straight, his eyes are fixed on you. 

“Your performance was captivating. Miss Kingsley is a lovely Pamina, but I do believe I prefer Miss Raeton. It’s a shame I won’t have the pleasure of singing with her tomorrow night. Bravo, Miss Raeton, bravo.” 

You’re sure the entire room can hear your heart beating, but you don’t care. A famous, and albeit incredibly handsome, opera singer just complimented your singing. You could feel the hateful glare of Lady Ashby and her daughter, which only made you smile wider.

You rejoin your mother in the crowd and gasp when Sera jumps into your arms. You try to push her away, but she holds onto you tightly. Your mother placers a hand on your back and you’re surprised she isn’t lecturing your sister.

“The Viscount is here! And he LOVED you! Oh Angeline must be beside herself - and at her mothers party no less! This is the best day.”

“Girls, behave yourselves while I have a word with Lady Ashby.”

You watch your mother saunter over to a small group of women, Lady Ashby looks up at her, feigning innocence for the last time. You watch as her face contorts and her cheeks redden. Sera leans against you, linking her arm with yours. 

“Should we find Angeline? Compliment her performance as the nastiest –”

Just as you’re about to tell Sera to shut up you hear someone clear their throat behind you. Both you and your sister whirl around and come face-to-face with Rafayel. You instinctively grab Sera’s hand on your arm. You curtsy and cautiously look up.

“Miss Raeton.”

He cocks his head to the side, regarding your sister.

“This is my sister, Seraphine Raeton.”

“It’s a pleasure.”

Sera chuckles and curtsies. Rafayel steps closer, his easy smile sending butterflies fluttering. He leans toward you.

“Might I have the next dance?” 

You open your mouth only to close it. Then you open it again, but still completely silent. Sera pushes her elbow into your side and you feel your chest tighten. 

“Yes, yes, I would… I would love to, my Lord.” 

He extends his hand and you release Sera to take it. He guides you onto the dance floor and carefully places your hand on his shoulder. You curse to yourself, realizing Lady Ashby always schedules the Waltz for the final dance. Rafayel cautiously places his hand on your waist and you force yourself to follow his lead. - years of teaching your little sisters how to dance meant you were usually the one in charge. 

“You have a beautiful voice, Miss Raeton.”

You blink, realizing you’ve been staring at his chest instead of looking at him directly. You shake your head and smile, your eyes finally meeting his. 

“Thank you, my Lord.”

Rafayel chuckles under his breath. 

“I know it’s ‘proper etiquette’, but I would prefer it if you called me Rafayel.”

“I do believe that would get me into quite a bit of trouble.”

“I won’t tell anyone, it can be our secret.”

“Secrets have a funny way of revealing themselves unfortunately.” 

“Especially around these delightful people, I’m sure.”

You can’t stop yourself from giggling. He pulls your hand to his chest, his thumb rubs soothing circles over the top of your hand. 

“I-I’m looking forward to your performance tomorrow night. I haven’t been to the opera in… a long time.”

“Have you never considered performing?”

You shake your head and stare at your feet.

“I… well, I… no.”

He narrows his eyes and hums.

“Let me guess, your father disapproves?”

Your smile falters, you pray Rafayel doesn’t notice.

“My father loved the opera! My mother just needed me to focus my efforts elsewhere.”

Rafayel looks over your shoulder and when he spins you, you see your mother holding onto Sera. Her eyes fill with tears as she watches you dance. 

“I apologize. I shouldn’t assume.”

You shake your head fervently, but Rafayel continues.

“My father passed away when I was young as well. I know the pressure of familial responsibility. I’ve avoided it most of my adult life.”

Your somber expression softens as his smile returns.

“But I could only run for so long. I’m back home, honoring my mothers last wishes that I find a bride and continue our family name.”

“What about your career and Verona? You were about to produce your own opera, no?”

“Oh, rumors do travel fast, don’t they?”

You feel your cheeks flush and you squeeze his hand.

“I apologize, my Lord. I didn’t mean to -”

“Don’t apologize, I jest. However, you are rather lovely when you’re embarrassed.”

You scoff and he laughs, a joyous, carefree laugh that warms your soul.

“I miss Verona and the life I built there, of course. But I can’t put off my responsibilities no matter how unpleasant.” 

You nod, your shoulders dropping slightly. 

“I understand the sentiment. I was meant to debut last season. My mother allowed me to delay due to my sister being ill.”

“You seem to be close with your sister, Seraphina, isn't it?”

“I am! Oh, she wasn’t… I have four sisters. I’m the eldest, Seraphina was born a year after me. Then Theodora, Winifred and Eleanora. Eleanora was ill, nearly lost her.” 

“Is she well?”

You nod and your hand moves from his shoulder to loop around his neck like you’d seen your mother do with your father years ago.

“She is much better. She was miserable without her piano. Now she plays every day after tea until dinner.”

Rafayel’s hand inches around to the small of your back and eases you closer. 

“Your family is important to you, your smile is brighter just talking about them.”

“I spent my whole life chasing after my sisters, making sure they were happy and cared for when my mother was taking care of my father.” 

You gasp and bring your hand from his shoulder to your lips. The realization that you’d been openly discussing your family's personal matters - your mother would be furious. 

“Please, don’t stop, I love hearing you speak about your family. I do have a question, if you’ll indulge me?”

You return your hand to his shoulder and nod.  

“What about you?”

Your brows furrow and you search his face for clarification.

“You take care of your sisters, but who takes care of you?”

The heat is nearly unbearable, your stomach flips and you can feel sweat drip down your back. His question has lingered in the back of your mind for years. You always took care of others, pushing your own needs and desires away. You don’t have an answer. Before you melt into a puddle of anxiety, the song comes to an end. You hold onto Rafayel for a moment longer, holding his gaze.

“I’ll ask you again tomorrow night.”

“What –?

“After the performance, wait for me. And I’ll ask you again.”

He lets you go and steps back to bow, you curtsy in response and watch him walk away. If you didn’t have an answer for him tonight, you doubt you’ll have one for him tomorrow. But just the thought of seeing him again makes your heart flutter. 

The soothing warmth of your tea could have put you to sleep if Sera wasn’t torturing your scalp with her brushing. You wince as she catches on yet another tangle.

“You look as though you tossed and turned all afternoon. Are you truly so nervous?”

Your mother urged you to take a nap after the last suitor had departed. Even with the curtains drawn and a pillow over your eyes, you couldn’t rest. You were surprised when she finally poked her head into your room to ask if you were awake. She had allowed you to skip tea and brought in a small tray to tide you over while you got ready for the night. You sip your tea and eye the lemon tart she brought. 

“Cora, eat something. Do you want to faint in front of your lover?”

You glare at Sera through the mirror and watch her erupt into a fit of giggles.

“I’m sorry, but you and Lord Rafayel seemed quite cozy during your waltz. His wandering hand was –”

“His hand was not wandering!” You interrupt her, causing her to laugh louder.

“No? But your hand certainly was. Holding onto his neck in front of everyone. I had no idea you could be so scandalous, dear sister.”

You reach back and grab the hairbrush from her before standing to usher her out of the room. You ignore her protests and shut the door, promptly silencing her. You return to your dressing table and immediately reach for the lemon tart, stuffing it in your mouth. You nearly choke when you hear a soft knock at your door.

“Sera, I’m getting ready on my own.”

Another soft knock. You stand and slowly walk to the door, chewing furiously. When you swing open the door, Eleanora smiles sweetly holding a small box in her hands. You drop your hand from over your mouth and cough as the sour lemon custard hits the back of your throat. You open the door and motion for her to come in.

“Is Sera teasing you again?”

Her dimples deepen as she watches you roll your eyes, confirming her suspicions. She holds out the small box.

“I only wanted to give this to you before you leave.”

You squint at the box, carefully taking it from her. You give her a look and she nods, urging you to open it. You examine the small box and realize it’s the white and gold music box your father gifted her when she was 5. You open it and find a pair of opera glasses.

“Ellie, I can’t…”

“Mama said she got a private box just for you.”

She pokes your cheek. 

“I want you to use them. Father wouldn’t want them sitting in a box collecting dust.”

You cough to cover up the choked sob threatening to burst through. Picking up the ornate opera glasses, you look at Ellie through them and gasp dramatically. She jumps and her lip starts to quiver.

“What’s wrong? Are they broken?”

“No, I just see the cutest and most admirable sister known to man. It’s quite a sight.”

She slaps your arm and you pull her into a hug. She squeezes you tightly before pushing you away, pointing at your dress hanging on the dressing screen.

“You should get ready, Mama is already calling for the carriage.” 

She skips out of the room and closes the door, leaving you with your thoughts. You examine the opera glasses in your hands, admiring every detail. You know your father put a lot of thought into picking this pair. You sigh, setting them down on your dressing table to focus on getting ready. 

Thankfully, Sera had already tightened your corset before deciding to irritate you, so the difficult part was over. You run your hands over the dress, the pink satin was soft and shiny. You slip it over your head and fluff the skirt, which is wider than most of your formal dresses making you feel like a princess. 

Your mother arrives to lace up the back and thread pearl-like beads through your curls. She disappears for a moment while you clip on your earrings and straighten your necklace. She returns with a small bottle of perfumed pomade. She silences you with a single look and you lower your head to let her twirl your curls with the scented pomade. You take a deep breath, the sweet scent of orange blossoms instantly calming your frayed nerves.

The carriage ride was quiet, Sera had apologized for her teasing and swore she would be pleasant for the rest of the night. While you didn’t doubt her resolve, you watched her fiddle with her dress and stare out the window with disdain. You both loved the opera, but she hated dressing so formally - especially two nights in a row.

The opera house was crowded. You chuckled, watching young ladies hold onto their mothers as gentlemen tried to woo them with their knowledge of the arts. A few suitors had tried this tactic with you just this morning. Sadly, they only embarrassed themselves when you had to correct them. Your mother scolded you for doing so, but you didn’t miss the amused look on her face.

A young man shows you to your box and your heart soars as you take in the view. You could see the whole stage and the orchestra pit. Sera plops down onto her seat and reaches out for her mothers hand.

“Mama, may we have champagne during intermission? Certainly we’re old enough.”

You watch her squeeze Sera’s hand and nod. You realize her sights are set on you, her eyes brimming with tears. You reach out your hand and she takes it, holding onto both of her daughters. 

“Thank you Mama. Tonight, it’s… it’s perfect.”

“The show hasn’t even started yet!”

You almost kick Sera, but remember yourself. While those seated on the floor couldn’t see you, the other attendees in the boxes could. Instead, you give her your signature glare and she looks down at her lap. The orchestra begins to play a rendition of the opening number and you quickly take your seat, the show is about to begin.

The performance begins and you’re transported to another world, a world where the Queen of the Night and high priest Sarastro are forever at odds. The set is extravagant, the costumes intricate and perfectly tailored. But nothing could have prepared you for how gorgeous Rafayel was as he walked on stage. His voice is light and comical, captivating the audience with ease. His voice effortlessly harmonizes with the other performers, sending shivers down your spine. 

Tamino is presented with a picture of Pamina and he sighs, holding it up. You bring your opera glasses to your eyes, your heart pounding as he begins to sing𝄞. His face relaxed, his eyes closed, the words of affection for his beloved flowing so easily from between his soft lips. And then, they open and you nearly drop the glasses - he’s looking at you. Your cheeks flush and you lower the glasses to your lap.

His body almost floats across the stage, his hands clutching the photo, but his eyes locked on you. He sings to you, his ears turning red as the words become more intimate. 

“Could this feeling be love?”

It sounds more like a statement than a question. A tear slips down your cheek as he sings the final notes. He doesn’t look away, making Tamino’s promise to rescue Pamina while looking up at you. For the rest of Act I you feel as though you’re paralyzed, your body lighter than a feather, the fluttering of the butterflies in your stomach nearly lifting you off your seat. 𝄞

You paint on a smile during intermission and barely take a sip of your champagne. Sera praises Rafayel’s voice and the orchestra while your mother keeps a hand on your arm. The expression on her face is unusual as she watches you, something between joy and concern. You’re about to ask her what’s wrong when the music begins again, urging the audience back to their seats. 

Act II is just as extraordinary, Rafayel’s Tamino longs for Pamina, holding true to his vow of silence. As Pamina sings you’re taken back to last night, Rafayel holding your waist, his smile, his question. Only when Sera’s hand taps your shoulder, urging you to stand, do you realize the cast is bowing. You watch the curtain close and lean close to your mother.

“I thought I might take a moment, when the hall is clear, to get a closer look at the stage? I’ll join you at the carriage after the stage lights are put out.”

You’re expecting an argument, but she nods and releases your arm. Sera gives you a knowing look and takes your mothers hand. 

“Let’s get another glass of champagne!”

“Seraphina, don’t speak so loudly. We don’t need rumors that you're drunk.” 

Sera only laughs and leads your mother to the front hall. You make your way to the main floor and quietly slip into the audience chamber in front of the stage. You clasp your hands together and slowly approach. Your heart pounds, there was a time you would dream of standing up there. 

“Would you care to join me?”

You jump and spin around, searching for Rafayel, his voice unmistakable. A loud swoosh makes you turn around, the curtains slowly opening to reveal Rafayel standing center stage. You look up at him, his radiant smile immediately taking your breath away. His dress shirt is unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You can see a thin veil of sweat across his chest. His hand extends towards you.

“Join me?”

“I – how?”

“I can lift you. Just take my hand.”

You must have gone temporarily insane… You take his hand, he lifts you onto the stage and you squeal at the sudden weightlessness. Rafayel walks backwards, leading you to center stage before releasing your hand. He looks over your shoulder and you hold your breath as you turn around. 

You’ve dreamt of standing on this stage since you were a child, but nothing compares to the real thing. Rows of plush seats, private boxes lined in gold, crystal chandeliers, you let out a shuddering breath. Rafayel steps up beside you.

“Is it everything you thought it’d be?”

“And more…”

He steps forward into your line of sight, drawing your attention back to him. 

“Do you have an answer?”

Staring at your feet you turn.

“My Lord, I –”

“Rafayel.”

You glare at him, but he only laughs. He bows.

“Apologies. Do continue.”

“I… I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but you lift your hand and he pauses.

“My mother and father raised me well. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I enjoy caring for my sisters and I take care of myself.”

“‘Need’ and ‘want’ are very different, wouldn’t you agree?”

You nod and he takes a step closer.

“I have no doubt you can take care of yourself. But what if… what if I wanted to?”

Your eyes widen, you expect to see a smirk or mirth-filled eyes, but instead his gentle expression conveys his seriousness. 

“You want to do what?”

“Take care of you. Give you a life where you don’t have to do anything unless you truly want to. To stand on a stage, to sing, to dance, to travel, to just be… you.”

Your mouth falls open, but words won’t form. He steps closer still, an arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you to him. You rest your hands on his forearms, his skin warm beneath your trembling fingers.

“We’re similar, you and I. We have responsibilities we can’t ignore, but wild spirits aching for freedom. I’ve never had to restrain my spirit until now, but you… You haven’t been afforded the opportunity. I want to give you that. No… I long to give you that.”

Your knees threaten to give out, but his hands hold you steady. 

“Oh my goodness!”

You spot Lady Ashby in the aisle, her judgemental eyes completely focused on you. A sinister smile threatens to ruin her performance. You tear yourself away from Rafayel and cross your arms, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“I was just returning to fetch my shawl, I am simply stunned to find you, Miss Raeton, alone with Lord Rafayel. I never expected such behavior from you Cordelia. Apologies, Lord Rafayel, allow me to escort her.”

Your mind swirls with accusations. Rumors would spread, how you seduced the Viscount, probably for his money - even though your family was well off. The more prudish noblewomen would condemn you for involving yourself with an opera singer. Critiquing his lifestyle and how you must involve yourself in similar questionable activities. Your sister's prospects would be affected. You’re so consumed with fear, you don’t realize Rafayel has approached the edge of the stage to speak directly to Lady Ashby.

“Lady Ashby, I was so hoping I’d have a chance to speak with you again. I believe I found the perfect job for you. One that will properly utilize your gift of gab that is surely more profitable than your current position as a busybody.”

Lady Ashby’s smug expression morphs into shock as she processes Rafayel’s words. Her cheeks redden as she stumbles forward, eager to reply, but Rafayel beats her to it.

“And your daughter, Miss Ashby, I do believe she missed her calling to be an actress. The performance she put on to explain the mark on her neck when I found her returning from your garden last night was impressive.” 

Lady Ashby’s mouth promptly closes, her jaw twitches and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from doubling over. You’ve never seen her look so angry before. She curtsies and doesn’t say another word, leaving her shawl behind to leave as quickly as possible. Rafayel turns back to you, a smug grin proudly displayed.

“That should keep her out of our affairs.”

He walks up to you, but doesn’t try to touch you - much to your disappointment. 

"I'd like to promenade through the park with you tomorrow. To prove my intentions.”

You nod, laughing under your breath. Rafayel smiles and offers his arm. He leads you down a narrow hall and through a door leading you back into the main seating area. He leans against the doorway.

“I shall see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Cordelia.”

He backs up through the doorway and you wait until the door is fully closed before giggling into your hand. Hearing him say your name made you lightheaded. And he wants to promenade with you? Forget the promenade, his offer was essentially a marriage proposal. You know Rafayel will follow proper courtship etiquette, he was raised in high society after all. But you could never have imagined that he would choose you.

♡♡♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.♡♡

AN #2: These are one-shots unless y'all like them. I'll go through the other guy's stories first and circle back if that's the case. Hope you enjoyed it!!

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[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 altered.

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: 42k

taglist playlist

chapter index-

I. L'Inverno

II. Il Ragazzo

III. La Sorella

IV. Il Prete

V. Trasformazione

©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.

[historiawon]

WHILE THE IRON IS HOT

You, Rafayel's bodyguard, ask if you can commission him to sketch your next tattoo.

Based on this post. Can also be found on AO3 :)

Tags: gender neutral reader, getting closer (professionally as well as casually), reader is NOT an artist, rafayel is NOT a numbers guy, bickering, close proximity, lots of eye contact

Kindly read under the cut!

They say, ‘Strike when the iron is hot.’

The mantra repeats excessively in your mind as you watch over Rafayel, the person who employed you as his bodyguard. Because the current chances of Wanderers attacking the Mo Art Studio is low (never zero), you give your mind permission to wander. A little. Just a little.

Your mind wanders as far as a few weeks ago: the request at the tip of your tongue. That will later be inked to your skin.

As they say, ‘Strike while the iron is hot.’ You’re standing a few feet away from a brilliant artist. This is your chance.

You cough. “Excuse me.”  

“I have a name,” Rafayel says, as he brushes past you to rummage through his box of tools. He takes out a scraper.

“Right. Rafayel?”  

“What’s up?” He returns to his stool.

“I have a question, and please indulge me: what do you think about doing commissions?”

“Commissions?” Rafayel repeats, as he scrapes the dried pigment off the canvas. “Like, other people paying me to paint for them?”

“Yes.” 

Rafayel raises an eyebrow at you for a split-second before returning his attention back on the painting. He calculates a precise location before scraping again. “In your dreams. I don’t paint for anyone. I don’t even speed up my painting process for Thomas, even if he asked.”

“Even if it will earn you extra income?”

“And extra work! I already work hard enough to finish original pieces as they are.”

You nod and remember the instances of him submitting a painting late. “True. I suppose that your original works already earn enough to support you. . . and Thomas, ‘cause you pay him,” and me, as your bodyguard, you add as an afterthought. Wait, does he even pay me?

(You make a mental note to clarify that later; you have a more pressing concern right now.)

Slowly, Rafayel puts down his scraper and turns towards you. “You want me to paint something for you, is that it?”

“Hm.” You try to be vague. “No, I was just curious.”

“No, you’re not ‘just curious.’ There’s a follow-up question to it; I know.”

Silence hangs in the air as the two of you exchange a prolonged and loaded eye contact. Your breath hitches at the full attention. His pupils glance at your throat before looking back at your eyes.

Y/N, I know, his gaze seems to say.

Your steady look asks: You know?

With a nod, Rafayel’s expectant gaze answers, Try me.

We’re going off topic, Rafayel.  

“Ha! You blinked first!” He exclaims in victory then raises a hand as if to stop you from opening your mouth. “Yes, Y/N, I know a staring contest wasn’t what we were doing. But I know you have a follow-up question.”

“I do, but I was planning to take this slow. I know we have…” you gesture to the space between the two of you, “professional boundaries. I’m not in the position to ask for commission requests yet. It’s not even open.”

“So considerate,” Rafayel teases, but his gaze on you softens. “That’s cute.”

“Still, right?”

His ears flush pink, like he can’t believe what just happened. In a snap, he changes back to his usual self and touches his ear. “Just shoot your shot. Time will pass whether you ask me now or later.”

“My follow-up question was about if I can avail your services for an art commission. You can just draw; no colors. I’ll pay. What’s your price?”

“Assuring me straight up that you’ll pay? I like that in a customer!”

“We’re going off topic, Rafayel.”  

“Hey! What’s with the accusatory tone?” He says as he rubs his ears. The pink turns to red. “You’re no different. You went on a roundabout way just to ask me for a piece! You can just say,” he straightens his posture—highly reminiscent of your current posture that was earned from your job as a hunter—and imitates your tone, “‘Hey, Raf, can you make this for me? I’ll pay!’ Simple. Done.”

You break character and scoff. He chuckles at your reaction.

“Yes, but that was more of an opening rather than ‘off-topic.’ I’d rather know if you accept commissions or not before I ask you.”

“Why?”

“It’s polite.”

You bite back a grin when he makes a face. He apparently notices the way you hold back a smile—he glances at your mouth once and his ears turn red. Again. Redder than that dried pigment he’s been scraping off. “Whatever. I can be polite.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t.”

“It was implied,” he whined.

You adjust your expression back to a more neutral and respectful one to stay on track of the topic.

“So, how much will a sketch cost?”

“Hmm,” he looks at the ceiling and puts a finger under his jaw, which stains his skin with color. He seems too used to it to bother reacting. “Given that I’ve earned my spot in the industry, it would be, I don’t know. . . a lot?”

“Right. Do you have an exact amount?”

“Oh, cutie, I gotta be honest with you…” Eyes on the canvas, Rafayel scrunches his face with some hard-to-decipher smile. He picks up his scraper and scrapes off a small piece of dried pigment in the corner of the piece. A huge chunk of dried powder falls out. Yikes. “I don’t really know much about the numbers aspect. Will you bother Thomas with a hypothetical question? Don’t tell him I’m considering to give you a commission! I don’t wanna deal with his lectures.”

You make a mental note.

“Sure. I will do that. Do you want me to pay you directly? Since I imagine the price will be a lot, I can pay you in installments, if you accept.”

“Wow,” he drawls, tone impressed, “You thought this through.”

“Mm. I’m serious about this.”

Rafayel’s adam’s apple moves as he fixes his gaze at the canvas with intensity. “I’ll decide depending on the drawing. What do you want me to sketch?”

You imagine your budget, yet again. “Depends on the price.”

“Y/N,” he drawls. “We’re going in circles! Off-topic!”

“I was hoping you would sketch a tattoo for me.”

At that, Rafayel whips his head towards you so fast. The crack of his neck is loud enough for you to feel bad.

“What?” He asks, voice hoarse.

“Is your neck OK—”

“For—forget my neck. Off-topic,” he repeats, with his eyes almost teary on you. “Repeat what you said.”

“A tattoo. Just a small one. Under my ear.” At his stunned silence, you continue, “Well, it’s not every day that I can talk to a talented artist. I’m taking my chances and I’ll pay you, I promise. If I’m unable to pay it in full, then you can take money off my sala—”

“You—you want me to draw a tattoo?”

“Yes. For me.”

“I’ll draw it? Are you sure?” he almost chokes on his words.

“Yes, it would be an honor.”

“’An honor’—oh my god. No, it would be an honor to me. Not to you, to me.” Rafayel fans himself with his collar. “Wha—what—what kind of tattoo?”

“I was thinking of a sunset.” You feel a little unprepared at Rafayel’s reaction. His eyes are wide and mouth agape. No amount of spotlight could top the nerve-wracking feeling of someone’s full attention on you. “Like… I don’t know how that would look good, but… preferably, uh, you know those sketches that are made in a continuous line? Like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” you repeat. “Does that look good? Any professional, artistic opinion?”

“Whatever you want,” his voice cracks again. You wince. “It’s a tattoo, silly. It’s supposed to be personal.”

“The mere subject is personal. I don’t mind much about the artistic style it takes to get inked on me, as long as it fits the way I look.”

“On your neck, huh…” he mutters. “I’ll help. Let’s make it perfect.”

A pause. Rafayel stands up from his stool and tears off a piece of paper from a sketchbook. “Uh, you might want to sketch what was in your mind. Then I will modify it, if you’re unsatisfied with what you made.”

“I just said I don’t mind ab—”

“A tattoo is personal. You should draw and I’ll check.”

You wave your hands away from the paper. “Ah, no! I already tried. I’m bad at drawing. That is why I need your help.”

Rafayel avoids your gaze and leaves the paper on the stool. “OK, um, I’ll be back. Let me wash my hands first—”

“You don’t have to do it now—” you say, but the man is already brushing past you to wash his pigment-stained hands (and face). He belatedly locks the bathroom door behind him, and you can hear muffled screams from where you are standing.

What’s up with him? You wonder. Is this what happens when you strike a hot iron? You didn’t think you would go this far.

_

Rafayel returns as if you didn’t hear his muffled screaming. “Who’s gonna do your tattoo?”

“I found a tattoo shop at Linkon city. They said we’re allowed to bring designs of our own.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and crosses his arms. “And you think they can imitate my genius?”

“I hope they can,” you indulge him a compliment. His ears flush pink—you can see it with the short distance between the two of you.

“How much is it?” You ask again. “Hey, does asking for your opinion have a price?”

“Geez. Why do you keep asking me about money and prices? I literally said I’m not a numbers guy. Don’t go back to the circle, Y/N.” He widens his eyes at you.

“I don’t know; you might be similar to a legal counselor. Don’t they charge clients per session?”

“We’re going off-topic, Y/N,” he says in exasperation. “I don’t know about other artists, but I’m not charging you for asking. Actually, you know what? Pay me with a favor instead. Don’t ask Thomas about a price! You’re commissioning me with a favor!”

The mental note in your head falls down like a ripped-out post-it. “Oh, OK! Thanks?”

“And no, my opinion is for free. You might never ask me for it again if I said it costs something.”

You shrug. “Possibly.”

“So let’s—” Rafayel looks around the room. “Sit down. Your legs must ache from standing all afternoon.”

You sit down on the couch he gestures to. It’s a little relieving on the leg area. Meanwhile, Rafayel tugs his collar with a nervous swallow as he sits next to you. In his hands are two pencils and an eraser shaped like an octopus.

“So, sunset?” He asks awkwardly.

You look at his eyes and smile. “Yes. Sunset.”

“OK. Sunset.”

“Uh-huh. Sunset. Should I get the paper you ripped earlier? And the sketchbook so it can be on top of something?” You say with hands already outstretched.

“So chivalrous,” he teases, but the frown on his face makes the teasing come off as awkward. You playfully scoff to avoid embarrassing him. “Yes. Please start.”

With the paper and sketchbook on your lap, you draw the first line.

The second. The third.

Then regret it.

“Yikes.”

“Hm?”

When you look at Rafayel, he no longer looks flustered. Replacing his awkward eyes is an intense, focused gaze. You instinctively cover the “drawing” with your palm, but Rafayel’s warm fingers pulls it back.

“This will be my tattoo.” You try to avoid feeling awkward.

He studies the drawing for a few beats. Then intently at your neck.

“Press your ear like this. I want to see the space where this will go.”

Awkwardly, you turn your head and press your ear forward to fold it.

“Is it this ear?”

“Yes.”

“Portrait?”

“Yes, portrait. I want it to be visible.”

You hold the pose for a few more seconds. Rafayel’s silence is making you feel more and more flustered. He exhales, mind in mid-thought.

“What do you think? As an artist?”

“I won’t answer that,” he says earnestly, “but do you want me to change it?”

“Please,” you whisper. “I mean, that’s what the entire conversation earlier was about, anyway. A talented artist to draw my tattoo. Hopefully.”

“I’ll make a few suggestions.”

Rafayel does not take the paper on the sketchbook away from your lap. Instead, he uses the second pencil and draws on it.

This is weird.

The warmness that radiates from him—from his close proximity with you—feels quite comforting. You suddenly remember the mattress of the bed when you used to live with Grandma. It just… it felt nice. You feel your upper body lose its tension.

Plus, you can see the violet strands of his hair up close. It’s a pretty color. Maybe violet will be your favorite color, from now on.

“Here, check this out—”

You snap out of your thoughts, but you do not make it obvious.

Rafayel created two sample tattoos, following at least two of the three lines you drew. It seems like the base for his modification drawings.

“What do you think?”

Your heart starts thumping in your chest like a lion in its cage. There’s a… there’s a rush of excitement in your stomach and in your throat. This is pretty. This is genius. Rafayel is able to turn something amateur into something great and you can’t help but be amazed. “That’s infinitely better, wow!”

“Are you sure? We can do better than that. I mean, this one’s stroke is out of line…”

“Sure, but these are pretty as they are! I must owe you a huge favor for this ‘commission,’ right?”

Something changes in Rafayel’s eyes. He looks a little sheepish. “Actually.”

“Yes?”

“I know what favor to ask of you now.”

“Tell me. Strike while the iron’s hot,” strike while we’re on the topic!

“How open are you to having me as your tattoo artist?”

[sayangrafayel]

Rafayel as a Detective AU 🕵️

MC: You're testifying in an aggravated assault case tomorrow. The D.A. is worried about how you present yourself on the stand!

Rafayel: Why? I'm fine on the stand.

*cut scene*

Rafayel, to the Judge and Juries: Look, I'll make this real simple so even these dum-dums can understand. MAN. DID. CRIME.

[ridox]

Dreaming of an AU where after the curse set in the Sorceress do end up living for eternity and long enough to cross paths with the Abysswalker

How her eternity dedicated to revenge and pillage finally simmered down and when she met the Abysswalker she couldn’t help but get glimpses of her first love, the Dragon, in him — the way fury burns in his eyes, the way society has so wrongly judged him, and the way how despite all he still strives to continue on living even it meant just living a life full of survival

An AU where instead of the Princess, the Abysswalker falls for the enigmatic Sorceress instead. How they both find comfort and understanding with each other, how the desert doesn’t feel as daunting and isolating when they’re right by the other, how most nights are spent exchanging stories of a distant past filled with memories that they so desperately cling onto but are now slowly fading from their memories

How people who were supposed to be noble and full of benevolence betrayed them and how these very same people forced them to leave the only place they could ever truly call home

How the Abysswalker starts to find peace with the steeping fire inside of her, not quite understanding just where this fury and feelings of betrayal came from, but still wanting to be there by her side

And how the Sorceress, never truly forgetting her Dragon, has now have found a person who gives her a new found purpose for living, someone who she could see herself spending the rest of eternity with — or at least comes the time until he too needs to say goodbye

[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)

[a-hermit-pining]

LADS Men React a Picture of You with Another guy

Request: Hii!! I love your writing so so much (pls never stop)!!! How do you think the lads men would react to the following scenario: mc makes one of her girl friends dress like a guy and post that on her story/moments (to ward off an annoying co-worker, like what Caleb did in uni, but mc didnt want to bother the guys with this request so she asked Tara or another one of her girl friends). The picture, though, is convincing enough to make even the lads men question if she actually does have a partner and who tf is he. I think Xavier would absolutely malfunction since they are also neighbours lol

AN: I am taking a break from the ship event to gather some inspiration. But this was super fun to write. Thank you for sending in such an amazing idea.

Warning: Potential Spoilers. Be Mindful 👺

Pairing: Lads boys x fem reader

Genre: fluff and angst

(I do not own these characters)

Summary: Waking up after an amazing girls' night, you and Tara spent the morning taking silly photos, making all kinds of concerning faces, until inspiration struck.

"Wait, wait, hold on," Tara grinned, pushing her short hair back. "What if—"

Moments later, you were both giggling uncontrollably, staging fake hard launch photos in your bed. The blurry, cozy results? Surprisingly convincing.

"Oh, this is gonna blow up at work."

Tara rested her chin on your neck, wrapping an arm around you for the final shot. The picture was better than you imagined, so naturally, you posted it to your story before the two of you rushed to get ready for work.

And just like that, your social media went up in flames.

Rafayel:

623 missed calls. 200 texts. 82 more missed calls.

All hours after your post.

Who is he? Why are you in bed with him? Is he your boyfriend? What is his name?

You barely have time to breathe after your meeting before the onslaught of texts floods in. Even the comment section of your post hasn’t been spared.

Thomas is already on the case. Rafayel is whining, sobbing, crying and absolutely not afraid to play dirty to get you back.

He's already planned a hundred ways to nip this budding romance at the root.

He thinks he has the upper hand, feels kinda smug about it too.

Still… there’s a twinge of heartbreak. A little ache for having to wait longer for you, for the idea that you might have chosen someone else. But if nothing else, Rafayel is persistent.

So, of course, he’s already forgiven you.

But don’t think, even for a second, that he won’t complain about it.

He’s still mulling over it, dramatically painting all his canvases black, getting ready for his villain arc, when you finally call him back.

"A prank?"

He is indignant.

He cried over a prank.

All that effort… for nothing.

"IT’S BEEN 800 YEARS. JELLYFISH ARE WALKING. NAKED SEA TURTLES ARE CLIMBING TREES. SHARKS ARE EATING GRASS—FOR FREE. "

AND RAFAYEL?

RAFAYEL CRIED OVER A PRANK.

HE WENT FULL VILLAIN ARC FOR A LIE.

HIS CANVASES ARE BLACK. HIS PLANS FOR REVENGE? RUINED.

ALL BECAUSE YOU AND TARA WANTED TO PLAY GAMES.

He might never recover. Might. But first, he needs to call Thomas back before his "investigation" starts a national crisis.

Xavier:

He had just returned from a long night of fighting Wanderers when his phone chimed with an alert.

Half-asleep, he smiled at the sight of your name, already thinking of how he'd respond once he changed and collapsed into bed.

That smile froze the moment he saw the picture.

The phone slipped from his fingers, landing on his face. But he didn’t even wince. Too numb to feel it.

His vision blurred. His chest ached. Tears welled, unbidden.

Genuinely heartbroken. So weary. So tired. For a moment, he was shattered.

Did he have the strength to wager another lifetime?

His time was already running out. His strength faded with each passing day. He had selfishly wanted this spring with you...but this was better for you. You were too kind, too caring to bear his loss.

Perhaps this was for the best. His lips trembled at the thought.

You had someone now, someone who would not bring you grief. And you looked so happy in that photo. He stared at the blurred curve of your smile, tracing it with his gaze.

Somehow, he managed a small smile too.

And then he folded into himself. And slept.

For days.

So long that you started to worry, noticing his absence at work.

Until, finally, you barge into his apartment, breathless and frantic, only to find him asleep, moonlight spilling across his face, eerily still.

Your heart plummeted.

"Xavier." Your voice trembled as you rushed to him, fingers shaking as you took his hand.

For a terrible, suffocating second, he didn’t move.

And then, his brow twitched.

Air rushed back into your lungs.

Zayne:

This was to be expected.

He was never what you needed.

He often failed at words. His gestures, too vague to be understood.

You deserved someone who loved you. Someone who had the courage to say those words out loud.

Not him.

Not someone who could hurt you. His scars only grow deeper with time.

So he accepts it. Buries himself in work.

If he could not be your lover, then he would play his part as a friend.

Pays extra attention to your health. Pours over your reports. He must. Because he is no longer close enough to watch over you himself.

And weeks later, when you finally visit him, he keeps up the act—cold, distant, unbothered.

He does all the tests. Runs all the checks. Everything is routine.

But you see it.

The dark circles, deeper than ever. His skin, paler. Cheeks, sunken. His shirt, unwashed.

"You're coming home with me."

Your voice leaves no room for argument as you take his hand. "You never call. You only text about my reports and nothing more. We need to talk."

You tug him forward. He follows, until he stops.

"Your boyfriend won’t like it," he murmurs, staring anywhere but at you.

Silence.

"What boyfriend?"

You blink at him, dumbfounded.

Sylus:

Sylus spits his coffee, choking as he stares at the pictures.

Does not buy it.

That’s clearly not a man.

Yet somehow, he keeps going back to it, again and again.

It’s only when Luke and Kieran peer over his shoulder that his denial starts cracking.

"Ooooh, boss has got competition," Luke chimes.

One minute, they’re laughing. The next, they’re outside the mansion, the door slamming shut behind them.

Luke blinks. "That explains..."

Kieran yanks him into a chokehold for getting them banished for the day.

Inside, Sylus switches to wine.

The day has been too much.

Not a man, right? he muses, scrutinizing the photo, before accidentally pressing the heart button.

And then, he all but chews the glass in his hand.

He’s not worried.

He just suddenly feels the urge to burn his entire closet because nothing looks good enough.

He doesn’t care.

He’s just made a few calls, just to make sure you’re not involved with anyone sketchy. Unless, of course, it’s him.

Then, like an absolute idiot, he gets a panicked call from an associate.

The only person who’s been in your apartment? Tara.

Sylus stares at the image. Facepalms.

That evening, when he picks you up from work, he looks exhausted.

As if a few hours have aged him years.

When you ask, he waves you off, dodging every question.

You raise a brow. "Are you sure? You look—"

"I said it’s nothing," he snaps, before sighing, dragging a hand down his face. "...Can we just go home

Caleb:

Storming to Linkon.

Geared up to blow up the entire apartment complex.

Spends five minutes struggling with the locked door before finally getting it open.

Marches in.

Stops. Sighs in disapproval at your empty fridge.

Good thing he packed snacks. Leaves them on your counter. You’ll thank him later.

Then, back to the mission.

Collects all forensic evidence needed. Marches out.

No time to waste.

Supervises the DNA administration.

Hair sample. Used coffee mug. Both next to yours.

He will find the bastard. He will take him out.

And then, he will whisk you away to Skyheaven, to console you once you learn of your tragic, mysterious loss.

Grief will bring you closer.

Every intern running tests is sweating.

So are the lead scientists, who have been personally forced to oversee this insanity.

No one is messing with the colonel today.

And then, finally, the results land on his desk.

Caleb stares. Dumbfounded.

Is he to fight both men and women for you now?

You better watch out for Tara because he does not discriminate.

[yukinnn]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE au

The four princes from Night and Ice, Sea and Sky

who is your favorite?

[enyaliuswrites]

➽ Love and Deepspace University/College AU

Multiple characters x fem!reader tags: fluff, reader doesn’t have to be mc, college au, university au, reader doesn't have to be in a relationship with character but it is slightly implied

Xavier is an Astronomy & Astrophysics major typa student with a minor in Philosophy. You guys can disagree with me, that's just what I see it as.

Xavier is the type of student that walks around campus to find the best places to sleep and professors and students are genuinely worried when they find him sleeping on a tree. (The shade was better and no one would disturb him, he argues).

Xavier is the student that is always asleep in class and just stays there even if the next class is coming into the lecture room (poor boy, someone should've woken him up fr).

However, his grades aren't in the earth’s core. His grades are actually perfect. Sky High. He probably dreams about his studies in a fun way or something.

He doesn't have many friends, only 1 really close one, Jeremiah, whom they both don’t see each other very often. They have a sort of friendship that without meeting they know they’ll forever be there for each other.

You guys met because you were taking a nap on a particularly windy day, the weather wasn't so sunny and the breeze wasn't so cold, a perfect day to study under a tree and accidentally doze off I say. Unbeknownst to you, that was where Xavier would usually sleep as well. He was about to leave to go to one of his other sleeping spots but then something caught his eye.

A butterfly flying over to you and landing on your head. It was quite a sight and just in that moment you woke up. You were startled by the Sophomore Xavier in front of you and scared the butterfly off. You guys stayed there in silence for a bit before somehow it turned into you both dozing off under the tree.

From that day onwards, you guys would meet under that tree to study, talk or nap and you guys grew closer day by day.

Xavier definitely tries to help with your homework but instead his head is on the table and his mind is in the land of dreams. He really tries, but his sleeping schedule is too packed.

Watching the skies is definitely a must with him. Whether it be the night sky or the day sky—setting up a cute picnic to lie down and just point at clouds, saying what they reminded you of. Or watching the stars and the moon while basking in each other’s comfortable silence.

Xavier definitely writes love poems in class to give you later but he’ll never read them out loud to you, only when you’re about to fall asleep then he’ll read it.

He always tries to cook for you but always somehow starts a fire, even while trying to make something as simple as Kimbap or sushi. So now he’s banned from the kitchen and you have him help you with the most simplest of tasks (measuring out ingredients or cutting vegetables) instead.

“Xavier, why do I smell burning?” “I think the egg might be a little overcooked.” “Xavier, it's on fire! How on earth did you mess up an omelet that badly?!” “I followed what you said. Should I try again?” “NO!”

Xavier definitely takes you to places where he naps and the most breathtaking, picturesque and comfortable place. An old cathedral courtyard, a secluded rooftop garden on a building on campus, a secret garden on campus with a clearing in the middle. During these times when the sun is setting is when he recites poems he read or wrote to you.

Zayne is obviously a medical student specializing in cardiology. I mean it’s clear as day.

He’s the type of student that never skips any school and doesn’t break any rules whatsoever. Sick? At school with a mask on. Injured? At school with a cast. Literally on the brink of death? At school with an IV bag and breathing tube. (exaggeration)

His back is straight in classes and you’ll never catch him slacking off his perfect posture. It’s kind of creepy, sometimes. He’s the student that always raises his hand to answer the professor that over time the professors are like “I know you know. I want to see if other students know.”

He’ll never share notes. As in, even if other people look at his notes they can’t understand his handwriting. Zayne’s notes are always so organized and clean that no one believes that he did that in a single class alone.

He definitely gets a lot of love letters. Girls go crazy for this man, (you and me included) they often try to invite him to help tutor them or to grab a bite. He always says the same thing, “If you’d had paid attention then you would understand.” and then just leaves.

He’s always in the library, studying during freshman and sophomore year. In his Junior year he started interning at a nearby hospital and from that day he just became 10 times more busy.

You guys met by chance—Senior Zayne was interning at the hospital and treated you after you pushed yourself too hard, eventually fainting, which is how you ended up here. (Gotta thank your bestfriend for being so worried she rushed you to the hospital.)

He saw you on campus the next day and at first he didn’t really care much, however after seeing you stumble around (you were just daydreaming) he came over and gave you a tiny lecture about caring for your health.

Somehow, that led to him visiting you after classes to give you a juicebox “To regulate your blood sugar” or a fruit, like a banana “Bananas are high in potassium, lowering the risk of a heart disease.” He’ll say that he’s your personal doctor-in-training and always encourages you to eat healthy by getting dinner at a clean restaurant. But, you still often catch him eating sweets and it always makes you laugh.

He never outright says that he wants to see you, he’ll make a thousand excuses instead. Sometimes, he’ll say that you’re late to a scheduled appointment with him.

“You’re late to your appointment.” “I’m pretty sure I just had one with you the day before yesterday.” “You left your pen here the other day, you should come get it.” “Zayne, just say you want to see me.”

Study dates are 99% of the dates you have with him. Both of you are entirely focused on your piles of assignments and study materials. If one of you has more free time than the other, you simply sit in silence and watch him concentrate—and he does the same for you.

Even though he’s extremely busy, as a medical student in his Senior year, he still makes plenty sure that you can feel his love. Whether that be sending a quick text in the morning or before he does something.

Sometimes when you guys meet he’s really tired so don't mind him taking a quick nap on your shoulder or around you. Make sure to snap a picture and use that as blackmail material afterwards, hehe.

Rafayel is a Fine Arts student for sure. He loves arts in all forms, painting, sketching, photography, scrapbooking, sculpture, fashion, the list goes on and on.

He’s the type of student that arrives fashionably late and always has some crazy ideas with his final projects and in the end he gets the highest grade. His artwork is actually one of the prides of the university/college and he’s extremely down to earth about it, only wanting to paint the things he sees in his dreams perfectly.

He definitely has people who want to be friends with him but he just treats everyone the same. Sassy and indifferent. Except for one friend who saw incredible potential in him and always helped him, making his art go famous around campus and earning Rafayel some money (Thomas).

Rafayel is the type of student that walks around the campus for inspiration as well as walking around the city to get inspiration, often finding hidden treasures of places, tucked-away cafes, historic museums, indie theatres, vintage shops.

He definitely spends a lot of his time at the sea and most of his artworks are inspired by the underwater world. He spends time near the swimming pool when no one is there, during the late nights or early mornings.

Being very popular and famous around campus, he has many admirers which he all just waves away. He couldn’t care less, the only thing he cares about is his art and the girl he met when he was at what he called his ‘secret hideout’.

You were a little stressed from studies so you decided to walk around campus, exploring the different buildings and rooms. Unexpectedly, you found yourself in an old art gallery—the lights were turned off and the only source of light was from the sun’s rays. You stayed there for a while, even though the door was dusty and the room was cluttered with old art supplies, you presumed that this was an art supply room.

Suddenly, that was when a Sophomore Rafayel walked in and saw you standing in front of one of his old paintings. A painting that he tried experimenting with a new style of technique, one that he was embarrassed of so he hid it here. He yelped when you saw you, he thought you were a ghost.

You guys talked for a while before you parted ways, however after hearing you talking about why you liked his art (he didn’t admit it was him) he grew an interest in you.

A few days later when you were free you decided to come and absorb the peaceful atmosphere of the old gallery again, however much to your surprise Rafayel was there as well.

“You know how many days I waited for you? Why didn’t you come sooner? If I get an allergy from all of this dust you’re paying for my medical bills.” “I don’t think that’s how allergies work-” “Don’t change the subject!”

You guys became close pretty quick. His words, although sometimes quirky and sassy, were also full of depth and emotion. Whenever he talked about art or the sea he had a glint in his eyes and a nostalgic solemn tone in his voice.

Dates with him are usually you doing your work while he paints or sketches you. He’ll always show you what he cooked up while you were focused but he’ll always say how it’s never perfect and that, “I can’t capture how perfect you are, cutie.”

You guys often visit the sea, taking long walks on the beach during the day and during the night while he tells you stories of his dreams and his own fascination with the world under the waves. He often makes you cute accessories out of seashells and will always gift you something handmade after classes.

Walking around campus and finding more cool places where you’ve explored is a must with him. He’ll rub circles with his thumb, holding your hand as you guys explore rooftop gardens and just talk about dreams or studies.

Sylus is definitely a business faculty typa student. For his major it might be international trade or something of the sort.

He’s the type of student that skips most of his classes but gets a perfect grade.

When he does come to class he’ll definitely be dozing off but when there's assignments he always somehow gets full marks. If the professor calls on him he’ll answer correctly and eventually professors just stop trying to catch him lacking (they never can).

He’ll come and go as he pleases and no one really says anything, too afraid to mess with him since everywhere he walks people just keep their eyes down or walk the other way. (I mean have you seen the Lunar New Year event? Bro was sticking out so much)

He definitely has LOADS of rumors about himself on campus but bro does NOT care. And the rumors are hella crazy too, and what's even crazier is that no one knows if they’re true or not. “I heard that he beat up a couple of students the other day so badly they were all hospitalized.” “Well, I heard that he’s involved with the mafia and does their dirty work for them.” “You guys are all wrong. He is the Mafia boss! He’s just working undercover here!”

Sylus doesn't have any friends. Well, except two identical twins that always follow him around as well as a crow (strange friends if you ask me). Luke and Kieran are like his lackeys but without the mistreatment, they’ll always help him with the little things while he’s out and about doing some shady businesses outside of school.

You guys definitely met because of something random and cliche. Sylus, the mysterious senior that you bumped into in the hallway, causing your drink to stain him, you and your work. You apologized and after a while he shrugged it off and let you off the hook. However, you kept seeing him around after that day and on the days that you didn’t, you would see a crow instead.

The crow would sometimes have a candy in his mouth or a kopiko (those coffee candies). Over time you’d see Sylus more often and he’d sometimes strike a conversation and you’d continue it and before you know it he’ll be showing up outside of your class and walk with you around campus for a quick bite or even to send you to your next class. Of course, people always stare or quickly shuffle away whenever you pass by.

He sometimes brings you a little something after class when you meet up. A juicebox. Milk. Coffee. Maybe even a little baked good. He often drives you around, whether that be on his motorcycle or his car, he lets you pick. Honestly, at this point he’s like your chauffeur. All he wants to see is your smile.

Dinner dates are an absolute must with him, whether that be eating out at a fancy restaurant or him cooking for you at his place.

During study dates you guys will definitely go to a reclusive hidden cafe that he found and order something little to help fuel you. He’ll watch you and help you if you need it (you have to beg a little for it though). He has the most messed up sleeping schedule so please let him rest when he suddenly dozes off while watching you study.

Sylus will definitely drag you out of class, saying that there’s an emergency and the professor allows him too, totally buying into his words as you both walk away. Why? All because you complained to him that you didn’t want to sit in this class and that it was boring.

“Sylus! Why’d you do that?!” “Didn’t you say that you didn’t like it? That you hated it, sweetie?” “I did, but you can’t just do that!” “Let’s go get dinner. We can go to that place you love to go to.” “…Okay, let’s go.”

Caleb is an Aerospace Engineering student and a good one at that. (I mean have you read his anecdotes??)

Caleb is similar to Zayne, he never misses a class and is a top grade student. Scoring the top in every class. Honestly, everyone is jealous of him (me included).

He’s the type of student that shares his close friends with his notes and even sometimes helps tutor them. He’s loved by all his friends and everyone who works with him, whether that be group work or just striking up a conversation with him.

He’s extremely popular, due to his energetic personality, natural leadership and how reliable of a person he is. However, it feels like almost no one really knows him. He seems like an open book but he’s really a mystery to everyone, even his close friends.

He gets a lot of love letters as well, however as soon as he sees them he rips them and throws them in the bin.

He’s a great actor, (He definitely fooled me in the main story, got scared so much) and uses that to his advantage. He’s definitely involved in some shady things on campus, but no one knows. One time someone tried to create rumors about him and the next day those rumors instantly stopped.

You met Caleb through your friend. Caleb being a Junior at your university as well as the older brother of a friend of yours since middle school. You guys met once or twice back when you were in middle school but he remembered you up till the day he saw you on campus, dozing off at the library.

When you woke up you didn't expect an apple to be on your table along with a little note, “Fuel yourself for the rest of the day!” along with a doodle of an apple. You didn't eat it, afraid that it was poisoned (You weren't going to be the next Snow White).

One day you bumped into him while leaving one of your classes and he immediately striked a conversation. While reminiscing about when you guys were younger you guys walked to a nearby cafe and grabbed a drink together. The conversation developed into updating each other about life and what you guys were planning for the future and you realized that you were about to be late for your next class. Before going he quickly scribbled his contact on a piece of sticky note and you swear that you’ve seen that handwriting somewhere before.

Ever since that day he’s always accompanied you to your classes and back. 9am class? He’ll be there to walk you there, even a little snack in his hand, usually an apple. 5pm? He’ll be there with a piece of candy, to help fuel you for the last class.

He’ll always scare other boys off, whether it be putting an arm around your shoulder when he sees someone looking or holding your waist and pulling you towards him. He’ll take whatever you say after, nagging him for being too open or catching you off guard.

It’s a back and forward of him going over to your place or you going to his and eating his home cooked dinners. Eating out is barely a thing with Caleb, he loves to cook for you and secretly wishes that you love it too.

He’s extremely clingy and possessive. Even if you want to hang out with other people he’ll always ask a lot of questions, but he’ll never be overly possessive.

“Who are you going with?” “Just a few friends.” “Where? For how long?” “Nowhere. I’ll take a couple of hours, maybe. Caleb, don't worry.” “I’ll pick you up when you finish. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there. You can tell me if you want to leave early.”

He’s definitely the type of student that’ll help you with your assignments even if that means doing extra research on the topic you’re struggling with to help you.

A/N: totally wasn't writing this while stuck in accounting class. This actually took me longer than I thought and I bet I still have more things to add even now, but this is what I imagined in my head today. Stay delusional! (*´∀`*) Art creds : Love and Deepspace Dividers by @omi-resources

[4oktzu]

•｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ texts between you and collage au fwb rafayel

having some fun with the pretty boy in your art class

lowkey just a self indulgent blurb bc as chronically online he is in game, i imagine him just being a chill-nonchalant little guy

[harmonyrae]

hep...

I need someone who is willing to draw the most DISGUSTING punk edit of Rafayel for a fic I am writing... the filth & angst will be worth it I swear...

[vixenofthemist]

Rafayel and MC need to stop with the marriage symbolism and just. Get married so my heart can REST

[historiawon]

Hi hi! You can read here :)

rafayel x you au wherein you commission rafayel to sketch your next tattoo

[sayangrafayel]

Loft talk Pt. Bless Zayne.

Zayne: Where’s Sylus?

Rafayel: Doing stuff.

Zayne: I don’t like the sound of that. Where’s Xavier?

Rafayel: Trying to stop Sylus from doing the stuff.

Zayne: And Caleb?

Rafayel: Trying to stop Xavier from stopping Sylus from doing the stuff.

Zayne: I see. And what are you doing here, Rafayel?

Rafayel: I’m supposed to stop you from stopping Caleb from stopping Xavier from stopping Sylus from doing the stuff.

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

ErROr

[2.]

Love and Deepspace Various! / Reader

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

-

-

Huming to the soft music playing in the cafe, you gently stir the brew. The smell of fresh bread and sweet syrups always lingering in the air.

You were glad for the calm evening, the morning rush had gone by rather quickly. Each order different than the last, yet you and youe colleuges made it through the first shift.

"Excuse me?" A polite voice pipes up. Giving the costumer your attention, your eyes widen at the familiar heroine hunter.

"Hello again! What can I get you Miss MC?"

You playfully smile, as the brunette beauty grins back at you.

"My usual, please."

"Alright, unicorn hair and a dish rag, comin' up!" You state innocently as her eyes widen. Her laughter lighting on the cafè as you turn away to the coffee cups.

Not seeing her lean her palm against her chin, eyeing the curve of your shoulder blades as stretch a arm up to the higher shelves.

'I wish I was that cup~!' She screamed iternally. This little haven of her's being the few solaces in her stressful life. Bringing out her phone, texting her friend, using every bit of sensabilty to not take photos of you.

-

You swoon openly, heart-eyed and face warm as you recount your feelings. Though, you knew telling the male of who your affections were for wouldn't make him bat an eye, (since he loved MC), it weirded you out at his strange behavior. Eyes slightly cold as his frown deepens into a pout.

You ignore it, knowing you had no chance with the love intrest. (At least you could swoon about the other male leads since they didn't know it was them you were talking about.)

"Hm? You okay?" You pause your rant, eyeing the blonde.

"...No."

"O-oh.." You head slightly lowered, toying with the holding trey. "A-ahm.. I'll just, get your order, Xavier." The friendly tone dying in your throat as you walk away. Frowning, know you shouldn't be pushing your luck. You'd at least hoped to be on friendly terms! You knew he wasn't as cold as he presented himself! But.. That was reserved for the MC only.

While wandering back to the kitchen, the blonde runs his fingers through his locks. Upset for being the cause of loosing your enthusiasm.

Jelousy spiking up quietly in his heart when recalling MC proudly showing off your number in her phone. Or hearing your sweet words of praise directed to someone else.

He'd have to find away to get it.

-

Sitting on the bar-stool, you eye the giant glass shard stuck in your leg. Trying to fake the pain, you were honestly nonchalant at the at the injury.

It couldn't really do damage.

Sweating slightly, you smiled nervously at the doctor.

Zayne carefully lifts your leg close to him, tenderly gripping your skin as he eyes injury.

"Okay... One, two... THREE." He stated, pulling out the glass stuck in your thigh. You blink, nothing, no scream, no blood... Nothing.

"...." The doctor blinks at you in disbelief. Shakily placing the shard down on the bar-counter.

"...Y.. Your body still must be in shock." The male rationalized, fingers digging into the flesh of your leg.

"O-oh... Y-yeah..." You hear the jingle of the cafè's door opening. Alerting the two of you as Zayne's body cages around you.

-

The painter eagerly pushes you down on one of the dressing room chairs. Smirking as MC walks into one the dressing rooms.

"You know... I think this color would look wonderfully on you." He spoke casually, sliding up closer to you. Holding up a shimmering blue dress with bits of jewels threaded into the seam.

You thought it looked really familiar to certain outfit of his-

"Huh.. I don't think it's my size though." You shrug, "the last outfit you handed me was a bit tight. I couldn't even pull the ziper up for the back."

You recall a few moments earlier, when MC eagerly wanted to take a selfie with you in that piece. Rafeyal immediately forwning and trying to push between you. To the point his hands pushing at your back away from the female Hunter.

Not seeing the grin he shot her when he carresed your naked lower spine.

"Though, I really wish you'd acompany me and Miss Bodygaurd to the exhibit."

"Oh? That's really nice of you to offer, but I-... Well.." You let a silly smile overtake your face. Dreamily sighing as you glace away, your heart couldn't take his pout.

"I.. uhm.. Got a date?"

-

Seeing that familiar smirk, you got another case of butterflies. Swallowing down your swooning, you notice a customer calling you over.

Passing by the male, you use all of your will power to ignore him. Eyes shinning with utter affection, you direct those feelings away. Greeting the costumer that called you eagerly.

Feelings still rampanging over your heart, you do your best to pay attention to the order.

Heading back to the counter, your co-worker writes down Sylus order as you start perparing the coffee.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to add on to my order. But may I have two smaller drinks with the order."

"Of course!" You pipe up, not daring to meet his gaze as you shake the syrup canister.

"Thank you, (Y/N)..."

He sounded out the name cheekily, with you heart fluttering about. You don't see that your name-tag was no longer on your shirt.

Instead, hidden within his coats pockets for safe-keeping.

-

[Hiya! I wrote this as a idea I had awhile ago! It was originally in the concept as a full fledege idea. But I scrapped it, sorry! Enjoy! Thanks for reading, if you wanna know more. Send in a ask!]

[a-hermit-pining]

LADS Men Role Reversal with Reader

AN: I love the idea of this. Works well with reader pov 🤌🏻🤌🏻 Also if anyone knows a top or gn reader blog for LADS please let me know (I do not own these characters)

Warning: Potential Spoilers. Be Mindful 👺

Pairing: Lads boys x gn reader

Genre: Role reversal & cannon divergence

Summary: What if places are switched. They are the bearer of Aether core and you are the past.

Rafayel:

You walk into the art museum, marveling at the strokes that lifetimes have failed to change. How is it that he still paints the same?

You are drawn to him as moths to flame.

In some divine way, despite being wrenched from your kingdom, fate is merciful to you. It always contrives a way for your path to cross his.

Your powers are long diminished, time is cruel like that. But the years spent in his world have given you enough leverage to hire him as a painter. To commission a portrait of yourself, just so you may have the mercy of watching him paint again.

This time, you wonder, will he, who has left you waiting for so long, remember you? Will he still remember how to love you?

You look at him, his furrowed brows, his pronounced pout, his dramatic tendency to flail and fall. He remains unchanged.

Xavier:

He is there before your eyes, as if conjured by the very moonlight itself.

One moment, you were slaying the Wandered. The next, you blinked to rest your eyes, and he was by your side, calling your name frantically, his hands steadying your shoulders.

You would have felt him, had you not been so tired. How could you not have known? Perhaps this is the last mercy the universe has to offer, to let you meet him for one final lifetime.

And so, it begins again.

The last dance of your last spring with him.

This lifetime will not see him sacrificed. None after this will either, because you will make sure of it.

Picking up your sword, you follow him, sidestepping his mumbled questions with ill-concealed fondness.

That last spring becomes the most beautiful of all the springs you have ever spent beside him.

Zayne:

In every reincarnation, you never quite know when the memories will return. But they always do. Lord Astra makes certain of it, allowing you the agony of foreknowledge.

It is the price you pay for leaving him. For choosing Zayne.

His presence comes at a steep cost.

But the grief of the past has never dampened the joy of another lifetime with him.

It has only made you foolishly stubborn, unyielding in your desire to defy his fate.

You meet him as a friend, a lover, a colleague in some lives. A riddling foreseer in others.

Yet, no matter how much time erodes the traces of your world, he remains untouched. In some twisted amusement, your Lord Astra ensures that Zayne always falls in love with you.

In every life, you cross paths. In every life, Zayne offers you his heart with the same sincerity. And you, despite the centuries of pain, accept it foolishly.

Because no matter the cost, you refuse to break his heart. All the foreknowledge in the world has failed to make you stop loving him.

Sylus:

Head of the Onichynus?

He seriously never stops surprising your ancient senses.

You grin at your mate as he guides you into the embellished mansion of his latest empire. Countless rebirths have failed to dull his chaos.

Somehow, they have also failed to make your heart any wiser.

So, you play your part, the spoiled aristocrat whisked- away to gather intel, watching him roll his eyes at your complaints.

Somewhere along the way, this endless cycle of separation and reunion has stopped aching. Instead, it hums beneath your skin, a yearning that lingers, waiting for him to remember.

He always remembers.

No matter what land you are born into, no matter what name you take, your mate always finds his way back to you.

You only have to wait. To play along with his games.

Who are you to complain, when he has so meticulously planned your first meeting?

Sometimes, even dragons play the part of a sheep.

Caleb:

You watch as he collapses in the academy lobby.

Your heart shudders at the sight of him, his gaunt face, his sunken eyes.

He has lost weight.

You caused this. Your death.

Every day, he wakes earlier than before. Every night, he loses more sleep. Working himself to the bone, chasing perfection, desperate to be the best among the aerospace cadets.

He still wears your dog tag pendant. The one he once gifted to you. It brings you some comfort.

You wish—oh, how you wish, to run to him. To hold him. To tell him you are alive.

To force him to rest. To forbid him from risky missions he volunteers for to progress faster into his role.

Yet, you cannot afford to. Not yet.

Someday, you will return to him. Stronger than you are now. You will make sure he never suffers again. Perhaps he doesn’t need you to do that, but you will no longer allow anyone to control both of your lives.

Not after how close you had come to losing him alongside your grandmother.

This time, you will keep him away from EVER’s claws.

Or rather, this time, you will be the one to hunt the monster that has haunted him for so long.