"If what I write in the book of travellers can, when read by others at some future date, also entertain them on their journey, then fine. If they don't read it, or are not entertained, that's fine too." -- Fernando Pessoa
| IMPORTANT: Not accepting NSFW requests for now, sorry! But *looks wistfully into the distance* maybe one day...
📰❗ Latest Fics:
"Spring" Cleaning (1.5k). Humour. ⭐❄️🎨🐦⬛. One of the boys has messed up big time! Bonus points if you guess who~~ 👀
Bad Hair Day (650 words). Humour. 🐦⬛. Inspired by that Sylus hair glitch
Hot Dog (1.7k) Humour. 🎨🐦⬛🐺. Some people are well-adapted to survive heatwaves! But probably not the guy with the thick, fluffy tail.
About me:
Hiiii! I'm Rach (she/her), 26, INTJ, aspiring writer with too much time on her hands and no Big Idea™️ yet, so here I am, playing with fictional men like puppets, mwa ha ha
I'm big into gaming, anime, history, and classic lit, so I like to draw inspiration from all over! You will be finding dashes of existential angst in even my soft and silly fics, sorry 🥀🥀🥀
Currently writing for: Love and Deepspace!
NOTE: This blog is anti-AI. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI or chatbots, or to be reposted. If any of my moots encounter issues with AI/ plagiarism, pls let me know so I can signal boost!
Despite him being a wolf, Valko and your cat would actually get a long really well...that is after the hissing and growling is out of the way. You'll have to be a mediator between them for a bit but once you find them cuddled up in your bed, you know you have nothing to worry about.
Sylus
Literally a cat whisperer, will have your normally hesitant cat purring and making biscuits instantly—surprising both you and Sylus. He'll let your cat use him as a scratching post, finding the simple moment a breath of fresh air compared to his normal days running Onychinus.
Xavier
Looks like Xavier just found a new nap buddy, but don't worry you'll never be replaced. Xavier and your cat will be attached at the hip so good luck trying to separate them when you want Xavier's attention.
Rafayel
Rafayel already has a beef with your cat (how could you give your cat this much attention and not him?) so getting him to meet your cat would take a lot of convincing. The meeting itself will be your cat throwing itself onto Rafayel's lap despite his protests, rubbing its cheeks and head-butting until Rafayel accepts his fate.
Zayne
Upon their first meeting, there seems to be an unspoken agreement between Zayne and the cat, as if they just want to enjoy each other's company; Zayne typing away on his laptop on the couch as your cat sits behind him, chirping at the birds that fly by the window.
Caleb
Will treat your cat as if he just got a little sibling—playing with your cat with his hands, wrestling, and chasing until his arms are covered in bites and scratches. He'll say it doesn't hurt but won't stop you from putting band-aids on him, of course.
Took Floof to the vet and there were so many people in there with doggos suffering because of the heat. Thought of Valko. Dragged Raf and Sy in because I like to keep them on their toes 💕 This is super silly but I hope it brings some joy!
Hot Dog
Rafayel, Sylus, Valko x Reader
Summary: Some people are well-adapted to survive heatwaves! But probably not the guy with the thick, fluffy tail.
Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, platonic(ish-- Sy's a flirt), ACs don't exist in Linkon because I'm British and I wanted my faves to suffer with me. What are Infold gonna do? Reach out and contradict me? Ahahahahahahaha
“Valko’s DEAD!” Rafayel exclaims, barrelling into the room so quickly he almost knocks over a side table, where a decorative box of daturas now wobble.
Splayed on your couch, Sylus warily lifts a cucumber slice from one eye.
“Valko’s not dead, Raf,” you yawn, starfish-shaped on the floor you’re convinced is a modicum cooler than the other surfaces in your house. “It’s too hot for your nonsense. Shush.”
“I don’t know, sweetie…” That cucumber slice has been flopped back down. “Sounds like a time-sensitive issue. You should go. Check on your friend.”
“Shut the fuck up! You just want me to leave so you can steal my fan.”
The fan in question whirs across from you, fixed resolutely in your direction, not his. There’s a rotate setting no amount of schmoozing or seduction was able to convince you to use.
“Language, kitten,” he tuts.
“Oh, bite me, Sylus.”
He chuckles— the same, rumbling cadence of the fan. “Later. Promise.”
“You two are sick.” A few feet away, Rafayel is shaking his head. “A man is dead, and you’re flirting. The body’s not even cold, and you’re—”
“Okay, Raf.” You peel yourself off the floor, and your skin is sticky. Your head hurts.
You’re not up for even thirty seconds before a tendril of Sylus’s Evol wraps around your fan, repositioning it until the fluff of his hair bounces, fluttering, played with by an artificial breeze.
You sink your hand into that hair as you pass by the couch, your touch far less of a caress. “Get up. Or I’m telling Luke and Kieran you’re taking them on a beach day.”
Sylus groans, and behind the moisturiser and cucumber slices, his face is scrunching as he stretches. He’s always preferred a more tangible knife at his throat.
…
Rafayel dabbles in hyperbole as often as he dodges a phone call from Thomas, but this? Might be an exception. You tilt your head, observing the way Valko’s curled on the floor by your patio doors, like he didn’t quite make it out to the garden.
Curled is the wrong word. It’s a half-curl: he’s on his side, limbs stretched out, tail flat.
“He’s breathing,” Rafayel confers quietly.
You squint. He is breathing. That’s good.
“Fate comes for all of us eventually,” Sylus hums, nodding as though delivering a morbid prognosis. “It’s relentless. Inevitable.” Then he crushes your body to his. “Don’t look at it, kitten.”
His shirt is half-unbuttoned, his chest tacky against your face. He smells of sweat and gunpowder, and you squeak in protest, only to be hushed like a feral, naïve little thing. Sylus shushes you, stroking the back of your head as you wriggle.
“Raf…” you eke out, whispering warm against Sylus’s pecs, “help!”
“I’ve got you, cutie.”
Rafayel hugs you from behind, only squishing you further. They’re both hot and sticky and you’re going to kill them, just as soon as you can… as soon as you can get… ugh! “Get off, Raf!”
“I know he meant, like, a lot to you,” Rafayel sighs mournfully, resting his chin on your shoulder. “But you’re not alone. We’re here for you. You don’t ever have to be strong with us.”
You stamp on Rafayel’s foot, and kick Sylus in the shin. One yelps. The other draws in a sharp, enamoured breath, but they do release you, thank god. “I’ve had it up to here with you two,” you hiss, marking the air above you with a decisive slice of your hand.
They blink down at the motion, unfazed. Rafayel is mid-hop. Sylus is still.
“Up to there with you!” you try again, pointing higher at the ceiling.
They look up.
“… That’s a lot,” Rafayel says after a moment.
Sylus nods in agreement, taking the new estimate into very careful consideration.
That should keep them occupied for a while. You wander over to where Valko is slumped on the floor, soaking in sunlight. In a black t-shirt and dark jeans, it’s a wonder he’s not a puddle already. Although… from the looks of it, he is headed in vaguely a puddle-ish direction.
“Psst… Valko?”
Nothing.
“Vaaalko…? Can you hear me? You still with us? Valko?”
You’d stooped to talk softly with him, but you’re getting impatient— he’s being so stubborn— so you stand with your hands on your hips instead; the sun’s not the only thing glaring. Carefully, you nudge Valko’s tail with your toe. That earns you an ear twitch, but nothing more. You sigh.
“Guys, can you come and get him into the shade? Gently, please. I’m gonna call Zayne.”
…
“Mmhmm. Yeah? Okay, got it. Thanks so much, Zayne. You’re a life-saver. I know that’s the job description, but…”
When you re-enter the room, a quiet chuckle— rich with fondness and empathy— can be heard through your phone.
“Yeah, Zayne,” you answer after a bit. “Take care of yourself, okay? Ugh, what am I saying? You’re fine, Mr Walking-Talking Snow Globe. But whatever, yeah, still make sure you’re—” you gasp— “ah, Rafayel, no!”
Rafayel is crouched over Valko, slowly trickling water into his mouth from a bottle. None of it is getting consumed— it’s all dribbling over the seam of sealed lips and pooling straight onto the floor.
“He’s gotta stay hydrated!” Rafayel huffs, and the water bottle remains tipped, spilling.
You storm over and snatch it out of his hand. “Not like that!” Your phone lifts to your ear. “Zayne, I gotta go, sorry. Talk soon. Love you lots.” Then you end the call. “Really, Raf?”
The artist is sat on the floor now, and his face is unrepentant. Smug, even.
“Why would you do that?” you grumble, taking a seat by Valko yourself. Softly, you sweep away the excess water from his lips with your thumb.
Rafayel just smiles, lazy and warm. He leans back on his elbows so he can catch the breeze wafting over from the patio doors. “You sounded stressed on the phone, cutie. Before you came in. Valko’ll be okay. Don’t worry, yeah? I’m sure our dear doctor had some good advice, but you really should have more faith in your trusty sidekicks.”
“Is that right, hm?”
“Yup. Sylus is onto something right now, in fact. I’m watching our friend here in the meantime.”
“By drowning him?”
“Hydrating him. How nefarious do you think I am, cutie? I know water. Besides, I’ve got a website.” He wiggles his phone with a grin.
You roll your eyes, shuffling closer to Valko so you can move his head to your lap. As much as Rafayel teases, you know he and Sylus would part oceans for you— move mountains, too. They can act like finding a space for Valko in their hearts is just as biblical, as Herculean, but it’s easy, really. You managed, didn’t you?
“Fine. What else does your website say?” you ask with a hum, fingers threading through Valko’s hair. You like to scratch at the shorter parts.
“Number one, hydration,” Rafayel reads, “check! Number two… ‘walk them at cooler times of the day.’ Says a gentle walk through a shaded woodlands is safer than playing ball at the par—”
Water smacks him in the face.
He gawps, dripping.
The water bottle is in your free hand, fresh from being flicked at him. You flick it again, sending forth another slosh. “Just you wait until you get sick, Rafayel! Gonna stock up on aquarium guides. When I’m pouring fishie medicine down your throat, who’s gonna be laughing then, huh? Huh?!”
Rafayel laughs, trying to dodge the water; you’re thankfully limited by the heat-stricken man on your lap. “Don’t! We need—” he coughs as you land a splash in his mouth as he speaks— “ack! We need that for… pfffftt… hydration!”
You’re laughing too— trying to swing the bottle harder without turning Valko into collateral damage. “Stay still!”
You pull the bottle back, preparing an even bigger splash, but something stops you. Not mercy or conscience, no, but… something sweet tickling the periphery of your senses. Weird.
The room smells like chocolate.
Turning around, you see Sylus coming over with a baking tray in hand. It must be fresh out of the oven; he’s still sporting oven mitts. Though some of his hair has been tied back haphazardly in bunches (with colourful hair ties), some is plastered, damp on his forehead.
You sit up as much as you can, neck stretched like a meerkat. “That smells amazing, Sylus. What is that? What’ve you been up to?”
“Problem-solving, sweetie.” He tilts the tray juuuust enough so you can see what’s inside.
It’s brownies— or one, giant brownie, since he hasn’t sliced it yet— still hot, and undoubtedly gooey in the middle. The sight makes your mouth water. The ‘problem’ shifts on your lap.
A wrinkle at first: Valko’s nose scrunches, giving a shallow sniff. Then a deeper one; you can hear the chocolate-thick air drawn in once, twice. His tail starts wagging, soft against the floor.
He sits bolt upright, so quickly it startles you. “Is that brownies? Nice!”
“Wha—? Val, are you okay? Take it easy, you were just—”
“Bring ‘em over here! They’re fresh, right?”
Sylus trundles over like a butler who might just poison his master’s next meal. A quiet thwip of his Evol scores a line through the brownies, and it’s hard not to think about how that Evol can grip, asphyxiate, and break. Dark alacrity— you feel as though you’re watching a murder weapon slide through a birthday cake.
Valko grabs a brownie as soon as it’s offered. “Oh, mmm…” he groans, fangs sinking in, eyes rolling back. With his cheeks stuffed as they are, he’s more chipmunk than wolf. “That’s the stuff.”
“Val,” you frown, “you’re okay?”
“Mmhmm!”
“You didn’t… pass out, or anything?”
“What? No. Course not.” The brownie is polished off, and Valko is chewing, still, as he stretches out over the floor. He laps chocolate from his thumb. “Mmh, this is the life, huh?” And rolls out of the shade, into the sunlight. “Thanks, Skyler. You’re pretty cool, you know that?”
You blink in bewilderment. Rafayel grins ear-to-ear.
Oven-gloved and exhausted, Skyler is moments away from making the news.
"Caleb, Caleb!" you chirp, leaning over the couch and tugging on his sleeve, distracting him from working on his new model.
"What's up?" He switches his attention to you effortlessly, as if it had never left you in the first place.
"Look," you prompt, handing him your phone with a short, silly video of a strange looking baby bird on it. It flaps around a few times and runs in a circle, before falling over.
Caleb chuckles and watches it a second time before giving the phone back to you, a playful sparkle in his eyes. "Very cute, pips. You know, it kinda reminds me of you."
You furrow your brow in confusion, looking at the video then looking back up at him. He started working on his model again, nonchalant, but the little smirk on his face suggests he's still awaiting your reply. "Why?"
"You were just like that when you were little. You'd trip and fall over so easily, then you'd reach your tiny arms up to ask me to help you back up." His smirk morphs into a grin, no longer trying to hide his amusement.
"No I didn't." You pout, which seems to be what he was looking for, as his expression absolutely lights up.
"Yeah, you sure did. I remember how you'd call out for me, too. 'Caleb! Caleb, help!'"
"I did not!" Your pout turns into a giggle as you throw your phone aside in favor of tackling him, pinning him down to the cushions with one hand on his shoulder, ruffling his hair with the other.
He laughs along with you, his ears turned a subtle shade of pink as he pinches your cheek. "Cross my heart. You know what else you used to do? You'd-"
You cut him off by pressing a hand to his mouth, muffling whatever embarrassing anecdote he had on the tip of his tongue. "I don't wanna know!"
He suddenly wraps his arms around your back and pulls you down into him, effortlessly withstanding your attempts to squirm free. "Y'know, all this reminiscing makes me want cuddles. Let's take a nap like we did back then."
"Caleb-!"
He doesn't even let you protest. "Nope. You've activated Caleb's bear trap mode. You're not goin' anywhere until I'm done with you."
You whine a little, but ultimately settle, snugly nestled against him. There might not be as much space as there was when you napped on the couch as kids, but you'd always make it work.
the hottest thing a guy can be is barely conscious on the floor while someone lifts his head up by the hair so that you can see his glazed out eyes and the blood running down his face
HEAR ME OUT: they're both bosses, they're smart, they're cunning, they look cool asf, like RLLY cool. Genuinely the biggest aurafarmers when it comes to status.
I imagine these two would go drive off and have meaningful conversations after a gala dinner or a big business meeting or a charity event, DO YOU SEE MY VISIONN??? Like maybe they'd get a few drinks in, Valko can visit Sylus' base in N109 and I imagine the Twins would welcome him too.
Maybe they'd try to outrank each other, friendly competition though because their masculinity ain't fragile, they'd 100% laugh at idiot podcast bros omg. THERE'S SO MUCH POTENTIAL. THE FRIENDSHIP AND BUSINESS PARTNER POTENTIAL.
Anyways, if I put my MC in the picture, she's 100% confused at what they're talking about bc the mind of business alpha males is too complicated for Ms Hunter. That's all folks.
Pixel post dividers for everyone! It's not much, but feel free to use them if you'd like.
I don't know the ideal size for these, so let me know if they're too tall. I can make them a bit shorter next time.
Hii!! First time doing this but I’m obsessed with your Poly!LADS series, it helps me feel inspired to continue with my poly!LADS mini adventures. I was wondering if you can take a request of the Lads coming home to a remarkably clean house which is bad cause MC cleans when pissed. Please don’t feel pressured to do it!!!
Awww thank you so much, that means the world to me that they've inspired you! 🥹 I'm gonna be reviving the series soon; the next part is drafted, I just gotta write it!
Decided to use this as a warm up for writing the guys together again tehe-- no Caleb or Valko yet because I wanna introduce them properly in the next part!
This was such a fun idea so thank youuu! 🫶
"Spring" Cleaning
Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus x Reader
Summary: One of the boys has messed up big time! Bonus points if you guess who~~ 👀
Sylus has run his finger over a shelf— circled a vase, taken a detour up the spine of a book— and his fingertip is spotless. No dust that tickles his nose as he lifts it up to his face in scrutiny. No grubbiness he feels the need to scowl at in disgust.
“Relax, yeah?”
It’s Rafayel. Of course it’s Rafayel: always poking at an open flame. The artist has flung himself down on the couch, and is watching with his head rolled back over the armrest; he just has to be interesting. His hair is dangling, gravity clawing it back from his forehead. “If something was wrong, wouldn’t his watch be, like… yelling?”
He points at Xavier.
Xavier is squinting, looking around the house like a Wanderer really might lurk in the mundanity of a houseplant. Yes, his watch is indeed silent, but he shushes Rafayel regardless. “No… Sylus is right.” Ha. “Something’s weird. I can feel it.”
“It’s too clean.”
Last to step through the door, Zayne sets down his share of groceries. And Rafayel’s. And Sylus’s. Ever the knight in shining armour, Xavier is the only other with brown paper bags at his feet. One is sideways from where he’d dropped it— a satsuma rolling away in a half-hearted meander.
Rafayel catches it as it passes the sofa. Picks it up and sinks his thumb through the peel. “You think it’s too clean? You work in a hospital. Clean is good, right? Thought you liked clean.”
With a pensive hum, Sylus picks up a photo frame. You’re beaming in the picture, crouched beside where Rafayel is lying, buried up to his neck on the beach. Xavier is posing, a yellow toy spade in hand. Zayne is standing by the parasol he’d dragged over so the artist wouldn’t expire from heatstroke. Pity.
He shakes his head, then hands the photo to Zayne as though it’s incriminatingly gory. “Look.”
“Just as I thought,” Zayne nods, glasses glinting in the light. The frame is ornate— textured silver that winds like vines— and he sees it too, doesn’t he? Every crevice is polished. Meticulously.
Call it instinct, or an educated guess; they all look towards Rafayel.
Rafayel, who is now sat cross-legged on the couch, with a mouth full of satsuma segments. He splutters— sudden, sweet acidity and a spotlight. “What?”
“What did you do?” Xavier asks like the edge of a knife.
“Nothing!”
“That’s what they all say,” Sylus is tutting, stalking up to the sofa so he can spread his hands on the armrest and lean in. (He is, of course, a devoted member of that aforementioned ‘all’, so he would know.) “We’ll learn the truth sooner or later, little artist. Spare us any charades. Give in.”
Xavier’s voice digs deeper. “It’s over.”
And Sylus can’t resist a: “Relax, yeah?”
Unfazed, Rafayel is studying Sylus as he swallows another satsuma segment. The parroted words aren’t an ace, it seems; his expression implies they’re a three, at best. “What is this, like, scary-cop, horny-cop? You relax. I’m not cutie. You’re barking up the wrong coral branch with your pseudo-sexual mind games.”
That is not what Sylus was going for. Even remotely. He pulls back with a soft frown; maybe he has been spending too much time with you. Whoops.
A quiet rustle of brown paper, and Zayne has finished collecting the groceries from Xavier’s bag. He wanders over, ushering Sylus aside. It’s audacious. It’s presumptuous. It’s… a mercy, really. Sylus is still having a long, hard think about his behaviour, and how he comes across to others.
“Rafayel,” Zayne asks like an open hand, “think back over the last few days. Can you think of anything— anything at all— that might have upset our mutual friend?”
“Nah,” Rafayel shrugs, splitting off more of the fruit he’s holding, “I’m cutie’s rock, y’know. If I were you, I’d, uh… be looking in a more—” he shields a whisper— “white-haired, red-eyed direction.”
Sylus scowls. “I heard that.”
“Heard what? Didn’t say a thing.”
Rafayel yawns, then pops another segment in his mouth. The interrogation is over, and he thinks he’s passed with flying colours.
If Xavier were still here, he could get the truth out of him. Blood from a stone, and all that. Regrettably, the Hunter has wandered off to scout the rest of the house. A deep-cleaned lounge means one of them has upset you marginally. A deep-cleaned home? Kitchen? Bathroom? Garden?
Sylus glimpses motion beyond your floor-to-ceiling windows. Xavier is out there, inspecting a shrub, and he looks up— locks eyes with the group— and gives a grave shake of his head.
Has that… has that shrub been pruned?
A shiver runs down Sylus’s spine. This is cataclysmic levels of neatness. Someone here might have actually killed something you love.
“What’s Xavier doing out in the garden?”
Forget a shiver— for a single moment, Sylus’s entire soul leaves his body.
You’re standing at the foot of the stairs with a feather duster, like the ghost of a housekeeper who died before the job was quite done.
“Are you… are you alright, love?” Zayne voices tentatively.
“Why wouldn’t I be alright?”
You smile and it’s chilling. That’s the smile in the beach photo. The smile that gives all of them the strength to get out of bed every morning (or, in Sylus’s case, noon) but it’s wrong, somehow.
Hands latch onto his shoulders; Rafayel is gripping him, using him for cover. “Heeeey cutie,” he sing-songs nervously, “spring cleaning?”
“It’s July, Rafayel.”
“Summer cleaning?” he tries again.
Sylus shakes his hands away from his shoulders.
“Why’re you guys being weird?” Your tone is relaxed, but your gaze finds satsuma peel on the sofa behind them— a little on the floor, too.
Rafayel impulse kicks the floor peel under the coffee table.
Your transparent, glass coffee table.
Amateur.
You put your hands on your hips. Rafayel sheepishly lowers himself to the ground.
“You can all relax,” you sigh, setting your feather duster aside. “This isn’t murder cleaning, it’s ‘I have a thing tomorrow’ cleaning. Tara’s coming over. Bringing some of the guys from her tarot club. Xavi, you knew about this— I was with you when she invited you.”
Xavier is midway through stepping in from the garden, but he freezes. Glances up. “Hm?”
“Tara’s thing? The tarot thing?”
“Oh… oh, yeah, I’m going to that. There’ll be food,” he grins warmly.
Zayne presses his fingers to his temple. Sylus is suddenly craving a drink.
“Are you kidding me?” Rafayel groans, still prone on the floor.
…
“So… what’s wrong?” Xavier smiles, shoulder gently nudging yours as he unpacks groceries with you in the kitchen. “And is there any way I can help?”
There is no thing with Tara and her tarot club tomorrow.
“Grab me a mixing bowl?” you answer. He does, and you set it down with a clink. “Funny thing happened the other day, Xavi.” You’re separating ingredients from the groceries. “Yvonne was going through some stuff. You know Yvonne, from Akso? She helped you that time, when we were waiting, and you’d sprained your—”
“Yeah, I know Yvonne. She’s nice.”
“Mmh. So, yeah, she’d lost a relative. Things at the hospital had been pretty hectic too, so I decided to do something for her. Something to cheer her up. I made her some cupcakes.”
The ingredients you’re setting aside are for a cake too, incidentally.
“She wasn’t there when I brought them in— she was off helping someone. And I was in a rush, so I left them on the front desk. A tin of cupcakes, and a note. ‘Dear Yvonne’, it said, ‘from your favourite Deepspace Hunter! Just a little token of how appreciated you are.’”
“That’s sweet,” Xavier says, then chuckles over his inadvertent pun.
“It was sweet, right? So imagine my surprise when I next visited the hospital. She wouldn’t talk to me. Wouldn’t look at me. Pretended she was on the phone so she could wave me away like she was busy,” you huff. “Had to go to Greyson to find out what happened. Turns out… she did get my note. My tin, too.”
“And?”
“And it was empty.” You tear into a bag of flour. “She was devastated. Thought I was making fun of her. So, Greyson and I checked the CCTV. Found out someone got to the cupcakes first. Someone recognised my tin and thought, ‘oh, these must surely be for me,’ and someone? Was far too busy being a big, important doctor to stop and read the note.”
Xavier is still as he listens to your story. When it’s done, and you’re stirring flour, sugar, and spices together so violently that some is escaping the bowl, he stoops to a drawer. Fishes out a grater.
Then he goes to the fridge and pulls out some carrots.
Hii!! First time doing this but I’m obsessed with your Poly!LADS series, it helps me feel inspired to continue with my poly!LADS mini adventures. I was wondering if you can take a request of the Lads coming home to a remarkably clean house which is bad cause MC cleans when pissed. Please don’t feel pressured to do it!!!
Awww thank you so much, that means the world to me that they've inspired you! 🥹 I'm gonna be reviving the series soon; the next part is drafted, I just gotta write it!
Decided to use this as a warm up for writing the guys together again tehe-- no Caleb or Valko yet because I wanna introduce them properly in the next part!
This was such a fun idea so thank youuu! 🫶
"Spring" Cleaning
Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus x Reader
Summary: One of the boys has messed up big time! Bonus points if you guess who~~ 👀
Sylus has run his finger over a shelf— circled a vase, taken a detour up the spine of a book— and his fingertip is spotless. No dust that tickles his nose as he lifts it up to his face in scrutiny. No grubbiness he feels the need to scowl at in disgust.
“Relax, yeah?”
It’s Rafayel. Of course it’s Rafayel: always poking at an open flame. The artist has flung himself down on the couch, and is watching with his head rolled back over the armrest; he just has to be interesting. His hair is dangling, gravity clawing it back from his forehead. “If something was wrong, wouldn’t his watch be, like… yelling?”
He points at Xavier.
Xavier is squinting, looking around the house like a Wanderer really might lurk in the mundanity of a houseplant. Yes, his watch is indeed silent, but he shushes Rafayel regardless. “No… Sylus is right.” Ha. “Something’s weird. I can feel it.”
“It’s too clean.”
Last to step through the door, Zayne sets down his share of groceries. And Rafayel’s. And Sylus’s. Ever the knight in shining armour, Xavier is the only other with brown paper bags at his feet. One is sideways from where he’d dropped it— a satsuma rolling away in a half-hearted meander.
Rafayel catches it as it passes the sofa. Picks it up and sinks his thumb through the peel. “You think it’s too clean? You work in a hospital. Clean is good, right? Thought you liked clean.”
With a pensive hum, Sylus picks up a photo frame. You’re beaming in the picture, crouched beside where Rafayel is lying, buried up to his neck on the beach. Xavier is posing, a yellow toy spade in hand. Zayne is standing by the parasol he’d dragged over so the artist wouldn’t expire from heatstroke. Pity.
He shakes his head, then hands the photo to Zayne as though it’s incriminatingly gory. “Look.”
“Just as I thought,” Zayne nods, glasses glinting in the light. The frame is ornate— textured silver that winds like vines— and he sees it too, doesn’t he? Every crevice is polished. Meticulously.
Call it instinct, or an educated guess; they all look towards Rafayel.
Rafayel, who is now sat cross-legged on the couch, with a mouth full of satsuma segments. He splutters— sudden, sweet acidity and a spotlight. “What?”
“What did you do?” Xavier asks like the edge of a knife.
“Nothing!”
“That’s what they all say,” Sylus is tutting, stalking up to the sofa so he can spread his hands on the armrest and lean in. (He is, of course, a devoted member of that aforementioned ‘all’, so he would know.) “We’ll learn the truth sooner or later, little artist. Spare us any charades. Give in.”
Xavier’s voice digs deeper. “It’s over.”
And Sylus can’t resist a: “Relax, yeah?”
Unfazed, Rafayel is studying Sylus as he swallows another satsuma segment. The parroted words aren’t an ace, it seems; his expression implies they’re a three, at best. “What is this, like, scary-cop, horny-cop? You relax. I’m not cutie. You’re barking up the wrong coral branch with your pseudo-sexual mind games.”
That is not what Sylus was going for. Even remotely. He pulls back with a soft frown; maybe he has been spending too much time with you. Whoops.
A quiet rustle of brown paper, and Zayne has finished collecting the groceries from Xavier’s bag. He wanders over, ushering Sylus aside. It’s audacious. It’s presumptuous. It’s… a mercy, really. Sylus is still having a long, hard think about his behaviour, and how he comes across to others.
“Rafayel,” Zayne asks like an open hand, “think back over the last few days. Can you think of anything— anything at all— that might have upset our mutual friend?”
“Nah,” Rafayel shrugs, splitting off more of the fruit he’s holding, “I’m cutie’s rock, y’know. If I were you, I’d, uh… be looking in a more—” he shields a whisper— “white-haired, red-eyed direction.”
Sylus scowls. “I heard that.”
“Heard what? Didn’t say a thing.”
Rafayel yawns, then pops another segment in his mouth. The interrogation is over, and he thinks he’s passed with flying colours.
If Xavier were still here, he could get the truth out of him. Blood from a stone, and all that. Regrettably, the Hunter has wandered off to scout the rest of the house. A deep-cleaned lounge means one of them has upset you marginally. A deep-cleaned home? Kitchen? Bathroom? Garden?
Sylus glimpses motion beyond your floor-to-ceiling windows. Xavier is out there, inspecting a shrub, and he looks up— locks eyes with the group— and gives a grave shake of his head.
Has that… has that shrub been pruned?
A shiver runs down Sylus’s spine. This is cataclysmic levels of neatness. Someone here might have actually killed something you love.
“What’s Xavier doing out in the garden?”
Forget a shiver— for a single moment, Sylus’s entire soul leaves his body.
You’re standing at the foot of the stairs with a feather duster, like the ghost of a housekeeper who died before the job was quite done.
“Are you… are you alright, love?” Zayne voices tentatively.
“Why wouldn’t I be alright?”
You smile and it’s chilling. That’s the smile in the beach photo. The smile that gives all of them the strength to get out of bed every morning (or, in Sylus’s case, noon) but it’s wrong, somehow.
Hands latch onto his shoulders; Rafayel is gripping him, using him for cover. “Heeeey cutie,” he sing-songs nervously, “spring cleaning?”
“It’s July, Rafayel.”
“Summer cleaning?” he tries again.
Sylus shakes his hands away from his shoulders.
“Why’re you guys being weird?” Your tone is relaxed, but your gaze finds satsuma peel on the sofa behind them— a little on the floor, too.
Rafayel impulse kicks the floor peel under the coffee table.
Your transparent, glass coffee table.
Amateur.
You put your hands on your hips. Rafayel sheepishly lowers himself to the ground.
“You can all relax,” you sigh, setting your feather duster aside. “This isn’t murder cleaning, it’s ‘I have a thing tomorrow’ cleaning. Tara’s coming over. Bringing some of the guys from her tarot club. Xavi, you knew about this— I was with you when she invited you.”
Xavier is midway through stepping in from the garden, but he freezes. Glances up. “Hm?”
“Tara’s thing? The tarot thing?”
“Oh… oh, yeah, I’m going to that. There’ll be food,” he grins warmly.
Zayne presses his fingers to his temple. Sylus is suddenly craving a drink.
“Are you kidding me?” Rafayel groans, still prone on the floor.
…
“So… what’s wrong?” Xavier smiles, shoulder gently nudging yours as he unpacks groceries with you in the kitchen. “And is there any way I can help?”
There is no thing with Tara and her tarot club tomorrow.
“Grab me a mixing bowl?” you answer. He does, and you set it down with a clink. “Funny thing happened the other day, Xavi.” You’re separating ingredients from the groceries. “Yvonne was going through some stuff. You know Yvonne, from Akso? She helped you that time, when we were waiting, and you’d sprained your—”
“Yeah, I know Yvonne. She’s nice.”
“Mmh. So, yeah, she’d lost a relative. Things at the hospital had been pretty hectic too, so I decided to do something for her. Something to cheer her up. I made her some cupcakes.”
The ingredients you’re setting aside are for a cake too, incidentally.
“She wasn’t there when I brought them in— she was off helping someone. And I was in a rush, so I left them on the front desk. A tin of cupcakes, and a note. ‘Dear Yvonne’, it said, ‘from your favourite Deepspace Hunter! Just a little token of how appreciated you are.’”
“That’s sweet,” Xavier says, then chuckles over his inadvertent pun.
“It was sweet, right? So imagine my surprise when I next visited the hospital. She wouldn’t talk to me. Wouldn’t look at me. Pretended she was on the phone so she could wave me away like she was busy,” you huff. “Had to go to Greyson to find out what happened. Turns out… she did get my note. My tin, too.”
“And?”
“And it was empty.” You tear into a bag of flour. “She was devastated. Thought I was making fun of her. So, Greyson and I checked the CCTV. Found out someone got to the cupcakes first. Someone recognised my tin and thought, ‘oh, these must surely be for me,’ and someone? Was far too busy being a big, important doctor to stop and read the note.”
Xavier is still as he listens to your story. When it’s done, and you’re stirring flour, sugar, and spices together so violently that some is escaping the bowl, he stoops to a drawer. Fishes out a grater.
Then he goes to the fridge and pulls out some carrots.
