also a place to stay

"Be all the beautiful things you are, and be them without apology."

[atomics-creations]

hii! I'm Khloe, and this is my writing account on tumblr!

My main account is @atomicwinnerdreamland, which is where you will find most of my posts and reblogs. This blog will specifically have my writing!

Here, you'll find one-shots and ficlets for Welcome to the Table and Love and Deepspace. Most of the time, my works are fluffy with a tinge of angst, but I don't shy away from topics like grief or sensuality (I won't be writing explicit smut though).

Take care, and I hope you enjoy your stay!

divider by @uzmacchiato

Links

WTTT Masterlist here

Love and Deepspace Masterlists: Main | Untitled Ficlets | Mood-Based | K's 2026 LaDS Prompts

AO3 link here

#khloe's thoughts (posts that aren't masterlists or fics)

Latest Works

Birthday Surprises (Valko x Reader)

Memory Recovery (Rafayel x Reader)

Raining In Linkon (Valko x Reader)

Lost Encounters (Xavier x Reader)

Lights Out (Sylus x Reader)

(last updated on July 27, 2026)

[atomics-creations]

Lights Out

LaDS. Sylus x Reader

You make yourself a meal in the middle of the night in Sylus's place, and even when under the kitchen's dim lights, his love for you is loud and clear.

1,128 words. domestic fluff, sweet, late-night conversations, established relationship, clingy sylus, f!reader, cross-posted on ao3

a/n: because domestic fluff won this poll, here's a fluffy sylus fic. i hope you enjoy :)

dividers by @diviniyae | ao3 link here

Nothing beats spending the night in a place you shouldn’t be in.

Known for its lavish exteriors and forbidden entrances, Onychinus’s base is nothing short of home. You’ve learned which doors you were allowed to enter and which ones are better off closed. You’ve mastered the art of finding meaning in every trinket that sits in this place, hoping they would allow you to catch a glimpse of Onychinus’s leader. And, of course, you’ve settled in his heart and have made yourself quite comfortable in its space.

So, when you sneak out of your shared bedroom and into the kitchen, you don’t think much of it. It’s almost like routine when you search for a plate through his cabinets, judging how organized his mugs are. A matching set of Spiderman mugs, which you could only guess are for Luke and Kieran, sit in front of all the fancy ones. Contrary to popular belief, it’s so characteristically Sylus to have his priorities lie in the heart that settles beneath his sleeve.

The night, however, is uncharacteristically quiet. Luke and Kieran are sound asleep instead of causing their usual ruckus, and the last time you saw Sylus, you had to slowly take his hand off of your waist to avoid waking him up. A damning part of you wishes you could ask him to cook with you, but he’s tired, and the last thing you want to do is to add to his persistent exhaustion.

Under the dim lights of the base’s kitchen, your only company as you make yourself some food is the thoughts stuck in your head. 

“I hope I don’t burn this place down by accident,” you joke as you turn on the stove to make some eggs. “That would sure be a price to pay.”

The eggs begin to take form on the pan, and you use the spatula as a makeshift microphone every five seconds for the song softly playing from your phone. Lyrics are sung in whispers and dance moves are done in silence, but the eggs sure appreciate the impromptu performance. They turn out perfectly, so you turn off the stove to place it into a plate.

But before you can turn around to enjoy your meal, you feel strong arms wrap around your waist and hear a familiar hum of amusement. 

“Performing without me, beloved?”

“Sylus!” you gasp, looking back as he places gentle kisses on your shoulder. Sleep coats him beautifully, his hair sticking up in all directions and the flush of his cheeks making him glow under the dim lights. “How long were you watching me?”

Sylus doesn’t answer for a while, burying his face in the crook of your neck like that place is the only home he would ever want to live in. Draconic instincts, you could say, but it might just be his exhaustion getting to him.

But eventually he does, and his answer makes you roll your eyes playfully. “Mmm… I don’t know. Time passes by mindlessly when I’m with you.”

“Hmph. I think you just want to avoid the question.”

He chuckles, deep and happy. The sun’s bright rays are incomparable to his amused smile. “Do I avoid your questions, sweetie? I thought you liked how much I entertained them.”

“Hmph,” you huff again before tasting your culinary masterpiece. With a soft hum of satisfaction, you take a small piece of your meal before placing it close to Sylus’s lips, the question of Do you want to try this? remaining unsaid yet loud in its sincerity.

And Sylus, of course, tastes it without hesitation.

“So, what woke you up?” you ask, knowing damn well he can’t answer your question while he’s chewing. “I thought I was doing a good job staying quiet.”

“I…” His hands caress your waist as he chews, the movement grounding the both of you. “I felt the sudden emptiness and wanted to see what happened to you.” Sensing your heart drop, he lets out a soft chuckle before adding, “And your beautiful singing voice lured me in like a siren.”

“Flattering.”

“And,” Sylus continues, “I heard you talking about burning my place down. I couldn’t let that happen, could I?”

“I said no such thing!”

“I trust your decisions, sweetie, but I have to admit I questioned that one.”

“Ugh,” you say with absolutely no frustration. How could you be, when the love of your life looks absolutely enamored by a terrifying, hypothetical decision you would never make?

The next few moments can only be described as peaceful. There is only the soothing music on your phone to interrupt what would otherwise be silence as you continue eating your meal. Sylus occasionally asks for a bite, and you could only deny him for a few seconds before giving in to his playful demands. The meal is devoured in mere minutes, but you find yourself still wanting more food.

Would it be too greedy to ask Sylus if he could cook?

“Sy…” Turning around, you find his cheeky smile softening as he braces for whatever question he would entertain next. “Could you… could you cook something for me, please?”

You pat his hair down to soothe the inevitable rejection. He’s tired, you’re tired, and the only task this night will allow next is going back to sleep in his cozy bed. 

But you should’ve known better than to assume he’d ever deny you any pleasure you want. Instead of the inevitable no, Sylus cups your cheeks and asks, “What do you want me to cook for you, beloved? I have plenty of options.”

Surprise befalls you as gently as snow. You look at his face to search for a hint of sarcasm, only to find utter adoration. “We don’t have to. I mean, you must be tired.”

“I’m never tired when it comes to you.” Sylus reiterates his point with a tender kiss on your forehead, which you’ve noticed in recent hangouts is his favorite place to kiss you. Perhaps the gesture is as significant as the way he arranges his mugs, but the meaning of it is lost to you regardless. 

You’ll open that door someday. You possess the key to his heart already anyway.

The rest of the night only belongs to the both of you. As Sylus prepares the meal of your choice, he’s hit by playful remarks about the peculiar way he arranges his mugs and the heart he wears on his sleeve. You’re swinging your legs on the countertop as his remarks feel nothing short of sincere, and when the meal has been made, he hands it to you while politely bowing like a devoted knight.

Under the dim lights, accompanied by the love of your life, you feel welcomed in this place you now call home. 

a/n: i'll have to admit, writing this fic has made cooking so much more fun recently. I got stuck a couple of times writing this, so while I made myself meals, I sang in the same way MC did and asked myself, "What would Sylus do in this situation?" lol

thank you for reading! any form of interaction is appreciated. take care :)

taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren @typicalme23 @crimsonrubie

[atomics-creations]

Lost Encounters

LaDS. Xavier x Reader

A casual midnight train ride with Xavier leads to a sweet confession.

956 words. fluff, late night conversations, yearning, friends-to-lovers, there's one suggestive line but the rest is cute, Frank Sinatra and 50 Cent are mentioned lol, f!reader, cross-posted on ao3

a/n: burnout has been kicking my ass lately lol, but I managed to write this anyway. I hope you like it :)

dividers by @diviniyae | ao3 link here

On this train ride with your lovely mission partner, the only thought on your mind is how to catch your heart as it decides to fall for him.

You’re laying your head on his shoulder as you hear his soft sighs, which are his attempts to stay awake. You wonder why he tries to do so even though you’re both coming home after a long shift, but leave it to Xavier to leave you with more questions than answers. 

At least his flair for secrecy appeals to your endless curiosity, even though it has also led your heart to predicaments unfamiliar to you.

“Xavier, if the world falls apart…” You begin to ramble sleepily knowing he’ll entertain it. “Would you fly to the moon, Frank Sinatra style?”

His chuckle reverberates, sending happy little butterflies to flutter all throughout your body. Soft, gentle, and oh so comforting. “I’d try to save it first. Get rich or die trying, 50 Cent style.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” But you laugh anyway because no emotion remains hidden when you’re around Xavier.

The train ride is quiet, with the few passengers around you living in their own worlds. You catch the titles of the books they’re reading and silently admire some of their tastes in fashion. Pairing a black scarf with a white shirt is an interesting choice, but then again, so is falling in love with your mission partner. 

You don’t entertain that thought any further.

Xavier’s hand sits near your hip, but it settles atop your purse instead. If you were any bolder, you would hold it and notice the little details you could only imagine about. Maybe it has scars and little cuts from the sword he swings around like it’s nothing. Or, maybe it’s smooth, reminiscent of how comfortable it feels to be around him.

“If the world were to end,” he brings up the topic you had accidentally let go of, “I hope you’re safe, and I would find you wherever you end up at.”

You lift your head up to meet his gaze, not realizing how close you two would be. Your noses are practically touching, and you can see his blue eyes darken once he realizes. Soft, still comforting, but with a hint of a storm brewing as well.

“That’s such a mission partner answer,” you scoff, laughing with no humor in your tone. “Tell me what Xavier would say.”

You know it’s risky to tease him like that. Trying to pry open his vault is as futile as uncovering your own mysterious past, but there’s no harm in trying, right? Especially when you have Xavier softly chuckling at your attempts while the storm in his eyes disappears slowly.

“Hmm, Xavier would stand by your side no matter what.”

“Another mission partner answer.” You pout to tease, and judging by his wide eyes, it works. “C’mon. I mean much more to you than that, don’t I?”

His expression is indiscernible. On one hand, his smile is still there, everpresent the way it is when you have sleepless nights and you need illicit scenes to assist you. On the other hand, his eyes have darkened once more, turning into a storm hiding every thought he refuses to say aloud.

Only when the train halts and announces the stop does Xavier find the courage to look away. And while you don’t admit it, your heart drops, making you look away as well.

“Such a cute couple!” A passenger comments, and you look up to see what you swear is you and Xavier if you were given a kind, gentle future. A lovely grandmother waves at you as she walks out to her stop, a laugh erupting from the person holding her hand. It sounds as youthful as Xavier’s, yet the shakiness of it carries experiences inevitable in a long life. They leave the train with happiness so unavoidable the other passengers begin whispering to themselves with grins on their faces.

“Is it too late to tell them we aren’t one?” you whisper to Xavier, expecting his usual soft chuckle. You even poke his cheek to prepare for a wide smile. 

Instead, however, his gaze darts from the train’s door to your eyes, and in the sudden closeness, he whispers, “I wouldn’t want to lie to an elderly couple.”

Lie?

A genuine chuckle escapes his lips at your surprised expression, and the implications sit in the nonexistent space between the both of you as the train continues its journey. The soft music and new conversations are what cushion your thoughts as you proceed to ask every one of them.

“What do you mean by that, Xavier?”

His smile radiates so much you’d think the sun was out on this night. “What do you think that means, starlight?”

You’re speechless. Your brain can barely go past the fact that he called you starlight — how playfully cruel of him to expect you to conjure up a coherent conclusion in this state. 

But Xavier isn’t inherently cruel, so he makes his point clear. “I like you, and if… only if you want…”

You wait patiently for the words he’s too flustered to say aloud. The soft music and the conversations around you are reduced to nothing, all your focus settling only on Xavier. 

“I’d like to be your boyfriend.”

You don’t know about the years of anguish he’s endured to find the courage to ask such a simple question. The stars he’s once looked up to for answers are now in your eyes, glossy and incandescent, as you find your voice once more.

And when you do, it carries your whole heart with it.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

The train ride becomes a memorable journey, leading you to your home.

a/n: ugh, I love Xavier. such a sweetie pie :3

thank you for reading! I appreciate any form of interaction, but a small comment would mean the absolute world to me. I haven't had much energy as of late, so I could really use the pick-me-up. I love you all so much!

taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren @typicalme23 @crimsonrubie

[atomics-creations]

Lights Out

LaDS. Sylus x Reader

You make yourself a meal in the middle of the night in Sylus's place, and even when under the kitchen's dim lights, his love for you is loud and clear.

1,128 words. domestic fluff, sweet, late-night conversations, established relationship, clingy sylus, f!reader, cross-posted on ao3

a/n: because domestic fluff won this poll, here's a fluffy sylus fic. i hope you enjoy :)

dividers by @diviniyae | ao3 link here

Nothing beats spending the night in a place you shouldn’t be in.

Known for its lavish exteriors and forbidden entrances, Onychinus’s base is nothing short of home. You’ve learned which doors you were allowed to enter and which ones are better off closed. You’ve mastered the art of finding meaning in every trinket that sits in this place, hoping they would allow you to catch a glimpse of Onychinus’s leader. And, of course, you’ve settled in his heart and have made yourself quite comfortable in its space.

So, when you sneak out of your shared bedroom and into the kitchen, you don’t think much of it. It’s almost like routine when you search for a plate through his cabinets, judging how organized his mugs are. A matching set of Spiderman mugs, which you could only guess are for Luke and Kieran, sit in front of all the fancy ones. Contrary to popular belief, it’s so characteristically Sylus to have his priorities lie in the heart that settles beneath his sleeve.

The night, however, is uncharacteristically quiet. Luke and Kieran are sound asleep instead of causing their usual ruckus, and the last time you saw Sylus, you had to slowly take his hand off of your waist to avoid waking him up. A damning part of you wishes you could ask him to cook with you, but he’s tired, and the last thing you want to do is to add to his persistent exhaustion.

Under the dim lights of the base’s kitchen, your only company as you make yourself some food is the thoughts stuck in your head. 

“I hope I don’t burn this place down by accident,” you joke as you turn on the stove to make some eggs. “That would sure be a price to pay.”

The eggs begin to take form on the pan, and you use the spatula as a makeshift microphone every five seconds for the song softly playing from your phone. Lyrics are sung in whispers and dance moves are done in silence, but the eggs sure appreciate the impromptu performance. They turn out perfectly, so you turn off the stove to place it into a plate.

But before you can turn around to enjoy your meal, you feel strong arms wrap around your waist and hear a familiar hum of amusement. 

“Performing without me, beloved?”

“Sylus!” you gasp, looking back as he places gentle kisses on your shoulder. Sleep coats him beautifully, his hair sticking up in all directions and the flush of his cheeks making him glow under the dim lights. “How long were you watching me?”

Sylus doesn’t answer for a while, burying his face in the crook of your neck like that place is the only home he would ever want to live in. Draconic instincts, you could say, but it might just be his exhaustion getting to him.

But eventually he does, and his answer makes you roll your eyes playfully. “Mmm… I don’t know. Time passes by mindlessly when I’m with you.”

“Hmph. I think you just want to avoid the question.”

He chuckles, deep and happy. The sun’s bright rays are incomparable to his amused smile. “Do I avoid your questions, sweetie? I thought you liked how much I entertained them.”

“Hmph,” you huff again before tasting your culinary masterpiece. With a soft hum of satisfaction, you take a small piece of your meal before placing it close to Sylus’s lips, the question of Do you want to try this? remaining unsaid yet loud in its sincerity.

And Sylus, of course, tastes it without hesitation.

“So, what woke you up?” you ask, knowing damn well he can’t answer your question while he’s chewing. “I thought I was doing a good job staying quiet.”

“I…” His hands caress your waist as he chews, the movement grounding the both of you. “I felt the sudden emptiness and wanted to see what happened to you.” Sensing your heart drop, he lets out a soft chuckle before adding, “And your beautiful singing voice lured me in like a siren.”

“Flattering.”

“And,” Sylus continues, “I heard you talking about burning my place down. I couldn’t let that happen, could I?”

“I said no such thing!”

“I trust your decisions, sweetie, but I have to admit I questioned that one.”

“Ugh,” you say with absolutely no frustration. How could you be, when the love of your life looks absolutely enamored by a terrifying, hypothetical decision you would never make?

The next few moments can only be described as peaceful. There is only the soothing music on your phone to interrupt what would otherwise be silence as you continue eating your meal. Sylus occasionally asks for a bite, and you could only deny him for a few seconds before giving in to his playful demands. The meal is devoured in mere minutes, but you find yourself still wanting more food.

Would it be too greedy to ask Sylus if he could cook?

“Sy…” Turning around, you find his cheeky smile softening as he braces for whatever question he would entertain next. “Could you… could you cook something for me, please?”

You pat his hair down to soothe the inevitable rejection. He’s tired, you’re tired, and the only task this night will allow next is going back to sleep in his cozy bed. 

But you should’ve known better than to assume he’d ever deny you any pleasure you want. Instead of the inevitable no, Sylus cups your cheeks and asks, “What do you want me to cook for you, beloved? I have plenty of options.”

Surprise befalls you as gently as snow. You look at his face to search for a hint of sarcasm, only to find utter adoration. “We don’t have to. I mean, you must be tired.”

“I’m never tired when it comes to you.” Sylus reiterates his point with a tender kiss on your forehead, which you’ve noticed in recent hangouts is his favorite place to kiss you. Perhaps the gesture is as significant as the way he arranges his mugs, but the meaning of it is lost to you regardless. 

You’ll open that door someday. You possess the key to his heart already anyway.

The rest of the night only belongs to the both of you. As Sylus prepares the meal of your choice, he’s hit by playful remarks about the peculiar way he arranges his mugs and the heart he wears on his sleeve. You’re swinging your legs on the countertop as his remarks feel nothing short of sincere, and when the meal has been made, he hands it to you while politely bowing like a devoted knight.

Under the dim lights, accompanied by the love of your life, you feel welcomed in this place you now call home. 

a/n: i'll have to admit, writing this fic has made cooking so much more fun recently. I got stuck a couple of times writing this, so while I made myself meals, I sang in the same way MC did and asked myself, "What would Sylus do in this situation?" lol

thank you for reading! any form of interaction is appreciated. take care :)

taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren @typicalme23 @crimsonrubie

[atomics-creations]

hey everyone! i have a ton of fic ideas in my head and have no idea which one to choose, so i'll let you guys decide what i write next :)

what LaDS fic would you like to see next?

domestic fluff

darker, more taboo topics (kidnapping, cheating... 👀)

angst

check results :3

Voting ended onJul 26

thank you so much! :)

[atomics-creations]

thank you to all 204 of you (that's so many people omg) who voted on this poll! i appreciate every single one of you so much.

a domestic fluff fic (or fics, depending on my energy 🤭) should be on your way soon! and to those who voted on the other ones, don't worry. i'll be writing those prompts eventually!

thank you again. i love you all 💞

[atomics-creations]

hey everyone! i have a ton of fic ideas in my head and have no idea which one to choose, so i'll let you guys decide what i write next :)

what LaDS fic would you like to see next?

domestic fluff

darker, more taboo topics (kidnapping, cheating... 👀)

angst

check results :3

Voting ended onJul 26

thank you so much! :)

[atomics-creations]

Lost Encounters

LaDS. Xavier x Reader

A casual midnight train ride with Xavier leads to a sweet confession.

956 words. fluff, late night conversations, yearning, friends-to-lovers, there's one suggestive line but the rest is cute, Frank Sinatra and 50 Cent are mentioned lol, f!reader, cross-posted on ao3

a/n: burnout has been kicking my ass lately lol, but I managed to write this anyway. I hope you like it :)

dividers by @diviniyae | ao3 link here

On this train ride with your lovely mission partner, the only thought on your mind is how to catch your heart as it decides to fall for him.

You’re laying your head on his shoulder as you hear his soft sighs, which are his attempts to stay awake. You wonder why he tries to do so even though you’re both coming home after a long shift, but leave it to Xavier to leave you with more questions than answers. 

At least his flair for secrecy appeals to your endless curiosity, even though it has also led your heart to predicaments unfamiliar to you.

“Xavier, if the world falls apart…” You begin to ramble sleepily knowing he’ll entertain it. “Would you fly to the moon, Frank Sinatra style?”

His chuckle reverberates, sending happy little butterflies to flutter all throughout your body. Soft, gentle, and oh so comforting. “I’d try to save it first. Get rich or die trying, 50 Cent style.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” But you laugh anyway because no emotion remains hidden when you’re around Xavier.

The train ride is quiet, with the few passengers around you living in their own worlds. You catch the titles of the books they’re reading and silently admire some of their tastes in fashion. Pairing a black scarf with a white shirt is an interesting choice, but then again, so is falling in love with your mission partner. 

You don’t entertain that thought any further.

Xavier’s hand sits near your hip, but it settles atop your purse instead. If you were any bolder, you would hold it and notice the little details you could only imagine about. Maybe it has scars and little cuts from the sword he swings around like it’s nothing. Or, maybe it’s smooth, reminiscent of how comfortable it feels to be around him.

“If the world were to end,” he brings up the topic you had accidentally let go of, “I hope you’re safe, and I would find you wherever you end up at.”

You lift your head up to meet his gaze, not realizing how close you two would be. Your noses are practically touching, and you can see his blue eyes darken once he realizes. Soft, still comforting, but with a hint of a storm brewing as well.

“That’s such a mission partner answer,” you scoff, laughing with no humor in your tone. “Tell me what Xavier would say.”

You know it’s risky to tease him like that. Trying to pry open his vault is as futile as uncovering your own mysterious past, but there’s no harm in trying, right? Especially when you have Xavier softly chuckling at your attempts while the storm in his eyes disappears slowly.

“Hmm, Xavier would stand by your side no matter what.”

“Another mission partner answer.” You pout to tease, and judging by his wide eyes, it works. “C’mon. I mean much more to you than that, don’t I?”

His expression is indiscernible. On one hand, his smile is still there, everpresent the way it is when you have sleepless nights and you need illicit scenes to assist you. On the other hand, his eyes have darkened once more, turning into a storm hiding every thought he refuses to say aloud.

Only when the train halts and announces the stop does Xavier find the courage to look away. And while you don’t admit it, your heart drops, making you look away as well.

“Such a cute couple!” A passenger comments, and you look up to see what you swear is you and Xavier if you were given a kind, gentle future. A lovely grandmother waves at you as she walks out to her stop, a laugh erupting from the person holding her hand. It sounds as youthful as Xavier’s, yet the shakiness of it carries experiences inevitable in a long life. They leave the train with happiness so unavoidable the other passengers begin whispering to themselves with grins on their faces.

“Is it too late to tell them we aren’t one?” you whisper to Xavier, expecting his usual soft chuckle. You even poke his cheek to prepare for a wide smile. 

Instead, however, his gaze darts from the train’s door to your eyes, and in the sudden closeness, he whispers, “I wouldn’t want to lie to an elderly couple.”

Lie?

A genuine chuckle escapes his lips at your surprised expression, and the implications sit in the nonexistent space between the both of you as the train continues its journey. The soft music and new conversations are what cushion your thoughts as you proceed to ask every one of them.

“What do you mean by that, Xavier?”

His smile radiates so much you’d think the sun was out on this night. “What do you think that means, starlight?”

You’re speechless. Your brain can barely go past the fact that he called you starlight — how playfully cruel of him to expect you to conjure up a coherent conclusion in this state. 

But Xavier isn’t inherently cruel, so he makes his point clear. “I like you, and if… only if you want…”

You wait patiently for the words he’s too flustered to say aloud. The soft music and the conversations around you are reduced to nothing, all your focus settling only on Xavier. 

“I’d like to be your boyfriend.”

You don’t know about the years of anguish he’s endured to find the courage to ask such a simple question. The stars he’s once looked up to for answers are now in your eyes, glossy and incandescent, as you find your voice once more.

And when you do, it carries your whole heart with it.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

The train ride becomes a memorable journey, leading you to your home.

a/n: ugh, I love Xavier. such a sweetie pie :3

thank you for reading! I appreciate any form of interaction, but a small comment would mean the absolute world to me. I haven't had much energy as of late, so I could really use the pick-me-up. I love you all so much!

taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren @typicalme23 @crimsonrubie

[atomics-creations]

omg i feel like i've been ghosting you guys on here 😭

but anyway, hello again! i hope you're all doing good. if i'm being honest, i haven't felt my best in a while. not only has writer's block hit me like a brick, but i've also been in a reader's slump, so my creative juices are not flowing very well 😔 so many cute little fic ideas have made a home in my head because i don't trust myself to take them on lol

i do have a short xavier fic i'll post soon, but i'm not really sure if i like it or not. i'll let you guys decide :)

anyway, this is just a little update on what's going on with me. again, i hope y'all are doing well!

[atomics-creations]

Raining In Linkon

LaDS. Valko x Reader

On this particularly rainy day, you're haunted by both regret and the memories you last shared with Valko. Your guilt washes away with the rain when he answers your call.

1,368 words. light angst, fluff, late night conversations, valko's really sweet in this, self-indulgent, f!reader, cross-posted on ao3

a/n: This is for my people who feel guilty when setting boundaries with others. The right people will not hate you for it, I promise. And of course, this is for my people who miss Valko. I cried while writing this one because I long for him so much lol.

dividers by @diviniyae | ao3 link here

It is only necessary to want a friend when loneliness haunts every aspect of your life.

Life has been quite the nightmare if you were to say so yourself. Your eyes struggle to stay open after long days at work, and when you come home, an imminent disappointment blooms at the sight of undone chores. Granted, only you could complete them since you’re the only one living in this tiny apartment, but that doesn’t make you any less frustrated. It only makes your silent wishes louder.

The rain outside is sudden, coming in as quickly as a snap of a finger. You’re in the middle of heating some leftovers when you hear it pouring, and the soothing sound continues even as you take a seat at your dinner table. It’s almost a friend, you think as you catch up on your social media feeds while taking a spoonful of your food. 

If your thoughts weren’t already absurd, they grow wilder with each passing second. All your efforts to keep your mind quiet through various YouTube videos go down the drain when he encompasses your every thought, every heartbeat, and every move.

Valko. 

“Not him,” you blurt out. “Of all people...”

You had to miss the man you would never see again.

As you continue eating your dinner, the memory of your last interaction comes to mind. He held your hand like a tender promise shared between people whose love cannot be defined through words, taking you deeper into the woods because he wanted to show you something. With the morning sun barely seeping through the night, you didn’t know if you could trust this handsome stranger.

“You won’t kill me, right?” you asked, your hands shaking in his.

Valko only chuckled, sounding just as innocent as a happy child who just learned the concept of mischief. “The world would kill you before I do.”

An odd answer, you knew even back then, but you continued on for a while longer to appease your own curiosity.

In the end, you asked Valko to take you back to Linkon because your doubts grew. He was a stranger after all, one you met through board meetings with the higher-ups at the Hunter’s Association, and you know from past altercations that strangers seldom brought upon good. They pile more work atop of you, conceal secrets until they can no longer be hidden, or they could bring upon you the most interesting of adventures. 

But regardless of the reasons you told yourself, there’s a sense of longing that lingers even when you haven’t spoken a word to him in weeks. None of the meetings you attended after that concerned him, yet there was always that one empty seat you imagined him sitting in. It’s also insultingly always next to yours, for good measure.

You sigh as you take another spoonful of your dinner. The sound from the YouTube video is drowned out by the rain and your thoughts, but you don’t bother to increase the volume. It’s not like you would listen to it anyway.

What would’ve happened if you followed him into the forest? What would’ve happened if you appreciated his presence when he was still in your life?

Unanswered questions are pointless in the grand scheme of things, but leave it to a good night of rain to allow them to form and linger until you can’t bear with the longing anymore.

Your food loses its flavor, so you stand up and tell yourself you’re going to pick up the mess tomorrow morning. You tell yourself, as you go through your nighttime routine with blurry vision and a dangerous amount of sorrow, that you’ll pick yourself back up tomorrow. Solitude will be comforting someday — you just have to live through the days where it isn’t until you can get to that point.

And yet, when you settle in your comfy blankets to prepare for the night, your mind is still riddled with thoughts of Valko. 

He would fit perfectly in the space next to you. Meetings didn’t allow you to know much about him outside of the way he articulates complex topics into easily digestible content, but you can almost imagine how that voice would sound if it were to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. If his lips touched your forehead with words that would calm even your worst thoughts…

“I will never see him again,” you tell yourself, but no amount of tossing and turning will make you comfortable with that fact. No amount of tomorrows will make you get used to his absence, and you can only suffocate in it.

Unless…

Without much thought, you take your phone from the nightstand and look through your contacts and e-mails. Valko never gave you his phone number, but his work number is always at the end of his e-mails.

It’s like hitting jackpot when you find it buried beneath promotions and reminders of work reports. Would he answer his work phone late at night? Does he want to talk to you?

With the pouring rain as your witness, you click on the number. There’s only one way to find out.

The rings feel like torture, your heart’s fast-paced melody not helping you with this cause. Valko’s number looks blurry the longer you stare at it, all because you miss him. You miss him so much and you regret not taking that chance, and maybe — maybe — he hates you now because of it-

“Hello?”

You freeze at the sound of that voice. His voice. 

“Um. I-is this Valko?” Your voice is shaky as you ask, disbelief etching through your tone. The absurdity of your question doesn’t even shake you in the slightest, for the thought of Valko was on the other side of the phone consumes you more than anything.

“Oh!” Realization hits, and you brace for impact. 

But it never comes.

Instead, you hear his laugh — the loud, unabashed sound of happiness — and it freezes you even more. 

“It’s you! I was planning to visit the Hunter’s Association tomorrow, actually. I wanted to see you.”

“You…” your voice shakes with ten thousand different thoughts hitting you at once, the loudest asking you if this was real. “You wanted to see me?”

“You’re acting like that’s hard to believe.”

Your blankets can’t shield you from the emotions threatening to come out of your chest. “It is. I mean, I thought you hated me.”

“Hated you?” he asks, and you can almost hear the ten thousand thoughts stirring in his head too. “What would make you think that?”

“Because I didn’t… I didn’t want to go to the forest with you.”

A beat of silence passes with only a single tear to show for it, and the rain grows louder. Angrier, even, as it’s joined by lighting and thunder. But oddly enough, it’s not as deafening as this silence.

Finally, Valko breaks it with another laugh. “You think I’d be mad at you over that? You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

And you find it in you to laugh as well. It’s the happiest sound this house has heard from you in weeks.

“Besides, there’s a million other things I’d like to do with you. That wasn’t going to be the last time I asked you out.”

You couldn’t find it in you to catch your heart as it soared through the roof and into the rainy night. Perhaps it would even find its way to wherever Valko is.

Speaking of which, the sounds of computers hum in the background on Valko’s end of the call, letting you know that he’s still at work. You clutch your soft blankets as you almost fall asleep to the ambience.

“They have me trapped in this building to fix codes and bugs,” he hisses. “If only the engineers kept me around and listened to my corrections, right?”

“Right…” Your eyes are barely open. 

As if sensing this, Valko laughs again before asking if he’s interrupting. “No” spills out of your lips, carrying the weight of your efforts to continue this conversation while sleep overtakes you, but he relents.

“I’ll come back to you, okay? Sleep well.”

And you do, because you believe him. 

a/n: Oh, the title is from the song "Raining in Manila."

Thank you for reading! Any form of interaction is appreciated. Take care :)

taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren @typicalme23 @crimsonrubie

[atomics-creations]

Raining In Linkon

LaDS. Valko x Reader

On this particularly rainy day, you're haunted by both regret and the memories you last shared with Valko. Your guilt washes away with the rain when he answers your call.

1,368 words. light angst, fluff, late night conversations, valko's really sweet in this, self-indulgent, f!reader, cross-posted on ao3

a/n: This is for my people who feel guilty when setting boundaries with others. The right people will not hate you for it, I promise. And of course, this is for my people who miss Valko. I cried while writing this one because I long for him so much lol.

dividers by @diviniyae | ao3 link here

It is only necessary to want a friend when loneliness haunts every aspect of your life.

Life has been quite the nightmare if you were to say so yourself. Your eyes struggle to stay open after long days at work, and when you come home, an imminent disappointment blooms at the sight of undone chores. Granted, only you could complete them since you’re the only one living in this tiny apartment, but that doesn’t make you any less frustrated. It only makes your silent wishes louder.

The rain outside is sudden, coming in as quickly as a snap of a finger. You’re in the middle of heating some leftovers when you hear it pouring, and the soothing sound continues even as you take a seat at your dinner table. It’s almost a friend, you think as you catch up on your social media feeds while taking a spoonful of your food. 

If your thoughts weren’t already absurd, they grow wilder with each passing second. All your efforts to keep your mind quiet through various YouTube videos go down the drain when he encompasses your every thought, every heartbeat, and every move.

Valko. 

“Not him,” you blurt out. “Of all people...”

You had to miss the man you would never see again.

As you continue eating your dinner, the memory of your last interaction comes to mind. He held your hand like a tender promise shared between people whose love cannot be defined through words, taking you deeper into the woods because he wanted to show you something. With the morning sun barely seeping through the night, you didn’t know if you could trust this handsome stranger.

“You won’t kill me, right?” you asked, your hands shaking in his.

Valko only chuckled, sounding just as innocent as a happy child who just learned the concept of mischief. “The world would kill you before I do.”

An odd answer, you knew even back then, but you continued on for a while longer to appease your own curiosity.

In the end, you asked Valko to take you back to Linkon because your doubts grew. He was a stranger after all, one you met through board meetings with the higher-ups at the Hunter’s Association, and you know from past altercations that strangers seldom brought upon good. They pile more work atop of you, conceal secrets until they can no longer be hidden, or they could bring upon you the most interesting of adventures. 

But regardless of the reasons you told yourself, there’s a sense of longing that lingers even when you haven’t spoken a word to him in weeks. None of the meetings you attended after that concerned him, yet there was always that one empty seat you imagined him sitting in. It’s also insultingly always next to yours, for good measure.

You sigh as you take another spoonful of your dinner. The sound from the YouTube video is drowned out by the rain and your thoughts, but you don’t bother to increase the volume. It’s not like you would listen to it anyway.

What would’ve happened if you followed him into the forest? What would’ve happened if you appreciated his presence when he was still in your life?

Unanswered questions are pointless in the grand scheme of things, but leave it to a good night of rain to allow them to form and linger until you can’t bear with the longing anymore.

Your food loses its flavor, so you stand up and tell yourself you’re going to pick up the mess tomorrow morning. You tell yourself, as you go through your nighttime routine with blurry vision and a dangerous amount of sorrow, that you’ll pick yourself back up tomorrow. Solitude will be comforting someday — you just have to live through the days where it isn’t until you can get to that point.

And yet, when you settle in your comfy blankets to prepare for the night, your mind is still riddled with thoughts of Valko. 

He would fit perfectly in the space next to you. Meetings didn’t allow you to know much about him outside of the way he articulates complex topics into easily digestible content, but you can almost imagine how that voice would sound if it were to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. If his lips touched your forehead with words that would calm even your worst thoughts…

“I will never see him again,” you tell yourself, but no amount of tossing and turning will make you comfortable with that fact. No amount of tomorrows will make you get used to his absence, and you can only suffocate in it.

Unless…

Without much thought, you take your phone from the nightstand and look through your contacts and e-mails. Valko never gave you his phone number, but his work number is always at the end of his e-mails.

It’s like hitting jackpot when you find it buried beneath promotions and reminders of work reports. Would he answer his work phone late at night? Does he want to talk to you?

With the pouring rain as your witness, you click on the number. There’s only one way to find out.

The rings feel like torture, your heart’s fast-paced melody not helping you with this cause. Valko’s number looks blurry the longer you stare at it, all because you miss him. You miss him so much and you regret not taking that chance, and maybe — maybe — he hates you now because of it-

“Hello?”

You freeze at the sound of that voice. His voice. 

“Um. I-is this Valko?” Your voice is shaky as you ask, disbelief etching through your tone. The absurdity of your question doesn’t even shake you in the slightest, for the thought of Valko was on the other side of the phone consumes you more than anything.

“Oh!” Realization hits, and you brace for impact. 

But it never comes.

Instead, you hear his laugh — the loud, unabashed sound of happiness — and it freezes you even more. 

“It’s you! I was planning to visit the Hunter’s Association tomorrow, actually. I wanted to see you.”

“You…” your voice shakes with ten thousand different thoughts hitting you at once, the loudest asking you if this was real. “You wanted to see me?”

“You’re acting like that’s hard to believe.”

Your blankets can’t shield you from the emotions threatening to come out of your chest. “It is. I mean, I thought you hated me.”

“Hated you?” he asks, and you can almost hear the ten thousand thoughts stirring in his head too. “What would make you think that?”

“Because I didn’t… I didn’t want to go to the forest with you.”

A beat of silence passes with only a single tear to show for it, and the rain grows louder. Angrier, even, as it’s joined by lighting and thunder. But oddly enough, it’s not as deafening as this silence.

Finally, Valko breaks it with another laugh. “You think I’d be mad at you over that? You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

And you find it in you to laugh as well. It’s the happiest sound this house has heard from you in weeks.

“Besides, there’s a million other things I’d like to do with you. That wasn’t going to be the last time I asked you out.”

You couldn’t find it in you to catch your heart as it soared through the roof and into the rainy night. Perhaps it would even find its way to wherever Valko is.

Speaking of which, the sounds of computers hum in the background on Valko’s end of the call, letting you know that he’s still at work. You clutch your soft blankets as you almost fall asleep to the ambience.

“They have me trapped in this building to fix codes and bugs,” he hisses. “If only the engineers kept me around and listened to my corrections, right?”

“Right…” Your eyes are barely open. 

As if sensing this, Valko laughs again before asking if he’s interrupting. “No” spills out of your lips, carrying the weight of your efforts to continue this conversation while sleep overtakes you, but he relents.

“I’ll come back to you, okay? Sleep well.”

And you do, because you believe him. 

a/n: Oh, the title is from the song "Raining in Manila."

Thank you for reading! Any form of interaction is appreciated. Take care :)

taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren @typicalme23 @crimsonrubie

[atomics-creations]

i think if you steal take this sweater and wear it in front of valko, it would make him flustered

[atomics-creations]

hi everyone! how are we doing? :3

i'm hopping on here just to say i'm still alive lol 🥰 this is probably the longest i've gone without posting a fic, with my monthly breaks as the exception ofc. there's so much going on in my life, and sadly it's taken away a lot of my energy to do... anything, really. my frustrations with Infold have also made this burnout worse because i can't think about any of the LaDS men without getting angry about not having Valko back :(

it's been a mess all around 😅

luckily, i do still have a ton of story ideas circulating in my head despite all of this. i really want to write a Zayne fic where you're trying on dresses for some celebration, and with every insult you throw towards yourself, he's over there responding with lots of love. idk, i may have an obsession with seeing the LaDS men in suits lmfao

anyway, what i'm trying to say is that i haven't had a ton of energy to write lately, but i hope i can find it again soon. love you all 💞

[atomics-creations]

Professor Valko... that's it that's the post

[atomics-creations]

Memory Recovery

LaDS. Rafayel x Reader

You only know of one person who can heal wounds they have never made, so when your favorite book falls apart, Rafayel is the first to know.

1,174 words. fluff, domestic bliss, unconditional love, hurt/comfort, insecurity, inspired by the memoria "Ivory Nightfall," f!reader, cross-posted on ao3

a/n: Doting Rafayel is very much needed in these trying times lol. I hope you enjoy!

dividers by @saradika-graphics | ao3 link here

Rafayel has all the solutions in the world.

That’s what you think as you stare at your favorite book’s state. A hardback that’s been loved for years suddenly collapsed in the middle of a re-read, the spine and the front cover falling straight onto your lap while your hands are left to grasp the rest of the pages that threaten to fall apart too. Not the best thing to happen when you’re already about to pull your hairs off of your head, but you figure that a certain artist could help you fix this book.

He’s fixed many things of yours that he hasn’t broken. Surely he can fix this book and make it look like it’s brand new, right?

With the burning sun as your witness, you take a deep breath before knocking on Rafayel’s front door. He isn’t expecting you until next week for an exhibition, and frankly, you have no idea what he’s up to today. He could open the door and the first thing you would see behind him is a ton of paint cans and unfinished canvases, or maybe he’d have other visitors who sit where you usually sit.

Or, maybe he wouldn’t open the door at all.

On your third knock, the door does open, and the first thing you see is a distraught Rafayel. He wears an apron with little goldfish as its design, and he catches his breath as though he ran a marathon to get to the front door.

“Cutie! Perfect timing. I just finished cooking some lunch. What brings you here?”

You clutch your tote bag a little tighter when you see Rafayel’s soft smile. It pains you to know that it will soon turn into a frown when he understands that you’re visiting for a mere book. A book that means everything to you but nothing to him.

“Um…” The doormat that says Tread lightly is the most interesting thing you can focus on while you try to catch your words and your heart. 

“I mean,” he shrugs, “You don’t have to have an excuse. You can visit me whenever you feel like it.”

Your heart swells, but you clear your throat before it soars too high. “I… I was actually hoping you could fix something for me. I hope it’s not too much to ask-”

“Nothing you ask for is too much.”

Rafayel tilts your chin up so you could meet his gaze. The happiness in his eyes rivals the sorrow in yours, yet you’re greedy enough to bask in it until you can believe that his happiness is because of you.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside to welcome you into his humble abode. “There’s sandwiches on the table, some water if you need it, and even fruits! I know you once told me I need to diversify my foods, which is ridiculous considering I only eat seafood...”

With every new word that comes out of his lips, your smile grows a little wider. The silence of your ruthless mind is filled with his everlasting presence, letting you rest from your inner battles for at least a little while.

You take a seat on his sofa, where a painting stares back at you with its blues. The familiarity of it doesn’t escape you, but you know you have more urgent matters to take on, so your focus darts back to your tote bag.

“I have this… this book.” You take it out to show it to him. The spine and front cover sits atop of the pages, and some of them would’ve fallen to the ground had Rafayel not caught them in time. “And I was wondering if you could help restore it back to how it once was.”

When the book is in his hands, he inspects it thoroughly. Broken pages look salvageable and even beautiful when he looks through them, counting page numbers with hope in his eyes. The parts of your favorite book that are severed and imperfect to you are held carefully and studied with no disdain.

An artist truly has a way of finding beauty in everything.

“I can try,” he finally says, “But I can’t promise it’ll look as good as it used to.”

Surprise is in his eyes when you’re tearing up at the news. He inches a little closer to you, reaching to hold your shaking hands and carrying every word you leave unsaid. And you let him — oh, you’d let him hear every last word of your burdens if it meant you could have a break from it all.

“I’ve never fixed a book in my life, let alone a book this old. I’ve befriended the librarian in the university I used to work for though, and I’ve watched her glue textbooks together until they were usable again.”

“But I don’t want my book to just be usable. I want it to look perfect again.”

His smile is one of amusement, but his kisses on your knuckles are from a force unfamiliar to you. “Do you not like the details that make this book stand out?”

Your gaze lands on the book, finding it hard to imagine liking the “stand out” details of it. The pages that are falling out, the scribbles you wrote in it that now peek out from the sides, the spine that barely holds onto the front cover…

“This book was loved and cherished over time, and I can tell from your notes, your folded pages, and even the broken covers that you gave it a good life. New and perfect books don’t have that luxury. And…” Rafayel carefully turns the pages to a little flower doodle you once drew absentmindedly, “What is there to change when you are all over this?”

Your breath hitches when his eyes meet yours again, seeing you in a way nobody else has. “Doesn’t that give you more of a reason to change it?” you ask.

Rafayel’s eyes turn stormy at the proposition, and with all the conviction in his body, he utters out a simple, “No.”

And you would have left it at that if it wasn’t Rafayel you were talking to. 

“There is nothing I would want to alter about you, nothing I don’t see as beautiful.”

Your retort dies down in your throat when he places soft kisses in your palm, each and every one too gentle for what you believe you deserve. With every insult you have towards yourself, his lips know just how to quiet them down.

“The book, Rafayel,” you remind him. “I need you to fix it.”

He whines, rolling his eyes abruptly as he pulls back. “Fine, fine. Don’t blame me if this book that’s centuries old ends up looking very different from how it used to, ‘kay? I’m an artist, not a god, you know.”

But you don’t believe him one bit, not when the divine seeps through every second you spend with him.

Rafayel has all the solutions in the world, as well as all the love you didn’t know you needed.

a/n: "Ivory Nightfall" remains as one of my favorite tender moments cards because of its message about art. Art is preserved because it holds memories, and in turn, those memories are forever cherished. Despite this being a Rafayel fic, I find it very fitting for this movement to bring Valko back because his existence is a culmination of creative ideas, and we fight to be able to appreciate them.

Art is beautiful, and so are you.

Thank you for reading! Any form of interaction is appreciated. Take care :)

taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren @typicalme23 @crimsonrubie

[atomics-creations]

i think this is my sign to take a break lol

[atomics-creations]

Memory Recovery

LaDS. Rafayel x Reader

You only know of one person who can heal wounds they have never made, so when your favorite book falls apart, Rafayel is the first to know.

1,174 words. fluff, domestic bliss, unconditional love, hurt/comfort, insecurity, inspired by the memoria "Ivory Nightfall," f!reader, cross-posted on ao3

a/n: Doting Rafayel is very much needed in these trying times lol. I hope you enjoy!

dividers by @saradika-graphics | ao3 link here

Rafayel has all the solutions in the world.

That’s what you think as you stare at your favorite book’s state. A hardback that’s been loved for years suddenly collapsed in the middle of a re-read, the spine and the front cover falling straight onto your lap while your hands are left to grasp the rest of the pages that threaten to fall apart too. Not the best thing to happen when you’re already about to pull your hairs off of your head, but you figure that a certain artist could help you fix this book.

He’s fixed many things of yours that he hasn’t broken. Surely he can fix this book and make it look like it’s brand new, right?

With the burning sun as your witness, you take a deep breath before knocking on Rafayel’s front door. He isn’t expecting you until next week for an exhibition, and frankly, you have no idea what he’s up to today. He could open the door and the first thing you would see behind him is a ton of paint cans and unfinished canvases, or maybe he’d have other visitors who sit where you usually sit.

Or, maybe he wouldn’t open the door at all.

On your third knock, the door does open, and the first thing you see is a distraught Rafayel. He wears an apron with little goldfish as its design, and he catches his breath as though he ran a marathon to get to the front door.

“Cutie! Perfect timing. I just finished cooking some lunch. What brings you here?”

You clutch your tote bag a little tighter when you see Rafayel’s soft smile. It pains you to know that it will soon turn into a frown when he understands that you’re visiting for a mere book. A book that means everything to you but nothing to him.

“Um…” The doormat that says Tread lightly is the most interesting thing you can focus on while you try to catch your words and your heart. 

“I mean,” he shrugs, “You don’t have to have an excuse. You can visit me whenever you feel like it.”

Your heart swells, but you clear your throat before it soars too high. “I… I was actually hoping you could fix something for me. I hope it’s not too much to ask-”

“Nothing you ask for is too much.”

Rafayel tilts your chin up so you could meet his gaze. The happiness in his eyes rivals the sorrow in yours, yet you’re greedy enough to bask in it until you can believe that his happiness is because of you.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside to welcome you into his humble abode. “There’s sandwiches on the table, some water if you need it, and even fruits! I know you once told me I need to diversify my foods, which is ridiculous considering I only eat seafood...”

With every new word that comes out of his lips, your smile grows a little wider. The silence of your ruthless mind is filled with his everlasting presence, letting you rest from your inner battles for at least a little while.

You take a seat on his sofa, where a painting stares back at you with its blues. The familiarity of it doesn’t escape you, but you know you have more urgent matters to take on, so your focus darts back to your tote bag.

“I have this… this book.” You take it out to show it to him. The spine and front cover sits atop of the pages, and some of them would’ve fallen to the ground had Rafayel not caught them in time. “And I was wondering if you could help restore it back to how it once was.”

When the book is in his hands, he inspects it thoroughly. Broken pages look salvageable and even beautiful when he looks through them, counting page numbers with hope in his eyes. The parts of your favorite book that are severed and imperfect to you are held carefully and studied with no disdain.

An artist truly has a way of finding beauty in everything.

“I can try,” he finally says, “But I can’t promise it’ll look as good as it used to.”

Surprise is in his eyes when you’re tearing up at the news. He inches a little closer to you, reaching to hold your shaking hands and carrying every word you leave unsaid. And you let him — oh, you’d let him hear every last word of your burdens if it meant you could have a break from it all.

“I’ve never fixed a book in my life, let alone a book this old. I’ve befriended the librarian in the university I used to work for though, and I’ve watched her glue textbooks together until they were usable again.”

“But I don’t want my book to just be usable. I want it to look perfect again.”

His smile is one of amusement, but his kisses on your knuckles are from a force unfamiliar to you. “Do you not like the details that make this book stand out?”

Your gaze lands on the book, finding it hard to imagine liking the “stand out” details of it. The pages that are falling out, the scribbles you wrote in it that now peek out from the sides, the spine that barely holds onto the front cover…

“This book was loved and cherished over time, and I can tell from your notes, your folded pages, and even the broken covers that you gave it a good life. New and perfect books don’t have that luxury. And…” Rafayel carefully turns the pages to a little flower doodle you once drew absentmindedly, “What is there to change when you are all over this?”

Your breath hitches when his eyes meet yours again, seeing you in a way nobody else has. “Doesn’t that give you more of a reason to change it?” you ask.

Rafayel’s eyes turn stormy at the proposition, and with all the conviction in his body, he utters out a simple, “No.”

And you would have left it at that if it wasn’t Rafayel you were talking to. 

“There is nothing I would want to alter about you, nothing I don’t see as beautiful.”

Your retort dies down in your throat when he places soft kisses in your palm, each and every one too gentle for what you believe you deserve. With every insult you have towards yourself, his lips know just how to quiet them down.

“The book, Rafayel,” you remind him. “I need you to fix it.”

He whines, rolling his eyes abruptly as he pulls back. “Fine, fine. Don’t blame me if this book that’s centuries old ends up looking very different from how it used to, ‘kay? I’m an artist, not a god, you know.”

But you don’t believe him one bit, not when the divine seeps through every second you spend with him.

Rafayel has all the solutions in the world, as well as all the love you didn’t know you needed.

a/n: "Ivory Nightfall" remains as one of my favorite tender moments cards because of its message about art. Art is preserved because it holds memories, and in turn, those memories are forever cherished. Despite this being a Rafayel fic, I find it very fitting for this movement to bring Valko back because his existence is a culmination of creative ideas, and we fight to be able to appreciate them.

Art is beautiful, and so are you.

Thank you for reading! Any form of interaction is appreciated. Take care :)

taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren @typicalme23 @crimsonrubie

[atomics-creations]

writer's block persists again

[atomics-creations]

I'm here with my second request. May I request: Zayne finds out MC has been using her heart condition to pressure Reader to break up with him.

Untamed Pasts (Ch. 1)

LaDS. Zayne x NonMC!Reader

Untamed pasts haunt potential futures, which is why you decide to end yours with Zayne when he grows distant. But unexpected friendships grow, and so can hope.

2,451 words. angst, hospital visits, heartbreak, heart attacks, female friendships, MC is in the hospital b/c of Protocore Syndrome, f!reader, cross-posted on ao3

a/n: Thank you for this request, dear reader! I'm really sorry it took a while for me to get back to you. I also changed it to where Reader is given reasons to break up with him rather than MC pressuring her. I hope that was okay :)

dividers by @uzmacchiato | ao3 link here

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four (soon!)

When you arrived at Akso Hospital, you expected hatred to well up in your chest. 

You were going to meet the woman who takes up all of Zayne’s time. The woman who keeps him at work on days where you were supposed to be with him. The woman who consumes Zayne’s heart despite him saying he’s all yours. The woman he loves. The woman you will never be.

You take a sharp breath before entering the hospital room where she is supposedly laying. You step inside, absorbing the beeping machines and various bouquets, before closing your eyes. Anguish doesn’t have a place here. There is enough of it in your life.

But the sight of MC fast asleep, covered in white blankets like she’s decorated for her burial, pierces your chest. Hatred dissipates into a thing of the past, and realization replaces it. 

She’s dying.

Your fists shake with how hard you’re clenching them, as though they are weapons you can use to fight your way through this grief. But you’re only hurting yourself. You’re only seeing your inadequacy in comparison to the demons that plague you.

She’s dying, and there is nothing you can do to save her.

Tears stream down your face now. You still have time to leave. You didn’t even have to visit her as soon as you got a call detailing the severity of her condition. You still have time to run, to make sure this beloved woman doesn’t see the mess you have become.

But your feet are stuck to the ground, and she eventually wakes up from her slumber.

“Mmm…” she murmurs, absorbing the world around her, seemingly surprised that she’s still alive. Her hair decorates her face like curtains hiding the sight of her exhaustion, and the sliver of what you can see in-between strands is evidence of death looming over her. 

When you find your footing on this mountain of realization, you gently move strands of hair and tuck them in behind her ears, careful not to alter the tubes providing slivers of life into her body. Her eyes widen before she blinks. Once, twice.

“Oh, hi!”

Even though it’s soft, the afternoon sunlight spilling into the hospital room pales in comparison to her voice.

“Hello, MC.”

Your voice is colder in comparison. Like shards of ice sitting atop rooftops on snowy days, only melting when sunlight caresses them.

Despite that, a small smile appears on her face. You can see the battles she fights just to keep her eyes open, the efforts she places in keeping herself present in this conversation. You can see the happiness spilling out of her eyes at the sight of you.

If any drops of hatred still remained in your heart, then they all evaporated from the warmth of her compassion.

“You look familiar. H-have we met before?”

You can only nod because you have met her. It was during a dinner party celebrating the collaborations between Akso Hospital and the Hunter’s Association, and Zayne had introduced you to each other. You can still recall the smile on her face and her laughter that lit up the room. You can still recall how you were sitting on the table all night, sipping wine and conversing with almost nobody. You can still recall the jealousy that sprouted within you that night.

“Yes,” you manage to say. “We met at a dinner party.”

“Oh! You were the woman in the gold dress.” Her laugh is still so infectious, making a smile peek out of you despite the circumstances. “I was awestruck by you. I could hardly focus on anyone else that night.”

“Stop that,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “If any one of us was the light of that night, it would be you, MC.”

She shakes her head, her laugh still spilling out of her lips. You notice that her eyes have closed. “I highly doubt it. Was that the only time w-we met?”

In the literal sense, yes. That was the only time you’ve seen her, but it was enough for her to linger in your mind in every moment you shared with Zayne. When he comes home late from work. When he ends your calls abruptly with her as his excuse. When all of your dinner conversations are about treatments for Protocore Syndrome. When your relationship surrounded her needs and abandoned yours.

You swallow to push down the lump in your throat. “Yes. That was the only time we met.”

“Oh, I wish we could’ve talked more. I feel like we would’ve been great friends.” 

You stare at her saline bag as the liquid flows into her veins so you don’t have to see her expression when she hisses in pain. How does life consume a person so fully and manage to leave just as quickly?

And as you fix the blankets around her — still staring anywhere else but her face — you wonder how jealousy consumed you so fully yet managed to leave so quickly.

“Do I need to call a nurse-”

“No!” she exclaims, her breaths evening out into slow, painless waves. “I-I’m okay.”

You can finally look at her properly, but the sight of her small smile makes you wish you didn’t. You understand why Zayne would rather spend his time with her. While she can find the joys in everything, yours have died long before you met him, and who wouldn’t choose to bask in the light when given the chance?

Words perish in your throat. Everything and everybody seems to want to die today.

“How about you?” she interrupts. “Are you okay? You seem spaced out.”

You can only muster a small nod, because the words that refuse to spill out weigh too much for anyone to handle. 

“I don’t think you are. A penny for your thoughts?”

“I don’t have my coin purse at the moment,” you lie. The metaphorical bag sits in your heart, waiting to spill out, but MC is the last person you would want to open up to.

She simply hums and doesn’t push further, closing her eyes once more. If you allowed yourself to care more than you already do, you would comment on the sharpness of her breaths or soothe the lines of her forehead.

But weapons are more useful, so the elephant in the room is addressed.

“How has Zayne been treating you?” you ask.

She answers like she doesn’t notice the harshness in your tone. “Like a child. Always in my ass about things.”

I bet he is, you almost say, but you bite your tongue until you taste copper.

“He scolded me when my friend Tara bought me a plushie from the gift shop, saying my happiness would make my heart explode.”

“He did that?”

Zayne wouldn’t even notice if you brought home a plushie.

She nods, your heart almost as damaged as hers. “He’s also so stern and serious. You’d think he was the one dying with how cold he sounds. I don’t know how you deal with that.”

You don’t, not when he’s never home.

“And he’s very… smitten.”

That gets your attention. Your gaze shifts from her saline bag — half-empty, you note — to her face, her smile unsettling.

“Smitten by you, I assume?” you murmur. You clench your fists like a child about to cry, waiting for someone who can comfort you. 

The last thing you see before the loud flatline of the EKG is MC tilting her head, her brows furrowed.

Everything after that is a blur. Your voice echoes as you call for a nurse, a doctor, anybody to save her. The machine rings in your ears, quickly followed by voices, then by bodies, then…

“We’ll do our best, ma’am,” somebody assures, but it’s buried beneath harsh orders and beeping machines and everything that has weighed over you. You can only nod silently. You don’t know how you even managed that.

When you walk out of the room, the last thing you see is a familiar white coat bolting inside, and you almost wish you were the one dying.

“Water.”

Your hands are clammy under the bright hospital lights when you take the paper cup offered in front of your face. That familiar voice is here again, and if you were less disoriented, perhaps you would’ve addressed him nicely instead of saying nothing. 

You don’t drink the water. You don’t lift your head. You don’t do anything in hopes that Zayne would leave you alone.

But he doesn’t. He lingers like he doesn’t have ten thousand other things to do. Like he actually cares about you.

On another night, him staying this long would feel like a dream come true.

“Drink it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you retort, and you swear you hear him step back. Your voice is unrecognizable even to you, your anger familiar yet foreign in its current intensity. The water sloshes, close to being your next victim.

Zayne doesn’t say anything for a while, and neither do you. You finally take a sip of the water because your throat feels too constricted, and you need to speak if you’re going to tell him off.

The voices of passing nurses and wheeled IV poles are all the noises that sit between your silence. It reminds you that life is happening beyond your grudges, burdens, and anger.

It also reminds you that life can be taken away too, turning your grudges, burdens, and anger into regrets.

“Is she okay?” you ask, your voice just as soft as hers.

“Yes. The resuscitation was successful.”

You sigh of relief before taking another sip of water. Her heart is still beating. The woman you despise most is okay.

Good.

Your eyes are glued to his shoes. You’ve polished them thousands of times even though 24-hour shifts leave them dirty regardless. Such a Sisyphean curse to always care for someone who doesn’t feel the same.

But if he doesn’t care, why is he holding your hand?

Zayne’s touch lingers, only leaving when someone calls him, and even then you feel the remnants of it as he walks away with a soft “goodbye.”

You remind yourself that he doesn’t care. That he hasn’t put you first in forever. That he’s willing to leave you in your despair because there’s something and someone else more important to handle.

But as the water cools your burning tongue and your eyes dart from the ground to Zayne’s retreating back, you can’t get yourself to.

That night, you decide to leave.

Half-empty bags decorate your bedroom floor as you hastily shove anything and everything you might need for a future you don’t even want to live through. Shirts overflow from your backpack, dresses coat your luggage in pesky glitter, and the zipper works overtime as your items struggle to stay inside.

“Come on!” you scream when your zipper gives up, and you toss the damn thing across the room without considering where it may land.

And when it shatters one of Zayne’s ice sculptures, you find yourself too angry to care.

You’re leaving today. He won’t be able to break your heart anymore.

But as you throw your clothes onto a different luggage — one of his luggages, specifically — life seems to insult you even more. You find shirts that he never bothered to take out, his travel bag of toiletries that you packed for him, and a million other signs of your presence in his life.

They all get tossed on the bed that both of you are supposed to share as though they hold no value to you.

Your clothes fit the luggage this time, with even some room to add your thoughts and grievances you’ve carried in this entire relationship. How nice of the universe to grant you something so useless.

In the midst of tossing your toiletries in the spaces, your phone buzzes in your pocket. With frustration and no regard to whoever is on the other side of the line, you press the green button.

“Yes?”

The voice on the other side of the line, whom you recognize as Zayne’s coworker, asks if he’s calling the right person.

“That’s me. Why?”

“Dr. Zayne requests your presence.”

Your heart sinks, akin to the ice sculpture that fell from your nightstand. “Please tell him I’m occupied at the moment.”

Silence ensues for a few moments before the voice comes back.

“He would like a few seconds of your time, ma’am.”

“Tell him I don’t have that much to spare.”

Your toothbrush peeks out from the luggage as you zip it up, and you bite your lip to prevent any profanities from escaping. God, why is leaving so hard when the universe has been pushing you to do so for a while now?

“Please ma’am, he really wants to speak to you.”

You exhale sharply, hanging up before he can say another word. Before Zayne can speak and undo your decision with his voice alone. Before your doubts can creep up and push you to make the decision you have regretted making for years.

Your luggage finally closes. Years and years of the same chapter finally ends. Now all you need to do is to leave.

But your phone rings again.

When you pick up, it’s not his colleague that answers. 

“Are you all right?”

Zayne’s voice is soft, exhaustion coating every syllable. It reminds you of MC minutes before her cardiac arrest — like death has come for him too.

How odd that he would go to you in that circumstance.

“Does it matter?” you blurt out.

“Very much. I… I need to hear your voice.”

“Listen to your patients. I’m sure their voices are perfectly fine.” 

Your thumb lingers on the red phone button, ready to push it and end this useless conversation, but he always finds a way to stop you.

“Please.”

A plea.

Zayne has asked something from you.

It’s the first time you were met with anything other than his indifference. Of course, it wasn’t always like this, but you can’t recall the last time he had actually shown any emotion towards you.

Quiet meals, expected tasks, a broken home.

Those are all you know now.

Not the past full of flowers, devotion, and sweet nothings.

You end the call before any word spills out of your lips, your legs succumbing to heartbreak’s hands. Tears spill out and caress your face. Your luggage is the only witness.

Just like life, time passes amidst your despair, unwilling to wait for you to stand up. By the time you push yourself, footsteps echo into your bedroom, a familiar duffel bag falling to the ground.

Zayne stands there, alarmed, as he carries a bouquet of jasmines.

a/n: I love this prompt, but I am so repulsed by my writing style here lmao 😭 The next two chapters will be longer, more in-depth, and better written!

Thank you for reading! Any form of interaction is appreciated. Take care :)

taglist: @aiycnlyme @potania @someonestopsoren @typicalme23

[atomics-creations]

aaaa, this one hit 1,000 hits on ao3!

i have to say, Untamed Pasts is my most personal fic yet. this first chapter was written during a time where i was lost, confused, and grieving. i poured every inch of my heartache and anger into this piece, and when i impulsively posted it, i thought nobody would read it. it's too sad, too emotional, too different from the fluffy fics i usually write.

so imagine my surprise when this became one of my most popular and beloved fics.

to see y'all's thoughts and excitement was so uplifting to me, which i really needed during a time where i felt like nothing i did was worth anything. i love the love you all had for every character even as i proceeded to give them the most painful fates possible. the love this fic got encouraged me to take more risks in my writing, so thank you!

Chapter 4 Information: i was going to plan it a few days after Chapter 3 was posted, but because of Valko's release and abrupt cancellation, i never got the chance to 😭 despite everything, however, Zayne and Non-MC will get their stories continued. it'll just take longer than usual due to current circumstances.

thank you giving "Untamed Pasts" so much love!