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 Masterlist here
LaDS Untitled Ficlets Masterlist here
K's 2026 LaDS Prompts
AO3 link here
#khloe's thoughts (posts that aren't masterlists or fics)
Latest Works
A Violet, Violet Lily (Husband Rafayel x Wife Reader)
Well...I'm here again ( it's unhealthy I know) I was just wondering that what is the ideal date in the boys( especially rafayel :) ) mind . Like what is the most peak romantic thing they do for mc
no worries! i love answering questions, and yours have been so fun to answer :)
for xavier, i think his ideal dates are bookstore hangouts. roaming around libraries & books is what brings him peace, and if he has his beloved with him, he'll have the opportunity to introduce you to his favorite books. by the end of it, you'll ask yourself, "has xavier read every book in existence?"
i also think he likes parks. walking around and letting fresh air hit you both is his idea of comfort, and if you see some pets? he's approaching them (with permission from the owners, of course) and playing with them.
for zayne, his ideal dates are in bakeries. nothing like a good sweet treat and a gossip session to pass some time lol. i also think that he would tour you around museums, explaining every artifact he knows and slipping nerdy jokes when he can find the opportunity to.
i also think driving around is another thing the both of you can do when you just need a spontaneous break. he mentions passing by a specific place in Linkon in the memoria "Heart Within Reach" (if i remember correctly) just to observe the peace that comes with life's mundanity, so he'd take you there when you need to take a breather.
for rafayel, his ideal dates are in aquariums/places with lots of little fishies. he'll tell you all about every fish he recognizes, and maybe — just maybe — he'll slip out a hint or two about your connection to him. a little "what if this fishie lost his bride? wouldn't he be so sad?" when he sees a fish on its own would do the trick 🤭
and of course, dates by the sea are top tier! collecting seashells, having a picnic while the waves provide solace, and swimming are some of the things the both of you would do.
for sylus, his ideal dates are games. bowling, claw machines, and stuff in arcades. you can't tell me that man wouldn't kill it in laser tag, especially with his experiences in the N109 Zone lol. he gets really competitive in bowling, but he'll just watch you play with the claw machines because he likes how your face looks when you're laser focused on a task.
i also think he loves museums (like zayne). his dragon myth was criticizing the brainwashing that comes when the victor is in charge of writing history, so when you're roaming around and noticing artifacts, he'll look at misunderstood figures and tragic paintings with awe.
for caleb, his ideal dates are in his planes, cruising around the sky when life on the ground feels too much to handle. occasionally, he'll teach you how to operate the plane and teach you the different types of clouds as you pass by them.
i also think any mundane task is a date to him so long as you're around. grocery shopping, cooking in the kitchen, building legos... literally anything is a date to a man who is very much in love with you 🥰
thank you for the ask! i had so much fun answering this 💞
Zayne I would take him to a chocolate factory, like Hersheys or Lindor or laderach . I feel like he would enjoy a cooking class date too.
Caleb seems like a sporty type. For some reason I can see a picnic date and playing pickleball? 😆
Rafayel seems to like travel a lot to quaint little towns
I think it would be fun to have a spray painting date with Rafayel. I use to live on a street famous for the art district and people would always do graffiti on the walls.
Well...I'm here again ( it's unhealthy I know) I was just wondering that what is the ideal date in the boys( especially rafayel :) ) mind . Like what is the most peak romantic thing they do for mc
no worries! i love answering questions, and yours have been so fun to answer :)
for xavier, i think his ideal dates are bookstore hangouts. roaming around libraries & books is what brings him peace, and if he has his beloved with him, he'll have the opportunity to introduce you to his favorite books. by the end of it, you'll ask yourself, "has xavier read every book in existence?"
i also think he likes parks. walking around and letting fresh air hit you both is his idea of comfort, and if you see some pets? he's approaching them (with permission from the owners, of course) and playing with them.
for zayne, his ideal dates are in bakeries. nothing like a good sweet treat and a gossip session to pass some time lol. i also think that he would tour you around museums, explaining every artifact he knows and slipping nerdy jokes when he can find the opportunity to.
i also think driving around is another thing the both of you can do when you just need a spontaneous break. he mentions passing by a specific place in Linkon in the memoria "Heart Within Reach" (if i remember correctly) just to observe the peace that comes with life's mundanity, so he'd take you there when you need to take a breather.
for rafayel, his ideal dates are in aquariums/places with lots of little fishies. he'll tell you all about every fish he recognizes, and maybe — just maybe — he'll slip out a hint or two about your connection to him. a little "what if this fishie lost his bride? wouldn't he be so sad?" when he sees a fish on its own would do the trick 🤭
and of course, dates by the sea are top tier! collecting seashells, having a picnic while the waves provide solace, and swimming are some of the things the both of you would do.
for sylus, his ideal dates are games. bowling, claw machines, and stuff in arcades. you can't tell me that man wouldn't kill it in laser tag, especially with his experiences in the N109 Zone lol. he gets really competitive in bowling, but he'll just watch you play with the claw machines because he likes how your face looks when you're laser focused on a task.
i also think he loves museums (like zayne). his dragon myth was criticizing the brainwashing that comes when the victor is in charge of writing history, so when you're roaming around and noticing artifacts, he'll look at misunderstood figures and tragic paintings with awe.
for caleb, his ideal dates are in his planes, cruising around the sky when life on the ground feels too much to handle. occasionally, he'll teach you how to operate the plane and teach you the different types of clouds as you pass by them.
i also think any mundane task is a date to him so long as you're around. grocery shopping, cooking in the kitchen, building legos... literally anything is a date to a man who is very much in love with you 🥰
thank you for the ask! i had so much fun answering this 💞
i was looking through my own fics on ao3 and tell me why May has the wildest ones lmaooo
like:
The Crow and His Jewel is one of my longest and most plot-heavy fics. action and romance all in one fic
Untitled Ficlet 1 (Obsession's Anchor on ao3) and Obsession's Embrace are my takes on yandere caleb. i'd never written yandere before nor have i read much on reverse isekai, but i had a dream and made it happen regardless lmaooo
Jasmine Petals is an arranged marriage fic & my first time at it. also kinda spicy which is not my usual lol
Untitled Ficlet 8 (Angelic Haven on ao3) is my spiciest work thus far 🤭
So hiiiii pookie in love with the raffie fics...I'm obsessed like he'll but ✋🏻 I have a question
How would raffie react to a fight .. a silly fight he started mind you and now we are actually really mad at him🫠 and like I usually am petty in fights so I would avoid him in all ways possible what his reaction would be in your opinion?
hii! it's so lovely to see you again :D
i think he would apologize a ton. it'll start with him repeating "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" when you're turned away and frowning. he'd definitely sneak in some defensive comments, but for the most part, he'd be apologizing.
now, if you're ignoring him, i think he'd give you the space to do so. he won't force himself into your space if he knows you don't want him there, but he absolutely will come check on you if there are signs that he should be concerned (like if he hears you crying) 😅
if you still don't forgive him, he'll find different ways to apologize. if you have something you once mentioned wanting? he'll get it for you. if he knows you're craving a specific meal? he'll cook it for you. if you're ignoring him? you'll be on his mind as he collects little trinkets that remind him of you, waiting to be able to give them to you :)
while this is happening, he's spiraling hehe. insecurities will well up, and he'll ask himself if you'll leave. he's lost you so many times and waited so much, so the thought of you leaving will definitely scare him. he'll paint to exhaustion to deal with the anxiety, and he definitely will have sleepless nights until you come and forgive him.
rafayel is such a sweetheart! i love him so much 🥰 if you'd like a slightly groveling rafayel, his secret times "Memory Replay" is one of my favorites for that! you can find it on youtube or on the LaDS app at affinity 145 :D
thank you for the ask, and i'm glad you like my raf fics! 💞
i've been writing lots of works that are less than 1k words lately. there's nothing wrong with that, of course, since they're easier to write and don't take too much time to complete.
but i've been yearning to write longer fics. stories with plot, tons of emotions, and all that jazz. i've just been too busy during these past few months to do so 😭
so, for the month of june, i'm gonna try to make all of my fics more than 1.5k words! it's definitely going to be challenging for me, but hey, when have i ever backed out of a challenge? 🤪
can't wait for y'all to read the crazy ideas i've got!
sylus x reader, sensual, worshipful, references to greek mythology. wc. 330
a/n: i'm back! i wanted to come back with an actual fic but this is all i can do for now hehe :) fluffy sylus soon!
dividers by @chateaubarnes
On his knees for his beloved, Sylus would not dare to be anywhere else.
His skin prickled on the wooden floors, his hands too occupied to ease the pain. Sylus’s eyes are utterly captivated by the sight of you, your own sight covered by the bliss unearthing within you. Beautiful, he thinks. This woman is a goddess.
But oh, even if he walked through Onychinus, this truth would still be farther than morality.
His woman is the object of conversation, of disdainful words and painful expressions. You are the cherry on top of spoiled cakes and the flames that consume unsent letters. You are the lamp that attracts moths, unaware of how the insects stuck in the dark abhor you for it. You are one misunderstood Medusa, very far from the revered Athena.
Yet, when he stares at you as your mouth gapes open and sweet whimpers escape your lips, he can’t help but worship you regardless.
“Beautiful,” he says, aloud this time so that you know that there’s one person who sees you like that. Your body shakes as the Heavens fall upon you, his tongue the vessel to salvation. Fingers run through his hair when your angel wings crumble, when you can no longer see the trees or the damnations or the flames.
“Oh…” and he consumes every drop greedily, like a man in need of saving.
Is it bad to say that that’s accurate?
A curse word follows your loud whimpers, alongside a smile that transcends your entire facial harmony. He looks at his beloved, understanding that Medusa shines when she is loved. When her autonomy is respected. When she is thought of as a goddess in her own right.
“I…I love you.”
Those three words pull him up, your lips magnetic and reciprocal to the hunger of his. His sweet nothings contrast the insults, the rocks thrown at you, and you welcome it like an angel would: with bright wings and halos encompassing your heart.
any form of interaction is appreciated. take care :)
After a business deal gone awry, the man you know to be dangerous carries you with gentle arms.
649 words. hurt/comfort, injury, descriptions of blood, pre-relationship, f!reader, cross-posted on AO3
a/n: seldom do i post two fics in one day, but every time i do, it's always Sylus and Zayne lmao. also i have a ton of free time and way too many emotions, which is how this fic came to be. i hope you enjoy reading it :)
dividers by @honeyluvsw
Continue to: Delectable Sweetness or Patience or Shivanika (My Beloved Wife) or Enamored or Spirits Awaiting
“Hello gorgeous.”
The voice behind you sends shivers down your spine, making you drop the pistol in your hand. Its timbre, laced with wicked intentions, buries itself in your eardrums until all you can hear for a couple seconds is the sound of it. Then, the words follow, and the connotation of it makes you freeze even more.
You’re no different from the corpse that sits next to you.
“Sylus,” you say, but in your current state, it might as well have been a whisper. The night sky revels in your misery, because your blinks do nothing to clear anything up. Nothing makes sense. Everything is but a cloud, robbing you of any clarity.
A click of a gun reverberates behind you, and you’re left wondering what will happen next. It hurts, everything feels like a warp, and you have nothing to hold onto.
Nothing except the hand that lands on yours.
“You’re hurt pretty badly,” Sylus says, and the obviousness would’ve been amusing if it weren’t true. You can hardly open your eyes, and when he lifts you up to what seems like a sitting position, a hiss escapes your gritted teeth. He feels warm, so warm, and your body finally finds a comfortable spot in what you assume are his arms. You hear his heartbeats, the fast pace and the panic, and it brings you back to where you are.
The N109 Zone. Fires all throughout after a “business deal.” A moment of letting your guard down leading you to… this.
The ground becomes air when you grip on his shoulders for stability. “Nngh, Sylus-” you whimper as you slowly feel weightless, like the horrific occurrences that happened only moments ago have no bearing against you. He feels warm, so warm, and that is all you can focus on as your head throbs in pain and your legs feel like tree branches that are a wind’s breeze from knocking down.
“Did-” you begin when his legs move forward, when the breeze doesn’t knock you out as long as he’s the one protecting you. “Did the business deal… did it go well?”
You feel his laugh when it bellows in his chest, and even as the world has gone dark, you place a hand there just to feel more of it. The heartbeats don’t lull, but they are signs that he is alive. “That should not be your concern.”
No argument escapes your lips at that, for your utmost focus is on staying alive. To hold onto the air that you can barely breathe, to keep yourself from hurting the savior that carries you to salvation today.
Slowly, everything falls back into place, and it is uncomfortable. Hair sticks to your forehead with a liquid heavier than water, and the taste in your mouth is copper-like and foreign. Your legs are heavy, and you find out that that same copper-scented substance that coats your face also coats your pants. Your arms are still on Sylus, and they remain there because he is warm and comfy and nothing like the weight that settles all over your body.
But just as slowly, the feeling of his lips on your soaked hair settles as quietly as a leaf falling to the ground. The words are lost to the darkness you can’t seem to blink away, but the whispers are warm enough to keep you awake. Alive.
And that is enough.
“S-Sylus-”
“Shh,” he interrupts, adjusting you in his arms a little bit, mindful not to touch wounds he doesn’t know exist. “Rest.”
“But I’m just-”
He sighs, and you swear his arms engulf you a little more than they did moments ago. “No. Rest.”
And because you have no fight left in you, you yield and let him win. The sky disappears and the pain subsides as the melody from Sylus’s lips accompanies you both to wherever his feet can go.
a/n: just a heads up: i might take a break from writing for a bit, and if all goes as planned, i'll be back in like... two weeks? i feel like i've been writing nonstop, and while i love it, i truly think i need to breathe for a little bit. thank you for your understanding :)
Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are so, so appreciated, but if you leave a comment detailing your thoughts on this fic, you'll have a special place in my heart <3
hey y'all! my energy has been quite low and i feel like i haven't been putting out my best work lately, so i'll be taking a quick break (maybe a week or so) from writing :)
caleb x reader. hurt/comfort, late night calls, references to depression, not proofread. wc. 816
a/n: feeling really tired. listened to Jeff Buckley's "Lover, You Should've Come Over" on repeat and this is what came out.
dividers by @pixopix
“Caleb?”
Your voice sounds broken, even to your own ears. Like a CD that has been played repeatedly, tossed out as soon as the music falters from overuse. It doesn’t help that tears fall down your face akin to a waterfall.
On the other side of the line, Caleb’s voice is full of concern. A faint sound of a chip bag rustles, and the speaker of his phone rubs against the comforters he seems to be moving around. “Hey. What’s up?”
Courage is elusive, a fire ignited by determination. Unfortunately, you are reduced to nothing but weariness at the moment, only clinging on by a thread. You can’t find the courage to open up, nor can you find the words to explain the mix of emotions stirring in your beating heart.
But your silence is loud enough for Caleb to notice the meaning behind it. “Are you okay?”
You shake your head even though you’re aware he can’t see it. The sniffles should speak for themselves, as well as the little wails you try to hide behind tissues and pursed lips.
“Pips?” he calls for you, a hint of desperation in his tone. “Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
Yet you are nothing but tears and sadness. Words are too much for a state so devastating. The best attempt you can muster is a whisper of his name, a plea for him to be here. To comfort you until your exhaustion is no longer so consuming.
“I’m here,” he says. “I’ll be here for as long as you need me, okay?”
Tears fall even more at the statement, not only because of the warmth in which he says them, but also because of the lie that coats them. He’s here through this call and his utmost attention to you, but he’s not here. He’s not in your room, whispering sweet words in your ear as you cry on his chest. His arms aren’t around your waist, gently caressing them as your words spill onto him effortlessly. His physical presence isn’t here to whisk your exhaustion away.
“Pips?” His voice is broken now, almost as broken as yours if that was even possible.
“I… I just needed to hear your voice,” you admit, courage seeping into you slowly. “I’m so, so tired, Caleb.”
When your voice comes back to you, you keep going.
“Life feels so… empty, you know? I-I have to drag myself through the day, but it doesn’t even feel worth it at the end. It all feels…”
The sentence drifts off into nothingness, for words are inadequate to describe the dark abyss that has depleted your light and left nothing but your tears to show for it.
For a second, you think Caleb hung up on you. The silence persists long after your last word, and it makes you wonder why you even spoke at all. Why you allowed courage to consume you, even if it was for only a moment.
But you hear him clear his throat on the other side of the line, tethering you back to the reality that Caleb would never ever hang up on you.
“I’m proud of you,” he murmurs, as gentle as the wind yet it makes that aching feeling in your chest rustle. “I’m so proud of you for waking up every day, pips. I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been.”
So hard, you want to confirm. There were even days where the only sunlight you saw were the ones blocked by your curtains. Sometimes, when the day feels too much, you only see it through your eyelids.
Caleb clears his throat again. “Can you say that out loud for me? That I’m proud of you?”
His voice breaks as he says the absurd request, but you trust him regardless. “Caleb is p-proud of m-me.”
“Good. One day, I know you will be proud of yourself too, but until then, let me be the pillar you lean on.”
“O-okay.”
“Get some rest,” he follows. “Try to fall asleep by thinking of the clouds, or something that brings you comfort.”
The first laugh of the night escapes your lips. “I’ll imagine you cruising through the clouds.”
“That’s…” He falters for a second. “That’s good too.”
More laughs follow the first, all quiet and hesitant to bloom in the sunlight of hope. You clutch your blankets and bury yourself in them as you close your eyes.
“Feelin’ better?” he asks, and his voice sounds more stable now.
In truth, the emptiness still persists as it always has, but it feels lighter under the warmth of clouds and Caleb and his inability to not be proud of you. You hum a sound that closely resembles contentment.
“I’ll be there tomorrow, okay? Just stay put and don’t go anywhere.”
Delighted by this news, you fall asleep on the phone as Caleb’s voice becomes the music accompanying your dreams.
a/n: i hope this brings comfort to someone who needs it. thank you for being here.
any form of interaction is appreciated. take care :)
i know i should take a break from writing with how much i've been posting fics, but the voices are telling me to write a Zayne fic inspired by Exclusive Tutorial
A night of playing claw machines runs wild with every passing second.
1,603 words. fluff, non-mc reader, arranged marriage, suggestive themes, teasing, soft & touch-starved zayne, inspired by the memoria "Exclusive Tutorial," f!reader, cross-posted on ao3
a/n: I had so much fun writing this one lol 😌
dividers by @uzmacchiato | ao3 link here
Zayne’s late.
You check your watch over and over again to make sure the time on display is the time you and him agreed upon, and sure enough, its hands mock you with their inability to change. It’s not abnormal for him to be late, considering his frequent shifts at Akso Hospital, but his absence stings even with that reasonable excuse.
You’re fortunate that Twinkle hasn’t closed up their arcade yet, otherwise the night you’ve been looking forward to would’ve been a waste of your energy.
“Hm,” you hum, eyeing your phone as it displays the same time as your watch. 10 pm quickly turns to 10:02, then 10:05, then your hopes sink with every new number. You now await the call that he so often gives you, the sign that this night will stay as a dream instead of a reality you get to live.
But when the time reaches 10:40, a familiar black car pulls up to the parking lot. Your eyes lock onto the car’s meticulous movements and the way it smoothly parks into the empty parking lot as if there are other cars around it. There’s only one person you know who can drive like that.
“Zayne?” you whisper into the air, now charged with your anticipation.
And like a gift from the cosmos, he steps out of the car. He brings with him a brown paper bag and a glorious outfit you could imagine only butlers wear. Or cat servants, but you try not to imagine your husband in that way for the sake of your stability.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” he says, his voice raspy from the long shift he just came from. In the bag are two cups of coffee, one of them being the order you usually place. You look up from the bag to stare at him: how did he know your order if you never told him about it?
“It’s not good to want to kill your husband, you know.”
Even with the misinterpretation, your stare turns deadly, a simple act of rebellion against the man you adore so much. “You kept me waiting. That should warrant such behavior, right?”
He doesn’t argue, doesn’t invalidate your jab even though it’s laced in lightheartedness. Instead, a pink hue coats his face, clear enough to see even in the dim lights from Twinkle’s displays, and murmurs an apology. “I’ll arrive on time next time. I promise.”
You can only nod at the face of sincerity.
“Come.” He holds out a hand, hesitating, but you take it with all of the confidence you can muster. If your husband is anything, it’s that he’s trustworthy. He’s proven it time and time again, even when circumstances persist against it. “I reserved the entire arcade for us. Nobody will interrupt you as you add to your endless collection of plushies.”
“I thought Twinkle doesn’t do reservations,” you say, wondrous eyes meeting his bright ones.
“They do if you’re persistent enough.”
You laugh as Zayne opens the door for you to enter, unwarranted feelings bubbling within your chest at your husband’s efforts.
You’re on your third quarter when the claw drops the penguin plushie.
“Ugh!” The penguin lands upside down above the other plushies, its small smirk seemingly mocking your exasperation. Your hands practically shake, not with the joy of holding plushies but with the frustrations of not getting any thus far. All you wanted was the penguin — why doesn’t it want to come home with you?
Behind you, Zayne merely watches with his arms crossed. A man of a few words and a million observations is all you knew of him before your parents arranged your marriage, so when he approaches you with a smirk on his face, it startles you.
“Don’t give up now,” he says, standing beside you. Arms still crossed, yet prideful. “I still have quarters in my pockets. I’m sure the penguin will come to you with how determined you are at getting it.”
You look at him, then at the damn penguin. It looks comfortable laying down on the tomatoes and frogs and fairymares, but for the life of you, you want it to be comfortable in your arms. “I can get another plushie. It’s okay.”
It really isn’t, but your husband doesn’t need to know that you’re sad about not getting a plushie.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “The penguin seems to be what you want, though. I don’t mind waiting until you get it.”
That gives you the motivation to try again. You use your last attempt to carefully position the claw above the penguin’s belly, eyeing it to make sure you’re guaranteed to pick it up, and with a deep breath, you push the button.
It descends and descends and descends…
The penguin is captured in between the claw’s prongs, and you delight in the accomplishment with a smile on your face. But when the claw shakes and the penguin drops a centimeter away from the chute, you can’t help the grunt that escapes you.
“Ugh, I hate this game!”
The penguin smirks, its head on the cusp of victory’s doorstep as you murmur curses at it for not coming home. You lose yourself in your frustration, forgetting that your dear husband is beside you.
When you turn to notice him, his lips hide an impending smile.
“What are you laughing at?” you ask, crossing your arms and mirroring him.
He doesn’t say anything for one second, making you turn your attention back to the claw machine. Only when you hear a flurry of giggles do you look back at him, listening to the rare sound like it’s the only symphony you want to hear for the rest of your life.
“I think your exasperation is scaring the penguin,” he says, and your deadly stare comes back. Do husbands, even arranged ones, not have a handbook to study on what not to say when their partners are in their worst moods?
“The penguin deserves it,” you murmur. “Why doesn’t it want to come home?”
Zayne’s giggles dissipate slowly, and in the peaceful state he finds himself in, he gently takes your hands. Positioning himself right behind you, his breath lingers in your ear as the rasp of his voice makes you shiver. Was a backless red dress the best to wear on this occasion?
“Let me help you,” he whispers as he moves your hand on the control panel using his own. You eye the way the claw meticulously moves in his control, smoothly positioning above the penguin.
“Ready, and… press.”
His right hand, which slowly caresses yours until it fully covers it, gently presses the button for the claw to drop. The prongs descend until it has a firm grip on the penguin, and when it ascends and moves towards the prize chute, you stare as the plushie you’ve been wanting all night finally comes to you.
“There we go,” Zayne praises, his lips brushing against your ear. You don’t even relish in your victory, for a sensation much deeper than gratitude pulses through your veins. To make matters worse (or better, you’re not quite sure anymore), your husband doesn’t let go of you. He moves his hands to your hips, smoothly caressing the fabric of your dress as he presses himself impossibly closer to your back.
His misbehaving lips trace where your neck meets your shoulder, whispering words designed to awaken, not to be understood.
“Zayne…”
You two had never done anything like this before. Sure, flirty banters in kitchen lights are a common thing, but nothing more than gentle kisses on hands and lips had occurred as a result of those nights. His lips had never touched your neck before, and his hands have never explored so much of your body. They move from your hips to the hem of your dress, but they don’t move when his fingers graze the plush of your thighs.
Instead, your husband giggles, the vibration sending shivers down your entire body.
“Good job, my love.”
My love.
Zayne had never called you that before.
“F-for what?” you ask, your voice reduced to a whisper that would’ve been a whine had you not been holding to the thread of self control you have left.
He giggles again, this time pressing a small kiss to your shoulder. “For finally getting the penguin.”
“Oh.”
You forgot about the prize that now stares up at the both of you from the prize chute.
“We should probably get it…”
But when you reach for the penguin, your husband slowly takes your hand and presses tender kisses on your wrist. Devotion settles in the way his eyes fall shut, telling you to stay put. “I should reward you for your accomplishment, right?” he asks with a whine you have never heard in his voice before. “It is only right.”
Somehow, your voice doesn’t shake when you answer with, “Of course.”
Perhaps it’s the determination he mentioned you having earlier, or even the sight of having your husband utterly enamored by your mere existence, but there’s a sense of excitement you feel when his desperate hums meet your shoulders. When you’re pressed against the claw machine with his hands roaming over your bare back.
“May I do this?” he asks when his hands come back to the hem of your dress, eager to lift it up.
And you, with fluttering eyelids and sharp breaths, can only manage a nod at his sincerity once more.
The minutes fly by as the night gets wilder, but this time, only pleasure consumes you with every passing second.
any form of interaction is appreciated. take care :)
as someone who writes for all five of the love and deepspace men, i constantly think about the potential 6th li. what vibes will he give? what will i have to research? what kind of edits will i be watching to find inspo for his fics?? 🤭
dawnbreaker zayne x reader, fluff, references to hamlet, depressive thoughts (take care!), not proofread. wc. 697
a/n: decided to finish this wip i've had since November as i work on my longer daddy zayne fic 😋
dividers by @honeyluvsw
To be, or not to be, that is the question.
It is certainly a question Dawnbreaker asked himself every morning he had the misfortune to wane up to and every night the darkness prevailed. The world was cruel, dreams even crueler, and some days he really wondered if there was a purpose to anything at all.
But the sword of life is double-edged: a stab in the heart is a sign he was still alive.
He just wished he didn't have to bleed as a result.
Alas, tonight is another night of unanswered questions. Another night where his eyes closed and he wished he would be transported to the undiscovered country of death. Another night where the scythe of longing stabbed him again and again and again.
To die, to sleep. He thinks as he falls into slumber.
The first thought he had when he woke up was a damnation towards the sun.
Its brightness was an insult to his prevailing sadness and a disturbance to the one good slumber he's had in forever. He opened his eyes begrudgingly, mentally preparing himself for another miserable day.
Then it hit him: there should not be a sun.
His eyes are wide open now, and it was almost comical how quickly he stood up to check the windows — windows, he realizes, are not his own. Whose room is this? What world is this? He asked himself as he stared at the abnormally bright star lighting up this abnormally bright world.
He runs his hands through his hair, unruly becoming unrulier if that was even a thing. A sigh escapes his lips and he walks away from the window, blinking away the pain.
Until...
"Zayne!"
He jumps when he realizes another person is in the room with him. His heart begins jumping too when he recognizes who this is, pointing an accusatory finger at him with a pout.
You. The lover in his dreams. The person he lives for.
"I thought we agreed on giving each other forehead kisses when we wake up!" You step closer, and he doesn’t think he could breathe anymore. "Where was mine?"
Yep, breathing is not an option. He needs a cardiologist asap.
"Um, uh-"
You sigh and place your hand on his forehead. "Are you sick?"
"No," he mutters, hating how awkward he sounds. At least the rasp of his morning voice is still there—he remembers you once mentioned your love for that rasp.
But judging by your expression, he may have come off wrong. You place your hands back on your sides, a small frown forming on your pretty face, and his heart just about fell to his stomach. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.
When you retreat your hands back to your sides, he quickly takes them back and holds them in his own. "Good morning, my love," he says and quickly places a kiss on your forehead. It was the warmest he'd felt in a long time, and for a moment he forgot that the same hands he used to love you are the same hands that ended the lives of those he cared about.
One wrong move and he could hurt you.
He pulls away, repulsed that he was greedy enough to hold you. Repulsed that he believed he would deserve you, even for a moment. Staring at his hands, full of bold scars and unwashed blood, he wished he was better.
He wished he were the Doctor instead.
“Zayne…”
But you don’t wish that.
You reach for his hand, trying to feel the softness that had once touched your face. And he allows the contact despite the fear that sweeps through his body. Your eyes look up at him, making him forget how to breathe. How to protect you.
Yet, the ice doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t consume him until he has to pull away from you. It stays grounded as he holds your face, memorizing the features that he so vividly loved in his dreams.
“I think you are sick, Zaynie,” you murmur, laughing. “Come on, we’ve got chocolate cake!”
And with a drag of your hand, Dawnbreaker relishes in the sweetness of life.
any form of interaction is appreciated. take care :)
i know i should take a break from writing with how much i've been posting fics, but the voices are telling me to write a Zayne fic inspired by Exclusive Tutorial
Parenthood can be quite exhausting, leading you to direct your frustrations towards a person so dear to you. Fortunately, Rafayel understands you more than anyone else and knows just how to make you feel better.
1,245 words. domestic fluff, you have two children, unconditional love, hurt/comfort, f!reader, cross-posted on ao3
a/n: Now THIS one made me cry as I was writing it. To be reassured by such a doting lover is such a dream I wish I could have in real life. Oh Rafayel, why aren't you real?
(P.S The title is a reference to Robert Burns's poem "A Red, Red Rose.")
dividers by @angeliicide | ao3 link here
Popcorn walls appear like stars when exhaustion is palpable.
The dishes are scrubbed with vigor as you take out your frustration on the poor plates. The cups, which say positive messages on them, lay upside down on the drying rack, courtesy of how you’re feeling inside. The soap keeps getting on your shirt. The water is obsessed with your face. Your exhaustion is the devil on your shoulder refusing to let go.
You have to blink to stop the tears from falling.
It’s just dishes, except it’s not. It’s the cultivation of late nights of having to soothe little cries, early mornings that arrive with no sleep to prepare you for them, and afternoons littered with endless chores. It’s so hard to see why you wake up at all.
But you feel arms wrap around your waist and a voice that has kept you afloat these past few days. Rafayel doesn’t say a word when he places his head on your hair, only humming a tune so familiar your nerves instantly calm down. You have to close your eyes to avoid having your irritation take over and ruin a tranquility so rare in this life of yours.
“Rafayel.” His name is said with so many emotions at once, for you cannot ever hide anything from him. “I’m busy.”
“You’re always busy,” he says, and you open your eyes when you realize there’s a hint of a whine in his voice. It’s amusing as it is irritating even though you know it isn’t his fault at all. It’s just life hitting you with its stick and asking you to bear the responsibilities it gives you, but it’s much easier to blame a person than a concept.
“If you weren’t always painting, then maybe I would actually have a chance to rest.”
It’s a jab that’s so sharp it stabs your heart as soon as it escapes your lips. You hear your husband’s breath as it catches, the sharpness of the blade stabbing him as well, and for a moment you’re too prideful to say sorry. Popcorn walls appear like stars, and insults appear like remedy to the exhaustion.
But to your surprise, Rafayel doesn’t let go of your waist. He doesn’t make a fire that burns you in order to retaliate. Instead, you feel his lips graze the skin of your neck and hear the soft breaths he takes, as if afraid he would burn you.
“Is that what you want?” he asks huskily. “I’ll stop painting, then. I-I’ll help you out with the chores!”
You already do, you want to tell him. Your husband, ever since you both became parents, has dedicated more of his time towards maintaining this house with you. Seldom do you ever see him with a paintbrush in his hand anymore, and seldom do you ever see him complain about that. I’ve found my love in parenting, he once told you as he held you through tears of frustration, And I’m so grateful you gave me that gift.
“I’ll wash these dishes for you. I’ll cook and clean and run around with our baby-”
You already do, repeats in your head.
“And I’ll make sure you don’t even have to lift a finger, my love!”
Rafayel says that with so much conviction, like a god backed by a devotee of unwavering faith or a father with so much love that even his heart can’t contain it. You turn your head slightly when his lips fall to your shoulder, relaxing like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else besides your stained, soaked shirt.
You have to blink to keep the tears at bay, but they fall anyway. Not even emotions want to hide from such a lovely man. “Rafayel…”
He opens his eyes to see your tears, and immediately he falls into action. You find yourself spinning like a lover in a dance before you collapse, where he catches you and the tears that fall. Now his shirt is soaked from your tears and wrinkled with how hard you’re gripping it, but like usual, you don’t hear a word of complaint. Only a hum of that familiar song escapes his lips alongside sweet nothings laced in reverence.
“I know you’re tired,” he says, and oh, how much you long for him to understand the severity of the fact. “I’m here. I’ll be your shoulder to cry on.”
“B-but…” you sniffle. It’s gross and imperfect, yet your husband doesn’t mind. “But I’m mean. I-I said you should stop painting, and that you should step up and I… I don’t mean that.”
His hand now caresses your hair, painting you in his hold. “I know you don’t,” he whispers, and it sounds like music coming out of him. “I understand. It’s okay.”
“But I’m… I’m mean and ungrateful and-”
“Why are you talking about my wife like that?” he asks. You look up from where you were nuzzling to see the anger that matches the tone of his question. His bluish-pink eyes, reminiscent of the sunset, cloud with darkness even when his caresses on your cheeks are anything but. “You’re not any of those things, my love, and even if you were, I would understand.”
You shake your head. “You shouldn’t have to.”
“I want to,” he says. The conviction is as stormy as his eyes, prominent and all for you. “I would give the world to you. You should know that by now.”
Do I deserve the world?
“You deserve the world,” he says before you can even ask. Rafayel has a flair for not only reading your emotions, but also reading the thoughts you refuse to say aloud. You hold onto him with all of the apology you can muster. Maybe later, after a true good night’s rest, you can say the word “sorry” with ease. The anger will be at bay someday — maybe not tonight, but a day resulting from the monotony of the present — and the love that you once so freely gave will easily pour out of your heart and onto Rafayel’s.
“I love you,” you hear him whisper in your hair. “I appreciate all the work you always do, and I’m sorry I haven’t made it easier.”
“You have!” The protest is loud yet muffled by his chest and your tears. “Don’t say that!”
He merely smiles and continues humming while rocking you gently. The kitchen no longer feels like a prison; it is now a witness to the tranquility created by mutual understanding.
And soon, it welcomes a new guest in its heavens. “Mama, Papa, are you dancing?”
You have been long asleep in Rafayel’s arms, and he’s in the middle of lifting you up bridal-style when your son runs over to you both. Shirt stained from painting with his sister, hair disheveled in different directions like a genius in the works. His eyes are just like yours, Rafayel thinks, and it takes him a few moments to answer.
“You could call this dancing, but Mama’s asleep, so I guess it’s more like swaying.”
“Swaying?” he asks, curiosity in his eyes.
“Mhm. Like the wind.”
“Ah.”
By now, your sleeping form is in Rafayel’s arms, and he smiles at the sight. You’re resting after years of not doing so, and it makes his heart flutter.
“I’ll take Mama to bed, okay? I’ll join you soon.”
And the child, who sees the stars in his parents’ love, runs off to the studio and waits there with his sister.
a/n: Oh, to have someone who understands the words and intentions you can't say aloud 🥹
Thank you for reading! Any form of interaction is appreciated. Take care! :)
