» Writing for: Skz, Kpdh, LaDs, Enhypen, The Outsiders
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⇢ About Bri, our Oasis’s founder
» 17 ↣ Indian + American
—» Sunflower lover
—» Artist & author
» Crocheting, reading, writing, baking
——— Stories help me escape, care to join me?
» 1D, Skz, Enhypen, Cortis, LaDs, the Outsiders
—» Manatee enthusiast
—» Music is the way to my heart
» I’m always here to chat if you need a friend ♡
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⇢ Tiki Bar Info:
» Everything you need to know to buy a drink!
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——— Credits/recs: anything you need to know about my writings!
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Enjoy your stay at the Oasis, come back anytime!
“Seungmin in the building? No, Seungmin in the car.”
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*credits for my writings are reserved for me. Please do not copy or translate my works without my permission. Anyone caught publishing or copywriting my works as their own will have the necessary actions taken against them. We’re all here to create, so please be kind and respectful ♡
-°• Contents: Zayne isn’t paying proper attention to you.
-°• Bribri Speaks!: so now that I’m officially graduated (huzzah!) and in summer break you’ll be seeing a lot more of me. Sorry in advance ♡
“My eyes hurt.”
At your whiny complaint, Zayne managed to pry his eyes from the paperwork before him, raising a brow at you.
When you’d brought his lunch to the hospital, you hoped you’d get to spend some actual time with him. Instead, he took the takeout bag, murmured a ‘thank you’, and returned to his work.
You’d been here for nearly three hours, mind you, and you hadn’t even earned a sideways glance. It was unfair how good he looked with his nose buried in paperwork. His hair fell in his eyes, his hands deftly taking notes on his patient’s charts.
You’d already counted how many tiles made up the ceiling—57 in total. You’d recached the daily limit on your favorite game, and your social media was officially overrun with memes that hardly worked to cure your boredom.
You were growing impatient.
“Can you come look at them?” You asked innocently.
“It’s probably from staring at your phone for so long,” he muttered, walking over to you. He stooped to your level, gazing into your eyes.
“They really hurt. I think you need to kiss them better.”
“I have reason to believe this isn’t a scientific treatment,” he observed, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.
“I don’t care! It’ll help!”
A chuckle escaped the doctor’s lips, but he still indulged you. He pressed two gentle kisses to your closed eyelids, cupping your cheeks.
“Better?”
“Now that I think about it, my cheeks hurt a lot, too.”
“Well, we certainly can’t have that.”
Two more kisses landed on the apples of your cheeks. These were followed by a smattering of pecks on your throbbing forehead, another on your aching jaw, and a final one on your allegedly sore lips.
By the time he was done, his glasses slipped down his nose, askew and fogged.
“What about now?”
“Well, my butt hurts from sitting on this hard chair. I need something softer to sit on.”
He couldn’t help but laugh again. He unceremoniously hoisted you up and settled behind his desk, you comfortably perched in his lap.
-°• Contents: Rafayel ate a rare pigment and became his worst nightmare
Kitten!Rafayel who’d been transformed into his mortal enemy after “accidentally” consuming a rare pigment from the depths of the ocean.
When he awoke that morning, he felt as he usually did. He padded to the bathroom, sleepy and disoriented. When he reached the toilet, however, he realized the thing was at least a foot above him.
To say he was distraught would be a severe understatement.
“MEEEEEEEOOWWWWWW!”
Kitten!Rafayel who spent the whole morning panicking, frantically meowing and clawing at the walls. You woke to loud cat screeches. When you followed to sounds to the kitchen, you found him hanging from the chandelier. He was practically feral as you tried to get him down, clawing at his face and yowling pathetically.
“I’ve been transformed into a hideous beast! My beautiful face! Don’t look at me, cutie, I’m uglyyyy!”
“Rafayel, I can’t understand you.”
You did your best not to indulge in his misery, but it was honestly hilarious how distressed he was. You went out to purchase some kitten necessities; a cat tree, cat food, some toys.
When you returned, you found your apartment to be completed ransacked. Curtains ripped to shreds, glasses shattered, cushions marred with marks that suspiciously resembled claws.
There, in the midst of the carnage, sat Rafayel, meowing defiantly.
“How dare you leave me alone after such a traumatic event.”
Kitten!Rafayel who screamed so loud when he hacked up his first hairball, that his neighbors came to check if everything was okay.
Kitten!Rafayel who refused to eat that vile filth you attempted to feed him. Just because he was a cat didn’t mean he was going to consume that repulsive cat mush. He still had standards.
Kitten!Rafayel who forced you to order him the finest fish platters in all of Linkon and made you feed it to him.
Thomas got quite concerned when he saw the bills for gourmet fish piling up on Rafayel’s card. Rafayel didn’t often eat such copious amounts of fish.
“Is Rafayel okay? He seems to be ordering a lot of fish,” Thomas asked over the phone.
“He’s going through a bit of a phase.”
Kitten!Rafayel who refused to lick himself clean. For days, the odor built up, until you could no longer take it.
“Rafayel, you smell like dead fish,” you complained, plugging your nose. His whole house smelled like rotting tuna and cat farts.
“And whose fault is that?”
Kitten!Rafayel would never resort to licking himself clean. He was far too proud to ever touch his delicate tongue to this filthy body he inhabited. So, he forced you to run him a bath, and hand clean him.
Kitten!Rafayel who wouldn’t sleep in the cat bed you bought him. He only slept beside you, on his plush bed. Why were you trying to kick him out of his own bed?
Kitten!Rafayel who tried to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and fell in.
Kitten!Rafayel who demanded to be carried in a purse whenever you went out. He most certainly would not be left home alone.
As you carried him through the halls of the Association, your co-workers fixed you with raised brows. Pets were strictly forbidden here. You’d had to get special permission from Jenna in order to bring him.
“So you’re telling me that, that thing is Rafayel?” She’d asked, pointing an incredulous finger at the kitten.
“That’s correct, ma’am.”
“And he’s like this because he…ate paint?”
“Also correct, ma’am.”
Kitten!Rafayel who pawed at your legs while you tried to work. When you still didn’t pay him attention, he resorted to stomping all over your computer, effectively ruining your work. Somehow, becoming a cat had made him even more needy.
“I didn’t know you had a cat!” Tara squealed as she passed by your desk. Rafayel was perched comfortably atop your desk, playing with a ball of yarn you’d brought for him. “Awww! He’s so cuteee!”
She made the mistake of trying to pet him.
He hissed, swatting at her finger. He darted to your lap, making a point to hide under your shirt.
“AHH! Miss Bodyguard!! Protect me! Do your duty!” He yowled, pawing at your tummy.
“He’s not exactly…friendly.”
Kitten!Rafayel who finally transformed back to normal a week later. He a good 45 minutes just admiring himself in the mirror.
“Oh, oh! Cutie, I’m back to normal!! I can kiss you again!” He exclaimed, reaching for your face.
“Raf, you still smell like fish. I’m not kissing that.”
“Oh, okay. In that case, I’ll just walk into the ocean and die, then, since you hate me.”
Last day of high school today guys! I’ll be officially graduated June 5th.
Just wanted to say thank you for being here with me since the beginning of my senior year. I adore every single one of you (yes, all 278 of you). It means the world to me.
I might end up doing some fics abt grad stuff (with younger lis, obvs)
Anywho! I got a fix for you tmrw to celebrate a bit 🥳🥳
⇢ War has broken out between your boyfriend and your best friend
-°• Boyfriend!Zayne x reader x bestfriend!Caleb
-°• Warnings: jealous Caleb, kind of a cliffhanger (?)
War had broken out between colonel and surgeon. A bizarre, twisted cold war for your affection.
When you first announced your relationship to Caleb, he was mortified, at best. While he did his best to hide it, the remote groaned in his tightening grasp.
“Oh, really, pips? That’s exciting. When do I get to meet the lucky guy?”
“Oh! You’ve already met him! Remember Zayne, my primary-care doctor? We grew up with him!”
The poor colonel just stared, buffering.
That thing you grew up with? That shrimpy little popsicle maker? That was what you chose to date?
You awaited eagerly for his response, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet.
“That’s…something, alright,” he tried to laugh it off, his eyes returning to the tv. But his foot was tapping incessantly against the floor, his fists white-knuckled.
Unfortunately, you didn’t notice the tension in his shoulders, too busy making the dire mistake of planning their meetup for the next day.
Oh, what a terrible way to commence your one day off.
You’d taken them both to your favorite cafe, wanting them to rekindle with one another. You’d been cheery as you brought Zayne in, swinging your arms as you chattered about how fun this would be.
It was, in fact, not fun.
The instant the two men locked eyes, it was like some sort of testosterone induced stand-off had commenced.
For the majority of the time, they just stared at one another. You talked endlessly, attempting to fill the awkward silence. But they just stared. It was an odd mating ritual you couldn’t quite wrap your head around.
It was then that Zayne made his move; a hand on your thigh under the table. Imperceptible to you, as he did it all the time, but everything to Caleb. He had to suppress his gasp of outrage, covering it by taking a long sip of his coffee.
His retaliation came in the form of reminiscence.
“Did you tell him about that time we went to the fair and I won you that stuffed unicorn? You said I was your favoriteeee guy in the whole world, remember?”
Your brow furrows, slightly confused why he was bringing it up now. “Yeah…?” You say, looking between the two men. You catch the nearly unnoticeable furrow in Zayne’s brow, the slight smirk upon Caleb’s lips.
Their competition was utterly lost upon you.
When the little outing had become sufficiently uncomfortable and you could no longer take it, you stood, hauling Zayne up alongside you.
You bid Caleb farewell, giving him a hug. He squeezed you a little tighter than necessary, his chin resting atop your shoulder. His eyes were locked with Zayne’s behind your back.
The smirk he wore was downright devious.
You had to tug yourself away to escape his firm grasp. Zayne took your hand, and you turn to leave; not before he whirled you around and kissed you, that was. You just stared up at him dazedly. He usually didn’t enjoy PDA, aside from the occasional hug or hand holding.
“W- Zayne! What was that for?”
“I just thought you needed a kiss, darling.” He said, pulling you alongside him. He glanced over his shoulder as you walked, his icy gaze meeting that of Caleb, who looked downright murderous.
Though he didn’t do anything in the moment, the young colonel was already plotting his next attack.
Thus, hell rained down upon Akso hospital.
To be more specific, mass amounts of apples rained down.
Truck loads of Honeycrisps.
Buckets of Granny Smith.
Orchards of Golden Delicious.
All addressed to the one and only Dr. Zayne.
Greyson began to wonder if his partner had another secret admirer, theorizing it was the old woman in Room 109 with the dentures. She’d always been sweet on the younger man.
It didn’t take Zayne long to realize who was behind the surprise deliveries.
While he had to admire the dedication, he was more annoyed than anything. Even upon increasing Akso’s security, apples still managed to slip through the cracks. One on his desk. Another at a patient’s bedside. Two in the cafeteria with his name on them.
So, Zayne launched a counterattack.
Every single eaten apple core was shipped back to Skyhaven. Every rotten, fly-ridden, vile one piling up at Caleb’s estate.
You, oblivious to this stalemate, had taken the day off to go visit Caleb. When you’d asked Zayne if he’d liked to come, he—far too eagerly, in your opinion—declined. So, you ventured there alone.
Caleb met you at the train station, still clad in his colonel attire. Upon seeing you, his arms open wide, a grin splitting his lips.
“Hey, pipsqueak!” He cheers, spinning you around. He glances around the station, his grin widening as he realized that man wasn’t with you. “No Zayne? What a shame, I was hoping to see him again.”
Caleb thought he’d won the war, just as he often did. The absence of the surgeon was a testament to his victory.
As you return to his place, you’re assaulted by the vile stench of rotting fruit. Assuming it was just his trash, and not wanting to embarrass him, you say nothing, making your way to your room.
Upon opening the door, hundreds—possibly thousands—of molding apple cores tumble out towards you.
“Uhm…Caleb? Why do you have a shrine of rotting apples in my room?” You ask, plugging your nose.
He whirled around the corner, his face contorting to a bitter scowl. You could practically hear the grinding of his teeth.
At the moment, unfortunately, you couldn’t care, because you were scrambling to the bathroom to escape the odor.
What terrible karma had you incurred to be in the crosshairs of this strange male stand-off?
⇢ Divider: @drinkthesky
-°• If you guys like this, I really like this concept and would be willing to continue it with the other LIs. Just let me know what you think!
-°• Warnings: online people being bums (?), alluded Sylus taking care of ‘nuisances’
-°• “Walk through fire for you, just let me adore you!”
❥ Your marriage to Sylus was an absolutely earth-shattering event amongst the k-pop fandoms.
You, a talented, charismatic idol with millions of fans. Your fandom thought you were the best thing since the invention of instant noodles, and yet you were marrying a fruit vendor named Skye, of all things. It was utterly preposterous.
Magazines reported it as ‘scandalous’. Reddit forums speculated that it was a coerced relationship, that perhaps he had dirt on you. Though many gushed over how romantic it was, others were completely appalled a woman of your status married such a lowly man.
❥ Imagine how they’d feel if they knew he was the infamous leader of Onychinus.
He was proudly your arm candy for every event. He dressed impeccably, always complimenting you, but never overshadowing your stardom. At your request, he’d even smile for the paparazzi.
He answered questions with a grace that belied his alleged occupation as a ‘fruit-seller’.
“How would you say your relationship is?”
“It’s lovely. We couldn’t be happier.”
“What was the wedding like?”
“Grand. I’m sure you wish you were there.”
“Skye, Skye! What did you think of Sabrina’s most recent performance?”
“Well, she was radiant as always. I didn’t expect anything less.”
❥ Any journalists slandering your name disappeared over night. Perhaps they were dissing you for missing a step in your choreography. Or maybe they were criticizing your appearance. It didn’t matter the severity of the crime. It was a crime, no less.
So, Sylus did what any good husband would; he had the twins ‘take care’ of the pests.
❥ Speaking of the twins, they were your biggest fans, other than Sylus, of course. Your music was always blasting through the base. Sylus had to deal with them terribly mimicking your choreography as they got ready for auctions.
His enemies’ last moments were prolonged listening to the twins attempt your high notes.
“Eughhhh-WOAAAHHH!” Luke screeches to the three men tied before him.
“No, no,” Kieran chided, shaking his head. He kicked one of men in the head, the poor guy groaning in pain. “It’s more like; Ewwuuu-WAHHHH.”
❥ Sylus doted on you like no other.
After every show, he’d bring you bouquets of your favorite flowers, presenting them to you backstage. He’d dab the sweat from your forehead, shooing your staff from your room with a sharp glare.
“You were perfect, sweetie,” he murmurs, gently massaging your shoulders. His gaze met yours in the mirror. You could practically feel the adoration radiating from him. You were sure everyone in the building could, too.
“Are you sure? My voice cracked on the last-“
“You were perfect, I hardly even noticed,” he assures firmly. He would never allow you to deprecate yourself in such a manner.
❥ Often, he bought out the whole arena to your show so you could perform just for him. He’d sit in his fine silk shirt, leaning back with that infuriating smirk. It was a private, intimate affair; all your beauty and bling just for him.
❥ He liked to help you with your music, when you let him. Originally, you’d been too shy to share your works with him. And he respected that. Yet, over time, he still managed to weasel his way into your work life.
You’d show him your lyrics, asking for advice and criticisms. He’d give them freely, as he always did. You’d even used his vocals as your backtrack, once. To say your company was not pleased would be a severe understatement.
❥ Comments were downright evil, at times. Your body, your laugh, your personality were torn to shreds.
Sylus was always there when they got to be too much. He’d quietly dispatch his men to dispose of the sewer rats who dared to tarnish your reputation, before drawing you into his arms.
He’d hold you as you cried, gently stroking your hair. Anything you desired was brought to you in an instant. Three quarts of chocolate ice cream would cure your sadness? Consider it done. A Disney movie marathon? The movie room is already set up, sweetie.
❥ Since marrying him, you’d randomly go on long hiatuses. No warnings. No announcements. You’d just disappear for months and no one could contact you. Your social media went silent. Your company scrambled to explain your absence. Fandoms pleaded for your return. It was like you’d fallen off the face of the earth.
In a way, you had.
Because you were in the n109 zone with your husband.
He ensured you took time to recharge. The idol life was soul-sucking. He made you sleep and have fun and actually eat real food that wasn’t protein mush.
❥ If your managers threatened to drag you back themselves, they were in for a terrible Tuesday morning.
“Don’t worry about it, kitten,” he’d say, taking your phone. Thirteen missed calls from your manager. He silenced the device, swiftly pocketing it. “I’ll take care of it.”
Sylus most certainly wouldn’t be letting someone bully you into returning before you were recharged and ready.
❥ It was the night of a big comeback drop. Your fourth full album. They were always both exciting and anxiety-inducing. You sat at the base, trying not to vomit.
‘Will she do it again? Or will this star finally fizzle out?’
Each time, it filled you with a painful sense of dread. Though you had loving, loyal fans, doubts always lingered in the back of your mind.
The moment the music video dropped, you were in the comments like a rabid fan. Comments flooded, chalk-full of praise and awe. But of course, you, like anyone else would, were drawn to the negative comments.
Megastan200: knock off Jennie
Skittle_eater: why tf does she move like that?? Is she ok??
Anonymousunicorn3: oh so the k-pop industry has gone to shit, got it.
Moose_mousse: she’s literally js copying le sserafim
You truly should be used to it. You’d been in the industry for years. Your managers had always taught you to shake it off. They were just bitter, unemployed people with nothing better to do. But it still made your heart ache, hearing such vile words about something you’d put your heart and soul into.
“Sweetie.”
You turn as you hear his voice. He’d obviously just gotten back from an auction. You could tell by those immaculate clothes and the crates of protocores his men were hauling in.
He comes to sit beside you, gently brushing a thumb over your cheek. You hadn’t realized you were crying until he held his glistening finger up to you.
Plucking the phone from your grasp, he scrolls through it, reading through the comments.
“What have I told you about reading this filth?” He sighs, tossing the phone aside. He hauls you into his lap, your head resting against his chest.
“I know…I just- I just-“
“It’s ok, kitten. I understand.”
He doesn’t let you go for the rest of the night, ignoring the calls of potential buyers and the teasing of the twins. He didn’t want you to be alone with that evil little device. Nor did he want your thoughts to consume you.
Your fans only really saw snippets of your married life. Sure, they saw a suave fruit salesman; a quiet, handsome man who most certainly didn’t deserve you.
They saw the man in the audience, the accessory at your red carpet events. They saw dazzling smiles and practiced paparazzi approved responses.
❥ But they couldn’t quite grasp the depth of his devotion.
Imagine doing Sylus’s makeup before a high-end protocore auction.
He should’ve left ten minutes ago. The twins were wondering where he was; all but overheating his phone with frantic messages. The plain and simple fact was that he was situated below you, makeup strewn about the room as you applied a sheer gloss to his lips.
It had been an hour since you’d clambered into his lap, demanding to do his makeup with your new kit.
“You’re not leaving until I’ve given you a makeover!”
Who was he to refuse such a sweet demand?
He was aware that this could potentially bruise his ego for life. How could he threaten people when he was wearing Hello Kitty eyeshadow? However, he remained still, allowing you to continue your work.
This wasn’t like him. Typically, he was all about retaining his smug, untouchable facade.
Perhaps it was the way your eyes squinted as you concentrated, crinkling at the edges. The precious way your tongue peaked from your lips while you worked. Or maybe he simply didn’t want to attend the auction after all. Regardless of the reasoning, he maintained his seat.
“Kitten, I have to go,” he chides. Though, he doesn’t make any move to actually leave. In fact, he seemed quite content to stay seated until you finished your application.
“Hold on! I’m doing your contour. Not that you need it, since your cheeks are so…” you trail off, fully enraptured with your work.
“Fine, finish your masterpiece,” he sighs.
It wasn’t quite one of distaste; rather that of a man fully complacent in his partner’s shenanigans. If you listened hard enough—which you weren’t, since you were focusing on perfecting his blush—you could detect a hint of fond amusement in his voice.
He wouldn’t be getting to that auction after all. He’d just have to explain to the twins that a certain kitten wanted to make him look pretty.
Could you please write some Rafayel angst centered around MC asking him to promise that he'll always come home alive because she can't imagine life without him anymore, but he can't bring himself to make that promise because he knows he'll always choose protecting Lemuria over protecting himself?
-Promise You’ll Return-
-°• Contents: Rafayel would never be able to keep that promise. Sometimes silence spares you the pain of the truth.
-°• Warnings: angst, implied death
-°• Bribri Speaks!: thank you so much for the lovely request! I’ve just had finals, so this was perfect to get my creativity flowing! I hope you enjoy ♡
“Promise you’ll return to me.”
Every time he was departing for an event, one’s far too extravagant for you to attend, you’d repeat the phrase.
“Don’t worry, cutie,” He’d laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I will!”
By dusk, he was always back in your arms, grumbling about the snobbish upper class.
He always kept his promise.
“Promise you’ll return to me.”
Whenever Thomas tugged him away, confining him to his studio so he’d finish his latest collection, you’d repeat this phrase.
“I promise, don’t worry. I can’t leave you and Reddie alone.”
No matter how long it took to complete the pieces, he’d always return to you, paint smeared upon his clothes. He’d bathe with you, allowing you to scrub his skin clean.
He always kept his promise.
“Promise you’ll return to me,” you said.
He wanted to leave, adamant on rediscovering the secrets of Lemuria. You couldn’t accompany him, he’d said. It was far too dangerous for your frail human body.
“Whatever would you do without me, Miss Bodyguard?”
He’d laugh.
Ask what you’d do while he was gone.
Kiss you silent.
But he’d never promise.
Logically, you knew that he couldn’t fulfill such a promise. His love for his homeland was far too strong. If he was held to the blade, he would bleed if it meant reviving his kingdom.
The naive, hopeful part of you just said he didn’t hear you.
He hadn’t contacted you in two days.
Though normal for some couples, it wasn’t for you.
Despite your wishful thinking, you couldn’t help but fear something awful had befallen your beloved sea god.
You alerted the authorities. Called Thomas. Anything to find Rafayel.
It was on day three that a local marine biologist rediscovered a thriving Lemuria south of Linkon. He’d been researching deep sea vents when he’d noticed something gold glimmering in the distance. Assuming it to be a sunken ship, he swam forth to observe.
He was shocked to discover a city. One of myth and magic, inhabited by a plethora of strange, almost-human beings.
You found out via the news.
‘Long Lost City Rediscovered’
Your heart sank.
“Promise you’ll return to me.”
Perhaps he had heard you. Perhaps he had chosen not to respond. Maybe he had been closer to reviving Lemuria than you had thought.
Maybe he’d wanted to spare you the pain of a broken promise.
It was month four when you realized Rafayel would never return.
You’d never stopped searching. You utilized Rafayel’s connections to search the depths of the oceans, the farthest reaches of Linkon, the most secluded islands.
He was nowhere to be found. No body. No trace. Nothing.
News outlets had quietly stopped reporting the investigation. The authorities assumed him as voluntarily missing.
As though he’d ever leave you for fun.
“You’re young. You’ll find some strapping young boy, I’m sure.”
You wouldn’t. You didn’t want to.
That traitorous fish. He’d carved his way into your life, only to leave you stranded without him.
People offered their condolences, marking you with pitying looks anytime you venture outside the estate.
But you knew.
You understood what the revitalization of Lemuria had cost.
It claimed your beloved.
Sacrificed him for a land that went extinct long ago.
And he’d let it.
Leaving you with nothing but an unfulfilled vow.
You found yourself repeating it on lonely nights such as these; when the waves wailed your name. When the sheen of Lemuria shone too brightly beneath the surf. When the moon reflected the sacrifice of the tumultuous depths.
Guys!! Would we be interested in a Luke and Kieran angst fic (feat Sylus)? I’ve been thinking about it for a while so I want to know if you’re interested ☆
-°• Rafayel falls in love with the Goddess of the moon
-°• Warnings: angst with no comfort
Imagine Rafayel, the God of the Sea, falling for you, the Goddess of the moon.
Imagine you met centuries ago, at a Lemurian summit. It was one of the few times you were granted the ability to leave your perch among the stars.
Imagine you felt an unyielding gaze burning through your skull as you spoke with the other gods in attendance. As you whirl around, your eyes catch those of the Sea God.
Imagine you approach him, inquiring as to why he was staring so long and hard.
“I apologize for my brash behavior, my lady. But I do believe I’ve never seen beauty quite like yours.”
Imagine you instantly fall head over heels. You’d never met someone quite like him. Though, that wasn’t saying much, since you were typically isolated to the sky.
You dance into the depths of the night, only for you to be whisked back into the sky the instant the sun begins to creep back over the sea.
Imagine you only see him from afar; gazing down upon his magnificent form every night. You sit atop the moon, humming hymns of ancient longing.
Imagine he drifts idly among the waves, his eyes fixed on the moon above. He imagines having you down here with him, in his arms, drifting along with him. He fantasizes the way the stars may illuminate your skin as you dance among the surf.
Imagine you may only visit him once in a blue moon; when the sea and the moon become one. On these rare occasions, you’re permitted to join him at sea. He showers you in his love and adoration, his longings manifested in a night of hanging on your every word.
He shows you around his palace as quickly as he can, treating you to delicacies of the ocean. He shows you around the Lemurian markets, the merchants excited to show their wares to the rarely seen goddess.
Imagine as the moon begins to dip below the horizon, you begin to fade from his arms.
“I will see you again, my pearl. Do not fear,” he promises, resisting the urge to cry as you disappear in a plume of stardust. “The sky can’t hold you forever.”
Imagine he can hear your wails as you hang the new moon in the sky the next night.
Imagine his heartache ravages the seas, currents churning and sinking any unfortunate ship he stumbles upon. Hundreds of sailors are lost to his misery, the waters dragging them deeper into his distress.
Imagine your life revolves around him. You tug and pull at his tides, yearning for his presence.
Yet;
You could never have him, cursed to watch on from above.
Forever divided by the horizon that kept the moon from her sea.
I’ve been here for five months now. My blog started with a stray idea and the notes app on my phone. I’ve always dreamt of writing something meaningful. Something that could make people, who like me, were trapped in this lackluster world, in need of an escape, feel something.
Every day, I’m stunned by how much love I receive.
You. You who interacted with my blog. You who liked my post. You who followed me. You have made this girl’s dream a reality.
So, I thank you, all of you, from the bottom of my heart. I’m so grateful for all of you.
I hope this New Year brings you nothing but joy and bliss.
I hope all your dreams come true.
Mine certainly have.
I will always work to help make yours a reality, too. Even if it’s only in my novice writings.
Even if it’s just having someone to hear you out.
Thank you for everything. Let’s continue loving and supporting each other throughout this year.
Hellooooo! Hope ur doing well 💚 Can we get an angsty non mc hurt comfort fic/drabble with xavier or rafayel? Doesn’t have to be related to mc i just need some drama that ends with comfort 😫 idk if i should be more specific but i would love it if u included misunderstandings and perhaps reversed the roles for once like whoever guy you end up writing for feeling like a second choice 🫣
Take caaare!
Also idk if im being too greedy or demanding (im sorry if thats the case :( ) but it would be awesome if u turned it into a series! Ofc just ignore this part if thats not something you’d wanna work on 😊
-Lemurian Aquamarine-
𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆞Why are you always with Thomas?𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼
-°• Contents: Rafayel, in all his drama and rash conclusions can’t understand why you’re spending so much time with Thomas.
-°• Warnings: general angst
-°• Bribri speaks!: thank you so much for the request! Never worry about being greedy, I’m so willing to indulge anything you’d like to read. I hope you enjoy and have a lovely New Years! ♥︎
Dramatic.
Rafayel was naturally dramatic.
It was in his DNA, he’d claimed. Even the most minor of paper cuts were a spectacle.
He was the self-proclaimed king of the drama queens.
For once, however, he believed he was having a reasonable reaction to the situation at hand.
You’d been hanging around Thomas for days. You were hardly leaving time for Rafayel.
He’d asked—no, begged—you to come watch Thaila’s performance on the Azurie Islands. It was the biggest performance she’d ever had, with hundreds of high-profile guests in attendance.
You’d claimed you were too busy with the Association.
Yet, later that afternoon, when he’d gone out for frappucino to console himself, he found you with none other than his own agent.
He was as confused as he was intrigued.
You’d always acted as though you loathed Thomas.
But here you were, having coffee like you were the best of friends.
The second time he’d caught you together, talking at a secluded park a few weeks later, his intrigue morphed to suspicion.
That was when Rafayel began his personal investigation. He’d begun prying more about your whereabouts, inquiring about why on earth you’d been with Thomas.
Anxiety crept upon him, even as you soothed his worries.
“Raffy, it’s nothing, I promise.”
Every time he asked, you’d brushed him off.
He began feeling jittery, and for good reason, he thought. Every time you left the house, he worried you’d return with Thomas on your arm.
He couldn’t help but jump to the worst conclusions.
His heart ached at the idea of your potential infidelity.
Was he too sarcastic? Thomas certainly wasn’t. He was blunt and honest. Rafayel could tone it down, he was sure.
Was he spending too much time on his art? Did you feel neglected? He knew he’d been rather consumed with work, but he tried to make time for you.
Each thought made him feel more queasy than the last.
Sleep evaded him, even as he lay beside you. All he could imagine was you with Thomas.
Laughing with him.
Smiling at him.
It was ruining him.
A few days later, he’d asked you to his art exhibit. It was good for his rivals to see that he had a strong Miss Bodyguard, he’d said. Truly, he just wanted to spend more time with you; even if it was in a stuffy gallery with snobs trying to buy his art.
Recently, your time together has been sparse, at best. The most he saw you was when you returned home in the late hours of the night; pressing a kiss to his temple, mumbling a goodnight, and heading to bed.
He missed his bodyguard.
His cutie.
His guppy.
Though he’d never admit it aloud, he missed you desperately.
Your presence. Your laughter at his stupid fish jokes. Your snark that matched his own.
He wanted his partner back.
Despite his pleas, they once again fell on deaf ears.
“The Association has been busy, Raffy. You understand, don’t you?”
No. He certainly didn’t.
Conveniently, Thomas was also absent from the gallery.
“Solana got called into work, I have to stay home with our baby. You can handle it on your own.”
No. He couldn’t.
Rafayel had been left alone in a gallery of nobility he despised; people who only came to see his work to get drunk and socialize.
He left early, unable to stomach any more champagne and fake smiles.
Wandering into the night, he’d hoped the bite of the cold would calm his nerves.
Originally, it had.
Until he saw you on the boardwalk, illuminated by the dim streetlight. You’d come to surprise him, he’d hoped. However, as he began to move towards you, a smile blooming upon his face, he notices a figure beside you.
Thomas.
You laughed. You smiled. You had a hand on his shoulder.
He audibly gasped.
You had said you were working late. You swore it was nothing.
It didn’t look like ‘nothing’.
He couldn’t bear the sight.
He felt like he’d lost you already.
It hurt.
It hurt more than Rafayel could fathom.
He turned on his heel, beginning the long route home. The ache in his heart intensified with every step. This was all the evidence he needed to convict you of your crimes.
You were cheating on him, he was certain.
Tears stung at his eyes, his breaths becoming ragged.
Loosen the tie. Why was it suddenly choking him? Why was the air so thick?
Once home, he collapsed, hardly making it to the couch before he did so.
His worst fears had been confirmed.
By the time you’d returned home, he was ready to beg for an explanation. He so desperately craved your reassurance.
For once, he prayed he was wrong.
“Where have you been?” He asked, his voice coming out far hoarser than intended. He couldn’t help it. He’d been crying for hours.
“I was at the Association, baby. I told you that.”
Liar.
“No, you weren’t,” he wails, standing from his perch on the chaise. He staggers, the weight of his grief taking a physical toll on him. “You were with Thomas!”
“Raffy, wait-“
“Are you cheating on me?”
The whole room went dead silent. All that could be heard was Rafayel’s ragged breathing.
“Why on earth would you think that?” You ask, taking a tentative step towards him.
“Because you’re always with him! I never see you anymore! What are you doing with him?“
He’s on his knees before you manage a breath.
Poets of the past had always claimed the eyes were the windows to the soul. You’d never understood that phrase until now.
His soul looked positively crushed.
“Please, Miss Bodyguard. If you’re in love with someone else, just tell me. Tell me and spare me the humiliation and-“
“Raffy!” You cry, interrupting his monologue. You sink to the ground alongside him, cupping his cheeks. “I’m not cheating on you, you daft fish!”
Silence once again befalls your room.
“Then why-“
He’s silenced when you draw a small, velvet box from your purse. When you open it, he nearly begins crying again for a whole other reason.
A ring of aquamarine.
Lemurian aquamarine.
A rare jewel which could only be secured by the most practiced of divers. Even then, it was risky for humans to venture to the depths of the legendary city.
“Thomas was helping me find a merchant of Lemurian aquamarine,” you whisper, carefully sliding the ring onto his finger.* “He was quite hard to track down, so I’d had to work with Thomas. I’d wanted to get something to remind you of home”
Rafayel hiccups, staring down at his now ring-clad hand.
“I thought- I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” he murmurs.
“Oh, my sweet love, I could never stop wanting you.”
Your words were a balm to his weary soul, a poultice to the cracks in his heart.
As you led him to bed that night, whispering promises of future dates and time spent together, the tension began to ease from his being.
“Maybe next time, though, we could have a conversation before you jump to worst conclusions?” You tease, drawing him into the silk of the bed.
“Yeah. Probably one of your better ideas, Miss Bodyguard.”
Yes, Rafayel had always been dramatic.
But you loved that about him.
You always had.
He’d simply been to caught up in his fears to realize it.
Can I request headcanons for the Lads men realising his feelings for gn reader please?
-The Moment I Knew-
-ˋˏ ༻They realize their feelings for you༺ ˎˊ-
-°• Contents: a series of fluffy headcanons on how the LADS men realize they’re in love with you
-°• Warnings: none!
-°• Bribri Speaks!: thank you so much for the request! I had a lovely time writing it. I’ve been struggling with writers block lately, so this really got my creativity flowing. Enjoy! ♥︎
Xavier:
Xavier realizes his feelings for you on his birthday. He’d had so many at that point that he couldn’t care to remember how old he was turning.
Though the agency had given him the day off, spent it like any other; he’d worked out, tended to his plants, and sorted through some reports. He couldn’t understand why humans desired to make such a fuss out of such a routine stepping stone.
It wasn’t until you showed up at his door, came in hand, that he began to understand.
You’d knocked on his door, glowing like the fourth moon of Philos.
“Happy birthday!” You cheered, wrapping your free arm around him. You whisk past him, busying yourself in his kitchen.
He was stunned, to say the least.
No one had ever cared enough to recall the date of his birth. Frankly, he’d never wanted anyone to.
But seeing you here, making yourself at home in his apartment, he found you weaseling into a place he’d previously barricaded from the rest of the world;
His heart.
Perhaps he didn’t mind celebrating his birthday, after all.
Zayne:
Zayne realized he was in love with you when you began bringing his lunch to work.
It didn’t hit him all at once. It wasn’t the star-crossed, movie-worthy zing of love at first sight. Rather, it developed over time.
The festering emotions began when his stomach began growling during your routine check-up. Though he’d apologized, seeking to maintain a professional atmosphere, you simply had to pry.
“Have you not eaten today, Doctor Zayne?” The question was innocent enough, yet the concern in your voice made his gut twist—and not from the hunger.
“Unfortunately, I’ve not yet had the chance. Now, about that cough…”
He’d thought nothing of the conversation once it was over, going about his responsibilities per usual.
That was until you showed up with a paper sack and a fork.
You’d cornered him between patients, holding out the bag.
“I got you some lunch. We can’t have Linkon’s best doctor starving to death.”
From then began a tradition. Every day, between cases, you’d bring Zayne lunch. Sometimes you’d stay and dine with him, other times you’d have to leave just as quickly as you’d arrived.
What began with an exasperated Zayne had ended in a ritual he’d genuinely come to enjoy. He adored your company, even when he struggled to outwardly show it.
Every meal, every conversation drew him into your orbit. Zayne found him falling slow and hard. All because of one grumbling stomach.
Rafayel:
Rafayel had been struggling on this painting for weeks; the final piece for his autumn collection. Thomas had been hounding him about getting it out in time for the exhibit. However, the creative juices simply weren’t flowing. The colors weren’t vibrant enough. The shapes weren’t crisp enough. Nothing was satisfying him.
He’d nearly given up on it. He’d almost decided to flee to the Galapagos to rekindle his creativity.
But then you showed up; coffee in hand, scarf tugged up around your neck.
“I know you’ve been struggling with your painting, so I wanted to bring you some coffee to help you out!” You chirp, holding up the paper cup.
Rafayel audibly gasps—and not because of your thoughtful coffee run. Your presence single-handedly reignited his artistic mind.
“Miss Bodyguard! Thank god you’re here. Come, I need you to be my muse.”
He spent the next few hours toiling to get your position and scenery perfect, before finally sitting to paint.
The canvas practically painted itself; colors streaking across the board freely. He felt he could finally create once again without restraint.
It was as he gazed upon you, taking in your features, that he felt a spark kindle low in his stomach. It was an unfamiliar fluttering, a sharp tug at his heart.
Seeing you, sitting ever so willing to help made his cheeks warm in all the right ways.
Days later, at the exhibit, he found himself loitering before your portrait; his crowning jewel. Oh, how the painter found himself yearning for his muse.
Sylus:
You’d been in the N109 on business. You were tracking an underground protocore trafficker, whom Sylus just happened to have details on.
Though he wasn’t exactly your typical informant, Sylus truly did have valuable information; and Jenna had instructed you to take the trafficker down, utilizing any necessary methods.
You’d shown up as you typically did; dressed in your hunter gear, ready to rumble whichever unfortunate soul dared to cross you today.
He drove you to the site of the trafficker’s dealings, pointing out the man you were ordered to arrest.
The arrest itself hadn’t exactly been friendly, so to speak.
Lo and behold, such behavior had resulted in a shoot out. You and Sylus had worked together. Flawlessly, in fact. Some could have mistook you for partners.
The feelings had been festering quietly up until then. But there was something about fighting together, working towards a common cause, that had ignited the previously flickering embers.
It was then, as he watched you read the trafficker his rights, that Sylus realized he was in deep; far, far too deep.
Caleb:
Caleb had always loved you. For as long as he could recall, he felt strong emotions for you. Even as a child, he knew he was called to be your protector.
However, the first time he could remember attaching the word ‘love’ to his emotions was when you were about seven years old.
You’d been playing around the playground, when you’d had the brilliant idea to climb a nearby oak.
Caleb, being your loyal guardian, of course, shimmied up alongside you.
“Be careful!” Grams had shouted, concern etched into her features. She didn’t enjoy the pair of you venturing where she couldn’t reach. But Caleb had it under control. He wouldn’t let any harm befall you. You were far too precious.
Sitting up there, one with the branches, a sense of peace settled over the park. An arm around your shoulders, your head upon his. It was one of the few times Caleb could recall a genuine sense of tranquility.
“I’ll always protect you, you know that, pipsqueak?”
“Yeah, yeah! I can protect myself!” You retort, your tongue peeking defiantly from your lips.
He laughs, shaking his head.
He knew you could defend yourself. But gazing down at you, surrounded by leaves, the sun beating down upon you, he couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else.
Caleb knew in that moment he’d give his life for you, if the opportunity arose.
That was when he first understood the definition of love.
diamond earrings with sugar in either ❤️ or 💙 pleaseee. ooh and the 🩵 bow <3
it would be nice to see how calebmc would grow from locking mc out of his room when he’s sicks when he’s now a lot more comfortable with being vulnerable with mc
ps. this is such a cute concept have a cookie 🥺🍪🫰🏻
-Christmas Miracle-
-°• Contents: a fluffy story of how you take care of stubborn Caleb when he gets sick on the night before Christmas.
-°• Warnings: mentions of nausea, coughing, and vomit—references to ‘The Night Before Christmas’ by Clement C. Moore
-°• Bribri Speaks!: thank you so much for the request! You seem so sweet, I really appreciate the kind words! I hope you enjoy, and have a lovely holiday season! ♡
⇢ LADsmas prompts
‘Twas the day before Christmas, when all through the house, a creature was stirring. His violent coughs rang through the halls, disturbing all who lived there. Not even the carolers outside could ignore the obvious sounds of sickness, their singing overcome by his ailment.
“Caleb, I can hear you in there. You sound like you’re hacking up a lung.”
He’d come home early, a feat that was a Christmas miracle in itself. You’d assumed the fleet had given him a day off for the holidays.
Over the phone, he’d promised hours of cringy Hallmark films and hot coco. However, when you were met at the door with pale skin and a far-too-exhausted smirk, you knew something was wrong.
In your childhood, anytime Caleb fell ill, he’d go about his day like he was just fine. He’d go to school, complete his chores, all while wearing that signature ‘I’m just fine, Grams’ grin.
You’d hoped as he got older, he’d grow out of the habit.
It seemed that was wishful thinking.
Now, he’s sealed himself in the bathroom, trying—and failing—to discreetly fight off bouts of nausea.
“Pips, I’m fine,” he assures. Though, the cough that cuts him off suggests otherwise. “You should start making the cookie dough.”
“Fat chance. Caleb, let me in,” you demand, jiggling the door handle.
Perhaps it was the conviction in your voice. Or maybe he finally found the effort to conceal his sickness to be fruitless. No matter the reason, Caleb finally relented, the door swinging open with a protesting creak.
He looked like death itself. Perhaps that was slightly dramatic, but seeing the strong, unshakable Caleb crouched against the side of the toilet was jarring for you.
Yet, he still wore that infuriating smirk.
“I said I’m fine, pipsqueak. No need to get your panties in a twist.”
You weren’t buying that.
Crouching down beside him, you press your hand to his forehead. He was absolutely burning up.
“You’re sick, dummy. Let’s get you to bed,” you say, hauling him up from his perch by the toilet.
“Hey! But what about Charlie Brown? What about gingerbread?” He protests, a pout tugging at his lips as you draw him back to the bedroom.
Had he not looked dead on his feet, you would’ve laughed at his behavior.
Instead, you help him back to bed, tucking him into the covers.
“I don’t care about cookies, Leb. I just want you healthy.”
He pauses for a moment, staring up at you. He’d always been the steadfast older brother; the one who could pull his punches. He’d always been the one caring for others, never the one being cared for.
It felt odd; almost uncomfortable.
As you press a cool wash cloth to his forehead, he sighs softly. It felt nice to be taken care of. Though it was hard for him to relinquish the weight of the world, he felt more willing to share it with you.
“Fine. But I expect to watch our movies still.”
“Deal. Just keep your ass in bed.”
The pair of you spend the remainder of Christmas Eve bundled in your festive pajamas, streaming Home Alone from your laptop.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The sickened Caleb slept peacefully, in the arms of his beloved; a true Christmas miracle, gifted from above.
-°• Bribri Speaks!: Merry belated Christmas my beloved travellers! I hope you’ve all had lovely holidays! ♡
⇢❄︎ Xavier is talented in many areas. While he’s both a formidable hunter and a caring partner, the one thing that consistently evades him is the art of cooking. Everything the pair of you attempt to make ends in carnage. The gingerbread house is obliterated on the counter. Cookies result in an icing massacre. Fruit cake is burnt before it’s given a fighting chance.
“Star? I don’t think the oven is meant to be smoking like that…”
You end up having to have him sit and watch from the couch, ensuring he could no longer wreak havoc on your poor kitchen.
⇢❄︎ Zayne won’t let you near him when the first flurry of snow begins. His evol tends to grow uncontrollable the temperature first drops. When he’s not at the hospital, he confines himself to his study, terrified of accidentally harming you. Though you try to assure you trusted him, he’s steadfast in his isolation. He only speaks to you through the locked mahogany, refusing any unnecessary contact.
“Oh, thank you for the tea, darling. Please leave it outside, I’ll get it later.”
Once his evol has acclimated to the colder climate, he re-emerges like the ghost of Christmas past, acting as though it never happened at all.
⇢❄︎ Rafayel refuses to spend Christmas in the chilly weather of Linkon. His delicate palate simply cannot handle temperatures below sixty degrees. He’d never understood the human fascination with snow on Christmas.
“Cutie, I’m a fish. I’ll freeze in the cold! Do you want me to freeze to death?”
“But whyyyy do you need to see snow? It’s dandruff from the clouds!”
He flies the pair of you somewhere tropical; perhaps some far off island where the pair of you can spend your holidays sipping piña coladas by the sea.
⇢❄︎ Perhaps it’s not surprising that Caleb brings you home for Christmas. Taking a weekend off from the fleet, he drives you back down to your hometown in Linkon. He prepares Gram’s famous hot chocolate, sprinkling a pinch of cinnamon, just as she had in years past. The pair of you build a snowman in the backyard, adorning him with a scarf and hat.
“There! Our very own snowy guard. I think he needs a name. Any ideas?”
“Should I cook Gram’s sugar cookies next, and skip dinner all together. Or should we be healthy and make green bean casserole?”
Caleb spends the entire day recreating the Christmas of your childhoods; Gram’s fig pudding and carols of years before. Even without her present, Caleb angles to visit Christmas past.
⇢❄︎ While he appears to have a strong aversion to anything festive, Sylus spends the entirety of the holidays holed up with you, the twins, and Mephisto. Despite his best efforts, he finds himself enjoying the ugly sweaters and the scent of warm gingerbread. He’d never had a family, or friends, for that matter, to celebrate anything with. Holidays were spent alone. Festivities were forgotten. But with you, and this small, misfit bunch, he found his distaste for the season being rewritten.
“Hmm? New motorcycles? No, I didn’t buy them. Must’ve been kitten here.”
Though he vehemently denies it, he did in fact buy Luke and Kieran new motorcycles.
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