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promise (to be holy)
rafayel; 1,745 words; fluff, fluff w/out plot, established relationship, kinda?spoilers for raf's lvl 55 affection story, no "y/n", genderless!reader, very suggestive but not actually nsfw
summary: oh, didn't you know? promises are sacred things beneath the ocean...
a/n: @syneilesis thank u for being my lad screaming buddy; this one's for you and for raf the little slut
The ocean has always been a certain kind of poetry, hasn’t it? You smile to yourself as you blink yourself awake and the world is the size of your sunlit bedroom. Rafayel’s breaths are even, his lashes so dark and long they remind you of a certain kind of midnight — the kind that catches starlight in her hair and has magic in her fingertips.
The kind of midnight that inspires wonder.
“If you really are that enamored with me… I can paint you a portrait. It’ll last longer.”
You blush, even as Rafayel’s eyes flicker open to catch yours, his lips pulled into a teasing, sleep-heavy smile.
“I — I wasn’t staring. I just woke up too and you were blocking my sun.”
You try to turn away, but Rafayel is faster, his arm looping around your middle to pin you to him, his breath warm as it kisses the skin of your bare shoulder. He cocks his head, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.
“Oh? Is that so?” he asks, shifting so that your eyes are level. The morning light paints his outline in liquid gold, and from here, the shade of his eyes makes you think of all the secrets the sea might keep from the sky.
“Mhm,” you nod, licking your lips, and watching with some satisfaction, as his eyes flick down to trace the movement. His skin is warm and his fingers soft as they press into the bend of your waist to pull you closer.
“Liar,” he says — whispers, before he dips down to graze his lips against yours.
You sigh against him, grinning as you curl your fingers into his hair and tug. The way he gasps makes a certain, unnamable hunger surge within you, pushing you forward till you’re pressing him back into the bed, your thighs on either side of his hips.
“Y-you — ngh —” Rafayel hisses as he tips his head back, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, his fingers inadvertently into your skin. You cock your head — and perhaps it’s the tantalizing line of his neck as he leans back, straining beneath you, or perhaps it’s just the morning light, falling like a lover’s caress across the smooth of his skin, the soft wave of his hair as it splays across the pillow — dark against light.
“Now… who’re you calling a liar?” you ask, flattening your palm slowly against his chest, reveling in the way his stomach tenses beneath you, how his breaths seem to quicken as you lean down and down and down.
“Y-you —” he almost musters up a glare as he hisses, “bullying the weak…” he murmurs as he tries to turn away. You twist his face back towards you with a finger beneath his chin and watch as his eyes go wide.
“Oh? You think this is bullying? But… I haven’t even gotten started yet…” you don’t miss the way his pupils dilate, the way his entire body goes rigid and then soft.
“I — you — I’m not accustomed to the ways of you humans! T-to a Lemurian like me… this is — this is —” The words die on his lips as you lean down to skim your lips along the bend of his neck, dropping phantom kisses on the long line of his collarbone, your fingers still holding his head in place.
“Hm?” you hum, grinning as he arches up into your touch, his fingers digging crescent-moon grooves into your hips and thighs, “this is… what, exactly?”
Rafayel makes a broken, keening noise at the back of his throat as you pull away, a fox-fire smile twisting your lips. You blink down at him, feigning innocence.
“Didn’t you say you were going to tell me all about Lemurian traditions? Why not start now?”
His eyes narrow as he forces himself to look away from you. You can almost feel the heat radiating off him in waves, burning from the tips of his ears all the way to the roots of his hair.
“I — you —” his lashes flutter and you can’t help your own laughter as it bubbles from you.
“C’mon, let’s get up — didn’t you want to go to the paint shop today — oh!”
You make to pull away, swinging your legs off him, but the world tilts as a pair of hands pull you back, and a moment later, you’re being pressed into an ocean of tangled sheets and pillows, Rafayel’s face hovering above yours, his expression caught between annoyance and ill-concealed desire.
“You shouldn’t start something you can’t finish,” he cocks his head, lips drawn into a delightful pout as you try to tug your hand away. He huffs as he pins you down harder, the redness in his cheeks deepening even as he leans in.
“Who said I was starting anything?” you ask, batting your lashes up at him even as he scoffs.
“Words aren’t the only way to make promises, y’know,” he says, and you feel his grip on you loosen. But there’s a tantalizing lilt to his voice that holds you in place, a dark, faraway look in his eyes as he leans back slightly, his gaze grazing down the shape of you, splayed out beneath him.
“Yeah? Then… what’s another way of making a promise?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows as he shifts back to allow you more space. You shift and the pair of you find yourself sitting face to face, the sheets rumpled around you like a white-sand beach, the remnants of the night before scattered in the folds like footsteps in the sand.
He looks at you before his eyes cast downwards. Your fingertips itch toward him and you reach out, brushing aside a stray strand of hair. Quick as a flicker, he catches your hand, pressing his cheek to your palm, eyes falling shut as he sighs.
“There’s… lots of ways to make a promise…” he says, murmuring it against your skin as he turns his face to press a kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist. You shiver as heat chases up your arm, tingling through your body as you swallow.
You sit there, frozen, as he leans in, slow and slow and slow — till you can feel the heat of his breath on your lips.
“You see… words are a little harder when you’re underwater, so sometimes we make promises by touching palms —” he turns his hand around yours till your fingers lace, “sometimes… we brush cheeks…” he grins as he leans in further, his cheek brushing by yours.
“And sometimes…” he pulls back ever so slightly, till you feel your own breath catch in your chest. His voice is deep and warm and soft and sweet — tugging you in as the moon on the tide, and you can’t help but wonder at the mysterious forces that might’ve pulled you towards one another in the beginning.
Chance, or perhaps something much less nebulous — like gravity.
Your lips meet like magnets clicking into place, and it’s far from the first time you’ve kissed but somehow here, in the morning light, with the windows of the bedroom thrown open to welcome the sea, the salt hanging solid and heavy in the air, it feels like the first time. You can taste the smile on Rafayel’s lips, can feel the eager way he presses in, tongue sweeping across your lips as you gasp open for him. You feel the weight of his body as he pulls you in, pushes you down, and the gentle give and take of it all somehow rings out against the slow shushing of the rising tides.
When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless. You wonder, briefly, dazedly, if he might’ve been able to go on kissing like that forever. Do Lemurians even need to breathe? What might it be like to kiss like that and never feel the burning ache of oxygen in your lungs? It’s a dizzying thought, and you let yourself linger on it for a second more before Rafayel’s laughter breaks your train of thought.
“What? Was it so good that you’ve gone into shock?”
You blink, shaking your head as you feel heat wash up into your cheeks.
“No! I — I was just wondering… what does a kiss promise, exactly?”
And at this, Rafayel’s cheeks darken again, but he sighs and lowers himself onto the bed next to you, a finger trailing idly along the bend of your ear.
“Well…” he says, “it depends on the kind of kiss.”
You yelp, swatting at him with a pillow as your stomach flips inside you at the implications. His laughter is bright and pure and sweet, but as you both settle down again, he shrugs, pulling you closer to nuzzle his nose against yours.
“But mostly… a kiss just promises that there’ll be another kiss.”
You smile, leaning up to graze your lips against his, “Like that?”
He lets out a soft groan before pulling you in, his lips parting yours, slow and sensuous.
“Yeah… just like that.”
“And so… if you kiss once then…” you press a finger to his lips to stop him from leaning down again, “you’ve gotta keep on kissing? Forever?”
Rafayel grins, tugging away your hand, “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”
You purse your lips, humming as you feign contemplation. Rafayel scoffs and makes to move away again, but you pull him back, laughing.
“You can’t leave yet! We’ve got a promise to keep, remember?” and with that, you kiss him, and he softens. As he always does.
“I think…” he says, a little breathless as the pair of you sink back into the sheets, “we’ve got a bit more than one promise… but I think we can start with this one…” and he leans in to capture your lips in his, fingers drifting to the skin of your waist. And as the dawning day watches from beyond the window, the ocean shushes itself against a stretch of forgotten beach, water through sand like tangling lovers’ fingers, reaching and holding, pushing and pulling.
And for lovers like that, there will always be promises to keep, and keep, and keep.
pls come talk to me about love and deepspace oh m ygod
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His | Diavolo x Reader
word count: 1,114
Possessive Diavolo
Started off as an imagine where the man is a serious kitty eater, and then , well, I just kept going!
I had uploaded this earlier, but for some reason it was all cut off!?! Boy was I upset.
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Bring Her to Me | Diavolo X Reader
Word Count : 391
Thoughts = ‘ Example ‘
Flashback = Example
Diavolo sending Doppio for the reader || Short and not so sweet
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A TALE OF TWO STRANGERS
who is this beautiful stranger you keep seeing on the train? perhaps his moment of carelessness is the perfect chance to get to know him.
albedo x gender neutral reader.
wc: 1.3k.
content: fluff, meet cute + modern au. both reader and albedo being simps.
for @bunny-rambles <3 i hope you like this, dearest! i struggled a little with this one, so it might not be my best one… but i hope you still enjoy it.
reblogs and comments are much appreciated!
it’s funny, you think.
how two people who seemingly have nothing to do with each other can end up standing so close.
you’ve been seeing him, for weeks now.
he always steps into the train at the same station.
when you see the stranger, you always think of the stars: aglow with a distinguishable golden aura, something you could never miss, not even standing amongst millions of city lights. the stranger is the picture perfect image of elegance and flawlessness: ash blonde hair, neatly tied back in a half braid you’ve daydreamed of undoing all too often; eyes blue as the summer sky, northern stars in the midst of the snowy plane of his beautiful face. his hands, always busy scribbling or sketching in a notebook, seem sculpted in the image of a greek statue to the ancient gods; pristine, dainty yet strong, tendons and veins evidently marked in his spotless skin.
you want to hold them, you want them sneaking under your shirt, and…
no.
you can’t have these thoughts. all you know is the man’s name.
albedo.
you spotted it in the beige cover of the notebook he always carries, but you’ve never exchanged a single word with him.
yet, something about the boy puts you at ease and rises squalls in the convoluted yarn ball that are your feelings all at once.
you want to talk to him.
you take a breath, open your mouth.
and…
you close it again. no, what if you scare him off?
the train stops, and he exits.
it’s his usual station.
sighing, you rest your cheek on the palm of your hand, leaning on the fogged up window beside you.
it’s pouring outside.
—
on the other side of the train’s doors, albedo’s heart races.
the pretty person whose name he doesn’t even know was there again this morning.
you were there again.
he sighs, an uncommon action for the cool and composed scientist. today it seemed like you wanted to say something, and, truth be told, he wanted to talk to you too.
what does your voice sound like, he wonders.
but if a conversation with you were to happen, how is he going to explain the sketches of you he’s started drawing while commuting?
—
you are certain you might’ve started going crazy. you see him in dreams, too, now.
albedo.
it’s not like there’s anything out of the usual in these dreams of yours. they are quite unordinary, in fact, merely memories from the events taking place every morning.
what eats at you is the fact that you can’t stop thinking about him.
at any given moment of your day (that is, when you don’t see him in the morning commute) it’s like a radio channel opens in the busy plane of your mind, connecting directly to albedo. ‘what might he be doing now?’ ‘has he eaten yet?’ ‘is it his bedtime already?’ this line of thought is always followed by a pretty crescent on your lips and sighs to temporary dispel the rose-colored clouds constructed by your yearning heart.
maybe tomorrow, perhaps you’ll know his voice.
tomorrow. the word sounds good in your mouth, when you whisper it to the moon that greets your long nights.
if a shooting star were to paint the indigo heavens in the golden of the man you may love, you wouldn’t hesitate about what to ask.
make it happen, are the last unspoken words you remember before drifting off into slumber.
—
the planets must have aligned for you last night.
however, right now you are not sure whether this is a good thing or not. you can’t think straight when your wild heartbeat is urging you to say something, do something, to make it happen.
the beautiful stranger, no, albedo is sitting in front of you in the train this morning.
under the overcast sky reigning outside, you swear he is what enabled today’s dawn. to you, he always seemed to radiate a strange yet magnetic hue of gilded magic.
you don’t know him, but you do. akin to a firefly at twilight, stars painting horizons in silver petals, a molten sphere of sunset behind argent clouds.
familiar; an enigma. close; otherworldly.
and perhaps it was the early breeze, ruled by distant constellations, that put the key to the mystery in your trembling palms; for, when the train’s doors open next, a single beige sheet flutters out of the prince-like artist’s notebook, to land still in your lap.
for the second time since you wished for a conversation with albedo, silence fills the seconds.
a perfect portrait of you smiles up from where the paper is resting. the person displayed is just a sketch, penciled in black and white, but the accuracy is uncanny. you take the page in your hands, fingertips tracing the little details: the curve of your smile, the way your hair frames your face, the shine in your eyes… it all feels… alive, almost.
a soft voice, its words blurry and jumbled, startles you.
he clears his throat.
“ah… i… apologies.” albedo states.
and as sweet as the blissful daydream you entered while admiring the artwork is, alas, your heart hammers again against your ribcage, its pace merciless, almost as if it wanted to meld together with the one in front on you.
“i- it’s okay!” you stammer, trying to cover the tremor in your voice with light laughter that comes out more choked out than anything. “i… i- uh i think- you are a very good artist.” you finally manage, returning the drawing to him, still not daring to make eye contact.
albedo reaches out his hand to retrieve the incriminating proof of his innocent crime, but then, he pauses.
“i think you can keep that one, since you already… since you saw.” he runs a hand through his fair hair, granting you a too tempting view of his toned forearm.
you try not to stare, but you must have failed, since albedo’s soft icy eyes catch yours for a second.
then, he continues.
“i’m sorry, you must think this is inappropriate but…” he scratches the back of his neck, this hesitance of his an unexpected, yet utterly adorable, contrast to the composed and collected man you were used to. “i tend to draw anything that inspires me and… well, your aura influenced me, motivated me, to create art.” he sighs, as if defeated. “you must think i’m some kind of weirdo. i deeply apologize.”
an airy laughter is what he’s met with. and in this instant he couldn’t care less if he was being laughed at. the sound of your laughter comes in aureate waves, tinkling bells, swaying and dancing as spring melts last winter’s snow.
he could paint it. paint you, in the most vibrant viridian and yellow, seraphic reds and pinks, and it would never be enough. because how is he to replicate perfection? how is color to do you justice? how can the hands of an artist illustrate what his heart desires, without missing any details?
and then, the voice he’s longed for in endless days and longer nights takes ahold of him again. as if a divine being was strumming his very own heartstrings, you say:
“it’s okay, albedo.”
albedo. he likes the sound of his name in your sugary lips.
did he ever tell you his name, though?
question marks flit across his frozen sapphire eyes, specks of sunlight dancing in the lingering inquiry fluttering around his mind.
“your sketchbook.” you point to the brown cover. “i assumed that was your name.” a gentle smile tugs at your lips, euphoria coloring your insides, heart ablaze.
you made it happen.
“then, may i have yours, perhaps?” the princely painter asks.
through foggy windows, landscapes race by outside. the flowers are still dotted in the dawn’s dewy droplets, reminiscent of diamonds when the sun decides to wake.
golden rides the horizon, a fine line, aglow between heaven and earth.
under the morning’s star knowing gaze, an infatuated boy repeats the name of the one he’s fallen for.
the sun blinks. the compartment the boy and the person who’s fallen for him too share fills with light.
they are strangers no more.
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[ TO LOVE ] SCARAMOUCHE.
to love is to betray—at least that’s how scaramouche has always seen it.
and then he meets you.
“this is my bath,” you tease him lightly, and even despite the shooing motion of your hand, even despite the soft glare sent your way, you still make room for him to settle between your legs.
“well, it’s also mine now too,” he huffs.
he leans his back against your chest, let’s his body melt in against yours, let’s the soft trace of your hands fill the empty cracks with something he’s lacked for long time.
scaramouche is almost certain you realize he’s in love with you before he comes close to knowing himself. and it’s funny—even though you fall first, he falls harder.
maybe it’s just the world being cruel once again, just as it always has been with him. it’s cruel, downright evil, really, that something about you makes him forget so easily who he is, who he’s supposed to be. love has always written itself as betrayal—but you make it seem so promising, luring out the softest parts of him, the naive ones that hope and hope…just to crumble in the end, like always.
but then you wash his hair, lathering shampoo into your hands and working through his hair softly, slowly, delicately like he’s fragile.
“admit it. you just like it when i wash your hair, huh?” and you’re still teasing, still using that slightly amused tone when you speak to him. he should be insulted, he thinks, but there’s a smile on his face.
for a moment, he notes that he’s lucky his back is facing you and the smile stretched across his lips is hidden—otherwise you’d have the satisfaction of knowing you’re right. because he does love when you wash his hair, he loves the closeness and the safety and the feeling of being wanted. of being cherished. of being something to someone without having to earn it first.
but he can’t bring himself to admit it, so instead, he scoffs, leaning more weight onto you as he quirks a brow.
“well, why wash it myself if you’re around?”
it’s his way of giving himself the upper hand—his way of convincing himself that love is not the reason why he so desperately chases the tenderness of your fingers against his scalp. no, instead, he convinces himself that mortals such as you were made to serve him like this. to treat him like he’s holy and divine, like he’s the god you’re meant to worship as you kiss his shoulder with a giggle.
“that’s true,” you hum, “why would you do it when i can take care of you?”
but you’re different—and it scares him a little. you don’t worship him like he’s a deity, like he’s all mighty and the answer to your prayers. instead, you simply love him, like it’s a choice, like it’s something you want.
you cover his eyes as you rinse out the suds. love. you cup his cheek and admire him. love. you lean down and press a kiss to the tip of his nose, teasingly grazing over his lips before pulling away. love.
everything about you is completely in love—but to love is to betray, and he knows the inevitable will be soon to come.
so he denies the urge to pull you back in, ignores the almost painful need to feel your lips press against his, turns away every part of him that screams to let i love you spill from his lips.
because every time he loves, every time he so graciously gives every piece of himself—like the heart he doesn’t have, even offering the parts that don’t exist and giving them up anyway—love always tastes like a bitter sip of betrayal.
i love you, he wants to say. but he knows as soon as the words slip, so will you from his fingers. just like the last time—just like the first.
“you don’t need to take care of me,” he grunts, “i’m fine on my own.”
“on your own,” you hum in thought, as if you’re carefully taking in his words. “isn’t that lonely?” you ask softly. by now, your hand has resigned to rubbing slow circles into his chest, pulling him in closer, almost as if proving a point.
i’m right here. you’re not alone.
“no,” he says stubbornly, “i’m above needing—”
“cause sometimes i’m lonely,” you admit, cutting him off. there’s no shame in your voice, not even a trace of hurt or sadness or even hatred. instead, you smile, pressing another kiss to his shoulder, and then the crook of his neck as you murmur, “but i guess not so much when i’m with you.”
“me?”
“yeah,” you nod, resting your chin on his shoulder, cheek pressed against his, “you. cause i love you, you know?”
and once again, scaramouche realizes he’s in love. he’s been so painfully in love for so long—and he thinks you’ve known it for even longer.
and to love is to betray, he thinks—but you’re still here, still holding him tight in your arms as you smile into his skin. so he finds a little hope, a little relief, as he closes his eyes and listens to your heartbeat against his back.
after a moment, with a tight grip on your thigh and wobbly lips, he quietly whispers, “i think i love you too.”
© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok
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Captain Kaeya Day ⭐️❄️
[reblogs, notes and comments are always appreciated!]
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Scaramimir 🌙
#scaramouche fan art#sleepy baby#genshin#genshin imapct#genshin impact#genshin impact fanart#fanart#scaramouche#scara#blue#soft#artists on tumblr#my art#new artist#digital agency#SCARAMIMIR
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SQQ “Mourning”
My interpretation on SQQ’s guilt + remorse..
Shizun, I just want to see him cry.. This is after he pushed lbh down to the abyss ~~
Note : I think I’m going to stick to this artstyke from now on! Finally found sth that is close to how I draw traditionally ~~~
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you're a doctor [diluc, scaramouche, xiao, albedo, zhongli]
modern hospital au, fluff, headcanons
diluc
- gets really flustered when you check on him in his room during your rounds
- his heartbeat is normal, but it's pretty fast and you could only smile and slightly laugh at him as you continue the physical test
- on days when you visit his room and you're looking down, or perhaps just tired and sleep deprived, he asks how you are as you go about checking him
- "you look, not okay," he says awkwardly as you enter the room
- you only smile sadly and explain that you lost a patient today
- he silently provides words of comfort and assurance that you're a doctor, not a god, and you can't save everyone (this usually doesn't help that much, unfortunately)
- "well, at least you know that you aren't losing this patient," he says proudly, and you suppose this does lighten your mood a lot
scaramouche
- is actually a nurse and colleague, but he unfortunately got sick
- you once entered his room to him shouting at an intern, while teaching them how to insert the iv fluid behind his hand while avoiding it getting butchered
- you checked on him after the intern finally attached the iv to scaramouche's liking
- he's frowning the whole time and is a little moody, and when you ask him about it, he grumbles about not being able to work
- "hmph, it's humiliating to need healthcare when i should be the one providing it"
- you laugh and tell him you'll get him a gift and a get-well-soon card while patching up his bruised left hand from the intern's nervous mistakes
- "you should be more gentle towards interns, you'll be really well-likable if you show them your kind side"
- "i'm already likable; you like me, right?"
- you could only cough bashfully, reporting the status of his physical test with feigned professionalism as he slightly snickers
xiao
- if diluc was flustered as hell, xiao stops working the moment your stethoscope touches his chest
- he seems to look forward to your daily visits to his hospital room, and though he's always silent, there's a sort of glimmer in his eyes that washes away his boredom from staying at bed the whole day
- he only talks when you attempt to make small talk with him while you go about your work, and his replies are shorter and often result to silence, but you don't really mind
- you once brought him a get-well-soon gift because you accidentally eavesdropped on a conversation he had with his relative, and he seemed very upset for his prolonged stay at the hospital
- his mood was drastically better the following days after you gave it to him, and he'd talk more than usual starting then
albedo
- he's the lab technician at your hospital
- you take breaks at the same time, so you'd usually meet up with him for lunch or a small walk in the hospital garden
- sometimes you just sit outside and rant about your day while he sketches and draws on his notebook
- you also see him a lot when forwarding test specimens from patients
- has a frenemy relationship with scaramouche
- scara joins you in taking breaks sometimes, and albedo once commented that he's very noisy, but scara says that, no, he's not noisy, because he hates noisy people, and he's not one of them
- now they both think the other is annoying, but has no real reason to hate each other, so sort of just accepts each other's existence
zhongli
- a very fun patient to check on
- he greets you everyday when you check on him, putting down his book or new paper to respectfully greet you with a smile
- he does the small talking when you check him, asking you how your day was, or ask you why you're feeling down when you look like you are, etc.
- he gave you a thank you gift a few days before he was about to get discharged and you were really touched
- so in turn you gave him some osmanthus tea (you suggest he go sober for a while after getting out of the hospital), that he had talked about once
- you see him at least once a month now for a regular checkup :D
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A little thing no one but you knows, whenever Scaramouche has a good dream, he wakes up with a small, innocent smile, and seems quite relaxed as he slowly returns back to reality. And if you were the main attraction of his dream (which is usually the case), his contentment prevails and you get the rare opportunity to interact with sleepy but happy Kunikuzushi. You have several options of what to do next:
1) initiate a cuddle session - if he has more time till he has to get up, this might actually help him fall asleep again;
2) talk to him - his voice is husky in the morning and he might be willing to share bits of his past - that's how you learned of his given name, along with other things;
3) creepily stare at him - he's handsome, alright? And he can't deny it's not an ego boost when you look at him so reverently so he ignores the "creepines" aspect of it (and let's be honest, he'd probably do the same thing were the roles reversed).
Overall, it's a good way to start the day for both of you.
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i should have acted out in school more none of the consequences mattered actually
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i hate when people ask me what sign i am like bitch i’m a sign from god. start running.
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Cat 5. Pencil crayon on paper, 210x148mm, 2021.
www.carpmatthew.com
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