𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb
𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ i hope this is what you guys requested for :) … just pure fluff
> ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ The boys take care of you after a long day
𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
The door squeaked open and you barely stepped inside before your bag dropped to the floor with a dull thud. Your limbs felt like jelly, your head foggy, and every cell in your body screamed for warmth and softness.
You didn’t even get a chance to call his name.
Rafayel was already lounging upside-down on the couch, his legs draped over the backrest, silver shells glinting in his hair. He was wearing one of his oversized white shirts and munching on something bright pink.
He blinked lazily, lips stained coral. “You look like a drowned shrimp.”
You groaned, face falling into your hands. “I want to die.”
“Mmm, dramatic. Very theatrical,” Rafayel purred, rolling onto his stomach with an exaggerated flop. “Did they bully you again?”
You didn’t answer, just trudged over and collapsed beside him.
He caught you before you could faceplant, arms curling tightly around your waist as he pulled you into his lap without complaint. One hand slid up your back, the other finding your cheek, cool fingers brushing away the tired lines under your eyes.
“Poor little starfish,” he murmured, softer now. “Worked so hard, didn’t you?”
You nodded, forehead pressed to the curve of his shoulder.
“They made you carry things again, didn’t they?” His voice was somewhere between a pout and a threat. “Told you to smile more? Mmm, how vile. I should paint their faces on mollusk shells and grind them into powder.”
That got a small, exhausted laugh out of you.
“There it is,” he whispered, smug. “There’s my pretty sound.”
His hands were already working at your coat buttons, coaxing you out of your stiff workwear, replacing them with the warmth of the throw blanket he’d been curled under before you arrived. It smelled like sea salt and vanilla and faint traces of paint.
When you leaned into him more, he shifted beneath you, cradling your legs across his lap, his cheek nuzzling into your hair.
“No more of that ugly world for tonight,” Rafayel said firmly, brushing your temple with a kiss. “You’re staying right here, with me.”
You made a little whimper of agreement, eyes fluttering shut.
Rafayel smiled against your skin. “Good girl. You don’t have to do anything now. I’ll be your whole ocean, alright?”
And for the rest of the night, he was. Stroking your hair, murmuring soft things, letting you curl in his lap like you were something sacred. He brought you snacks, warm towels, even massaged your tired feet with sea-scented oil he claimed was “from a tidepool that only appears during blue moon eclipses.”
You didn’t believe him. But you didn’t need to.
Not when he kissed your hand so sweetly. Not when he looked at you like you were the only piece of humanity worth loving.
𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
The apartment was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of a lamp near the kitchen. The faint scent of coffee lingered in the air, rich, grounded. Steady.
You barely had the energy to shut the door behind you before you sagged against it, head falling back with a sigh.
“Don’t move,” came his voice from the hallway, low, even, and unmistakably Zayne.
You blinked up to see him already walking toward you, sleeves rolled to his forearms, silver wire-frame glasses perched low on his nose. His black hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run a hand through it one too many times while reading something aggravating.
He took one look at your expression and set the file folder he was holding aside without a word.
You didn’t even need to ask.
He stepped in close, warm hands finding your coat buttons, deft fingers working them open one by one. “Did you remember to eat?” he asked, voice cool but lined with concern.
“No,” you murmured. “Didn’t have time.”
Zayne clicked his tongue. “Tsk. So predictable.” He slipped your coat from your shoulders, brushing his knuckles gently down your arm as he did. “At this rate I’ll be sending you to my own department.”
You managed a weak laugh. “Maybe I just want attention from a very specific surgeon.”
He gave you a flat look. “I’ve told you before, if you want to be babied, try a pediatrician.” But then, quietly, as he cupped your cheek: “…Though I suppose I’ll make an exception. Just tonight.”
You leaned into his hand, exhausted.
Without another word, he guided you toward the couch, his hand never leaving your lower back. Once seated, he crouched down, unlacing your shoes with the same careful precision he used in the OR. Every movement was quiet, efficient, like he’d done this before. Like he wanted to do this.
Zayne straightened, then gently sat beside you. His coat rustled softly as he slipped it off and draped it over your shoulders instead. Warm. Heavy. Familiar.
“I made something. It’s on the stove,” he said. “I assumed you’d come home like this.”
“Overworked. Undervalued. Exhausted.” He paused, eyes sweeping your face. “…Beautiful, but in need of care.”
Zayne looked away at that, adjusting his glasses with a slightly flustered touch. “Don’t read into it. It’s just clinical observation.”
“Mmhm,” you mumbled, curling into his side. “Very clinical.”
He allowed it. In fact, he opened his arm for you. Let you bury yourself against his chest, let you breathe him in. The soft scent of sandalwood and antiseptic. Cool fingers ghosted over your scalp.
“You don’t have to do everything yourself,” Zayne murmured, voice near your ear. “Let me do some of it. Just for a while.”
You nodded, too tired to pretend anymore. Letting Zayne take over was the easiest decision you’d made all day.
He kissed your temple once, slowly. “I’ll heat the soup. Then you’re eating, bathing, and sleeping. In that order.”
You groaned. “Can’t we skip to sleeping?”
Zayne leaned in, lips brushing your jaw in a rare show of indulgence. “No. I didn’t slave over a pot for an hour just for you to ignore it.”
“I do now,” he replied dryly. “Turns out exhaustion is a better motivator than love.”
You snorted, and he tilted his head down to meet your eyes again, quiet warmth softening his usual stoicism.
“You’re home now,” he said firmly. “Let me take care of you.”
𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆
You barely made it to the front door before your legs gave in to gravity. The lock clicked shut behind you, your bag slumped to the floor, and you pressed your forehead against the nearest wall.
Long day didn’t even begin to cover it.
Your fingers trembled as you reached down to unlace your shoes, too tired to even cry.
You didn’t hear him at first, didn’t even realize you weren’t alone until something soft brushed your shoulder.
Xavier stood there, barefoot, his white sweater slightly rumpled as if he’d been napping again. His silver hair was a little messy, sleep-flattened on one side. Blue eyes studied you carefully, quietly.
You winced. “I didn’t mean to—there was a systems crash, and then I had to cover for someone, and I—”
Xavier blinked once, then stepped forward and cupped your cheek with his gloved hand, gentle and cool. “That wasn’t an accusation,” he said softly. “It was a measurement.”
“You’re exactly one hour and thirty-two minutes later than usual,” he added, tilting his head. “That… usually means something is wrong.”
Xavier noticed. Of course he did.
Without another word, he scooped you into his arms. Effortless. As if carrying your entire body weight cost him no more effort than lifting a pillow. He cradled you with that same calm, unreadable expression, but his voice was soft.
You nodded into his shoulder, gripping the hem of his sweater like a lifeline.
“I prepared tea,” he murmured. “It is not hot anymore. I miscalculated. But the intention was warmth.”
That made you laugh. A small, shaky sound, but real.
Xavier carried you to the couch, gently setting you down before draping a blanket around your shoulders like a cocoon. He adjusted it around your neck and shoulders in a way that felt strangely practiced.
“…You’ve done this before?” you asked.
Xavier tilted his head again. “You fall apart often.”
“Not in a weak way,” he added quickly, “but in a human way. I have observed the pattern. You break down once every… approximately six high-pressure workdays.”
You stared at him. “…You’ve been keeping track?”
He blinked again. “I thought it would help.”
The confession made your heart squeeze. You reached up to brush his cheek with your knuckles, and though his face didn’t change much, you saw the soft shift in his eyes. That little flicker he always gave only you.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
You shook your head, exhausted. “Just want to be held.”
Xavier responded by sitting beside you and pulling you into his lap without hesitation. Arms curling around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. His breath was steady against your neck, his touch careful, like he was memorizing the feel of you.
“I can stay like this,” he whispered. “All night, if needed.”
You melted into him, letting his warmth and steady presence pull you under. His heartbeat was slow. Calming. Like it had never known panic.
He kissed your temple, then your cheek.
“…Next time, just call me,” he murmured. “Even if I’m asleep. I’ll always come get you.”
And somehow, you believed him.
𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩
You barely stepped two feet into the suite before your legs faltered beneath you. The pressure behind your eyes was sharp, your brain still ringing from the nonstop chaos of the day. Data backups, overwritten files, a lecture from your superior, and some smug intern who dared to tell you how to do your job,
“You look like hell,” came Sylus’ voice, smooth as oil and twice as flammable.
You didn’t even lift your head.
He was already lounging on the black velvet sofa near the full-length windows, shirt unbuttoned halfway, blazer draped over his shoulders like a cape, a half-empty glass of wine in his hand. And yet, despite the decadence, his red eyes tracked you with that same predatory sharpness that always made your knees weak.
“Don’t start with me,” you mumbled.
“Start what?” he said, smug. “I was going to say you’re still beautiful when you look like you crawled out of a train wreck. But if you’d rather fight, I have five minutes to spare.”
You groaned, dragging yourself toward him. Your bag hit the floor with a dull thump.
Sylus didn’t move as you flopped down beside him, he simply reached over with one long arm and pulled you directly onto his lap.
He smelled like smoke and spices and the faintest hint of leather, rich, dark, expensive. His fingers slid under your blouse to touch the small of your back, thumb tracing idle circles as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.
“…Bad day?” he murmured against your ear.
He hummed. “Do I need to ruin someone’s life?”
You let out a shaky laugh. “Don’t tempt me.”
“No, no,” he said, voice low and amused. “You should tempt me. That’s the whole point of you, isn’t it?”
You swatted his chest weakly. “I’m tired.”
“And yet still charming,” he replied. “Impressive.”
You relaxed against him, and that was all the permission he needed. His other hand trailed lazily through your hair, combing out the knots with a surprising gentleness. “This is your fault, you know,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “You’re too competent. They’ll wring you dry if I let them.”
“Then don’t,” you whispered.
He chuckled darkly. “I won’t.”
He held you a little tighter.
“You don’t need to prove anything to them,” he said. “Not when I already know what you’re capable of. Not when I’ve already decided to give you the world.”
You blinked slowly, heart stuttering.
“Tell me what you want,” Sylus whispered, his tone dipped in velvet and sin. “Not what you should want. Not what they told you to want. Just… what you want.”
You smiled against his neck.
Sylus shifted slightly and reached into his pocket, producing a slender, black-velvet box. He popped it open with one hand, revealing a ring coiled in red-gold metal, shaped like the wings of a crow.
“Then wear this tonight,” he said, smug and half-lidded. “I want you to remember that even when the rest of the world wastes your time… I never will.”
He leaned in close, nose brushing yours. “That you sit here. On my lap. And let me pet you like the spoiled little thing you are.”
“…You make it sound like I’m some pampered cat.”
“You are,” he said, grinning. “My favorite one.”
𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆
You didn’t even get to finish kicking your boots off before Caleb appeared, silent as ever in that sleek black uniform, dark hair tousled, gloves still on. His eyes scanned you once, and whatever cheerfulness had been in them earlier faded.
“Tough day?” he asked gently.
You didn’t answer. Just walked past him, dropped your bag, and went straight to the couch. Not even onto it, just face-first into the cushions with a groan.
A quiet beat passed. You expected him to say something teasing, something smug. Instead, you felt his hand glide down your back.
“…You didn’t eat lunch,” he said after a moment. Not a question. A fact.
You barely had the energy to look up. “Didn’t have time.”
His jaw tightened. He crouched beside the couch and rested his chin on your shoulder, his voice low, murmured straight into your ear. “They don’t deserve that much of you, you know.”
“No, you’re tired. And grumpy. And starving. And about two seconds away from falling asleep in your boots.”
“Shut up,” you whined, trying to burrow deeper into the cushions.
But Caleb only chuckled, soft and nostalgic.
“There’s my pipsqueak,” he said, voice warm. “Still acting tough after all these years.”
He scooped you up like you weighed nothing, cradling you against his chest as he walked you toward the bedroom. The room was dim, bathed in that soft Skyhaven glow filtering in through the windows. You clung to the front of his uniform, too tired to protest.
“You shouldn’t carry me,” you muttered. “I’m not a kid.”
“No,” he said, gently setting you down on the bed. “But you’ll always be mine. And when mine has a bad day, I fix it.”
With practiced ease, Caleb peeled off your coat, your boots, your tight work uniform, replacing each layer with soft fabric, slipping one of his oversized shirts onto you like a lullaby. He tucked you beneath the sheets, then slid in right after, still in his dress shirt and gloves, pulling you into his arms.
“…Better?” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours.
He kissed your temple once. Then again. And again.
“Just rest,” he whispered. “I already locked your work tab away in the safe. If anyone tries to reach you, they’ll go through me.”
“No.” He cupped your cheek gently, thumb brushing over the dark circles under your eyes. “You don’t take care of yourself, so I have to. That’s the deal, remember?”
You melted a little under his touch.
“I’ll get your favorites from the Skyhaven market later,” he added. “And maybe something ridiculous from that plushie shop you like. The one with the dumb smiley whales.”
You blinked sleepily. “You hate those whales.”
He gave a soft, playful growl. “I hate everything but you. But for you… I’ll buy the whole shop.”
You finally let yourself smile, curling into his chest.
“And if your boss talks to you like that again,” Caleb said, voice now low and dark near your ear, “I will remind him how many stories up this penthouse is. And how weak the safety railing looks.”
“Sleep,” he ordered, pulling the covers up around you like a shield. “I’ve got you. Always.”
And just before you drifted off, you felt his gloved fingers intertwine with yours. Steady. Familiar. Unshakable.
