#not tagging the rest of the characters for my own safety

[irondad-defensesquad]

Kid Arachnid - Chapter 2

You can read chapter 1 here!

Also posted on AO3.

--

EARTH-19999

Alright, let’s do this one last time.

My name is Miles Morales. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, and for the last couple months, I’ve been the one and only… Kid Arachnid.

Well, there’s not a lot to say. I’ve saved many people, sure, but I never gained a lot of attention. Until now. Apparently, I also saved Iron Man’s family the other day. But the thing is… everyone thinks I’m Spider-Man, when he disappeared years ago, along with half of the Earth… including my dad. At the same time I’m being praised as someone I’m not, I’m also being accused of many things. “Where was Spider-Man this entire time?” “Why didn’t he save those who dusted?” “What if this is a random guy just pretending to be Spider-Man?”

It’s hard. I’m new to this. But I have to keep trying, right? I have to be there for the little people of New York, like my dad was, like Spider-Man was. I have to fight for those I love, and make sure no one else gets hurt.

But now… I found out that the Prowler, the guy who has been terrorizing everyone with dangerous weapons… was my uncle this entire time.

And someone got hurt because I was a coward.

It’s all my fault.

I never asked for this.

–

“... he’ll be okay, you saved him.”

“No, you don’t get it! He got hurt because of me! If I weren’t so stupid, I could’ve–”

“Miles, it’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is!”

“He’s going to be okay, I promise,” the woman still soothes the boy, sounding motherly and patient despite his lashing out. “You didn’t mess up.”

He starts crying.

“I-I’m sorry.” Soon, a door slams open.

“Miles!”

Everything is dark and blurred.

And Tony is blacking out again.

–

“... Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark, can you hear me?”

He can’t see very well. His eyelids are heavy and he has to force them open.

“Please…” someone sobs. “Please, don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

It’s… a boy.

Tony is weak, the nanotech armor somehow crushing him. But all he can see in front of him… are white eyes staring deep into his soul. The teenager is calling for him, begging him to stay.

It’s…

It’s him, isn’t it?

Tony tries so hard to see clearly, to see his kid’s face again. He thought he’d never see him again… But he’s here now.

With all his effort, the man raises his arm, reaching the boy’s cheek. He can tell the mask is covering his skin. It isn’t cold like his suit. The teen is frozen, however. Tony never touched him like this, did he?

He should have.

“... Pete?” Tony calls him.

The boy tenses. “What?”

He sounds confused and scared.

Where was he this entire time?

Why didn’t Tony ever come back for him?

He rubs the other’s face with his thumb.

“Peter… I’m…”

For a moment, Tony realizes he can’t see the red he so deeply missed. It’s black with some thin red around his eyes.

“... I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what exactly he’s apologizing for.

The darkness prevails and takes control again.

He can’t hold him anymore.

The last thing he hears is the kid crying out for him. And Tony, oh does he wish he stayed.

He’s a failure.

It’s all his fault.

–

The light is on, and the walls are blue.

Tony is… in a hospital bed. His chest is bandaged, but it doesn’t hurt very much. He’s alone in the room, and yet he can feel something missing. Someone. A face.

The boy. Where is he?

Was it even real?

A door opens.

“Oh, you’re finally awake.”

That voice…

It’s a nurse, a dark-skinned woman with dark brown hair, almost black. She must be younger than Pepper, but her exhausted look might say otherwise.

“How are you feeling?” She asks. When she’s close enough, Tony is able to read her name tag – Rio Morales.

“Huh… never been better.”

“We reached your wife, Mrs. Potts will be arriving shortly. You’ll be home by tonight.”

Although this is good news, Tony just wants to understand what happened. How did he end up here?

“How…” he tries to word out his confusion. “Who brought me here?”

Rio’s smile falls for a moment as she looks to the side.

“Someone very brave,” she describes in admiration. “I think you’ve heard of him, right? Kid… Arachnid?”

The name is no stranger to him.

“You mean…” the black and red fabric, the white eyes… “That new Spider-Man?”

Rio hums. “As far as I know, he’s not really Spider-Man.”

So, they really weren’t the same boy.

I’m sorry. I’m not Spider-Man.

“Do you… know where he is?” Tony wonders.

Rio sighs, “He left hours ago.”

She seems to know the Kid Arachnid, judging by her genuine, motherly concern.

…

Miles.

That must be his name.

“He’s so young… Everyone is pushing him, pressuring him, accusing him of horrible things…” The nurse looks like she’s talking to herself, but then she’s looking at Tony with a pleading gaze. “He needs someone to look out for him, but he’s all alone.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say. Not when Rio reminds him of someone else, another nurse who did her best to raise a mutant kid. Sometimes she would come to Tony and they would figure something out.

Like Peter, she was gone, too.

Tony couldn’t protect him. He couldn’t protect her, either.

Rio is seeking his help.

He promised to stay away from this life, to focus on what he has now. But time and time again, he has been ruled by regret and mistakes he could never make up for. He can’t keep turning away from people who need him.

Tony takes a deep breath, even if it hurts. It’s necessary.

“I’ll find him,” he promises, “once I’m out of here.”

Rio’s tensions disappear. Still, she doesn’t give him a grateful smile just yet.

“As much as I have my concerns about you… I think you’re the best person that can reach him right now.”

He understands that.

“I will.”

–

Admittedly, he has been keeping in touch with the news lately. He has known about Kid Arachnid and all the accusations thrown at him. It was no different from when Peter was Spider-Man, but the weight of his legacy must be making things more overwhelming for this kid.

Tony was keeping a distance up until this point. He didn’t want to get attached again. He didn’t want to keep his hopes up. After all, Kid Arachnid isn’t Spider-Man. He’s a boy named Miles. Miles Morales. According to Tony’s research, he lives in Brooklyn and studies at a school similar to Midtown School of Science and Technology, Visions Academy. Apparently, Miles only lives with his mother, while his father… died along with half of the universe a couple years ago.

It’s really no wonder why Miles must be feeling so much regret, from the little Tony has known him.

Pepper already suspected he was keeping an eye on Kid Arachnid. As much as she’s worried about Tony’s well-being, she knows he won’t rest until he does the right thing. She knows he can’t let another kid suffer the weight of being a vigilante. So, she understands when he decides not to go home just yet.

Tony is searching all over Brooklyn, hoping to find Miles. According to Rio, he’s not at his uncle’s nor at his best’s friend’s. He must be out there, haunted by his demons on his own.

Yet in the middle of the darkness and paleness of New York…

He stops at this colorful mural.

A beautiful graffiti of Spider-Man shooting a web towards the viewer. It’s red, blue, and yellow gold. Tony is captivated, as it’s the most heartfelt depiction he’s ever seen of Spider-Man.

Then, the man sees someone near it. Sitting on the roof miserably, many spray paint cans lie on the floor. And whoever is there, is holding one.

But the artist is looking down, not even acknowledging the beauty they’ve made.

As Tony approaches, slowly, he sees that it’s a boy. A black teenager. He can’t see his face so he can’t really recognize him for now. He knows this is a complete stranger, but… whoever he is, he admires a true hero.

“You made this?” Tony asks all of a sudden. Obviously, the kid jumps in surprise.

“M-Mr. Stark?”

The panic in his voice, though… doesn’t read as mere admiration.

Tony doesn’t have to rely on his technology to read through him.

“You’re ali-? I mean, yeah, sure,” the kid shrugs. “It’s nothing much.”

The man hums. “Great job, kid.”

“Never thought Iron Man would compliment my work.”

“I know good art when I see it.”

“Heh.” Miles still doesn’t internalize it, much like in the hospital when his mother told him it wasn’t his fault.

They stand there in silence, until Miles decides to sit again. He throws away the spray paint, which is apparently empty judging by the sound of it hitting the ground. Tony is still flying in the air, not sure how he’s going to land and how he’s going to help this kid he doesn’t even know.

This is nothing like before.

Tony has to accept that and be there for the present.

Finally, he joins Miles and exposes his face. That way, he gets to see clearly.

Like the way Miles is holding onto… what Tony judges to be a sketchbook, but the former doesn’t let him see most of it. It must be a comfort item.

“So, what’s young Basquiat doing out here late at night?” Tony tries to lighten him up.

Miles just sighs sadly.

“Nothing.”

Tony watches him.

“Shouldn’t you be home?” He asks gently.

“Shouldn’t you be home with your family?”

Miles might sound a little harsh, but his gaze begs for someone to stay.

“Well, I’m just… looking out for the little guy, that’s all.”

The boy seems to catch on, as his brown eyes widen slightly. He avoids eye contact altogether.

“I know sometimes little guys have a lot of responsibilities, and they’re alone in this big world… but they don’t have to be. I wanna make sure he has someone for him, you know?”

Miles slowly relaxes. Of course, that only gives out the sadness he must be dealing with.

“It’s just… all of these expectations piling up, they’re too much,” he explains. “All these changes I’m supposed to deal with… it’s hard to be strong all the time.”

Tony nods, a gesture for him to continue.

“I… I lost my dad. I wasn’t there for him when he was gone. I couldn’t do anything to stop it.” Miles hugs the sketchbook closer. “And all of a sudden, I got these… these powers and I thought, maybe I could do things differently. I couldn’t just not use them. I could hear people screaming, I could hear them crying and grieving in my sleep. And all I could think was how my dad fought to save lives, and how he never gave up. So, I got out there, I did my thing. But now everyone thinks I’m Spider-Man, or even someone who’s trying to steal his credit, and to make things even worse, I found out my uncle has been selling these huge weapons and it happened in the worst way possible. Tonight.”

Tony frowns, mostly at the last part.

“Wait, your uncle?”

Miles nods, ashamed. “He’s the Prowler. I thought he stopped selling weapons but… turns out he was lying to me this whole time. But he doesn’t know I’m the one chasing him. I wonder what he would do if he found out. He almost killed me. And I just froze, like I always do.”

Tony reconstructs the whole thing in his mind, as to why all of this is familiar…

“... that’s when you showed up, Mr. Stark,” Miles lowers his voice, regretful.

The light. The laser.

It all becomes clear.

Tony found traces of alien weapons in Brooklyn again. Knowing his past mistakes, he thought of going there himself. He was surprised to see Kid Arachnid again, but he didn’t think twice before jumping in front of him to save his life. Now Tony understands why Miles didn’t get out of the way.

“... You could’ve died because of me,” Miles sniffs.

It sounds blaring to his ears.

“Miles–”

The boy shivers at the mention of his name.

“I messed up, I know.”

“No, no, this isn’t your fault.”

“You would’ve been okay if I weren’t–”

“But I am okay. I’m here, talking to you. You saved my life, kid.”

Miles simply doesn’t believe him.

“You found out your uncle wasn’t the great guy you thought he was, right?” Tony interprets. “You froze and you had every reason to. Nobody is made of iron. Heck, not even me.”

The kid looks at him with those big, sad eyes.

“But maybe if I knew before…”

My dad would still be here, he would’ve said.

He doesn’t say it. But Tony hears it anyway.

“You couldn’t have known, Miles.”

The teen starts crying more properly.

“I’m just tired, Mr. Stark.”

Tony gets it.

He lets the boy mourn.

“I know how it feels,” Tony says. “To have no control over something, and when you realize… everything goes to shambles.” Despite this, he doesn’t cry. “When you have powers and you don’t do anything… the bad things happen because of you.”

Miles is probably listening, since he quiets down a little.

“But Miles… we can’t always predict them. Like what happened to your father. You were just a kid going on with your day. How could you have known the entire world would collapse?”

The other is looking at him again.

“And your uncle? You love him. You never expect these things from someone you love.” Tony pauses. “And you did your best to save my life. You wouldn’t have known I would do what I did. I’m sorry for scaring you like that, kid. That wasn’t on you.”

Miles doesn’t reply, only contemplates. He at least calms down.

“... was that how he felt, too?” He asks.

“Who?”

Miles gestures at the graffiti facing them, watching over them.

Tony sighs, this time remaining silent.

He notices that Miles is touching his cheek.

“Were you there when he…” The question is never finished.

Tony looks away. Miles can probably tell the answer.

“I know what it’s like,” the latter sighs. “When you lose your family.”

The man feels that laser cutting his heart in half again.

“It’s so empty without them, isn’t it?” Miles adds.

Tony’s eyes might burn, but nothing comes out. The void in his heart cries for him.

He and Miles share this silence, one so heartbreaking and consuming, and yet so… comforting and relatable, when they realize they’re not alone right now, having to put up appearances.

Miles glances at his sketchbook, and for the first time a small smile comes to him.

“You know…” he says, “we’ve actually met before.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Miles nods. Tony feels like he’s seen that sketchbook before…

“I got this on my tenth birthday,” the former narrates. “Somehow, my dad got Spider-Man to come. I think it was the best day of my life.”

Tony gasps. “Oh! I remember you, Peter- Spider-Man was so excited, it was the first birthday he was invited to.”

“Yeah. I also remember when you showed up to help him when he was hurt that one time. You guys just… argued for a good five minutes.”

Tony sighs affectionately. “He was stubborn, alright.”

Miles smirks, opening the sketchbook to the very first page. It’s not at all touched by drawings or sketches – just what appears to be autographs.

To my best friend Miles, from your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man!

And another one that complements,

And his super buddy Iron Man.

Turns out it’s a Moleskine sketchbook Tony and Peter bought together. Tony remembers that day very clearly. Peter really wanted to make this kid’s birthday the best it could ever be.

While Miles stares at the autographs with tears of joy, Tony realizes how much he changed. He used to be so small. Obviously, it’s been a few years since, but he wonders if his spider-powers changed his body, too. Miles might as well be taller than Tony.

“It’s… weird knowing that my two heroes are both gone,” the boy says, his enthusiasm gone. He closes the sketchbook once again. “My birthday was the only time I got to spend the day with them.”

Tony clearly wishes he could make his sadness go away. Which is, unfortunately, impossible.

“This is all I have left,” Miles’ voice breaks, as he hugs his beloved gift again.

Despite the heart-to-heart, Tony has been keeping his distance, respecting Miles’ space. But this vulnerability, this deprivation…

For the first time, Tony puts a comforting hand on Miles’ shoulder, much to the latter’s surprise, but not disgust or hesitance.

“You have me, Miles,” Tony reassures him. “If you want.”

“Really?”

The older man smiles at him. “I can help you with everything you need. We can make a suit for you, give all the resources necessary.”

Miles’ eyes appear to sparkle like stars. But then…

“Are you sure about this? I’m… I’m not Peter.”

Tony pauses.

Then, “I know. I genuinely just want to make sure you’re not alone, kid. Because you aren’t.”

Miles eases at this.

“Okay, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s fragile smile cracks. But instead of letting it break and leak, he just pats the teen’s back. “You can just call me Tony.”

(You might as well hear a “please” in this sentence.)

Miles nods. “Okay, Tony.”

“Yeah.”

Together, in this lonely night, they appreciate the influence Spider-Man had in their lives. Now, they have to go on without him. But at least, again, Tony and Miles are together in this.

[ulteri0rm0tives]

WORST part of replaying this game. Is that i actually *have* to progress through (most of) it to see Kerry again... Like having to wade through little chocolate gold colds to get to the real shit that ACTUALLY matters.

It actually sucks you meet him so late in the game and only get so much time with him :( especially because I (personally) find his romance and plotline to be one of the more developed slash more enjoyable ones and I just :( wish they gave us more time with him ugh I jUST MISS HIM OKAY GUYS I MISS THIS OLD MAN!!!

[lupinecones]

can you still be considered a fictive if you are not from one specific character? can you still call yourself a fictive if you are from a universe/world but not a "canon" character?

[angelltheninth]

I have yet to see Kpop demon hunters today but I am craving for Jinu smut, But also I don’t like noncon/dubcon in the slightest but if this feels like it so be it lol, So may I request Jinu x huntrix member fem reader? When reader decides to investigate the saja boys by herself, The rest of the girls are obviously worried about her safety but she tells them that she’ll be okay, Cut to a couple hours later with Jinu absolutely pounding reader from behind and making her cum nonstop just as he wanted to ever since he layed eyes on her.

I can do dub-con. I don't think people realize it's a very common kink.

Pairing: Jinu x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, dub-con, rough sex, creampie, body betrayal, enemies who fuck, possessive sex, biting, hate sex

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: This movie now lives rent free in my head.

You should have listened to your friends, you should have never went after Jinu all by yourself, you should have brought backup. Now you're bent over his bed, getting your pussy pounded raw and hard from behind. "Either you and yours are getting sloppy or you're really stupid for thinking you could defeat us on your own. Or even just defeat me. Or, hah, maybe, you came here hoping this would happen."

As soon as you heard him suggest such a thing you turned your head to glare at him. Jinu grinned, his smile as demonic as it always was, no longer hidden behind that pretty facade. With your arms pinned and held behind your back you could barely move, and whenever you did you just took his cock, over and over. It was driving you insane.

"Go fuck yourself, you goddamn bastard." You gritted through your teeth, biting back your moans as his thrusts kept getting faster and faster, deeper, almost like he was trying to punish you for acting foolish. "I would never stoop so low... to want someone like you." A high pitched moan escaped from your lips when you felt the sting of his hand on your ass.

"You say that, demon hunter, but your cunt is drooling for me, so tight and wet. Hear that, how sloppy and slutty you pussy gets with demon cock in it?" He slammed his cock into you, in and out, making your legs tremble and your vision blurry. "Be honest, it'll feel so much better."

You shook your head as you felt yourself blushing. You hated it, how good Jinu's cock felt inside of you, how good this felt and yet it was so wrong. You hated him, you should hate this too so why was your body working against you in this moment? Why couldn't you tell him to go to hell like you so many times before?

"Better, that's a good girl. No more fighting me. Don't worry, this can be our little secret, no one has to know how you whore yourself out for me." His body pressed fully against your, his demonic fangs nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck and shoulder. "I won't tell if you won't, demon hunter. You got my word." The glare you gave him was challenging, you hoped threatening but that was impossible with the filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin and your pussy taking his hard cock while you moaned.

"Your word... means nothing to me." You hissed, putting as much venom and hatred in your voice as you could have. He didn't seem pleased with that, he bared his long teeth at you and you hated how your pussy clenched around him when you saw them.

"Really? Fine, makes no difference to me. But see how your team feels when you come back to them, with your cunt freshly fucked and filled with demon cum." You watched him transform from his human form into his demon form, and god, his cock felt even better like this. "I don't care if you believe me or not but I'm gonna make sure you never forget this moment. The moment when you came from being fucked by me, because of my cock, because I made you feel so good!"

With one final thrust he pushed both your bodies over the edge, and you stopped yourself just in time to not scream his name. You didn't want to feed his ego any more than you already have. Jinu laughed maniacally as he fucked his seed deep into your pussy, the wet, messy noises only adding to his feral, wild nature.

"Fuck, yes, oh, wanted this... ever since I first saw you. Wanted to carve the shape of my cock into your cunt. Make you mine." He ended with a long kiss on your shoulder, still holding you while your body trembled and your vision swam. "Mine, only mine from now on." You expected him to be rough as he pulled out but he wasn't, he was slow, stopping as he heard you hiss and whimper. "Now that's a pretty little sight."

You heard a flash of a camera and turned to see Jinu smirking with his phone in his hand, his cock still out, dripping with the combination of your release. "You...! Gross! You have no shame!"

Jinu stuck his tongue out at you, "A little keepsake for me. To tide me over until our next time."

An unpleasant, or maybe pleasant, shiver went through you at the suggestion of a next time with him. "That won't happen. I'm going to bring you to your knees before then!"

"Oh? If you wanted me on my knees all you had to do was ask. I'm very good with my tongue. I can show you next time." His words and lewd gestures made your stomach tie into knots, and an uncomfortable heat form. "I could do it now. Seems like you might need some cleaning up."

Furious you stood up on your wobbly legs and slapped him. It was pathetic, that this was the best you could muster in this moment, but it also felt good to catch him off guard. "You're dead next time I see you."

Despite the slap he grinned at you, licking his lips, "Looking forward to it, my demon hunter." He winked at before he snapped his fingers next to your ear. For a moment you didn't understand what he did, then your vision started blurring. You tried to hit him again but ended up collapsing against him. "Let's get you somewhere where the others will find you." Barely coherent you thought you felt his lips press against your forehead before you fully passed out.

[anon-188]

kansas

pairing: clark kent x f!reader | genre: fluff | wc: 0.4k

summary: clark tells you everything, but there’s just one thing you can’t get past.

a/n: i loved the new movie and just had to write something! no big spoilers. just a tiny one, if it even counts?? (iykyk.)

Clark Kent had just spilled everything to you. Confessed his love. Told you he was Superman, which—if you were being honest—wasn’t as shocking as he thought it would be. But you didn’t say that. Didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

He finally told you where he grew up—Smallville, Kansas. He said it quickly, almost like he hoped you’d miss it, before circling back to the part that mattered most: that he loved you.

One thing had led to another. Something between kisses, half-smiles, and uneven breaths. A blur of soft touches and quiet urgency.

Now you lay there in your bed, limbs still loosely tangled with his. Your head rested against the steady rhythm of his chest while his hand moved along your back in slow, absent strokes—soothing and familiar. Your breath had started to even out, but your mind still hadn’t caught up.

He was Superman.

He was yours.

And those two things alone should’ve been front and center in your mind, but they weren’t. Not even in the slightest.

"I can't believe it," you whispered.

Clark shifted, his chest rising with a quiet inhale. "I know. I should've told you sooner. About Superman. About who I am."

You lifted your head, turning to look up at him. "I knew you weren’t from here, but I didn’t think there.”

He furrowed his brow, confused. “You mean… Krypton?” 

You made a face. “No. Kansas.”

“Everyone knows you’re from Krypton. But Clark Kent? I thought maybe, like… Vermont. Or Oregon. Definitely not Midwest.”

Clark’s eyes narrowed in mock offense. “What’s wrong with Kansas?”

You gave a half-shrug, still curled against him. “Nothing. Just… explains a lot. I mean, you’re like, painfully polite. I should’ve known.”

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face like you’d just wounded him, but the smile gave him away.

“No, really.” You grinned, propping yourself up slightly. “I bet you’d even stop mid-battle to save a squirrel. Like, buildings crumbling, alarms going off—and there you are, making sure it gets to safety.”

Clark shook his head, pretending to protest, but you could already feel the laugh building in his chest.

“I can totally see it,” you teased, as he slipped his other arm around you and pulled you closer.

His lips brushed yours, soft and warm.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you murmured against his mouth.

He didn’t answer. Just kissed you—deep and unhurried, laughter still dancing behind it.

It was the kind of kiss that said you weren’t wrong at all.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

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[always-just-red]

hii! i have a request!

the mc/reader has a pet cat and adores cats so rafayel will have to accept that his beloved bride has a furry little companion bc them and the cat are a 2 for 1 deal and the cat is basically their baby and there’ll alway probably be a cat in the home forever

ty!! adore ur writing!

Aww thank you anon!! As a devoted cat-person, I'm THRILLED to finally be sharing my vision of cat-dad Raf. 🙂‍↕️ This fic felt so personal in the end, I swear I can't write Raf without it accidentally becoming this window into all the intimacy I want but don't have 😭 Anyway!!! Dedicating this to my babies, Floof and Velcro!

Cat-Sitting

Rafayel x Reader 🎨

Summary: Was it really a good idea to leave Rafayel and your cat unsupervised?

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship

| Word count: 2.5k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Captain Jenna indicates the large, glass monitor behind her— a finger dragging across it, zooming in on a smaller section of the virtual map. “There’s been an insurgence of Wanderer activity here, and���” another swipe of her finger— “here, so we’ll be increasing patrols in these districts. While public safety remains the priority, we should be investigating any unusual fluctuations of…”

You’re so, so tired. Your chin is resting on your hand and your leader’s briefing is starting to sound like a bedtime story. Sat beside you, Xavier is looking similarly uninspired. The blue of his eyes is glazing over. His eyelids are drooping. When he blinks, it’s slow and unfocused.

Your phone buzzes and it feels like you’ve been doused in cold water; your heart jumps. Glancing around, thankfully no-one but Xavier noticed. His gaze flits over to you with lazy interest as you reach into your pocket, checking your phone under the table. It’s a text from Rafayel: your cat is broken??

You frown, ever so slightly. Before your mind has any time to run away with that ominous message, another notification comes through:

[Silly fish <3 has sent an image]

With one more furtive check that no-one’s watching, you tap at the screen, opening up your messages. You squint down at the photo. It’s your cat, perched on the arm of your sofa. She looks perfectly content, and decidedly unbroken.

Rafayel texts: it had legs before, right?

Again: where

And again: where are they???

You have to consciously hold back your smile. Your cat’s legs are tucked away underneath her; you can’t see them in the photo. ‘Loaf’, you surreptitiously text back.

Rafayel responds: ???????????

You close your phone as more messages come through. You don’t have to read them to know it’s the same emoji, over and over: artsy birb, lying in a puddle of tears. You’ve silenced your phone so it no longer buzzes. Jenna is drawing patrol routes on her map. Xavier leans over to you, whispering: “How’s the first-time cat-sitter?”

Without saying a word, you move your phone under the table so he can sneak a peek at it. There are now twenty-three unread messages. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

Xavier chuckles under his breath, and this time, you can’t help but smile. Jenna turns, locking both of you in a steely-grey stare. Xavier gives her a grin, and you give her a double thumbs-up. With a sigh, she goes back to her presentation.

…

“So I said, ‘what am I supposed to do? Not kill the Wanderer? Y’know, the Wanderer tearing its way through a street full of people— just because it’s a tiiiiny bit different than normal?’ And get this! He says, ‘yes.’ He says, ‘you should have taken some time to study it, brought me data and samples.’ Can you believe that?”

You laugh quietly as you finish up typing your latest report. You can believe that, actually. If a Wanderer broke in through the window of this building right here, right now, you’re pretty sure Nero would be sat with a clipboard, taking notes. “C’mon, what did you expect?”

“Uh… some empathy, maybe?” your colleague frowns.

“Yeah, that’ll be the day.” Your phone rings in your pocket, and you whip it out with business-like efficiency. You’re on autopilot. “Hello?” you ask, opening up the next set of gloriously exciting blank text boxes on your screen.

“Cutie!”

It’s basically a yell. You narrow your eyes at your monitor, inputting your name, your badge number. “Raf,” you return apathetically. “What’s up?”

“Code red. Code red!”

“Mmhmm?” You don’t know what that means.

“You have to come home. Right now. It’s an emergency!”

“Is it, though?” Your keyboard clacks, only stopping when you have to check today’s date before filling it out on your form.

“Are you even listening? I said code red. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Yup! Gold star for Rafayel.”

“Seriously?! I’m trying to tell you that your precious little angel’s in trouble.”

Was that supposed to be your voice? You don’t sound like that. “I’m sorry you’re in trouble, Raf.”

“No!” he squeaks. “Not me! The— oh for the love of the ocean, the lobsters, the sharks and the crabs— can you just get here? Please?!”

For the love of all of those things, hmm? You chuckle. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way. Hang in there. Okay, angel? Little angel fishie. Ooh! Angelfish!”

There’s silence from the other end. “…You done?”

You hit enter on your keyboard. “Please, we both know you’re blushing right now.”

…

You stand at the door of your apartment— home early from work, courtesy of the old ‘family emergency!’ card. It’s sort of nice, honestly; you can’t remember the last time you got to play it. Family emergency… You think of you and Rafayel, your little cat, and Reddie. There’s a warm feeling in your heart as you open the door.

That feeling is gone when Rafayel snatches you by your arm.

“Quick,” he says, dragging you towards the lounge, “quick, quick, quick!”

No ‘welcome home’ kiss means something’s wrong. Actually wrong. Your bag tumbles from your shoulder; you have to skirt around the coffee table to keep from crashing into it. “Whoa,” you mumble, “Raf, slow down. What happened? Tell me what happened.”

“Look!”

At last, your arm is released. Your heart is in your throat as you do look, and—

You’ve got to be kidding.

Your cat has moved from the arm of the couch, but she didn’t make it far. She’s snuggled up like an adorable croissant— one paw over her face. You realise, fairly quickly, that the ‘emergency’ lies in what she’s found a nest in: a crumpled heap with a criss-cross pattern. Cream, navy, and red wool, all squished up beneath her. It’s Rafayel’s cardigan.

“Aww!” you coo.

“Aww?” Rafayel echoes. “That’s all you have to say— aww?”

You’re not listening. You crouch down beside the couch, leaning in close. “Hi baby,” you coo again, tickling at your cat’s paw gently. She lifts it, one eye half-opening. You smile, and the eye widens more— filling with your reflection. “Has the big, bad fishie been bullying you today?”

She makes a tiny chirp as she stretches her front legs.

“That’s a lie!” Rafayel snaps.

“Oh no!” you sympathise— pointedly not with the man behind you. “What did he do, huh? This is a safe space. You can tell me.”

Both of your cat’s eyes are open now, still heavy with sleep. She speaks back to you: matching your tone with a soft-spoken meow.

“I see,” you tut, nodding. “And then what?”

She meows again. You gasp.

Suddenly, Rafayel is on his knees beside you, jabbing a finger towards her face. “You traitor! We had a deal.”

Your cat stares at the finger. Yawns— briefly an eldritch horror: all sharp, shining teeth— before curling a paw over it. Rafayel goes still. His eyes shine with the quiet panic you see when you brush a hair away from his forehead, or sweep a tear from his cheek with your thumb. It’s so soft; he doesn’t know what to do with it. You smile knowingly. He sees you and clears his throat, his hand slinking back.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself, “I have an idea. Lemme just…”

He pinches an edge of the cardigan. “What’re you doing?” you ask.

“You ever seen that magic trick? With the tablecloth? I’ve just gotta…”

“No!”

He’s biting back a grin as he adds: “But if I’m fast enough—”

“No, Raf!” you giggle as you intercept him. He laughs in a small, genuine way too, his hands shooting back to the cardigan every time you manage to wrestle them off of it. You have to pry at his fingers. Catch them before he sends your cat on an unscheduled flight across your apartment.

Inches away, she watches your scrabbling hands, completely unperturbed. When Rafayel gives up— his fingers relaxing in their tangle with yours, his laughter dwindling— she blinks drowsily.

Time feels slower, and somehow forgiving. You lay your head down on the sofa. “Do you really want your cardigan back?” you murmur, because your cat is asleep again.

Rafayel slumps, mirroring you as he pulls your hand close to his lips. “Nah.” His voice is like warm, orange light, and he kisses the tip of your forefinger. “It’s okay. What’s mine is yours, cutie. And what’s yours is—” he falters, looking towards the bundle of fur beside you.

You hum appreciatively, letting him plant one, two more kisses before you pull your hand away. “Wait here,” you breathe, pushing yourself back up onto your feet.

One expedition to the kitchen later, you return with a small bag of treats. You find your previous seat on the floor, then reach into the bag— pulling out a small, fish-shaped biscuit. “Look,” you chuckle, wiggling it through the air like it’s swimming, “it’s you.”

“Ha, ha.” Rafayel rolls his eyes, cheek still squished against the couch.

He needs more convincing, so you make the fish swim in his direction, stopping just short of his nose. It floats patiently before him, persisting even when his face wrinkles. You wiggle it one way. Then the other. This earns you another eyeroll, but he does at least smile.

You flick the fish over to your cat. She’s awake in an instant, mouth snatching it up: teeth splintering it with a crack. You swear you see the colour leave Rafayel’s face. You hand him the bag of treats, and with a pout, he starts to set up a trail of them: leading across the sofa. There’s a mournful sigh for each he lays down. Even the odd, whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Give it a rest, will you?” you huff. “I watched you eat an entire seafood platter last night.”

He narrows his eyes at you, holding your gaze as he puts the next treat down deliberately slowly. Behind him, your cat has stood, stretched, and is now pottering along, crunching away without a care in the world. Rafayel reaches for his cardigan, giving it a shake before threading his arms through the sleeves.

When the crunching stops, he turns— another treat caught between two of his fingers. Your cat takes it carefully, delicately, and she chirps as those same fingers tickle the top of her head. A contented purr underscores the moment. Rafayel smiles as he plays with her ears.

Then he catches you watching him, your eyebrow raised. “What?” he asks self-consciously.

You scoff. “Code red my ass.”

…

Rafayel doesn’t really know when you fell asleep.

Your head is on his shoulder, and his pencil moves mindfully slowly: a quiet scratch, scratch as it waltzes over his sketchbook. The room has gone dark. Tangerine light has stopped spilling from the windows, and he can’t reach any light switch, so he settles for the bleedings of the TV. Cool blues. Pale greens. The space around him flickers, and there are voices, too: broadcasters, droning on.

He hears it, even though he’s trying not to. “Another Wanderer attack”, they report. “Indicative of a recent, worrying insurgence of incidents.” Updated statistics. Civilian casualties. Hunter casualties.

Rafayel’s pencil has stopped. After a moment, he sighs— pressing a kiss to the top of your head you don’t feel, and will never know the weight of. He forces himself to look back down. Draw the shapes and the lines of the things that distract him from that feeling in his chest.

Someone is watching him.

His gaze wanders up, finding eyes across the room. Your cat is studying him from afar, sat with her tail curled neatly around her paws. He pokes his tongue out at her. She chirps back. He returns to his sketches, and half a minute later, she lands on the arm of the couch beside him, having pounced gracefully up. She doesn’t deserve any more of his attention. His pencil moves up and down, up and down, and she’s transfixed by the end of it. She lifts a paw, and—

“Nuh uh,” Rafayel warns, his eyes still on the page.

The paw waits. Rafayel chuckles. He raises the pencil, waggling it in the air between them, and her pupils go wide as she bats at it. With one sweep, she brings it closer to her mouth— bites down. Crunch.

Rafayel tuts: “Monster.”

Thankfully, she’s soon bored by the game. She sits, watching him expectantly, like he must have another one lined up for her. He doesn’t, so he turns his sketchbook towards her instead.

“What d’you think, little co-conspirator?”

The page is full of sketches, mostly of you. There’s one of you sat at your kitchen island, sipping some tea and looking like you wished you were back in bed; your hair was a mess. There’s also Reddie: soft, flowy lines and shimmering, monochrome scales. In one corner, your cat is sleeping with her legs tucked underneath her. ‘Loaf’ he’s written next to it, with a crude, tiny sketch of some bread.

Your cat isn’t looking; she’s staring past the page, at the real you. With a half-formed meow, she leaps onto his legs, making a beeline for yours. “Nope!” he says, blocking her path with the sketchbook. “Sorry, kitty, but our brave hunter needs to rest.”

She tries to get past him, but for her every movement, his sketchbook moves too: always one step ahead. With another, more indignant meow, she starts to tread circles on his lap. Then she kneads at his leg, claws sinking in. “Monster,” he whispers again, drawing air through his teeth. “Relax, will you? Jeez.”

His thighs are still being treated like pincushions, so he lifts her gently, his other hand reaching behind him. He knows what she wants. His cardigan is draped over the back of the sofa, and he drags it onto his lap—straightening it out as he grumbles, “this is extortion, you know.”

The cat is lowered back down, and she curls up in the wool of his cardigan, like that had always been the plan. A purr begins to rumble, deepening as Rafayel pets at her head, running fingers— aching from sketching— through the warmth of her fur. Her eyes are sleepy. Rafayel yawns, his head drooping to rest against yours.

His fingers move mindlessly, enjoying the softness while the television talks of tragedy, and he doesn’t notice.

[pineconepie]

CHARACTERS: Seradiel, Kezareth, Reader/You

WARNINGS/TAGS: Parental yandere(s), religious themes and references, conflict, angels and demons, emotional reader, forced infantilization, cuddling, annoyed reader, manipulation, mentioned possession, Sera and Kez giving divorced parent energy 💔

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have finally wrote demon yandad! I didn't know whether or not to just make him his own character, but decided for now since I'll only be writing him with Seradiel, to not give him his own spot on series 3 (yet?)

It's dusk when it happens.

You'd already had a long day, made longer by Seradiel trailing behind you like your shadow, fawning over your safety like always. After a night out on the town with friends, you were exhausted. All you wanted to do now was rest in the comfort of your bed and maybe catch something on TV, before calling it a night and letting sleep lull you.

"I told you not to go out today," Seradiel murmurs for the seventh time, his voice gentle but cloying. His hands are folded neatly in front of him as he walks behind you.

"And I told you, I'm not going to change my plans because you 'had a feeling' it wouldn't turn out well," you retort. "Every single time you say that."

"And I am right every single time," Seradiel counters.

You don't respond. You don't even look at him. His constant hovering is wearing you down, and you have a feeling he's well aware of that.

The worst part is, you can't run from him, can't call anyone to get him away from you— because he's a celestial being. There's no escaping someone who doesn't live by human laws.

Suddenly the street darkens. The temperature dips. You look to the sky for some kind of explanation for the strange shift in scenery, but all you see are the same clouds you saw ten minutes ago. You look at Seradiel for an explanation.

His expression has shifted from irritation to wariness. He takes a protective stance in front of you. "Don't move." He's staring ahead, and you follow his gaze.

Standing there is a man who's slightly shorter than Seradiel, but with black wings, horns, and a thin black tail.

His hair is short and dark brown, and beneath his glasses are piercing green eyes, almost glowing. He wears a suit that makes him look like he came from a business meeting.

"Well, well, well," the man— probably a demon, drawls. "Long time no see, Sera."

Seradiel blocks you from the demon's vision with one of his wings. "Kezareth." Your guardian angel sounds downright hateful when saying his name. You never heard such poison dripping from his tone. "Why are you here?"

"New rules." Kezareth grabs a scroll from his pocket and unfolds it, clearing his throat. "Heaven and Hell's High Councils have come to a compromise; for every mortal human that has a guardian angel reveal themselves to them, a demon must also assign itself to said human, to balance out each side's influence." When he finishes reading, he puts the paper back into his pocket. "Since you angel's care about balance so much, this should be happy news for you."

"Oh, please," Seradiel scoffs. "There is no way anyone in heaven with a right mind agreed to this."

Kezareth shrugs. "Believe me, believe the document, or go ask God himself if you'd like. Now, let me meet my new kiddo..." He kneels down as if you're shorter than you are, waving hello. "Oh, aren't you just adorable!"

He reaches a gloved hand out to ruffle your hair, but Seradiel slaps it away. "Touch them and I will tear out your eyes."

"Wow, what a good influence," Kezareth snorts. He rises to his feet, dusting off his suit. "No need to be a drama queen about it, I'm not allowed to do anything harmful to our baby anyway. I'm just supposed to watch them like you do."

"Not 'our' baby," Seradiel growls. "And why on earth would you want to protect them? What even is your job description, if you aren't lying, that is?"

"We need more people in Hell," he shrugs. "While you're trying to get them into Heaven by encouraging them to do good things, I'm doing the opposite. Nothing crazy, of course. Just imagine me as the little demon on their shoulder."

"If you cared about them, why would you want them in Hell?" Seradiel narrows his eyes.

"So they can be with their superior dad? Catch up." Kezareth turns his attention to you again. "Sorry about all the boring bureaucracy. The main thing to know is I am taking good care of you now."

"And I thought having one overprotective asshole was bad enough," you mumble under your breath. Of course, both supernatural beings hear you.

"Language," Seradiel scolds. He hoists you up, giving you a chance to remember his inhuman strength. "And you, you stay away from them." He jabs his pointer finger at Kezareth. "You know nothing of safety."

Kezareth holds his hands up in a faux gesture of peace. "Even if I didn't want to, I don't have a choice in the matter. Rules are rules. And if you were to stop me, I think that'd be a big offense to both Heaven and Hell."

Seradiel runs a hand through his hair. "Fffffine. But if you put them in danger—"

"I'm not gonna. Demons can't harm mortals directly, remember? We can tempt them and suggest things, but we cannot carry them out. Not that I would." He offers his hand to you. "Now! Walk with me, tell me all about yourself."

...

Having two celestial beings in your life certainly changed things around.

The worst part is how Seradiel and Kezareth constantly clash on the smallest things, unable to agree on almost everything regarding your care. Like two parents in a custody battle, the only thing they share is their mutual desire for your safety. That doesn't stop them from bickering like two toddlers fighting over the same toy, though.

"How did you two know each other before?" you ask during dinner (which Seradiel made, refusing to let Kezareth even touch anything in the kitchen).

Seradiel sighs. "Kezareth was an angel once. We were... acquaintances."

Kezareth looks mildly offended. "If you think mere acquaintances spend every single day together, sleep in the same bed, bathe together, then sure, call us acquaintances."

You nearly choke on your food. "So you guys were an item?"

"Not quite." Seradiel dabs his mouth with a napkin. "That is neither here nor there, but yes, Kezareth was an angel until he fell." Disdain seeps into his voice. "He was never a good angel, mind you. Always questioning orders, never attending meetings. The only thing he was good at was slacking off." He glares daggers at Kezareth, who ignores his glower.

"Anyway, I didn't fall," Kezareth says. "I jumped. And I've never felt more free. That's why I don't want you becoming part of that life, (Y/n). It's not all rainbows and sunshine up there."

Seradiel's eyes narrow. "I'd say more strict rules are far better than eternal fire."

"Oh, please, that's just an exaggeration." Kezareth waves a hand dismissively. He turns his attention to you. "I have a pretty big social status down there. All I have to do is pull some strings and you can have your own mansion bigger than Earth. How about it?"

"Don't listen to him," Seradiel huffs.

Wow, this really does feel like a custody battle. "I just want to eat my dinner and go to bed..."

Seradiel pats your shoulder. "Finish your greens first. They'll make you big and strong." You notice Kezareth nodding to that.

...

A few days later, you attempt to shop for groceries, but you can't even do that without these two butting heads.

"Don't get that, that's loaded with cholesterol," Seradiel chastises, plucking the food from your hands.

"Hey, it's fine to be self-indulgent every now and then," Kezareth shrugs, grabbing the food back.

You groan. "It's fine, I don't have the money to get that anyway."

Kezareth puts a hand to his heart. "You're telling me Sera doesn't pay for your stuff?"

"I only pay for things I approve of. Food, rent, clothes. Anything else is a reward for good behavior." He puts the food back. "I haven't a clue why I'm explaining this to you, you wouldn't get it."

"I don't get anything that comes out of your mouth," the demon utters. He ruffles your hair, lowering his voice. "You ever steal anything before?"

Seradiel answers for you. "Don't even try putting ideas into their head."

Kezareth ignores him. "If you don't want to, I can for you. Just tell me you give me permission."

"(Y/n), don't. That is just as bad as stealing it yourself," Seradiel warns.

As much as you don't want to start any trouble, you do admit Kezareth's offer is tempting. A quick glance around tells you the coast is clear; there's no employees or customers around this area. "Alright, if it's just a snack, I guess so. Go for it."

At your agreement, a broad smile crosses Kezareth's features. He leans into one of the shelves and grabs what you're eyeing, shoving it in his jacket. "Perfect." He kisses the side of your head with a dramatic "mwah" sound, ignoring Seradiel's irritated glare. "Anything else you want around here that Mr. Grump would disapprove of?"

You open your mouth to tell him another thing, but Seradiel's disapproving glare makes you second guess your actions. "Uhh, I don't think so."

"That's correct," your guardian angel says firmly. "We're leaving before this gets anymore reckless." He grabs your wrist, dragging you to the check-out.

For the remainder of the shopping trip, there's palpable tension between Seradiel and Kezareth. You pretend to ignore it for your sanity's sake.

...

"Why do you look so upset, honey?" Kezareth coos a few days later, when he sees you trudge in the kitchen.

He knows why you're upset, of course. He had made himself invisible while watching you through the whole day, and knows you had a falling out with a friend (that he may or may not have caused, after all, you were starting to stray away from him, and he can't have that). He stops what he's doing to pull a chair from the table, ushering you over.

"One of my friends... or, well, ex-friends, isn't talking to me anymore. She blocked all contact with me out of nowhere," you utter, sitting down. "Found out she was gossiping about me behind my back with some other friends."

Kezareth starts combing through your hair with his fingers. "Aww, baby. Well, if she thinks so lowly of you, you can do without her," he says smoothly.

"She called me immature and annoying, too. Is that true?"

Kezareth clicks his tongue, moving a chair in front of you so he can sit face to face. He takes your cheeks in his hands. "Nooo, don't believe anything she said, or anyone else for that matter. She's an idiot. She doesn't know anything, baby."

You sniffle. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

He nods vigorously. "Of course I'm right, I'm always right!" He pulls you into a hug. "Besides, even if you are annoying, I don't care about that stuff. I still think you're adorable."

"I have a feeling you're only saying that because you're obligated to." Nonetheless, you return the gesture.

"Honey, I don't do anything I don't want to," Kezareth promises, voice sweet. "Everything I do is out of choice, not necessity." He brushes his thumb under your eye to wipe your tears. "Now, no more tears over someone like her. Okay, sweet pea? Now how about you take a much-needed nap." He hoists you into his arms like Seradiel often does, carrying you to your room.

"I feel too angry to even sleep," you mutter. "I know it's wrong, but I kind of hate her now."

"There's nothing wrong with hate, I don't understand why so many people are afraid of it," Kezareth says. "It's actually better to have a lot of it, otherwise you get walked over all the time." He sets you down on the bed. "And if you can't find it in yourself to hate her, I can hate her for you. In fact, I already do!"

You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. "You don't even know her."

"If she hurt you, then she hurt me." He tucks you into your bedsheets like a burrito and presses a kiss on your nose. "Say the word, and I'll ruin her life for you. Not even joking!"

"As tempting as that is, I don't hate her that much," you chuckle.

"That's alright, sweetheart," Kezareth smiles. "But if you ever change your mind, let me know." He adjusts your pillow so that your neck and head are more supported. "I'll wake you in an hour or so, whenever dinner's ready. I think you're in need of some comfort food!"

When he walks into the kitchen, there's Seradiel, glaring daggers at him.

"Our baby was emotionally wounded, and where were you, hm? Off in cloudland, right?" He walks past the angel, preparing dinner.

"What did you do?" Seradiel snaps. Kezareth turns around, feigning innocence. "Don't give me that look. I can see the wickedness in you, clear as day."

Kezareth sighs. "Some mild possession, what of it? That girl was turning against them anyway."

Seradiel's eye twitches. "Why? Just so you could see (Y/n) cry?"

The demon puts a dramatic hand to his nonexistent heart. "You think so lowly of me! But yes, partially. I need a reason to comfort them and bond with them, since you hog most of their attention to yourself. But also because I need them to come to terms with their more human emotions. Hatred is a natural emotion of theirs that you've tried to suppress for too long."

"I don't discourage them to feel human emotions, I discourage them to act on said emotions," Seradiel points out. "There is a big difference."

"So even though you hate me, by your logic, you can't act on that hatred?" Kezareth challenges.

"You're an exception, since you are not human, and therefore are not bound to those standards," Seradiel says curtly. "I hope you aren't encouraging them to punch anyone."

"Nooo, I'd never want them to get their hands dirty. That's my job. Which is exactly why I offered to ruin that brat's life, but they said they didn't want that. For now, anyway. The offer still stands indefinitely." He adds oil into a pan with a sizzling sound. "Is jealousy eating away at you? Are you frustrated that they aren't crying to you anymore?"

"Stop making them sad just for your ego," Seradiel snarls. "It's sickening and selfish, even for your standards."

"Oh, please, you aren't an angel, either. Oh, actually, I guess you are. You know what I meant." Kezareth peels and chops the vegetables rhythmically, the knife clacking against the cutting board. "Your motives for being overprotective are no different from mine."

"They actually are. I just want them to live a happy, safe life. You just want to drag them down with you to Hell so you'll be less lonely." Seradiel folds his arms over his chest, leaning back against a wall. "At least my intentions come from genuine love and care."

Kezareth snickers. "You're just a control freak. I just want them to be with their superior dad forever. Not as crazy as you make it out to be."

"They are not yours," Seradiel huffs. "I am going to clean the living room. Do not make a mess in here, I already spent an hour cleaning your mess last night."

"Ugh, thank goodness we broke up. You'd make an awful husband, always nitpicking me."

"It wouldn't hurt to pick up after yourself," Seradiel grumbles under his breath.

...

A couple months pass after Kezareth's arrival. While still an adjustment, it starts becoming part of your new routine.

The more time passes, the more relaxed your guardians seem to be around each other too— although sometimes their arguments get intense. You're lucky enough to find them casually conversing with each other every now and then, too, although they still have their disagreements.

One thing that you notice is how Kezareth tends to push boundaries while Seradiel likes to enforce them. Both their protective natures clash horribly as a result.

With Seradiel, at least he doesn't bother trying to mask his controlling nature. On the contrary, it feels as if he takes pride in it.

When it comes to Kezareth, though, he's sneakier about it.

He makes you think you have a say in certain decisions, but ultimately he manipulates you into choosing what he thinks is best. It's clear the only reason Kezareth wants you to do bad things (in Seradiel's eyes, at least) is to not only get you closer to spending an eternity with him, but also to piss off your guardian angel.

But when it comes to things like privacy, independence, and personal freedom, they seem to share a similar perspective.

Just yesterday, you went to hang out with some friends, but of course your celestial babysitters had to follow you around. But with their ability to cloak themselves and disappear, your friends thankfully weren't able to see them.

Though you were, and you swear they thought you were crazy when you randomly shouted at nothing about how annoying they were acting.

To them, they probably just saw you yelling at a wall.

And now, you're trying to go hang out with your friends again tonight, but it seems like your guardians have different plans.

"It's a Saturday night, baby," Kezareth argues. "All of the parties will be crowded with drunk idiots that want to hurt you. Not to mention the possibility of kidnapping. Please stay home, for me? We can bake cookies. Doesn't that sound so much better than going to some concert in a sweaty nightclub with sweaty strangers bumping into you?"

"Not really," you mutter under your breath.

Seradiel cups your shoulders. "Listen, (Y/n), even if we allow you to go, we must accompany you at all times. No wandering off on your own."

"No!" You jerk away from his grip. "Look, this concert won't even last that late into the night. And I'm going with a couple of friends."

"Who?" Seradiel and Kezareth say simultaneously.

"A friend who you don't know and whose name is none of your business," you snap.

"Tone," Seradiel warns, voice stern.

"I'll let you get ice cream and order whatever movie tickets you want for the next month," Kezareth bribes.

"I'm not a baby anymore! Stop treating me like one!" you shout. "You both promised to be more lax if I behaved 'better', but I've done everything you've asked. Yet you still treat me like I'm a child! Well, I'm not. So let me go out by myself for once!" You gesture to Seradiel. "Isn't free will a big part of being a human? Why would you work against that?"

Seradiel sighs. "And you do have free will. Either you go and let us come with you, or you don't go at all. That is a choice you are free to make."

"Why is it the only time you two seem as if you're able to work together, is when you're making my life miserable?" You stomp away towards your bedroom, throwing yourself onto your bed.

Kezareth throws Seradiel a look. "Wait to go."

"Are you seriously throwing the blame on me?" Seradiel scoffs. "You are just as immature as I remember! Perhaps even moreso! Do you even truly care about them, or are you just using this as an excuse to torment me?"

The demon huffs. "Oh, please, you aren't that special. You claim I'm the egotistical one, yet you think I came here just to spite you? Sure, the first reason I came here was because I was curious as to how you're doing, but my priorities have changed! Believe it or not, I do care about (Y/n). And if you choose not to believe it; not my problem!"

Just as Seradiel opens his mouth to retort, they both hear you sob. It's muffled and quiet, as if you're trying to conceal it, but they can hear it nonetheless. At that, any irritation dissipates.

They share a solemn glance and head towards your room.

Inside, you're laying in bed, your blankets sloppily pulled over you, back facing towards the door. Even when the pair enters, you don't acknowledge them.

"Precious, please don't cry," Kezareth coos, sitting beside you. "It hurts our hearts so much when you do that."

Seradiel sits down on the edge of the bed on the opposite side. "Is there anything you desire? You know we would do anything in the world for you." Despite his affectionate tone, his expression is downright heartbroken when he gazes at you.

You shift your position slightly so they can finally see your face, red and tear-stained. "Both of you suck," you mumble. "Every single day, you argue. And the worst part is, I can't escape it! You follow me everywhere! Sometimes it feels like I have no choice but to put up with you guys constantly nagging each other... And when you two actually agree on something, it's something that takes away from my freedom even more!"

Tears well in your eyes again, but Seradiel's fingers are quick to brush them away.

"Baby..." Kezareth says in a small voice. He takes off his glasses to rub his eyes, tears threatening them. "I'm sorry."

Seradiel sighs. "I am, too."

"I'm tired of feeling like your marriage counselor, or having to choose between one over the other," you continue. "I just want you to get along. Or at least tolerate being in the same room as each other." You wipe the rest of your tears away. "And if you have to argue, just do it somewhere I won't hear. Please."

Both of your guardian's faces soften.

They seem almost guilty, which is a rare expression on either of their faces.

"We'll work on our differences for you," Kezareth vows, shooting Seradiel a look. "Yeah?"

Seradiel exhales deeply, then nods. "Yes, that's the very least we can do. Whatever eases your mind." He gently grasps your hand, pressing a loving kiss on your knuckles. "Please, no more crying, my child. May I hold you?" He opens his arms invitingly.

Still mildly upset, you simply crawl towards him, burying your face in his robes. He cradles you like you're made of glass, humming softly in your ear to ease you, gently patting your back in a soothing motion.

Kezareth shifts to lay right behind you. His wings wrap around your frame to keep you warm.

In a weird way, you feel at home, protected by both your caretakers on either side of you. Before you know it, your eyelids begin to feel heavier as sleep consumes you.

"Nighty-night," Kezareth whispers. He and Seradiel share a look, silently agreeing to stay for the rest of the night.

[jigglyjeon]

aberration -> jjk (one)

aberration࿐ a departure from what is normal, usual, or expected; typically an unwelcome one.

summary: jeongguk had always preferred to be alone; untouched by the scrutiny of his father and away from the responsibilities that sealed him to a fate he never wanted— being promised to the princess. when rumours of a unicorn plagues the town, jeongguk is ordered by the king to capture it and bring it to him. with the opportunity his intentions are to lead it to safety, reminded of a wild young pony that was once his only friend.

rating: R18+ MATURE, minors please do not interact

pairing: unicorn!fem reader x human villager!jk

genre(s): dark fantasy au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, romance, eventual smut

word count: 7.3k

warnings/tags: heavily sensitive content is talked about in this chapter in the form of implied non consensual sexual acts, blood, violence, murder and other dark themes. please proceed with caution. in no way are any of these actions romanticised and i don't affiliate the character's names and face canons with their real world counterparts, they are simply face/name canons to the stories i tell. unicorn shifter!reader, jeongguk's abusive father, the kings daughter is a cunt fr, enforced slavery, the princess uses jeongguk and takes advantage of him, villagers hunt the oc, knight!yoongi, some gets killed, depictions of blood/gore

author's note: this story is going to have a lot of dark themes, so guys if that's not your thing please don't read. <3 i can remove you from the taglist if this wasn't what you expected it to be, no issues at all my lovelies x anyway, jeongguk's got it tough y'all :( he needs to be saved and protected at all costs. don't worry, things are a bit more lighter in the next chapter.

soundtrack: no rest for the wicked - lykke li // breath of life - florence & the machine // we must be killers - mikky ekko 

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Chapter One: The Damned

𓇢𓆸

Jeongguk was always a quiet person; he was reserved, even as a boy.

He preferred the serene sounds of the winds that cooled down his hot skin, the air that allowed him to breathe each day, and he welcomed isolation with open arms; it sheltered him from the voices that aimed to control his life— a life that was his to live. He was the one true dictator of his own destiny; not his father, not his brother; and it sure as hell did not belong to the most powerful man in all the land— King Lucius.

The king was a terrible man; he had many illegitimate children thrown out of his castle to live amongst the villagers, orphans left to survive the streets as beggars amongst people like himself. He was lucky enough to not be one of those children, but sometimes he wonders if he’d be better off starving and filthy and begging for scraps or money than to return home to his deadbeat father. As for the ones the king deemed fit enough for the royal lifestyle? They were just as heartless as him, just as heartless as they were spoilt by their father.

It was hot, the sun scorching Jeongguk’s skin, his once fair complexion darkening into a honeyed tan as he chopped at the wood just outside the hut in which he resided. He huffs heavily, resting his axe on the ground, a hand holding it upright as uses his forearm to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. He so badly wishes to rest, taking his leave to lie in bed and succumb to kinder place in his dreams, but alas he had to continue. His father sure as hell wasn’t going to do it— his father never did anything.

He was supposed to leave this summer, run away from the world his father had shackled him to, bashing on him with his regrets, his shame. Forcing him to hunt, chop the wood for the fires, make the dinner and put it on his plate no later than the first signs of sundown. Jeongguk was no longer a son to him, but a servant of kin.

Jeongguk felt his pain, but it was not only physically. He happened to share that pain, for he missed Aerum and his mother too. His father was cruel and unforgiving, believing his son to be the devil incarnate, dismissive of his son’s feelings. Jeongguk had always been caught in the crossfire for the heavy weight of loss that plagued the home his father had built them. “Murderer.” His father would seethe, even when he was barely there, teetering on the edge of consciousness. He constantly reeked of the mead that he would trade his life’s work for. Every belonging that was worth anything, every bit of coin he had laying around for safe keeping; then he would complain to Jeongguk, asking him where the money had gone, blaming him for its disappearance.

All his efforts, the work he had done to provide for his little family was nothing but a ghost of a memory. The man he once strived to become someday dead and buried six feet into the ground with the rest of his loved ones.

He reasons with the possibility that his father preferred to stay drunk to help him forget, erasing the tragedies that had been cursed upon him and his once happy, secure life. Jeongguk could only imagine that he had never planned on losing a wife and a child so closely together in time, and he still blabbered on about his lost love, the daughter he had helped raise; it mattered not if he was drunk or not. His father had always been stern with him, he had decreed that men should not grow to be weak and sensitive, but there was still love in his eyes. A proud father of his only son.

With the disappearance of his sister, he knew that his father had only learned to loathe him greatly. He had since come to terms with that. Still, he could not help but wish for kindness from his own damned father.

Jeongguk had been raised to never lay a hand on his own blood. No matter what. Sometimes he thinks of breaking that honour, even if that would condemn him to eternity in hell once his time on earth was through with.

It couldn’t get any worse than this, he had to remind himself, nothing could shake his resolve if he had remained this strong for so long.

How wrong he had been.

A little boy had run up to Jeongguk, an expression both laced in fear and excitement as he approached the sweating man, disrupting his errand. He didn’t mind, though. “Have you seen? The princess is among us! The princess roams our village!” He notifies, running off immediately to alert the other men that inhabited the small town. Jeongguk doesn’t bat an eye, doesn’t care.

He wanted nothing to do with her, or the king; he wanted nothing to do with anyone for that matter. He tosses his axe to the side with a grunt, throwing the cut up logs behind him, inching the pieces closer to his house when he can finish the job later. Now was as good a time as any to retire, he didn’t want to be around with all the commotion.

But he’s caught in the crossfire. “Father, he is handsome.” A young woman speaks nearby, Jeongguk peers over his shoulder freezes upon the presence of the king and his daughter. She was young, younger than him presumably. Jeongguk was only twenty-five but he his bones had told a story of a man who had been through other worldly amounts of pain, as if he had trudged through war, fighting for his honour. If only his life had been so noble. “He looks to be strong, as well.”

Jeongguk turns, straightens his back and bows low. Despite hating this cruel world, Jeongguk still had the desire to keep his head intact. There was still a beautiful world out there waiting for him. “Of course, my dear.” He smiles softly at his daughter, her eyes were as blue as crystal waters, and her hair as dark as the raven’s that hide in within the trees in the forest. Waiting on their next meal, waiting to feed. Jeongguk remains bowed, his eyes looking down at his worn boots, covered in mud and dirt from the long days, weeks, months, years of work he’d endured. He wished for new ones, but he would hold that thought.

“You may rise.” King Lucius bellows, the volume of his voice making Jeongguk shudder. He’s reminded of his father briefly, only the king was not hiccupping his words or insulting. Not yet. “Your name, boy.”

Nothing about his commands were gentle or forgiving. His expression remained cold, his hand on the shoulder of his youngest daughter. Beautiful, yes, but her intentions were questionable. Jeongguk would never trust royal blood.

“Jeon Jeongguk, your Majesty.” He bows again, keeping it briefs, remaining respectful. His features remain just as stoic as the kings’ harsh eyes that mirrored the light blue colour that he had passed onto his daughter. It was a piercing stare, unwelcoming.

“Do you like the looks of my most beautiful daughter?” He’s not exactly asking him a question that he can answer truthfully, or with his heart. His words are a demand to give him the correct one. “She seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Jeongguk wants his shake his head. No, he does not care for his young daughter. He does not care for her icy gaze, the rosy lips she graces with a false kindness. He had always been able to tell, but only because he had mastered the art. Her eyes are shameless in looking upon his body, his sleeves rolled up to his biceps to keep himself cool, his broad shoulders and his overall manly appearance. “Your daughter is beautiful.” It wasn’t completely a lie, he would be foolish not to think so.

Beauty was deceiving, just as it was captivating.

The daughter offers a tight-lipped smile, a cunning look in her eye as she picks up her skirts in a curtsy. Jeongguk gives her a curt nod of his head to acknowledge her. “We will return for you by morrow’s evening; you will serve my daughter in whatever she might request of you.”

From one captive situation into another, Jeongguk stands tall as the princess and her father walked away, and they’re indifferent to the way his hardness changes into small trembles of fear. His eyes never wavered but body was unable to hide his true feelings. When they leave him to his own once again, he drops to his knees, looking around him. Everyone was staring, looking at the scene that had just occurred with curious eyes, envious mutters of gossip low in his ears. Jeongguk looks down at his hands.

Splintered and calloused and riddled with dirt.

A common village boy, born to be a slave to the world that spares him no mercy. What had he done so terrible in another life to doom him to a life of such despair?

When drags his sullen frame into the house, met with his father fast asleep. He leans back in his chair, head hanging back with his mouth hung open. He struggles to take a clean breath. Jeongguk clicks his tongue, cocking his head to the side in shame. With nothing better to do with his time, he retires to bed earlier than usual without supper for either of them.

Later that night, Jeongguk awoke to a glow in the darkness.

Flames roared just outside his home, the voices of the townspeople in toe. He rose, rubbing the little sleep he had endured from his eyes, swinging his legs off the slab of wood he had since used to sleep on. His father had confiscated him of the mattress and soft sheets, a mere cotton sheet given to provide him some warmth. He’s surprised he was even allowed such a luxury. Perhaps a part of him had felt sorry for his son. He clung to that belief on nights he felt hopeless.

His back had since grown used to the pain that the wood slab had caused him, the stiffness in his limbs, the shooting pain in his neck. Numb. He had felt so, so numb.

The memories of his youth completely shut away from his memories, for they were agonising to bear; remembering the faces that taught him how to love with his heart and his soul was too heavy on his hollow chest. He blocks himself from those simple pleasures, he had felt unworthy of them.

He groggily shuffles through the hut and toward the front door. He’s almost glad to hear his father still snoring obscenely in the spot he had last seen him. His face is planted on the dinner table; there’s a small pool of drool gathered below his mouth that dripped from his parted lips, and his half-empty cup is still clutched in his hand. He can only hope he remains that way for the rest of the night.

His attention is stolen when he opens the door, making sure to be quiet as he closes it behind him. The town is alive, children clinging to their mothers with confusion, weapons being gathered and sheathed as the men bellowed and hollered at one another. Jeongguk’s first conclusion is that it means there’s danger upon them, people look angry and scared.

He stops a passerby, a back with a dagger and a determined stare. “What’s going on?” He asks.

“You wouldn’t believe it, an unwelcomed beast is upon us— sent by the devil, no doubt.” The man spits, snarling at Jeongguk as if he had been Lucifer himself. “They say there’s a unicorn runnin’ ‘round these parts with a lust to kill.” He shrugs Jeongguk’s hand off of his shoulder, marching onward.

A unicorn? Well, how foolish! These people truly believe in the tall tales of a simple maybe? Jeongguk had been a child once, one with a colourful imagination and hope within his heart. But this? Even the child that lingers deep inside of him wouldn’t have believed his words.

“Pah.” Jeongguk scoffs, watching with judgement upon chaos in the streets; the people of the village riddle themselves with the self-made fear caused by a trick of the light at best. He only worries for the poor horse that they plan to hunt down, and he wonders the culprit that claimed to have seen such a thing.

Perhaps he was not the only one who had grown bored of this sad little town. Rumours and gossip kept boredom at bay, especially amongst the women. There were often fights and secret life-long rivalries between the villagers over superficial moments. Either way, it had tended to suck the life out of the people, or at least, that was how it felt for Jeongguk. He would best describe the feeling as being robbed of his soul.

Tomorrow these are burdens he’ll no longer have to bear. By the next sundown, he will be removed from his unwelcomed circumstance and thrown carelessly into a new one. This will no longer be the hut he walks into at the end of the day, and no longer will his father have the chance to lay his hands on him.

As he walks through his lifeless home, he says so long to the place that he was born and raised, the walls in which he had lost the love and guidance of his sister and mother; Jeongguk had become a shell of the boy that ached for the adventure, that yearned to discover the mysteries of life itself.

He was grateful to be rid of his terrible past, but at what cost?

The first few days were bearable. His father had cowered to his knees when the King had come knocking on their door, shivering in fear as his guards confiscated his son. He uttered nothing to Jeongguk, and his whimpering is the last thing he hears from him. Perhaps it was better this way.

He remained the indentured servant he had always been destined to be. He would scrub the floors, make dinner and tend to the princess’ needs.

The princess, Leona, had grown quickly to be harsh and unforgiving toward Jeongguk. He slaved tirelessly solely to please her, fetching her bath water, rubbing her feet and her shoulders, and he had remained obedient when she wanted more of him physically, for he feared what would become of him if he had fought against her demands.

She cared little for his history, hardly conversating with Jeongguk unless it was relevant to the moment or the tasks she had arranged for him. And while no one has yet to strike him, which had allowed him the time to heal from the wounds his father had left behind for the most part, he had still felt battered and weak.

Before, he still had purpose to his daily tasks. Fetching food from the markets, trading with the townspeople, chopping wood to keep him warm at night; now he lived beneath the domineering nature of a princess that would ruin a sacred thing for him. He wouldn’t have called it love making as Leona had referred to it as, for he would lay still on his back as she did as she pleased with him, knowing he had no way out of his fate.

What is freedom, really? Jeongguk thinks it may not even exist. Not for him.

When Leona would fall asleep, he would sit by her window; the view of the land was remarkable from there. He had been so high up, that he felt if he had really tried, he could touch the clouds. In these moments, where the world around him sleeps, and he basks in the summer night’s breeze, he wonders if there was still hope for him. No matter how many times he has wanted to give up, there was always something holding him back. Deep inside him he clings to the love that he has yet to receive.

Jeongguk didn’t cry often, not since his mother had died.

But by the window, where no one could see, he calls for her. “Can you hear me, Aerum?” He whispers into the night. “I miss you, dearly.”

Tomorrow, Jeongguk will search the forests come nightfall to seek out a Unicorn— a doting father is adamant to retrieve one for his daughter.

“Over there! The creature from hell!”  

The time had come; a time you had anticipated since the moment you lingered too closely amongst the humans. There were many things you had come to learn about them; as curious as you were, you had known how dangerous it was to stay. But you had to know that he was okay, that he was alive and doing well.

He was, and the confirmation had pleased you greatly— but something had changed.

Jeongguk was no longer the boy you used to know.

The bags and the hollow look in his eye are tell-tale signs. Despite being the first, and only, human you’d ever interacted with, the first thing you had learnt about humans is that they are desperate creatures. They yearn to feel wanted, to not be alone, even if they might claim otherwise.

Another reason you haven’t strayed from the area is because you don’t know where else to go. The world was a scary, unforgiving place and you had found comfort in the place you’ve been left for dead. It had done you well thus far, you’ve been very careful.

Until you were spotted, drinking from the clear waters of the river, a man frozen in shock as you turn to reveal your glowing aura, the long, sharp appendage that sets you apart from the others.

“Cursed be!” He bellows into the trees, hurrying to run from you, tripping on his own two feet as he flees.

You didn’t think that much of the brief encounter, for you had reacted similarly when you had first grown your horn.

On your eighteenth year, on the day of your birth, you had grown ill.

In your human form, you had curled up, uncovered and cold in the dirt as you shivered. You had been sick before, but this was different; you had brought up your feed on multiple occasions, your body sucking you dry of the little nutrients you had spent countless hours gathering from the earth. It was mostly just berries, nuts and seeds from the bushes, and the grass that grew fresh from beyond the ground. It wasn’t much, but it allowed you survival.

You had felt much hungrier in your human, it was why you tried to avoid the shift altogether.

There was no way for you to control it on that night, though. Forced to be the girl you’d always wanted to avoid only to become a woman all in one night, and unbeknownst to you, something else entirely.

When you woke up the next morning, your head felt heavy, and it wasn’t until you looked upon your reflection in the river that you knew something had changed.

At first, you had also believed yourself to be marked by the beast below. Your horn was akin to the ones he adorned, and it looked dangerous. You’d be afraid to go near anything in fear of injuring someone or something without the intentions to.

There was nobody there to explain what was happening to you, who you were, and how to deal with the changes that had occurred to you overnight.  

Your mother and father were pure human, and if they were something else, you hadn’t known about it. Your mother had led you into the woods by rope, telling you she was going to forage for the fruits of the season; you had fallen asleep waiting for her, and she was gone when you woke.  

What are you?

“The unicorn flees; it leaves a trail of light!” One of the men alerts, causing bellows of anger from the others.

A unicorn.

A unicorn that emits light wherever she goes, that threatens those that cross her with her pointed horn— the creature from hell.

Another term they referred to you by.

An anxious cry leaves your throat, the heavy sound of hooves in the dirt begin to catch up from behind you. It increases your adrenalin, sending bouts of energy through your limbs as you pick up your pace, going as fast as your long legs can muster. Your limbs grow weak, and you squeal in pain at the strain, ultimately losing balance and tumbling over.

Before you can do more damage to yourself, the animal that possesses you changes suddenly. The large, muscular frame that glows in the dark replaces itself with the skin of a human. The white gown that covers your body is thin and tattered, but it’s better than roaming bare. You had discovered it caught in the branches a few years ago.

Your long, unruly waves mirror the colour of your coat from before. You manage to find the strength to steady yourself, your nails digging into the dirt below as you clamber onto your feet. Your body moves quickly, scurrying to shield yourself behind a nearby rock, watching the angry villagers hurry down a path towards nothing.

Thankful for another day in which you live, you can’t help but wonder if you will be so lucky next time

The little horse had grown tired of running.

Your entire body trembles; your lips, your arms and your legs alike. You rest your head against the cold rock, it soothes your hot skin, but the jagged edges pierce into your back as a reminder of the balance of life. Some might say what you’ve been given was a gift, others might believe you were sent by the devil to kill.

There were a lot of things that you were, a lot of others you were not— but a murderer is one thing you’ll never be.

Your cries are silent, as you so diligently trained yourself to be. It was a death sentence otherwise.

Only one good thing came of the town on the edge of the woods. You don’t think of him as often as you used to, but humans remind you of him. Would he want you dead, too? If he had known what you were? You want to believe that he would save you.

You’re not a naïve little girl anymore, though. You were thirteen the last time you saw him, and after that he had become someone you didn’t even know. It was as if he was a figment of your imagination, a guiding light, until he was no longer there.

Jeongguk clutches onto the dagger on his belt. His steps are stealthy, slow, just as they’ve always been. He didn’t want to frighten you.

There was once a boy that hadn’t wanted to frighten you. One that he had forgotten about, and the one you dreamt of every other night.

Your sobs grew louder, wrapping your own arms around your frail frame. What if you were a creation of evil? What if that’s why your parents no longer loved you, so afraid of what you were that they would abandon their child in the wood. You will the earth to send you a sign, if you were no good, that they would hand you to your true fate.

A twig snaps nearby. Your head darts towards the sound, and there is a man. He stands low, clutching the weapon on his side as he closes in on you. Your instincts work slow as you try to see his face in the dark. Death is your destiny, then. Your fate is being handed to you, just as you willed it to.

You blink slow, watching him as he inches closer, your eyes are blurry with tears. You don’t recognise him, not at first.

“I–you–” He speaks, raising the hand that was once holding onto his dagger. You gasp, your eyes wounding shut as you accept your impending doom. You hold yourself tighter, for no one else will— everybody dies alone.

So, you wait. You wait for the sharp knife to twist into your stomach, or slice through your throat; your body presses tightly against the rock in anticipation.

Nothing comes. The human spares you. You blink carefully, peaking past squinting eyes. You look down at his slowly rising chest that falls just as softly in steady breaths. When you allow your gaze to lift to his face, you’re certain of what you weren’t sure of prior.

The heavens had sent you Jeongguk.

A short, sharp inhale of shock slips out of you; your fingers rise to your mouth, covering your parted lips. You bite your tongue, stiffening your arms as they ache to wrap themselves around him in relief. The universe had sent you your first protector, perhaps there was someone up there looking out for you.

“I watched you–” He breathes, looking at you with a strain of disbelief, his head tilting slightly in a slight curiosity. “You...changed. You changed yourself.” His eyes are big, wonderous.

You remember those eyes. Your chest tightens upon knowing that side of him was inside his heart all along; stagnant, waiting patiently for the man to release the boy he had left behind all those years ago.

He doesn’t recognise you. For a moment you forget the form you’re in, but perhaps he wouldn’t recognise you even if you were standing in the form he had once known you in; you had changed since then, in more ways than one— you were no longer a lost young pony.

You clutch the glass pendant against your neck, turning it around to rest against your back instead of your chest. You don't answer him.

“I saw it, clear as day.” He mirrors you, shaking his head in contest. He points toward at you in an accusing manner. “You were a–” He takes a shaking breath, “You are the unicorn.” He states a realisation that dawns upon him. “Only, you are not only just.” His observations are laced with an amusement, and what he finds so? You’re not sure.

You feel you may just become one with the large rock behind that holds you upright. “How wrong I was about such a possibility.” His gaze shifts, looking up and over your head as he attempts to come to terms what he’s learnt. He smiles in pure amazement, running his worn hand over his face to corroborate. “That true magic lives among us.”

While he’s distracted you slip by him, creating distance between you. You stumble backwards as he whips toward you, facing you immediately. You stop in your tracks, caught under the intrigue of his deep brown eyes.

“Can you do it? Right now?” There’s still a smile on his face, but there’s nothing malicious in his features. Still, each step be takes towards you warrants you to take one back, away from him. He holds his hands up as if to remind you that he was no threat to you.

Trust no human, you have to remind yourself— even if it is him.

You shake your head again.

He hums, deflating slightly. When he looks at you again, his intensity simmers. His features softening with the tone of his voice. “Do you speak, girl?”

Your chest heaves, chasing after a steady breath as you take in the sight of him. His lips twitch slightly, waiting patiently as your eyes shift over his face, his body, the garments he adorns to keep himself covered. They’re no longer tattered, but by no means fancy. You knew already that he had since travelled away from the village he was raised in, but to where you weren’t sure. To not be able to see him when you could had only put a dent in your trust toward the humankind. The one thing gentle about it had vanished on you.

Jeongguk nods, turning his head away. You don’t trust him, your narrowed gaze says as much. Although, he doesn’t blame you, reminded of the mission he had been sent out for.

He had been successful; he had found the unicorn.

He has since learnt that the poor animal also happened to be just a woman; a scared and frightened girl that wished to live freely. Jeongguk resonated with that more than anyone. Human, unicorn, or whatever you may be.

There’s a roaring within the distance, and the dim light of torches aflame return up the trail you had tricked them down.

“Go, get away from here before they find you.” He hurries, “I will lead them astray.” He turns before you can think, walking toward the mob heading their way. He turns his head, widening his eyes and cocking his head in your direction, mouthing at you to go. So, you do.

You don’t want to leave him so soon, but you do as he says, and you run. You take off faster, deeper into the trees for your safety had been disrupted. You feel at fault, you weren’t more careful, maybe you wanted to be found, but you had been found by the wrong man. Perhaps you allowed yourself to be seen because you wanted Jeongguk to be the one to find you.

There was once a time you knew him well; he talked of all his fears, the things that made him smile. He was a gentle man, misunderstood in his sensitivity towards creatures great and small, empathising with the people he himself had struggled to understand.

He had found you again, but you didn’t know what to make of that. There’s one part of you that feels betrayed, and another that wants him to run away with you. Far, far away.

From a distance within the darkness of the night, you watch as Jeongguk leads them away from your vicinity. He stops behind the crowd, looking into the trees once more before he carries on with them, resuming on a hunt he’s already finished.

Your blood will not be shed this night, not if he can help it.

He spots something in the corner of his eye, a dull glow in the distance, the representation of the glimmer of hope— his purpose to live. Jeongguk made a promise to himself then; he would protect the unicorn from the black hearts of the townspeople and the selfish desires of the royal family. He wouldn’t allow his own fate to be thrust upon her, not when she had seemed so frightened, desperate to stay alive.

He would return tomorrow to ensure she was safe, lead her out of harm’s way.

Upon his return to the royal quarters, his mind thrums with all things surrounding the unicorn girl. Many questions plagued him, suspicions and curiosities. He sits by the door of Leona’s room, back against stone as falls asleep with a slight smile, and not the usual tension in his forehead from cinching his brows together. He feels at peace, despite his discomfort, for was his chance to run. Just as he had asked the girl to do hours prior.

The king summons him first thing in the morning. Jeongguk keeps his head bowed, he had learnt that looking him in the eye without permission warranted great punishment. He had been lucky enough to get off with a warning that time.

“You let it get away?” His tone is sharp, leaning on his elbows over the table.

“The townspeople are hunting it; they wish it dead.” He tells the king.

“Well, find it before them!” He grits. “You will return with the beast tonight, or I will have you chained to the walls of a cell.”

Jeongguk bows, “Yes, your greatness.”  

He turns to face his daughter the moment he exits the room “Jeongguk,” she sing-songs, her palm lays flat against his chest, “If you find me that unicorn, you will be rewarded handsomely.” Her touch saunters down his abdomen, and he holds his breath, avoiding her darkening gaze. She stops before she can reach the beginnings of his crotch, removing herself completely from him. She lifts her finger beneath his chin, forcing him to face her; a dismal stare meets her icy, lust-driven ones. “Pathetic.” Leona scoffs quietly, turning on her heel to continue down the hallway.

This time, Jeongguk doesn’t wait until the moon replaces the sun. He scrambles around the room he shares with the princess, packing everything valuable to survive at least one night’s travel. While he does intend to find the unicorn once again, it’s not for the king, or the princess or to kill her in the manner the townspeople want.

He will not return once he leaves this room.

The knight guard, Yoongi, stands by the door, spooking him.

Yoongi hadn’t so much as uttered two words for the months Jeongguk had been captured and held here; his task, amongst guarding the princesses’ quarters, was to ensure Jeongguk remained compliant in the absence of the princess. Make sure that he doesn’t escape. His job deemed a quiet one because Jeongguk had not been stupid enough to try— the boy was smarter than that. Yoongi could see it in his eyes.

He moves in front of him, blocking Jeongguk’s path of exit. The knight says nothing, just stands tall in front of him; he doesn’t quite reach his eye level, but the taller one still buckles under the scrutiny, even if his eyes are hidden by his helmet.

“I was tasked to retrieve the unicorn.” He tells the knight, straightening his posture. “The King has ordered it of me.”

The knight removes the heavy headpiece, revealing his face. His eyes, as Jeongguk had suspected, are sharp and intimidating as the scan over him. His stare stops at the sack of belongings thrown over Jeongguk’s back “You don’t plan to return, do you boy?” He says plainly, but there’s not a lick of sympathy in his tone. “They suck you of your humanity.” An observation.

Jeongguk flashes him a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, “I will return come night fall.”  He lies through his teeth, bowing politely to guise his truth. He shuffles by the guard when he says nothing. He catches Jeongguk off guard when his hand reaches out for him, gripping his bicep to stop him from continuing.

“Don’t.”

Jeongguk furrows his brow, looking into his empty glare. They tell him nothing, the knight remains stoic. Yoongi rips away the hand that halts the boy, returning to his post by the door.

The silent ones could always see the truth in the demeanour, for words meant nothing when the eyes expressed so much more than words could muster.

Jeongguk had ventured beyond the gates of the castle plenty of times before, but the air this afternoon had felt clean upon his consumption, breathing it in and allowing it to course through his body. It feels different today, fresher.

The sun beamed down on him, causing him to look up at the sky, straight into the light. He squints, lifting a hand to shield the intense brightness. He laughs in disbelief as he trudges onward toward the forest; there lies a different kind of life for him— Jeongguk can see it clearer than he has ever seen before.

The moment is cut short when he’s reminded of his purpose. He had to get to that unicorn before anyone else could. Such a rarity had to be protected, studied, understood— not killed or treated brutally. The people of these parts had shown no mercy, Jeongguk of all people knew it to be true.

A horse’s scream reverberates throughout the woodlands, stopping the traveller in his tracks. He runs up the small hill, nearly toppling over the edge when he sees the unicorn bucking and flailing against her restraints. An older man is tugging on the ropes he’s thrown around her neck, pulling with all his strength to control the strength of the unicorn fighting against him.

In a panic, Jeongguk runs back down the hill and back around to lower land where the path is clear.

The man pants heavily, seemingly just as scared as the unicorn as he tugs on the ropes that bind her. Her attacker taps around his belt, sheathing a dagger, one that had seemed to be much larger and sharper than Jeongguk’s had been. He thrusts his arm backward as the horse drags his feet against the dirt.

“NO!”

Before Jeongguk can think, he reaches for his own weapon, flinging it forward in the direction of the man. The man stumbles back, his grip loosening on the rope as he turns toward the sound of Jeongguk’s yell. With barely any time to react the dagger pierces into his skull, right between his eyes.

The attacker stumbles toward Jeongguk, wheezing as blood oozes from the wound. He lifts a weak finger, “J-Jeon’s boy.” He smiles weakly, a whisper of amusement in his broken gasps for air.

He falls to the ground with a thud with his final breath, the life stolen from him.

Jeongguk stares wide eyed at his limp frame, a pool of his blood surrounding his lifeless body. He begins to hyperventilate, clutching at his throat, gasping for a breath as if he had forgotten how to manage one. “Shit, shit.” He heaves.

You, stunned in your spot, hadn’t even the courage to run. Your hooves click as you move to his side, uncaring of the man that aimed to take your life. You nudge at his shoulder with your muzzle, pushing him upright as he begins to hiccup, struggling to hide the fear in his glossy eyes. He stutters nonsense that you can’t decipher. “I just killed a man.” Jeongguk shudders, “I’ve never killed anyone before.”

Bowing your head, you allow him to wallow and comes to terms with what he's done; you stay beside him, sympathise, but selfishly feel more grateful than sad. You nicker softly by his ear, catching his attention. He looks up at you through the tears that threaten to fall, really allowing himself to look at you. There’s a familiar warmth in your eyes that he can’t quite place.

He shakes away the thoughts, but his breaths remain shaky.

“So, a unicorn, huh?” He sniffles, looking over your white coat in awe. There’s a stunning glow that illuminates around you, though it’s not as prominent due to fact it was still daylight. “Perhaps you are as troublesome as they say."

His eyes continue to wander, silently admiring the gracefulness in which you hold yourself. You are the comeliest looking horse he’s ever seen. Even with the intimidating horn that juts out your forehead. Its off-white colour is stark against the pure white of your body and mane, and its reminiscent of a seashell. You could have easily protected yourself given how sharp it was at the very tip, but you never did. Why? The answer, Jeongguk assumes, is because he knows you’re not the dangerous creature the world depicts you as.

He knew a horse once, white as snow.

Just a regular horse that valued his company; she had no cares in the world, no fears of being hunted— she was a companion to the young boy still hiding within his broken-down soul.

Jeongguk hasn’t thought about her in years. A pang of guilt fills his chest. His eyes flitter down to yours.

Of course, it couldn't have been her. How foolish of him to even think such a thing.

With another huff, you begin to turn around, sending him a thankful look for saving you once again. He scurries after you, rising from the ground, stumbling past the body of the man he had just killed. He looks away before the weight of reality settles into his stomach and makes him sick.

Jeongguk carries himself toward you, even though you’re walking slow and in no hurry to get away from him. He trips on his own feet as he tries to steady himself, his hand reaching for your body in reflex, smacking his palms against your behind. You whinny in surprise, your tail whacks him as you whip your head around to glare at him.

He steps back, an evident blush forming across his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I lost my balance. I’m–” He bows, “–I’m very sorry.” You make a dismissive sound, continuing along the dirt path. The silence doesn’t last all that long.

“Sorry Miss, I– If I may?” He picks up his pace so that he walks beside you in your peripheral vision. You hardly spare him a glance, but your ears flap as if to let him know that you’re listening.

“It’s just that, I happen to be travelling…and, well, I want to get far from here.” He explains, you twitch an ear in interest, but you don’t slow your pace. “Well, I thought since you always seem to be in some sort of trouble,” You gruff at his words. “I could travel alongside you and protect you from the villagers as I make my way through the forest and into the next town.”

You circle him suddenly, nearly causing him to lose his balance again as you cut off his steps to stand behind him. You shift quickly into your human form before he has the chance to turn around.

“You’re leaving?” You ask, holding your hands behind your back, hiding your fiddling fingers from his view. The gown you’re wearing is in even worse condition that it was the last time he saw you. Although, he couldn’t see all that clearly in the dark.

The gown is light, almost sheer and there’s a tear up the sides, holes along the bottom. It’s worn and dirty and its barren of the light colour it probably used to be. It’s also barely any clothing, and Jeongguk looks away before his eyes can linger too long. It wasn’t polite to stare.

“Yes, I wish to do so before I am caught.” He turns around, feigning interest in the trees surrounding them.

“Are you running from something?” You question, stepping closer to him, a little bit too close as you tilt your head up towards him with big, innocent eyes. Have you no sense of personal space? Perhaps not, for you were a wild girl.

Jeongguk clears his throat, and turns his back to you, continuing down the path you’re heading down. “Never you mind that.” He sighs.

With a frown, you travel behind him at a safe distance, letting the awkward silence consume you this time. Your question caused him to close himself off from you. He hasn't turned around to face you since.

You’ve upset him; it’s barely been moments since the universe has brought him to you again, and you’ve already upset him. This is why you didn’t like your human form. He seemed to have always understood you more when you weren’t just a girl. Jeongguk trusted people just as much as you: little to none whatsoever.

A part of you had hoped he would recognise you the moment he met you again. You don’t know what happened to him the moment he disappeared on you, but you can see it in his eyes, and in his posture and the slight limp in his step that there are things that you hadn’t known. When you checked on him, which had only been a hand full of times over the years, he seemed to be doing just fine.

You have no idea of all the grief he's endured in his life since you parted ways all those years ago.

taglist: @mirinaeii, @xodidarks, @soju4shi, @satisfied18

©jigglyjeon 2025 all rights reserved

[sapphireis]

Dark/Yan Aemond HCs

ೃ⁀➷ TW/CW: DARK CONTENT, 18+ (MINORS/AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DON’T INTERACT), Bad English, Toxic Relationship, Implied AFAB Reader (talk about pregnancy and stuff in a part, but for the rest pretty GN), Jealousy, Manipulation, Breeding Kink a bit, OOC?, let me know if I need to add more TW/Tags ♡ My blog contains dark content, be careful when interacting/following! ➳ Characters: Aemond Targaryen

⤠ I'd do anything for you, Mrs. Highness (Aemond) ⤟ Masterlist (soon!) ⤠ None ⤟

hello hotd fandom... pls be nice to me since this is my first time posting smth about this fandom hndhhd and I'm also very insecure about my writing rn, anyway... i wrote this mostly for myself so I'm sorry LMAO

He's so possessive and protective of you. To the point where you can't go anywhere without guards who are loyal to him, due to his paranoia. Aemond would prefer to be your guard all the time, but alas he is unfortunately a very busy man so he has to trust the guards

When you are forced to do parties or appear in public Aemond is always around you or watching you, his eye never really leaves your figure. He always has his hands over you either on your lower back, guiding you where he wants, or on your waist. To remind you who you belong to.

Heleana and Alicent are the only one who he lets be around you when he is gone to keep you company, his brother Aegon? AH. No. Maybe Daeron, but Aegon absolutely not. Why would you want to spend time with a drunken fool?

In truth he is insanely jealous about everything and everyone, including his own family. He trusts his sister and mother to not pry too much into your relationship, and in fact his mother is more of an enabler for him. She is just so glad her son finally found someone he loves and cares about, so that he isn't alone anymore. How could she deny him such happiness?

Will try to get the two of you married instant. As soon as he saw you Aemond knew he had to marry you, it doesn't matter if you are highborn or not to him. Much to his mother and grandsire's displeasure of course

Once you are married of course he's gonna make you pregnant if possible. You wouldn't try to get away from him with a child on its way no? When he has endless ways of helping you with a babe, both during the pregnancy, the birth, and the years to come. Why have it the hard way when you can live a life of luxury?

Talking about a life of luxury, Aemond will give you anything you might need and more to keep you compliant. However, some things are not negotiable like for example what you wear: its either green or sapphire blue, no other clothes are tolerated for him. If you want to be more transgressive you can wear something outside of that, though the consequences...

He's so manipulative and wouldn't care to bring the situation in his favour, and would absolutely use your own emotion against you. "If you are hurt imagine how I feel" and stuff like that is often said when you two are fighting often over nothing, if not directly about Aemond's way of treating you.

You think it's unfair, Aemond thinks you don't understand how he feels. There is a war coming and he won't always be there protecting you since he will be on the battlefield. Its only fair that he fears for your safety, no? What kind of husband would he be otherwise?

This work belongs to @/sapphireis, do not repost, translate, copy, rewrite or share on tiktok without my permission. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged♡

[ceoofyearning]

I only pray, don’t fall away from me

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: The world feels like it’s falling apart around you, but Azriel finally comes home and helps you hold all the pieces together.

Tags/Warnings: Hurt and Comfort, depressive themes & thoughts, anxiety, nightmares, mentions of a minor character death (not the mc/reader) || please mind the tags.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: this week was though so here’s a bit of a hurt & comfort fic; hope your days are kind to you guys xoxo

Links: Fic Masterlist | My Art

You’re so damn tired.

The last few weeks have been difficult, to say the least. The healing house has been filled to the brim with the wounded and sick. Altercations with Beron’s soldiers by the border have been increasing at an alarming rate, while countless spies from the continent have been winnowed in after being caught by Koschei’s contingent forces. You can’t even begin to imagine the state of the civilians that might’ve been caught in the crossfire. 

There is tension in the air with the threat of the inevitable war looming on the horizon. It doesn’t help that the winter chill, in all of its foreboding fury, has come to ravage the lands and its people. You love your work as a healer, you really do. Some days, the thought of the good you do, the people you help, is enough to keep you going. But too often, it feels like a thankless job that leaves you drained to the core. 

In your free time, you’ve been parsing through ancient texts in search of information on Death Gods and anything that could be used against Koschei. His looming threat is a cloud of dread that hangs over everyone, especially Rhys. The least you could do is to help carry the burden. It’s not like you could sleep, anyway. These days it is as though your mind adamantly refuses to let you rest. At the very least, the task keeps you distracted when you’re stuck alone in your apartment. 

Ever since Azriel had been sent to the continent for a reconnaissance mission nearly a month ago, the apartment you share has started to feel a little too big, too desolate. Before you knew it, the white walls had been transmuted from your home into what felt like the bars of a cage. 

The two of you haven't been apart for so long since the mating bond snapped. You didn’t think you'd feel his absence as acutely as you did, but it felt like the loss of a limb where the wound refused to heal and you were already bleeding out. His part of the bond is blacked out completely, a devouring void where Azriel’s comforting presence should have been. It’s for your own safety, he said. But you can’t help it. You’re plagued with worry, with imagined hurts and tragedies, amplifying the brewing conflict in your mind. 

It is easier to catch yourself when Azriel is near. When the thoughts begin to swirl like a hurricane around you - winds whipping, oceans rising - it feels like Azriel’s arms are the only safe harbor you can rely on. But Azriel isn’t here now. 

What frustrates you most is that you’ve been better recently. You’ve been good. You ate your meals, slept reasonably, even had a goddamned routine set up. You guzzled down your tonics in hopes of smoothing out the edges of your frayed mind, that perhaps it could lend you some semblance of normalcy. But no. Weeks of being haunted by nightmares, of overextending yourself, of loss and suffering seeping under your skin day by day have taken its toll. 

You are just too damn tired. 

A child died, barely over thirteen years old. She was bastard-born, which meant she had nothing to her name other than the rags on her back and her birthright to suffer generational oppression and cruelty. This is the worst winter the Night Court has had in centuries, and she didn’t even have a decent roof over her head. Needless to say, she hadn’t been in the best health. But despite that, the moment her cycle had come, the men forced her to go through the clipping. In her struggle, the imbeciles accidentally nicked a vital artery. Normally, her Illyrian healing would’ve granted her a strong chance for survival, but she had been so sick, her body weakened by hours spent in the frigid cold. 

By the time you had been summoned to heal her, she no longer had the strength to recover. Numbness washed over you at the image of her unseeing eyes, the same shade as Azriel’s in the right light, trained toward the vast empty sky. You have a feeling it isn’t a sight you’d forget any time soon. 

You don’t know how long it’s been. The room is shrouded with a thick blanket of darkness, the only respite coming from the dwindling candlelight by your bedside. Only silence exists within these four walls, interrupted by the occasional patter of water leaking from the kitchen sink. You burrow deeper into the sheets, inhaling the trace of Azriel’s scent that still lingered like it would somehow quell this ache inside you. 

Despite spending most of the day bedbound, you’ve barely had any sleep. There is no respite to be found in the dreaming, only nightmares lying in wait. It seems your mind has a knack of bringing your worst fears. Azriel bruised, bloodied and utterly alone, lost, somewhere in the vastness of the continent, hazel eyes - his, then hers, then his again - glazing over, crimson seeping into the arid ground below. 

For the last few weeks, you’ve gathered your grief and worry like rocks to wear around your neck. Your body is heavy, the phantom weight sinking and settling within the marrow of your bones, refusing to leave. It feels like you could stay in this bed forever until you dissipate into nothing but sand, smoke and thought.

You managed to send out a request for the texts Rhys needed translated, but not much else. You’re thankful he directly portalled them on your worktable because you don’t think you could brave the journey to the library today. You don’t think you could do much of anything today, in all honesty. 

So there you lay, bundled up in a collection of blankets, at least three inches of cotton and down that never seem enough to warm you. A book rests in your hands, yet your eyes remain unfocused, not truly seeing the words.

You run your thumb over the crisp paper, knowledge older than you, older than this city and yet you couldn't even bring yourself to focus long enough to dissect their true meaning. Your will is liquid in your hands, slipping through the cracks in between your fingers. Accidentally, you tug too hard on a page and it tears easily beneath your touch. If you had your wits about you, you would’ve been horrified by what you’ve just done. But as you are now, it is difficult to care. 

That’s what you feel like at this moment, you realize. These past few weeks have left you feeling spent, worn out, paper thin. Absently, you stretch out your hand towards the candlelight, close enough to feel the warmth lick against your cool skin. The flame casts a brilliant silhouette around your shadowed hand. It’s a wonder why golden light doesn’t seep right through. 

That’s how Azriel finds you.

The front door of your apartment creeks open, letting in a flood of muted morning light. Your first instinct is to retreat beneath the covers to shield yourself. Azriel calls your name in the silence, worry permeating each syllable. No doubt, he is cataloging the mess your shared space had become in your unintentional neglect. 

You say nothing, wondering if you could just close your eyes and pretend to be asleep, anything to escape his scrutiny. A breath of relief escapes him when he finds you in bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight as he sits beside you. 

The urge to curl tighter around yourself is strong. But he repeats your name and, as though he had cast a spell, you unspool before him, your muscles unwinding, one fiber at a time. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks, voice painfully soft.

“Okay,” you croak out from beneath the blankets. 

Azriel gradually draws the sheets away from your body, giving you ample time to protest if you’d like. Then, he rests his hand on your shoulder. Unbidden, a shiver runs down your spine, followed by a stuttered breath. You don’t realize how much you missed his touch until his textured hand begins its soothing path up and down your back, his heat sinking into your skin. 

Shame washes over you despite the bone-deep comfort you find upon his gentle ministrations. You don’t want him to see you this way. Azriel deserves better, the voices in your head insist. He deserves a mate whose mind does not devour itself at every given opportunity, a mate who does not quake beneath the weight of the world and the idea of their own immortal existence.

As though detecting your train of thought, his shadows leave their preferred perch on his shoulders to pool around you instead. Tendrils of darkness brush away the tears on your face, while some thread through your hair like a gentle breeze. 

On the other hand, Azriel urges you to rest your head on his lap. He begins to run his hand through your hair, uncaring of how greasy and tangled it has become. Eventually, his voice pierces the silence, injecting warmth into the distance between you. He hums a tune you do not recognize, but you can't help but cling to each winding note like a lifeline. Azriel has always had a beautiful voice - depthless, silken and soothing. It feels like a privilege to hear the song that he normally reserves for his shadows.

You must’ve been a pitiful sight to behold, and yet Azriel never looks at you like you are. He always treats you like something to cherish, something to love, like you’re someone he’s spent lifetimes desperately waiting for and you’ve been entirely worth the wait. A traitorous part of you feels like you’ll never deserve it, this love.

Azriel must sense the hurricane of emotions waging a one-sided war in your head, despite the mental shields you adamantly keep up. But he doesn’t tell you to stop, doesn’t brush off your worry with empty words and false promises. Instead, he simply says, “I love you.” 

He speaks it as though it is a fact like one would say that the sky is blue, and the grass is green, and the world would keep on turning in peteruity, orbiting the sun the same way you’ll continue to orbit around each other. His chapped lips ghost over your temple, murmuring your name like a plea, a prayer. 

“More than anything in this world,” he adds as he pulls you into his embrace. 

Your body is pliant for him, arms winding around his neck like that is where they’re meant to be. His arms wrap around your waist to hold you impossibly closer. Webbed wings stretch to curl around the two of you, creating a cocoon of darkness that keeps the rest of the world at bay. With your head resting on his chest, you could hear his heartbeat thudding in chorus with yours. 

“I love you too,” you reply after a long stretch of silence. “But sometimes I wish you could’ve had a better mate.” 

“There is no one better,” Azriel insists. “There is only you, my love; through light, through darkness, through whichever end. Only you.” And you feel the truth of his words as surely as the twinned beating of your hearts. Sometimes it’s hard to convince your traitorous mind that you could have this, that someone could love you so deeply despite having seen you at your worst. Azriel presses another kiss against your cheek, and despite yourself, you begin to believe his words.

You don’t know how long Azriel holds you like that, but it finally feels like a stretch of eternity you could bear.

“What can I do to help, love?” Azriel prompts, cupping your face in the cradle of his scarred palms - their texture, a familiar comfort. 

You turn over his question in your head for a few moments, savoring his scent, the sensation of his skin against your own. A part of you is tempted to ask him to lay beside you for the rest of the day, for a week, for an entire lifetime. You know Azriel would if you asked it of him. But beyond this room, the world continues its elliptical path around the sun and time still ticks on regardless of how disconnected you feel from your own reality. 

“A bath,” is all you manage to say.

Azriel nods, before reluctantly peeling himself from you. “Have you eaten?” 

“‘M not hungry,” you mumble as you sink back into the sheets, sighing as the comforter swallows you up. In truth, you can’t remember when your last meal had been. Hunger didn’t seem so pressing in the last few days.

“That’s not what I asked.” Azriel’s tone leaves no room for argument or negotiation. 

“No,” you finally answer, although with much trepidation. “Not yet.” 

He hums, clearly displeased, but says nothing else. You can already imagine the frown that must be stretching across his face. But it seems Azriel’s presence alone is enough to quieten your mind, at least for now. You must’ve been dead tired because it doesn’t take long for the rhythmic sound of Azriel's familiar footfalls to lull you into dreamless sleep.

"Love," Azriel whispers, his hand hovering over your shoulder, rousing you from your shallow slumber. You blink languidly until molten eyes come into focus. The candlelight flickers, and shadows dance across his face. Azriel’s normally sharp features are softened by the tenderness in his expression. You’ll never tire of waking to the sight of him. 

With a groan, you half-roll half-stumble out of bed. Azriel stays an arm’s length away in case you need him, but he’s careful not to crowd you. His shadows have no such reservations, however. The dark tendrils fretfully twine around your arms, making you smile. You thank them quietly, and for a moment, they seem to dance with delight. Regardless of your initial unsteadiness, you manage to pad all the way to the bathroom.

Upon crossing the threshold, the sweet scent of jasmine immediately overtakes your senses. The tub has already been filled up, steam rising from the sun-covered surface. You begin to unbutton your tunic, clumsy fingers tumbling through your first few attempts. Azriel steadies your hands with his firm grip, his shadows gently circling your wrists. 

“May I?” He asks, gesturing to your tunic, and you nod, not wanting to think anymore. His movements are precise, almost clinical, while he undoes the first five buttons, before bunching the garment in his hands and pulling it over your head entirely. Your skin breaks out in gooseflesh once exposed to the cold air. Azriel is careful to keep his gaze on your face, even as you step out of your undergarments. 

Azriel only betrays his composure when he traces your cheekbone, like he can’t quite help himself. From this distance, you have to crane your neck to look up at him. For a moment, the two of you only stare at each other. The bond glows bright between you, the golden thread gleaming as though it hadn't spent the last few weeks completely stretched thin. 

But then, Azriel withdraws, tilting his head to the steaming tub. Obediently, you step into the water’s warm embrace, the heat nearly stinging your skin. Logically, however, you know it’s only because you’ve allowed yourself to stay in the cold for too long. 

A relieved sigh escapes you as you sink further into the tub. One of his shadows rushes to pillow your heavy head as it rests on the tub’s rim. You thank the sweet little thing, and swirls of black sway back and forth like a dog wagging its tail. Meanwhile, Azriel takes his place by the head of the tub, sitting back on his heels. 

“I’d like to wash your hair,” he says and you're touched by the earnest quality his voice takes. 

“Okay,” you breathe. You’ve never been good at denying Azriel anything, nor did you want to. The more the ice beneath your skin thaws, the more you find that you want him near. 

Azriel begins by running his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp as he pours warm water over your head. With a pop of a bottle, the floral scent of shampoo fills the air. He lathers the substance on your head, his touch tender even as his fingers work through the knots in the strands, untangling them with care. 

After a while, he rinses off the suds and coats his hands with oil. He begins combing his fingers through your hair, starting from the ends and working his way up. The rhythmic motion of his fingers is calming as he draws circles against your scalp. You find yourself melting into the moment, feeling utterly content for the first time in what feels like a very long time. 

Once done, Azriel grabs a small towel and asks, “Do you want help washing?”

You shake your head, wanting to do this for yourself, at least. Understanding flashes in his eyes, and he spares you a soft smile. With that, Azriel leaves the towel by the tub and politely excuses himself from the room. With the door left slightly ajar, you could still hear him move around the apartment followed by the lyrical clinking of silverware against ceramic.

It takes you a few minutes to gather the energy to lather yourself with soap, and a few more to finally rise from the bath. But once the grime is off your skin, you feel a bit of the weight wash off with it too. You feel a bit more like yourself.

After drying off, you tug on the silk robe Azriel has left for you, securing it loosely around your waist. Upon exiting, you spy him by the dining table, scooping a generous serving of soup into a bowl. The mouthwatering aroma of rich broth wafts through the room, and you realize just how hungry you are when your stomach growls in protest. You approach him from behind, making sure that each step is audible.

Azriel continues to set up the table, but you can tell he’s aware of your presence from the way his shoulders seem to relax. The sudden urge to have him close is palpable, an instinct so deeply ingrained into your being. So,  gradually, you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face on his back. You take a deep inhale, breathing him in - a lungful of moontime mist and cedarwood smoke. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” you murmur against Azriel’s back, your voice muffled by his shirt. 

“I’m glad to be home,” he whispers. His hands abandon their task in favor of twining his fingers with your own. 

Azriel turns to face you and holds your face in his hands. Beneath the swathes of sunlight, his eyes are alight with golden flame, flecks of green scattered over his irises like an afterthought. There is nothing but love in his gaze, nothing but acceptance. 

“Thank you,” you say, tilting your head so the words could kiss his lips, not quite touching but close. “For being here, for loving me, for choosing me, everyday.” 

“I will always choose you,” he vows, before planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Today,” another peck on the tip of your nose; “Tomorrow,” one more on your cheek; “And all the days after,” he finishes with a chaste caress on your lips.

Then, he rests his forehead on yours, your bodies slotted against each other like a lock and its predestined key. In Azriel’s presence, you find it easier to breathe, easier to simply be. For the first time in a long time, your mind is clear and your heart beats in a calm, languid pace that matches his own.

“I’d like to kiss you,” you request, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. Azriel’s gaze is searching, scouring for any hint of anything short of absolute certainty. Perhaps you should tell him that in this world of constant change and chaos, he’s the only one you’re certain of.

Azriel must be satisfied with what he finds written across your features because he replies, “So kiss me then,” the ghost of a smirk playing across his lips.

You’re surprised to find that it’s easy to return the playful expression. Your rise to the tips of your toes while your fingers thread through his raven black hair. When your lips touch, it is as though the world breathes a sigh of relief. Reality realigns and everything outside the two of you and your shared breaths turns inconsequential. He moves against you with practiced ease, like the natural ebb and flow of the tide.

An eternity of this, you think, doesn’t seem so daunting after all. 

AN: i’m not sure if that was too much but thank you for reading 💙 As always, i’d love to hear everyone’s thoughts

English isn’t my first language, so if you see any mistakes, please lmk thru dm! 💙

Also, I just wanted to yap about the Az fics im in the process of writing:

1. Vampire!Azriel x Reader (Working tittle: Ashes in my wake)

I just love the idea of cannibalism (or yk, blood drinking) as a metaphor for love in literature so here we are. ( @/annikin-im-panicin this is ur influence) This one is a bit of a dark fic (nothing too crazy tho, I think), so i’m not sure how it’ll be received. But the idea has been haunting me for yonks so I just had to write it.

2. Tattoo Artist!Azriel x Lucien’s Best Friend!Reader (Working tittle: Drink dry the river Lethe)

This one is a multichapter fic (maybe 4-7 chapters, we’ll see) so it might take me a while before I start posting, but i’ve mostly finished writing the first (very smutty) and second (very angsty) chapter. I ‘m not entirely sure what direction to bring this yet but maybe you guys can help me decide?

Unrelated to Az, but i’ve been brainworming a poly dark-ish innocent!reader x Feysand fic, and a slightly less dark and more sappy(?) poly warrior!reader x royal!nessian fic. I’m so excited to start these but my pile of wips is giving me the stink eye 😂

[rika-mmendmethings]

Terms & Conditions Apply

Prologue | Chapter 1

₊⊹ Synopsis: What begins as a financial lifeline quickly transforms into an emotional labyrinth once you agree to become both the surrogate and ova donor for the Qin family. With an entire year remaining under their roof, you begin to unravel the hidden truths behind their seemingly perfect façade. Worse still, you find yourself confronted with things that were never outlined in the terms and conditions.

₊⊹ Pairing: Sylus x Reader

₊⊹ Content: Subject to change as we progress further into the story. For this chapter: none.

₊⊹ Word Count: 851

₊⊹ Notes: Another Sylus series cause I couldn't hold it in till August, which was when I was actually meant to release this. This series can be considered an alternate universe because Sylus has no powers in this, and he and MC are married. But there's no change in the characters or places. Anyway, I've written 2-3 one-shots and I might've nearly gone bald because of it, but hey, at least I didn't fully drown in the void named writer's block. Enough about me, hopefully you enjoy this and decide to tune in for the series. It'll return on June 17 again since I'm avoiding writing series for now. My asks are open if you wish to know more about this. Lmk if you wish to be added to the tag list for this ♥

You’re pulled from your thoughts by the gentle voice of the woman before you, her words barely audible beneath the weight of the moment. “Do you agree?” she asks, her smile wide as she leans forward slightly, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

You glance back down at the document in your hands, the words swim in and out of focus as you read through it once again: “You, [Name], agree to donate your ova and act as the surrogate mother for the couple seated before you.” The conditions are clear and direct as you run your eyes over the rest of it. For one year, you will live with the couple, under their roof, in a world that is so far removed from your own. Your needs will be met, and your comfort and safety assured. At the end of the term, you will leave with an amount of 100 million as compensation. The child will remain with them. No strings attached.

A non-disclosure agreement sits ominously at the bottom, promising that not a word will be spoken of this agreement once you sign.

It’s absurd. You, a regular civilian, struggling to make ends meet in your nine-to-five grind, suddenly being handed an offer that could change your life overnight. A hundred million just for... donating a few eggs and carrying a child for a wealthy couple?

You’ve seen the movies. You know this isn’t as simple as it sounds. But you’re also not stupid. You’re not going to let your bank account look like it’s been hit by a tornado for the next decade just because of some minor inconveniences like... the inevitable emotional attachment you might develop to the baby or the fact that you’re signing away the next year of your life to a couple you barely know and met through a website.

But hey, 100 million. One hundred million. Your bank account would practically sing opera with that much cash.

You look up at the couple again, a momentary distraction from the formalities of the contract. The woman — Mikayla Clarke Qin, as the document states — has a radiant smile plastered on her face. Her hands are clasped together in front of her, the look of someone who has long awaited this moment. She radiates an energy, a warmth that might’ve made the situation seem less daunting if it weren’t for her companion beside her.

Her husband, Sylus, is seated next to her, his posture relaxed, but his presence commanding. One leg draped over the other, his sanguine eyes meet yours. He regards you with an intensity that unsettles you — a quiet observer who sees far more than what’s on the surface.

Mikayla, on the other hand, seems almost too eager. She leans forward again, her voice soft but insistent. “It’ll be a smooth process, I promise you. You’ll have everything you need, and I’ll personally make sure this is as easy for you as possible.” Her words sound kind, genuine even.

You exhale, deeply, before letting the cool weight of the fountain pen settle into your fingers. The decision is made in your mind now, even if your heart beats a little faster with the anxiety of what you’re about to do. This could change everything. You turn the pen and, with a steady hand, sign the document.

Before you know it, she pulls you into a hug, muttering words of gratitude to you. It’s tight, warm, maybe a bit too intimate for the occasion. You return the hug, albeit with less enthusiasm, your body stiff as a board.

And then, of course, Sylus stands up.

The man is, to put it bluntly, towering. His frame alone would make most people instinctively take a step back, but it’s his presence that truly fills the room. He extends his hand, and you, ever the awkward one in these moments, offer yours in return. His gaze doesn’t leave you, not even for a moment, and you feel as though his eyes are searching, pulling something from within you. The warmth you felt from Mikayla now seems distant, as if her husband’s presence has cast a shadow over the room. You clumsily shake his hand, trying to hide the way your palm’s suddenly sweaty.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice smooth, low, and just... cold. It doesn’t match the warmth of his wife at all. It’s like he’s a different species entirely. You're starting to believe that opposites really do attract.

MC’s voice cuts through the silence again, oblivious to the strange undercurrent swirling between you and her husband. “We’ll see you tomorrow at the hospital and begin the procedure. Just some medical and psychological evaluations in the first stage. Nothing too strenuous,” she assures, her voice cheerful.

You grab your things quickly and head for the door after bidding the couple goodbye, your heart still hammering in your chest. The silence behind you feels deafening. And as you step out into the cool evening air, a single thought pulses in your mind, growing louder with every step:

What have you gotten yourself into?

Check out my other works if you liked this ♥

[astarioffsimpmain]

Cozy Up with: Gale

[Autumn photography by: coldoctober]

[Gale photography by: unknown - if it's you, please let me know so that I can tag you!]

Author's Note:

Okay so....... maybe it's become a series that I like to call "Cozy Up". LOL I'll probably do another one with Astarion since the first was pretty short, and I'm hoping to do more bg3 characters as well! Here's our beautiful, wonderful rizzard in some post-game domestic bliss: autumn-themed! Hope you enjoy.

You smiled as your eyes followed the colorful leaves in their path from the trees to the ground, carried on the wind like dancers performing a routine. The weather had turned crisp in Waterdeep, the night air boasting an even colder chill on the balcony of Gale's tower, where the breeze from the sea swept up to rustle the wind chimes that were a gift from your fiancé once you moved in. 

A shiver ran through you and you curled further under the massive blanket Gale had on the settee. It was your idea to sit outside. You didn't mind the fact that your ears and nose were numb. This was your first autumn in Waterdeep; your first autumn as a fiancé(e). Autumn was always your favorite season: the sweeping changes in the colors of the landscape, the crackling energy of something new and wonderful in the air, and the eerie glow of the large harvest moons in the evenings. You wanted nothing more than to experience this shift with your soon to be husband, who was currently fixing hot cocoa for the both of you in the kitchen downstairs, and probably supplementing Tara with some warm milk before he returned. 

You rubbed your feet together and admired the two pumpkins that sat on the balcony across from you, faces carved in them by you and Gale, glowing brightly with the spell the wizard had used on them. "It's a tradition in Waterdeep!" Gale had exclaimed with excitement while urging you to find a pumpkin you liked from the stall. 

You'd heard of the practice, of course - carving a face into a gourd and lighting it to keep the evil away - but in Baldur's Gate, there wasn't a guarantee your warding gourd would be left alone for very long if left outside where they were meant to be, so most people lit candles in their windows and drew faces on their doors with coal instead to ward off the evil. So many firsts for you this year, and so far, you were enjoying them all.

The clank of cups on a tray brought you back to the present and you turned your eyes to the patio door, where Gale had appeared with two steaming mugs and a dazzling smile on his handsome face. "Here we are! My mother's famous recipe." He said, carefully handing you one of the mugs by the rim. You sighed in audible relief as your cold fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic, the effect taking hold immediately. A single sip had a  satisfying chill running up and down your spine before your entire body began to warm from the inside out. 

"Mmm Gale, it's perfect, thank you." You hummed happily, your mug held close to your face to allow your nose to defrost as well. He chuckled in response and sat down next to you with his own cup, pulling some of the blanket over his legs as he settled in. Your pull to him was immediate, and you were nuzzling into his side the moment he was in reach. He opened his arm to you just as quickly and pulled you closer by your shoulders. 

The scent of weathered book pages and amber flitted across your senses, enveloping you in a sense of safety and belonging as you rested your head in your usual place under Gale’s arm. You looked out over Waterdeep over the balcony railing, and the city was littered with tiny flickers of candlelight as people ducked in and out of shops, restaurants, and taverns far below. Motion in your peripheral caught your eye and you smiled to yourself. 

Gale had conjured a mage hand to open the volume he was reading on the latest popular recipes for Waterdhavian weddings. He was insistent on making your meal for you on the day you wed, and would hear nothing against it. He was making something new everyday, bringing plates of his new dishes to you. "My love," he would say every time. "Try this one. How is it compared to the last? Should I keep looking? I'll keep looking, I haven't tried this other one yet.." and he would trail back off to the kitchen to start again. At first, you'd tried to dissuade him from trying every dish in the book, but your fiancé was nothing if not hard-headed, and you found yourself going along with it, content enough to try new food every night until the wedding. Each dish was better than the last, and that you certainly didn't mind. 

You chuckled quietly and allowed your eyes to fall closed, listening to the rhythmic sound of Gale’s heart beating beneath your ear. The wind was chilly, but your hearts were warm, as long as they beat together. 

~

fin

[nylaboon]

hi there! can you please write akito with a reader that has a crush & its suuuuuuper obvious about it, so he can't help but tease reader and get them super flustered? thank you!

Rabbit Hole — Akito Shinonome

"Gonna be a smitten mitten till the day you die?"

— in which An gets you to confess to Akito.

akito shinonome x fem!reader

tags: fluff, characters might be a little ooc, probably shit lmao i wrote this at one in the morning, cut me some slack

note: i literally squealed when i read this request i love akito sm

You've been in school for nine years, yet you still struggle with paying attention in class. It wasn't just the teachers who had poor teaching tactics, which didn't help you activate your brain for the remainder of the day, but it was also the lack of sleep you got each night. You spent more time scrolling on social media than you did working on your homework. It was the poor attention span that troubled you. It was your fault, though. You knew you should've been responsible enough to better yourself in these situations. You were getting to that age, anyway. Soon, you would be independent and no longer under the wing of safety connected to your parents.

But until then, you would continue to feed off your friends.

It helped you get things done faster, so it couldn't have been that bad. You weren't entirely dependent on them, but only just a little. Both An and Mizuki were in the same class as you, so that gave you even more of a reason to slack off whenever they attended. They didn't really mind, either. It just gave you three another reason to hang out after school, therefore it was more of a blessing than a curse. Sitting in the corner booth of Weekend Garage, sipping on piping hot coffee, chowing down on sweet treats, and praying to whatever god up there that one of them had the answers to the homework. It was the highlight of your year.

This afternoon was the same as any other. You rested your chin against the table, tapping the end of your pen against your workbook and staring off into space while An yapped Mizuki's ear off about whatever the hell they were talking about. Another part of your guys' "study session" was that it always took at least thirty minutes for you all to actually get to work. It was a lengthy process, but you still somehow managed to get work done.

After yawning and raising your head from the table to lean back comfortably against the booth seat, An switched her attention from Mizuki to you. She smirked pridefully and played with a strand of her hair. "Y'know, y/n, me and Akito did some talking during practice yesterday, and—"

"What did you do?" You asked in horror, slowly sinking down the seat. An shook her head, a sign that your fear was unnecessary. "I didn't say anything, okay?" She took a large gulp of her coffee before continuing her explanation. "We just played a little game of 'what if'."

"By 'we played' do you mean you forced him to answer your questions while he tried to get work done?" Mizuki interjected, to which An rolled her eyes playfully. "Yes, but that's not the point. The point is..."

She paused, leaving you in suspense. Her mouth stayed open for a bit, before shutting—but there was still a smirk on her face. You raised an eyebrow. "The point is?"

She shrugged. "Actually, I'll let you find out on your own."

You couldn't help but get butterflies from that sentence alone. Whether they were good or bad was unknown, but it made you feel nervous, nonetheless. "C'mon An," you begged, "don't be evil..."

You turned to Mizuki, desperation written on your face. "Do you know anything?"

"No," she answered, "nothing for sure. But can I offer my two cents?" You nodded eagerly and waited for her to speak again. "He never snaps at you, but he sure does tease the hell out of you. Odd, don't you think?"

"Right?" An agreed. "He even snaps at Toya sometimes, and that's his best friend."

"What if I just get Ena to put you on?" Mizuki questioned, to which you immediately declined her offer. You chuckled humorlessly and played with the hem of your shirt. "Absolutely not! She would totally make fun of me until the end of time. Maybe even criticize my taste in guys, if she's feeling extra mean..."

Mizuki scoffed and mocked you. "As if she can't already tell you're crushing on him."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that you can't act normal around him for the life of you," the bluenette answered for her. "He doesn't even have to be in the room. We could just be talking about him and you'll start giggling like a little girl."

"No, I don't! I didn't even giggle today!"

"Yeah, because you were too busy trying to not have a panic attack over whether I told Akito about your feelings for him or not," she countered, to which Mizuki agreed.

"Yeah, it's, like, painfully obvious how bad you have it for him. I wouldn't be surprised if he already knew. Maybe that's why he teases you so much."

If that was the case, you wouldn't know what to do. If he already knew, then why wouldn't he just tell you instead of making you wait so long for a fifty-fifty answer? The thought made you want to throw up. Not that it was bad, but it was nerve-wracking. It would be nice if he did know, but what if he didn't feel the same? What then? You placed your hand on your stomach and pouted subconsciously. "All this stress is making my stomach hurt."

"And all this pussying out is making my head hurt," Mizuki joked. Meanwhile, An was scrolling on her phone, barely paying attention to the conversation now. "C'mon, y/n! I'm sure if you tell him, he'll be nice about it."

"No, he won't," you whined. "Guys are never nice about this stuff. The last time I confessed to a guy, he told the entire class and they all made fun of me for a month."

"That was in primary school, y/n..."

"So what? It still happened!"

"Y'know what?" An spoke up as she tidied up her area, putting her books and pens back into her schoolbag. "What if we help you practice a confession?" You raised an eyebrow and asked what she meant. "Mizuki will cover your eyes, and I'll pretend to be Akito. Then, you work your magic and confess!"

"Why does Mizuki have to cover my eyes—?"

"Because it'll help you focus on envisioning his presence." It didn't take a genius to know that she completely pulled that claim out of her ass, but you chose to just let her get away with it. "C'mon, y/n! It's getting sad watching you drool over him without knowing if he feels the same or not."

You let out a defeated sigh and threw your head back. "Okay, okay. We can practice, or whatever."

Little did you know that agreeing to her idea would be the best and worst decision you've ever made.

As to why you were doing this outside was a mystery. Maybe it was to avoid getting weird looks from people inside the cafe, but it was equally as bad—and probably worse—to do outside the building. You stood in front of An, awkwardly rubbing at your arm to distract yourself from the pure embarrassment you felt every time someone walked past you three. Mizuki and An, however... You really needed their confidence, because they did not seem to give a shit about gaining people's attention.

"Alright," An said cheerfully, "close your eyes and just imagine that I'm Akito. Mizuki, you cover her eyes so she can't see for sure." Mizuki did as she was told, lightly cupping her hands over your eyes. With that, An cleared her throat and spoke up a second time. "Are you imagining him?"

"Uh," you muttered nervously, "sure, I guess." It took a while for her to speak up again, but you assumed that she had gotten distracted by her phone again. "Now say what you have to say. Don't think about it; just let it flow out."

"...An, this is stupid."

"Trust me! It'll help!"

You sighed and took your time to think. Let the words flow out, you thought. It couldn't be that hard. It was like you were talking to yourself. All you had to do was just forget about An and Mizuki, and you were good. You imagined a world where everything was perfect. A world where it was just you and Akito, for the time being. A world where no one could make fun of you for expressing yourself. A world where everything went your way. You clenched your hands into fists and swallowed hard, preparing to vocalize your thoughts and feelings.

"...since you're totally Akito," you began sarcastically, still finding the whole concept to be ridiculous, "I guess now's the time to finally tell you about how much I'm soooo in love with you, and how annoying it's been to have to deal with these feelings, knowing damn well that I was way too scared to actually tell you about them without my friends forcing me to. And I guess I have to talk about how irritating it is to have to deal with your teasing without knowing if it's platonic or not. And I guess I have to talk about how this is probably a huge waste of time because I know that I'll just pussy out when I actually want to try to confess to you."

You could hear Mizuki sigh behind you. "You're not taking it seriously, y/n!"

"What's the point? It's not like I'm gonna tell him anything anytime soon, so what's the—"

During your mini-rant, you pulled Mizuki's hands away from your eyes and opened them. Instead of An standing in front of you, she was beside Akito, who was now where she stood before. You felt your entire body freeze up at the sight of him. Not only that, but your heart fell all the way down to your ass. He was smirking at you, seemingly finding the situation to be amusing.

"—That's the point," Mizuki finished for you. Not that you were even listening. You were too busy trying to not start hyperventilating. "Why are you here?" You timidly questioned. He was supposed to be at work, so why the hell was he here now?

"I'm on my break and An told me to come here," he answered smugly, not once breaking eye contact other than to blink. "What was that about you being soooo in love with me?" Your jaw clenched and your head became light. Is this what dying felt like? Because, honestly, you were hoping that your next breath was your last.

"It was just a joke," you blurted out and internally cursed at how stupid that lie was. Akito sneered and let out an 'uh-huh'. You weren't getting out of this easily, so you might as well just give up. "Akito," you muttered, "don't do this to me."

"I already knew before this," he admitted nonchalantly. "I just wanted to see how long it would take for you to tell me."

"It would've taken longer if An didn't set me up..." Maybe your crush on him was obvious, as much as you didn't want to believe it. "Can you just, like, tell me what you think so I can rest easily tonight?" He nodded and laughed a bit with that same annoying grin on his face. "I think you're cute, or whatever."

An let out an excited squeal before you could even process what he said. "And I think that you should come clean about this beforehand so we could actually…y'know."

"I don't know," you replied, to which Mizuki quickly spoke up with a grin of her own. "He wants you!" Akito sent her a glare but didn't deny it.

"You're making this a lot less enjoyable for me," he advised the girls. "But I guess that's one way to put it." It felt like the entire world was crumbling beneath your feet but in a good way. You couldn't help but play with your fingers as a nervous tic, but despite your anxiety, you were smiling. Wide. Before you knew it, you walked up to him and pulled him into a tight hug. Akito was caught off guard, but only for a bit. He eventually wrapped his arms around you as well and applied a sweet kiss on the top of your head. It was like a dream.

"Thanks, An…" you mumbled against his chest. You totally owed her after this.

written by @nylaboon

[leighsartworks216]

How the LADS men would react to some of my favorite games

All x Reader (separately, and it's not the main focus)

Picking out games for them all was kinda difficult, bc I have so many favorites and I wasn't sure what they'd react to or how they'd react. But I'm pretty happy with these

Based on this post

Warnings: crackfic (kinda?), one horror game, slight angst with Zayne, swearing

Word Count: 1,123 (oh hell yeah)

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form (Psst fill this out to be tagged in future fics! - Updated to include Xavier)

Xavier:

I think Xavier would love The Outer Worlds

I mean,, it’s a game that takes place entirely in another solar system where you crash land in an escape pod on a strange planet and gotta figure out how people here work without letting them know you’re “not from here”

They literally call the player “The Stranger”

I think he’d love looking up at the sky in game

Every one of the sky boxes is gorgeous but Emerald Vale especially

I think he’d find a safe area in game and put it on just to stare up at the sky (and fall asleep too)

Tries to choose the best outcome for every situation

Which means fucking over the government and not feeling an ounce of guilt for it

But fucking over the underdogs even for a minute feels awful

Has to ask you which choice is better or how to get the best outcome

Scarily good at fighting with melee weapons

Esp considering the heavy reliance on guns

Accidentally min-maxes the characters

He’d also love Coffee Talk

The music is so calming he usually ends up falling asleep to it

Spends a lot of time and consideration into every drink

Draws a little bunny in the lattes every single time

Probably accidentally clocks the plot twist of the game on the very first run

Tries making you the drinks irl and uhhhh he shouldn’t

-

Zayne:

Of the games I’ve played, I think The Silent Age would be very interesting for him

Helps solve the puzzles (even if you’ve played it before)

Says he finds the art style to be “charming”

Sits through every piece of dialogue no matter how long and doesn’t go forward until he comprehends it

Gets so concerned when Joe starts coughing

Generally doesn’t like seeing the bodies

It makes him unsettled and has him thinking about those he’s lost to such gruesome deaths

The twist at the end absolutely fascinates him so much

And the SECOND twist pulls him out of it

Was lowkey hoping it would be something more… fantastical

But does have to admit that horror in the now-mundane is interesting too

I also would LOVE to watch him play Ace Attorney

Could you IMAGINE???

“This is illegal.” “I know, but so is murder.” “They don’t cancel out, you know.”

“If somebody on the witness stand is overreacting that much to one small detail, I think the judge should be a little more concerned about it.”

He’d kinda love Miles Edgeworth ngl

Understands exactly what he means with the entire “unnecessary feelings” business

Wishes the autopsy reports were more in depth, for his own amusement

Accidentally says “objection” when you’re trying to lie to him about not taking care of yourself

Can’t live it down for the next week, at LEAST

-

Sylus:

Little Nightmares, straight up

He finds the concept absolutely fascinating

Doesn’t play, but enjoys watching you play

“Careful, kitten. His long arms almost grabbed you.” “YES, THANK YOU, I NOTICED.”

Loves to see you so panicked and freaked out

Laughs if something small makes you jump out of your skin

But he does try to comfort you after chase sequences when it feels like you’re having a heart attack

Pulls you into his lap and promises to protect you

Will not complain if you choose to stay there for the rest of the game

Helps you solve puzzles if you’re struggling with them for too long

But he always asks to know if you want the answer

He doesn’t need you pouting and upset just because you couldn’t figure out how to do something relatively simple

Warns the twins not to scare you for a while

For their own safety tbh

You have a gun and you WILL use it

He’d also like watching you play Animal Crossing

You can and will bully him into joining

Will catch the scary or difficult bugs for you if you’re struggling

Doesn’t need to look up any guides to find the real artworks

The very second he can get his hands on the cat cap, it’s going to you

Might ask what color you want, but he’s more likely to pick it for you so its a surprise

Wraps it up too

“Sweetie, I got you a gift.” “Awe, really?.... Really, Sylus?” “Put it on, kitten.”

Luke and Kieran have their own town

It’s extremely flushed out and scary how impressive it is

Runs turnips with them so you have nearly a billion Bells to spend on anything you want

He lets you design his house, even if you make it silly

-

Rafayel:

Tell me why my first thought was Pokemon Art Academy

He would love it tho

Sitting on the couch together, watching over your shoulder as you follow the tutorials to draw the Pokemon

They turn out like shit but he claims to love them

Passing it over to him is a bad idea, but he won’t stop whining until you do

Creates an entire masterpiece

That creature is in a damn candid shot, shaded and everything

You should have known it was a terrible idea to show him the game

When he doesn’t feel like painting or just needs a break for his mind, he’ll play it

Honestly I see him at one of his own exhibitions, standing in the corner and playing it

Thomas complains to you about it all the time

Rafayel texts you about how much the Pokemon miss you and want you to come over :’(((

Beats the game

Somehow

Not just the lessons either, literally every single drawing they give you to do, he does it

When you look at the gallery, you can see when you stopped playing and when he took over

He’d also love Little Inferno

Sings the jingle all the time until you’re threatening him to shut up

Doesn’t honestly understand the appeal at first

He can literally make and control fire, why can’t you just give him some stuff to burn and he’ll do it for you

But he slowly gets the appeal

Especially when the batteries explode

Hates the pooping cat plushie with a passion

“If that thing ever shows up in a claw machine, we are NOT getting it.”

He either fully completes the game, combos and all, or he gets to the second catalog and gets bored, no in between

Will happily watch you play tho

Loves the way you focus on trying to decipher the clues for the combos

No shame, WILL be looking up the combinations and WILL spoil them for you just to bug you

May plan a date around throwing shit into a fireplace and watching it burn in real life

There’s a fire extinguisher nearby, just in case

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44

[always-just-red]

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired 💀

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh. 

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.  

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”  

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.  

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.  

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms. 

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation. 

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…” 

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. 

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers. 

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you. 

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins. 

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him. 

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy. 

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer. 

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish. 

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes. 

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours. 

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly. 

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.” 

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up. 

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs. 

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance. 

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you. 

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight. 

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too. 

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm. 

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s… 

Perfect. 

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers. 

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there. 

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

[n0tamused]

Came across House of Dragons and kinda got invested then I saw you accept Jiyan requests so now I’m kinda thinking what a mixture of the two would be like….Jiyan with his own dragon riding in Westeros…Jiyan courting you despite protests from his court…Jiyan protecting his queen from anyone that tries to hurt her or his heirs…idk I am just a causal watcher I have no clue what’s actually going on in GoT and HoD tbh

A/n: I'm uploading this from my phone because I just can't wait to post this, so if there's formatting or grammar errors - rest assured, I'll do my best to get to it once I get on my laptop. Where do I begin though? 😭 My goodness, you couldn't have sent me a better idea than this one oml. I'm smooching you on the head istg, thank you so much for this request! And I hope you enjoy this jumbled ramble <3 I'd love to do more of this little au and I most definitely will, and for some other characters as well.

Contents: Jiyan x Reader, headcanons, you/yours, written with a F! Reader in mind, dragonrider reader and Jiyan, Game of Thrones/House of The Dragon universe, pregnancy, angst, happy ending, somewhat arranged marriage lol, tell me if there's anything else to tag.

-War had taken many noble houses to an early grave, leaving behind nothing but ghosts and ruin over the vast lands. The ones that remained standing were either the rich or the cruel. All except one.

-Jiyan, originally hailing from Jinzhou, and belonging to no noble or rich lineage. His mother was a notorious healer, and his father had long been lost to travels and war himself.

-He had joined the battles as a young green boy alongside his mother, moving beside the long columns of soldiers in their tattered armor and ringmail. All he could do was stare at them in wonder and question - Why do they spill so much blood? For what?

-There was no looming threat of the Others coming to claim their lives, it was just them - the people and the common folk, yet they fought each other like animals for a few extra inches of land or a few extra coppers in their liege lord's pocket.

-As much as Jiyan didn't wish to engage in the art of war and bloodshed and only wanted to heal and save, it became apparent, all too soon, that the way to survival and peace was through battle. Healing will get him nowhere, and if a good commander was not put at the front, it wouldn't matter how well he healed if two in three soldiers died, even after receiving his aid.

-The war changed him, hardened his heart and fortified his mind, until the healer he once was became only a distant memory. Spear replaced herbs, and instead of the tattered medic tunic he now donned armor and ringmail. A companion also joined his side after he ran into a deep cavern for safety during one particular battle. A large unclaimed dragon, which nearly took his head off now stood at his side like a mountain, guardian him day and night and heralding the doom of his enemies with a thunderous roar and loud snap of it's wings. The dragon was a beautiful pale green, with bronze horns and amber eyes with darker lines of green running over its back. It was a beauty as much as it was a beast. Men quickly took to respect him, and it became evident Jiyan’s person hid many talents besides that for medical aid and spear holding.

-The previous commander perished, another life taken by the savage ways of war, and Jiyan was appointed as the new commander by the soldiers after he rose to the occasion - having led them to success in war, as well as safety when the odds did not favor them.

-It was during his reign as the lead commander that the lands saw the end of the war. Blood was shed, yes, but not for naught.

-Upon his return to the central city, the throne was found vacant, the king slain along with his entire council. The word of it was that they were taken unawares from the seaside, and had no ways of defense, as all the manpower was at the front lines

-Jiyan came into his rule as king at a young age, far too soon, and yet despite all the doubt he had flourished quickly. Proving himself as an able and just ruler, unlike the ones that came before, his foundation as a commander giving him good wind in the back

-The city wasn't in good condition after the war, but in the years following Jiyan had sent many commands that would aid in its rebuilding

-Slowly, but surely, the common folk started to feel the dawn of a new age - summer has finally come.

-The one thing Jiyan has gladly forgotten about was marriage. As a king, it was expected of him to take a bride to be his queen, to have heirs and to start a new lineage that would, hopefully, carry better blood instead of the hot blood that sought destruction. It wasn't something he often thought about as other duties preoccupied him day in and day out. But it was neither something he was against.. Deep in his heart he would admit a thought of his own family did make him feel…alive. But how would that family fare in these conditions? With his status? This was nothing like his small village he grew up in, so the image he once had in his mind was no longer so clear.

-His mother was a person he'd eventually seek advice from regarding such tender subjects, earning himself a laugh occasionally, as his cluelessness was rather amusing. Where other Kings misused their power and gave commands as they saw fit, Jiyan exercised caution, and even sympathy for the bride he didn't even have yet.

-Eventually, a match was arranged, between him and a lady of a higher birth. His mother had met you before he did and vouched for your good character - but Jiyan remained nervous, vowing to keep his judgment and thoughts to himself until he met you himself.

-Your journey to the city was a long one, yet you entered the long and towering palace halls like a breath of fresh air. Keeping your lady wits about yourself and keeping your courtesies with you, you had quickly rubbed off on Jiyan. The wedding was still a matter of question, as Jiyan had insisted on giving you and your family the due time to explore the city and to see whether this was truly something they wanted to go through with. His compassion was answered in kind by many gifts sent from the city they hailed from, consisting of foreign fruits and vegetables to cattle and coins and silks.

-It was endearing. And the courtship between Jiyan and (Y/n) soon began, as the former began to make moves. He preferred to do so in some amounts of privacy, as the many eyes that followed him as King were uncomfortable and he swore he could never get used to them.

-This seemed to please and comfort his bride-to-be as well, and both of them would show their true colors. It was a rare thing for a royal match to be founded in love rather than simple responsibilities to make heirs, but it wasn't unheard of either.

-What they both had in common was that they were dragon riders. (Y/n)’s dragon was a stark comparison to his own with red scales and two pairs of black horns and dark amber eyes, the underside of the dragon’s wings being a shade of yellow that looked like gold under the sunlight. It was a terrifying dragon, arguably even more scary than his own mount.

-When no one was looking, the two would go down to the Dragon Pit and take their dragons to the skies, racing over the cities with one another or going over the seas to breathe the salty air. It was an escape from duty as well. The moment their dragons took to air, all status and responsibilities remained on the ground, and only the sky was the limit to their freedom.

-Jiyan relished in this freedom like a luxurious drink he could never tire of, and your laughter was a sound like no other.

-The dragons took to liking one another as well, and would dance in the air while the pair were seated on their backs, spinning and falling, and right before the ground came too close they'd pull away and take to the skies once more.

-The commonfolk took this as a good omen. The dragons ruled the skies again, and a good King was on the throne, with a good queen soon to join him.

-Jiyan would find himself inviting (Y/n) to his chambers in early mornings to break their fast together or late dinners to share their day with one another. It was as if the two were already married. And even that wasn't too far from coming true.

-The wedding was a big event. Tables and tents were set all the way out and around the keep as well as in the big ballroom inside. Although Jiyan would've preferred to keep the celebrations a modest one, the council insisted that this occasion warranted the eyes of everyone, the joy had to be shared. This once he gave in to their requests.

-Flower petals were thrown on them as they passed by the rows of commonfolk standing at the sides of the rode, him and his Queen riding at the back of an open carriage dragged by four horses, white and elegant with plumes in their manes. Everything was near perfect and out of a fairy tale.

-King and Queen would share their dance in the ballroom once they returned from the High Sept where they got married before the priest, sharing their first kiss - something Jiyan made sure to cover and hide to the best of his abilities by pulling your veil over both of your faces.

-The celebration lasted all the way into the eerie hours of the night. And both Jiyan and you were exhausted, and upon retiring to your shared bed chamber you simply collapsed onto the plush mattress.

-That night, Jiyan fell asleep with his lover in his arms, watching your soft breaths make your chest rise and fall in slow successions, his fingertips tracing the lines of your face and the skin of your back, until he couldn't resist the urge to sleep.

-This wasn't a life Jiyan asked for…but it was one he was glad for.

-Children came later. A lovely little daughter being the first to be born of the love from the King and Queen, bearing the signature feature of you. Jiyan was beyond happy.

-During the birth of his daughter he was in the city, conducting business over a new architecture project when news arrived that his Queen had gone into labor. It is believed he had never dropped a matter as quickly as he did that day, racing back to the keep and searching for his wife.

-Despite the protests of the midwives, he responded only to you, racing to your side and giving you comfort and encouragement if nothing else, welcoming the fruit of your shared love together. It was the first time Jiyan ever cried in front of anyone else. He had delegated some more of his duties to the others in favor of having the time to spend with his newborn and you, helping you recover from the birth.

-It wasn't rare to see Jiyan roaming the dark halls in the middle of the night to visit the kitchens for food for you, bringing back foods and snacks, whatever you wished, even the weird food cravings. Hell, sometimes he'd indulge in them alongside you. Once, during your first pregnancy you requested a big honeycomb, and it just happened Jiyan felt like a sweettooth that evening as well. That ended with you sharing quite a candid moment, lips sticky with honey with a waxy feel between your teeth as you tried not to laugh at one another.

-The second pregnancy was a boy, following two years after the daughter was born, and he came with a little more trouble. The new prince was quite a big baby, and the birth left you even more exhausted. A fever soon settled within you, greatly worrying Jiyan and the entire council. You could barely hold the boy to feed him without shaking, and the fever lasted for days.

-It was the scariest time of Jiyan’s life. Any moment spent away from you plunged a dagger into his heart that twisted itself further in. It pained him. And he nearly got sick himself from worry.

-There were maids around you constantly, when he couldn't assist you it was them that took care of you. His mother was close by as well, bringing you great herbal teas and green tea cakes and broths. The time for you was a blur, filled with uncomfortable heat of your body and sticky feelings of sweat.. does it ever end?

-It was as if the whe world was plunged into depression once you fell ill. Dark clouds corresponded with Jiyan’s bitter and grieving mood, and the dragons themselves were restless. In this time, the others, outside of his kingdom, saw it fit to attack and plunder the neighboring villages and cities.

-You had recovered enough to talk, but your days were still mostly spent by sleeping and eating.

-You could vaguely remember seeing Jiyan entering your chamber, holding your son for a short while before putting him back in his crib. A concerned look pinched his brows together, you could remember, as his gaze went to you.

- “My love?... Are you alright?” He'd ask as he kneeled by the side of your bed, taking your hand in both of his and kissing the knuckles that felt like they were ablaze underneath his lips. He was dressed in all armor, a sword at his hip. Why was he leaving?.. Where?

-It all seemed like a dream, an illusion borne from your illness, but it was real. He had a duty over the kingdom, and over you. Yet it pained him no less to leave the place he was closest to you. He had entrusted your care to his mother and the maids, and he had already bid farewell to your daughter. She had clung to him like a moss clings to a tree, asking him when he'd return.

-You couldn't give a reply, staring somewhere through him.

-Has the reign of peace perished so quickly?

-His dragon waited at the Dragonpits, and the troops were already marching out of the city gates when he took to fly over them, leading them to the front lines once more.

-You recovered in the following days, finding yourself alone - not literally, as there were maids and servants all flocking to you, but Jiyan wasn't there. His Hand sat the throne instead of him. And your children had grown significantly, as if years had passed instead of several days.

-Responsibilities choked you until you began to move, throwing yourself back into work and and duty. Your son was always at your hip or breast, making up for the time lost. And your daughter was always pulling at your skirts unless she was at her lessons.

-It was a restless period, and a terrifying one. The first letter you sent to Jiyan was met with an ecstatic response, him being overjoyed you were healthy again, yet he encouraged you to rest more.

-His other letters brought bitter news of losses and bloodshed and treason, but he reassured they were holding strong. You could only believe him.

-Months passed. Months. And a letter from Jiyan was yet to come in. It worried you. This everlasting silence, it was of more concern than the sorrowful letters.

-During one evening as you sat on one of the tall balconies of the palace, overlooking the city as your son cooed in your arms, you heard a shriek. One coming from your dragon in the Dragonpits. The dragon was as restless as you, her calls weren't foreign to hear, but this time her shriek was returned by a call of another.

-Your husband's dragon flew down from the murky clouds. The green dragon roared, splitting the sound mid air, earning another roar from your own dragon.

-Jiyan has returned.

-You’re unsure how you raced so quickly down to meet him, with a babe in your arms and not properly dressed either. Appearances didn't matter. Your husband's return did. He mattered.

-And once you saw one another, nothing else could hold you back from running into eachother’s arms, the baby carefully tucked between the two of you in a protective embrace as Jiyan kissed both of your heads, pressing his forehead against yours soon after, laughter shaking his shoulders and chest.

-He was sure he could cry right now, and seeing you shed tears of joy almost encouraged him.

-Jiyan knew he'd split the world in half if it meant keeping you whole and with him.

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.