hi, you can call me ame! 30. they/them. mostly sfw. writing and musing about my beloveds (obey me, love&deepspace, and whatever else my brain latches onto). my inbox is open, so feel free to send me any requests, comments, or questions. let's chat about our mutual hyperfixations! ♡
⚘masterlist
⚘recent works
╰ mission failure—zayne x gn!reader
╰ things i associate them with—xavier, zayne, rafayel, caleb
╰ if MC was fatally wounded by wanderers and passed away—xavier, zayne, rafayel
⚘tags
#shoccospeaks: random thoughts
#shoccoplays: game screenshots/gameplay talk
#shoccoanswers: responses to asks
#hcs: headcanon posts
#fics: longer writing posts
⚘notes
╰ i use tone indicators outside of my writing, and appreciate others using them as well! (i'm autistic so it really helps 🫶)
╰ i'm uncomfortable with pregnancy/childbirth/breeding so i won't be writing any requests dealing with these topics. thank you for your understanding!
╰ on the other hand, i have an incredibly soft spot for hurt/comfort & comfort fics in general, so you can expect to see those often~
hi! sorry for the super long absence! i really want to come back and start writing for l&ds, nucarnival, and maybe some others once the inspiration hits properly 🙏
"you are so beautiful." the words roll off of your tongue, voice blending in with the sound of asmo's fan- the one he always keeps running so he doesn't get too hot.
"of course i am, darling! how ever could i be the one and only asmodeus, if i wasn't gorgeous?"
his response is always the same no matter the compliment you give. indicative of him not understanding the depths of your words. he knows he's beautiful, but he doesn't understand it the way you do. or at least the way you think you do.
your hands are cold, though the feeling of them grasping at his face is a momentary shock. the real shock comes after you've held him, his eyes locking onto your own. there's a look of... something asmo can't quite put his finger on, more intense than love could ever be, but absent of the lust that fills the eyes of those who look at him.
"you don't understand," you huff out, "the 'beautiful' you hear is not the 'beautiful' i am trying to convey."
"what do you mean, hon?"
it's hard to collect your thoughts into words, given that you were a little emotional and a little tipsy, but you were soon overcome with the need to explain, to elaborate.
"when i see you, i don't see what they do." your hands cover his eyes. "they see your looks, your bravado. not your love, your warmth, how much you care. when i want to say 'you're beautiful', i want to say 'you are the stars in the sky, the sun, the moon. your soul encapsulates what happiness is to me.' does that make sense?"
your compliments are always thought-provoking, but in the way that makes asmodeus wonder if god still loves him though he chose to fall.
🍰What does Rafayel's birthday consist of this year? An unforgettable adventure, a unique scenery, and… an unpredictable surprise!
Your interlocked hands share heartbeats and warmth. Spread by fingertips, milky cream sweetens the air.
🎂From the update/5:00 A.M. on Mar. 1 to 4:59 A.M. on Mar. 8 (server time), 5-Star Memory [Rafayel: Unforgettable Adventure] will be available in the game!
𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 . . . often covers the corners of sharp countertops or open drawers with the palm of his hand whenever you're bending down to retrieve something, ensuring you won't bump your head on your way up. this small gesture often goes unnoticed by you, but his care for you never wavers. as someone who sees many injuries in their day to day lives the last thing he wants is for you to be in pain.
𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 . . . likes to keep polaroids of you. while his art is often displayed for everyone to see there are pieces of his life he wishes to cherish for himself. he's got a box of polaroid pictures in his studio, some solo shots of you while others picture the two of you on your endeavors. when he feels low on inspiration he likes to look back at these fond memories for inspiration.
𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 . . . always links your pinkies together when you're walking. doesn't matter if the trip is long or short, doesn't latter if the streets are quiet or busy — he'll keep you tucked close with a small act of intimacy. and rest assured that he will shoulder anyone out the way who dares to try and break this contact, a glare usually does the trick though.
ೃ⁀➷ TENDING THEIR WOUNDS — zayne, xavier, rafayel x gn!reader
“hold still,” you hiss. your fingers glide over the black and purple bruise forming on zayne’s shoulder. he doesn’t flinch, but you can feel the muscles on his back tense ever so slightly. he glances back at you before grasping your hand and pulling it off his shoulder.
“you don’t have to do anything. just hand me whatever i ask of you,” he says, rolling his shoulder cautiously. you shake your head, stepping in front of him as he gazes up at you curiously. “no, it’s my turn to take care of you,” you insist.
the corner of his lips twitch upwards for a moment but zayne lets out an amused sigh. taking your hand once more, he places the white bandages into your palm. “alright, you can take the lead this time, doctor.”
xavier watches as you wrap his hand up tight. from the center of the white bandages blooms a brilliant red. you frown and he catches it. from beneath silvery eyelashes, he gazes up at you. his hand is much larger within your own. “i’m sorry i can’t do much more than this,” you say softly.
he shakes his hand. he doesn’t flinch or make any movement of irritation towards your actions. “i’m alright, promise.” the gentleness in his eyes is persistent but you still appear hesitant. “are you sure there isn’t anything else i could do for you?”
xavier looks over the skillfully wrapped bandages across his palm and wrist. a playful glint infects the previous gentleness in his gaze as he looks back at you. “you could always kiss it better?”
a silent groan tumbled out from rafayel as he clambered onto the bed. the plush blankets sank from underneath his weight as he quietly lay back, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “are you certain you’re fine?” you asked. the stubborn man flicked his wrist attempting to usher you out of the room.
“i told you im alright, didn’t i?” he said, clicking his tongue. but from the way his muscles grew tense and rigid underneath the loose white shirt he wore, it didn’t seem as such. “let me see it,” you said, bending down in front of him. your hands settled on the bottom of his shirt an even then he remained stubborn.
lifting the thin material, you could see a series of rough scratches against his abdomen. “rafayel!” you scolded, immediately reaching for your first aid kit. he pouts somewhat, having been caught now. but he doesn’t refuse your attention in the slightest.
Thinking about Neuvillette finally starting a relationship with you and the melusines immediately noticing it,,
The Chief of Justice, although still seemingly appearing as the cold judge from the courtroom - softens his gaze at the sight of flowers, stopping by a merchant who offers them freshly picked.
The melusines quickly catch on; after all, the judge always tended to leave straight to his home after a long day of work. His amethyst-colored eyes scan the plants carefully, ordering a beautiful bouquet. People who pass Neuvillette by think nothing of it - if anything, better not to disturb him - but the tiny creatures observing him from afar can't stop wagging their tails excitedly, noticing a warm smile appearing on his lips.
The melusines notice how quickly the rain stops after trials. Back when the rain poured down until the sun rose the next day, now it takes a few hours less.
The little creatures hide behind corners and observe both of you; they gasp and cover their mouths when they see Neuvillette kissing your hand goodbye, quickly shushing others.
Every single one of them notices that the chief’s aura glows with happiness; slowly, some people do as well - they greet him with smile, and Neuvillette reciprocates it.
The melusines giggle to themselves when they see you and Neuvillette together, sometimes loud enough for you to turn around and laugh yourself; their cheeks turn rosy, and before they run away - they mutter an apology and storm off to share the news to others.
But when you finally make it official, they SWARM you. They offer to help you with shopping bags, to accompany you to make sure you’re safe, some even offer to do your hair. Small hands wave eagerly when they notice you. They stop by just to cling to your leg and hug it tightly, and you can’t help but ruffle their hair. They offer you their most prized possessions - after all, you’re the same to Neuvillette… or that’s how they understand it.
The melusines craft a special ribbon for you, so you and Neuvillette could match.
It seems like they love you just as much and Neuvillette couldn’t be happier.
Do you feel comfortable with writing stuff about mental health issues. Like, MC being depressed due to a mission going wrong or something similar and hiding it from Zayne while they spiral deeper into it until he catches them doing something bad - like idk, self-harm, looking up suicide methods, something like that. Gender neutral reader would be great <3
If you don't want to write this for any reason, feel free to ignore my ask :)
mission failure.
⚘pairing: zayne x gn!reader
⚘summary: after one too many failed missions, you reach a breaking point. zayne comes to your aid.
⚘tags: sfw, 2nd person POV, gender neutral reader, mental health issues, self-esteem issues, depression, suicidal thoughts, non-descriptive/implied self-harm, mild descriptions of morbid thoughts, hurt/comfort, angst
⚘word count: 2k
⚘a/n: thank you so much for your request, i hope i did it justice! this was a very interesting write and i enjoyed it a lot. i tried to be as delicate and vague with the s/h descriptions as i could so as not to trigger anyone, but this fic still deals with sensitive content so please be safe and take care of yourself! much love 💜
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
This was it. You just couldn’t do anything right.
Another hunting mission had gone poorly. The third in a row, now. They do say all good things come in threes, but could the same be said of misfortune? It certainly seemed so. The first two mission failures had been played off as flukes, but this time…
You made the long trek back to Headquarters with the weight of a tail dragging between your legs, bearing a few cuts and bruises to show for it. Beside you was Tara, who was not quite so worse for wear and, although disappointed, didn’t quite seem to share the same sentiment as you. After all, she hadn’t been the one to let the Wanderer get away. Again.
“Hey, don’t look so down!” she says, in her usual cheerful tone. She pats your arm in an attempt to be comforting. “Can’t win ‘em all, right?”
You give her a look and a frown. “I mean, we should, shouldn’t we? It’s our job, after all.”
“No way! Those Wanderers were tough! I’m amazed we got as far into the Zone as we did!”
But we lost our main target, you thought, yet you held your tongue. There was no changing Tara’s mind once she was set on something. This mission was above her level, anyway, but with every other Hunter either stationed elsewhere or taking a well-deserved break, and Xavier being unreachable as usual, all you had was each other. It had been up to you, as the higher level Hunter, to uphold the team morale and guide you both through a successful mission. But lately, you just kept falling short. Even the most straightforward of missions went awry. Just what was happening?
The entrance doors slid closed behind you as you and Tara headed upstairs for the debrief. Your heart pounded with every step you took. Three failures in a row… Jenna was going to fire you for sure. She might as well do it now, to make space for a newer, better Hunter to take your place and finish your missions properly.
Instead, what came of your debrief was the offering of a week-long break. "Time off to clear your head and refresh," Jenna had said with hard concern, but it might as well have been an arrow to the chest. Just fire me now and get it over with, you thought. Stop wasting everyone’s time and resources and find someone else.
You didn’t need a break. You just needed to be better.
Getting better, however, came with a steep demand you placed upon yourself like a vase upon a pedestal, delicate and teetering. If Jenna wanted to give you another chance, then you would use this week to return to peak performance. You would train, and train, and train, until you were sure to succeed at every mission she threw at you. It was flawless. You’d be back at it in no time.
But as soon as you got off the train and back into your apartment, all you wanted to do was sleep.
And sleep you did. You slept until you couldn’t think of those missions anymore, and when the thoughts inevitably returned, you slept again.
“You’re not eating enough,” Zayne said during your following check-up later that week. He stated it so matter-of-factly, like he did with any other diagnosis, never looking up from his computer as he typed something. You never knew exactly what. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a break right now?”
“How do you know that?”
“Word gets around,” he said, the beginnings of a smile etched on his face. You didn't like the idea of people knowing things like that so easily. People sure do like to talk... Zayne's hazel eyes lifted from the screen and over at you. “You need to take better care of yourself. Now is as good a time as any to catch up on your body’s needs.”
“I’m fine,” you snapped. Sometimes Zayne needed to mind his own business. Wait, but he was your doctor, and one of your closest friends… What was the matter with you? You really needed to go back to bed and stop being such a nuisance.
Maybe it’d be better if you got out of his life, too.
You met his questioning expression and the heat of your response drained out of your face. At that, you decided you didn’t want to wait for a reply. Whatever he wanted to say to you with that curious expression of his, you didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t deserve to hear it. You quickly left his office and never looked back. If he called your name as the door to his office slid closed behind you, it went unheard.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
5 missed calls.
Your phone screen blares the message in your face, blinding against the darkness of your room and blurry against the tears that threatened to fall, that had already fallen, that fell and dried and fell again. Your fingers itch to reply, to call him back or send him a text, but what’s the point? He doesn’t really care. He’s probably just going to scold you for leaving your appointment halfway and being childish and not following doctor’s orders and being rude to him.
Not only have you messed up your job, you’re messing up your relationships now, too. When will you ever stop? Can’t it ever stop?
Your phone buzzes and lights up in your fingers as your ringtone sings into your sheets once more. It’s him again. Doesn’t he know when to quit? You watch his name as it waits idly on your screen. It gets tired of waiting, as it always does, and finally disappears. You sigh as another hot tear slips down your cheek.
Something new happens this time.
1 new voicemail, your phone screen reads. You start to slide the notification away, but against your better judgment, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you give in, tap the notification, and listen.
The line is silent for a moment, and part of you hopes he gave up and left you nothing.
Finally, after what sounds like a throat clearing, he speaks.
“Hey, it’s me,” Zayne’s voice comes through the speaker. It’s got that usual muffled crackly phonecall texture laid onto it, but it sounds enough like him that it feels like he’s right there with you, underneath the blankets. “Are you alright? …Listen. Whatever it was I said, I didn’t mean it. You know that. I was going to ask if you wanted to get dinner, but you left so suddenly. Call me when you’re able?”
The silence creeps in again, and you can almost hear him consider saying something more, can almost see his expression as his thoughts thunder in his brain but refuse to leave his lips, but then there’s a click, and the call ends. The robotic voicemail message drones monotonously about saving the message, and halfway through, you hang up, too.
The back of your throat clenches and burns, and you barely fight back a sob as it wrenches itself out of you. Zayne was worried about you. You made him worry. You thought he was mad, you wanted him to be mad, but he’s not. He cares about you. Why…?
You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, as if you could push back the sting of tears that rush, hot and salty, from your bloodshot eyes. It hurts, and you start to see flashes of bright white stars under your eyelids, but it’s better than succumbing to the pain in your chest. Your heart shares a galaxy with the stars in your vision, a dying star that’s fizzling out, or maybe even being consumed by the void of a black hole. How morbidly comforting. You suddenly want to rip it out.
You wonder, just how difficult would it be to separate the Aether Core from your still-beating flesh…?
You try to shake the thoughts from your mind but they hold fast. Throwing the blankets off of your body, you leave your room hobbling like a zombie, make a beeline for the kitchen, and pull open a drawer.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
It’s late at night when there’s a knock at your door. A slight rap of the knuckles. A sharp one, two. Once, then twice, and on the third knock there’s another sound, too. A rattling jingle. And it’s times like these when you curse yourself for giving Zayne the extra key to your apartment.
He calls out your name as he steps in. You barely hear him. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s far away, or speaking quietly, or if you’re just that far gone into your own thoughts that everything else around you is muted.
He might have called only once, or a dozen times, by the time he reaches your room and spots your hunched figure on your bed. He says your name again, and this time you do hear him.
You meet his gaze, steeled with concern, and immediately regret it.
He sees you, really sees you, and all at once your façade crumbles once more. He approaches the edge of your bed, and you turn your eyes anywhere but at him as you brace yourself for impact.
“What are you doing?” he asks, but he already knows the answer.
Zayne grabs your wrist. Yet, his touch is gentle—firm enough to grip you, but soft enough that you could pull away if you wanted. You don't. You’re far too tired to fight anymore. You continue to stare at the floor with teary eyes, but there is resignation hanging heavy on your shoulders, like a wet blanket. Zayne takes your silent compliance as an okay to pull you along with him down the hallway of your dimly lit apartment and into the bathroom.
He sits you down on the toilet. The light clack of the lid hitting the porcelain beneath from your sudden weight seemed to jolt you awake a bit; your eyes refocus and follow his movements as he shuffles through the medicine cabinet. He pulls out a few things and then returns to tend to his patient.
"Hand. Here," he says as he holds out his own. You offer yours, and he meets you halfway. He always does. He’s as meticulous and calm as always as he cleans, disinfects, and wraps your wounds, ever the doctor, but there’s a certain softness in his motions that you’re sure he reserves for only his most cherished patients.
Only for you.
The thought rolls a warm wave over you, the once wet blanket that had been dragging you down now fresh out of the laundry and wrapped carefully around you, cozy and hot and certain. There’s still a bit of damp spots here and there, but those will also dry in time. And you know Zayne will still be here when that time comes.
Your thoughts are broken when long fingers drag against your cheek, wiping away yet more damp spots and fanning through your shining lashes.
“You need to take better care of yourself,” Zayne says, repeating his words from earlier that day. Was that really only today? This day was lasting a lifetime. As with before, his tone holds no ice. You regret snapping at him when he was only trying to help. He must feel your tension, because he puffs a breath out through his nose just then, and the warm air tickles the hairs on your forehead. He places a kiss there, the barest brush of his lips on your skin. He pushes your hair back with long warm fingers, tucking a strand behind your ear. “If you need help with that, I’m here. Always. You need only ask.”
Later still and he’s tucking you into bed and giving your forehead another gentle kiss, making you feel like a kid again. He’s surprisingly good at that. You don't know how he does it.
Zayne follows you under the covers, and leaves you an open invitation to snuggle against him, if you wish. You gratefully accept, tucking your head under his chin as he envelops you. He’s very careful not to apply pressure to your bandaged skin.
Right before you fall asleep, he whispers a promise of breakfast tomorrow, and dinner, and whatever else comes next. A promise of staying, no matter what.
