#humans have been angsty since the beginning of time

[vampire-matcha]

"Why do people even write dark fics why cant you write something happy instead"

Why did Shakespeare write tragedies? Why did the ancient Greeks? Why did the Mesopotamians? Why couldn't Gilgamash and Enkidu just have a happy ending instead? Orpheus and Eurydice? Romeo and Juliet?

Tragic and "dark" writing has been a part of human history since the literal VERY BEGINNING. Tragedies give us the space to explore and experience the full range of negative human emotion- anger, hurt, fear, betrayal, grief- in a safe and controlled way. YOU are in control when you are reading it. You can stop reading at any time when the emotions get to be too much, and you can look up and know that you are still safe. YOU are responsible for the media you consume. You are NOT allowed to tell people what they can and cannot enjoy.

[kushnovice]

Be Mine Again

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x ex! reader

Synopsis: Reader and Bucky have been broken up for a short time, fighting often and rarely seeing eye to eye. Bucky starts to fall into a bad mental space while a mission goes wrong.

wc: 2.8k

Warnings: fighting of all kinds, bucky being depressed and cold, angsty at the beginning, blood, choking, Zola being sadistic, not the best. if i made any mistakes please lmk :)

AN: Female reader, angst with little comfort (yet), lots of mistakes, self indulgent, it sucks but i had fun making it so i hope some people enjoy it. if so I'll write a part 2

"I broke my rules for you! I bended my morals for you, again! I had to change everything I believe in, yet again!" She yelled out at the tall and broad man in front of her as his hand tightened against his glass of ice water, jaw clenching.

The kitchen of the Avengers Tower was very cold and filled with tense air, thick enough to cut with a knife. Bucky deeply groaned as he placed his glass onto the table with a loud thud, "I never asked you to do that. I never asked you to care about me, you did that all yourself." Bucky's hand ran up into his hair showing how stressed out he is at the moment, he had never been one to enjoy fighting, actually he hated it. Almost as much as he hated her."Don't you care about me? About us?" She questioned with a huff as her arms swung to her hips. "Truth is," Bucky stood up, slowly walking toward her with each word, "I'm tired. So fucking tired of you that you always have been nothing more than an obligation." Bucky's lip raised in a scowl. The hurt was written on her face but immediately gone as she grumbled and pushed Bucky back by the chest. "I'm done helping you." She sucked in a breath, "Did it ever occur to you that your hurting me or are you just that selfish and arrogant?"

Before she could react, his glass that was once on the table was now shattering against the wall on the far side of the room as he stormed off quickly, slamming the door shut in the process. Bucky made his way through the winding hallways with his fists clenched tightly to the point his knuckles were white. He couldn't stand when she would act like this, after everything they had been through together, she had promised she would stay no matter what. She was always just like the others, except Bucky couldn't get her out of his mind.

Bucky swings open Steve's door and slams it behind him as he paces back and forth through Steve's room. Steve sighed as he placed his book to the side on his bed and looked at Bucky. "What happened this time?" Bucky groaned deeply, "I told her about the mission we are going on later this week and she flipped out on me." He grabbed a workout dumbbell off the ground and started to work out his human arm by doing bicep curls. "She keeps telling me that she can't deal with me trying to track down and kill every single person that was ever or is currently apart of Hydra, that this mission we are going on is a trap." His breath becomes uneven as says breathy words under his tongue as his annoyed attitude has not faltered in the slightest. Steve rolled his eyes at the drama going on between the not so couple right now. "You do realize that she's scared of losing you, especially more since she's already lost you as a partner." Steve sighed deeply, being the person that both of them had come to confide in about their problems. "And with the Hydra thing, it's tricky because I know you want to move past it, and it was such a hard time of your life but there are better ways to grow past it, Buck." Steve talked softly as his kind blue eyes pierced through Bucky, hoping he would accept his words of advice but seeing how Bucky was instantly throwing the weight around as if it weighed nothing due to his anger, Steve knew Bucky wasn't truly hearing him.

Bucky dropped the weight at Steve's words, "Better ways, huh. there're better ways for everything but does that mean it's always achievable? No." Bucky looked at Steve almost desperately, "I don't want to lose her but if I don't do this, I feel like I might lose myself." Bucky sighed as he looked at the weight on the ground before picking it back up again. "What's rule number 3, Buck?" Steve asks knowing how Bucky's rage and trauma is having a profound impact on his own mental health. "What would they think about you after you murder them all?" Steve questions, knowing that if Bucky were to kill them then people would believe that Bucky was the Winter Solider still, or just a cold killer."Who cares, they took everything from me. They took me away from myself." Bucky stormed out of Steve's room in frustration and made his way to his room with loud footsteps as he carried his empty duffle bag.

Bucky's mind was whirling with angry thoughts about how no one understands him and the one person that did, was no longer a happy part of his life. He angrily shoves his clothes and weapons as well as his dog tags and anything else he would need into his duffle bag. Bucky fit everything he needed perfectly into his duffle bag and sat it by the door before he slouched down onto his bed. He rubbed his temple as he exhaled a deep sigh, wishing he could understand life like he did back in the 40's.

"If you feel it so necessary to risk your life so that you can battle an internal fight, then I'm coming too." She swung the door open as she placed down her duffle bag with confidence and stubbornness. Bucky groaned and ran his hands through his hair again, stressed out, knowing that she won't back down. "If you keep doing that, you'll go bald before you're ancient." She giggled snarky as Bucky narrowed his eyes at her seriously. "If you're coming, you're staying in the plane. Eyes in the sky." She rolled her eyes but stayed silent knowing that putting up another fight was worthless.

They made their way to the airplane with slow steps as the tension around them stayed present even in the silence as they walked feet from each other. Bucky's eyes were unable to focus on anything other than her, her hair, her body, her clothes, the way she held herself. He knew he shouldn't think about her like this after their no so soft break up but he couldn't help himself. He was snapped out of it when Steve talked to him on the plane, "Buck, why is she joining us?" He asked as he looked at her getting comfortable in a seat on the plane as if it was her mission to be on. Bucky sighed, "I didn't want to fight her anymore. She will stay on the plane the whole time." Steve nodded in understanding, "We got this." Bucky chuckled, "As long as you don't blow the whole thing trying to 'save the world'" Steve chuckled along with him. The plane ride was silent as they quickly made it to the main hydra headquarters with Steve occasionally talking about the mission and the plan.

When they arrive at the place, Steve and Bucky easily jump out of the plane, landing exactly where they needed too to be at the top of the Hydra roof. She got comfortable on the plane with the coms on, cameras on, and trackers on but she couldn't settle the anxiety creeping up her spine. She tried to push it down as she figured that since she was watching and listening to them and that nothing would go wrong. That's what she had wished for, but not all dreams come true.

After the two men had entered the building, an alarm went off causing the rooms to blare nosies and lights to shine red and white in an emergency. They quickly move to the wall, Bucky had his gun up as his eyes glared through the top of the barrel with intense focus as he lead them through the hallway while Steve had his shield up as well as his arm to help brace himself for any situation that could happen. The lights continued to strobe with the blaring alarm as they swiftly and quietly made their way through the headquarters. As Bucky rounded a corner, there was a Hydra solider waiting for them. He fired his gun quickly multiple times causing bullets to go into his shoulder, his arm, and his stomach. Steve quickly threw his shield at the Hydra solider causing him to go unconscious and drop to the floor with a thud. "Buck?" Steve turnt around quickly as he grabbed Bucky's shoulders to help him stay up as he is loosing a lot of blood.

"What's going on?" She asked through the coms as the anxiety in her stomach started to bubble up yet again. "Why aren't you guys moving?" She impatiently waited for an answer as she tapped her fingertips against the desk, staring at the screen of their tracker and trying to find them on the camera system. "Everything's fine," Bucky growls out in a snap. Over the coms she can hear Steve groan, "Bucky got hit, three times." he explains to her and while his words are processing, her heart beat increases dramatically. "I'm fine." Bucky growled out as he continued to make his way down the hallway with Steve closely behind him. She watches as the dots move slowly down the hallway on the tracker, Her anxiety roaring.

Suddenly the screen starts to glitch out, becoming unreadable entirely. She began to panic internally as she starts to talk on the coms, "what's goin' on?" She asks to no response but loud sounds like a frequency is blocking communication. She groans deeply as her anxiety is coming up through her stomach and settling at her chest as she makes her way up and slings a gun around her torso to make her way out of the plane which is now landed at the waiting point. She runs through the clearing and gets to the door, trying to open it to no avail, she uses her body weight next to slam against the door, again to no avail. Sounds of yelling and screaming stop her in her tracks as the anxiety now feels like an elephant sitting on her chest. Looking around, she spot a window and she uses the back gun barrel to break the glass, making sure it's safe before she climbs inside. When she gets inside it is dark and eerily quiet, she cautiously take slow and soft steps and she keeps her gun up on guard as she search's for Steve and Bucky. She shoves open a door which reveals a pitch dark room, She is hesitant to go in until She hears Bucky whimpering in the darkness. She quickly makes her way inside, "Buck?" She whispered as the door shuts behind her, she hears the door click causing her to turn back to the door to see someone outside the door flick the lights on to reveal Bucky on the ground bleeding out from multiple injuries, she ran up to him immediately.

"Oh Buck..." She sighed deeply and she glare up at the person behind the door. The mysterious person presses a button with a smirk before they turn and makes their way out of eyesight from her. She hears a hissing sound causing her to look up to see a gas coming out of a huge vent in the room, the barley visible smoke filling the floor as it causes Bucky to cough an incredible amount and making his injuries worse. The smoke filled the room and eventually her lungs as she can feel the smoke burning her airway. She coughs violently in sync with Bucky, trying to stay conscious and aware but it becomes more challenging as the world starts spinning and her eyes get heavier. Bucky suddenly stops coughing causing her to know that he fell victim to the gas, she tried to fight it as long as possible as she held herself up against a table but still inevitably fail as she fell to the ground with a loud thud as she went unconscious.

When she woke up, everything was groggy and the room is spinning and her chest feels heavy with more than just anxiety. She groaned out in pain when she turn to look around to see her hands and legs tied up to the arms and legs of a chair while she was also tied around the torso. Turning her head, she saw Bucky sitting there tied up the same as her, him still unconscious though. "Bucky!" She whisper shouted trying to get him awake, whispering his name loudly multiple times in hopes of him waking up. "Bu-" She gets interrupted by the sound of a door opening causing her to fall silent as she watches the darkness to see someone emerge from it. "Well, Well, Well. Look what we have here. The world's most dangerous assassin..." The person walks towards us to reveal its Zola dressed in his white coat. "And his little toy." Zola smirks at us. "What do you want with us? Bucky isn't under your control anymore." She speaks deeply and firmly even through the anxiety and fear that is ever so present. Zola chuckles at her question as he leans down and grabs Bucky's unconscious face, holding his face up by the chin, his fingernails digging into Bucky's cheek, leaving red to glow off of Bucky's face. "I want him." Zola lets Bucky's face go with no regard for him. His head falls back down as Zola shifts his attention back to her. "I can't have him with you around. With you here. He has something to fight for." Zola leaned in close enough to her face that she could smell him the smell of rubber and overpriced Calonge on his body, he smelt like fake money. "I'm going to make him lose everything. Anything he loved or ever will love in the future, I will destroy."

Zola pushed some of the hair that had fallen in front of her face behind her ear, "And that starts with you, Darling." Zola had a maniacal smile on, his twisted face that contorted the anxiety in her stomach from anxiety into fear and anger. Her anxiety and fear had instantly turned into rage as Zola kept speaking, her jaw clenching and veins popping out of her neck and forehead. "I'll kill you." Her voice growls deeply with hatred as she struggled against the restraints roughly with harsh movements. Zola couldn't help the chuckle that escapes his lip. "Or you'll die trying, sweetheart." He exclaimed with a smirk on his face, "You'll be fun to play with." Zola runs his fingers softly down her face as she holds a scowl and her eyes bore into him with rage.

A soft voice croaks out, "Don't touch her..." Bucky's horse and rough voice speaks out as he raises his head to assess the situation as the gas wears off. Zola smirked as he trailed his fingers down her face and down her jawline and to her throat where he roughly grabs it with a tight grasp causing her to gasp out at a loss for air. "You take orders, Soldat. You don't give them." Zola says as his dark eyes meet Bucky's whose eyes are dark and cold, his glare unwavering as his jaw clenched. Bucky thrashes around in the restraints, easily breaking out as he saw you under Zola hold, anger filling his body with red heat as he stands up in front of Zola, dark eyes that would send shivers down the body of a normal person. "Let. Her. Go." Bucky's rough voices speaks out firmly as he towers over Zola, he smirks as he lets go of her but reaches into his pocket and injects Bucky with a syringe causing Bucky to be disoriented and out of it as he stumbles backwards. "Stay away from her!" He yells in frustration as he tries to move close to her despite the drugs and ultimately failing.

"Bucky! Stop trying to save me. They want you." She speaks out firmly through her coughs and deep breaths. Bucky growled at her statement, "I will never stop fighting for you, defending you, protecting you. Over my dead body will I let you get hurt." Bucky's deep voiced traveled through the room as it sent shivers down her body. Zola moved to Bucky, grabbing him by the back of the neck like a kitten and forces him down to the ground as he digs Bucky's head into the ground before quickly chaining him up, Bucky being easier to restrain with the drugs in his system. Zola squatted down to make eye contact with Bucky, his eyes digging into Bucky's with determination. "I will destroy you. You'll be mine again."

[zephyrchama]

Vampire MC part II - with Mammon heads up - this one's a bit angsty and there are descriptions of pain

(intro/masterlist can be found here)

Mammon was having a rough time.

He was put in charge of you from the very beginning. You were his responsibility, his human to watch over. He blew it.

Nobody had been allowed near the castle to see you since the incident. Mammon got his ass severely handed to him by Barbatos every single time he tried visit. So for the last month, the second-born spent his time either locked up alone or out at the casino. Though, no amount of winning hands and jackpots could ease the knot of guilt tangled in his gut. He hardly ate and hardly slept. The Avatar of Greed wanted to see you.

Yet when you finally came home, he couldn’t bring himself to knock at your door. What could he say? Pretend like he didn’t royally mess up by letting you out of his sight?

Despite all you'd been through, you had to be the one to reach out. You tapped on his bedroom door with a hesitant "Mammon? Can I see you?"

There was a thud. He might have fallen out of bed in haste. No sooner had the door swung open than you were in Mammon’s arms. He tugged you into a tight embrace, nuzzling his face into your hair. “Man, I am so sorry.”

He feared letting go, he wouldn’t let you disappear again. It was sweet and welcoming and you felt his heart racing. That's the demon you knew.

Mammon clung to you so tightly. He dug his fingers into your sides in a fervent attempt to be closer, but there was something more. A hot sensation. As if boiling water was seeping through your shirt and dripping down your skin.

You hesitated, wondering if it was all in your head. “Wait… Mammon, that hurts.”

“Deal with it.” A whole month of loneliness, all his regret and despair, was packed into this hug. It was an important moment to him.

As the seconds ticked by, the pain grew. It couldn’t have been your imagination. It was searing hot, like a poker fresh off the flames. You pushed back, squirming in pain and confusion, desperate to suddenly escape his grasp.

“Let me go.” You began to panic. “Let me go, Mammon. Now.” You struggled to get away. Right before resorting to the pact, Mammon dejectedly released you, slowly loosening his hold. He gazed at you, pitifully upset.

“What…? Didn’t you want to see me?” His voice quivered.

You sucked in a sharp breath and winced, too preoccupied with rubbing the pain away to listen. It wasn’t getting any better, but at least now it wasn’t getting any worse. It just throbbed.

To investigate, you rolled up a section of your shirt. Around your waist where Mammon had gripped the tightest were deep red rashes. Such spots had not been there before. You didn’t want to touch them. You were starting to feel lightheaded and thirsty and didn’t want to make the situation worse.

“The hell!? I didn’t do that!” Mammon scrambled to your side, uncertain. Afraid to touch you again. “…did I?”

He wanted to do something, anything, to heal you and make you feel better, but what did he even do? He fixated on his hands, as if seeing them for the first time. Were they the issue? They were well-kept, as usual. His nails were trimmed neatly. His skin was flawless. He hadn’t been cursed as far as he could tell, nor had you, aside from the whole vampirism thing.

He stared intensely. Maybe it was one of his new rings. That morning he hadn’t even paid attention to what he put on, anything had been fine so long as it was attention-grabbing and gaudy enough to make him feel influential. A cheap distraction. Mammon flipped his hands, trying to figure out what was wrong. His face contorted into a loathsome scowl as he realized the error of his ways.

With a barrage of swears, he angrily yanked off every last ring.

“Damn it! Can’t believe I did this!” Some of the weaker stones and bands crumbled to dust in his clenched fist. The rest broke when Mammon pelted them at the wall at full force, leaving dent marks in the paint. He patted himself down, frantically emptying his pockets and ripping off a necklace.

You didn’t like seeing Mammon so agitated. It scared you. “What? What’s wrong?” The demons were terrifying when they got angry.

“Silver.” He practically spat the word out, and suddenly it all made sense. Surely Lucifer warned all of his brothers about this as part of your homecoming preparations. Whether they properly listened or not was another story.

A little silver ring could hurt you that much?

“Oh.” You fell down onto Mammon’s couch, dumbfounded that such a common thing was now so dangerous. You probably couldn’t wear some of the jewelry the brothers had gifted you anymore. You laid your head back. The ceiling lights were so bright and dizzying.

"Hey." Mammon knelt on the floor, hands on his knees, eyes level with yours. Close, but not touching. "Tell me what I gotta do to make this right."

"Right now?" You mulled over what would make you feel better, what could distract from the silver burns and make you feel normal again. "I just want you."

Mammon gently scooped you up with one arm supporting your back and the other hooked under your knees. "I've been waitin' so long to hear that."

His grasp was much more tender and he leaned you against his chest while awkwardly stepping up onto the couch, then turned around to sit and lowered you onto his criss-crossed legs.

You slowly draped your arms around his shoulders, listening to the beat of his heart. Mammon smelled amazing, and not just from whatever scent he chose to wear that day. It drew you to him. You tempted yourself with a closed-mouth kiss to his collar, slowly inhaling the pleasant aroma. This intimacy might be dangerous. You exhaled, keeping your lips locked against his skin as they parted just a sliver.

You felt too shy to glance up and meet his eyes. They were so fond of you, so full of relief and love, even though in that exact moment all you could think of was pushing him down and taking a nice meaty bite.

“Y’know… A lot of people’ve tried real hard to get even a single drop of my blood over the years. A lot of ‘em. For lots of reasons.” He reclined back into the couch cushions, leaning you on top of him with his arms gingerly wrapped around your ribs. Mammon put himself in quite the vulnerable position, neck within easy reach. “I always turned ‘em all down. But this... it’s a small price to pay if I get to hold you like this.”

[joelscruff]

wait (boyfriend's dad!joel x f!reader) 18+

first and foremost! this is part of my boyfriend's dad!joel series and takes place after "words". this won't really make sense if you haven't read that one! it's so crazy to me how this started out as a silly little smutty drabble and somehow became this. this one's kind of heavy (read the warnings!!) but i promise that things won't stay this angsty forever. at its root this story is supposed to be smutty and fun and i promise there will be more of that in the future. i hope you enjoy it and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 summary: it's been a month since your boyfriend discovered your relationship with his father and a month since you've seen joel. it's starting to take its toll. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: daddy kink, unprotected p in v sex, sexting, comeplay, angst, allusions to past trauma, shitty family dynamics (addiction & verbal abuse), panic attacks word count: 3.2k

i miss you

it's the only thing you've thought about texting him for about a month, a text you always type out and then erase a few moments later. it's something you swore to yourself that you wouldn't do no matter how lonely you got. he'd said he needed time, and you want to give it to him. and yet here you are, leaning against the window of your bus home from community college with tears in your eyes, phone in hand, wanting nothing more than to see him. selfish.

it's been one of the loneliest periods of your life. you've known loneliness, felt it throughout most of your childhood, through your adolescence, it's nothing new. but with joel you'd finally begun to feel whole again, like you actually mattered to someone. he looked forward to seeing you, to holding you, being with you. you'd never felt so desired and loved and protected in your whole life.

now you're back to having nothing, no one. it's a harsh reality you're forcing yourself to accept. you still haven't heard anything from your boyfriend - now ex, of course, though there was never any official breakup - and even that's a punch to the gut, an added depth to a loss that you caused.

he's hurting, i hurt him, joel's words repeat in your head. it breaks your heart that he's feeling so guilty, that he feels that he caused this entire thing when it's really your fault. if you weren't such a mess of a person, such a broken human being, the whole thing wouldn't have even happened to begin with. what kind of person sleeps with their boyfriend's father? starts a relationship with him? calls him daddy?

you know you caused this and yet you can't help but miss him so much. it's like he's ingrained himself into your bones somehow, his touch tattooed into your skin. he's all you think about, dream about. you miss being in his embrace, being held by him, whispering daddy in his ear and feeling understood, not judged. you miss his gentle kisses to your nose, the safety of his lap, his arms around your trembling form while he fucked you, took you, made you his.

you stare at the unsent text message and inevitably find yourself scrolling back up to a previous conversation from a few months back, short and simple. texting was never a frequent medium for the two of you, more-so used for you to send him dirty pictures every so often to tease him a bit. you briefly look at the picture, a close-up shot of your bare pussy with some of his come leaking out; absolutely filthy.

still have u inside me daddy

oh baby, so messy. what am I gonna do with you?

you smile at the silliness of it all, the filthiness, but it quickly fades when you remember the reality of the situation again, the fact that your boyfriend had read joel's messages, had definitely seen these texts in particular. he'd called joel a sick man. you don't agree, but you can understand why; if you'd seen a text interaction like this between your own father and a girl half his age... you'd probably have a similar reaction - though the concept of your father showing a woman any affection in the first place is alien in itself.

your bus pulls up to the stop near your house and you get off, slipping your phone back into your pocket and hiking your backpack over your shoulder as you go. it's only a short walk to your house, no more than three minutes, though you usually try to make it a bit longer to delay the inevitable disaster of your home life.

you take it one step at a time, slowly walking down the darkening street with fresh tears in your eyes. god, you're so lonely. you don't want to go home, don't want to be accosted by your alcoholic father and avoidant mother, your asshole brother who never gives you a break. it's so damn depressing in that house; when you'd first gotten together with your boyfriend you'd been so relieved to finally have somewhere else to go that wasn't school or home, another reason you'd stayed with him for so long despite the relationship being doomed. you should have known it couldn't last.

you'd told joel everything. it's hard to believe sometimes that the connection you shared was strong enough for you to trust him with some of your darkest secrets, the worst things from your past. he knows all about your family, all about what you've been through, had listened to you quietly and earnestly as you cried into his shoulder about the hand life had dealt you. he'd rubbed your back, kissed your forehead, whispered it's okay, and i'm here now, and i'm gonna take care of you, sweetheart. and he did. he did take care of you. he'd done everything right and somehow you still managed to fuck it up.

the lights are on in the house when you arrive at the front gate, though the car is missing from the driveway; this only means that your mother is out late tonight, probably staying with a friend or a lover or whoever she turns to when shit gets bad. you can't blame her - you'd done the exact same thing when you'd actually had somewhere to go - but part of you still aches for that little girl inside you that needs her, wishes she was inside waiting for you, though it's not like she'd do much to help.

your father is definitely home, probably your brother as well. you stand at the gate, gripping the strap of your backpack and deliberating even bothering to go inside. you know you'll be accosted at the front door by either a drunken tirade or bitter argument. it's a no-win situation no matter how you look at it. your phone buzzes in your pocket and you pull it out, grateful for one last brief distraction.

i miss you too, angel. so much.

your eyes go wide, heart stuttering in your chest as you stare at the words.

"fuck," you breathe, "fuck, fuck fuck," you quickly scroll up to confirm your fears - the i miss you text, the one you always erase, the one you make sure to never send - you'd somehow sent it this time, entirely by mistake.

tears are stinging your eyes as you turn on the spot and start walking back and forth in front of your house, running your hand through your hair in disbelief while you stare at joel's text. you fucking idiot. what the fuck have you done? what happened to giving him space? you stupid fucking bitch. you absolute loser. you're suddenly berating yourself the exact same way you know your father and brother will berate you if you go in the house now. you can already picture it - them seeing your tear stained cheeks, the puffiness of your eyes, the words they'll throw at you to hurt you even more, make you feel small.

fucking bitch. fucking loser. fucking idiot.

your breathing is becoming more and more erratic the longer you pace. you can't go in now, not after this, not after seeing that he misses you too and being so fucking close yet so far away. all you can suddenly think about is all those wasted moments at his house, spending so much time with your asshole boyfriend when you could have been with joel, been loved instead of tossed aside like garbage.

god, if you could only hear his voice. if you could just talk to him for one minute before you have to go into this godforsaken hellhole.

before you even fully understand what you're doing, you're hitting the call button and bringing the phone up to your ear.

he answers on the first ring.

"h-"

"i can't do this anymore," you gasp out through a sob, not even bothering to let him say anything, "joel, i can't do it, i miss you so fucking much it hurts."

"babygirl," he breathes, voice rough and deep and gorgeous and familiar, sweet like honey in your ear, "where are you? are you okay?"

and that's enough to break you.

you feel the tears begin to stream down your face, hot and unrelenting. you shake your head even though he can't see you, throat bobbing through repetitive gasps, "no, i'm not okay," you blubber, "da- fuck, joel, i- i can't do this, i can't be by myself anymore. i'm - " you don't even know where this is coming from, voice muddled, "i'm so lonely. i can't do it anymore, i can't. please, i can't."

he makes a devastating sound at your words, something between a sob and a gasp, "where are you?" he repeats, voice full of concern, "where are you, baby? i'm gonna come get you."

"the bus stop by my house," you manage to tell him through your tears, reaching the little bench and situating yourself on it without an ounce of hesitation, "i was- i was gonna go home but," another sob rips through your throat, "but they're home and i- i can't- i can't take it anymore, joel. i don't wanna be there anymore, i can't be there."

"you stay where you are, you hear me?" you can hear movement on the other line, the rattle of keys, footsteps, "don't go home, babygirl, i'm comin'. i'll be there in ten minutes."

"okay," you whisper, trying to catch your breath, "okay."

"deep breaths, baby, remember?" and you do remember; he'd taught you some exercises to help in situations like this, when you feel like the world is falling apart around you and you're just getting smaller and smaller, disappearing into nothingness. he'd held your hands while you'd sat in his lap, eyes closed as you both matched each other's breathing, melted into one another. "in and out, babygirl, that's it. real slow, count for me."

"i r-remember," you manage to hiccup, squeezing your chest with your other hand and trying to ground yourself.

the wait is excruciating, no matter how short, and no matter the fact that joel is on the other end trying to calm you. you sit on the bench with a hand on your heart and the other on your stomach, listening to joel count to five over and over, phone upturned on your thigh.

"big breath in. one...two...three...four...five," he says through the muffled sounds of traffic and wind, "big breath out. one...two...three...four...five." over and over and over again, "i'm turnin' the corner, baby, i'm almost there," he says after about ten minutes of this, "you see me, honey?"

you look up to find his headlights, getting brighter and brighter as they approach. you shakily sit up from the bench, breath coming out much less erratic now, "y-yes," you whisper.

seconds later the car is pulling up in front of you and he's jumping out, not even bothering to shut the door behind him as he dashes around it. it's been so long since you've seen him that it's jarring to suddenly have him in front of you, sprinting toward your small and shaking form with his jacket undone, shoes mismatched, glasses askew. you catch a glimpse of his expression, concerned and upset - are those tears? - before he scoops you up into his arms and pulls you in close to him.

"i'm here," he tells you, voice rumbling through his chest against your cheek, solid and warm, "i'm here now, babygirl, you're okay. you're okay."

and somehow you are.

--

"i'm sorry," is all you can say to him as he drives you to his house, hand holding yours tightly the whole way, "i'm such an idiot, i'm so sorry."

"stop saying that," he repeats for maybe the fourth time, shaking his head and squeezing your hand even more firmly, "you're not an idiot and you have nothing to be sorry about."

you really are okay now, breaths calm and tears not even flowing anymore. instead the guilt and shame and humiliation have taken over, sinking into your skin as you lean back in the passenger seat with your hood pulled up, hiding your face from him.

"i was giving you space," you mutter, "i didn't even mean to text you, it was an accident. i was being stupid, as usual."

"stop it," he says again, "stop being mean to yourself."

you close your eyes and face away from him, "easier said than done."

the two of you drive in silence for a few moments, that is until he asks, "have you eaten?" and you say, "no."

he buys you mcdonalds and doesn't let go of your hand.

--

the house hasn't changed. you hadn't really expected it to; it's not like it's been that long since you were last here. you don't bother even sneaking a peek at your ex boyfriend's bedroom as joel leads you upstairs, curiosity nonexistent.

you're not sure why you expect him to take you into his office, maybe sit on the couch with you and talk. to your surprise he leads you straight past the door, down the hallway to what you can only assume is his bedroom - a place you've never been in all your months of being with him.

"sit down," he tells you softly as he opens the door, pulling you slowly inside and nodding toward the queen sized bed, "i'll get you something to wear."

"okay," you breathe, barely looking at him as you examine the room in front of you, large but cozy, cool colors but a warm atmosphere, framed music posters and blueprints covering the walls - exactly what you'd expect from someone like joel. you shuffle forward and drop your bag at the end of his bed, sitting on the edge of it while he goes to his dresser.

you end up in one of his sleep shirts and a pair of his underwear, loving the feeling of being his again, even if neither of you have actually talked about what exactly this means for your relationship. he helps you change, tugging off your worn-out jeans and the same shirt you've worn for three days in a row, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulls off your panties and replaces them with his boxers. it's not sexual, but part of you still longs to pull him on top of you, just feel his weight, smell his cologne.

he pulls back the duvet and helps you climb inside onto your stomach, rubbing your arms and shoulders and releasing some of the tension you've been feeling for the past month. you feel him press another kiss to the back of your neck, pushing your hair out of the way and stroking it gently, giving you all the care and attention you've been aching for. his hands are so big, so comforting and safe, touching you everywhere without any expectations or underlying motive.

"i missed you, daddy," you whisper against his pillow, not sure if he can even hear you, even more unsure whether it's okay to use that word anymore.

he doesn't reply right away, still kneading his thumbs into the base of your back and massaging you gently. you hear him inhale and exhale deeply a few times, like he's biding time while he figures out what to say.

"sorry," you wince, "joel."

he releases you then, helps you turn over so you're on your back and peering up at him with uncertainty. he sits on the edge of the bed and reaches down to thumb your cheek, eyes sad and tired.

"i wanna be that for you, sweetheart," he murmurs, brow furrowing, "i do. i want it more than you even realize," he takes a breath, biting down on his lip briefly, "i just... i need you to tell me somethin'. be honest with me now."

your heart skips a beat, "what?"

"when you said you loved me..." his voice breaks a bit and you ache to reach for him, cup his cheek and hold him close, "was it because of what we've been doin'?" he seems to reassess his words, shaking his head slightly, "i mean, did it...did you actually mean it? or was it... was it just part of the game?"

you stare at him for a few seconds, lips parting and eyes going slightly wide. without a second thought you do exactly what you'd just been thinking about, reaching up to place your hand against his face, feeling his scruff beneath your palm. he leans in and takes a breath, peering into your eyes with a yearning you can't describe, can only feel.

you shake your head slowly, "joel," you whisper, "it's never been a game."

his eyes close, stuttering out another breath when your thumb strokes his cheek soothingly. unable to hold back anymore, you lean up to capture his mouth in a soft kiss, sweet and tender and familiar. his hand finds the back of your head, pulls you closer, claims you again.

he fucks you slow.

it's never been like this, never has he fucked you the way he fucks you now. you barely speak, just moan and whimper and sigh and melt into each other the way you've never truly been able to, not without prying ears and a time limit hanging over your heads. your hands tangle in his hair while he hits that deep spot inside you, holds you close, buries his face in your neck and breathes you in, pounds into you relentlessly like you'll both come apart at the seams if he lets go.

you're biting it back, trying not to say it as much as you desperately want to, still unsure if this is really want he wants. just tell me what to do and i'll do it. i don't care, i'm yours. he looks into your eyes and you can't help but start crying again, overwhelmed by the warmth of him, the safety. he thumbs your tears and kisses them away.

"say it," he murmurs to you as you both near your inevitable release, the tension building and building as he grabs your face with both hands and fucks you with purpose, with passion, "say it, babygirl, tell me."

you shake your head, suddenly self conscious, suddenly afraid. the feelings from earlier tonight rise back in your chest, making a home in the back of your throat as a sob threatens to rip through it.

"it's okay," he whispers, voice trembling with the speed of his thrusts, "it's okay, honey, i wanna hear you say it," he furrows his brow and releases a groan, so close to the edge, "please, baby, say it. need you to say it."

you pull him close, grip his back, press your lips to his ear, "daddy."

he groans, dark and rough, "that's it," he murmurs, "that's it baby, i'm your daddy. that's right." he pulls back to look at you, eyes meeting yours in a passionate gaze that lasts forever, "say it again."

"daddy," you whine, unable to unlock your eyes from his, lip trembling as you submit entirely to him, "feels so good, daddy."

there's something in his expression you can't place, something in his words that reverberates in your brain like a pinball. say it again... you realize it means more than you'd initially thought. he's not just asking you to say one word - he's asking for three.

"i love you," you cry out just as he presses his thumb to your clit, pushes you over the edge, "i love you."

he comes just as you do, an animalistic sound tearing from his throat as your fingers scramble for purchase at his back, holding him impossibly close to the point where his entire body weight is on top of you, but you don't care. all you can feel is the way his heart beats against your chest, the way his gasps match yours, finding the same rhythm.

you lay there still for what feels like eternity, joel laying on top of you with his cock still deep inside and his forehead pressed against your shoulder. your tears have stopped but you feel the dampness of his own on your skin, hear the gasp he lets out as he sets his emotions free.

"i love you too," he whispers in your ear, breath hot and quick, voice wrecked, "god, i love you so much."

for the first time, you stay the night.

[xtreme-shipper]

Just Don't Give Up

Azriel (ACOTAR) x FReader (Human)

WC: 1.5K (Oneshot)

Summary: When it all becomes too much to keep going, our favorite Shadowsinger shows up just in time.

Warnings: Mentions of (and attempt at) suicide, angsty, I think, canon divergent, not proofread, lol, hurt/comfort, English is not my first language. Let me know if I should add anything <3

N/A: Hi! This is my first ACOTAR fanfic, so constructive criticism is really appreciated :) It's been a while since I've written fanfiction, but recently, I've been obsessed with Az, so here we are.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The night sky was blinding in the best way possible. Another year had passed, and you could see from the distance how your friends were celebrating another Starfall, a drunken joy filling the air, their voices full of excitement. The preparations started early this year, and the night court went all the way in, with concerts throughout the city and free drinks for all its citizens. You could tell the party would go on until sunrise and wondered, not for the first time tonight, why weren’t you down there with them?

“Is everything alright?” Az had asked you earlier that day. You nodded, smiling brightly at him.

“Just had a long night.” He nodded, not fully convinced, but he didn’t push the subject, which you were grateful for. You didn’t need to ruin the mood because of your problems.

 Nightmares from under the mountain still plagued your sleep, making it almost impossible to get any rest, and it was starting to show. The things that you had to see while not being able to do anything haunted your every second.

You didn't expect to survive when you escaped from the human lands, but Rhys found you not long after you crossed the border. He wanted you to turn around, warning you that Prythian wasn’t safe, but the alternative—going back to town—was not an option; anything would be better than that, even certain death. So you stubbornly refused to, claiming you knew how to take care of yourself. The problem was that one of Amarantha’s minions watched the interaction and wanted you for its own entertainment, so Rhys had to pretend that he had taken a liking to you and wanted you as his pet.

Word got to Amarantha, and she wasn’t particularly happy with her plaything taking a liking to someone else, so she punished him while you watched, unable to do anything. Useless.

After that first time, Amarantha decided it was a fun idea to have his “beloved” pet watch the suffering she had caused. So, every time you did anything she deemed disrespectful (which was basically everything), a torture session would take place. You couldn’t help but think that if you had just stayed where you belonged, Rhys wouldn’t have suffered as much as he did. It was your fault, even when he insisted that it wasn’t.

Shaking your head, you try to get rid of the memories.

You turn your eyes to the stars, the same ones you prayed to every night. Always the same wish without any answer from them and wonder, like you so often do, whether you should still be here.

The inner circle had never treated you as less or excluded you from anything. They were your support when no one else would lend a helping hand, and with the years, they became your family, yet even now, you still feel like an outsider. You weren’t Illyrian like Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. Heck, you weren’t even Fae to begin with. You ended up being in the way most of the time.

You took your jacket off, letting the cold breeze hug your bare arms, where scars of silent battles painted them. A shiver ran down your spine as you stepped closer to the edge of the building.

In the human lands, your family never cared for you, and even when you left, no one mourned your “death”. Here in Velaris, you had people looking out for you, yet you felt like you didn’t quite fit in.

Would they notice? Would they care if you just… disappeared? Fae's lives were so endless that compared to them, humans’ existence must seem… insignificant.

Another step. You had slipped from the party when it all became too much. Your feet were moving on their own accord. Another shiver, another step. They would probably mourn for a while but then move on. You could stop the nightmares and the pain, and they could move on; Rhys wouldn’t have a living reminder of every time he was abused and had to endure the shame. Or when he was beaten, and you had to patch him up with your scarce medical knowledge.

Az and Cass could stop pretending that you didn’t cause their brother more suffering. That your recklessness didn’t make things worse. That they didn’t believe you weren’t brave enough to help him.

You are standing on the border of the building now, eyes fixed on the stars above, “Please,” you whispered. “Please.” You weren’t sure what you were asking for any more. Relieve from the pain, the guilt? Maybe you didn’t need an answer from the stars to fulfill that. You could hear the music all the way up here, a serene tune drowning the rest of the noise. You start walking on the edge, arms stretched wide to give yourself a bit more balance. One step, then another.

Letting go… should you… just one step…

A cold grip settles on your ankle and another on your wrist, pulling you carefully away from the border while a sad smile paints your lips.

You were used to Az’s shadows clinging to you from time to time, so you welcomed the touch but didn’t budge. You knew their master was standing a couple of steps behind you. “You know, you aren’t very sneaky for a spymaster.”

“I was looking for you.” His voice wasn’t more than a whisper. “I was worried since you left so early.”

“I’m fine” was all you said. A lie you had perfected over time.

He led out a humorless laugh. “You don’t seem fine.” You hear his steps, careful but loud, so you know he is getting closer. “Can you please step away, Sunshine?” You tense at the use of your nickname. So familiar by now, yet so unfitting.

“It’s fine, Az. I’m just admiring the night sky.” You can feel him right behind, you know. “It’s a beautiful sight.”

“Y/N… why are you here?” You knew he meant at the rooftop, but your mind couldn’t help going to a darker place.

You take a moment to answer, weighing your options. After a couple of silent minutes, you decide to be honest. “Did you know…” You pause for a second to try to stabilize your breathing. “That I was not only responsible for treating the High Lord's wounds? I was also tasked to inflict them.” You choke at your words, your throat feeling like it's closing, and it’s getting hard to breathe, but you push the words out anyway. “I am responsible for every scar that never fully healed, for every messed-up nightmare he has at night. I can still feel the way his muscles tensed every time I inflicted pain.” The world was spinning before your eyes, and the words were coming out in short breaths. You were gasping for air, struggling to get any inside your lungs, but still, the words wouldn’t stop coming out of your mouth.

“I’m the reason he suffered. If I hadn’t been there that day, or maybe if I had put up with my life at the… maybe he wouldn’t… he saw his… and I couldn’t… anything…” you close your eyes again. “How am I supposed to live here and accept all his help and love whe—”

A strong hand grabs you by your waist, interrupting your words and yanking you away from your doom. “It wasn’t your fault.” Az’s whisper came breathless, and his arms, though firmly hugging you, were shaking.

Tears were running down your face, staining his shirt. A protective wing wrapped around you, offering shelter. Giving you a protection you didn’t deserve. “I need the guilt to stop, Az. I’m a broken reminder of his pain, and selfishly, I can’t take it anymore.” You felt so tiny, so… shattered, fragments of yourself falling to the floor with every tear shed. He was silent for a moment, trying to hold you together while you crumbled.

Then his words reach your ears. “He once told me you remind him of his sister, you know?” One of his hands starts caressing your hair while the other firmly supports you against his body. “That your bad jokes to lighten the dreary mood and your constant presence were some of the things that kept him from giving up. That thanks to you, he was able to survive long enough to find his mate.” A loud sob shakes your entire body, hands fisting his shirt as you grab onto him for dear life. “Do you know why I call you ‘Sunshine’?” Az pauses, so you shake your head in response. “Rhys had been suffering long before you got there, and when he told us how you gave him hope, even when you yourself were silently breaking apart, how you would sing to him and brighten the mood with your warm voice, I knew. I knew you were like the sun he had been deprived of for so long. You saved my brother in the way that mattered the most. You were his light, and ever since you started living with us, you became my light, too.”

You were speechless at his words; raising your head from his chest, you looked into those beautiful hazel eyes and found nothing but tenderness. “You are my light, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to say it, Sunshine.” He places a kiss on your forehead. “I won’t say it will be easy, but I promise to be here with you. We will get through this. I promise, ok?” You nod as his grip tightens. “Just don’t give up, Sunshine.”

[attic-club-sandwich]

How They are Handling your Disappearance Pt. 3

MC Returns

Ahh you guys i'm so glad you are enjoying this little series! I wasn't expecting so many of you to like it! But as requested by many, here is part 3 where MC returns to the present day timeline and reunites with the 7 brothers. This is a bit of a lengthy one because like... we are home! It's a little less angsty, a little more happy this time haha. Anyways, please enjoy! Reblogs and feedback are appreciated as usual!

Read Part 1: Brothers

Read Part 2: Side Characters

Word count: 3,057

Rating: T, slightly suggestive.

Taglist: @amberrskiies @obey-me-posts @sassykattery @delphi-dreamin @bite-sized-devil @flemmingbamse @a-hidden-gem @otomefoxystar @siofrantic @todothedodo @ihatecorns @exrellian @vernith @sus0daddy

Fill out this form if you want to be tagged in my work!

rose divider by @/firefly-graphics

It feels like it has been forever since the day that you went missing, but the brothers never gave up their search. How could they when you were out there somewhere, possibly alone and scared? The thought of their little human wandering around the unknown gave them the motivation they needed to keep going. But after a long day of once again searching the Devildom up and down with no results, the brothers are settling down for the evening.

Lucifer

The Avatar of Pride is in his room getting ready for bed after a long day of searching for you. 

His wings are terribly sore from flying all day, so he lays on his bed sprawled out on his stomach, allowing his feathery wings to stretch out behind him.  

He rests his head in his arms, and sighs.

Yet another day of searching, but no results. 

Suddenly, he begins to feel a familiar tingling sensation of magic in the air that brings goosebumps to his bare arms. 

Before he had time to process what was happening, a flash of light filled his room, practically blinding him. 

After a few seconds, the light dissipates and there you are, standing in its place. 

Lucifer forgets all about his aching wings, and jumps up from the bed. 

At first, he hesitates, terrified that you’ll disappear again at any moment. 

“M-MC…? Is it really you…?”

His crimson eyes are wide as he takes in your appearance. 

You appear the same, but he's confused by the horns that now rest on your head, as well as a few other demonic attributes.

Just where did you disappear to?

Your face scrunches up and your eyes fill with tears. “L-Luci… yes, it’s really me.” 

Suddenly, his arms are around you, a million questions in his throat but unable to speak.

You whimper, taking in his scent. He smells freshly showered, the smell of his soap sending a wave of comfort crashing over you. 

“Luci… I missed you so much…I’m so sorry…”

His shoulders begin to tremble and he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. 

You feel wetness on your skin as he begins to cry. 

Have you ever seen him cry before?

Just how much have they all suffered while I was gone?

Your arms wrap themselves around his neck and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

You stand there in his arms, his wings wrapping themselves around the two of you protectively. 

He will never let you go again. 

After a few moments, he pulls away, staring into your eyes.

“MC, the days I've spent searching for you were endless… but never once did I give up. I’m very glad that I didn’t. Every second was worth my time.”

Suddenly his lips are on yours and you accept his kiss greedily. 

Kissing him was the confirmation you needed that you were home. 

“MC, please forgive me. You can tell me the details later, but right now I just need you. I need to know you are here and…real.” 

He spins you around, guiding you to his bed so the back of your legs hit the edge, causing you to fall back. 

He hovers over top of you, his crimson eyes full of love, adoration, and desire. 

You giggle through your tears, placing a hand on his cheek. “I love you so much, Luci.”

He smiles, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“Words alone cannot express my love for you, little one.”

You give him a peck on the lips again. “We have a lot of time to make up for you know… where should we start?”

Lucifer gives you a mischievous grin. “I have just the thing in mind, darling. Something that has been long overdue.”

Mammon

Mammon returned to his bedroom shortly after arriving home. 

He had to check on his ravens who were also out searching for you while they were gone. 

His wings were sore as shit, and all he wanted to do was shower and go to bed. 

But you are more important. 

Throwing open his window, one of his ravens glides down to greet him. 

“Damn, ya didn’t find anything did ya?”

The raven hangs its head sadly, and Mammon sighs.

“Thanks anyways, I appreciate the help.”

Suddenly the raven begins to flap its wings wildly, cawing at something behind him. 

Mammon spins around, and his golden eyes widen in shock when he sees just who is appearing in the middle of his bedroom. 

It was you, clear as day. 

He’s speechless, unable to find the right words even though he’s been playing them on repeat in his head since the day you left. 

“Mammon!” you shout with tears in your eyes. You begin to run towards him, but he meets you halfway, scooping you up into his arms and spinning you around.

He sets you down again, and hugs you snugly to his chest. 

“MC…I… Shit. I-I missed ya so damn much…” he says with a shaky voice. 

You inhale his scent as he hugs you, which smells of sweat and leather. 

You’re home. He’s your Mammon. Finally…

“Mams, I’m so so sorry… I’ll explain everything I promise…”

He pulls you away from him, his golden blue gaze staring intensely at you.

“Damn right ya will! But for now…I don’t care..I just… I need ya so bad… I mean this can’t be real, right?”

You give him a small smile, taking his hand in yours. 

“I’m real, Mammon. I promise.”

His tanned skin is flushed as he pulls you with him to sit on his bed, hoisting you up onto his lap. 

He can’t hold back anymore as he plants a firm kiss to your lips. 

You accept it eagerly. 

Your tongues intertwine briefly before he pulls away, breathless. 

“I love ya MC, I’m so sorry I couldn’t do a damn thing…” 

You silence him with a kiss to the forehead. 

“It’s not your fault, Mammon. Please don’t cry…”

He notices your own lip quivering, and let’s out an amused snort through his tears.

“Don’t you go cryin’ on me either!”

His long, slender fingers run through your hair and you sigh.

His lips are on yours once more, a low growl rumbling in his chest. 

You can sense his overwhelming desire threatening to take over.

“Mammon’s got ya now, treasure. You’re safe with me. I’m never letting you go again.”

Leviathan

Throughout the search, Levi has been exploring every inch of the Devildom waters. 

From seas to lakes, he still could find no trace of you. 

Levi heads back to his room, a towel around his waist after Lucifer forced him to strip in the hallway so he didn’t track water through the house. 

Once he’s dried off and dressed again, he sinks down in his gaming chair, sighing as his aching limbs are finally able to rest. 

Tears welled up in his eyes, disappointed that he let everyone down again. 

Especially you.

I’m so useless, he thinks. 

A stray tear rolls down his cheek, and he wipes it away with his arm. 

A flash of light appears before him, and it sends a tingling sensation up his body. 

Wait a minute…that’s…!

His eyes are wide and his mouth gapes open as he looks up to see you standing there right in front of him.

“M-MC, I-Is it really y-you?!” Of course he’s a stuttering mess, but he can’t believe it.

He doesn’t know when he stood up, but suddenly you are slamming into him, wrapping your arms around his torso. 

“Yes, Levi. It’s me.” you sob, burying your face into his chest.

Your voice has him melting in your grip. 

He finally fully embraces you, burning his face into your hair. 

Your scent is slightly different,  and he can smell other demons on you. 

This sends a wave of envy over him, but he ignores it. All he cares about is that you’re home.

He, however, smells of the sea. 

“Levi, I'm so sorry… I promise I’ll explain. I just really need you right now. I’ve missed you so much…”

Leviathan only nods, his shoulders trembling from the sobs that are escaping him. 

You stay standing there wrapped in his arms, gently rubbing circles on his back. 

After some time, he calms down. 

His eyes are red and puffy and his face is swollen. Your heart aches for him. 

Suddenly, he grabs your hand, leading you over with him to his bathtub. 

You climb in together, and you sit in his lap. His tail curls around you, holding you in place. 

“M-MC…can I um, k-kiss you?” he asks, his tear stained cheeks becoming flushed. 

You nod eagerly, and he places a soft, gentle kiss to your lips. 

Your lips are the same as ever, soft and sweet. 

Levi is overwhelmed with affection for you. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you…” he mutters, rocking you gently in his lap. 

He peppers your face with kisses and you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“I love you so much too, Levi. I’m so glad to be home…” 

He rests his head on your shoulder, purple strands of his hair tickling your cheek. 

“Please don’t leave me like that again, MC. I-I was so scared…”

The tremor in his voice causes fresh tears to form in the corner of your eyes. 

“Never again, I’m staying right here with you.”

Satan

Satan steps over the pile of books on his floor before flopping down onto his bed. 

His bedroom is in quite the disarray due to his last tantrum. 

He can’t help that he’s just so damn frustrated!

They’ve practically searched the Devildom inside out, and still… nothing. 

He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares out the window, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. 

He almost doesn’t notice the burst of light filling his bedroom. 

The air was practically vibrating with magic when he spun his head around to see the silhouette of a figure in the blinding light. 

He squints, trying his best to make out the form. Once the light dissipates, an unfamiliar feeling washes over him. 

Satan thought he’s finally experienced every emotion in his lifetime of being in the Devildom. 

But what he feels when he sees you standing there in his bedroom is indescribable. 

He gasps, immediately jumping up from his bed and hurrying over to you. 

Your eyes are locked on him, and he thought he noticed you flinch the moment he approached you. 

“MC… are… you okay? Where in the Devildom have you been?”

His voice is soft, but it trembles slightly.

He doesn’t expect answers right away, of course. 

Not when you are standing here in front of him for the first time in what feels like an eternity.  

You nod, trying to wipe away your tears. “Satan… It’s me. I-I’m home.”

The sound of his name leaving your lips after so long pushes him over the edge. 

He pulls you into his arms and he squeezes you tight, finally allowing his tears to fall. 

“M-MC… I'm so glad you’re home safe… I was so worried about you…”

You relax against his chest, finally processing the fact that this wasn’t the past version of himself.

After a few moments, you sniff, pulling away from him to gaze into his eyes. You notice a scar on his cheek, still healing from a recent fight he must have had. 

You gently trace your fingers over it, and he winces. 

“I’m so sorry Satan…the pain that I must have caused you all…” 

He shakes his head, glancing away. 

“I’m just so relieved you are home, MC. I don’t believe that whatever happened was your fault.” 

His fingers run through your hair and he kisses your forehead. 

“Can I…kiss you?” you ask, your cheeks flushing slightly. Normally you wouldn’t ask, but it’s been awhile. 

“Of course, kitten. But just know if you do, I may not be able to hold myself back from you much longer.”

You give him a smirk, and press your lips firmly to his. 

To finally kiss your Satan once more. 

He slips his tongue past your lips, and you groan. 

When you pull away, his emerald eyes are shining with passion. 

“Every book I read told me how to find you, but they never mentioned how to handle your return.” 

He moves you to his bed with him so you are straddling his lap.

“But I don’t believe I need any instruction as to what comes next. I love you, MC. Please allow me to express the longing I’ve felt for you all this time.”

Asmodeus

Asmo had made his way to his room for the evening with the overwhelming urge to climb into his silk bed sheets. 

But first he really wanted a bath. The thought of the warm water soothing his aching joints was very pleasant to him right now. 

He had made his way into the bathroom to start the water, the noise of the faucet drowning out the sound coming from his bedroom. 

Asmo thought he heard something, and he lifted his head to the door that connects from the bathroom to his room. 

He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. 

Was that a flash of light just now? Is it storming?

He furrowed his brow in confusion, and stepped slowly over to peek through the door. 

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. 

There you were, standing right there in his bedroom. 

Your eyes were wide and looking around, still processing where you had appeared. 

Asmo gasps, forgetting about the bath and hurries over to you. 

“M-MC?!” he shrieks, pulling you into the tightest hug he’s sure he’s ever given. 

You begin to cry, tears falling down your cheeks and onto his shoulder.

“Shhh, MC. Don’t cry now, darling…” he coos, but his own tears are escaping him. 

He holds you close as you cry together. 

“Asmodeus…is… it really you? My Asmo?” you whimper. 

He’s confused by what you mean, but he doesn’t question it for now. 

“Of course my little lamb, it’s me. You’re home now…”

You sniff, pulling away from him slightly. “I’m so sorry Asmo, I swear I didn’t mean to leave you guys like that…”

Taking your hands in his, he shakes his head. “No no, hon, don’t blame yourself for this. I know there’s a very good reason, but you can explain later to all of us, okay?” 

You nod, wiping your eyes. 

“I was just about to get a bath. Would you care to join me, MC?”

The thought of taking a bath with Asmo right now feels…unreal. 

You couldn’t believe you were finally home with him. 

Smiling, he leads you into the bathroom. 

First, he steps out of his robe, and your face flushes. 

You’ll never get over how beautiful he is. 

Then it’s your turn.

You shiver as he begins to undress you, his fingers brushing over your skin. 

He smiles softly as he notices the goosebumps that begin to form on your body. 

“I’ve missed this so much. Let me get a good look at you, darling.”

His eyes tear up again as his eyes travel over your body, still in disbelief that you were standing right there with him again after so long.

“I need all the time I can get with you right now before my brothers find out you’re home.”

He takes your hand and helps guide you into the bathtub. 

You sigh as the warm water envelops you and he places you in between his legs with your back to him. 

You feel his arms wrap themselves around you and you blush.“I’ve only been dreaming of this moment with you, MC.” Asmo murmurs, attaching his lips to your shoulder. 

You whine as he continues to kiss up your neck. 

“I love you so much, Asmo…”

He smiles into the crook of your neck as he holds you close. 

“My dear, if anything came out of your disappearance, it’s how much I realized that I love you. Please, allow me to show you…”

Beelzebub and Belphegor

The twins were always together nowadays. 

They were both getting ready for bed in their room after their long day, neither of them wanting to speak about the disappointing results of the search. 

Belphie hugged his pillow to his chest as he climbed into bed beside Beel. 

He was struggling to stay awake, but he had a peculiar feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Of course, being his twin, Beel felt it too. It wasn’t hunger, or anything like that… It was…

“Belphie do you feel…”

Before he could finish, a burst of light filled the room, temporarily blinding them both.

The sensation of magic through the air sent shivers down their spines. 

Once the light dulled, they glanced up through squinted eyes to see… you. 

Wait, is that really…?

Despite the dull ache in their bodies, they both jump up.

“MC!” their violet eyes are wide as they gape at you, still trying to decide if this was real or a cruel hallucination.

But you seem just as surprised as they are. 

Suddenly, you feel yourself being pulled into a strong embrace. 

Belphie is squeezed into the hug next to you, and you both glance up to see Beel with tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“B-Beel… Belphie…I’ve missed you both so much…”

You sob, burying your face into Beel’s chest.

Belphie finally allows his tears to fall. I’m so lame, he thinks.

How dare you make him cry like this?

But he’s so happy. So relieved. 

Beel begins to move you both towards his bed, placing you right between him and his brother. 

You whimper as you feel their arms wrap around you. 

The thought of being able to do this again with them never even crossed your mind. 

You feel Beel nuzzle his face into your hair. 

You smelled…different. But there was no denying your familiar scent and it made his mouth water.

Belphie yawned, burying his face into your shoulder. 

“Beel and I had each other, but MC… you are our missing piece.”

His twin nodded, placing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Belphie is right. It feels right again with you here in between us.”

Your heart was so full. 

You smiled wide as you kissed both of their foreheads. 

“My boys…I love you so much.”

As you laid together, they took turns littering you with kisses and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. 

The feeling of their lips and their hands on your body has your head spinning, and you whisper their names between breathless gasps. 

After sometime, Beel turned towards you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. 

“I’m feeling a bit hungry…but for something different. How about you Belphie?”

Belphie immediately sensed where his twin was going and flashed him a smile back.

“I’m all of a sudden wide awake. What do you say you join us, MC? We want you to ourselves before we have to go back to sharing you.”

[matchaelette]

when jungkook is leaving and none of you know what to do with yourselves

summary: idol!jk and oc!ash (her name is ash, cz I couldn't think of anything else & Y/N makes me physically cringe), established relationship, jungkook is leaving for military enlistment and they are just spending the last moments together, jimin cameo ;)

genre: fluff, bit angsty, idol au

warnings: again, jungkook going through the whole enlistment procedure, suggestive, oc cries a lott but hey, everyone of us is crying

words: 3.5k

note: it had to be done. I needed to write about this. I'm not functioning straight and I wrote this in a mood where I felt very drained and emotionless so it might show up in the writing....? also, this is concerning-ly unedited. anyways enjoy, feedback is always appreciated <3

you've lost count of how many times you've cried this whole month.

ever since you could walk, talk, and form conscious thoughts, you've noticed that every feeling you've had and tried to express comes out as tears. yes, you're angry, oh my god mom, I wanna shake your shoulders and tell you to believe your daughter for once and not somebody else, but you're silent and you're crying; you've been memorizing every single thing for this presentation and you swear by your future first newborn baby that every word is engraved in your brain, just say the words, people don't care what you fucking say you just need to say something, but you're silent, your legs are shaking on the stage and you think you're crying; you love him, you love this human being staring at you from between your legs with all the love in this whole fucking universe, kind and whole and happy and real, jeon jungkook, you love him so fucking say it, but all you can do is caress his face and let the silent tears cascade down yours.

yes, ever since the beginning of time, all your emotions and feelings have been coming out as tears.

sometimes you think that spending all your teen years bottling up everything because of a mean father and an angry mother messed you up for good. all your life you've hated yourself for crying so easily, especially when in front of other people, feeling so weak and broken all the time. but you didn't think much anymore, at least not as much as you used to overthink when you were younger, scared of fellow high-schoolers, scared of what people think about you. after you've met jungkook, your sweet jungkook, he has shown you that crying doesn't necessarily mean you're weak. maybe you were just sensitive and that was alright, because you've always cried when you felt too much, made you more of a genuine human than everyone else. his words, not yours.

but it did feel good to hear and you didn't know what you've done to deserve it.

you also remember that every time you've hated yourself for crying, you always found solace in the fact that maybe someday it would all run out and you'd be perpetually free from all of it, the childish thoughts of a child.

however, even though you laughed at those thoughts every time you remembered them, you were now convinced of how wrong you were to think that maybe the tears would run out someday if you cried too much. because you've been crying continuously this month, more than you've cried your entire life, and by god, not only have the tears not dried out but also, it just keeps coming more and more if possible.

you choke out once again as you bury your face in jungkook's shoulder, clutching the front of his shirt as he tightens his grip around your waist. he looks at you helplessly, not knowing what to do anymore, because no amount of words or actions could stop you from crying. he knows he has tried it all.

you force yourself to get a grip, rubbing your face on jungkook's already wet shirt to dry your wet cheeks, and look up at the blurry distance in front of you, resting your cheeks against the place you've been hiding. jungkook stands there, one arm wrapped around you and one arm around his mother, with a little smile that keeps blooming at the sight in front of him seeing his jimin hyung hug and bid goodbye to his family, despite all the heartbreak in the air.

he tightens his grip around you and leans down to kiss his mother's head, who is in a state identical to you but still more graceful and elegant than you could ever be. "it's gonna be okay, you two", he whispers, causing his mother to gently smile and take your hands as you let out yet another sniff at his words. as sad and worried as she was at her son's departure, she couldn't help but feel worried for you too, her motherly nature reaching out towards you in a way you never felt from your own mother.

"I will be okay", she smiles at you in a teasing manner, despite her glassy eyes, "but the question is, will your girlfriend be okay?"

"h-hey!", your voice shook as an unintentional smile replaced the frown, "stop teasing me, maa", you whine.

"I am not teasing you, dear. honestly, come live with me for a few days. come to busan. I'll take care of you"

"if you keep saying that, I'll really turn into a parasite and stay in your house forever, maa"

jungkook giggles at your conversation, happy that the most important two women in his life got along so well. and you did, ever since the day you've met his mother. she loved you as her own daughter, as did his father, and made you feel so loved and comfortable that even your antisocial ass loved to spend time with them, making you visit them frequently, with and without jungkook by your side.

jungkook's mother lets go of her son and glides into her husband's arm, who looks at jungkook with pride. after all who wouldn't be proud of this talented, lovely, hardworking boy? jungkook was your boyfriend, and your best friend before your relationship upgraded into something more, and a lot of words came to your mind when you thought of him. but the first word has to be proud. proud that he became the man he is now, proud of who he was and every single version of him, how humble and kind and caring he is, always making everyone around him feel loved and respected. proud of how your friendship managed to stay so strong after all this time, proud how he is trying his best to get through these 18 months without any toll in your relationship.

jungkook hasn't shed a single tear yet, holding you through nights when you decided to be a mood killer, couldn't help thinking that soon he wouldn't be able to hold you like this. you were so far rooted in the future of the enlistment process that you forgot to live the present. you were a mess, shaking and sobbing ever so often, frustrated at hybe, frustrated at the whole lot of bts for taking a decision like this, frustrated at the south korean government, frustrated at jungkook for not being frustrated at how hysterical you've been acting.

jungkook, instead, has been a constant pillar of support. he has been constantly kissing your tears away, pushing his fears away of how you guys might not last through this calamity, reassuring you more than him that it will be alright. and as much as you wish he would express his own feelings instead of tending yours, you were glad that the boy didn't cry because it was all that was holding you back from getting onto your knees and begging him not to go. you couldn't do that to him, couldn’t do that to his happiness because you knew he would've obliged to your wishes, somehow, and break his own heart. he would do anything for you. he has been continuously proving that, after all.

"how is ash holding up?", jimin asks jungkook as he takes a sip of his soju, not feeling drunk enough despite the few bottles of alcohol he has drank. the point of the night was to spend time with each other, jungkook, him, and taehyung, getting wasted and having fun like old days. namjoon was supposed to join them as well, but he was overseas on schedule. taehyung, on the other hand, was already passed out on the couch, but it might have to do less with his low alcohol tolerance and more with his tiredness after landing in seoul from france just a few hours ago, after quite a hectic fashion week. so, it was jimin and jungkook now, them and their alcoholic asses against the whole world. after all, no one could hold their liquor like them in the whole group.

"she is, well, I honestly don’t know", jungkook frowned, a drop of soju ran down his lips to his black sweatshirt but he didn’t seem to notice, "she is totally ignoring that I have to leave and acting completely normal."

"sounds like her. isn't running from her problems her best coping mechanism?". you were close with all the members in the group, and the rest of them considered you as their little sister as well (even though taehyung jokingly called you noona sometimes) but if there was one member who knew the best, it had to be park jimin. he was your best friend after jungkook and the time you spent together, whether be it gossiping or shopping, was always something both of you found therapeutic and cherished from the bottom of your hearts.

a silent pain erupts in jungkook's heart as he finally voices out the thought he has been continuously having for the last few days, "hyung, should I break up with her?"

"yah jeon jungkook", jimin smacks the back of the younger boy's head, looking at him with shock, "are you that drunk already?"

"I don’t-", jungkook chokes out the next few words incoherently, and jimin had to physically shift closer to the boy to make sense of his words, "I don’t know what to do. I-I don’t know how to live without her. I want her all to myself and I selfishly want to ask her to wait for me. but how can I do that when she could have a much better life without me?"

"jungkookie-"

"she could fall in love with someone better than me. fuck, saying it out loud infuriates me but I know that she could be happier, way happier than I can ever make her. you see what I am doing? I am leaving the girl I love to protect my career, to make sure nobody has anything else left to guilt trap us with. I am doing all of this for myself. how selfish does that make me?"

"you keep forgetting that you don't have a choice, jungkookie."

"then why does it all feel like my fault?"

"what are we going to do?"

the words escape your lips without meaning to. they hang like a whisper in the air as your bodies slowly recover from the high they have been through, limbs tangled and eyes closed, forehead resting against each other.

"are we gonna be alright?"

yes, jungkook wants to say, yes because if you decide to stay, I will make it all work, I will make it all okay, I promise. but how can I ask you to stay when it will only hurt you?

"do you want to… maybe… break up?", his vacant voice makes your eyes fly open in bewilderment, not being able to believe that he actually said the words that he said. all this time both of you have been ignoring the pink elephant in the room, only almost two months left before jungkook left for the military enlistment along with namjoon, jimin, and taehyung. you’ve been trying to enjoy what little time both of you had despite your busy schedules, especially jungkook, who has been working tirelessly to make his fans feel a little less lonely when he won't be present anymore. something to hold on to while I am gone, I hope you can stay within this magic shop we've build together, memories of me would console you like the gentlest breeze of a fall evening, I will yet again patch something I haven’t broken.

but one of you had to be strong enough to address it, this overwhelming dread and the constant need to be with each other, ignoring sleep and every other basic need because you knew your time was coming to an end. you needed to address it and needed to be assured that both of you can get through this, your love was way stronger than these 18 months.

but that's the first thing he wants to say?

the way he looks at you breaks your heart. he has a small smile on his face and you can tell that it is genuine, that he is taking one last moment to cherish all of you if you decided to say yes. but there is almost an unbearing sadness behind his eyes, pained and tortured, begging you to say no.

your voice is almost comical when you actually find it, "jeon jungkook, do you want me to fucking kill you?"

and his immediate reaction is almost laughable. you could see his shoulders drop with relief. he buries his face in your neck and drops all of his weight on top of you, holding you in a way that immediately blocks out all the bad things and forces you to focus on him and him only.

you laugh, "you're quite heavy, babyboy"

"deal with it", comes out his muffled reply, as he forces you down on the soft mattress with his bare body, almost an attempt to bury you, and you choke out yet another laugh at his antics, tightening your legs around his waist and running your hands through his fluffy hair. I refuse to believe that it will all be gone soon.

"you haven't said anything. anything at all", he says quietly.

its sad that you know what he is talking about.

"I didn’t know what to say", you reply softly, careful that your voice doesn't shake. he doesn't need to see how you break every time you remember that he is going to leave, which you've been remembering an awful lot these days. no, you need to be strong, for him and for you. after all, you have already survived months away from each other, during tours and comebacks, thanks to both of your careers.

"we have survived before. it's not something new for us. we can do it again", you whisper against his jaw, gulping down the tears threatening to break free. only this time, it's 18 fucking months, and the unspoken words hang into the air.

"you didn't even shed a single tear", jungkook lifts his face and looks at you accusingly, knowing very well that you're a crybaby, "it keeps feeling like you don’t care."

your eyes widen at his words and it feels like a punch to your gut but you can’t say you're surprised. you have been acting indifferent to put up a strong front, and now that you look back, you may have overdone it from time to time. you were never a good actor.

you never understood why it always felt like this, every time you hide your problems from someone to not bother them, and always feel like a shipwreck when they actually fail to notice.

"jungkook, love", you trace his cheeks with your fingertips, his cute chubby cheeks, his lips, moving to his eyelids the moment he closes his eyes under your touch. you drag your fingertips through his scalp, waterfalls of his hair cascading down when you reach his nape, softly pulling his face closer to kiss the tip of his nose. jungkook, my love, how do I tell you that you mean the world to me and that I am not worried that our relationship isn't as strong enough to fight the course of time but I am sad and I am selfish and I don't know how to survive without feeling your presence for even a single day? how do I tell you that you never have to worry about me leaving but worry about me staying forever and suffocating you? I love you and I don't know what to do with myself, I love you and I don't know who I am without that love. what can I say to make it all better?

"babe, are you crying?"

no, you're not crying. you're sobbing.

"wait wait, I didn't actually ask you to cry—", you can see the panic in his eyes as he pulls both of your bodies up into a sitting position just using one of his hands while the other wipes your cheek off, you on his lap, your thighs straddling his waist, bare torsos flushed against each other. you feel him pulling you into a hug as if your bodies could get any closer than they already are. but instead of being comforted, you sob even louder.

"ash, sweetheart, please don't cry", jungkook wanted to punch himself, regretting the words he spoke earlier. what the hell was he thinking, saying that you didn't cry? he wanted to go back and kick his own ass at the stupidity. why the hell would he want you to cry of all things?

you on the other hand could do nothing except bury your face in your boyfriend's neck, and feel the entirety of him, his body, his scent, his hold on you, his voice so clear in your head, nothing but him until the time runs out. you have been so strong till now, haven't you?

"but you're leaving", he could see now, how much of an idiot he had been thinking that you didn’t care enough just because all you were doing was trying to be tough and get through without this exact moment happening. he could hear the desperation in your choked sobs, he could feel the sadness at his own dam threatening to break. he almost felt angry that after all this time, he was still stupid enough to not see through you.

"and I will be back sweetheart, you know I will be. and then there would be nothing standing between us anymore. nothing. for the rest of our lives", he promises as he lifts your tear-soaked face to look at his own. he looked pained, trying his best to be strong when you were falling apart right in his arms, but you could still see the hope behind his eyes because his promise was real and you knew it.

but once the waterworks begin, it just cannot stop.

there is nothing left to say now. it is time, you realize. the chilly breeze washes over you, and you realize that nothing can make you feel as cold as you will when jungkook gets in that car with jimin. your eyes find each other, mouths desperately looking for words to say, promises, comfort, but what can you say that hasn't already been said?

"I love you", you whisper.

"stay out of trouble, okay?", jungkook kisses your forehead and even with the unstoppable tears leaking out from your eyes, you can't help but shoot him a mischievous glance. you, the god of getting into trouble, staying out of trouble?

jungkook sighs, knowing you a bit too well. after spending years together, he knew well enough that you could never be forced to do something you didn't want to do. you were like a storm, passing through in a way that was your own, wrecking everything in the process. while he loved your bravery and carefree nature, he realized it comes with its consequences. for him, it was constantly worrying about you and never wrongfully so. so, he returns to his last resort to make sure that you will be okay, "do it for me."

"okay that is pure emotional blackma—"

you cannot finish your words because his lips are on yours in a second, abruptly plunging you down a rabbit hole because, god, after all this time you're still not used to it. he smells like fresh laundry and mint, moving carefully because he isn't sure that you will allow him to kiss you like this in front of half the people from his company, his parents, and god knows who else is in the base. but who are you push him away?

you drop all courtesy and kiss him back in a manner that is sure yet gentle, tongue brushing softly against his lips. jungkook obliges and parts his lips, breathe mingling and tongue dancing in harmony as you kiss him with all your might, letting all of him overwhelm all of you one last time.

you let go of each other, breathless yet eyes glued. you trace his face, from his eyes to his cheeks and nose, his shaved head, still as soft as silk under your touch. he kisses your fingers when they reach his lips, smiling gently to remind you that yes, he will be gone, and that will hurt as hell but then again, he will be back.

"go, jimin's waiting", you force out a smile, "and please, for the love of god, choose something normal to do, something that doesn't involve jumping out of an aircraft or—"

"I love you."

".....I know."

[marvelmusing]

Dark Depths

Part Two

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader (mermaid au)

Summary: After growing somewhat accustomed to your new life under the sea with Aleksander, the time to hunt the stag for your coat arrives, meaning you must make your return to land.

Warnings [18+]: smut, oral (fem receiving), mermaid to human transformation, mentions of injury and blood, Aleksander keeps the reader in the dark about a lot of things, unestablished dom/sub dynamic, some angsty vibes

My Masterlist • Part One

It doesn’t take long for Aleksander to find you, sitting in your usual spot on a rocky crag not far from the shore. The tail Aleksander had given you is a dull gold colour, the kind that changes depending on the lighting. Under the sea it shimmers like a treasure chest stuffed to the brim, but as you sit perched above the waterline your scales look muddy in the cold daylight.

Ever since you were a small child you’ve longed for the sea, and now your heart belongs to Aleksander, to the open ocean and all its wondrous creatures. But being born on land means that a fracture of your soul lingers there, a dull ache in your chest that refuses to be rid of so easily by Aleksander’s magic.

He settles beside you smoothly, wrapping his arms around your waist to console you. He kisses the salt streams on your cheeks, brushing his nose against your face affectionately.

“I know it hurts,” he murmurs.

A sob catches in your chest and you shake your head. There is no way he can know how deep your pain runs. Desperate for something to alleviate the discomfort, you begin to itch over your collarbones.

Aleksander curls his fingers around your wrist, halting your self-destructive actions. Unused to having such sharp nails, you hadn’t realised the scratches you had been leaving over your skin. He places his hand over your chest, smoothing soothingly over the irritated skin there.

“When I was born, Grisha lived on land,” he admits quietly.

Tears glistening in your eyes, you turn to face him.

“Like me?”

He nods slowly.

“My mother was an incredibly powerful witch with impossibly high standards for her children. In the time I spent with her, she abandoned five children.” He pauses, staring out towards the shore with a sombre expression. “I remember each of them.”

There’s a despondent glimmer in his dark eyes and you reach for his hand. He glances back at you, offering a brief smile that fades all too quickly.

“When I didn’t live up to her expectations, she cast me aside as well.”

“How old were you?”

He swallows hard.

“Thirteen.”

“Aleksander,” you whisper softly, squeezing his hand.

“I went searching for my sister after that.”

“Your sister?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of the sea witch that lives further north.” You nod. “Ulla took me in for a little while. She helped me with my tail.”

Considering this new information, you begin to fidget with the crystal on your necklace.

“The other Grisha call you a witch.”

He laughs softly.

“They do.”

“Why?”

“Grisha use their power through song. Their voices manipulate their specific sphere of power - whether that be fire or metal or blood. Those who don’t rely wholly on their song are considered witches.”

Aleksander has used his magic around you on several occasions. A simple flick of his fingers can summon tendrils of shadows - something he seems to do unknowingly when he’s lost in thought. Alina had sung to you when the two of you were children, making the sunlight dance with her enchanting melody.

“I’ve never heard you sing.”

Aleksander is quiet for a moment, his gaze lowered to the rock beneath you.

“Most Grisha sing in pairs with someone whose power complements their own. Harmony is important to us.”

“Complements?”

He nods slowly, leaving you guessing at what he means. Light would complement darkness; but you’ve only ever known one sun summoner - Alina. But surely he could have taken her for himself when she had made a deal with him for human legs. Instead, he had used her power to give you a tail with seemingly no benefits for himself.

The expression on your face must appear pained due to your confusion, as Aleksander kisses your forehead, tucking your head against his chest.

“It will get easier, once you have your coat. I promise.”

At the mention of your coat, you perk up a little.

“When will we start looking for the stag?”

“Soon.”

“But when is soon?”

He breathes out a small laugh at your enthusiasm.

“When the first flakes of snow fall over the land.” You nod. Aleksander’s touch is delicate as he strokes your cheek, keeping your attention on him instead of the shoreline. “How are you feeling today?” he asks softly.

A small crease appears between your brows.

“Better. My tail doesn’t hurt anymore. But…” Heat blossoms over your cheeks as you trace your fingers over your abdomen. “There’s a strange ache here.”

He hums absently.

“Swimming in your ocean form will require your muscles to stretch in an unfamiliar manner. You will grow accustomed to it.”

Unconvinced by his explanation, you bite down on your lower lip, dragging it between your teeth. There are plenty of other places on your body that feel sensitive as of late.

“Are there muscles here as well?” you ask shyly, gesturing to your chest.

Aleksander’s gaze sharpens, examining you intently.

“May I take a look?”

Nervously, you glance around at the open sea and the nearby shoreline, searching for anyone who could see you in such an exposing position.

“Here?”

“No one can see us.”

Hesitantly, you reach for the coarse piece of string holding the fabric together over your chest. Aleksander had fashioned it for you, though he had also explained that most merfolk only wear jewellery and their coats. Aleksander himself always wears a belt, with his pouch and knife attached to his hip and a small scrap of cloth covering a portion of his pelvis.

The fabric covering your top half is still damp from your time in the sea and it clings to your body. Aleksander removes it slowly, revealing your bare body to him. Instantly, your nipples harden from the cold, salty air. As always, his hands are warm and you shudder when he cups your tender breasts.

He gives you a gentle squeeze, drawing a weak sound from the back of your throat. He then begins to roll your nipples between the pads of his fingertips, alleviating some of the pressure beneath your skin. A soft moan escapes your lips and your eyes flutter closed momentarily.

Aleksander glances down, a smirk tugging at his lips. When you follow his gaze, you find your lap glossy with a thick wetness, though you struggle to find where it has come from.

“There is nothing you need to worry about,” he assures you. “Merfolk reach maturity at around your current human age; your body is simply preparing for your mate.”

There’s a haze clouding over your mind, his words wading through fog and your thoughts scramble for comprehension. Slowly, you blink at him, staring at the lean muscle of his stomach and tail, the thick hair over his jawline, his pink nipples, and strong hands. He’s so beautiful, it makes you ache.

“How do merfolk mate?” you manage to ask him.

He smiles widely, cradling your face between his hands and for a moment you think he’s going to drag you back down to his cave and show you. Instead, he kisses your forehead gently.

“Not yet, darling. I’ll show you, in time.”

»»---------------------►

When the snow begins to fall on land, Aleksander instructs you to wait in the shallows for him. Nervously, you bob your head above the waterline, eyes scouring over the shore for any sight of him. Being parted from him makes you uneasy. It isn’t long before you see a strong black horse galloping over the sand with Aleksander sat astride.

He looks like a king. The thick black fur of his coat is piled up over his shoulders, the adjoined cloak billowing behind him in the wind. He’s attained human clothes: polished black riding boots, dark trousers, and a fine woollen jacket. The image of him makes your stomach flip and you swim closer to the shore, eager to join him.

Aleksander dismounts smoothly, striding towards the water as you flail with your tail, struggling to change into your human form as quickly as you’ve seen him do it. He wades into the shallows, scattering sea spray as he scoops you up easily and carries you out onto the sand. He kisses your temple as he lowers you to the ground.

“I’m going to take your necklace,” he tells you.

Instantly, your hand closes protectively around the gem hanging between your breasts, clutching it tightly.

“Why?”

“The power in the crystal is what gave you your tail. While wearing it, you won’t be able to change back into your human form.”

Aleksander had given you this necklace when you were still human. The power inside had belonged to your childhood friend Alina, traded to Aleksander so that she could become human. It feels wrong to give it up, even temporarily. He notices your hesitation, curling his fingers gently around your wrist.

“I’ll take good care of it. I promise.”

When you nod, he unclasps the back of the chain, removing it from around your neck. He places it on himself, the shimmering yellow gem nestling perfectly at the hollow of his throat. Aleksander watches you intently and you frown, eyes wide with confusion as you search his expression for any clue on what is supposed to happen.

Then it happens.

It feels as if someone has sliced through your tail, carving a sharp blade deep into the muscle and bone that are now shifting back into legs that you can’t bear to look at. The sight of them, thighs and calves and toes, so sickeningly human, makes you cry against Aleksander. You don’t want them. You want your tail back. Hot tears spill down your cheeks, the salty droplets a poor imitation of the sea that is now your home. It hurts.

Aleksander’s voice is a near whisper, but it somehow manages to cut through your anguish.

“Let’s clean you up a little.”

The wounds have closed, but the blood remains sticky on your legs. As Aleksander moves you over to the water, the sand grates against your sensitive skin. Everything is too much all at once. The muscles in your legs twitch painfully, protesting against their existence. A weak sob shakes your body as Aleksander scoops up a handful of water, pouring it carefully over your legs to clear away the blood.

“Just focus on one thing at a time,” he suggests in a low murmur. “The water’s cold, isn’t it?” A small hum of agreement catches in the back of your throat, as you bury your face further into his chest. “How does the sand feel?”

“Itchy,” you mumble petulantly.

He breathes out a soft laugh.

“And how do I feel?”

“Warm. Safe.”

He kisses the crown of your head.

“I’ll always keep you safe, my little starfish.”

That draws a weak laugh from you.

“Starfish?”

He hums in agreement, offering you a small smile.

“A delicate little thing, but very hard to break.”

Emotion sticks in your throat at the sincerity of his words.

Walking is awful. Each step feels like a knife is piercing through the sole of your foot. Every breath is accompanied by a sob. Aleksander keeps his arm around your waist, holding you tightly beside him as your teeth chatter. When your tears turn pitiful, he hooks his arm beneath your knees, opting to carry you to his horse.

“It will get better,” he assures you, pressing a faint kiss to your hairline before he lifts you up into the saddle.

»»---------------------►

Aleksander wakes before you, slipping out of the small bedroom he had rented at a local tavern. He returns with a tray full of breakfast, rousing you from your slumber as he removes his boots.

He slips his arm around your waist, draping his body over yours as he pulls your back against his chest. His palms are warm and firm as they run over your bare body. He leaves a trail of slow, lingering kisses along the length of your neck before murmuring against your ear,

“The men downstairs are whispering. They think the mysterious traveller has caught himself a mermaid.”

“They aren’t wrong,” you mumble into your pillow.

Aleksander smiles against your skin.

“But you weren’t a mermaid when I caught you, were you?”

Unable to fight your smile, you squeeze your pillow, nestling yourself further under the sheets.

“No.”

His smile widens. There’s a pause as the two of you soak up this moment, soft sunlight filtering its way through the thin curtains as you stretch lightly, reaching for your pillow and tucking it against your chest. Aleksander presses a tender kiss to the space between your shoulder blades.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

His question brings your attention back to your body, the aches and pains and the terrible sense of loss that hums inside you.

“Like someone’s hollowed out my heart.”

He kisses your temple softly, sliding his hand beneath you to place his hand over your chest.

“Your heart is right here. Even I can’t take that from you.”

Aleksander gives your body one final affectionate squeeze, before he sits up.

“I think you could,” you whisper.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he reaches for the tray of food, breaking up a crust of bread to feed to you in small portions. The action makes your stomach flip, reminding you of your first few days under the sea, when Aleksander had fed you by hand because you were too weak to do it yourself.

Settling yourself back against the rickety headboard, you bunch up the covers, drawing them up to your chest to shield yourself from the morning chill. Aleksander holds a piece of bread up to your lips, ignoring the heat burning over your face.

“I can feed myself,” you protest quietly. The words come out softer than you intended, weakened mostly by the indulgent smile quirking at the corner of his lips.

“It’s my duty to provide for you.” He pinches your chin lightly between his fingers, a darkness glimmering in his eyes. “Humour me.”

When you take the bread into your mouth, his smile widens and your body is molten hot, your breathing deep and heavy as he looks at you, gaze unwavering. He feeds you the entire slice, piece by piece, praising you the entire time.

Once you’ve finished, he brushes his knuckles over your cheek, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone.

“You seem warm, milaya.”

He tugs the covers back, revealing your naked body to him. Instantly, you clasp your legs together tightly and he chuckles.

“Shall we check that the change was successful?” he asks, mischief dancing in his eyes as he curls his fingers around one ankle. With the attention of the room being brought onto your legs, embarrassment crawls over your skin.

“Don’t,” you say quickly, before adding in a small whimper, “Please.”

Aleksander stares up at you, his dark eyes flickering over every inch of your expression and you feel frightfully vulnerable, as if he can see every thought rushing through your mind. He pushes at your ankle slowly, bending your limb so that your foot is placed flat on the bed.

“I know you don’t think much of your human form,” he says in a low voice. “But tail or legs, you are beautiful.” He presses the barest hint of a kiss to your calf and you shudder. “Can I show you?”

He continues his kisses, mapping a path slowly upwards from your ankle. Breathlessly, you squirm beneath him.

“It isn’t mating season yet,” you state.

He grins.

“No it isn’t. But that doesn’t mean I can’t kiss every inch of your body, does it?”

His lips are warm and firm as he kisses over your calves, parting your legs with ease. His fingers rub soothing circles over your tense muscles, doing everything he can to alleviate the aches and pains that linger after your transformation. Emotion catches in your throat, tears gathering in your eyes as his mouth reaches your knees.

“Aleksander,” you cry. “Please.”

The rough scrape of his beard is delightful against the soft skin of your thighs and you whine as he spreads your legs even further apart. His teeth drag lightly over the flesh of your inner thigh in a playful bite and you tip your head backwards against the headboard.

He hums quietly. His nose brushes against your mound and you whimper. He tilts his head, clicking his tongue at the sight of the mess between your thighs. A jolt of pleasure jitters down your spine. Arching your back away from the mattress, you throw one hand back to gasp at the headboard. The other hand sinks into Aleksander’s dark locks, fisting the hair tightly as you cling to him.

He glances up at you, his lips parted, and you feel as though you might come undone just by looking at him, imagining his lips against your cunt. His gaze is deliberate as it moves down your body, so weighty you can almost feel it over your skin like a caress. When his eyes lock onto your cunt, you squirm lightly, heat burning across your cheeks in an inferno.

“May I kiss you here?” he asks in a whisper.

You nod fervently and he grins darkly.

“Come now, little starfish. I would like a proper answer.”

“Yes, please. Please kiss me there.”

His lips are so gentle, the barest hint of a kiss as his mouth brushes against the soaked folds of your cunt. A breathy whimper escapes you as the tip of his tongue parts your folds, revealing your weeping cunt to him fully.

Neither one of you want to break this moment, barely able to raise your voices to anything above a low whisper.

“Aleksander,” you say, voice cracking.

“Both hands on the headboard,” he orders in a murmur.

Just the action of obeying him, settling both of your hands on the headboard above you, bearing your body to him in total submission, has you teetering on the edge of what you think might be your climax. It’s been so long since you’ve touched yourself - even longer since someone else has touched you - the idea of an orgasm feels elusive. Yet something violently pleasurable is creeping its way closer.

The motion of his tongue is addictive, a dizzying circle that traces around your sensitive clit. The little bud is swollen and throbbing, every pulse makes you more and more desperate for him.

A tear slips down your cheek as you say his name. His tongue strokes leisurely against your cunt, lapping up the arousal that has gathered from teasing your clit. The moan that rumbles in the back of his throat makes you quiver. It’s mortifying, being so affected by the sound of him.

“I’m close,” you admit.

A weak sob of pleasure and shame threatens to choke you at the thought of being so wanton. Aleksander places his palm over your stomach, a warm and comforting pressure that soaks into your skin even as he pins you down. His tongue licks over your cunt for several beats before he lifts his head from between your thighs. Arousal glosses over his lips and you clench around nothing, breathless at the sight.

“Relax, darling.” He slips his hands beneath you, kneading your ass cheeks purposefully. A sharp groan is dragged out of you as he grasps at the tender flesh. “You’ve been holding all of this inside you for far too long. Now it’s time to let go.”

There’s a roaring in your ears, drowning out every sensation that isn’t the clenching of your cunt as Aleksander suckles greedily on your sensitive clit, his bottom lip grazing against your quivering entrance. The rush of your release smears over his mouth and chin, making a thorough mess of him. Pleasure has stars sparkling over your vision, your limbs tingling with a heady bliss.

Time slips away from you, passing by unnoticed with each heavy breath you take. The world is small, narrowed down to the satisfied weight of your limbs against the mattress. It takes you quite some time to realise you’ve been staring up at the ceiling.

Shakily, you turn onto your side, wide eyes searching frantically for Aleksander. Once you find him beside you, dark eyes warm and safe, the tension in your chest snaps and you burst into tears. Instantly, he pulls you onto him, allowing you to cry against his bare chest.

“It’s alright, darling,” he assures you in a low voice. The sound vibrates in his chest, buzzing against your ear. “I’m so proud of you; you did so well.” He strokes his fingers along your spine, drawing shapes on his way down. “You’ve been such a good girl for me. My brave little starfish.”

He kisses your forehead, nuzzling his nose affectionately against your hairline as his words warm in your chest.

“You should find walking a lot easier now.”

You blink at him, a tear slipping down your cheek as you start to realise something that makes your heart twist.

“Is that why we did this… to make it easier for me to walk?”

He takes a hold of your chin firmly, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“We did this because you are mine, and I refuse to condone you feeling bad about any part of yourself.”

Unable to stop yourself, you climb up his body, straddling his waist as you press your lips against his. He responds instantly, cupping your face with both hands to deepen the kiss. As you grip onto his hair, Aleksander leans forwards to meet you, lowering his hands to squeeze at your calves.

This time, there’s no sense of unease as he touches your legs and you smile into the kiss as his hands wander up your thighs to grasp at your waist, pulling you flush against him. Aleksander smiles as well, tracing his touches up your body.

“We should be heading on our way.” A pout puckers at your lips and he chuckles. “The sooner we find the stag, the sooner we can go home.”

Home with Aleksander. That makes you smile.

»»---------------------►

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[leggerefiore]

Dunno if you’d be interested in writing smth like this since it could get really angsty but how would Cyrus, Colress, Volo, or Avery react to accidentally injuring their s/o during a Pokemon battle?

blonds and scientists...

cw: injuries, blood, hurt, comfort,

characters: Cyrus, Colress, Volo, Avery

What was supposed to be a fun sparring match with your boyfriend had turned into something unfortunate. A slip up during battle – Daring to move just a bit closer to the action due to intense focus. It led to an attack by his pokemon landing on you instead of your own pokemon. You fell to the ground while clutching the part of your body that had taken the brunt of the attack. Instantly, the room erupted into chaos, your pokemon rushed over to your side alongside your boyfriend. The man himself seemed to move at an impossible speed, forcing the pokemon away to assess you himself.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ The Night Slash from his Weavile stung horribly as you clutched your arm and doubled over in pain. The poor pokemon looked mortified by what it had done, staring at you with large, red eyes. Your own pokemon desperately tried to help you, too, making a sad cry and nuzzling into your side. The worst of the three had to be Cyrus, who gazed in a nearly frozen state at your bleeding arm. You could already tell that he was blaming himself for what happened to you. His self-deprecation was harsh and unforgiving. You wished for him to say something, but nothing would leave him. It was silent. Weavile even dared come closer to you and started to purr into your side, trying desperately to apologise. You held no admonition toward the pokemon, nor did you its master.

☄️ Cyrus felt completely taken aback by the situation. Certainly, he was aware that pokemon could be dangerous. Injury to humans were not uncommon – There was a reason most people wore repels when they had no pokemon or carried at least one on their person for protection. He was familiar with the fact that even pokemon that were close to humans could cause injury. A certain scar on his body tingled – A past electrical current that had ripped through him and rendered him unconscious, haunting his memory. His Weavile had not intended to do such a thing. He swallowed. Responsibility… He felt a desperate urge to take full responsibility for this. Seeing you in pain… the heart in his chest could not be more despised. These horrible feelings… He should be thinking about how to tend to your injury, not standing stunned into a silent stare.

☄️ “I… I apologise,” the words left him as he finally knelt down, pulling out a handkerchief and applying pressure onto the slash. He observed his Weavile's attempts to placate you with a distant curiosity. The pokemon clearly was upset with itself. He frowned deeper. It was not its fault… “This is my fault–” Before he could begin his repentance, you silenced him. Bringing your hand to genuinely cover his mouth, you shook your head. Instead, all you asked if that he helped to treat the wound. Cyrus nodded. There was no need for any more words to be spoken – no need for further guilt. Insubstantial and fleeting, those feelings faded. He wanted to say that, but his heart felt heavy every time his eyes found your bandaged arm. Only after it healed did he finally forgive himself.

🥼Colress🛸

🧪 You clutched your arm as you tried to observe the damage from the Wild Charge of his Klinklang. You felt desperately lucky that it had not been a Gear Grind or that you might have been down a limb. Instead, a nasty burn followed your vein from where the electricity had run through your body. Thankfully, you knew to raise your left arm up so that the electricity did not run there. Klinklang hovered near you as silently as it could, mechanical eye blinking at you, the poor thing looked truly terrified. Well, as much as living gears could, you supposed. Your own pokemon was at your side, letting out sad cries and trying its best to comfort you. Colress knelt in front of you before you realized, tentatively taking your own into his gloved hands and observing your injured flesh. The pain was a strange kind of indescribable. You struggled to comprehend what Colress was feeling.

🧪 A scientist at heart, he had been paying special attention to this battle. It was between him and his partner – How would the bond between his pokemon and his partner play out? What of the ones he held with their pokemon? It was also fascinating to him. Perhaps he had been too focused on that, as this incident seemed avoidable. You should not have gotten so close to the battlefield, but he should not have failed to discern the risks. He would note this for future battles against you. But, his main concern became exceedingly obvious. An electric attack to a human could quickly prove fatal. Thankfully, you understood the path of least resistance and had acted accordingly to prevent lethal damage to your heart. Colress felt mortified at the thought. Losing you was unthinkable… Especially at the hands of his Klinklang. His partner pokemon...

🧪 “… A terrible error,” he mumbled as he drew his finger down the burn and narrowed his eyes. Getting you to a doctor was a high priority. You were stable as it was, but he worried his medical knowledge would not prove well enough here. He was aware that his heightened emotional state made him more likely to make errors. As much as bonds could provide strength, he would acknowledge the weakness they could also provide. “Can you stand? Do you feel stable?” he fell into a questioning mode to determine further his next course of actions. Your answers were carefully noted as he helped you along. In the end, he was unsatisfied with his performance and felt a focus on safety was required. Unleashing potential still mattered the most, but when it came at your detriment… Colress found himself unable to accept such results. He would rerun his simulations and tests. Your safety would be guaranteed.

📜Volo💫

⭐️ Your arm bled as you attempted to compress the large slash that had unfortunately been laid into your arm. Volo's battling style was particularly ruthless, and that meant even a usually gentle pokemon as Togekiss could do some severe damage under his tutelage. The poor fairy-type was pressed into your side and made sad coos. Your own pokemon was in a similar condition. It was honestly more painful seeing the pokemon so upset than from the actual injury that it had inflicted onto your arm. The harsh winds it had cut into you with haunted your mind. Volo stood over you silently with an unreadable expression. The attack certainly not been intended for you, but unfortunately, the desire to get closer to the action had cost you something this time. Togekiss had looked mortified the moment it had realised where its attack was going.

⭐️ There was nothing but a shaking sense of terror in Volo's heart. Perhaps a fleeting moment of the past, he would have desired nothing more than to see you as you were. Beneath him and weakened. Now, he felt sickened. The blood coming from your wound, and the obvious distress of his partner pokemon. Battling was dangerous. Pokemon were dangerous. Hisui was dangerous. His breath hitched. An injury like that could prove fatal. Why…? Why had you gotten so close to the battle? Were you an idiot? How had you survived for so long?! Frustration ate his heart horribly. Maddening… Everything had become maddening as of late. You were being foolish. He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you, but that would change nothing.

⭐️ His hands grasped your arm as he pulled out cloth from his bag. He began to wrap it around the wound carefully. Injuries were a frequent thing in the wilds, so he was always prepared – even applying a salve meant to help it heal faster. It was silent as he did this. Words were beyond the situation. He caught your hand after he had finished his work. Lips pressed to your knuckles. He closed his eyes. “… You're an idiot,” he mumbled quietly, “… You, of all people, should know how pokemon are.” His grey eyes stared into your own. You were silenced by his harsh words. There was nothing to say. His Togekiss let out another pitiful cry. You brought a hand to pet its head. Volo stood up and turned away from you. He would be harder on you about battle etiquette – even if he did not really care for such a thing.

🎩Avery🥄

🔮 You felt dizzy after being hit by the Eerie Spell from Avery's Slowking. Sitting on the ground, you clutched your head as you attempted to overcome the effects of the psychic attack on your mind. Thankfully, it was nothing physical, so there was no concern for blood or concerning damage, but you were uncertain as to just how long the effect of the move would be on a human. Slowking was at your side, attempting to make a potion to aid clearing up your condition. It was endlessly distressed by what it had done to its trainer's partner. Your own pokemon sat trying to help support you. Avery stood above you with shrunken pupils and a grimace on his face.

🔮 He felt mortified that this had happened. If this had been an official match, he shuddered at the penalty that might be given to him. You had definitely been too close to the battlefield – Especially for those that held the potential for Dynamaxing, but his Slowking had completely missed your pomemon and unleashed a powerful attack on you. He knew the pokemon had no real intention of doing that, but it still happened. You were clearly dazed by the harsh psychic attack. If only he were more competent with telepathy, he might have been able to negate the effects. He felt frustrated by the situation. It only got worse when his Slowking tried to offer you a potion it had created. The chances of something good coming for it were not exactly something he wanted to risk.

🔮 Avery instead sat beside you and let you rest yourself against him. His arm was around your shoulders. He tried putting all his focus on anything related to telepathy – Desperately, he wanted to see some kind of effect. Nothing came, but you slowly came back to your senses from the odd effect of the trance. Blinking a few times, you met Avery's gaze. He let out a received sigh. Then, you started laughing. His heart raced. Was this another effect?! Panic rushed into his mind. “Wh-what!?” he managed to ask, quite inelegantly. Through your laughter, you managed to get out, Slowking and behind him. You pointed. He turned around. His top hat had apparently flown off in his panic to get over to you, and now his Slowking donned it. He was silent as he stared at the sight. You were okay, it seemed.

[mastercucco]

Hateno Boy - Part 1 - Link x Reader

The Calamity is gone, but so is Link’s purpose. He feels completely lost in post-Calamity Hyrule where everyone but him seem to have found their new place.

It certainly doesn’t help his restless nights that you, a young Hylian whom Zelda has hired as the new teacher at Hateno School, are slowly taking up more and more of his headspace with each conversation you two have.

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild / Tears of the Kingdom Pairing: Link x fem!Reader Raiting: Mature (might go up, might go down, let's see) Contains: feel-good, slow burn romance; platonic Link/Zelda; Link being an angsty retired hero Chapter Index | Read on Ao3 A/N: Very excited to write something possibly disgustingly cute. The story takes place after the events in BotW but before the beginning of TotK. All characters are adults! I hope you enjoy the story! xx

Chapter 1 - Purpose

Contains: Link being an angsty retired hero; Zelda being embarrassed by Link's inability to talk to girls (or other human beings in general) Word count: ~1,3k A/N: Please look past any weird sentences, English isn't my first language :p

A breath of warm air blows from the sea, gentle on skin and smelling of sea salt. The wind hurries over the hills of Necluda, tall grass bowing before it like waves on an emerald green ocean. Once it reaches Link sitting on top of the hills, it gently tugs on his hair and pushes his hood down.

He has been sitting there for quite some time now – so long that the tips of his ears are starting to redden from the wind, as gentle as it is. The sun that was high up when he arrived at the hills, is now hanging low over the horizon. It is soon time for him to go; Zelda asked him in the morning to stop by the school before sundown.

He is alone, as he is on most days nowadays. There isn’t much for him to do: Zelda is busy rebuilding Hateno, the recently finished village school her new pride and joy. And when she isn’t mingling with the villagers, she’s kept busy with her research at the Tech Lab. She doesn’t require an escort anymore, not after Purah hired a young researcher to assist them decipher ancient Zonai texts anyway. The man rarely leaves Zelda’s side when the two of them are together – which is often. Very often.

Link was jealous at first. After all, he is the Princess’ appointed knight, and he is the one who wields the Master Sword, and he is the one who saved Zelda’s life – not some overly excited, self-proclaimed explorer with a stupidly tall frame and an apparent distaste for wearing upper garments that hide his muscles.

Eventually, his jealousy morphed into loneliness – something he did a terrible job of hiding from Zelda. She asked him if he wanted to return to Hyrule Castle to help the Royal Guard in training new soldiers. Link said no, that he likes it here in Hateno.

“I wouldn’t mind if you go,” Zelda said, gently placing her hand on top of his, “I can see how lost you are here.”

Somehow, Zelda seeing straight through his lies and offering him kindness hurt more than her asking Link to leave in the first place. After that, Link couldn’t help but feel even more uncertain and disconnected. Everyone had seemingly moved on, everyone but him. While he still remains close with Zelda, honoring his duty, accompanying her whenever she travels outside of Hateno, even living with her, he knows deep down that she doesn’t need him anymore. The Calamity is gone, and so is his purpose.

The sun hangs low when Link arrives at Hateno School. The sky is flaring in shades of red, reminding Link of a cozy fire under a cooking pot – somewhere he would much prefer to be. The school’s front doors are open, but the playground is silent and the windows are dark, all except one. It has been a while since Link last visited the school. The children adore him, which is exactly why he prefers to stay away. Their looks of admiration and curious questions make him uneasy. Ever since moving to Hateno, all he has wanted is to lay low, going as far as to hide his head-turning Champion’s tunic in the bottom of his drawer. He wanted to throw the tunic away, but Zelda wouldn’t let him.

He can already hear Zelda’s excited chattering when he reaches the open doors and quietly steps inside. Zelda is having an eager conversation with a young Hylian woman – you – whom Link doesn’t remember seeing before. He does remember Zelda telling him about a new teacher she hired a few months back, and he figures it must be you.

You notice Link arriving before Zelda does and give him a polite smile in greeting. Only when he lightly taps on Zelda’s shoulder does she stop talking and turn around.

“Oh, Link,” she smiles. “You have impeccable timing. We were just talking about you!”

Link furrows his brow. Great, just great, he thinks, already feeling the tips of his ears growing warmer.

“Only good things,” you assure with an awkward laugh. “The Princess told me you made the apple pie she brought the other day.”

Link hopes that the dim light of the oil lamps is enough to hide his red ears. He clears his throat, though not even intending to say anything.

“I don’t think you two have met before, have you?” Zelda says, giving Link an encouraging nudge.

Even after all the years spent in royal banquets practicing formal pleasantries with Hyrule’s nobility, Link still feels awkward having to introduce himself. Nonetheless, he extends his hand for a greeting. When you offer him yours, he brings it to his lips and gives your knuckles a polite kiss. Your skin feels soft and pleasant, he thinks, now horribly self-aware of just how sweaty his own palm is.

When he looks back at you, even he can pick up the awkward tension in your smile and words as you introduce yourself. He feels his whole face heat up, not really understanding what he did wrong but knowing he must have, because even Zelda has the same tension in her smile as you do.

“He is very accustomed to his formal greetings from his days at the Castle,” Zelda says with a forced smile and gives Link a look. Only then does he realize that a hand kiss, though adequate in greeting a noble woman, is not something you, a village school teacher, was expecting from a Royal Knight. He would apologize, but his mouth is dry and no words come out.

“And, well, you probably already know of Link,” Zelda breaks the uncomfortable silence after it becomes clear Link isn’t going to introduce himself.

“The Hero of Hyrule,” you say, knowingly. “We have actually met before.”

We have? Link thinks, the heat of embarrassment getting unbearable. All he wants to do is run home and hide under his bed covers for the rest of eternity. This is why he rarely leaves their home or willingly socializes with the villagers. He would cringe if he wasn’t too embarrassed to move his face muscles.

“You have?” asks Zelda out loud, her disapproving eyes boring into Link’s.

“It was years ago,” you are quick to add. “He took refuge in our family home once. I wouldn’t blame him for not remembering.”

Zelda doesn’t appear quite as understanding when she shoots another scolding look at Link, the pink in her own cheeks deepening as well. “Please,” she says as she turns back to you, “accept my apology. Link can be awfully forgetful sometimes.” She gives him a final glare that, at last, makes him drop his head. He’s not sure if dying of embarrassment is a real occurrence, but if it is, then he must be very close to leaving Hyrule for good.

“It’s quite alright, Your Highness,” you say with a slightly uneasy laugh that fails to fully mask your discomfort. “I don’t mind it, really. Like I said, it was years ago.”

There is an uncomfortable silence between the three of you. Then Zelda claps her hands, and the tension breaks like a taut rubber band. Link sighs, relieved.

“Well,” Zelda says, “now that we are done with introductions, perhaps we can show Link the curriculum we’ve been working on? I’m sure he can give us his opinion on the section about monster parts and their usage in elixirs.”

When you turn to look for something from your writing table’s drawers, Link grabs Zelda’s sleeve and gives her a pleading look. Zelda narrows her eyes and shakes her head.

“Do not even think of fleeing” she hisses in his ear before she hurries over to you to help you with a pile of scrolls close to toppling over. Link lets out a silent grunt and looks longingly at the open doors. The sun has gone down, the sky now the same shade as embers cooling down under a cooking pot – somewhere he would much prefer to be.

Chapter 2 - Heromania »

[obae-me]

Don’t mind me it’s really late at night and I’m in a bit of a yearning mood… This ended up being more angsty then I intended that’s my bad-

Do you think Lucifer dreams of loving MC? That nearly every night he dreams of holding them in his arms to unwind after a harsh day of work, of soft kisses by candlelight, of inviting them to the music room so they can listen to one of his beloved records and dance together, of sharing hushed moments of a type of vulnerability he can’t remember the last time he felt?

Do you think he wakes up from his dreams too soon to a cold half empty bed and remembers that he’s here all on his own with the human he loves far away and blissfully unaware of his predicament? He gets a harsh reality check when he remembers that despite all his dreams and fantasies he’s still alone simply because he’s too scared to say his true feelings? How ironic, the embodiment of confidence and pride, scared to talk about insignificant emotions. Are they even insignificant though? They certainly don’t feel like it to Lucifer, how trivial…

I want my men YEARNING and CONFLICTED-

(Sorry I answered this late, life has been super hectic and I've been taking a social media break but I'm semi back now! We're battling that burnout!) I LOVE yearning! SO MUCH! Especially when it involves Lucifer because it feels so much more complex and impactful (but I'm probably just biased). So, I hope you don't mind me using this ask as an excuse to do a writing warmup since I haven't done anything creative for a while.

Warning for angst and some hurt/no comfort (I'm sorry!)

A tiny seed, thriving and new, ready to be cultivated. Its creation a mystery. Filled with life, hope, and the promise of a forbidden fruit. And what did he do? Crushed it. Destroyed it as soon as the hint of it reared its ugly head.

At first, he wasn't quite sure what it was. So, foolishly, he allowed it to stay, to plant itself in the recesses of his chest where it could rest safe for a while. Just until he figured out what this anomaly meant. Where did it come from? Why? What was it that kept him up at night and stole his focus from his work?

It wasn't till he and the human had found themselves in a quiet moment alone. All he had done was head to their room to inform them of... He can't even remember the details. Can't even recall if there had been an original purpose in the first place. Lucifer had caught them getting ready for the night, sitting in their bed with a pillow held against their chest as they slouched forward, scrolling through their D.D.D.. Immediately, he found himself giving them a mini-lecture on how being glued to a device right before bed would keep them from sleeping properly. It was their duty to-- the usual gist. In the midst of the lecture, his words caught in his own throat as he noticed them hugging the pillow sleepily- albeit a little annoyed with him- staring at his face with their head tilted off to the side.

The seedling was beginning to sprout.

All the pieces clicked into place, a deafening rattle in his head. The lecture ended unfinished, the details he had wished to share with them ignored. He simply bid them a good night before leaving their room. When he returned to his own space, he examined the sprout that had grown. Gentle, just a weak little thing. Plucked. Ripped from the roots, he pressed the heel of his boot against it and wasn't satisfied till it turned to dust.

Feelings? Affection? And for a human? Unacceptable. It had been a mistake to keep it so close to his heart when he had been unaware of its origins.

And he went about his days like normal, feeling colder than he had in weeks.

It was a sigh of relief really. Keeping a plant like that around would only serve him trouble. It required care and attention he did not have the time to give. It was best for everyone involved to nip it in the bud before it had the chance to bloom. After a few days of settling back into normalcy, he found the courage to approach the human again without the pesky irrationalities attached.

A pain. Stabbing. A random tug in his chest and a grip on his throat. The very sight of them now caused him this new affliction. The plant had propagated, wormed an offshoot in the shadows of his marrow and spread throughout his body like a vile invasive weed. It was choking him. It felt like it was killing him.

He tore. He razed. He dug at it with his very fingertips as the thorns his scorn and bitterness had cultured shredded the skin of his hands.

It would not go away so easily.

Madness began to plague his mind. The more he desperately tried to free himself, the deeper the thing embedded. He couldn't stand at the human's side without imagining the warmth of their hand against his. Couldn't walk past the kitchen without checking if they were in their bedroom. Couldn't listen to his favorite records without imagining slowly rocking back and forth with them, their heads resting against each other. Several nights now, he'd awoken from a dream about them. Typically starting out as nightmares, either swamped with work, inprisioned in isolation, or burnt by betrayal. But before his mind could spiral into darkness in those drowsy tragedies, they would come. Lucifer would always hold them in their arms, his face buried in their hair or their clothes, kissing their cheeks, their hands, their shoulders. It was peace. Bliss.

Until he would wake up.

The loneliness was more torturous than he ever imagined it would be. If this was love, he didn't want it. But he did. Sins alive, he did. He wanted to scream till his lungs burst. He wanted the demon in him to run rampant and rebuild everything in his own perfect image. He begged this plant to sprout the poisoned apple so he could bring it to his lips and drown in its tempting flavor.

And the thought of that terrified him.

But what was he to do? Tell them? No...surely not. He'd already seen some of the ways they looked at him. This plant was already vindictive, tangling around his raw vulnerabilities. If he were to be rejected...he doubted it would die. More than likely, it would fester, ruining him completely.

Lucifer, Pride, the Morningstar, see what he'd been reduced to now. Fearful over telling a human his own thoughts. Losing control over something as simple as a basic juvenile feeling.

Ignoring it was hurting him. Feeding it was anguishing him. No matter what he did, it all resulted in the same endless suffering.

And every day he would wake up, nod curtly towards them at breakfast, and go through the same personal hell all over again.

[itsclydebitches]

Though I adore the dynamic myself, it struck me as odd a few months back that fans were taking a "Monster loved for the first time" approach to Astarion. Part of the allure of a vampire (for me anyway) is the act of transformation; the horror and tragedy of having lost who you were before—including all those everyday, human experiences. There were debates about precisely how old Astarion was when he died and at the same time fans were screaming over him having his first hug, his first real romance, this is the first time someone has helped him without ulterior motives, etc. and I'm going, "How is that possible?" This is an elf who lived a life before being turned, even if it was short compared to what his race would normally experience. Astarion had a family. He had a job! Yet the fandom (and to an extent the game as well) treats Astarion as more of a Phantom-esque character: deemed monstrous from birth and blindsided by the simplest acts of love because he was denied them from the get-go.

Of course, it's easy enough to read everything through the lens of slavery and torture. Sure, Astarion had all this at one point but it's been so long and his life as a vampire has been so unimaginably torturous that it's eclipsed those earlier experiences. I get that... but time as the answer still didn't fully convince me.

Not until I started romancing him and hit this line:

"I... I don't know. I can't remember."

This is in response to asking Astarion what color his eyes were before they turned red. Can we just sit with that for a moment? He doesn't remember the color of his eyes. This line was a game changer for me because I can't even CONCEPTUALIZE that. Mirrors appear to be pretty common in Faerûn—it's not like this is a setting devoid of all modern inventions and Astarion, as a member of the upper class, absolutely would have had access to various ornate mirrors like the one he starts this scene with—so what does it take to make you completely forget such an ingrained bit of knowledge about yourself? 200 years as a dehumanized slave, obviously. Still, my mind continues to trip over the idea. I have blue eyes. That's a fact I've known since I had any real sense of self. If my eyes were to suddenly change tomorrow I can't imagine forgetting that they were originally blue. Even if I'd put it from my mind for an extended period of time I'd expect the very pointed question, "What color were they before?" would fire some old synapses and drag the information back. Obviously none of us have any idea what 200 years would do to a human brain (or, you know, an elf's) but it still feels firmly in the real of impossibility that I could ever completely forget something like that.

Yet Astarion has and this line more than anything else has sold me on his Baby Monster Loved For The First Time characterization, both in-game and in the fandom. He acts like he's never been hugged before? Of course he does! The guy can't remember his eye color and you think he's going to recall any probably-treated-as-casual-and-thus-didn't-solidify-as-significant-memories hugs while alive? When was the last time you were hugged? I'm not sure. I know I HAVE hugged recently but was the last one with family over Thanksgiving? Did I give my friend a brief side-hug before we parted? I'm lucky in that hugs are such a normalized part of my life that I don't give them much thought... which means that if you were to suddenly enslave me and keep me isolated for 200 years, yeah, I'd probably forget what they feel like too. Or that I ever had any at all.

(Self-hatred is going to play hell with memory too. Once you feel like you don't deserve something and it's continually denied to you it's easier to convince yourself you never had it to begin with.)

So yeah, Astarion acts like someone who was always the monster because he has, on a literal canonical level, forgotten what it was like to be anything else. Which just sets his relationship with Tav into such angsty, terrifying focus. Here's someone who has lost his previous identity. He (rightfully) despises the identity Cazador forced on him. Even if he didn't, Astarion is now miles away, the tattered remains of his self threatened by ceremorphosis. He stares into a mirror knowing he'll never see anything, but doing it anyway because he needs to figure out who he is—and that's precisely where most of us would start. What do I look like? What do others see when they see me? Is that the person I want to be?

Then Tav offers to be his mirror, just like they offered to sketch out the poem on his back. How exquisitely horrible for Astarion. He's being given precisely what he wants but he's in NO position to take it. All his sense of self placed in the hands of another? Asking, "Who am I?" and hearing, "I'll tell you. I'll be the keeper of that knowledge"? That's a far more intimate, potentially destructive power than anything else Astarion is looking to get his hands on AND he's trying to manipulate YOU at this point in the story! It just makes me crazy because Astarion is desperate to figure out who he is, but circumstances have ensured that, at this point in time, he needs to put his trust in someone else to begin answering that question... and the one thing he does know about himself is that he's a manipulative, mistrustful rogue who's only out to keep himself safe. Allowing someone else to take the reins with his identity (again) is probably the least safe thing he could possibly think of.

It's this messy tragic loop that yes, Astarion is working to break by the end of the game (depending on your choices) but in Act 1? Goddamn. No wonder he's trying desperately to maintain control of this relationship. No wonder—despite his best efforts—he's still undone by the simplest acts of kindness.

[midnight-bay-if]

also an angsty-ish ask if i may (crushing stage)

ROs' reactions/thoughts to overhearing Mc and friend talking, said friend is teasing Mc about them and RO, and Mc blurts out "There's nothing between us!", then, after a brief pause, in the saddest tone they ever heard from Mc, "Besides, RO deserves someone far better than I could ever be..."

S: They think it's ludicrous. How can it be possible you don't recognise how exceptionally wonderful you are? If anyone in this situationship is falling short, it's them. They fall short in a million different ways, but they've put the best foot forward because you're the kind of person who inspires.

Well, they can't let this misconception continue. They would much rather lay the cards out straight and lose than have never taken the risk.

They reveal themselves carefully, leaning against the door frame with a charming smile. "Forgive the intrusion, but I couldn't quite help but overhear..." Still smiling, they close the distance until they are close enough to grasp your hand in theirs, holding it up delicately to their lips as they press a chaste kiss to the palm of your hand. "It would seem I haven't been clear enough in my affections if there is still room to doubt whether there is anything going on between us. I will endeavour to correct this grievous error immediately. Dinner tonight?"

Rain: That last sentence hits Rain like a punch to the gut. It seems incomprehensible to them that you could ever believe you were anything less than perfect to them. But it comes down to this. You do feel that way, and that means Rain hasn't done enough to express everything about you they find so endearing.

This cannot continue.

Rain begins with a plan. Everything they have learned about you thus far is brought into action as they co-ordinate the perfect date. Do you have a favourite flower? Great, have a bouquet of them. Do you have a favourite meal? S will help Rain cook it. Or if you have a favourite spot, great, expect a romantic walk to it. Enjoy poetry? Well, Rain is awful at writing it, but they would give it a go for you.

They'll figure out a million ways to show you their feelings if that's what it takes.

Taj: Taj's ear twitches when they overhear that final sentence. They feel the underbelly of frustration beginning to bubble under the surface. How is it fair you get to decide on your own who is good enough for who? And what made you decide that?

Wait... is this their fault? Could their sharp edges have been catching after all? You never showed it on your face. Sometimes, Taj would even dig deeper with their cutting tongue simply to see you flinch. But you never did. Had you been bleeding this entire time?

Taj inhales sharply, digging their nails deep into their palms in a clenched fist. If they were braver, they would storm right into that room and tear up those self-flagellating thoughts of yours. But they aren't. They never have been.

N: It feels strange to N, to hear the words they have already long suspected to be true. Not the part about 'nothing going on between us' since they know that much is rubbish, but the latter part... Well, the lack of belief in oneself can manifest in all kinds of ways but sits so readily in a person's body language.

It is true N is a demon prince of Hael. Before their power was so egregiously ripped from them, they were a prized jewel often paraded amongst important individuals like a prized buck for breeding. Everyone wanted a piece, and they languished in the attention.

Yet, powerless and bruised, you coveted their attention still. The lack of power did not matter to you. Back home, N would be ridiculed for seeking affection from a mere human. But, inexplicably, they do seek it. It is them who are underserving of you.

Better they remember why they came here in the first place.

Umbra: They cannot abide this. They flinched when you said nothing was going on between the two of you. For a moment, Umbra was sure someone had slipped the sharp edge of a blade right between their ribs. It hurt.

Then, you continued, and the blade twisted. It doesn't compute. Theirs are hands that have wrought destruction and death, but it is you who thinks they are not enough? This has to be their failure. If they were more human, more alive, then they would know exactly how to assuage your concerns, to prove their devotion to you.

It isn't enough to be by your side anymore. They would rather fall at your feet begging for mercy as you dig your heel in than have you believe that you aren't enough.

(Phew, hope this is okay! Sorry, it took a minute.)

[rems-writing]

But I like them

Pairing: actor!Seonghwa x manager!reader

Summary: Seonghwa is tired of being happy. But not like that of course. He's just tired of constantly playing a character who's always happy all the time. Luckily, his manager understands that more than anything

Warning(s): none

Genre: angsty beginning, fluffy middle with a bit more angst, and a fluffy ending

Off camera is a different story.

Nets: @blossomnet @mirohs-aurora-society

They say famous actor Park Seonghwa doesn't match the happy roles he's given. But that's just it. They were roles. On camera, most of the characters he plays were happy-go-lucky and he likes to get along with people.

Once a scene ends, his smile diminishes and he has this stone-cold facade that scares everyone. From the camera crew to the staff. Some even grew afraid of him to the point where they beg him not to fire them after one minor slip-up.

Spoiler alert: they don't get fired since he's actually very kind.

He doesn't know how to show it properly.

He's been criticized by all kinds of media, claiming that he won't get anymore roles or that his fame will die down if he keeps on being mean to his staff.

Some even spread rumors that he scared off his managers.

That wasn't true! They were simply incompetent and always pressured him into smiling, saying that he'll get more views or new fans if he smiled. If he didn't smile, they would yell at him and claim that he will die alone since he scares everyone that cares for him away. He's gotten used to it and even told them that they could walk out the door if they didn't like it. Most of the time, they did.

Then you came along.

Unlike most managers, you didn't necessarily treat him like a client. Rather, you treated him like a friend. You always say good morning, ask how he is doing, and even asks if he slept well. His answers were short since he wasn't used to this treatment but you didn't mind. After all, you wanted to show him that you were different.

Today wasn't anything unusual. You greeted him, asked about his wellbeing, before getting into the schedule for the day.

"A new role opened up for you -"

"I don't want it. If I have to play another happy guy, I refuse."

"Come on now, you big womp! This is different."

"That's what they all say, Y/N."

"Ok look. If it's another happy role, I will discard the invitation and tell the director to fuck off. Sound good?"

One thing that Seonghwa liked about you is that you weren't adamant about your persuasion and you were willing to compromise. If he didn't like it, you wouldn't push it any further. Another thing that Seonghwa liked about you was that you weren't so formal when it was the two of you. You treated him like a human being, not a celebrity they put on a pedestal.

Sighing quietly, he took the invitation in between his slender fingers and opened it. His eyes widened as he read up on the information provided for this new role. You even saw his eyes shine bright with determination and confidence as he read it over and over. He slammed down the paper with excitement and he looked over at you.

"Tell the director that we should meet up immediately! I accept."

"Told you it was different."

Your heart fluttered as you saw the biggest smile on his face appear. You achieved the impossible.

All you did was provide him a role opportunity that didn't have him acting happy.

So then why would his acting agency fire you as soon as you told them that Seonghwa accepted the role?

As soon as you were out, a new manager came in. And Seonghwa didn't like it. He grew accustomed to you and he wanted to bring you flowers as a thank-you gift for helping him land this role. Imagine his surprise when he found a random woman standing there, claiming herself as his new manager.

The smile on his face disappeared once more.

The flowers dropped from his hand and his fist clenched. The woman eagerly grabbed his hand and giggled.

"It's ok, Seonghwa! Turn that frown upside down!"

"That's Mr. Park to you."

The woman's smile dropped as he pulled his hand away from her and watched with fierce eyes as she stepped away and bowed her head upon hearing his anger. The board directors of his agency rolled their eyes and spoke up.

"Come on, Seonghwa. We're just trying to help out. This role is too depressing and it won't look good for your image."

"MY IMAGE OR YOURS?!"

Everyone flinched. This was the first time he yelled at them. His rage was coursing through his veins and he was breathing heavily. He continued to speak.

"FOR YEARS, I'VE BEEN WANTING TO BROADEN MY ACTING EXPERIENCE! YOU PROMISED ME OVER AND OVER AGAIN THAT YOU WOULD PROVIDE ME ROLES THAT DIDN'T FIT THE HAPPY-GO-LUCKY CRITERIA! I AM SICK AND TIRED OF THESE ROLES! WHAT GOOD IS ACTING IF I DON'T EXPLORE OTHER CHARACTER TYPES?!"

"Seonghwa, please calm down -"

"THAT'S MR. PARK TO YOU! AND I WILL NOT CALM DOWN!"

"Your fans won't like this new role - "

"Contrary to what you may think, my fans have actually been begging me to explore different character types! They say they're tired of my smiley roles!"

"Mr. Park, if you can just cooperate - "

"IF YOU DON'T BRING BACK Y/N AND LET ME ACCEPT THIS ROLE, I WILL QUIT THIS AGENCY AND WATCH IT BURN TO THE GROUND!"

That silenced the agency right away. Seonghwa sighed shakily and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"If I don't see them back here tomorrow, I will quit. Not just this agency but acting altogether. Don't come crying to me if you end up being boycotted."

The sneer on his face and the anger in his voice frightened them to no end and they all nodded. Seonghwa straightened out his suit jacket and picked up the flowers.

"Now then. If you'll excuse me, I will bring these to their apartment and apologize on behalf of your stupidity for letting them go. Don't stop me."

They watched in fear as he walked out of the office and stomped his way over to where you lived.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A satisfied look appeared on Seonghwa's face as he walked into the office and saw you sitting there with two cups of coffee. One for him and one for you.

"Morning, Hwa! How are you?"

"I'm doing a whole lot better now that you have arrived."

"I heard you scared these guys shitless yesterday."

"And what about it?"

"That's not your best behavior, Mr. Park."

"Will you punish me for being a naughty boy?"

"Yeah. I ain't taking you to get Korean barbecue after this ends."

The pout on Seonghwa's face made the agency directors realize just how comfortable Seonghwa was with you.

"But but but but but - "

"No ifs, ands, or buts. You gotta apologize for scaring them."

Seonghwa sighed dramatically and turned to the board directors before spewing out an apology. Was it lame? Yeah. Did you complain? Nah. After turning to you for approval, you nodded slowly.

"Ok that works. Now come on. The director of that action show is here. Now that this mess is over, you can finally get some pointers on how to portray a villainous CEO properly."

"We are getting Korean barbecue afterwards. Right? Please please please pretty please~"

The shininess in his doe eyes almost made you fold. You sighed and nodded.

"Fine. But you're paying."

After clapping giddily and smiling brightly at the thought of food, the two of you exited the office.

[cuubism]

A little headcannon that has been stewing in my head for a while and has absolutely no proof from the cannon

Death has wings right? What if Dream used to have wings too but when his kingdom got invaded for the first time(that story he tells in the Overture) the invaders cut his wings off. That's the part of the reason why he crafted his helm and why's he so dependent on it. They took his wings so he took their skull and a spine, an eye for an eye kind of situation. Also, that's when Dream first started employing a raven. He still has scars on his shoulder blades that follow him to any form he takes. He's ashamed of them, sees them as a sign of weakness, a reminder of his failure and his flaws and goes to great lengths to cover them up. That's about it, but I'd love to hear what you think of it^-^

(Plus: Hob gently running his hands over the scars, showing Dream his own ones and reassuring him that there's nothing broken, or wrong with him)

NO BUT THIS IS SO ANGSTY I LOVE IT. i love suffering

i feel like a permanent injury like that would have to be done to dream's core essence, such as it is, rather than his 'physical form' - i don't know if dream's physical form in the waking world or other realms can even be hurt like that. it would have to be like, something that deeply wounds the dreaming, or the concept of dreaming, or just like the deepest core of dream as an 'entity' rather than it being a physical wound. (this is leading me on a mental tangent about injuries to large groups of dreamers also injuring dream, like, extinction events and such, but that's for another time).

you managed to rope me into it, congrats XD

content warning for blood, gore, violence, Things Done That Can't Be Undone, etc.

--

There is not much, in his long life and memory, that Dream is able to forget. Thoughts do not drift into irrelevancy, into the past, the way they do for humans. He is able to hold much, all at once, in the cavern of his mind, eons of all that has happened hovering close enough to touch. It is a heavy weight more often than it is an aid.

But he forgets, sometimes, with Hob.

With Hob, the rare points of their contact stand out as singularly bright stars in the nebula of Dream's existence. All else within him fades. When Hob takes his hand Dream feels clear as a desert sky, when Hob kisses him for the first time, Dream is floating free in a great salt lake, hanging weightless.

He forgets.

It's only after, bodies pressed together with pleasing heat and sweat-tackiness, Hob tracing patterns over his back, that Dream begins to remember again.

"Dream..." Hob's fingers stutter over his shoulder blades. His voice catches with the hesitance he has often displayed with Dream since their reunion. I think you're here for friendship. Dream feels the echoes.

He kisses Hob's throat, tastes the salt tang of his skin, hides his face away there. The weight of embodiment returning. "Ask your question," he says. "I swear not to part from you now."

"Is this from...?" Hob's fingertips dance up the raised arcs of scar tissue over his back. Pain sparkles in the wake of his touch like the sharpness of a hand-drawn tattoo in the permanence of its inking. As humans imagine it. Dream is not truly physical and could not bear such a mark. Except for this.

"No," he tells Hob. Blame for many of Dream's recent ordeals can be laid at Roderick Burgess's feet, but not this one. "Much older than that."

"Oh." Hob keeps tracing the scar over Dream's right shoulder blade. The touch aches deep in Dream's being where those wounds originate, but he does not tell Hob to stop. Even like this, Hob's hands bring him back, and back, and keep him here.

Hob is waiting, leaving an opening for him to elaborate. Dream is not yet sure whether he wishes to.

"It is not a pretty story," he says.

Hob strokes through his hair. Dream keeps his head tucked under his chin and so feels each word as it's spoken. "Neither of us is a pretty story, darling. Tell it if you want to."

Dream has not spoken of this in many years. There are those in the Dreaming who have served him for millennia whom he has not told. He has taken lovers, had them see the scars during their lovemaking, and still not relayed the story.

"When I was young," he begins, "and still coming into my power, the Dreaming was invaded. My borders were not as strong, then. My realm, less populated. Ancient beings, older than I was at the time, hungered for my realm. Sought its power for their own."

"Older than dreams?" Hob asks.

"In their universe, there were no dreams," Dream tells him. "Perhaps it is what drew them to me."

"Alright. Wow." Hob sounds thoughtful. He rubs Dream's back, between his shoulder blades where it doesn't hurt. "Go on, love."

"I fought them. But the collective unconscious of this universe was young and undeveloped, as was I; I had not mastered all elements of my domain. I fought, but inelegantly, and struggled to counter dreamless beings when all my power was in the unconscious. They were wholly anchored in the present; I, in the space between seconds; we were poorly suited as combatants."

"What did you do?" Hob asks, quiet. He can sense, Dream thinks, the direction this is going, that Dream would not be so hesitant to tell the story of scars born of victory.

"I did not know," Dream admits, equally quiet, still shamed by it, his own failure, and its branching repercussions, "what to do. And the Eldest God, he who had first rent open the walls of my realm, pounced on my uncertainty, captured me, held me--"

The memory, never forgotten, always just within reach should he turn towards it, rises again -- the silk-smooth black sand on the shores of the Dreaming, crushed into his cheek; the warm waters lapping at his mouth, nose, eyes, drowning him; the impossible weight on his spine of the impossible dreamless creature holding him down, arms wrenched behind his back, the feral animal growl that had escaped him, the equally animal panic beating under his ribcage, the fragile spun dreamstuff of him held in the sharptoothed maw of cold reality, his wings--

"Dream?"

Dream comes back to himself. Comes back to Hob. The overwarm flannel sheets. The soft press of Hob's body. He's tapping something on Hob's arm, and hadn't realized he was doing it. It's the rhythm of an old song from before the time of men, the electrical beats passed along root chains from tree to tree to tree, all the way across the great forests that now exist only in scarce patches on the earth.

Dream shifts ever closer to Hob's body, slips a knee between Hob's thighs to tangle them, bare skin to bare skin, limb to limb, root to root.

"I had wings, then," he says.

--his wings, flapping frantically in the face of the thing that pinned him, feathers catching and tearing on jagged armor, held to the ground the way a creature of flight was never meant to be--

"Oh," breathes Hob. He touches the long scar over Dream's shoulder blade again and pauses there. The pain catches the story to Dream again like a hook and holds it there as he continues bleeding it dry.

"The Eldest God dug his claws into me and tore the wings from my body." Dream's voice doesn't shake but he does not manage more than a whisper. "I am not a physical creature, Hob, understand this, I cannot be so easily harmed, it was not a physical form that was damaged, rather, the Old Gods came from stone and earth and it was stone they harnessed as their claws, ancient stone to carve into my being and tear out my wings from the essence of me, root and stem, flesh and bone, air and feather and starlight."

All of this comes out in a continuous rush, and Hob kisses the side of his head, says, "Breathe."

He can still feel, if he but thinks back, the tearing of the claws. A cold so bright it felt like burning. His face ground into the sand to muffle his scream, the howling whiteout of pain overtaking all other noise, the crack of his shoulder joint as it was broken. Star stuff spilling out over the sand - Dream hadn't even known he could bleed until then. Hands that should never have touched in the first place releasing him. Collapsing, disarmed, to the ground. Every limb on fire, the ones that were left.

"Dream."

He lost himself, and found himself again some time later curled in the shallows of the Dreaming sea, seeking shelter from the cold in the warm waters. Face half submerged, breathing as much salt water as air. Blood still spooling around him like leftover paint whirling in a water glass.

"Dream."

Even in those warm waters, he was shivering. Dream doesn't think he's ever been quite warm since; that cold latched itself in him somewhere and never left.

Hob's voice, now, against his ear. He's curled himself around Dream while Dream wasn't paying attention, Dream's back to the warm protection of Hob's chest. "You don't have to finish if you don't want to."

Dream will not leave a story unfinished, not even one such as this. "When I had regained my strength enough to fight back," he continues, "I was... not in control. I knew only survival. If the Old Gods had wished me to understand their world, they succeeded. I abandoned my powers and fought with my hands and my claws and my teeth, and I tore the Eldest God's skull and spine from his body. Both of us would be maimed, I thought; if he would have my dreams then I would have for my own the backbone upon which he held his earth. I listened to him scream. I watched each rib pry up from his chest and snap, my hands slick with his blood, his with mine, and felt nothing but the raw satiation of a wolf setting upon meat. I have told you, Hob." He takes his first breath in a while and feels it rattle, hollow, around his ribcage. "It is not a pretty story."

"No." Hob's hand finds Dream's against his middle, tangles their fingers, holds him. His breath is shaky in Dream's hair, words more so. "No, darling, it's not. I'm sorry."

They rewrote the story of the Dreaming, Dream recalls saying to Destiny, after. Before he had come to know, truly, what Destiny was. Kneeling in his garden, blood still draping his raw back like a shroud, Dream had sought meaning, answers, reason. Foolish, in retrospect, to even consider asking for succor.

Destiny had said that the Dreaming had seeped too far into the Waking world. That what had happened was a necessary rebalancing.

Had Dream not been forbidden from physical violence against his siblings, he would have bitten off one of Destiny's hands with his own sharp teeth and asked if he felt more balanced then.

"Now you know what vicious creature you lie with, Hob Gadling," Dream says. The words are heavy in his throat, but he can't find it in himself to slip from Hob's hold. Now you know the jagged turn at the beginning of my story.

He wonders, sometimes, what the Dreaming might have been like had it continued on the other branch of Destiny's forking path. What he might have been like. There is so much space between a winged creature and a once-winged creature. The entire sky.

"I know." Hob bites at the back of Dream's neck, light but sharp, then kisses that same spot. The nip of pain is unexpectedly soothing. Hob too knows what it is to bite and claw and writhe and maul. “I know. I’ve known your darkness, honey. Don’t you worry.”

“They fled me,” Dream tells him. “The Old Gods. After. I did not understand why at the time.” He had stood, bloodied, shaking, over their Eldest one, bones grasped in his hands, and watched them disappear. These beings that could still have shredded the Dreaming and swallowed it, but chose to run. “Now, I imagine it is like the way men will flee from an animal that is so much smaller than them but has gone rabid. The wrongness. The danger of irreparable madness. They saw me ruined and wished not to catch it, saw the Dreaming—”

This wound has dulled over time and become but a throbbing ache at the base of his skull, a reminder of something missing. But it never disappears.

“The Dreaming, changed, from what they had wanted.”

Dream’s back has never been quite right, since. His anatomy is meant for two sets of joints, not one. But it is only a fitting marker of the permanent damage done that day.

“Changed?” says Hob, so gentle now, lips brushing his skin.

“There was once more,” Dream says. “The collective unconscious was once more… collective.”

“Wait. D’you mean…?”

“Yes. There was more interconnection between minds when I was young. There were not human minds in the sense that you would know them, not yet. But there was communication, and knowing, back then.”

Vestiges of it still linger. In the vast underground networks of the trees, the paired spins of distant atoms. The matched steps of lovers finding perfect synchronicity in a dance. But—

“That was sundered with my wings.”

The cold that had washed over Dream when that realization hit had been worse than the pain of losing the wings in the first place. How he had failed the dreamers under his care. Let things fracture and tear and separate when they were meant to be together.

Hob sighs against the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, Dream.”

“I am sorry,” Dream says. “It should never have happened.”

“No, it shouldn’t,” Hob agrees, and it’s sweet pain sliding between Dream’s ribs, for Hob to press his fingertips to the rawness of him and say, yes, failure, failure, I see it now.

But Hob kisses the point of his shoulder, the ever-tense muscles of his upper back, the hard curve of his scapula and the calcified line of another almost-joint, lost to time. His lips find the uneven scar tissue and press there, which is its own sweet pain, but sliding towards sweet, a sharp bite to kissed lips.

“It shouldn’t,” Hob whispers, and the words vibrate to the core of him. Hob does not see his failure, will not; Dream had forgotten Hob’s charity towards him, how he will see the blood on Dream’s hands and wipe it away instead of asking how it got there. Dream’s failures have stolen something from him he does not even know to miss, and still.

Now Dream does wish for Hob’s hands slipping under his ribs. Hob would find the aching wretched thing within him that had been loosed that day and hold it in his palms, wash the blood from it with careful strokes. Would that Hob could have held him then, submerged him deep in the waters of the Dreaming sea until the dark and the warmth and the strong hold of his arms had soothed the flayed and violated creature that Dream had become back to sanity. Before the gnashing rageful part of him had turned predator and fully grown its claws.

Perhaps there is succor to be found, after all. How quickly Hob Gadling has become it.

“I wish that I could have…” Hob sighs. It sounds mournful, longing. “I don’t even know. Helped you. Held you. Futile, I know.”

“I would not have you feel badly. It is long past and cannot be undone,” Dream says, as if Hob’s words don’t mean more to him than he could possibly know.

“Nothing can, sweetheart,” Hob says. His hair brushes Dream’s shoulders. It is terribly soft now, in this day and age. Dream suspects it was not always so. Human lives have rarely been soft on their bodies. He appreciates the softness of Hob’s body now, and how it cradles him. Dream himself has long been unchangeably hard-edged. “But I would still help you.”

“Sweetheart,” Dream repeats. Dream might have been sweet, once, at the end of a different story. “You would call me this, at the end of this tale?”

Hob turns him so they are facing each other once more. A tear has gathered in the corner of his eye, and slips down to wet his pillowcase as Dream watches. Tears for Dream. Warm salt water. He smiles at Dream anyway.

“You’re my sweetheart. My dear one. You think I would think anything about this other than sadness for you?”

“Dear one,” Dream echoes. “Always good to me, my Hob.”

“‘Course.” Hob squeezes his hand. Hands that too have known violence, but soft for Dream, always. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”

“Only what you have already done,” Dream says. “Be a cavern where I can shelter from the cold.”

Hob kisses him, hot and lingering, and pulls the blankets up over their heads.

[crusadingcookie]

Hey i was wondering if maybe u can do a fic where reader is part of taskforce 141 and most of the time is super focused on the mission and her orders but seems out it it bc its her daughter bday or sum ,and they find out she used to have a family (husband,children the while shabang) but they were murdered or died in a terrorist attack. I just want something really angsty 😭💀

spring daffodils

Also on AO3!

Pairing: TF141 & fem!Reader, mentioned Reader x unnamed!Husband 

Summary: It’s been years since the tragic death of your husband and daughter at the hands of an enemy target you were tracking at the time. On the day of what would have been your daughter’s birthday, something in a mission causes you to break down in front of the rest of the task force. Or: 3k words of the reader crying and Task Force 141 comforting her

Word Count: 3k

Content Warnings: fem!Reader, angst, hurt/comfort, crying, brief argument with Ghost at the beginning but nothing too bad, Reader was married and had a child, mentions of death (including death of a child), brief mention of blood, Reader has the codename “Tigress”, this is all strictly platonic, Tigress has that widow trauma so no time for romance, no beta we die like Tigress' family, it's for the angst plot guys I swear

A/N: Thank you for the request, I’m sorry this is kinda late but I hope you enjoy it! The ending is a bit meh but I already felt bad with how late this is. I tried to make this as angsty as possible but with some comfort and a bit of fluff at the end. 

It was spring when you first met him. You were back home after a long, tiring time of non-stop tours and missions. You decided to take a small break of a couple of months before specialising further in your military career. A new café had opened near your home and you often found yourself there, spending the afternoon in the cosy shop. It was where you first met him. You had just picked up your cup of coffee when something bumped into you from behind, causing your coffee to spill all over the front of your shirt. You turned around, ready to have a word with whoever knocked into you when you were met with a ramble of apologies and promises to buy you a new coffee. Soon you found yourself sitting with the man in a private corner of the café, a hot cup of coffee in front of you and a promise of a new shirt to replace the coffee-stained one. One date quickly turned into two, the both of you enraptured with each other. And after a few years, a golden ring adorned your finger. After a year or so of the two of you being married, your daughter was born. A little human being who brought joy and innocence to your life, who did not know of the true horrors her mum faced to keep people like her safe.

=====

And it was spring when they died. The trees were starting to bud and the flowers were starting to bloom again. The sky was finally clear after months of grey clouds and cold winds. Mother Earth was once again encouraging and welcoming new life when their light was snuffed out. A bitter irony. 

The family of crows which lived in your back garden sat in the branches of the tree overlooking your driveway. Watching as you made your way across the driveway and to the front door, observing like a bad omen. Only for you to discover the bodies of your husband and daughter. Shot dead in the very living room of your own home. It was like a silly game of Cluedo, whodunnit and with what? Except this wasn’t a silly game of Cluedo. You knew exactly who had ordered this to be done. 

Their deaths were because of your line of work. A tragic event born from a multitude of failures. The target you were chasing at the time with your old squad had sent out the hit on your family. In a last-ditch attempt to attack your squad in some way. And if he couldn’t get to your squad directly, then he would hurt them indirectly. And that he did. Somehow it got out that you had a family, it shouldn’t have. Someone back at base fucked up because that information should have been strictly secret to prevent these types of situations in the first palace. It should have been redacted behind a big block of black ink on your file. But in the end, your target was the one with the last laugh whilst you were forced to deal with the sight of your husband and daughter murdered in your own home. 

Since that day you have thrown yourself into your work. Sinking in an endless ocean of mission after mission, wanting to give up and stop swimming and yet just as the last breath of air leaves your lungs you find yourself breaking the surface yet again. A never-ending cycle of peace until the storm of grief strikes anew.

Without anyone left back home, it was easy to dedicate everything to the military and a few years later you found yourself recruited by no other than Captain John Price himself. This new task force, the 141, was the closest thing to family you had experienced in a long time. And yet, you still couldn’t find it in yourself to tell the boys about them. About your husband and your little girl. A part of you reasoned that there was no need for them to know, what was the point when their fate has already been engraved in stone and nothing can change the outcome of what happened. Or maybe you were just too much of a coward to confront what happened that day.

What you couldn’t ignore was the current date. Its significance is seared into your mind, a constant reminder of what could have been. Of what you have lost. And of course, the task force was assigned a mission on this day of all days. At first, the mission you and the rest of the task force were on was going well. You always prided yourself in being professional and focused when it came to missions. You knew the seriousness of the situation and followed orders given to you. 

And then it all went to shit. You were already feeling off the moment you woke up. Not even looking at the small desk calendar to remind yourself of the date. As if you haven’t been counting down the days. Like clockwork, waiting for the guilt and grief to wash over you until the tsunami passed and you waited until another 365 days passed to repeat the process.

You and your team had cleared the abandoned village the enemy had set up base in. You were ordered to search and clear one of the buildings in case there were any enemies in hiding. As you methodically made your way through the house you came across what clearly used to be a child’s room. Toys were strewn about, but what caused you to pause was the sight of a teddy bear dropped at the foot of the bed. Intel had informed you that the village was forced to flee as the enemy forces occupied the area, some resisting and resulting in civilian deaths. Your eyes zeroed in on the blood splatter on one of the teddy’s ears, the fake fur matted with the dried liquid. 

“Mum, can I get that teddy pretty pleaasee?”

“Alright sweetie, but only this one okay?”

“Yay thank you! I will name you… hmmm… Sir Stripes!”

You honestly did not remember much after that. The rest of the village was deemed clear and soon you were on the flight back to base. You fought to keep yourself together just for a few more hours until you were back on base and could grieve alone within the confines of your own four walls. Your team watched with concern as you sat, back straight and staring ahead at the hull of the plane. 

A hand on your shoulder jolted you out of your memories. You recognised the face of the pilot and it took you embarrassingly long to realise the rest of the team had already disembarked the plane. You mumbled what you hoped was an intelligible apology and made your way over to the locker room. Thankfully the room was empty, you loved your teammates that was without question. But right now, you didn’t think you could make it much longer until you broke down. With practised ease, you stripped yourself of your gear and it seemed you were lucky enough that no one came to find out why you were taking so long. You should have known by now that luck typically doesn’t go your way. Just as you put away the last of your gear a voice from the doorway interrupted you.

“Care to explain what’s up with you today?” With a deep breath, you turned and faced Ghost. Your lieutenant was standing in the doorway of the armoury, already out of his field gear, although he looked just as intimidating in his normal attire. 

“I don’t know what you mean, the mission was a success.” You said, attempting to feign ignorance. Of course, Ghost saw through that.

“You were out of it” Ghost replied, his eyes piercing into yours, his sharp gaze never leaving you. 

You stayed silent, hoping that he would drop it and let you go so that you could inevitably cry in peace. The two of you stood in silence, staring at each other until Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, looking even more imposing in the doorway.

“Don’t bullshit me Tigress. You were clearly out of it, hell even Soap noticed and you know it takes him long to figure this kind of shit out.” 

“The mission was a success, so I don’t see why this is an issue.” You huffed, starting to get irritated at the man’s persistent probing. Any other day you would be happy to know that the infamous Ghost cared. But right now? Right now you just wanted to be left alone. You just wanted to stew in your grief, let the dark thoughts remind you of what happened. You had to keep the walls up. They can’t know how fucked up your life was. How you failed to protect them. You don’t deserve their comfort.

Ghost shifted at the slight tone in your voice. If it wasn’t clear before that something was bothering you, now it definitely was. “It becomes an issue when one of my soldiers is not thinking clearly in enemy territory.”

“Look, Lieutenant, it's getting late, we’re all tired. This won’t happen again.” You sighed, exasperated by both the exhaustion from the mission and the emotional toll it took on you.

You pushed past the man and made your way to the task force’s shared kitchen area. Hoping to get a fresh glass of water and some snacks before your inevitable break down. Of course Ghost, the stubborn man that he is, followed you. He wasn’t done with this situation and in his own way wanted to make sure you were okay so that you wouldn’t be distracted in future missions. You ignored the rest of your team sitting in the room and beelined straight for the kitchen cupboard, taking out an empty glass.

“This isn’t a joke Tigress. One mistake and it can cost you your life out there” 

“I know that!” You exclaimed in response to Ghost’s voice, not turning around to face the man who had followed you to the common area.

“Do you? Do you know that? Because today, out there it seemed like one of my soldiers was ready to put her life in danger because she wasn’t aware!”

Ghost waits for an answer but when he gets none he continued, “I can’t have you out there acting as if there is nothing for you to go back to back home”

“Well, there is nothing back home!” You yelled out, setting the glass not so gently on the counter. Immediately you closed your eyes in regret of your outburst. 

Ghost faltered for a second, the rest of the team watching you with your back turned to them

You faced the wall, feeling the sting grow stronger in your eyes. You tilted your face up towards the ceiling, hoping it would stave off the tears. The muscles in your jaw tensed as you clenched them in an attempt to keep your composure. 

“Tigress?”

You took a deep breath and turned to face your team. They watched as you faced them, your lip quivering as you fought to contain the sobs building in your throat, eyes brimmed with tears threatening to spill down your cheeks at any second. You rapidly blinked your eyes at the moisture building up in them. 

“I’m gonna go to sleep,” you said with a shaky voice.

“Hey, don’t pull away from us, please. Tell us what’s wrong” Gaz was the first one to break the silence, he got up and moved to stand in front of you. “Are you alright?” he asked, stretching his arms out towards you in a silent offering.

At the sound of his gentle voice the walls you so desperately built to shield your own heart broke. And with them your last composure. You sniffled a few times, inhaling the air up through your nose as your face twisted with both the emotional pain and the effort of not breaking down. You shook your head softly at him, words failing you at this moment due to the lump in your throat and the tight coil wrapped in your chest. You practically dove into Gaz’s outstretched arms, allowing yourself for the first time in years to have this comfort. His arms came down to wrap around you and in the safety of his embrace, the first sob escaped from where you tried to bury it down. The tears quickly followed and found their way down your cheeks. 

The two of you stood there for what felt like hours, Gaz gently rocking you from side to side. Years of built-up grief and anguish finally escaped from where you had buried those feelings deep within your heart, bubbling up into a series of broken sounds escaping your lips. After a few minutes, your sobs calmed down to a few quiet hiccups and sniffles. Another arm joined to draw comforting circles on your back, you tilted your head from where it was resting against Gaz’s chest to see Soap standing next to you. A warm smile on the Scotman’s face. 

“I- um…” you trailed off, your words interrupted by yet another sniffle. 

“Take your time lass,” answered Soap

You sent him a watery smile and pulled your sleeves over your hands to wipe at your eyes as well as your running nose. You coughed to clear the croakiness in your voice and took a deep breath in an effort to calm down.

“I had a husband years ago. We were married and even had a little girl together. This was before I joined the task force and everything,” you paused to accept a tissue from Price, you blew out your nose before continuing. “And well, they were both killed because of my involvement in a case. The target we were tracking sent out the hit.”

“Kid, I had no idea.” Price said, taking your used tissue from your hand and replacing it with a clean one. He may deny that he is the dad of the team, but all of you knew he cared for every single one of you.

“I didn’t want any of you to know. I tried putting that shit behind me. Didn’t want to talk about it, so I left it out of my file.” You explained and with a weak laugh you continue, “she would have been eight today. Her dad would always buy her those supermarket cakes, and if I wasn’t home she would insist I get one as well so that I could eat some cake too.”

All of your teammates’ hearts ached seeing how much pain you carried, how long you probably suffered and grieved for their losses without having anyone to comfort you. Never before had they seen you with this much pain in your voice, you were always the one who got the job done on missions. Who seemed like they had their life together and returned on leave to a happy home life.

You looked up after dabbing at your eyes with the tissue to see Price standing in front of you. You didn’t think you had any tears left in you but at the sight of your Captain, the unofficial dad of the team, with his arms out wide offering you a hug and a soft look in his eyes you felt the tears well up once again. 

You accepted Price’s hug and you felt the distinct lump in the back of your throat build up again and as much as you tried to will it away, it persisted and soon more sobs were forced from you. The smell of cigars and smoke enveloped you in the warmth of his embrace. Price only pulled you closer to his chest at the sound of your sobs, allowing you to fully bury your face into his shirt, no doubt wetting the fabric with your tears.

Soon Gaz joined you two, tears of his own in his eyes. Price reached up with one of his arms and pulled the younger man in. Soap followed shortly after and finally, you felt gentle yet firm arms enveloping all of you. You looked up to see Ghost, a rare soft look in his eyes and a silent apology for having pushed you for answers earlier. 

You felt safe here in the big, warm group hug of your teammates and slowly your sobs dwindled until they completely died down.

“I have some pictures I can show you guys,” you disentangled yourself from the group hug to move to one of the couches and took out your phone, scrolling past pictures of the task force members as well as pictures of your old team. You finally found your favourite picture, it shows your husband and daughter together, a tiger plushie clutched in your daughter’s hands. Your team gathered around as you showed them the picture.

“Wait, is that why?” Soap began to ask and you nodded.

“They were her favourite animal. And when she found out about codenames, she practically insisted on that being my codename”

“So like a secret spy!”

“Yes sweetie, it’s a secret spy name”

“Can you choose your own?”

“We can, or it’s a nickname given to us by our friends”

“Ooo how about Tiger? No! Tigress!”

“That’s an amazing idea, honey”

You took a moment to stare at the picture, smiling at how happy they both looked in it. Your hand which held the crumpled tissue reached up to lightly dab at the tears welling up in your eyes again. You accepted another tissue from Ghost this time, where he got them from you had no idea but you were grateful for it anyways. 

The rest of the evening was spent with all of you sharing various stories from over the years. Tucked in between your teammates, tired from the emotional day, you felt a sense of home. Something which you hadn’t felt in a long, long time.