#Being in excruciating agony for months

[krokaxe]

Update! I have to go to the specialist so if you have have pennies, please consider throwing them in my direction as I'm banned from a) any food that's not soft b) doing much of anything with my jaw. I have to be medicated 🥴

@krokaxe for more self rb purposes

Stage one of dental/jaw treatment cost £410 today 🧍🧍 If any of you would like to help me out you can paypal me and I'd really appreciate it.

If you're unfamiliar, I'm disabled and medically signed off work with ongoing chronic/incurable conditions like fibro/EDS/ME etc. I don't like asking for help but I'm looking down the barrel of a very long, frankly horrifying gun in terms of this specific problem. @krokaxe for srb purposes.

[cyripticchronicler]

Healing

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You had spent years in pain and agony, wanting nothing more than to go home to your mate. But now that you are home, you're unsure if he still loves you.

TW: Torture, wanting to die, potential SA, depression, crying, short mention of needles and blood.

A/N: This isn't my best work ngl but I was malaptive daydreaming about it this morning and figured I should make it into a fic! It's also my first Azriel/ACOTAR fanfic which is crazy! I love this dude and I'm definitely going to write about him more <3 It's a short fic but I hope you still like it!!

Masterlist

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ten years. You’d been gone ten years. 

Ten years of excruciating torture. Of being poked by needles. Touched by strangers. 

You’d always loved humans. You found them fascinating and tried to learn as much about them. But they wanted to know about fae as much as you did humans. 

You were sent on a task by Rhysand. It was simple; go to the human lands and see if it’s possible to form an alliance with them in the future. Everything was going smoothly until you were taken by an older man who spent his life researching fae and was determined to find the answers to his curiosity. He was a cruel, evil man. He took away your life. Your freedom.

You used to be happy. A blaze of sunshine that not even the biggest clouds could cover. And you had many reasons to be that way, the mating bond between you and Azriel had snapped; not yet accepted but you had planned to do it soon. You had a place in the IC. You worked hard for your court and created a home for yourself in Velaris. 

If you had known how quickly everything could be taken from you, you would have worked harder to protect it. 

You had almost given up, almost begged the man who hurt you to finish you off. To kill you. But the Gods weren't finished with you, and, no matter how much you wanted to die, you were found before you could. You were thankful, of course, but, despite being home with your loved ones once again, it doesn’t remove the long-lasting memories of agony and longing. 

Azriel hadn’t stopped looking for you ever since you went missing. While you spent ten years being tortured, he spent those years in his own sick form of torment. Each night he was plagued with dreams of you and each day he was troubled with worries of how you were doing and where you were. It was a never-ending cycle of you. 

When he found you, bound in chains with blood running down your cheek, he swears his heart stopped. You were back in his arms, wrapped around you so gently like you were made of glass. You’d melted into his warm body, tears freely falling down your scarred cheeks as you quietly sobbed. 

That was the only time you allowed yourself to cry in front of him. In front of anyone, for that matter. You didn’t want to worry anyone with your problems. They’d already spent years worrying about you, they shouldn’t have to anymore. So you jumped straight into your old self. You were talkative, made friends with Feyre and the other Archerchon sisters, and smiled and laughed when expected to. 

Despite your happy facade, Azriel hasn’t done more than hug you. He’s slept in the guest bedroom in The House of Wind while you’ve stolen his bed, his silk sheets nice and familiar. You’re unsure how to approach him. Does he still want to be with you? You’ve seen how he looks at Elain, eyes soft and caring. 

Ten years is a long time. And you’re worried that during that long time, he’s moved on. Maybe that's why you’re trying to act like yourself again. If he sees that you’re the same as you were before when he loved you, he’d love you again.

Your last straw was a month after you came home. All the tears you’d been holding back, and the emotions you’ve ignored overflowing one random night. You were lounging in the living room with Elain, Nesta and Feyre. You were nestled in an armchair, arms wrapped around your knees that are pressed up against your chest. 

You’ve already zoned out of the conversation, eyes glazing over as you stare at your frail hands, still so thin and shaky, like you never left that place. You only tune back into the conversation when a certain someone mutters your mate's name. “Azriel is a really good kisser. I bet he’s better than Rhys and Cassians,” Elain states casually, as though this was a normal thing to be talking about. Feyre and Nesta immediately jump in and defend their mate's skills but you’re already standing. 

Tears blur your vision, unable to be stopped with your usual pinch on your arm. Your fears had come true; Azriel, your mate, your love, had moved on. “Honey?” Your walk to the door abruptly stops, your lip pulled between your teeth and your eyes downcast. “Hey,” You’re embarrassed by the way your voice cracks. 

Azriels scarred hand tentatively reaches up to grip your shoulder, his other hand gently gripping your chin. He tilts your face, forcing your eyes to meet his own, warm caramel making your heart melt. “What’s wrong?” You shake your head moving away and wiping the tears from your face. “Nothing. I’m going for a walk.” He doesn’t respond and you take it as your sign to leave, hands eagerly reaching for the door handle as you escape into the chill night. 

Azriels footsteps were silent, a habit from being the court’s spymaster for centuries. His silence was why you didn’t notice him, loud sobs breaking free since you figured you were alone. By the time he makes himself known, your loud sobs have quieted to quickly falling tears and you’ve found yourself a bench to sit on and think. 

You let out a squeak when he sits beside you, jumping up from your sitting position. You whip your head around, letting out a sigh when you notice the familiar face. “You can’t just sneak up on me,” You mutter, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as you sit again. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispers genuinely, eager eyes tracking your every movement. “We need to talk.” You sigh, slumping against the bench as your heart beats faster. “Do we have to?” You’d rather live in oblivion than hear what he has to say. He’s going to tell you he’s in love with Elain and that he can’t be with you. Then you’re going to have no one and you’ll end up alone and sad forever-

“-I’ve been trying to give you space. To let you process what happened. But I don’t think you are processing things, honey.” He sighs, hand reaching up to rub at the back of your neck. “I want to be there for you. I’m your mate and I love you. Let me in.” His eyes are pleading, begging. 

Your breathing turns ragged, heart pounding in your chest. “Don’t-” You shake your head, turning away from his face. “Don’t lie to me.” You shrug his hand off your shoulders and scoot further down the bench but he doesn’t let you go far, hands holding your face as he leans into you, desperate. “I’m not lying to you, baby. Why do you think I’m lying to you?”

“B-because Elain-” You can’t finish your sentence, breaking into desperate sobs before his eyes. His eyes are knowing, laced with guilt as he pulls you into his chest. “I was planning to talk to you about this when you were feeling a bit better.” He ensures your eyes are staring into his when he speaks. “Elain and I kissed once. A year ago. I was- Gods I was so lonely without you and I was drunk and she was there. I swear when I squinted she looked like you. But as soon as I kissed her I regretted it immediately.”

He’s desperate for you to understand, voice pleading as he as he grips your face tighter. Tighter but never hurtful. “You are it for me, baby. I don’t want anybody else. I’d rather spend hundreds of years alone than be with someone else.”

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, hanging your head in shame. He’s quick to calm your worries with another hug. “Don’t be sorry. I should have talked to you about it sooner.” You shake your head, wrapping your arms around his neck and hiding your face. “I am sorry, though. I should have talked to you sooner. I just-” You’re sick of the way your voice thickens with tears. You’re sick of crying.

“I’m so tired.” You break, pulling him tighter against you. He hugs you just as tight, not wanting to let you go. “I want to be myself again. I want to be happy again but I’ve changed, and I’m scared you’re not going to like who I become.” You spill all your deepest worries, holding onto the lightness in your chest that you’re afraid won’t last long.

His breath fans your ear, a warmth that makes you shiver. “I’ve never expected you to stay the same. Even before you were taken. You’re changing but I’m changing too. That’s okay. You’re okay.” You pull away with a shaking sigh, hands moving to wipe your tears but Azriel pulls them into his own. 

His soft lips kiss your forehead, evoking another shaking breath. His lips then travel to your cheek, hot breath fanning against your flushed skin. As he places a kiss on your other cheek you can’t help the soft smile that lights up your face. Excruciatingly slowly, his lips graze down your cheek and to your jaw, light kisses making your skin heat.

He pulls away ever so slightly, breath fanning across your lips. He stays still, eyes eager as he waits for your response. He doesn’t have to wait long, your hands moving up to fist his hair. You quite practically yank him to you, lips greedily searching for his.

The kiss is warm and gentle and perfect. Love pours through him with each touch of your lip and swipe of his tongue against yours. You haven’t felt this loved in so long. So cared for. You keep him close, each touch mending the frail cracks in your heart.

“I love you,” you whisper, smiling your first genuine smile in years. “I love you, too. I always will.” Butterflies fluttering in your stomach, a sense of comfort washes over you. 

You know you’re not okay. But for now, you feel like you are. And that one moment, spent cuddled up to Azriel while the stars glisten down on you, gives you faith that you’ll be okay one day. As long as you have Azriel on your side.

[subcultureblues]

Burnin’ Down The House

Steve finally psyches himself up to ask Eddie out, because really, what’s the worst that could happen? He makes sure everything’s perfect, goes to shoot his shot annnnnnnnd - Eddie’s fucking pissed.

My Secret Santa gift for the lovely @sunflowerharrington for the @steddieexchange (thank you so much to @paradimeshifts7 for the beta!) Sunflower’s fave tropes are : Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Miscommunication, Accidental Love Confessions

So buckle in boys…

———

They’ve been dancing around this for long enough.

It had been three months. Three maddening, excruciating, unbearable months of Steve and Eddie circling each other in this ridiculous, elaborate mating ritual. He had been kind of really hoping Eddie would make the first move; Steve’s new to this, he doesn’t know the protocol!

…But clearly that wasn’t happening.

Three months of smolderingly flirtatious banter, two very revealing conversations with Robin, and one only slightly over-dramatic gay crisis later - and Steve had officially had enough.

“Stop fussing. It’s gonna go great.”

“And if I crash and burn?”

“Which you won’t.”

“Which I won’t,” Steve echoed reluctantly, because by this point Robin had him trained like a prize-winning show pig. “But even if I’m fucking - casanova in cable-knit, if he’s just - not interested, and… he turns me down - “

“Which he won’t.”

“We don’t even know if he -“ Steve snapped. He ran a hand down his face, groaning in awful, self-inflicted agony. “I’m just trying to prepare myself, mentally, for the possibility of failure here. I mean what if - we don’t even know if he’s into guys, Robin.”

Robin snorted.

“Ok fine, and if he is? Doesn’t mean he’s gonna go for… “ Steve looked in the mirror again, still trying to get his hair to fall right. He squinted with an edgy huff.

“Steve,” Robin said in her most long-suffering tone of voice. She smacked her palms against both of his cheeks and squished. “He likes you.”

“Yeaf?” he said, muffled by the contortion of his face and his lips.

Robin nodded solemnly. She opened the car door and stepped one foot onto the driveway of her house.

“We’ve both seen the way he looks at you.” And the thing is, Steve had. When he thought he was being slick. The way his eyes settle on Steve, warm and unhurried. Like he was trying to take it all in. ��Frankly the whole starcrossed longing thing - it’s getting old. And on my nerves. Just put that poor, pathetic man out of his misery and kiss him already,” she pleaded.

“Alright! I get it.”

“And I mean, seriously Steve. Honestly. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“No. You’re right.” Steve nodded, gesturing at her. “You’re right.”

Because yeah, she probably was right — which God, Steve hated when she did that...

“I’ll call you when I get home, ok?”

“Can’t wait to hear all about how you two lovestruck idiots finally get it together.” The corner of her mouth twitched and she reached down to reassuringly squeeze his hand on the steering wheel. It helped. A lot, actually.

Robin stepped out, closing the door behind her, then immediately shoved her head back through the open window. Steve opened his mouth to ask what she forgot this time.

“Do not forget to use protection.” She ordered, sounding distinctly like his mother. He took offense, raising his hands with an indignant look.

“I already told you - “

“Yeah, yeah. Your whole master of seduction plan to sweep the Freak off his feet.” She snickered.

“Romance him. Epically,” Steve corrected her. “My plan to epically romance him.”

“You’re not fooling anyone Slut Harrington.” Steve rolled his eyes. Robin grinned at him. It managed to calm his nerves enough that he could honestly smile back. “Call me, okay? As soon as you get home. I get to be first to hear the good news.”

“I will.” She started towards the front door. “Oh, and Robin?”

She turned back to him.

“How’s my hair?”

She hung her head in defeat.

“Jesus Christ…”

He pulled up to the Munson’s trailer just after sunset and honked when he parked outside. After maybe a minute, Eddie came sprinting out of the trailer, throwing open the passenger side door and launching himself into the Beemer.

“Go, go, go! The cops are right on our tail!”

“Think we can outrun ‘em?” Steve smiled, very slowly putting the car into reverse to back up and turn around.

“Obviously no. That’s why we have a getaway car, Steve. Keep up.”

“Uh-huh. Alright, outlaw. You got the stuff?”

“Made out like a bandit.” Eddie bounced his eyebrows, swinging an 8 pack of beer from his fingers.

“Eugh. Samuel Adams?” Steve made a face.

“You pay, you pick.” Eddie shrugged unapologetically.

“Fine. I got ice in the cooler back there.” Steve swiveled and braced his hand on the headrest of the passenger seat… and Eddie looked at him. In that way that he does; in subdued glances, furvative, just out of the corner of his eye. In the way that made hope light up like a sparkler in Steve’s chest. He leaned just a little deeper into Eddie’s space, eyes on the road behind them as he reversed the car, trying not to give himself away by grinning too much.

They had planned to head down to the quarry. It was nice, scenic. Perfect for this kind of thing. Steve knew about this one spot, a picnic table that overlooked the water. Real premium makeout real estate.

Honestly, Eddie was kind of ruining the ambiance Steve was trying to set here. He’d left one of his tapes playing from out of the car's open windows. Not loud, but still. They sat together next to the parked car, looking out at the black glass water below. Perched atop the table with their feet on the bench, sipping disgustingly cheap, but cold at least, beer.

If Steve blocks out the distant heavy metal screaming, it could pass pretty convincingly for romantic. The sky had cooperated with him, not a cloud in sight. Just an endless, timeless sea of stars. The moon was waning but bright enough they could see in the dark. But also not so bright it washed out the impression of the Milky Way above them. Still summer - which meant it was brisk but not chilly.

Perfect. Or - at least as close to perfect as Steve could really hope for.

“Ghosts?” Steve was saying, smiling and shaking his head. “Seriously?”

“What - so you’ll buy evil interdimensional wizards and - and demon bats from hell but you draw the line at ghosts?”

“Well, yeah. Difference there - is that I’ve never seen a ghost before,” he said, gesturing with his beer.

“So? That doesn’t mean there aren’t any!” Eddie was talking with his whole body again.

“Sure - maybe. But it does mean I don’t have to think about it,” Steve said, and Eddie threw his head back laughing.

Eddie took another long swing and they settled down, a comfortable quiet setting in. Steve glanced over at Eddie over the rim of his beer. Eddie was looking off into the distance, smiling. It felt… The timing felt right.

Steve set down his can carefully and took a deep breath (he’d popped a mint when they got here, and could only hope it would break through the bitter beer smell). He wiped his hands on his jeans so they for sure wouldn’t be clammy.

He braced a hand on the table behind Eddie’s back. Leaned into his space. Eddie went still, turning his head and blinking at him apprehensively.

“So…” Steve over-enunciated, and Eddie’s eyes immediately flickered down to his lips. It was brief, but Steve clocked it.

Steve smiled, made sure to let Eddie know that yeah, he saw that.

Oh, Steve’s so had this in the bag. He was great at this.

Steve unholstered ol’ reliable - his brightest, most charming smile. The one that always got girls blushing and tucking their hair behind their ears. He could really only hope it’d have the same devastating impact on Eddie.

“Keep looking at me like that Munson - I’m gonna start thinking something crazy.”

“What?”

“That maybe you like what you see….That you’re interested…” Eddie was quiet, studying his face very seriously. Three things for which he’d never been particularly known for. Or particularly good at for that matter. It was kind of intense. Steve slanted his eyes slightly down and to the side, not wanting to be thrown off his game.

Focus, Harrington. You got this. You got this because you’re super cool and smooth and good at this.

“So - come on, what do you say you and me just cut to the chase and go out already?” He said, light and playful.

He glanced back up at Eddie through his lashes and actually, physically, flinched when he saw his expression.

The look in his eyes was ice cold.

“Hey, fuck you, man,” Eddie said, putting a hand on Steve’s chest and shoving him right back out of his personal space. Steve tipped over onto the tabletop. He landed on his opposite hip, catching himself with his elbow. It took a second or two to process as he slowly sat back up.

Eddie’s cheeks flushed red with anger, the upset in his eyes. The way he had already turned his head away, like he didn't want to have to even look at Steve right now. How tense his posture was, sitting there leaning his elbows on his knees. Tapping his sneaker restlessly against the bench.

It left Steve floundering for a good few seconds.

“Yeah. You’re real funny, Harrington, you know that?” Eddie said, as quiet as he was tense.

“I -” Eddie looked over at him expectantly, mouth in an uncomfortably twisted-up frown. Looking like all he wanted in the world right then was for Steve to apologize or laugh it off. Or, more likely, to just fucking drop it. And Steve still hadn’t said anything.

Because to be honest, Steve was having a hard time believing it. Sure, he had been nervous. But like, - not that nervous.

He probably wouldn’t’ve had the nerve to put it all on the line if he wasn’t pretty damn sure the feeling was mutual.

It was just… The way Eddie always tried to rile him up. Make him laugh. Pull his pigtails. Like he couldn’t get enough of Steve’s attention. How he’d go way out of his way for Steve only to go all nonchalant and pink, play it cool when Steve tried to thank him for it. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Even those times when it was. And then there was always that distinctive tension. That undeniable charge.

Look. Steve Harrington knows flirting. Knows it when he sees it. And he had seen it floating on the periphery of almost every conversation they’ve had all the way back to when the Vecna fiasco started.

This whole fucking ordeal was brought about in the first place because twice (twice!) Steve had caught Eddie fixating on — gazing at — his naked chest.

“What?” Steve smiled weakly. “You can’t - you’re seriously telling me I just imagined all that…? That it was all just totally-“ his hands fluttered of their own volition, “in my head…”

Wrong thing to say. Somehow the worst thing to say, judging by Eddie’s reaction.

Eddie pushed off the table to stand, shoulders inflating as he took a large inhale and held it before letting it out slowly. It was controlled, like if he wasn’t careful he might go off like a bomb. Still, the look he was giving Steve was fucking radiation poisoning.

“Ok, what the fuck is your problem?” Eddie spoke in a low voice and jerked his chin defiantly.

Steve could practically hear it, the moment his heart dropped like a rock.

Eddie’s top lip curled up when Steve didn’t say anything, just sat there with his dumb mouth left open.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to imply that you were…” Steve rubbed at the clamminess on the back of his neck.

“Oh no? Then what did you mean to imply, exactly?”

Steve hesitated, and Eddie looked upset at how much that vindicated him.

“I mean…” Sure, small towns were small-minded. But not Eddie. Never Eddie. At least, Steve never took him for the type. Sure maybe the guy’s a little bit prickly, but he doesn’t judge a freak for being a freak. He welcomed all those rejected and abandoned by society. Is fiercely, loyally protective over them. It was part of why Steve fell for him, his enduring Sheep Dog nature. “…s’not like it’s that bad a thing to be, right?”

Eddie laughed.

“Oh, it’s not, is it?” He said it big and loud and sarcastic and defiant. Like the way he talked to the assholes and the jocks and the bullies, the ones that give him trouble at school. How he talked to the ‘Them’ not the ‘Us’. Like the way he never talked to Steve.

“Hey,” Steve said, defensively. He stood up, not liking the feeling of Eddie looking down on him right now. “Dude, why are you being like this? I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Eddie’s features twitched, like he was exerting incredible amounts of restraint, and somehow this was his measured response.

“Hah. Well. S’ a good one. You’re a real riot…” He walked past Steve, roughly knocking into his shoulder as he did.

Steve stumbled a step. Eddie honestly hadn’t even bumped him that hard, but he wasn’t feeling very stabilized right now. He turned, watching Eddie march towards the tree line.

“Fuck you, King Steve,” Eddie said dismissively as he walked away. Steve was kind of floored. It took him a second to respond.

“I - Dude! Where are you even going?”

“I’ll walk!” Eddie yelled, not turning around.

Steve just watched him go. He wrapped his arms around himself. Suddenly realizing how cold he felt, even in his sweater. Even when it was still summer.

And Eddie he, he never acted like this.

Look, Eddie might have been kind of an asshole, and as of 5 minutes ago had decided he hated Steve’s guts… but he was still Eddie.

And Steve wasn’t gonna let him get lost in an occasionally monster-ridden forest.

He jogged to catch up. When Eddie heard him coming through the undergrowth, it seemed to make him storm away faster.

“Come on, man. Eddie! I’m sorry, okay? — Just. At least let me drive you home.”

“Fuck off, Harrington,” Eddie said, speed-walking as if Mr. Pack-A-Day could outpace the jock.

“Where are you even going?”

“What are you, a cop?”

“Eddie -“ Steve said, because this was, frankly, ridiculous. He grabbed Eddie’s wrist, tugging him back.

Eddie’s eyes were red-rimmed and glassy.

“Eddie?”

“What!?” Eddie said quietly, stubbornly looking somewhere off to the side, waiting for him to say something.

If only Steve knew what the fuck to say.

“You really had me fooled for a second there… that you’d changed since school. Shows me, huh?”

“Hey, fuck you! You’re the one who’s being, like, honestly, just - really immature about all this.”

“Oh, I’m being immature?” Eddie practically yelled, a cruel smile splitting his face open.

“Yes!” Steve yelled back indignantly, because that would be a hard charge for Eddie to beat right now. Especially with that petulant death glare he’s still got on.

Steve looked away and took a deep breath, dragging a hand roughly down his face. He held it over his mouth for a second, just trying to get his head on straight.

He really wished his eyes would stop burning. He’d thought… he’d really, really thought. Oh god, he’d just messed everything up, didn’t he?

“Jesus Christ. I’m sorry, okay? Can we just drop it? You don’t have to - you don’t gotta freak out on me…” Steve tried. But Eddie just stared at him, then looked down, kicking at the ground with the toe of his sneaker.

“God, you’re such a fucking asshole...” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m an asshole?” Steve repeated, offended and already exhausted from fighting. “Cause I asked you a question?”

“Cause where do you get off, that’s why. Fuckin’ - Am I just some kind of fucking joke to you? Is that it?”

“What - ?” Steve sputtered. “I don’t even -“ He tried so hard not to look as hurt by Eddie’s words as he felt. And when that got too impossible he just looked away. “You really think it’s that much of a joke, that I’d want to...”

“Come on! You think I don’t know this game? You figured out I’m into you, then what? What’s the play, King Steve? Huh? You ask me out so you can laugh in my face? Stand me up? Just hoping to watch me squirm? Well sorry to rain on your - “

Steve’s eyes snapped to Eddie.

“Wait, stop. Eddie - Stop! Just hold on for a second.” He held out his palms, trying to cut Eddie off mid rant. “You’re into me?”

Eddie looked at Steve like he was stupid.

“Yes!” He yelled. The ‘duh’ seemed to be implied.

Steve stopped. He stood up straighter. Smiled.

“Really?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eddie said, blushing again. “Fine. Yeah, you got me all figured out. A freak and a fag, the fucking - two in one special. Well, you know what Harring-whatareyoudoing?”

“Really?” Steve said again, swooping in close. Feeling bold or brave or, more likely, just plain stupi. He grabbed one of Eddie’s hands loosely in his.

Eddie looked down at the point of contact and then back up at him. Just so fucking lost.

“What is this?” Eddie said, squinting at Steve like he was an algebra equation. But that was okay. It had taken a few tries, but Eddie managed to pass with a C. Eventually. “This…” He took a shaky step backward. Shaking his head and trying to get his hand back. “This is fucked up, man.”

“Go on a date with me.” Steve took a step forward, following him, taking both Eddie’s hands in his.

“Stop messing with me,” Eddie said, looking almost afraid.

“I’m not messing with you. Go on a date with me.” Eddie was totally and completely silent. Eyebrows drawn together, eyes darting all over Steve’s features, trying desperately to read them. Steve gave him an impish grin. “You like me,” he said smugly, but his voice couldn’t help but soften. “I like you, too Eddie.”

“You’re straight!”

“Says who?” Steve shrugged with a shy grin.

Eddie’s mouth hung open as he stared at Steve with those big, doe eyes.

“O-Okay…? Sure. But, I still — why would you want to…” Clearly, Eddie wasn’t getting it.

“I like you, dude,” Steve said, pushing down the nerves. Wanting this to go well. Because God, if it went well…

Eddie pointed to himself, mouthing the word ‘me’ with just the most comical look on his face. Steve let out a small puff of laughter.

“Yeah… I’m like, kinda totally gone on you, man.”

Eddie was shaking his head ‘no’. Steve put his hands gently on both of Eddie’s cheeks to stop him as he nodded his own head ‘yes’.

Normally, he’d be worried about encroaching on Eddie’s space like this, considering tonight he had shown himself to be especially flighty. But the way Eddie was gripping his wrists, Steve probably couldn’t have backed off even if he wanted to. And he really didn’t want to.

“Eddie… you’re fun. And you’re funny. And you help me take care of the kids. You look out for other people, and I like how you're always singing under your breath, all the time. And how you’re so… just, passionate with the stuff that you care about. And — and you’re hot.”

Eddie gave him a bewildered look.

“The uh, bad boy thing it’s…” he huffed a breath, “it works.”

“Uh…“

“What do I gotta do? To prove it? C’mon,” he asked quietly.

Eddie's eyes immediately darted down to his lips. Just like they always did when Steve got him close. Only now, maybe he can finally do something about it. Steve smiled.

“Yeah?” Steve asked in a small, intimate voice. No one else was around to hear, but still, Steve wanted it to be just for them.

Eddie looked hypnotized by the way Steve was bridging the distance between them.

Steve kissed him, soft and slow and perfect. Eddie melted into it immediately, and they kissed like that in the dark for a nice, long while.

Steve pulled back to see Eddie’s reaction, finding he had gone completely frozen. His eyes dazed with shock.

Oh god, Steve might’ve broken him…

Steve held him by his cheeks again, gently tilting his lips up so he could land one more kiss.

“Eddie?” The two of them just looked at each other.

A moment passed. And then another. And then Eddie was back online and had Steve pushed up against a tree. Steve groaned when his back connected with it. He likes that way more than he should.

Eddie’s forehead was pressed against Steve’s. He had his hands all over Steve, touching and caressing and roaming over all the uncharted territory of his face, his neck. Like he didn’t know where to start now that he had permission, so he settled for everywhere at once.

“What the fuck. What the fuck, Harrington?” Eddie muttered before kissing him. This time it was Steve who melted. Eddie pulled back, leaning away from him.

“You're not fucking with me, right?”

Steve shook his head ‘no’, losing the fight against a far too honest smile.

“Fuck,” Eddie whispered again. And then they were making out again, and Eddie was licking into his mouth, and his touch was restless, relentless, pressing into Steve’s skin, hands finding their way into his hair, under his shirt; and there’s that electricity.

It left him tingly all over. Steve moaned low.

“M’sorry I yelled at you.” Eddie pressed the words into Steve’s mouth.

“Make it up to me,” Steve panted.

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie said, still repeating himself, and Steve could feel a warm breath on his lips. It smelt like cigarettes and cheap beer, but tasted like something that fell out of heaven.

Eddie’s hands slid down the curve of his back, slipping into the back pockets of Steve’s jeans, squeezing hard. Steve jolted, his breath catching.

“Fuck, I’ve always wanted to do that,” Eddie groaned, sounding agonized by the feeling.

Steve chuckled, winding his arms around Eddie’s lower back and dragging Eddie against him. He widened his stance just enough to coax Eddie’s thigh into the space between his legs so he could grind down on it.

Eddie leaned back to watch him do it, directing Steve against his thigh with the hands cupping him firmly from inside his jeans pockets. His eyelids were heavy, and there was something dark and hungry behind them.

“Fuck, Steve. That’s fucking beautiful, you know that?” Steve made a noise in the back of his throat, pulling Eddie against him — demanding another kiss.

Steve could feel Eddie getting hard against his hip. It hit him with a full-body shiver. He knew Eddie had to feel what this is doing to Steve, too. And that also made him shiver a little bit.

“Eddie, wait - “ Eddie retreated just enough to nestle his face into Steve’s neck, placing soft, almost apologetic butterfly kisses into the sensitive skin.

“I’m getting carried away, aren’t I?” he said, without even pausing.

“No, me too,” Steve struggled to say between too big, heaving breaths. “I wanna do this right, Eds. Take you out, pick you up in my car, let me buy you dinner.”

Eddie pulled back to look at him. He had that look again, eyebrows drawn together like Steve was a puzzle he might never figure out. The difference was, this time he allowed some of that vulnerability he was so terrified of seep out through the cracks.

Then slowly, very slowly, the corners of his mouth started to rise. He was smiling mostly with his eyes, though. It was so fucking beautiful Steve felt his whole chest clench tight.

“Tonight doesn’t count,” Steve said.

Eddie laughed brightly. “No?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Beer isn’t dinner.” Eddie kissed him again, slow and languid and simmering so hot that Steve felt his insides start to boil from the glow. “Wanna romance you for real. Please?”

“Fuck, Steve. How are you supposed to say that and expect me not to fuck you right here on the ground?”

Steve jolted, his abdomen clenching in white, hot want, Eddie’s words and the gravel of his voice sending a sharp thrill down his spine.

Eddie leaned back a bit, grimacing.

“Right, I don’t know if you’re - if you’d be into, uh -“ Eddie trailed off, unsure. Steve huffed out a laugh, leaning his head back against the tree. Still breathing hard, he looked at Eddie from down the slope of his nose. He let his eyes roam lazily, checking Eddie out. Taking in his messy hair, his shiny pink lips, his broad-shouldered leather, his pretty face, and the expression on it that was so incredibly horny it kind of took every scrap of Steve’s willpower not to do something about it. The corner of Steve’s panting mouth twitched up.

“You want to? Fuck me?” He said it almost like a challenge. Eddie laughed, like that was another one of those things that came with a ‘duh’. Like it should be obvious.

“I am but a man. And you… are…” He let his sentence trail off again, because he knew he didn’t have to elaborate. His eyes said it all, the way they roamed slow down Steve’s body.

He squeezed Steve’s ass again and pushed his thigh up, trapping Steve against it. Steve choked on a sound that died in his throat.

“Fuck. What is even happening...” Eddie said, closing his eyes. “I feel like I’m about to wake up from a dream right now with the world’s least ignorable hard on.”

“Dream about me often, Munson?” Steve asked, lolling his head smugly, really just joking around.

“Fucking - Yeah. Dude. Like, a lot. Fuck, the amount of times I’ve gotten off thinking about this exact…” Steve’s eyelids went heavy, his lips parting in a small exhale. He could feel his breathing start to flutter. “Sorry, too much?”

“You’re the one who better not be fucking with me this time.”

“You have no idea how close I am to just dropping to my knees and blowing you right here, just like, instinctually.”

“How close exactly?” Steve raised a lecherous eyebrow. He couldn’t help but blush a little. This morning, his highest hope was that Eddie liked him back —

That Eddie had been dreaming about him sucking Steve’s dick? Yeah. That one might go to his head a little.

Eddie laughed and hid his face in Steve’s neck again. Steve wondered if that was just an Eddie thing — something he could expect more of… if Steve played his cards right.

“Fuck,” he muttered against Steve’s skin. “Could you tell?” Steve made a questioning noise, nosing at Eddie’s big frizzy mop of hair. His shampoo smelt like clean, fresh pine. He let himself breathe in deep, already addicted. “About my big stupid crush on you I’ve had since forever?”

Steve bit his lip, pressing his cheek into Eddie’s skull. God, he felt like such a fucking doofus smiling like this with his dick rock-hard between them.

“Okay, I’m worried you really are fucking with me now,” Steve laughed. Eddie shook his head ‘no’ against Steve’s skin.

“Since high school,” he grimaced, leaning heavily into him. “Not once did I ever actually even let myself consider that you’d ever…. Shit…. I can’t believe I blew up at you like that. God, I’m sorry I’m such a fucking dick…”

“You liked meeee,” Steve laughed. He was barely listening anymore. Eddie had been crushing on Steve in high school! That had got to be like five points for the You Rule board, at least!

Eddie reached a hand between them, squeezing Steve’s cock. He squeaked in surprise, trying to resist the urge to find further friction.

“By the looks of things, you like me well enough too,” Eddie said, nipping at his ear lobe.

“Hey. Stop it, stop that,” Steve said, wriggling in his grip. “I told you. I really wanna do this right.”

“Gonna wine and dine me, Harrington?”

���Can I?”

“Depends. You put out on the first date?”

Steve chuckled.

Eddie emerged from the space between Steve's head and neck. His eyes were soft and warm, and he had the dopiest lopsided grin.

“What do you take me for?” Steve said, pretending to push Eddie away with no real force behind it. He wanted to keep Eddie right here, in his arms, solid and warm on his chest, smiling just like that for… for however long Steve could manage to make him feel loved. Reminding him how much he deserves it, the loving.

“Fine. But I call next. You want romance, Harrington? You better be prepared for the whole nine yards. I’m talking flowers, I’m serenading you at the door - because yeah, I get to pick you up for date two. Oh, I’ll be pulling out chairs… and opening doors, laying down my jacket to help you over puddles . All of it, till you’re just sick to death of it. Just you fucking wait…”

“I suppose I could learn to live with it…” Steve said, rolling his eyes before laying one last kiss on Eddie’s stupid, perfect grin.

fin ~

Merry Holidays Sunflower!

[windblume-wishes]

Obey Me Brothers - The Period Pain Simulator (HCs)

AFAB MC in this story!

TW: Mentions of periods, blood, and period pain.

𝕃𝕖𝕥’𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕨, 𝕀 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕒 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖…

You decided to order a period pain simulator after seeing trends online of men giving them a try and suffering. As being the only AFAB individual in a house full of testosterone it only makes sense to see if it too works on demon men- after all, a man is a man regardless of species, right? Surely seven demons could withstand a mere period pain simulator…. Right….?

Lucifer

He knows about periods, yes, Lilith herself did go through them- however, as far as he was aware, they were not as excruciating. She just was a moody muffin who became overly blunt and would be extremely hungry. Yes, she did want to throw hands at times but he shrugged it off for the most part.

Yes female angels have periods too, he has been witness to some rather brutal ones where the female angels just get insanely emotional or start wanting heads to roll. Demon females too, he’s seen plenty at the local grocery store go bonkers over snacks and the hygiene products.

He had no idea exactly how painful these could get, oh boy would he find out.

Was hesitant at first, after all, you seem to be in agony during your monthly visitor but he decides to give this a go just to see how you truly feel. He’s seen plenty of females, angel, human or demon, go through them and each have their own unique emotional range and pains.

What can possibly go wrong? It’s just a silly human device that is made to simulate period pain. How could this ever hurt the great Lucifer himself?

How bad can it REALLY be? Sir, prepare to feel some agony.

“Is this even on? Hmph, this is easier than I thought.”

Sir, that is because it’s only at setting 1, be ready for worse.

Immediately eats his words the second you crank it up to about three, he refuses to admit it hurts and simply says he’s a demon, this is nothing.

Crank it up to about five and he is already sweating, he still refuses to throw in the towel and admit defeat. He must hold out for as long as possible.

“Y/N… you really feel this?! Every month?!”

“Yes, but imagine more pain and blood gushing out of your southern hemisphere- oh and tender breasts, followed by a fever, bloating, nausea, and insane cravings.”

“Remind me to curse Father out more for this- ahem- design flaw…”

You crank it up to seven and he caves. He is done. He has unshed tears in his eyes and is on the bed writhing in agony.

“Honey, want to try levels nine and ten? That’s how it usually feels for me on the first two days.”

He literally looks you in the eyes and says he will never do that again, however… he just discovered an interesting punishment device in this thing.

I feel bad for the sorry chap who has to suffer the simulator by the hands of Lucifer himself.

After experiencing the period pain simulation he will go even more above and beyond for you during your period.

He runs to the store faster than Mammon when he hears the word “money” to buy you snacks, pads, and anything really.

“You know, level 10 is the equivalent to early labor pains.”

Oh absolutely not, nope, and he thought level 6 was labor pain.

You are hereby exempt from taking classes in-person while on your period. You will become an online student those days and you will be required to relax and take it easy.

If his grudge for his Father wasn’t already big enough that grudge just skyrocketed so high it’s practically a missile to the Celestial Realm.

Mammon

He’s mildly familiar with periods, despite having a little sister he’s still an idiot as to how biology works in that sense.

He has an F (32.60%) in biology currently

He understands the b*tchy attitude and the craving part but the blood part…? Not really. Tell him about bleeding for a week straight and watch this man dial 666 (Devildom’s 911) for immediate assistance in getting his human to the hospital because of Father above you are obviously dy*ng and you need help.

The minute you tell him about this simulator and how it’s supposedly painful and can simulate a period he gets curious and thinks this is a great way to show he’s manly enough for you.

Mammon, you will suffer worse than any of the punishment Lucifer has put you through.

“Can’t hurt worse than any kick to the balls! Ha! This is simple! I’m the GREAT Mammon, I got this!”

Mammon, sweetie, a kick to the balls is nothing to this. It’s scientifically proven that period pains are equally as painful as a heart attack.

He whimpers as the simulator is strapped on

“Y-yo what gives?! It hurts!”

“Mammon, it’s not even on…”

You turn the dial onto the lowest setting, one, so far Mammon is holding strong, nothing too serious.

“Just feels like I gotta fart- like, not a big one but a good sized one.”

Turn it up to about three and he is already clutching his gut and whimpering.

“O-ok! N-now I feel like I gotta sh*t! But there ain’t any sh*t to sh*t! Y/N THE HELL IS THIS?!”

You crank it up to about six and he gives up. He is on the ground crying like a baby.

He swears that Lucifer gives less painful punishments than THIS.

“TURN IT OFF!! YO Y/N TURN IT OFF!! THIS IS WORSE THAN ANYTHIN’!! GETTIN’ KICKED IN THE NUTS IS NOTHIN’ TO THIS!!”

He will also swear that getting “the cut” was less painful than this simulator and will wholeheartedly d*e on that hill.

“This is like… my third lightest day in terms of flow, so yeah- this is painful but just uncomfortable.”

“TF YOU MEAN JUST UNCOMFORTABLE?!”

Man is ready to throw hands with your uterus and demand it stops hurting you.

Mammon feels even worse knowing he picked on his little sister when she was on her period and vows to never anger a lady on her monthly ever again.

“I-is it true ya don’t get this when yer pregnant…? If so, uh….”

Leviathan

He’s heard of periods of course, mainly from anime and manga. He knew of them a bit back when Lilith was around but never really thought much of it.

He is legit scared of them though because Lilith would bite and would get extremely moody on hers and he only ever was aware of the emotional aspect of periods.

Little girl chased him into his room and became very chihuahua like when on her monthly.

He thought the blood part was something only in anime and manga but…. Shh, Y/N, let him figure that out himself.

He’s familiar with the trend, he spends his time scrolling through FabSnap for trends or other things.

“LMAO what normie stuff! Putting themselves through pain from some measly human machine ROTFL!”

“Levi, that measly human machine hurts worse than getting kicked in the balls and is as painful as a literal heart attack.”

“Y/N, PLZ, that’s gotta be some normie rumor and they’re acting in front of the camera- that thing is so small that it totally can’t do something like THAT! LOOOOOOOLLL!! So yeah, my balls are fine, I’m fine, and I’m NOT gonna look like a normie whining on the floor!”

He lifts his shirt and puts the stickers on where they belong he sits in his beanbag chair and waits for whatever you have to throw at him.

How bad can this normie thing be?

He feels a small ounce of discomfort when it’s at one, just brushes it off and is slightly unfazed.

“Just feels like I ate something weird- lmao like that really awful Ruri-Chan collab I went to in-”

To shut him up you crank it to three.

“Ooofff! W-why does it feel like I really gotta sh*t? Is that all a period is? Feeling like you gotta run to the bathroom all the time?!”

Oh Levi, if only you REALLY knew….

You crank the simulator up to six and he screams like a baby, his scream is so high pitched it may have almost broke Henry’s fish tank….

You crank up one more level and oh goodness is he screaming even louder.

“TURN IT OFF!! TURN THE DAMN THING OFF OMG!! THIS HURTS!! OMG THIS HURTS!!!”

“That’s like- my second or third heaviest day, give or take. Sometimes it feels worse. That’s still doable but hurts.”

He will legit look at you with the face of ‘what the absolute f*ck’ while crying.

Like Mammon, will wholeheartedly d*e on the hill of “the cut” hurting less than this simulator- hell, that was wimp level compared to a period pain! Level uno!

Totally the tutorial for the game called pain.

Leviathan will want to throw hands with your uterus and will feel immense guilt realizing how he didn’t do enough for Lilith when she was still around.

“I-if anime has taught me anything t-then I um… t-then I’m gonna treat you m-much better, y/n…! W-wanna watch some anime now…?”

Please give him hugs after that simulator! He needs that desperately!

Satan

Oh he knows, he’s very well aware of how periods are painful, sometimes even more painful depending on the person.

Satan has heard of the simulator and is aware it’s supposed to be excruciating for men, however, that will probably not have any effect on him- he’s a demon. Demon males are stronger than human males-

What? Lucifer was in agony?! Lucifer caved from a mere period pain simulator?! Mammon and Levi too?! Challenge accepted.

You’ve never seen this man rip his shirt off so fast and strap on the simulator in your life. He was eager to prove he is stronger than that stupid Lucifer.

Level one? Really? Is that thing even on? This is NOTHING!

“This is easy, nothing, if this is what a period truly feels like then it’s not too unbearable. Perhaps the books were wrong.”

He eats those words immediately when you crank the simulator up to four.

“O-okay, this is uncomfortable. I feel like I seriously have to run to the men’s room… there’s nothing to release yet it feels like I have food poisoning… hhhnnnggg!!!”

You crank it up to six and he is in tears and gritting his teeth. Agony is setting in and he is digging his nails into his pillow.

“MOTHER F——”

A lot of swearing, not just modern swears, oh no, he will let out swears from the first ever civilizations and ancient peoples. If there was ever a swear word dictionary you best believe this man would have written it.

“SON OF A MOTHER [insert any swears you so wish here]”

Ok, please get one of those TV censored buttons in here. The bleep button will be going nonstop at this point…

“HOW THE [censored] CAN YOU [censored] EVEN [censored] TAKE THIS?!”

If you could tally every swear this man has said you may have filled an entire notepad by now and then some…

Please see your nearest Purgatory Hall for an angel’s blessing to your ears once this has concluded, thank you!

At seven he is still trying his absolute hardest not to break, he absolutely has to beat Lucifer, he needs to be better than him! He refuses to fail!

Please insert any swears from the 14th century here please and thank you! :3

You crank it up to eight and that is it, he is immediately caving, he yells in absolute agony into his pillow. He is sweaty and in tears.

“W-what the absolute f*ck was that?! That… the books never said it would hurt that terribly! How are you even alive, Y/N?! If it’s truly as painful as a heart attack you seriously need to take the week off!”

“Hm? A week off? Well, about that, we usually just suffer silently as we go about our days. Chocolate is a game changer truly.”

His jaw drops, he cannot begin to comprehend how the hell you are even able to walk after going through such a painful experience. Let alone how it even feels to have a full crimson waterfall for 24 hours seven days a week or less depending on the person.

“Oh and I’m also moody, nauseous, bloated, crave weird things and purposely read sad books or watch crime shows. In the mornings for some people it can mimic that of morning sickness and really make it unbearable. Fevers included.”

Watch this man begin to go through all his books to find ways to curse your uterus into never harming you again.

“Y/N…? Did I beat Lucifer? What level did he cave at?!”

You tell him he caved at seven and this man’s ego has skyrocketed. He is the most cocky man in the Devildom.

Congratulations, Y/N, you just literally made this man so full of himself he will probably not go back to normal for at least another 666 years at the least….

Asmodeus

Oh hon, he KNOWS about periods, he knows all the dirty details that come with it and literally everything about them. It’s kinda his thing.

Oh you didn’t know he tracks your cycle too? Oh hon, PLEASE, this man knows what’s up! Did you honestly think he did not know how to track these things? He helped his own little sister track hers and understand how to track them.

He’s heard of this trend going around and he can’t help but feel bad for every AFAB person who suffers period pains for real and without a simulation machine.

“Hon, you want me to try this out? Alright then~ a little pain can be fun you know~” *insert little winks and smirk*

Asmo, no, not THAT kind of pain…. *sigh*

Please don’t bonk him, he will make that hornkee jail worthy too…

He gets into some cute and comfy shorts from Victoria’s Secret and takes off his shirt. He makes sure to get on his bed so he feels at least some comfort.

Asmo is actually legitimately scared, he knows they are painful, he has seen you in agony and understands that there is undoubtedly pain in the package, he just does not know how much pain.

Can it be worse than the pain of getting his jewels busted? Definitely. Is it as painful as a heart attack? Science says yes.

He straps the stickers to his lower abdomen and braces for what happens next, he gets even more prepared by putting a pink fluffy headband on to pull his hair back in case he starts sweating… eew! Hon, no, sweat is totes gross and he cannot sweat and ruin his hair!

You turn it on and he winces, it’s not too painful, just uncomfortable. He understands this will only get worse and oh Diavolo is he bracing for impact.

“Y/N, hon, would you be a dear and hold my hand~?”

You comply hold his hand, he’s already squeezing it a little but not too tightly.

You crank it up to three and he is already wincing more and doing breathing exercises like he is a woman in labor. Admittedly, it is rather entertaining to witness…

“Oh goodness, hon, this… HHHNNNGGGGG…!!!! Oh this is certainly getting uncomfortable…”

You crank the device up to about five and he squeezes your hand tightly and lets out some swears. Sweat drips from his brow and he legit looks like he is a woman giving birth.

“Y/N, OH MY GOSH- OH F—! HHHHNNNGGGGG!!!! IT HURTS SO MUCH AND NOT THE FUN KINDA PAIN!!”

“You can do this, Asmo! You made it to level five and that’s incredible!”

“SHUSH!! OH DIAVOLO IT FEELS LIKE ITS AT TEN! AAAHHHH!!”

However….. RIP your hand and your ears as this man screams. A LOT.

The device goes to seven and he squeezes your hand even harder, honestly, you’re surprised it’s not broken.

“I FEEL LIKE I HAVE TO PUSH!! OH DIAVOLO THIS IS- AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!”

Push what? Nothing. Sir, you have nothing to push. You are definitely holding back your laughter as this is almost as good as the top Hollywood acting you see in films. Get this demon an award!

Breathing exercises continue and he continues to unintentionally look like he is having serious contractions and about to pop out a child- he’s not but… the simulator is doing a number on him for sure.

Don’t worry, he won’t spawn a random demon like a certain brother of his. Won’t mention any names… but… Lucifer…

You turn the device to about eight and that is it… he is done for.

His poor face is a mess with tears, some snot, and all red… give him a hug, a blanket, some chocolate, some skincare products, and a ton of kisses!!

“H-hon… how in the realms do you survive that agony?! How does anyone survive that?! Are we sure you didn’t strap a labor simulator on me?! Because if you hurt that much you are staying right here with me and I will make sure you feel incredible during your monthly visitor~”

“I feel all that along with the bloating, crimson waterfall of doom, the bizarre cravings, the mood swings, and the need to- ahem… fill in the blank…”

Say no more. This man is READY to go! Hon, you need only say the word and he is all set and ready to pounce!

“Before we do all that, hon, perhaps we can have a quick cuddle session~? I could use that after what you did to me~ and since you had your turn being in control…. Fufu~ you’ll be on the receiving end when we have our fun, love~”

Hello? 666 (Devildom’s 911)? Yes, I’d like to call an ambulance for Y/N when Asmo has finished his… yeah… Y/N may need a wheelchair…

Beelzebub

Oh? Periods? Like in Writing Class…..? No, Beel, sweetie… like the week of blood and agony.

He knows about them a little bit, he understands that there’s a super painful time for AFAB people but never knew it meant blood.

Beel remembers Lilith being very moody and hungry when she was on hers, he remembered how mad she would get if anyone touched her sweets.

He may have almost suffered a broken nose because she was really upset he ate her chocolate cupcakes and now understands that you need sugar to feel better.

Is it medicine…? Sort of, Beel, sort of like medicine, sweetie.

You have to hold his hand and explain the whole process and why it happens, he does get a bit confused but now understands why you smelled like iron those times- he just thought you are a big juicy steak and got all the juices on you somewhere.

“So you bleed for a week or a few days…? And you don’t… you know…. Go…?”

“Yes, for a a few days to a week, no biggie, it’s all part of the process. See? I’m alive, don’t look so scared, Beeley Bear!”

Give him some head pats and make sure he knows you won’t be d*ing anytime soon because of a period.

After promising to take him to a buffet for lunch he agrees to try the simulator, it truly did not take much convincing as he truly wanted to understand and also…. Food.

Beel will take off his shirt and get comfortable in a pair of workout shorts before putting the pads on his lower abdomen.

He is actually very nervous, while he can take pain and all he does actually get scared.

You switch it on to level one and he is confused, wheres the pain?

“Is this even on, Y/N…? Did I break it…? I’m sorry…”

“No you didn’t break it, Beel, this is just level one of ten.”

You crank it up to three and he is starting to feel something. Not much, but something.

“Feels like… hmm… feels like I may need to run to the little demons’ room but not too bad. Is this normal…?”

You nod and crank it up to about five and he has a hand over his belly wincing a little, he truly feels like he needs to run to he little demons’ room but knows there is nothing there.

“So all this is just the feeling of seriously needing to run to the little demons’ room…? So far so good I guess… just feels very uncomfortable. Like a tummy ache…”

“Yeah, it feels like that at times, I get it, but there is obviously more to it than feeling like you need to make a mad dash to the nearest available ‘little demons’ room’ as you put it.”

Crank it up to eight and he is legit starting to feel the pain.

“Y-Y/N… Y/N this r-really hurts now…. feels like when I ate a can of expired tomatoes from 400AD….”

Y/N, you made Beel start to cry, I truly hope you feel terrible now… he has tears in his eyes and is whimpering like a puppy.

You immediately turn it off because quite frankly seeing Beel upset was what truly did it for you.

“I’m sorry for eating your snacks during that time of the month, Y/N, for now on, you can have my custard and as many of my snacks as you want. Oh, and if you wanna go to a restaurant for lunch or something let me know! You’ll get anything!”

Beel is literally the sweetest guy ever, he will literally make sure that you get everything and more during that time of the month because you deserve it.

Belphegor

He knows a bit, not much but definitely enough, he understands that hormones play a huge part and make you an emotional mess, he also understands that there’s blood involved and that there’s weird cravings but the rest? Fill in the blanks.

He remembers Lilith being extra clingy with him when she was on her period, yes she would threaten to bite if he so much as moved the wrong way when she would hop into his bed at night.

One time Belphie made the stupid mistake of saying Lilith looked like she was ran over by a stampede one morning when she had a rude awakening with the crimson flow of doom and got slapped for it.

Like Lilith, you seem to have inherited the same attitude along with a plethora of others… lovely.

“So that’s why you’re always extra b*tchy- hormones and pain, huh? I get it, I’d be just as b*tchy if I were in your shoes- oh I can be in your shoes…?”

Belphie is a bit confused at first at what you mean, he first thought you meant a trip to Solomon to make a potion that would give him the sensation of a period but apparently not.

Oh thank goodness, gives him an excuse not to get out of bed and to remain in his pyjamas and cuddle you and his favourite pillow.

“So is it supposed to hurt or anything? If so this is weak as f—k.”

“Belphie, it’s not even on.”

“Oh… then turn it on before I consider forfeiting and taking a nap, nap time is about now- O-oh…”

Turning it on shuts him up immediately and he sits there a bit confused.

He looks mildly uncomfortable, still a bit confused as to why it’s not that bad- after all, you make it sound as if your insides are literally becoming outsides.

“That’s it? Y/N, not gonna lie, this is boring. I thought this was supposed to be painful.”

Turn the dial up to about four and he’s wincing a bit.

“O-oh sh*t… Y-Y/N I really feel like I need to run to the little demons’ room…! Hhnngg….!”

“It feels like that, doesn’t it? That feeling lasts about two to three days for me depending on flow and length of period.”

He just glares at you as you turn it up to six, he is clutching his pillow and swears just as much as Satan… he also breaks out the 14th century swears along with the first ever swear words of early civilizations.

“SON OF A [censored]! THIS [censored] [censored] HURTS LIKE A [censored]!!

That’s cute, Y/N, you thought Satan was the swear word machine. No, it’s Belphie. This boy can swear! And this little sh*t can get away with it too because he’s the youngest…

“Want to cave in, sweetie?”

“F—K NO! I WANNA BEAT LUCIFER…!”

Turn the dial up to seven and he’s starts crying loudly, this honestly hurts too much for him and it is not pleasant in the slightest.

“TURN IT OFF DAMNIT!! TURN IT OFF…!!”

He has sweat pouring from his brow and tears streaming down his face and looks like a hot mess, you immediately take the stickers off his belly and give him a huge hug.

“Y-you go through that…? Every month or so…?”

“Yes, but of course there’s blood, mood swings, cravings, waking up nauseous sometimes with a small fever, and even being bloated. Sore breasts too on occasion.”

“How the absolute f—k are you even allowed to leave the house and go about life with all that?! No, you are gonna stay with me and cuddle. No way you should have to go through that.”

Belphie will literally buy you any and all products you need from Akuzon while you cuddle because there is no way you should be made to move- well unless you need a new pad or tampon or something or to go…. But food? He will ask his twin to be the delivery guy with snacks and drinks.

“What the f—k was Father thinking when he made this? I mean- I know why it happens and all but what the f—k was his overall logic?!”

Like Lucifer, has plans of giving Father the what for with this “design flaw”.

“New prank idea- make a potion to use on Lucifer that makes him feel this pain for a week straight!”

Belphie…. No….

Belphie yes 😈

———

- Windblume

[babyjakes]

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event | kinkmas 2023

prompt | monster fucking

pairing | steve rogers x fairy!reader

warnings | me knowing nothing about fairies. reader is in "fairy heat"? bruce captured reader (potentially inhumane conditions for fairy-keeping?) soft sweet steve. size kink LOL. th-thumb riding? fingering. p-pinky fucking? stretching. multiple orgasms. squirting. praise and encouragement that makes me feral. pity kink? is that a thing? if it is, i think i have it.

word count | 1,225

an | i've never written monster fucking (or really anything super fantasy-oriented) so please be kind!! wasn't expecting to get sooo into this, but like there's just something about reader being literally so tiny that steve's pinky stuffs her to the brim that's making me all 🥲🫠😩

what if bruce was off working in some top-secret remote location and brought you back with him: a sweet little fairy he'd captured while working out in the field, just as you were entering your fairy heat 🫠

maybe you're just about 7 inches tall, with the body/proportions of a grown young woman. he's been conducting research on your species for quite some time, so he's able to determine basics like your age, your likely place of origin, etc. he's thrilled to have caught you at the start of your heat

what's your fairy heat? i made that part up simple, it's the span of several days that occur around the same time every month when your body's at its prime and looking to breed. you become insatiably horny, almost to the point of it being debilitating, and all you can focus on during your excruciating waking moments is fucking yourself on anything of appropriate size in sight

you're kept in some sort of incubator in his lab, a glass box that's a few feet by a few feet wide and deep. the bottom of the enclosure is made of a soft cushiony material, making any spot a good spot to lay down and rest. miniature food and water bowls are set out for you, and a bright lamp hanging from the ceiling of the box shines 12 hours a day. it's a pretty miserable existence, your makeshift habitat nothing close to the wide open flower fields and prairies you're used to, but it allows the scientist to observe you closely without any distractions or interfering variables. and since you're in heat, you aren't too worried about where you are or who's taken you. all you can do is writhe around on the soft floor of the incubator in desperate, horny agony

maybe one day bruce is out of the lab, but he told steve he could come check out his new findings and maybe keep you company if you'd let him. when he enters the room and sees you lying there, squirming and struggling weakly, of course the supersoldier's heart is instantly hurting for you 🥺

he approaches the incubator slowly, not wanting to startle you. but pretty quickly he realizes that you're paying him no mind; you're too preoccupied with your discomfort. he takes his time observing you, standing right in front of the glass box as his huge frame towers over you. bruce told him a little about your condition and the science behind it. it made him blush, but he accepted it like he would learning about any other species and their unique reproductive habits

"poor thing," he hums to himself as he watches your tiny body wriggle in distress. he's stunned by how pretty you are. you have the most delicate little face, and your translucent wings with their iridescent shimmer look like something straight out of a fairytale movie. you're completely naked- bruce removed your scraps of moss carpeting and leaf clothing when he found you. but it's not strange or offputting in the slightest to steve. he just thinks you're beautiful, such a stunning little creature that seems too precious for this world 💕

he notices the plugged openings in the glass wall that allow bruce to reach in and work inside the enclosure. carefully removing the rubber inserts, he reaches a large hand in, wanting to offer you some comfort if you'll take it. you're so tiny that you could nearly crawl right into the palm of his hand and curl up if you wanted to

but snuggles are the last thing you're looking for in this moment. when you see his huge hand lying there, palm up just a short distance away from you, you weakly crawl over, wings drooping in exhaustion. you couldn't fly at the moment if you tried

steve is a little surprised as you hoist yourself up onto his thumb, your tiny legs dangling on either side of it. it only takes him a moment to realize what you're doing- his cheeks turn bright red as you begin rolling your hips desperately, a faint feeling of wetness forming on the pad of his finger as you leak your glistening juices all over him

"oh doll-" his voice is dripping with pity and concern. he doesn't try to stop you, just watches as you so needily try to relieve yourself. as strange as the situation is, he can't help but find your primal actions endearing, in a way

he continues watching sympathetically as you grind your tiny little pussy down against his large digit. his heart swells at the way you place your hands down in front of you, trying to keep yourself upright as you rock at a steady pace. just a few moments later, he sees your little body spasming and realizes you've reached orgasm by merely riding along on his finger. "oh my," he hums thoughtfully, watching as your precious little toes curl in delight

your face is much happier after your climax. steve watches curiously to see what you'll do next, staying silent as you climb off of his thumb and move to the other end of his splayed-out fingers. as you lie yourself down on your back and spread your legs out on either side of his pinky, he's again blushing deeply. "o-oh, hey little one-"

he watches as you begin pushing down to press the tip of his smallest finger up against your leaking hole. seeing how much you struggle to maneuver against him, steve takes even more pity on you. "here, doll. let me help," he decides, bringing his other arm through the unused hole in the glass. he moves it over to lift your back up gently, supporting you in a sitting position as he carefully begins easing his smallest digit up into you, smiling affectionately as you let out a soft sigh of relief

"there you go. that's it," he's murmuring encouragingly as he carefully fucks you with his pinky. your little pussy is so tight around him, he's surprised he's able to fit. but you're taking him so well, and there's something so sweet about the way you look as you sit here in his hands, letting him stretch you out over the smallest finger he has 💕

"good, just like that" "such a pretty little thing you are" "that feel good, doll?" "just keep taking it, sweetheart" "so good for me, keep going" he's not sure if you can understand his words, but there's something he finds satisfying about talking to you this way

he can somehow feel your second orgasm approaching, your walls growing a bit tighter around him as he works up his pace a little more to carry you over the edge. "there," he's humming proudly, smiling as you manage to squirt out forcefully against him. your come ✨literally sparkles✨ as it coats his finger

as you're floating down from your high, he strokes your hair with his thumb as you lean up against the rest of his hand that's behind you. your eyes are droopy, your body no longer writhing in discomfort. as questionable as his actions might've been, it's clear he's taken care of much of your discomfort- at least for now

whyyy was this hot 🫠🫠 maybe i need to write fantasy shit more often lol

[tf-kinky]

Vince was consumed by an obsession that bordered on madness. His roommate, Charlie, was the unwitting object of his fixation—his feet. But Charlie, ever the straightforward and unassuming guy, had no interest in Vince's peculiar desires.

In a moment of reckless desperation, Vince decided to take a highly experimental drug he'd heard about, one that promised to turn him into any inanimate object he wished. With his heart pounding and his mind racing with the implications, Vince muttered his intent and felt the world around him warp. His body contorted, shrank, and reshaped into a pair of black slides. He lay there, now just a pair of slides in Charlie's room, waiting for to be worn.

Charlie returned from his outing, in need of a quick change of shoes. His eyes glanced over the slides, and without suspicion, he stepped into Vince. The moment his feet made contact, Vince's new reality was nothing short of a living hell. The smell was overpowering, a potent mix of sweat and the day's grime. Then came the sweat, relentless and soaking, turning Vince's new form into a swamp of discomfort. But the pain was the most excruciating—every step Charlie took was like being crushed underfoot, a constant, grinding agony that made Vince's previous life seem like a distant dream.

Charlie, oblivious to the torment beneath his feet, walked around, getting ready for his evening. He paced, he lounged, he even danced a little to the music playing in the background, each action amplifying Vince's suffering. Hours passed like this, with Vince enduring each moment, wishing he could scream, but only able to exist in silent agony.

Late into the night, when Charlie finally decided it was time to sleep, he removed Vince, put him in his footwear cupboard. With no room for Vince to revert back to human form, tthe drug's effects should have worn off, Vince realized with growing horror that the transformation was now permanent.

The drug, within the confines of the cupboard, had solidified his fate. Vince was now, and would forever be, Charlie's slides. Each day brought the same routine—Charlie would wear him, the weight, the odor, the sweat all part of Vince's eternal torment. He was no longer Vince, the person, but an object of utility, his existence reduced to suffering beneath Charlie's feet.

Vince's new life was one of endless pain, his desires turned into a cruel, unending reality. Every step Charlie took, Vince felt the weight of his choices, a reminder of the folly of his obsession, now his permanent, torturous existence.

Five months had passed since Vince's life had been irrevocably altered. The slides, once a simple, black pair, were now a testament to the wear and tear of constant use. The material had frayed, the soles were worn down to nearly nothing, and the smell was a diabolical pungent reminder of their daily journey through Charlie's life. Vince, trapped in this decaying form, had endured every moment of it, his consciousness a prisoner to the relentless cycle of pain and degradation.

Charlie, finally noticing the sorry state of his slides, decided it was time for a change. He was unaware of the living nightmare he had been walking on for months. To him, they were just another pair of shoes that had reached the end of their lifespan. One evening, after a long day, Charlie decided to clean up his space. He gathered the old, ruined slides along with other trash and carried them down to the basement where the trash compactor was located. With no sentimentality or hesitation, he tossed Vince into the compactor, thinking only about clearing out clutter.

As the compactor hummed to life, Vince felt the crushing weight descend upon him. The initial pressure was like nothing he had felt before—far worse than any step or the confines of the shoebox. The machine began its work, compressing everything within, including Vince. The pain was beyond what he had known, a sensation of being squeezed out of existence, his very being compressed into nothingness. In those final moments, Vince's consciousness, already stretched thin by months of suffering, began to fade. The slides, his prison and his identity, disintegrated under the relentless force of the compactor. With each mechanical grind, Vince's awareness dimmed until there was nothing left—no pain, no scent, no Vince.

Charlie, upstairs, was already forgetting about the slides, moving on to other tasks. The trash was taken away, compacted, and disposed of, ending Vince's existence without fanfare or recognition. The experiment that had once promised transformation had instead delivered an eternal sentence, concluded by the mundane act of throwing away trash.

And so, Vince's story ended—not with a bang, but with the quiet, mechanical closure of a trash compactor, his essence lost forever in the detritus of everyday life.

Charlie bought a new pair of slides the next morning, although he couldn't understand why these new slides were significantly less comfortable. He may discover the transformation drug one day, and realise what happened to his roommate and discover humsn material makes the best transformation material, although he forgot Vince's name ages ago.

[justwinginglife]

High Score

Based off of the song "Good Graces" from Sabrina Carpenter's new album Short n Sweet (I told yall I was obsessed with it).

“It is literally not that hard to keep a girl happy.” 

After going on three different dates with three different Defense Force Officers, you’d huffed and puffed to Okonogi, to Mina, to Nakanoshima, to anyone who would listen, all morning about how men had no game, how they were disappointing, how they couldn’t keep a relationship alive if they had a gun to their heads. And you’d honestly considered holding your gun to their heads; you wondered if drilling the barrel through their temples would spur some semblance of romance from their dumb asses. 

The first man you’d gone out with had tried to compliment your date attire and failed miserably. He’d said that you should wear that dress more often because it made you look less fat than your usual officer’s uniform. You didn’t even sit down at the table, you were out the door in two seconds flat. 

The second man was great. His demeanor was pleasant, his humor was entertaining, and he was easy on the eyes. But about 25 minutes into the date, his girlfriend discovered his infidelity and came storming into the restaurant, murder and mayhem in her eyes. You’d almost rooted for her when she’d slapped him so hard she broke the sound barrier, and when she left him reeling in the shock of it all, you followed her right out the door. You even had drinks with her afterwards, enjoying -and encouraging- her furious ranting in between bitter shots. 

The third man made it a whole hour into the date before asking when you were going to stop being a tease and let him take you home. At this point in your dating career, you expected nothing but disappointment, so when he finally blurted out his demands, you were more amused than anything that he’d been silently suffering for a whole hour. And of course, you had your fun with him; you felt you were owed at least a good time if not a good date. For wasting your night, you repaid him by edging him on for another hour, coaxing his lust out with pretty words, purred in his ear, with your foot teasing its way up his leg, until he was engorged to the point of excruciating pain, then you left him alone with nothing more than his agony for company. 

It’d become well known among the men that you were hard to date, and well known among the women that the men of the Defense Force were hard to love. At least the ones you went out with. Every disastrous date turned into a word of warning for the women, and they eagerly awaited your updates, curious to know which men to avoid. The men began noticing their dwindling romantic prospects and, their pride on the line, they set out to prove you wrong. 

Soon, a line of suitors filed through your door, every man puffing out their chest, every man arrogantly claiming they could do better than the last. You hadn’t expected such a reception, but your amusement got the better of you, and one by one you agreed to go out with each man. Then, one by one, they all failed. 

Most made it a day or two, some a couple days, some a couple weeks; each one making mistake after mistake, each one more disappointing than the last. One man made it a whole 2 months and then he forgot your birthday and did little to make up for forgetting. You wondered if you should resign yourself to a life alone. You wondered if men were even capable of treating a girl right.

Then the buzz of your dating life reached the ears of the First Division’s Captain. And to your surprise, Gen Narumi, the man who hated to leave the cozy confines of his office, the man who was infamously uninterested in anything besides the latest video games, the man who was aloof, who was blunt, who was sometimes downright unpleasant, had decided to throw his hat into the ring. You were more fascinating than his electronics; the prize of your approval more enticing than any game. 

In no time at all, Narumi had claimed the highest score- you’d been his girlfriend for a whole 3 months, and it was the longest anyone had ever kept you. He’d spoil you with his salary, butter you up with compliments (it wasn’t hard; you kept pace with him on the battlefield well, he had much to praise), and tear the breath straight from your lungs with his devastating kisses. You wondered if this was the moment you would finally fall in love. He’d planned to keep his winning streak going, but then his old habits began slinking their way back into the relationship. He’d promise to take you out for dinner and then his games would consume him and he’d forget your existence. On joint missions, you’d advise him on the best course of action, and he’d blatantly ignore you, thoroughly embarrassing you in front of the whole division as he recklessly went off on his own yet again. You gave him time to clean up his act, still clinging to the first semblance of a good relationship you’d had in awhile. But then you couldn’t take it anymore- you dumped him when month 4 came around.

Vice Captain Hoshina, who had been more than entertained just watching this whole game play out, who had been more than content just watching from the sidelines, suddenly felt the urge to try his hand at your heart. He’d always found you interesting, found your spunk refreshing, found your skills impressive, found your looks enticing, but he was just never in the mood for a relationship. Watching your increasing frustration and Narumi’s increasing stupidity made him realize he wasn’t satisfied with his position on the bench anymore. He’d show Narumi, show all the other men, show the world how it was done. You deserved better and he was the best. 

When he first expressed interest in dating you, part of you was skeptical and reserved. You thought he might just be using you to piss off Narumi. You didn’t completely mind if he was, because you could admit that you’d used many men to get free food and free gifts, knowing it wasn’t going to last, but some part of you couldn’t bear the thought of that happening with him. You greatly respected him as your Vice Captain, and more than that, you enjoyed his company as a friend. You couldn’t stand it if your relationship with him went up in flames, if you had to stop looking for him in hallways, eager for your next training session, if you had to stop saving jokes for him that you thought he’d love, if you had to stop sharing earpods on the transport, listening to your favorite album together on the way to your next mission. 

But your caution quickly turned into curiosity, and before you knew it, you were dating the Vice Captain. You thought to yourself that even if he was just using you to get under Narumi’s skin, you were okay with that, as his little schemes amused you greatly. Once, you’d been out on a date at the mall when Hoshina spotted Narumi a couple aisles away. Of course, Hoshina remembered that Narumi would complain that all you would do was kiss him and nothing else, so Hoshina got it in his head that when Narumi finally turned around to find you on a date with him, he should be holding up lingerie for you to try. Narumi almost blew a gasket demanding to know why Hoshina was allowed to get to homebase with you within the first week of dating when it took him almost a month to even be allowed to hold your hand. Hoshina had looked at you, interested to hear your response, and he was extremely impressed (and amused) by your quick wit, when you simply shrugged, said Hoshina was bigger and walked up to checkout with the lingerie Hoshina had scrambled to find, not even bothering to check if he’d grabbed your size or not. Narumi was fuming the rest of the week and his Vice Captain even went so far as pleading with you to stop pissing him off because it was causing the First Division a lot of trouble. If Hoshina was amused before, now he was thoroughly entertained. 

The two of you got into all sorts of trouble together and it was the most fun you’d had in your entire life. You didn’t even have time to wonder if it was possible to fall for him, you were both in love before you knew it. 

And he always pulled out all the stops for you. 

If someone brought you a flower bouquet, Hoshina would fill your entire living room with them. If someone took you out to a nice dinner, Hoshina would reserve the entire restaurant for the two of you to enjoy. If someone complimented you, Hoshina would leave love letters and sticky notes all around your house for you to find, with things he loved about you written all over them. There was no end to his devotion and adoration of you. If you asked for the sun, you were sure he’d bring the moon and all the stars along with it. 

You’d fallen so in love with him, so quickly, so deeply, so desperately, that you were sure you could excuse any mistake he could ever or would ever make. If he stole something, you’d drive the getaway car. If he killed someone, you’d bring the shovel. Wherever he went, you’d follow. If he wanted to vacation in Hell, you’d bring ice packs and a fan. 

When you finally did get married to him, Hoshina sent Narumi a wedding invite with the words “Looks like I’ve got the high score now” written on the top and you fell in love with him all over again.

[uncouth-the-fifth]

good morning, charlie - Leon Kennedy/Reader

read it on Ao3.

Pairing: Agent!Leon/Detective!Wife!Reader Tags: domestic fluff with the tiniest dustings of background angst, married life, hugging, kissing, and snuggling. Words: 3k (yes, I'm capable of keeping something this short) Notes: read this in a WWE announcer voice: THAT'S RIGHT! UNCOUTH HAS COME CRASHING BACK INTO THE RING AFTER YET ANOTHER MONTHS-LONG HIATUS. i'm magical, truly. here is the first Leon fic I promised last month! There's so much I want to say about this little drabble, but I'll save that for my curious ppl on Ao3. this is going to be a big 180 from my spn content, and I sincerely hope that's okay with the public 😭 for my RE people: enjoy domestic Leon bullshit!

At two in the morning, Washington D.C. is pouring everything it has into crafting the coziest atmosphere of all time. A pleasant window-tapping storm had rolled in right around when you resolved to stay up working. Some late-night radio host is making soft, fizzing chatter in the next room, and coupled with a stellar view of the city from fancy floor-to-ceiling windows, you have a prime opportunity to pass the fuck out.

Unfortunately, you have made some spectacular life choices that don’t mix well with a full night’s rest. Nope, no sleep for you. Despite all of fate’s attempts to stop you from being a cop, (including throwing a city-wide outbreak at you on your first day), you are still here, gripping your job with both hands. At two in the damn morning.

Since scrubbing your eyes hadn’t woken you up the first five times you tried it, you give it another shot as you pace the length of your living room rug—from the coffee table you’ve stacked with files, then back to the whiteboard pasted top-to-bottom with pictures of missing young women. The whiteboard had been Leon’s idea. After the fourth time you’d transformed a flattened cardboard box into a morbid case-board for work, he’d cajoled you into letting him buy one for the apartment.

But I won’t be able to stab the tacks into it, you’d pouted.

Oh, the agony, your husband had drawled. He was a master of delivering a good, dry look.

You’d propped your fists on your hips and tried your best to look serious. The red yarn connecting everything isn’t just a detective-movie thing, y’know! It’s actually really useful. And I need my tacks to stick the yarn in—

Leon had cut cleanly through your building sass with another look, this time one glimmering with humor. Then I’ll get you magnetic ones, detective. Don’t you use whiteboards at the precinct anyway?

You’d grumbled. Because, yes, you did use whiteboards at the station, and they did have the little tacks with the magnets on the bottom. But you’d refused to deal with Leon being all smug (he was unbearable pretty when he was right), and had teased back instead, Whatever, nerd. Why don’t you and the other two angels go call Charlie already?

The reference had gone clean over Leon’s head. Of course, he hated being left out of a joke, so he’d roped you over by your wrist and pinched an explanation out of you until you were squealing with giggles.

Summarizing Charlie’s Angels to Leon had been a lot like offering a paper rocketship to an aerospace engineer. But, hey, picturing him running around in skimpy outfits and escaping action movie explosions on a motorcycle is a whole lot more fun than… than the real deal.

You don’t want to think about what his missions are really like. Not that you’re even allowed to know in the first place. Being Leon’s wife permits you a government-issued phone with his handler’s number, and on antsy days you can push Ingrid for details if you want. But after so long you’ve learned it only hurts both of you—for her, in the inability to answer, and for you, in the excruciating pain of being unable to know. Where is he? That’s classified.

She can’t always tell you when he’s coming home, either. So much of your life is hinged on her check-ins, and even more is forced to live off a simple, He’s okay.

For the seventh time, you scrub at your tired eyes and suck in a deep breath. You’d gotten that fabled text from Hunnigan—he’s okay—earlier today, and like always you crawled through the rest of your shift roiling with anticipation, waiting for Leon to materialize back into your life.

You force your gaze back to the whiteboard, littered with notes and pictures hung up with magnetic tacks. The faces of five missing women bore back. The ten-ton weight of your caseload slams down in full, and again, you scold yourself for floating back into comforting memories of your husband. These girls have lost all comfort in the world since they were taken. Your Captain gave you the responsibility of finding them, and after all you’ve been through, after all the other cases you’ve closed, there can’t be any room for failure. Think.

Your legs ache from being on your feet all day, chasing leads, but dropping into Leon’s armchair for even an instant will just have you nodding off again. More pacing it is, then. This is your pattern for the next half-hour: pace, re-read witness statements, turn, sip your coffee, pace, cross-reference alibis. He’s okay. Two of the girls were taken from Queen’s Chapel, two from Takoma, one from Woodridge. He’s fine. The last victim breaks the profile. What’s different about her? Why take her? Think think think— You know what Leon would do. He was the kind of person you could put in front of a problem, and no matter what he would find a way to shoulder his way through. With physical force, sure, but mental force too. He would sit and just look at the puzzle, and sheer willpower would lead him to some kind of answer. But you’d been pushing and pushing for days now, pursuing every lead, pressing every witness, yet nothing will give. The whole thing feels like a punching bag you’re beating at over and over again, knuckles raw and bloody—

Keys rattle just outside the front door.

First the big deadbolt scrapes open, unlatching with a heavy thud, and that sound alone is enough to shock you awake. More than any coffee could. Then comes the doorknob. Leon hasn’t even turned his key before you’ve twisted the lock open, yanked the door out of your way, and sent it whipping into the jamb with his keyring still swinging from its slot. You give him one full blink to register that it’s you before you’re throwing yourself on him without a single lick of shame, legs and all.

Of course, Leon bears your weight with grace. He grunts out an oof! when you come in for landing, and the living, breathing sound drains into one gruff laugh. You’re scooped up under the thighs and teddy bear squeezed against him. He reeks of cheap motel soap and something faintly coppery—then mint, a whole world of plush, wet spearmint when he nudges your face up with his nose and lays a hello kiss on you. The taste of his gum and the scratch of his stubble on your chin make your skin feel like it’s fizzing, inside-burning-out, every inch of you stood on end by his static charge. Jesus, this guy. He feels like fucking magic, and you’re confident that the laws of physics don’t quite apply around him. Everything in the room, in the too-big apartment that’s painfully empty without him in it, tilts toward Leon.

You shove your face nose-first into his neck and clutch the back of his jacket in both fists. Swallowing hard, you manage, “Hey, angel.”

“Good morning, Charlie,” Leon says.

If you had any resolve for today left in you at all, the wash of his sizzling butter voice would squash the last of it. You’d been trying to be sweet, but your husband has to be funny about fucking everything, of course. Even after weeks spent apart. You love him so fucking much.

“Don’t tell me you found time to watch that stupid movie.” Your voice is muffled by his coat, and you’re grateful for an excuse to hide.

You’re moving. Leon carries you inside, his wedding band pressing into your leg and his other big, warm hand spooned around your back. “Boring plane ride. I wanted to get your jokes.”

Your front door is toed shut, and with all the efficient maneuvering of a proper agent, Leon gets the place locked up behind you. Somewhere in all the commotion he’d dropped his go-bag by the welcome mat, and you hear the dramatic thunk, thunk, of his fancy work loafers being kicked off beside it. Only then does he slip you onto your own feet again.

Your hands slide down his arms as you make contact with the floor. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re aware that he’s damp from the rain, but that fact hangs in the little alternate universe he’s made in your front hall. Standing there and being able to look at him straight-on, Leon doesn’t feel real. It’s like your constant thoughts of him have manifested a ghost in his shape, mimicking the smiley rookie you remember.

He greets you with a quiet, beaten-down smile, and you understand immediately that the world has thrown its fair share of punches at him, too. You’ve both had a shit week. The Kennedy surname just brims with good luck, huh?

Your hands work on autopilot as you take him in, slipping under the fabric of his jacket and lingering over his thudding heart. His warm blue gaze swims over your face, and you can almost hear the clicking mechanisms in his head as he forces himself out of operative mode and into home mode by looking at you.

“It’s a really bad movie,” you say, choked up.

Leon’s jacket hits the floor with his shoes. There’s a swath of ugly, purpling bruises crawling up his bare arm, old enough to be greening at the edges, and your stomach churns when you see it.

He taps your chin up, pulling you away from the damage and back on him. His voice rolls over you like bourbon in a glass. “Absolutely. So-bad-it’s-good, even. We should watch it, make fun of it together. Like, why the hell does…”

Leon flawlessly falls into an analysis of the movie’s poorly-written espionage elements. The movie you made one offhand joke about several weeks ago, mind you. He’s pulling at straws, saying whatever the hell comes to mind to make you laugh, so exhausted he’s literally swaying on his feet. You can’t believe he’s trying to distract you with something so trivial, but this is your husband. One flash of that weary closed-mouth smile, one brush of those callused hands down your wrists, and your whole world resumes its orbit around him.

You laugh at the jokes he’s obviously crafted for your benefit, a weak chuckle your heart isn’t in. With his hands looped around your wrists, he guides your arms around his neck and welcomes you back into the toasty bubble of his touch. Leon’s even warmer from being tucked underneath his coat. Pure goodness and safety glows off him like a fucking nuclear reactor, and it dawns on you that you haven’t felt safe at all since he left. Anyone can be plucked off the streets here.

One more scratchy kiss and then he’s leading you deeper into your apartment. No one on Earth would believe that he’s a chatty guy, but he talks the whole way through. Too often he’s left to sit in his own mind on missions, and you’re treated to two week’s worth of his backlog in the next ten minutes. All the little things he wanted to say to you. The streams of smart-mouth commentary he was famous for at the academy are all inner monologue now, but you’re confident the Leon radio show still runs twenty four hours a day. He chatters so much in his head that it slips out of him like water sometimes—

“…that close to an explosion would disintegrate you, but fuck physics I guess—“ Leon interrupts his own flow of thought to squint at you. “Quit looking at me like that. It’s unfair how pretty you are when you’re tired. What was I—not like the laws of physics apply to that movie anyway, but…”

—and you’re stupidly charmed by it. He talks to comfort himself, and because the two of you are one unit, one person to him, he does the same for you.

With your hand tethered in his, he clicks off the radio in the kitchen. One of Leon’s side-stories replaces the random late-night station that’d been playing, floating over the din of the rain like bass over relaxing drums. He pours out the dregs of your coffee. He closes the files full of gruesome crime scene photos on your coffee table, and you watch, barely able to keep your head up, as he flips your whiteboard over to its blank side. You’ll get his second opinion on the case tomorrow.

Leon sweeps the place with you in tow, and once the security system’s armed and you’re almost sagging against him, the lights come off. Though you’ve had plenty of time to adjust to the Leon that returned home from training, you’ll never get used to the little alien ticks it’s given him. He navigates to your bedroom in complete blackness. He avoids the creaky floorboard just outside your door without seeing, deathly silent. The broad presence of him looms in the dark.

One wall of the bedroom is nothing but paneled glass, throwing a long square of dark blue moonlight over your rumpled comforter. While the view of the Potomac and Capital Hill is stellar from up here, you’ve always felt out of place among the things Leon’s generous salary has earned the two of you: a flat with a private elevator in the nice part of town, fresh-off-the-press sports cars, a getaway cabin up north. So much of it you end up enjoying by yourself. It only ever feels worth it when he’s here, smacking his elbow into the digital wall-panel that controls your A/C.

“—s’ supposed to be a touch screen,” he sidebars himself for the tenth time. Softer, Leon adds, “Brush your teeth. I’ll be right there.”

You rope your arms around his middle and press your face into the heart of his back, careful of the bruises he’s doing his best to hide. “Wanna wait for you.”

Leon doesn’t protest. There’s more little beeps as he screws with the temperature of your mattress or something, deciding, “We live in a damn spaceship. Are we too good for plain old-fashioned buttons now?”

Apparently you are, since old man Leon fails to figure out how to crank the heat up. You let him play with it for a little while longer (it’s not his fault he’s rarely home), and then intervene with a few quick taps when things get dire. The heater hums to life under the floor a beat later, and he turns in your grip to scoff, mystified by your vast and incredible knowledge.

“My smart girl,” he hums.

Just that is enough to chip off a piece of your strength. Had he said that to you over the phone, a million miles away in god-knows-where, your knees would buckle. He is the only one who talks to you like that—with so much simple, uncomplicated love. Too tired to put your thoughts into words, you flatten a hand over his heart and kiss the sun-freckled nape of his neck.

“Clingy,” Leon mutters. You’re pretty sure it’s supposed to sound dry and funny, another one of his jokes. But then he’s smoothing both of his palms down your arms in two long handsy swaths, and the gesture tells you everything about just how clingy he’s feeling, too.

His stories make getting ready for bed an even slower affair. You couldn’t mind if you wanted to. As you help him out of his starchy dress-shirt button by button, he surprises you with a rare explanation of where he’s been for the last weeks. The UK. Truly, your husband is the special secret agent to end all special secret agents: he talks around his job as if it was a bump he’d hit on the way home, entertaining you instead with his Leon-ified vision of London. Touristy as shit. Loud as shit. Smelled like shit.

“Just like DC,” he chuckles, and then a second time when your fluffy head pops through the collar of the sleep shirt he’s dressing you in.

It’s too much rough, cinnamon spice laughter for one woman to stand. You duck away to brush your teeth and groan into your palms like a schoolgirl over him, but sure enough, Leon trails you, fingers chasing the hem of your shirt (his shirt) in a sleepy daze. He always keeps you in view. Nervous, maybe, to have you out of his sight.

This tradition continues when the two of you crawl into bed. Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and so has your body, able to sense him on the stupidly expensive mattress beside you. He thinks you can’t tell, but his gaze roves over you again and again—down your back when you flop face-first into the plush bedding, over the slope of your shoulder when you wiggle under the covers. Leon draws you into the glorious halo of his body heat with a gentle hand on your belly. If you could bottle this feeling, the whole world would be sick and stupid for him in hours. Minutes even.

You feel so safe that the word doesn’t even come to mind. Just vague, peaceful shapes of things you know, home, sleep, cologne, cozy. His work-rough palm with his body-warm wedding band slips under your tee to sweep over your ribs. Then comes Leon’s face, just on the right side of stubbly as he shoves it between your shoulder blades without a single lick of shame. The breath he takes of you is so heavy that his whole frame shudders with it, top to bottom.

You remember how you’d burrowed into his jacket the second he got home and think, You are me and I am you. We’re always on the same page.

With that, the stage is set. DC’s faraway glittering cityscape lights up all the raindrops on your window, and you watch them run as the two of you melt into one another. Leon’s warm breaths slow across your neck. Time for you to deliver your line.

You wet your lips and murmur into your pillow, “Do you want to talk about your mission?”

Legally, he can’t say yes. Government secrets, bureaucracy, yadda yadda. Leon isn’t always emotionally ready to crack open a coffin he’s just finished sealing, either, but while it is his job to close your case files for the night, you’re his wife. You’re the only person who can knock on that door. With how little choice he has left in his life, you try to give him options whenever you can. Regardless, you know the man you married—strong-willed on a mythical fucking level, and just as self-sacrificing. He’ll always try to spare you.

Sure enough, Leon says, “Tomorrow. Do you want to talk about your case?”

You shake your head at him, exhausted to the point of dizziness. “Tomorrow.”

A tender kiss is pressed to the nape of your neck, and the whole world goes silent for the perfect, husky whisper you’ve ached to hear. You feel his wry smile against your skin. “We’re always on the same page, baby.”

[alienoresimagines]

can you write [knuckles] for a kiss on the hand? thank you!!

I'm sorry this took so long, I hope you're still around 🥺❤️But here it is, 1.8k long despite my best efforts at keeping it under 1k 😅 I hope you'll like it 💕 Also on AO3 My other Clegan fics here

Never Coming Down (With Your Hand In Mine) | Buck x Bucky

The radio they managed to find doesn't tell them much of interest regarding the Allies’ troops and their progress, but writing any tidbits of information down gives John something to focus on that isn't this camp, this life that isn't really a life but that isn't death either, just some in-between that John is stuck in, unable to do anything or be useful. One foot in the grave and every day wishing a bit more it was both. In the darkest corner of his mind, he thinks that perhaps his death would save Gale from tiring himself to the bone trying to keep John tethered to Earth. Maybe, at least then, he could be useful to Buck. 

The thought is squashed away almost immediately, guilt crawling in his throat. Those few days after Gale had gone down over Bremen were the worst in John's life. The certainty that he was now a piece of something that would never be whole again, with no home to fight for anymore, had been the most excruciating pain John's ever known. Over the course of just a few months, he’s lost more friends than he can count, each loss cutting deeper. But losing Gale hadn’t just felt like losing a limb. From the moment Red’s distorted voice reached his ears through the phone - “He went down swinging, John” - he was an empty shell walking, his chest hollow with no heart, some vital part of him missing. No matter how miserable this camp makes him, wishing such agony on his best friend, his better half is unbearable. If only to spare Gale any additional pain, he’ll plant both feet in the mud until they stop trying to get him closer to that barbed-wire fence. 

Yet, despite desperately wishing Gale out of harm’s way, his being chained to the dirt with him is John’s saving grace. In the darkness of the Stalag, Gale shines brighter than the North Star, and John fights every day to keep himself from the fog in his head to grasp at this soft golden light. It's easier at night, the weight of Gale in his arms a grounding presence, the distinct smell of him feeling more and more like home, but John is starting to make it through some days always there too. Listening to the radio also helps, especially when most days, it's just him and Gale at the table, the others keeping watch on the guards from outside. Soon it'll be too cold for them to do so without it being suspicious or dangerous for their own health, but for now, John is glad he gets to spend more time alone with Gale. His ma always said he fights tooth and nail for those he loves, and right now, he's desperately grasping at the fading rays of sunlight, selfishness be damned.

Today, the BBC doesn't have any interesting news to keep hold of his attention for long, so he mostly scribbles down what he hears without making sense of the words strung together, too focused on the solid presence of Buck on his right. With both of them being right-handed, it would have been too much of a hindrance to be pressed close enough for their shoulders to touch, but their knees knock together every so often, like silent banter. It sends sparks of warmth down John's spine, the focused tilt of Gale's mouth only amusing him in his boredom. In the past five minutes, he's sent his knee against Gale's in soft presses, alternating between lingering and fleeting touches until the word B-U-C-K is successfully floating in the air, though the man himself seems entirely unaware of it, tongue darting between his lips in concentration. Bucky's debating coding G-A-L-E, just to see if the rare occurrence of his given name will snap the other out of his focus when said man grunts softly as he scribbles, pencil scratching the paper as it nears the edge. John mindlessly hands him a blank piece of paper, more than attuned to all the different ways the other has to ask for something without voicing his desires, eyes trained on the stray blond curl falling on Buck’s forehead. Without lifting his eyes from his piece of paper, Gale extends a pale hand to take John's offering, the contact of their fingers sending a jolt through John's blood. He lets out a yelp, slightly jerking back before diving in to hold Gale's hands between his own, Buck's sound of confusion and protest as his pencil is thrown out of his hold swallowed by John's cursing.

"Jesus, Buck, your hands are fuckin' freezing." John doesn't feel particularly warm but the difference in temperature between both their hands is such that he half-expects the air to start hissing. How Gale can still move his fingers is a mystery to him, and his gut goes tight with worry. Trying to rub warmth back into those hands, John brings them to his face so that he can blow hot air on long fingers. He's deeply aware of how intimate the gesture is, especially in a place like this, and he can feel heat rising to his cheeks but he focuses stubbornly on his task. Keeping his eyes on those hands he’s never held so close to his face is a necessary precaution to ensure he doesn’t dismiss any inch of skin in his mission to warm them enough that he doesn’t have to worry about them falling off, and it has the additional effect of allowing John to study them without fearing being caught.

Gale's hands truly are beautiful. They've always been, and in the years he's known the other, John has spent more time than he probably should have admiring them. How they wrap in a strong grip around the yolk to wield a metal fortress effortlessly, how long, slender fingers bring a toothpick to the plump curve of his lips. Calluses on fingers and rough palms that were still so gentle and kind when they tended to John's wounds just a few months ago. Today, they look frail and dry, the knuckles angry red and cracked from the cold. It hurts to even look at them, those hands that were more suited for piano and gently guiding horses across fields now cracked by misery and cold. Acting on an urge, he presses a kiss to the knuckles of both, a silent promise to warm them and get them better, to get them far from weapons and barbed fences, and back to horses and piano and books.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Gale blinking owlishly at him, perfectly still. Between them, the radio crackles, words floating in the air but never making it to any paper. After a few more seconds, Gale's voice rises too, soft despite his usual deep southern drawl.

"I need my hands back, Bucky." John frowns, still rubbing his palms over Gale's hands to warm them. Admittedly, he knows Gale can't write with his foot, even though imagining it almost makes him smile, but really, nothing the BBC is broadcasting right now is worth the risk of Gale losing his hands to the cold. Unconsciously, he brings Gale's hands closer to his face, just shy of nuzzling them with the tip of his nose, already thinking of all the ways he could get them warm. It would be, like many things, easier at night. With the cold, everybody has taken up to sharing a bunk and no one would notice if Gale's hands were pressed to his skin, under his shirt. Even though the thought of those icicles against more sensitive skin than his palms isn't exactly a pleasant one, he'd do it in a heartbeat. For the day, when it would be too risky for John to hold Gale's hands in his pockets, maybe he could find him some gloves, at least make mittens out of socks, to soften the blow of the cold and the sting of the wind. 

"Bucky ?" Eyes snapping to Gale's, he finds him with his head slightly tilted to the side, cheeks red from the cold. It's then he realizes he still has both of Gale's hands in his. The other looks at him and then back at his paper before raising his brows in a silent question, making John huff. Reluctantly, he lets go of Gale's right hand but immediately cradles his left hand on his lap. He hopes Gale will be satisfied with this, but the other keeps looking at him insistently, a fond glint in his eyes but brows slightly furrowed, as if his left hand being held in both of John's is a math problem he can’t solve.

At the silent question, he rolls his eyes and makes a show of putting his own left hand on the upper part of Gale's paper, making sure it doesn't move from its spot on the table. The paper is smooth against his fingertips, contrasting with the rough feel of the wooden table that has given them more than their fair share of splinters on his palm. He misses the feeling of Gale’s hands in his. For a moment, he had felt whole in a way he usually only feels at night. Gale's hand is starting to get warmer in his, the skin rough from the cold, but John has never held something as delicate and precious as it, save for Gale himself.

Resting their joined hands on his lap, he intertwines their fingers and fights down the blush he can feel creeping up his neck, eyes resolutely on the paper in front of the other. There’s no reason to feel nervous, they’ve slept in each other’s arms so often by now it really shouldn’t matter, but something about the fact that this isn’t about survival forces him to take a deep breath before moving. With one slide over the bench, his side is pressed to Gale’s, shoulders rising and falling in tandem. He’s glad to notice that Buck isn’t as cold as his hands, warmth seeping from his side to John’s as rapidly as the tension leaves the set of his shoulders until he’s pressing back into John.

They'll work slower like that but Gale doesn't protest nor take his hand away, only resettling slightly so his thigh also rests against John’s. Tentatively, he risks a glance at Gale and finds him looking down at the table, face still red but from something John has an inkling isn't the cold anymore, biting his bottom lip softly but mouth nonetheless quirked upwards. It takes every ounce of strength and self-restraint in him not to kiss him, to smother the affection blooming in his chest. Instead, after a bit of silence in which he feels he might suffocate on pent-up love, John squeezes Gale's hand in his and the other seems to focus back on his task, startled. Clearing his throat, Gale starts scribbling again, pointedly avoiding looking to his left, but John doesn't mind, a smile spreading his cracked lips, fondness written plain on his face as he doesn’t look away for a second.

On his lap, Gale squeezes his hand back.

[polargemini]

So I have a plot for a fic where Wade believes Peter Parker is experimenting on people (like on the comic) and this is like part of the scene when Wade attempts to kill him.

————

Wade doesn’t go right away after he shoots Parker. He stays there, right in front of him, seeing how his face morphs into a new expression. One full of affliction.

“W—“ Parker tries to say something. But his chest moves erratically, hindering any attempt to speak, and the bloods flows out of the injury, staining his lab coat.

He doesn’t have a lot of time left. That much is evident. He’s minutes away from dying, painfully, feeling each second the excruciating agony of the bullet near his heart — until it stops beating.

The fact that Wade isn’t taking the time to prolong this, to make Parker feel the same torment of the people who suffered at his hands, it’s a small courtesy to Spidey. Even if he never discovers that Parker was taking advantage of him, using him to cover his wicked purposes, Wade hopes that making it fast will make it better.

Because he isn’t supposed to be killing anyone. Less Spidey’s boss, the guy Spidey idolizes.

Wade had promised himself he wouldn’t kill again. Not after he changed. He was finally able to be someone different, someone worthy of being near Spidey. But after he found out Parker was behind the experiments, it was impossible to stand still and believe that Parker deserved a second chance. He’s probably throwing out the window all the progress of these few months.

But he has to do this.

Parker’s death will be fast — as fast as the bleed out takes — but he’s not leaving earth without suffering first. That’s why Wade aimed purposely to a spot near Parker’s heart and not directly at it.

He looks how Parker puts his hands around his chest, like he could somehow stop the bleeding just with that. What an idiot. For someone who is famous for being a scientist, he must be aware anything he does will be useless. There’s no going back.

And yet.

“W—“ Parker tries again.

He should be on the floor by now, but for some reason he keeps wanting to talk. It really is bothering Wade.

"Why? Are asking why? Gonna keep pretending til’ the end? You aren't fooling me, Parker. You know exactly what you did,” Wade snaps and Parker flinches at his words. Like they hurt more than the wound on his body.

"Wa—" Peter insists.

Wade grunts. “Is it wait now? C’mon, Parker. Not gonna spent my time trying to guess your last words. And if you’re really asking me to wait, think again. I bet they asked the same, and you—“

Wade groans, and then he aims the gun at Parker’s head, to his forehead. There’s no reason not to pull the trigger. Even if Wade spares him the pain ending things now, there’s no way for Parker to survive. He will accomplish what he came to do.

Wade analyzes the face behind the muzzle, and to his surprise, Parker doesn’t have the face of a murderer. There’s no guilt, not even a hint of anger for being discovered. Or that shame and sobbing that Wade has presence sometimes, when the people he had killed realized it was time to face the consequences of their actions.

If something, there's an indescribable pain in Parker’s eyes. He looks hurt, and it’s a different hurting, not the one he must be feeling from the bullet. It’s like he can’t understand why Wade did that to him. And not for the whole experimenting-on-people-matter. Nor the bullet matter. Its seems deeper, which doesn’t make sense.

Spidey talks a lot about Parker’s job, but Wade never got to meet him. Not until now. This is the first time they’re looking face to face. How should he take that expression? It’s feels personal, but there’s no way for it to be.

“Whatever,” Wade says as he holsters the gun. He isn’t wasting more bullets on this asshole. He turns his back, and walks away. He isn’t giving Parker the satisfaction of having someone to hear his last words — if he even manages to talk at some point.

All the time on his way out of the building, he tries to shake out of his head the look on those brown eyes.

[perfecto888]

can we get hansumfella head cannons with you actually comparing the labor/period cramp simulator? like he’s asking you to try it on with him so he can actually know if it’s accurate :P maybe some fluff the next your on your period bc he actually understands the agony

thx !! 🤍

period cramp simulator hcs - bf!hansumfella

Thank you for the request ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He will definitely stream while trying it out.

After you explained it to him and told him that it’s way more painful than being kicked in the balls, he was trying to chicken out of it.

But after little convincing he decided to do it for you and experience himself what his girl has to go through every month.

“Okay guys, she’s about to turn it on!” he says with a grin on his face.

But his face dropped a bit when you turned the simulation on.

“Which level is this?” he asked immediately. “The first one. I’m gonna go easy on you” you said with a smirk.

Only you could see the fear in Tyler’s eyes.

“Chat, you should bet while you can, am I going to die or just absolutely suffer”

This statement made you laugh and you decided to switch to the second level without telling Fella.

“Hey hey! You should at least warn me!”

Next few levels were already excruciating for him, but he managed to pull through.

However, level 7 (which is a standard cramp intensity for you) made Tyler beg for you to stop it.

“I thought you wanted to experience what I feel every month!” you exclaimed, in a joking manner.

“Yeah, before I knew it felt like this!” he pointed to the simulator on his abs

After a short break you both decided that level 8 will be the last.

You genuinely never seen your boyfriend in such pain.

He yelled for you to stop it after half a minute and you did.

Then he wrapped up the stream.

After this he made sure you were comfortable every time you were on your period.

From now on he makes sure that your house is always stacked with hygiene essentials and your favorite snacks.

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 27: You’ll Be In My Heart

Words: 1000

Pairing: Eddie x Reader

Rating: T

CW: Language

Summary: Time is running out to tell Eddie how you feel.

@corrodedcoffinfest

“We did it! We’re going on tour!”

The smile on Eddie’s face when he told you the news was the biggest and brightest you’ve ever seen on his face. The smile on your face was forced and fake, but attempting to be as convincing as it could for your friend’s sake.

This was his dream, what he’s been working towards for years. There was no way you could let him know how devastated it made you. That the very words crushed your heart and suffocated your soul.

“That’s amazing, Eds! I’m so proud of you!”

The first half was a lie. The second half was not. But it was worth it with how he pulled you into his arms and squeezed you tight against his body.

Keeping up a smile around him became harder to do with every day that passed. To appear as excited as he was while depression was eating you from the inside out was a challenge.

Other friends knew how you were feeling inside. It was hard to tell if it was because they knew how you felt about Eddie, or you’re just not a convincing actress.

“You should tell him,” Nancy advised you more than once. It wasn’t as simple as she made it sound, though.

Tell him what, exactly? How you’re desperately in love with him and have been since the day you met? How the thought of him being gone for months makes you wish you could go into a coma until his return? How the thought of all the pretty girls that will be all over him has made you vomit into your toilet every night for the past week?

None of that would go over well.

“Besides, it would be even worse,” you told Nancy, “to confess how I feel and then still have him choose to leave.” Because that would be a conscious choice of leaving you over staying with you. It would be harder to delude yourself that way, as well. To tell yourself that maybe if he knew, he would’ve stayed, even when deep down you know it’s a lie.

“It’s only a couple of months,” you tell her. What you don’t say is that you’re sure after this he’ll be leaving Hawkins for good. How could the band stay here if they wanted to be successful? It’s impossible in a small town like this. They’ll need to be in Chicago, New York, or Los Angeles.

So, you hold it all in. Every jab to the chest you feel whenever he brings up going on the road. The nausea that churns through you constantly, since you can never keep it off your mind.

Time worked funny leading up to the band’s departure. Waiting for the agony of saying goodbye felt like it would never arrive. Poking you in the heart every day saying, remember what’s coming! But at the same time, moments with Eddie felt fleeting. Every movie you watched with him felt like it was over in a blink. Every meal together it seemed like the food disappeared as soon as it was in front of you.

Finally, the day comes and it’s excruciating to pull yourself out of bed.

Even though the original plan was for you to help load up the back of Eddie’s van with all the equipment, it’s all finished when you get there. Further evidence of how excited he is to get the hell out of Hawkins.

Friends gather outside the trailer, Wayne standing amongst them with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Eddie grins as he begins to hug those who have come to see him off, starting with Dustin. Nancy stands next to you and it’s getting harder to ignore the way she keeps glancing at you from the corner of her eye. Willpower being at an all time low, you turn your head in her direction. Her eyebrows raise in question.

You shake your head.

Disappointment floods her face and last minute indecision fills your brain. Should you tell him? So at least he knows? You’re going to be heartbroken either way when he drives off, so is it worth the risk?

You blink back in to focus as Eddie steps in front of you. He gives you a sad smile and pulls you in for a hug.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he says.

“I’m gonna miss you too,” you mumble against his shoulder. Pressure builds up in your eyes and you don’t have the energy to hold it back.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he whispers.

You nod, not trusting your voice. But as he takes a step away from you, your hand reaches out without permission, grabbing onto the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Eddie?”

He turns back to you with a curious look in his eye.

“I…”

Most of the others are talking amongst themselves but you can feel the heat of Nancy’s gaze on you.

“I, um.” You swallow, looking into those molten chocolate eyes that haunt your every thought.

“I love you.”

A small yet genuine smile crinkles his eyes and he pulls you in for another hug.

“I love you, too.”

He gives you another squeeze and a pat on the shoulder before he moves on to say goodbye to Max.

Tears fall heavier now.

“Are you okay?” Nancy whispers from behind you.

You don’t have an answer for that, though. Everything has gone numb. The words that laid heavy on your heart for so long came out, but he didn’t get it. It’s not within you to debate whether or not that was for the best.

Goodbyes all said and done, Eddie gives one last wave before he hoists himself into his van and starts the rumbling engine. Your eyes don’t leave the rusty old gas guzzler until it pulls out of Forest Hills and leaves you standing there. Surrounded by friends but feeling utterly alone.

“No,” you whisper, barely audible to even yourself. “I’m in love with you.”

[emeritusemeritus]

Turn back the hands of time. [Weasley twins x Reader]

Title: Turn back the hands of time.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader, (George Weasley x Reader later)

Timeline: Set six months after Fred’s Death.

Summary: What if you got the gift of time just to relive a moment with your deceased beloved one more time?

Warnings: Fred does the big sleep. Death. Grief, tears, emotional trauma. Use of a time turner (setting my own rules here). Mentions of marriage and kids. So much pain. McGonagall being a queen. Reader is implied Gryffindor.

I apologise, this one hurts. 🥀

The six months that had passed since the love of your life died had been the most intolerable, excruciating months of your life. Nothing brought you comfort anymore; every single thing in your life was attached to memories of him, bittersweet and painful memories you were forced to relive each and everyday by simply existing. Each day from the second you woke you were reminded of the painful fact that you had to carry on living whilst he couldn't. There was no future for you anymore, no more dreams of small weddings and long honeymoons, no blessings of little ones or fantasies of being an author, holed up in a small little cabin hidden away in the forest like you'd always planned with Fred.

He would aparate into the shop each day and you would have a home office with a big, fancy writing desk placed directly in front of a large window to view the scenery around you as you wrote. After closing the shop and settling up for the night, Fred would return home and you'd cook together, spending evenings on the decking under twinkling lights as you appreciated your simple life. You'd had it all planned out in fine detail, the future you were no longer destined to have.

George was naturally devastated too, utterly broken by the loss of his twin brother. You two, being the closest people to Fred, had found just a smidge of comfort in each other initially but over time Fred's loss had built a wedge between you both, each of you only serving as a reminder of what you had both lost.

You'd not only lost your soulmate but also your best friend along the way and the family that had taken you in and loved you as one of their own.

You'd pulled away from them all the same week of Fred's funeral, finding it unfathomably hard to be around them all, the missing piece constantly highlighted in the sea of familiar red hair. 

A good day for you these days meant accomplishing something as mundane as showering or eating some sort of meal. You knew you'd lost weight, the clothes you always wore hung off your body now the same way Fred's clothes used to. But you couldn't seem to stomach anything, the lingering pain and grief creating a sickness in you that couldn't be soothed.

The pain never truly ever left you but it did come in waves. Most the time is was like a background noise, a constant humming that ran through you like a curse but sometimes it was panic inducing pain, taking away your ability to breathe and function as haunting sobs wracked your body until you were crippled with agony, regret and hopeless longing.

You'd had a good day, as far as they went, managing to crawl out of bed and into the shower before trying to distract yourself with some muggle tv when a simple letter, delivered by owl, took your breath away once more.

Dear y/n,

I hope this letter finds you well, my thoughts have been with you each and every day since the battle. In Dumbledore's honour, we are conducting a memorial for the fallen and I would like to personally invite you to celebrate in the life of the loved ones we have lost. Fred's life will be celebrated by his staff, friends, family and fellow students as we pay respect to their bravery and sacrifice.

I would be honoured if you would join us.

With profound sympathy,

Minerva Mcgonagall.

You couldn't breathe again, tears streaming down your face as you read the letter through misty eyes, having to blink away the tears constantly to refocus your vision.

You didn't want to go. Your initial instinct was to burn the letter and hide from it, isolating yourself further and further until no one of your past life could ever find you again, lest contact you by owl. But you couldn't do that to Fred. He deserved everyone he loved and that loved him to celebrate his life, to tell stories of his triumphs and notorious endeavours in his time at Hogwarts. You couldn't be selfish this time, not for your Fred.

——

As you stepped into the all too familiar castle alone, you felt a dichotomy of feelings barrage you all at once. This had been your home since you were 11 years old, the place where you finally had a sense of belonging, where your best memories had been made, the place that you had met and fell in love with Fred Weasley and the place he'd died.

The castle had undergone extensive repairs and looked better than ever since the destruction from the war. Walking through the halls you felt both soothed and conflicted, the trembling of your hands never once leaving as you anticipated seeing everyone again.

"Y/n/n?" A familiar voice called from behind you, making your eyes close momentarily from the pain in their voice. You turned to see Ginny stood there, staring at you with a worried look on her face. She looked well, pretty, in sharp contrast to you.

"How?" She began to say as she walked towards you, thinking better of the statement before throwing her arms around you, "I'm so glad you're here."

You hummed a reply, already feeling an invisible weight tugging at you as you held your friend, the sister in law you'd once anticipated.

"Everyone's through here," she says, taking you by the hand as she led you towards the great hall, before you could protest. Your stomach roiled with nerves as you tried to keep your eyes down, not ready to see everyone again.

"Y/n?" A voice called out, the tone of shock and worry so intricately laced in the maternal tone it was hard to hear it. Molly. You raised your eyes just in time to see her move quickly towards you and embrace you tightly, the all too familiar smell of her and their home encasing you entirely. You bit your lip hard to stop the tears from falling, already succumbing to your overwhelming emotions as hard as you tried to deny them. Each Weasley took the time to give you a warm hug, even Arthur who had cradled you in his arms surprisingly tight.

When the last hug didn't come, you looked up with tear stricken eyes towards the body that had made no effort to walk towards you, George. He looked just as haunted as you, tired and frail as he looked upon you with sad eyes, tears silently falling down his face. You stared at each other for a moment, unsure of how to proceed until your lip quivered and a small sob escaped you. George rushed forward and pulled you straight into his chest, neither of you caring about the tears and sobs that fell from you both, too fixed upon each other to give a single care about the onlookers.

"I'm so sorry," you both said at exactly the same time, earning a little chuckle from you both at the ridiculousness of it all.

You and George never left each others side the entire  time, clutching hold of each other's hand as you navigated the painful memories and eulogies, each giving a squeeze intermittently to let the other know that you were still there.

Mcgonagall had called you away some time before the official memorial had began, walking with you towards the office she now held that was once Dumbledore's. George had reluctantly dropped your hand with a quiet, frantic whisper that you'd better be back soon.

"It's good to see you y/n," she says, gesturing for you to step towards the desk. You'd always felt a kinship with you previous head of house, both of you having a flair for transfiguration and underneath the sometimes harsh exterior, she had a wicked sense of humour.

"You too professor," you replied, trying to force an honest smile onto your face, not having used those muscles in months.

"Oh professor," she laughs, "call me Minerva," you says, scandalised at the notion of you calling her professor. You smiled warmly, this time not having to force the smile, feeling surprisingly comforted by her.

"You know, I always knew you and Mr Weasley would become an item, right from the day he turned your water goblet into a rock," she smiled, taking her seat as she gazed up at you fondly, "I am so sorry for your loss."

You chuckled at the memory, for once not feeling complete anguish at the thoughts of you and Fred. It was your first transfiguration class and you'd been tasked with turning your pets into water goblets as every first year is expected to do. You'd succeeded first try and Fred had then turned said water goblet into a small rock before your very eyes. To his surprise you had barked out a laugh instead of cursing him out for the ridiculous prank and you'd been firm friends with both the twins ever since. Only in your third year did you begin to catch real feelings for him and by your fourth year you were completely smitten. Before fifth year began, just before the Weasley's trip to Egypt, you were officially dating, finally saying I love you and the rest was history, never parting from each other once you'd found your person. You'd attended the yule ball together, been hand in hand for every task, even as the twins gambled their way through the games. You'd spent hours upon hours inventing, perfecting and packaging their inventions with them and had been been included every step of the way in designing and opening the store. You smiled in pure nostalgia as Mcgonagall's comment triggers a pool of memories for you.

"I've never told anyone this, except for Albus, but when I was a young woman, I lost the love of my life too," she says, bringing you back to the present. You look at her with a sympathetic look though with wide eyes, shocked by her revelation. "He didn't die so it's not exactly the same but he might as well have." Her eyes begin to cloud over as you can see painful memories coming to the forefront of her mind.

"I was a much younger woman then, having graduated from Hogwarts and securing a position in the ministry, the department of magical law enforcement. Before I left for London, I returned home and met a local farm boy, a muggle. Fred Weasley reminded me a great deal of him, perhaps that's why his passing has been so hard for me aswell. He was handsome, clever and so terribly quick witted he even gave me a run my money".

You huffed out a little laugh, knowing how fierce and funny she could be underneath the professional exterior. She sent you a warm smile as you listened intently to her story.

"He proposed not long after our whirlwind summer, right in the middle of a ploughed field owned by his father. I didn't hesitate for a second and said yes straight away, blindsided by love. After I'd accepted, I realised that the future I would be creating for myself would cut me off from the Wizarding world completely, just as my mother had when she married my father. I realised I couldn't live a life the only place I felt like I belonged, having to lock my wand away for ever, unhappily drifting through a life in which I'd rejected the gift I'd been given. Three days later I left for London alone though I never stopped loving Dougal."

"What happened to him?" You asked quietly, not wanting to upset her. She sighed in return, looking down at the desk.

"My mother informed me years later that he married the daughter of another farm owner in Caithness, I never heard anything else after that."

"I'm so sorry Minerva," you said honestly, feeling a tightness in your chest at hearing her story. Truthfully it had been your own form of distraction from your own pain and you were immensely thankful for that.

She sent you a sad smile, nodding her head gently as she looked up at you.

"You're probably wondering why I told you all of this," she says with a smile. Before you can protest, she raises her hand warmly like a mother would and smiled, "I have two points to sharing this personal story with you. The first, is that time truly does heal wounds. You may feel as if you will never be rid of this pain, not knowing how to go on or feeling as if you don't want to, and that my dear is perfectly understandable but every month will get easier, every year you will begin to feel less pain and more pleasant nostalgia until you find a version of yourself that had bloomed from the pain."

Your eyes had filled with tears again at her kind words. Something in her tone made you truly believe that this was true and that you did have a chance of healing eventually, but nothing was comforting enough to immediately relieve the pain, nor set your mind at ease.

"The second, is a gift of sorts," she says, reaching into the top drawer of her desk which she unlocks with a wave of her wand. You frowned gently, not knowing how to respond as she pulls out a little wooden box. She casts another spell and the box opens with an intricate unravelling of the wooden box.

Your breath catches in your throat at you recognise the contents immediately; the time turner that Hermione had been given by Dumbledore all those years ago.

"I'm sure you remember this, as I believe yourself and miss Granger made excellent use of this in your third and fifth respective years." You could do nothing but nod, overwhelmed at the sudden implication of the possibilities of the gift.

"As you know, nothing can be altered by reversing the time, everything will always happened exactly as it always had. I know how tempting it could be to try and fix the projection of our lives, but consider this a gentle warning as to why it is not practical to do so," she says, handing you the time turner. You feel the cold, heavy weight of the time piece in your palm as you inspect it, remembering every detail.

"I always wish I'd gotten more time with Dougal, even just to relive a singular moment or to see him one last time but I was never brave enough, never wanting to jeopardise how far I'd come in my healing. But for you, the gift of time could be invaluable."

You began to cry silently, tears unable to be held back any longer at her kind gesture.

"Thank you, so much," you said through the tears, struggling to hold back your sobs. She immediately stood and moved to wrap her arms around your shoulders, her cape falling over you as if she was protecting you entirely.

"You always were one of my very favourite students," she says, rubbing your shoulder. "Despite the trouble, the mischief was usually rather funny," she admitted. Both of you laughed for a moment at her words, your free hand coming up to wipe at your eyes.

"If I were you, I'd chose a memory that you weren't originally around for, you'll get more time with him. Unless you want to watch from afar," she says, straightening herself out, though keeping a firm hand on your shoulder.

You wracked your brain for a time that you weren't around Fred, finding it hard to think of any specifics. Showing up randomly at the burrow would only pose deep, unanswerable questions that you couldn't explain, everything had to fit to the exact projection of exactly what had happened.

A vague memory of Harry popped into your mind, a tale he'd told about the twins that had been endearing to say the least. You remembered him telling you about seeing Fred and George comforting a young boy in the courtyard that had been victim to Umbridge's unorthodox punishments whilst you were in detention with Snape. Perfect. There was no chance of you accidentally showing up, knowing that you'd gone straight to the common room after that particular detention and it wouldn't interrupt the greater timeline.

You closed your eyes and estimated how many turns you'd need, settling on a little over three full turns, praying it would be enough as you fixated on a certain point.

Immediately your sense of space and time began to shift as you broke through whatever dimension you were entering as the time turner rumbled in your hand.

You were immediately met by the sight of Snape's classroom door which was thankfully sealed shut. You ran immediately out to the courtyard, desperation and adrenaline coursing through your body as you fought to get to your destination quickly, not knowing how much time you'd have.

Your knees nearly buckled upon hearing hushed whispers around the corner from you, tucked away in one of the corridors.

"It's not as bad as it seems, see, it's fading already."

"You can hardly see ours anymore and the pain stops eventually,"

"Yeah."

You walk around the corner and your lip instantly quivers at seeing him. You had to act strong, be strong for him so he wouldn't worry, knowing you couldn’t change the trajectory of time but it was so hard.

He was crouched on the floor beside the stone bench where the young boy sat sobbing with George sat next to him trying to comfort the sad boy, showing him his own scars on the back of his hand.

Fred's hair was a little longer than it had been when he died, something that you had always loved on him, secretly preferring when his hair looked a little overgrown and shaggy. He wore a blue striped polo shirt with a mustard yellow long sleeve shirt underneath and his dark trousers, all of which complemented him so well. In the time between the current events and his death, you'd rarely seen him wear anything other than a fancy suit when he worked at the shop or a simple pair of sweatpants when he got home, usually exhausted. It was so refreshing to see him look so perfectly Fred, reminding you of the boy you'd fallen hopelessly in love with all those years ago.

George also looked great, wearing a matching outfit with contrasting colours that complimented him just as well. He looked well and happy and you had to hold back another quiver of your lip at seeing the boy you loved like your own brother be so different to how you knew him now.

Fred noticed you almost immediately as you walked around the corner, stood silently observing him beside the stone pillar and the wickedly playful grin spread all over his face upon seeing you. He sprang up from his crouched position and raised his eyebrows at you in surprise.

You immediately flung yourself into his arms and he caught you seamlessly with a little 'oof' at the sudden impact. Your eyes filled with the tears you were trying so hard to stop as the familiarity and comfort of being in his arms surrounded you. Nothing felt like this. You fit so perfectly into his arms that he had once mentioned that your body must have been moulded from his own, your head resting perfectly on his chest, directly over his beating heart. His scent surrounded you like a delicious fog, the familiar scents of sweet marshmallow and dark notes of whiz bang smoke clung to your nostrils as you took deep breaths in trying to fill your body with his scent so that you'd always remember.

You felt like you could finally breathe again, finally home where you belonged.

His arms had locked around your shoulders, keeping you firmly against his body, no doubt sensing your need for him in that moment. His hand played with the strands of your hair as he bent down to kiss the top of your head.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" He asks quietly, only loud enough for you to hear, considering you still had an audience. Hearing him address you, calling you sweetheart had your world shattering and you could no longer stop the tears from falling down your face.

"F-Fred?" You said with a shaky breath, trying desperately to hold back the sobs that built up within your body.

"I'm here, I'm right here," he said soothingly, rocking you both back and forth gently as he pressed another kiss to your head.

"What's happened? Did Snape do something? Umbridge?" He says, pulling you back slightly so that he can look you in the eye, his worry clearly evident on his face, the protective side of him coming out as he considered that someone had hurt you.

You shook your head quickly, knowing you couldn't say anything that would work as an excuse.

"No, I just, I just needed to see you," you said honestly, the innocence and the weight of your words tugging at your heart, knowing he would never know how much you meant it.

His brown pulled together quickly in a slight frown before it disappeared off his face as he reached up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

You tried to push away all the intrusive thoughts that plagued your mind, things that only propelled you to feeling sadder, things you wanted to tell him and all the things you missed about him but you couldn't.

"I love you Freddie," you said, looking directly into his eyes, watching as they sparkled and an honest smile pulled at his lips.

"Not as much as I love you sweetheart," he replied, pulling you in for another hug, though this one was more playful as he squeezed you, making a laugh erupt from your mouth.

You suddenly pulled away and looked towards George who looked on in equal parts confusion and worry. The young boy had gone, no doubt feeling awkward about the whole interaction, leaving you with just the twins. 

You broke away from Fred and moved towards George who stood instinctively as you approached him. You threw your arms around his neck and he fumbled awkwardly for a moment before moving his hands to wrap around you, holding you to him.

"I love you Georgie," you said. He chuckled against you.

"What the bloody hell happened in that potions room?" He jokes but suddenly squeezes you tighter and replies that he loves you too.

"Trying to steal my woman brother?" Fred says from beside us, his tone just as joking and playful as you'll always remember it to be.

"Maybe, I am the better looking one after all," George jokes as you slip out of his hold.

"My future wife disagrees, don't you sweetheart," Fred says, pulling you back over to his side.

You felt your heart shatter at his words and you tried desperately to act neutral under the circumstances, knowing that he had referred to you that way since fifth year. It had always filled you with pride and giddiness each and every time he would call you his future wife, the butterflies in your tummy fluttering wildly at his determination to marry you.

Somehow you found your strength and like magic you slipped into the moment, casting all thoughts aside as you spent your time wisely.

"Sorry George," you smirked, turning back to face Fred to really look at him, knowing that your time would soon be up.

"You think I'll make a good wife?" You ask Fred, who beams down at you with a smile as he slips his arm around you again.

"The best, only one I'll ever need," he smirks, his hand wandering on your waist to reach down and pat your bum.

"I'd do anything to marry you," you said, your voice breaking slightly towards the end as your emotions overcame you once again at the deeper, more painful meaning of your words.

"I have to go," you said to Fred, knowing that you couldn't linger around much longer. "Don't mention this again please, I don't want Snape to know I snuck out of detention," you lied. He nodded in understanding and you moved forward to give him a kiss, pouring your heart and soul into it as you clutched onto to the collar of his polo shirt, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

"I think you should get detention with Snape more often," he says, still holding you tightly to him. You laugh and nod enthusiastically as you spend your last moments really looking at him, trying to commit every inch of his skin to memory.

The little scar above his eyebrow, the mark on his nose, the curve and little bump on the bridge of his nose, the way his hair shaped his face perfectly.

His greeny brown eyes, always glittering with mischief, that's what you'd always remember of him.

"Bye Freddie, I love you" you said, barely able to contain your tears as you walked quickly away, hiding around the corner as you started to sob. You flicked the time turner back just the right amount and tolu felt yourself once again being pulled in every direction until you landed back in McGonagall’s office.

She’s still sat at the desk, signing some papers when you return and she offers you a kind smile, seeing your tear stained cheeks.

“Thank you,” you said, owing her all the gratitude in the world for gifting you the opportunity to see your beloved once again as you placed the time turner delicately back in the box on the table. She nodded warmly and smiled again.

“It’ll be here for you whenever you need it,”

She says, placing it back into the drawer desk, “now, shall we begin the ceremony?” She stands and gestures for you to join her and you do, already feeling stronger by the minute, like your brief visit with Fred had recharged you and given you enough strength to continue.

George slipped his hand into yours the second you were reunited, both of you sitting together as Mcgonagall lead the remembrance ceremony. It was hard to hear Fred’s name and the memories of him shared around the room, but you’d found a strength you didn’t know you had. You cried, you laughed and you celebrated him in every way you could, in the way that he had always deserved.

Epilogue

As the years drew on, you’d visited McGonagall’s office numerous times to visit Fred as it were, only doing so when you felt you desperately needed to, which happened to be less and less over the years as you found your strength. Sometimes you watched from afar as you both interacted, seeing the love between you and sometimes you intercepted memories so that you could interact with him, smell him and feel his skin against yours.

You never dated, feeling no pull or desire for another man in your life, never able to commit to anyone else, knowing that they would always come second to your true love. George had become something to you which you could never explain, a love of sorts which teetered between friendship and more, though it was hard to cross that line, knowing that anything you did would be irreversible. Years passed with you both stuck in limbo, until one day the line was crossed and you found no guilt or pain on the other side of the line but instead found comfort and love. You’d moved in together to a little cabin in the woods, the dream that you’d once had with Fred that George fulfilled for you and one sadness filled night had changed everything when you both sought comfort in each other, needing to feel like you weren’t alone anymore.

It was a natural progression to love George, and you both found that the only way of moving past your pain was to accept that Fred would always be the other half to both of you, with the rest completely dedicated to each other. You both knew you were the only ones that would be able to have this together, that somehow the gap left by Fred would remain but it would be comfortable, like an additional blessing to your relationship. No deciding between the two, no competition and no guilt at loving both.

You married a year after moving in together and you were happy, finally a Weasley just like you’d always wanted. You’d expected to be conflicted and initially you had been, but you and George were perfect for each other and you started a new life together, always keeping Fred in your hearts but finally putting yourselves and your relationship first.

When your first son arrived not a year after your wedding, you’d both cried tears of utter joy when he was born with fiery red hair and little freckles, a complete clone of both his daddy and his uncle Fred.

You didn’t name him after Fred, nor Gred or Forge as George had somewhat jokingly suggested throughout your pregnancy, but instead chose to give him his own name, letting him forge own legacy in this calm world, one where he would always know about his uncle Freddie and how he died a hero.

[quinzzelx]

Don't Go

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel thought he knew what pain was. But faced with the consequences of battle, he shatters.

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Heart-shattering angst. I'm sorry, this does not have a happy ending. Death. I need to still proofread this!

A/N: One of my favorite Band's songs, one that I hold very dear to my heart, is called "Don't Go"... Let's just say, this song expresses the feelings of this perfectly. If you are interested in an alternate ending, one with a happy one, let me know.

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I was raised in the valley There was shadows and death Got out alive but with scars I can't forget

You never imagined that drowning could be so tranquil. Drifting, falling, floating deeper into the abyss, your once-alert eyes now glazed over with a distant emptiness. The shimmering surface of the moon above reflected in the water, casting a serene glow upon the scene. Despite the turmoil raging within you, the water remained calm, almost comforting as it enveloped you.

With each passing moment, consciousness slipped further away, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. The light above grew dimmer, more distant, as you descended into the depths. A sharp pang in your chest served as a grim reminder of impending death, your lungs screaming for air that was nowhere to be found. The burning agony of suffocation clawed at your throat, the water filling your lungs with each desperate gasp.

This was the end. At the age of 347, a mere blink in the lifespan of a Fae, you faced your demise. While humans might find such longevity unfathomable, for your kind, it was but a fraction of existence. Yet, as the final bubbles of air escaped your lips and rose toward the surface, a sense of peace washed over you. Despite the fear that once gripped your heart, in this moment, all was calm.

Your death would not be in vain. You had fought until the very end. And now, as you surrendered to the depths of the lake, you found solace in the embrace of the water, welcoming you home. Your vision blurred, the edges of your consciousness fading as you struggled to stay afloat. Every movement sent waves of agony rippling through your body, your broken bones protesting with searing pain. Despite your efforts, the darkness continued to close in, suffocating you with its crushing weight.

But then, a sensation unlike any other tore through you, a visceral reaction that seized your heart in a vice-like grip. Panic surged through your veins, amplified by the frantic beating of your heart. It was as if every fiber of your being screamed out in terror, a primal instinct that screamed for survival.

Ears ringing and throbbing with agony, you felt a sharp, stabbing pain shoot through your skull as your eardrums burst under the immense pressure. The pain was excruciating, a relentless assault on the last bit of strength you held onto.

An orphan and a brother and unseen by most eyes I don't know what it was that made a piece of him die Took a boy to the forest Slaughtered him with a scythe Stamped on his face An impression in the dirt Do you think the silence Makes a good man convert?

In the tumultuous landscape of the Illyrian Mountains, whispers of dissent had been stirring for years. Cassian's hunch had sparked a relentless pursuit of the rebels, their motives driven by a desire to reclaim power and revert to antiquated traditions. Their disdain for the new order, especially Rhysand's leadership, fueled their rebellion.

Months of meticulous investigation led Azriel to their hidden stronghold, nestled deep within the rugged terrain. The plan was in motion: pairs deployed, each with a specific mission. Cassian and Feyre, Rhysand and Mor, Nesta and Azriel, and you with Gwyn and Emerie tasked with liberating the captive females.

Amidst the chaos of battle, Azriel wielded Truthteller with lethal precision, dispatching adversaries with practiced ease. Yet, his focus fractured when Emerie and Gwyn rushed to his side, your absence glaringly apparent. Dread coiled in his gut as Gwyn's wide-eyed gaze met his. It was then that Azriel noticed your absence, a sinking feeling gnawing at his gut. "Where is she?" His voice was tight with worry, urgency lacing his words. Her response only fueled his anxiety. "There was a group of about ten. She's our best fighter, and she insisted we go for help." Azriel's instinctive reaction was to scowl at Gwyn's decision to leave you behind, but he knew you were capable. Still, the thought of you facing such odds alone churned his stomach. So many of them? Fuck, he had to find you. A glance at Nesta was enough as she immediately nodded. "Find her." With a silent nod, Azriel launched himself into the sky, his wings slicing through the air with a fierce determination. The urgency of his mission spurred him onward, each powerful beat bringing him closer to the treeline that marked the edge of the battlefield.

It was only recently, during your parting, that the bond between you had awakened with startling clarity. The sensation pulsed within him, a potent reminder of your connection. How had he overlooked it for so long? The question gnawed at him as he scanned the landscape below, every hut, every tent, every clearing scrutinized for any sign of you.

As he neared the cliffside, a gust of wind carried the pungent scent of blood, assaulting his senses with brutal force. Panic seized him, his chest constricting with a primal fear as he descended closer to the source of the chaos. Then, amidst the carnage, he felt it—a flicker of your presence, fragile yet unmistakable.

We all have our horrors And our demons to fight But how can I win when I'm paralyzed? They crawl up on my bed Wrap their fingers round my throat Is this what I get for The choices that I made?

Landing with a staggering thud, Azriel stumbled forward, his chest heaving as he fought to quell the rising panic. Ears ringing, he scanned the scene before him, desperate for any sign of you amidst the chaos of battle. The sight of severed limbs and pools of blood sent a shiver down his spine, his heart hammering with dread. The battlefield was a scene of utter devastation, a macabre tableau of violence and chaos. Bodies littered the ground, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles, pools of blood mingling with the churned earth. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of sweat and fear.

A sudden sound to his right shattered the eerie silence, drawing Azriel's attention like a predator honing in on its prey. His eyes narrowed, scanning the landscape until they landed on a figure slumped against a tree stump. The Illyrian's battered form was a testament to the brutality of the conflict, bruises marring his face, blood staining his clothes. As Azriel approached, his shadows coiled around him like vengeful serpents, an ominous aura of danger emanating from his every movement. His broad shoulders were squared, his stare intense and unwavering, like the embodiment of death itself stalking through the battlefield.

The Illyrian male flinched as Azriel loomed over him, a towering figure of wrath and retribution. With a swift motion, Azriel snatched him by the collar, yanking him up and pressing him against the tree with a force that left no room for defiance. "Where is she?" Azriel's voice was a low, menacing growl, barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface. The Illyrian snarled in response, his bruised and bloodied face contorted with defiance. He spat into Azriel's face, a vile mixture of blood and saliva, his defiance fueling the flames of Azriel's rage. "I won't tell you a gods damn thing, Bastard," he spat, his voice dripping with venom.

Azriel's fury intensified as he tightened his grip, bones cracking and snapping under his relentless grasp, the Illyrian's defiant sneer faltering as pain seared through him. "Tell me where she is," Azriel growled, his voice a dangerous rumble that reverberated through the air like a thunderclap, echoing the storm raging within him.

The Illyrian's lips curled into a twisted grin, his defiance unyielding even in the face of Azriel's wrath. "Your whore? We took care of her," he taunted, his voice laced with malice as he sought to goad Azriel further. Azriel's gaze darkened, a storm of fury brewing behind his eyes as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against the Illyrian's face. With a swift motion, he slammed him against the tree once more, the force of the impact jarring his senses. "You will regret those words," Azriel growled, his voice dripping with icy venom. In an instant, Azriel's shadows surged forward, wrapping around the Illyrian's limbs like vengeful tendrils, constricting and squeezing with crushing force. The Illyrian's defiant grin faltered, replaced by a look of sheer terror as he struggled against the suffocating darkness. Azriel's grip tightened, his fingers digging into the Illyrian's flesh as he leaned in closer, his voice a low, menacing whisper. "You will tell me everything," he snarled, his words a promise of retribution as he unleashed the full extent of his wrath upon the helpless captive.

Azriel's gaze hardened, his patience wearing thin as he pressed the Illyrian harder against the tree. "You will tell me," he insisted, his voice a deadly whisper. "Or I will make you wish you had."

With a defiant glare, the Illyrian spat back, "You can't scare me, Shadowsinger. I'd rather die than betray my comrades."

Azriel's jaw clenched, his fury simmering just beneath the surface as he stared down at the defiant captive. "So be it," he growled, his voice cold and unforgiving. "But know this, your death will be swift compared to the torment I will unleash upon those who have harmed her."

With a final, chilling glare, Azriel released his grip, allowing the Illyrian to crumple to the ground in a heap. Azriel's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing like thunder in his ears as he stumbled forward, the weight of the bond pressing down on him like a suffocating shroud. Desperation clawed at him as he scanned the surroundings, his senses straining to pick up any sign of your presence.

God forgive me for all my sins God forgive me for everything God forgive me for all my sins God forgive me God forgive me

As he reached the edge of the cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of the lake, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of Azriel's stomach. Where were you? His mind raced, frantically trying to piece together the puzzle of your disappearance. And then it hit him, a searing pain shooting through his head as the bond between you wavered and dimmed. Gasping for breath, he clutched at his chest, his vision swimming with panic and fear. He couldn't lose you, not like this.

Azriel's mind reeled as the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. You were dying, and he had only just discovered that you were his mate. The weight of the revelation bore down on him, suffocating him with a sense of dread and urgency. With a fierce determination, he forced himself to focus, pushing aside the overwhelming surge of panic threatening to consume him. He cursed himself for not recognizing your distress sooner, for failing to protect you when you needed him most.

The sensation of suffocation intensified, the air growing thick and heavy around him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Then it hit him like a physical blow, his eyes widening in horror as the truth dawned on him. "No," he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling with fear and desperation. In an instant, he was on his feet, his movements fueled by a primal instinct to save you at any cost. The chaos unfolding at the cliffside suddenly made sense, and he knew what he had to do.

With lightning speed, he leapt into the depths below, his senses on high alert as he scanned the eerie still surface of the lake. Every fiber of his being screamed for you, a silent plea echoing in the depths of his soul. No, no, no. He couldn't lose you. Not now. Not ever.

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go I can't do this on my own Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight Don't go

Frantically, Azriel swept over the vast expanse of the lake, his heart pounding in his chest with each beat of his wings. The enormity of the task ahead overwhelmed him, but he refused to succumb to despair. With each passing moment, the silence from the other side of the bond grew louder, echoing in his mind like a haunting refrain.

"Please," he pleaded silently, his thoughts a desperate mantra as he called out your name into the void. "Hold on, just a little longer." He tugged at the fragile thread of the bond, hoping for some sign of life, some glimmer of reassurance. But there was only emptiness, a faint flicker that threatened to snuff out entirely.

Then, like a beacon in the darkness, a glimmer of light caught his attention, reflecting off the surface of the water below. It was a small ray of hope amidst the vast uncertainty, and Azriel clung to it with all his strength. Grateful for the clarity of the lake's icy waters, he scanned the depths below, searching for any sign of you.

And then he saw it—a flash of metal glinting in the moonlight, unmistakably your sword. His heart leaped with a mixture of relief and dread as he circled the area, his keen eyes scouring the surroundings for any trace of you. With a surge of determination, Azriel dove into the clear waters of the lake, his muscles straining with the effort as he propelled himself downward. Anxiety gripped him like a vice, each stroke of his wings a desperate plea for your safety.

His heart hammered in his chest as he descended deeper into the murky depths, his senses keenly attuned to every movement, every shadow that flickered in the water around him. The pressure of the water pressed in on him, threatening to crush him with its weight, but he pushed on, fueled by the urgency of the situation.

"Please," he prayed silently, the word a fervent prayer on his lips as he scanned the darkness below. The faint outline of your form came into view, a haunting specter in the gloom, and his heart clenched with fear at the sight.

His Illyrian wings strained against the resistance of the water, their powerful beats driving him ever closer to you. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to reach you, to pull you from the grasp of the icy depths and into the safety of his arms.

With each stroke of his wings, Azriel descended deeper into the darkness, his heart pounding with a mixture of dread and determination. His fingers strained, grasping for your form as he fought against the relentless pressure of the water.

When he finally reached you, his heart twisted painfully at the sight of your vacant eyes staring lifelessly into the abyss. Gently, he pulled you into his arms, cradling your limp body against his chest as he began the arduous journey back to the surface.

Tell me that you need me 'cause I love you so much Tell me that you love me 'cause I need you so much Tell me that you need me 'cause I love you so much Say you'll never leave me 'cause I need you so much

As he ascended, a sense of urgency gripped him, his movements swift and purposeful as he struggled against the weight of your lifeless form. Halfway to the surface, he summoned his power and with a flicker of shadows, he winnowed to the shore, still holding you tightly in his embrace.

Your body felt unnaturally cold against his, your skin pallid and clammy as he laid you gently on the ground. Panic surged through him as he knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he pressed against your chest, desperate for any sign of life. But there was nothing—no rise and fall of your chest, no flutter of your eyelids. Tears stung his eyes as he stared down at your motionless form, the weight of his failure crushing him with each passing moment. "No," he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking with emotion as he fought to suppress the rising tide of despair. "No, no, no."

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Azriel bent over your motionless body, his hands trembling as he began chest compressions. Each push was an agonizing reminder of his helplessness, his fingers pressing against your chest with desperate force, willing your heart to respond.

The bond between you dimmed with each passing second, a thin thread of connection that threatened to snap at any moment. But Azriel refused to let go, his mind consumed by a singular determination to bring you back from the brink. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to yours, breathing life into your still body with every exhale. The taste of saltwater lingered on your lips, a bitter reminder of the depths from which he had pulled you.

His movements were frantic, almost desperate, as he continued to alternate between chest compressions and breaths, his own breath ragged with exertion. His wings, normally a symbol of strength and power, drooped at his sides, soaked with water and heavy with the weight of his despair. In the midst of his efforts, he failed to notice the arrival of Cassian, Nesta, Rhys, and Feyre, their shocked gazes fixed upon the scene unfolding before them. They hovered at a distance, unsure of how to intervene, their hearts heavy with the weight of your precarious situation.

But Azriel was lost in his own world, consumed by the task at hand. He refused to acknowledge the fear gnawing at his heart, the dread that threatened to consume him whole if he dared to let it in. Azriel's hands moved with a desperation born of sheer terror, his fingers trembling as they continued to press against your chest. Each compression sent a jolt of anguish through his body, his muscles straining with the effort to bring you back to life. "Please," he whispered, the word barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears. "No, please."

His vision blurred with tears, the world around him reduced to a hazy backdrop of grief and despair. He chanted your name like a prayer, a desperate plea to whatever gods might be listening to spare your life. "You can't go," he pleaded, his voice breaking with emotion. "Not like this." Beside him, Cassian's heart shattered at the sight of his brother's anguish. Stepping closer, he placed a hand on Azriel's back, a silent gesture of support in the face of overwhelming sorrow.

"Brother," he murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. But before he could say anything more, Azriel's head snapped in his direction, rage blazing in his eyes. "No!" Azriel snarled, his shadows swirling around him in a tempest of fury. Cassian recoiled, his heart aching at the sight of his brother's pain etched so clearly on his face. Feyre's sobs echoed in the background, a haunting melody of grief that underscored the desperation of the moment. Rhys and Cassian shared a look, their expressions mirroring the anguish that weighed heavy on their hearts.

But it was Azriel who bore the brunt of the agony, his entire being consumed by the terror of losing you. As he clung to your lifeless form, he felt the weight of despair pressing down on him, threatening to crush him beneath its unbearable burden. With each passing moment, he watched helplessly as you slipped further away from him. Your lips, once full of color, now turned a lifeless shade of blue, your cheeks growing hollow with every breath you didn't take.

"Please," he begged, his voice raw with anguish. "Do something! Rhys, please!" His words were a desperate plea, a cry for salvation in the face of overwhelming despair. But as Rhys stepped closer, a defeated look on his face, Azriel's heart shattered into a million pieces.

"I... I can't," Rhys murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I'm sorry, brother, but..." Azriel's rage boiled over, his pain spilling out in a torrent of emotion. "You don't understand!" he screamed, his voice cracking with anguish. "She is my Mate!"

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go I can't do this on my own Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight

The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, their significance sinking in with a painful clarity. Rhys and Cassian exchanged shocked looks, their faces a portrait of sorrow and disbelief. And as Feyre wept silently in the background, the weight of the truth settled over them. Azriel's cries echoed across the desolate landscape, a symphony of grief that pierced the night with its raw intensity.

With each failed attempt to revive you, his soul fractured a little more, the pain tearing through him like a relentless storm. He clung to you desperately, his fingers digging into your lifeless flesh as if trying to anchor you to the world of the living. But no amount of pleading or praying could bring you back, and with each passing moment, the reality of your loss became more unbearable.

Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked, mingling with the cold water that surrounded you both. In that moment of utter despair, he felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, leaving behind nothing but a gaping void where you once belonged. In the eerie silence that followed, broken only by the lapping of the lake against the shore, Azriel held you close, his heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

His tears mingled with the water that now cradled your lifeless form, a cruel reminder of the love that had been torn from him so suddenly. "I love you," he whispered brokenly, his voice barely a whisper against the vast emptiness of the night. "I have always loved you." Each word was a knife to his soul, carving out the depths of his grief with ruthless precision.

As his tears fell upon your face, mingling with the coolness of death, Azriel felt the weight of his loss bear down upon him with crushing force. With trembling hands, he brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle yet filled with unbearable sorrow.

And then, with a heart-wrenching realization, the bond between you flickered and died, snuffed out like a candle in the wind. The agony that tore through Azriel in that moment was unlike anything he had ever known, a searing pain that threatened to consume him whole.

A guttural scream tore from his throat, raw and primal, echoing across the desolate landscape. His shadows burst forth from him in a frenzy of writhing darkness, swirling around him like a tempest unleashed. Rhys acted quickly, raising a protective shield to contain the torrent of emotions that threatened to overwhelm them all. Clutching your lifeless body to his chest, Azriel's whole being shook with terror and despair.

"No, this isn't true," he cried out, his voice a desperate plea to the uncaring heavens. "Don't leave me." But there was no answer, no miracle to bring you back to him. In that moment, the reality of living without you crashed over him like a tidal wave, threatening to drag him under. How could he go on without you? How could he face a world that suddenly seemed so cold and empty?

Your laughter, your smile, the warmth of your touch—all of it was gone now, lost to him forever. And as he held your lifeless body against his, Azriel screamed, a primal cry of anguish that echoed into the night, a haunting lament for a love that had been stolen away too soon.

With his forehead pressed against yours, Azriel wept, his tears mingling with the water that surrounded you both. He pressed a gentle kiss to your cold cheek, his lips trembling with sorrow and regret. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I failed you. I failed us."

The shadows around him finally began to still, their frantic dance slowing to a mournful sway. Rhys lowered his shield, allowing the others to approach, their faces etched with sorrow as they took in the devastating scene before them. Cassian stepped forward first, his expression a mixture of grief and disbelief. "Az," he said softly, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I don't know what to say."

Azriel looked up at his brother, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. "Say that it's not true," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Tell me this is just a nightmare and I'll wake up soon." But Cassian could only shake his head, his own heart heavy with grief. "I wish I could," he said quietly. "But this is real, Az. And I'm so sorry."

Azriel's voice cracked with anguish as he spoke, his words a desperate plea to the heavens. "Why you?" he cried, his voice raw with pain. "You were everything good in this world, everything bright and beautiful. Why did it have to be you?"

He clutched your lifeless form tighter to his chest, as if by sheer force of will he could bring you back to life. "It should have been me," he whispered, his voice thick with sorrow. "I'm the broken one, the one who's lived in darkness for so long. You deserved so much better than this."

Tears streamed down his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath hitching in his chest. "I can't do this without you," he confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You were my light, my reason for living. And now you're gone."

His heart shattered into a million pieces as he held you close, the weight of your loss crushing him beneath its unbearable burden. "Please come back," he begged, his voice choked with grief. "I can't bear to live in a world without you."

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight

Rhys approached Azriel cautiously, his expression heavy with sorrow. "Az, we need to leave soon," he said gently, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. "You'll freeze to death out here." Azriel's tear-streaked face twisted with fury as he turned to Rhys, his grief-stricken eyes burning with intensity. "I can't leave her here," he growled, his voice thick with emotion.

Rhys nodded solemnly, understanding the depth of Azriel's pain. "I know, brother," he replied softly. "But we can't stay here forever. We need to take her home."

Azriel's sobs echoed through the desolate landscape, his voice barely above a whisper as he pleaded, "Just five more minutes." His gaze remained fixed on your beautiful face, etched with pain and longing.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a somber glance before silently stepping back, giving Azriel the space and time he needed to say goodbye. The minutes stretched into hours, the sun dipping below the horizon and rising again, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. But still, Azriel clung to your lifeless form, his whispered pleas of "just a little more" echoing through the silent air. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as Azriel grappled with the reality of your absence. The weight of his grief was palpable, a heavy burden that threatened to consume him. But still, he couldn't bring himself to let go, as if leaving this place would make the devastating truth more real.

As the sun reached its zenith once again, casting long shadows across the landscape, Rhys approached Azriel with a heavy heart. "Az," he said gently, his voice filled with compassion, "we need to go." Azriel's voice was raw with emotion as he stood for the first time since arriving at the desolate shore, still cradling your lifeless form in his arms. His eyes, once filled with anguish, now held a haunted emptiness as he spoke to Rhys, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I can't live without her, Rhys," he confessed, the weight of his words heavy in the air. Each syllable was laden with the depths of his grief, a pain that seemed insurmountable in the wake of your absence. Rhys's heart clenched at Azriel's words, the pain evident in his brother's voice piercing through him like a blade. He could see the devastation etched into Azriel's features, the unbearable weight of loss bearing down on him.

"I know, Az," Rhys murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand. But we have to take her home. She deserves that much." His own grief threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. "We'll give her a proper farewell, Az. Together." Azriel cradled your lifeless form in his arms as he followed Rhys, his steps heavy with grief. He thought of all the moments they had shared together in Velaris, the quiet nights spent stargazing on the balcony, the lazy mornings talking over coffee. He thought of the way your laughter echoed through the streets of the city, a beacon of light in the darkness.

But now, all of those moments felt like distant memories, fragments of a life that was no longer his to hold. As Azriel prepared to winnow back to Velaris, your lifeless form cradled in his arms, he couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of regret that consumed him. He would never get the chance to kiss you again, to hold you close and tell you how much he loved you. He wished he had confessed his feelings before, before the bond had been revealed, before it was too late.

You had died alone, unaware of his love, unaware that you had a mate who cherished you more than anything in this world. The thought tore at his soul, leaving behind a gaping wound that he knew would never fully heal. He would carry the weight of that regret with him for the rest of his days.

But as he prepared to winnow, to leave this desolate place behind and return to Velaris, he knew that he had to find a way to live with the pain, to honor your memory in every moment of his existence. You may be gone, but your love would live on in his heart forever.

With one last lingering look at your peaceful face, Azriel whispered a silent promise to himself, to remember you, to cherish you, to love you for all eternity. And then, with a heavy heart and tear-stained cheeks, he winnowed away, back to Velaris, with you in his arms, your spirit forever intertwined with his own.

Don't go Don't go Don't go Don't go

☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

A/N: I'm sorry. Whew. I made myself cry while writing this. Please let me know if you enjoyed this and if you'd be interested in an alternative ending. :)

[intothedysphoria]

The podcast was Steve’s idea.

It had started with a joke from Heather. She’d took one look at Billy and Steve’s accidentally matching gym clothes and told them they looked like a failing alpha bro podcast duo. The type of guys who’d talk about being alpha males. Billy had laughed hard but it had made Steve think.

They’d been best friends since kindergarten and were functionally inseparable. Billy had seen Steve through a long period of deep, dark depression and Steve liked to think he’d helped Billy through Neil. Most podcasts Steve had listened to, the hosts didn’t even sound like they liked each other. They’d be perfect.

It took Steve about a month to convince Billy to put himself in front of a microphone. For a guy with a 300k follower Instagram thirst trap account, Billy was crushingly self conscious about his voice. He’d been on testosterone for three years but still felt like he sounded “clockable.” It wasn’t until Steve promised that if they got even one comment about Billy’s voice, they’d immediately delete the episode, that Billy agreed.

Between the two of them, they had absolutely no qualifications to start an agony aunt podcast. Still, the first episode was released onto Spotify and it had a surprisingly warm reception. Most of their listeners were queer or neurodivergent and were asking about what to do when a hookup went wrong or how to go outside without having a panic attack.

It was heartwarming really, the affect Steve felt that they were having. Two trans guys talking openly about sex, relationships, social faux pas, fitting in and the occasional tangent on oyster forks wasn’t exactly common. And their audience seemed to cling to them like two older brother figures.

It was perfect. Should have been perfect. It was just that there was a bit of a side affect.

As it turned out, spending every week with your best friend, who was physically just your type, and was also just an absolute sweetheart, led to having a crush on said best friend.

That is if you were Steve anyway. Shit.

Most guys on realising they were crushing hard on their best friend probably would have done something normal, like tell him. Not Steve though. Steve endeavoured to lock himself in the broom closet and scream before every recording session of the podcast.

It would work. Hopefully.

Then Billy started getting random listeners proposing to him via email. They’d read them out before every advice segment and Billy would either accept or decline depending on how funny he found it but it still made Steve die a little inside. Billy felt like his in some intangible, indescribable way and even jokes about marriage felt like suffocating.

He redownloaded Grindr the next day. The guys on there left a lot to be desired, especially compared to Billy but at least it stopped Steve from feeling quite so lonely. He flirted, made decisions that made Robin tut and generally started morphing into the kind of hot mess Steve had been in his late teens.

Billy didn’t seem to notice. That is until he did.

Steve was very late for recording the newest episode, a silly one about accents. He hadn’t remembered to shave so the patchy stubble that hrt was helping him grow in was a mess. There was gum stuck to to the bottom of his shoe. Something had gotten spilled on his shirt.

His co host once again looked delicious. Delicious and worried. So worried in fact that he dragged Steve into the very closet that he’d spent almost two months hiding in.

There was only so long Steve could hedge around the issue. Not with Billy worrying about all the things that could have gone wrong, anxious brain in overdrive. Steve had to tell him.

A short, excruciating silence followed after Steve admitted his crush/budding love. One that the slightly irrational part of his mind was convinced would culminate in Billy punching him again.

That didn’t happen.

Instead, Billy called him a dumbass, they made out under a precarious tin of paint for fifteen minutes, and agreed that getting together was long overdue.

The first email they got from a listener after going public about their relationship was short and to the point.

Can I propose to both of you?

I think it was @camaro-and-smokes and @prettyboy-like-you who reblogged being interested in the og post about this idea and since I am a fic writing weirdo, I wanted to write a little ficlet for them! I hope you both like it

(Inspired LOOSELY by the hilarious Help I Sexted My Boss podcast which I adore. Also inspired a smidge by Lust For Life by @oopsiedaisiesbaby)

[artiststarme]

Eddie can’t remember the last time he actually felt anything. Was it guilt when Wayne mentioned taking another shift to get the van’s brakes fixed? Perhaps lust when he say that dickbag Billy Hargrove without his shirt on in the locker room. No, it was probably disappointment when he failed yet another math test, the same one he’s taken three years in a row now.

He couldn’t remember for sure and it caused the chasm in his chest to crack just a little deeper. Sure, most of what he’d felt in life hadn’t been positive and he wanted to forget it at the time. He smoked weed, drank all the booze he could get his hands on, and even popped pills when the pain got too much. Yet, he still missed it.

He missed being able to differentiate between different emotions. He missed how happiness made his heart flutter and how sadness felt like a heavy weight on his chest. Most of all, Eddie missed not being numb all of the time.

He was almost relieved when hell came around on Spring Break. The fright and horror at Chrissy’s death sparked the first feeling he’d felt in months, seemingly forever. He wasn’t callous and he certainly mourned her. He just couldn’t move past the spark of feeling, the feeling of something other that nothingness that the whole situation brought him.

The devotion of the Hellfire kids and the older teens that he never really mingled with prior to the apocalypse made him feel needed for once in his sorry life.

Most painfully of all, when the demon bats dug their wretched teeth into his flesh, he felt relief unlike any other. The pain superseded the disappointment, defeat, and despondency that marked his entire life. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Eddie felt something.

How sad is that, that the first thing he felt in what felt like years was not love or acceptance like he had dreamed of but an excruciating agony of which he had anticipated?