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#fic: infatuation
hbdttg · 1 year
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Part 1 / tag list below the cut
“I’m quitting,” Eddie declares, “I’m out. Call me a tree, ‘cause I’m leaving. Call me a banana, ‘cause I’m splitting. T-t-t-t-that’s all, folks!” he adds, doing his best impression of Porky Pig’s signature stammering.
Chrissy’s laser focus doesn’t stray from her monitor, even when Eddie bodily throws himself into the chair across her desk with a long, strangled groan. Wordlessly, she raises her left index finger at him in a silencing gesture. With her brows furrowed in concentration, she drags her mouse around on its pad and double-clicks something on her screen before nodding decisively to herself. After another few clicks, she finally lowers her finger, raises her eyes, and meets Eddie’s gaze.
“Would you mind grabbing what I just printed? Please?” she asks, smiling at him imploringly.
Chrissy could ask Eddie to bleach his hair and shave off an eyebrow and he’d do it. She’s actually who he has to thank for landing such a cushy job with HHH—a referral from a trusted associate like her goes a long way in a place like this.
And despite Eddie’s many complaints about becoming a corporate sellout, he can’t deny that it certainly has its perks. The office is only a ten-minute commute from his apartment, the compensation agreement he signed amounted to more money than his last two jobs combined, his benefits package is frankly ridiculous, and he gets to work with one of his best friends in the world. Overall, not a bad gig.
Even so, he makes a show of sighing, loud and longsuffering, before doing as Chrissy asks, leaving her office to grab her job off the printer. Eddie knows she works in HR and some of her stuff can get pretty confidential, so he doesn’t even try to skim the contents of the page as he walks it back over to her.
“Here,” he says, thrusting the paper at Chrissy facedown.
“Thanks!” she says. She makes no moves to take it from him. “That’s for you, actually.”
Curious, Eddie takes the paper back and flips it over. In the center of the page is a graphic of safety sign one might find in a cartoon factory, though Chrissy had edited the original from “[___] Days Since Last Accident” to “[___] Days Since Eddie Last Threatened to Quit His Job”. There’s a big red zero in the counter box.
Eddie tries to glower down at Chrissy, but it’s sort of hard to maintain when she bursts into laughter. It’s been years, but the sound of Chrissy laughing like this, all bright and breathless and unrestrained, never fails to transport him back to his (third) senior year of high school, when they first became friends over a failed drug deal.
“Don’t be cute,” Eddie says with a laughable lack of authority, dropping heavily back down into the chair.
“Do you know who you’re talking to?” Chrissy counters, brow raised archly.
Eddie rolls his eyes, crumpling the page into a ball and lobbing it in between them.
Chrissy lets the ball land harmlessly on her desk before sweeping it into the trashcan by her feet.  “Just so you know, I’ve had that saved on my desktop since Monday—and I haven’t had to edit the days count a single time.”
Eddie scoffs, but it’s hard to defend himself when this current visit marks the fifth day in a row he’s floundered into her office, vainly announcing his resignation. “Yeah, well,” he says weakly, “printing it seems like a gross misuse of company resources.”
“What are you going to do, report me?” Chrissy says with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
“Let me guess: you’re the one who receives those reports?” Eddie says dryly.
“Yep!” she says cheerfully. “Now, go on and tell me about your latest trainwreck of an interaction with Steve Harrington.”
“Christ, Chris!” Eddie hisses, leaping to his feet and immediately spinning around to check if anyone was around to hear her damning words. The coast is clear, luckily, but he still scrambles to shut her office door before falling back into his chair. “You can’t just go around saying his name all willy-nilly.”
“He’s not gonna suddenly appear if you say his name three times, Eddie. See, watch. Steve. Steve. St—”
“Don’t risk it!” Eddie squawks loudly, cutting her off.
“You’re an absolute mess,” she says through a laugh, shaking her head at him.
And well, Chrissy’s not wrong.
Eddie’s been a mess since Monday morning, when he unknowingly produced, directed, and starred in The Roast of Steve Harrington. He blames his shitty memory for forgetting what floor his new office was on—if he’d known he was sharing the elevator with someone he could have potentially worked with (let alone someone whose surname made up a third of the company name), he wouldn’t have opened his big, fat mouth in the first place.
When he finally gathered the courage to make it back down to the fifty-second floor and show his face at the HHH office, he kicked off his onboarding with Chrissy with a strangled, “I know it’s my first day and I technically just started ten minutes ago, but I quit. Thank you for the opportunity and good-bye forever.”
Chrissy, the traitor, spent a full five minutes laughing in his face over his shamefully recounted story before patting him twice on the head and informing him he wasn’t allowed to quit for at least six months. The overly saccharine tone of her voice alone told Eddie there was no room for argument there.
Still, that didn’t stop him from following her into her office after the all-hands meeting on Tuesday, all the while whining in her ear, “I can’t thrive in these conditions, Chrissy. Please, I beg of you—accept my sincere and humble resignation from this cursed hellscape.”
‘These conditions’ consisted of any rooms and/or conversations that contained Steve Harrington. Eddie hadn’t been expecting to see the guy doting over the catering when he walked into the conference room that afternoon, and he certainly wasn’t expecting his supervisor and trainer, Murray, to lead him over to Steve to introduce the two of them (though that was likely just an excuse to head straight for the sandwiches that were laid out for the meeting).
While Eddie choked on his own tongue trying to spit out some generic, inoffensive greeting, Steve merely watched him with an amused smirk before thrusting his hand out and offering a perfectly friendly “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie, I’m Steve”, as if Eddie didn’t have Steve’s name and face (and stupidly fit body—who the fuck looks that good in a pair of khakis?!) burnt into his memory from the day prior.
Afterward, Murray, who most assuredly did not have a filter of any kind, bluntly commented on Eddie’s awkwardness, then spent the next five minutes trying to determine if it was normal, strangers-meeting-for-the-first time awkwardness, or something more sensational. Eddie stubbornly kept his mouth shut until the meeting started.
Wednesday followed a similar pattern, with Eddie flouncing into Chrissy’s office with a dramatic “I choose to break my blood oath. At this point I’d welcome the sweet release of death if it meant I didn’t have to work here anymore.”
Chrissy just corrected him, patiently explaining that he was employed at-will, rather than by blood oath, and that if he left before his sixth month, she’d personally skin him alive. Eddie had to pause and weigh the pros and cons of being skinless. Surely it couldn’t be worse than his latest exchange with Steve—via email this time, mercifully.
He’d just learned how to field helpdesk tickets and received one from Steve Harrington himself. It was a simple enough software request ticket, so he assigned it to himself and replied with next steps, asking Steve for a code so he could remote into his computer and install the program.
Steve replied back, asking where he was supposed to find the code. It was an innocuous enough question, but then Eddie noticed something a little off about his email signature: his last name was bolded.
Eddie ignored it, assuming it was a stylistic choice—nothing to read into, surely—but then Steve sent another email shortly after to let him know to disregard his last email; he’d found the right app and was just waiting for it to generate a code. This time, Harrington was bolded and at least two sizes bigger than his first name.
Then, in Steve’s third email, sent not a minute later with the requested code, Harrington was bolded, two sizes bigger than his first name, and highlighted yellow—a tactic Chrissy found so hilarious that she had to shoo Eddie out of her office with tears in her eyes so that she could compose herself and actually get some work done.
Thursday was a blessed reprieve from Steve’s unique brand of psychological warfare, but Eddie still somehow managed to royally humiliate himself in front of him. After he slunk into her office and silently pushed a scribbled-on napkin across her desk—
Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as Systems Analyst II at HHH, effective immediately. Effective yesterday. In fact, I’ll pay you back the entirety of my wages earned if we just forget I ever worked here.
—Chrissy tutted at him sympathetically before taking the napkin and reaching over to dab it at the large wet stain on his shirt.
He’d been walking back to his desk from the breakroom when he rounded a corner and bumped into Steve in the hallway. Literally bumped into, bodily contact and surprised yelps and everything. And it probably wouldn’t have been such a big deal, really, if not for the fact that he had a newly refilled mug of coffee in his hand.
“Eddie, oh my god, are you okay?”
No, Eddie wasn’t okay, because he just splashed himself with hot fucking coffee and now Steve Harrington was worriedly fussing over him and tentatively trying to mop up the liquid with his own fucking hands for some reason, and he was embarrassed (and a little turned on?) and he had to get the fuck out of there now.
“I’m okay, sorry, it’s fine—” he managed to squeak before whirling around and scurrying to the bathroom.
So yes, Eddie’s been an absolute mess the past few days, and today is no different.
…Actually, scratch that. Today is different. Today is worse.
“Okay, now spill,” Chrissy says. “What happened?”
With another drawn-out, pitiful groan, Eddie sinks down in his seat and lets his neck hang off the backrest, blinking up at the ceiling.
“Talk to me, Eds,” Chrissy says, concern starting to bleed into her voice. “If he’s actually bullying you, you can file a complaint. I have a form here somewhere.”
Eddie hears her open one of her desk drawers and reluctantly sits up. “He’s not bullying me, Mom,” he says with a huff. “We actually…we talked.”
“You talked?” Chrissy asks, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, about the elevator. Buried the hatchet and everything. I said sorry, we laughed about it, it’s over and done with.” Eddie’s gaze darts around Chrissy’s desk, searching for something to distract him from the warm and fuzzy feeling growing in his stomach at the memory of their conversation.
“That’s great, I’m so proud of you!” Chrissy says cheerfully. “But wait, if you two are good now…”
Eddie doesn’t want her to ask what she’s about to ask, because the answer might be more embarrassing than all of his other Steve stories combined.
“Why are you still going on about quitting?”
Eddie drops his face into his hands, feeling totally and utterly pathetic. “Um, because I think I’m sort of, kind of, just a little bit…in love with him?”
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tbh I didn’t think I’d be writing a second part, but if strangers on the internet validate me enough, I guess I’ll do anything~
Y’ALL. I’m blown away by the response to part one of this silly lil au. I didn’t reply to any of the lovely comments or tags, but please know if you engaged in any way (or even if you just read the fic and snorted a little through your nose at a bit you found funny) I love you with my entire heart and you’ve made my entire life.
[Now for the tag list, which I’ve never done before. Sorry if you didn’t actually want to be on here! Or, sorry if you’re stumbling upon this post on your own after asking to be tagged and I missed you oops.]
@messrs-weasley @n0-1-important @bornonthesavage @thing-a-ling @eddiemunsonswife @changenamelater @ispyblu @thesuninyaface
@invisibleflame812 @4nemo1egend @ikolanatari @mavernanche @songbird-garden @trashpocket @original-cypher @over7joyed 
@commonxsenss @justdyingontheinside @mojowitchcraft @maya-custodios-dionach @justmiiriam @imzadidragonfly @lillemilly @gay-stranger-things @child-of-cthulhu @bleedingoptimism @lemanzanabizarra @melaniehere91
@iswearitsjustme @silver-snaffles @csinnamon-fox @paint-music-with-me @epicsteddieficrecs @sweetcreaturetm @hxneyfarms @bossyknow-it-all @vecnuthy @stevethehairington @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @nburkhardt
@gayngerthings @patchworkgargoyle @violetsteve @henderdads @2btheanswertothequestion
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astaroth1357 · 3 months
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Flipping the Script: Leviathan Progression (Human World AU)
Previously: After a baggage mishap at the airport, you and your cosplay group found the perfect replacement for your Lord of Shadows! Rejoice, as now a demon has your number! (Not that you know that)
Contents: Second person (you), fluff, MC is an otaku, MC is down bad, mutual pining between idiots
Part One, Part Two (You are here), Part Three (Coming Soon)...
~♡♡♡~
Levi met up with you and your team for the photoshoot that day, and it couldn’t have gone better!
As promised, you spent your first visit to the vendors room with him as part of his compensation for helping you out. What you hadn’t expected was for him to be quite so funny during your time together.
He had an infectious energy about him… Especially when talking about the shows and hobbies that he liked to indulge in. Coincidently, they happened to line up with a lot of your interests as well, so there was a nearly endless conversations between you two.
By the time the rest of your team tracked you down to do a scheduled fan signing, you and Levi had already gotten lunch at a themed café and exchanged online handles to play games together back at the hotel. Then they had to sit and suffer through you rambling about just how sweet and hilarious he was...
Even after the convention, the two of you kept up a very steady contact. Weekly game nights were an absolute must and he occasionally would join chats with you if you decided to stream. Leviachan, as you'd happily begun to call him, became a fast regular in your DMs and on your chat history.
You were surprised that for all of Levi's skill, he didn’t have the same kind of social media presence that you had to share his cosplay. You offered multiple times to bring him in for collabs together, but…
Well, Levi was always super cagey with you about just WHERE he lives or even where he was born in! When you first asked, he said it was, “J-just a small place somewhere out there! Nowhere important.”
To some extent, you understood his desire for privacy, so you've never really pried, but it still felt so odd that he wouldn’t even give you a country… Not even a time zone! Whenever you wanted to call him, he’d always just “up.” Did he ever sleep??
What information you could gain from him was mainly family-related. He had six brothers, no Mom, and an estranged Dad. The one you saw on the day you met him, Malcolm, was the second oldest and their relationship seemed… complicated.
It wasn’t until you both decided to do a video call to play a game he sent you that you got to first meet the others...
You had your computer booting up the copy of Demonlands 2 that Levi sent for you to play while the window for your video call rang for him to pick up. It was another typical Friday game night for you, though you decided not to stream in favor of having a chill night of fun with Levi. He had been talking up this as one of his comfort games for a long while, though you had never heard of it yourself, so when he offered to give you copy you sprang for it! Over the months you’d gotten to know the shy otaku, you’d learned to put paramount trust in his recommendations. He really knew his stuff, anime AND game-wise, so listening to him was like having your own personal guru.
You slid your headphones on and got comfortable in your chair right as Levi’s end picked up and the corner of your monitor displayed the smiling face of the man who'd quickly grown to become your best friend. The ambient blue light of his room tinged the violet in his hair a shade of indigo, but left the sunset shade of his eyes more or less intact. You'd already expressed some jealousy to Levi over his sweet setup... what parts of it he's been willing to show you anyway. He'd given you the digital tour of his figurines, manga, and games collections, as well as showing you little Henry. You had no idea someone would commit to an aquatic aesthetic so hard that they’d actually sleep in a bathtub, but at the same time it felt so very… Levi. Nothing in his bedroom was like anything you'd ever seen before, like, who actually sleeps next to an aquarium tank?? Maybe his family were the eccentric type…
“Hey, Y/n! Sorry that I'm picking up late.”
“No, it’s fine! I was grabbing a snack earlier. Did something happen?”
“No, nothing important.”
You watched Levi start checking over his monitor through the screen while mindlessly twisting the black wire of your headphones between your fingertips. When you first started to play games together, these little silences between you would feel awkward and Levi would scramble to get find anything he could to fill them. To alleviate the tension, you’d play a shared playlist of your favorite otacore or ani-songs to make him more comfortable, but for the last month or so he hadn’t needed it as much. The silences were now… pleasant. You could take your time with each other like real friends could and it felt pretty nice.
Most of your offline friends knew how embarrassingly down bad you'd become for this guy. You hoped your cosplay audience hadn't picked up on it yet, but there would always be those comments that point out how you gush about him whenever he offered you a new accessory for your outfits… If you guys had a ship name, you didn’t know it'd be yet.
Not that you had any ideas about it or anything. You? Ship yourself with your best friend?? Absolutely not! Like, who would actually do that-?
“Y/n?”
“Huh??”
Levi's voice interjected itself into your thoughts, making you fumble with the headphone wire as you recovered.
“Hey, are you alright? You were just staring off there…”
Now back in reality, you stuttered out an embarrassed apology to your confused friend and try to smile it off.
“Oh yeah, Levi, I'm alright. It's just a long week, so I'm ready for some gaming!”
You prayed that the bubbly feeling in your chest wasn't also showing on your face when you watched his expression light up. That determined smile was more than half of the reason you agreed to these game nights of yours when he first brought up the idea. He took to giving you a good time as passionately as a great DM runs their campaign and you appreciated the hell out of him for it... Having a life on social media and being in the public eye could absolutely drain a person, but with Levi you could just relax and recharge with the stuff you loved…
“Okay, Y/n, do you have everything running?”
“Yep! Got it all installed last night.”
“Great! Go ahead and open the co-op menu and-"
His voice got cut off in your headphones by the sound of a sharp knock coming from behind him. Levi's eyes briefly grew to the size of saucers as they darted over his shoulder then back at your image onscreen.
“Levi...? What's wrong?”
“Nothing! Uh… J-just a second!”
You watched him lurch over his desk and fumble with his mouse until eventually the camera feed cut to black. You were definitely getting concerned, since Levi had almost never reacted that way to an outside noise before, but soon your worry morphed into curiosity. A sing-song voice called out through your headphones, one you had never heard before, and after checking the chat window you realized that, yep…
Levi forgot to mute the call.
“Oh Levi~! What made you think we're done talking? Is that your little friend in there??”
The man's voice was at a higher pitch than Levi's and he sounded pretty… annoyed. Or at least insistent about something. You heard the sound of door hinges swinging open, followed by Levi's much more exasperated tone.
“Go away, Asmo-gak! Why are all of you here!?”
A new voice joined the fray, this one was much softer than the other two. They spoke at a languid pace, slow like honey pouring from a bottle. Did he just wake up or something...?
“We thought you've been talking to a computer this whole time, but Mammon says that they're a real person…”
“Yeah, I’ve seen'em too! Tell'em Levi!”
That one you knew had to be Malcolm! There was no mistaking the energetic punch to his words, but who the heck was Mammon?? You didn’t recall meeting him too…
“Ugh, yes! They're real, but no you can’t all see them! We just started a new game, so go away!!”
“Uhm, Levi?”
Your question must have come through the speakers because, for moment, the sudden silence on the other end was deafening… then all hell broke loose at once.
Another voice spoke up now, one that sounded a lot deeper and almost velvety coming through your headphones.
“Was that them just now?”
Another responds, also deep, but muffled? As if they're trying to speak past a mouthful of marshmallows…
“Mmnph-‘ink so-mmmgh…”
The higher voice chimed in well over them both.
“Oh, we should go say hi!! What do you think, Levi? You can't keep teasing us like this!”
The blank screen on your monitor was starting to kill you seemingly as much as it was them… You desperately wanted some kind of explanation, but more importantly…!
“Levi, who's over there? Are those your brothers?!”
Your ears perked from the a collective gasp you heard on the other end, then the excitable one spoke again.
“They know about us???”
“NO!! N-not everything! Please leave-!!”
You'd be lying if you said that Levi's shout hadn't hurt you right then… It felt like a little crack went tink right on your heart! Had he been keeping you a secret from them this whole time? Was he embarrassed? Or did he not trust you to know too much about himself…? Was it your platform that he was scared of??? You had never broadcasted anything he hadn’t given permission about ahead if time… You wouldn't dare to dox him!! Though you could understand if that was his reasoning, the secrecy still kind of hurt…
“W-wait, Levi, I’ve always wanted to see more of your family...! Why not let them in? Please? We can still play right afterwards!”
“Huh?? But Y/n-!!”
“You heard'em, Levi! Let us through!”
A mass of shuffling filled your headphones while you waited with baited breath. You had even leaned in so close to your monitor that when the window flashed back on, you were briefly blinded by all of the colors at once! It took a few moments for you to make out all five pairs of eyes staring back through the screen. Each boy seemed to be crammed up against Levi's computer desk like lab students all forced to share the same microscope... To your surprise, not a single one of them looked like Levi or even like each other! You probably should have guessed, considering Malcom (who was seated center stage, having stole Levi's gamer chair for himself) looked nothing like him before, but you wouldn’t have guessed all 5 would differ quite as drastically… Would the sixth look that different as well?
“Uhm… hi?”
You tried to smile again to make a good impression, but it was hard to do while feeling like a living petri-dish. You were used to having eyes on you, but this was another level. Perhaps it was the added pressure of not wanting to look bad in front of a good friend's family, but it also could have also been the sheer intensity of their gaze… Levi could get this way too sometimes and it always felt like his orange-hued irises could almost see right through you... Especially if he just lost a game. In those times, his intimidating edge gave you a bit of a thrill. It'd feel like you just bested a dangerous beast in combat, but against ten eyes it was overwhelming… Each one bore right through you as if to examine your very soul…
“Huh,” a blonde one peering over Malcom's right shoulder was the first to speak up. His eyebrows were raised practically off of his forehead in surprise. “So they are real, then.”
The shortest boy, squished up against Malcom as if trying to steal center frame, clasped his hands over his heart and cooed back towards the doorway.
“Aww, Levi, look at that! You actually have a friend now!! And a real cutie, too~ Hello, hun!”
“Yeah, but why do they look like a human…?”
You watched guys instantly stiffen up as all eyes shifted towards a dark-haired boy clutching a spotted pillow just barely in view. It was hard for you to see his face, since it was only half on screen and even then some of it was behind his pillow, yet you could detect something… cold in it. He sounded annoyed, but you couldn’t place why… Was he seriously expecting you to be an AI or something?
To your surprise, the pillow guy was swiftly yanked out of frame and replaced by Levi, though you couldn’t see much of his face either. Only that he was holding onto the pillow guy's sleeved arm rather tightly as he spoke.
“Of course they're human! Not a 2D person or just a computer, but human like the rest of us… Right?”
You'd never heard such a dark edge come over Levi’s tone before. Not even in jest! It must have been rare for his brothers to hear as well, because most stared at him with equally shocked expressions. The arm in Levi's grasp yanked itself away and you heard footsteps head towards the door… but the other brothers stayed where they were. Another long silence flooded in, somethibg that felt far more uncomfortable than any you had experienced with Levi before, until a (frankly) massive dude chewing on a huge slab of jerky spoke up behind Malcolm.
“If they're nice to Levi, that's enough for me.” He inhaled the rest of the jerky into his mouth (which you didn’t quite detect him chewing) before he was already smiling at you with the kind of warmth that you'd see saved up only for the sappiest of shojo scenes. “Hello, thank you for being Levi's friend.”
The rest of the boys all exchanged glances with each other, then a similar kindness took over their faces too. Gone were the piercing stares of just a moment ago, and instead you only felt a welcoming energy radiating out from your monitor. As if sensing the change too, Levi finally came into view of the camera. He leaned down by Malcolm in the spot the pillow guy left open, grinning at you in that way only he really could.
“Y/n... These are my brothers.”
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lupeloto · 7 months
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“pretty, huh?” ficlet
basically, ian and mickey are babysitting franny when she lets it slip just how much ian talks about how pretty mickey is
“You’re gonna use this color,” Franny picks out a navy blue crayon, handing it to Mickey.
The two are sitting beside the coffee table in the den, Franny on her knees and Mickey leaned against the couch. There are about five different coloring books laid out on the dark-wood table, which now has its own little streak of purple thanks to Franny. Debbie had dropped Franny off with a few Princess and Fairy coloring books. Mickey immediately went to the little cabinet where they keep Franny’s items for the Monster Truck coloring book that he had bought for her. She beamed, insisting that they start coloring now. Ian had gone out to get lunch, so it was just them two coloring away in a comfortable silence. Franny always got so concentrated when coloring, her tongue sticking out between her lips, brows furrowed. Mickey found it absolutely endearing, it reminded him so much of Ian. A lot about Franny reminded him of Ian, including her bossy nature.
Mickey chuckles, “Can’t I choose my own color crayon, Fran?” He questions while taking the crayon she holds out to him.
“But I want you to use this one,” she says rather seriously, so Mickey complies, scribbling away with the dark blue crayon.
Ian walks through the door, take-out containers hanging off his fingers that peaked out of his gloves, big coat wrapped tightly around him, and a bright-red face.
“Jesus, it’s fucking freezing,” he says as soon as he steps inside. 
Franny seems to pay him no mind, completely concentrating on her artwork as Mickey looks ups, “Ay, I know, man. why don’t you go change into somethin’ warmer and then we’ll eat,” Mickey says softly before returning to his coloring, picking up the blue crayon that was basically a nub at this point.
“Yeah okay, I’ll be quick,” Ian sets the food on the counter before heading over to where the two sit in their own little world.
He places a quick kiss to both Mickey and Franny’s heads, “Hi Fran,” he raises his voice a little as if to say I’m right here, aren’t you excited to see me?
“Uncle Ian!” Franny squeals, finally pulling away from her coloring long enough to realize he was in the room. She jumps up, wrapping her arms around his leg tightly before returning to her picture.
That always made Mickey’s heart skip a beat; seeing him and Franny. The way Ian looked even taller next to her, how she soon figured out she couldn’t hug him while standing up, so instead she grew a habit of clinging to his leg as a warm welcome and goodbye. With that, Ian takes off to the bedroom.
A few more moments of silence pass before Franny breaks it, breaking her gaze away from her purple and green monster truck to stare at Mickey, “You’re pretty Uncle Mickey,” she says matter-of-factly before returning to her drawing. At the same time, Ian walks in, leaned against the doorway to the den, a small smile on his face at the sight of his husband and niece. 
Mickey can’t help but chuckle, looking over at Ian with his eyebrows raised because Where the hell did that come from?
“Well thanks, Little Red. You ain’t too bad yourself kid, way prettier than me,” his attempt to halt the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth miserably fails as he watches Franny giggle and bat her eyelashes at the comment.
Franny’s hand moves slowly and surely around the page, “Uncle Ian says it all the time,” she continues scribbling, “Says that you’re soooo pretty,” she giggles slightly, looking towards Ian
“Oh, ‘s that right?” Mickey raises one eyebrow and turns his head towards Ian who wears a smug grin.
Ian shrugs his shoulders, “I’ve been exposed,” he states matter-of-factly, “What can I say?”
“I have to pee,” Franny says, already bored with their conversation, jumping up from her spot and headed down the hallway.
“Wash your hands, Fran!” Ian yells after her, pushing himself off the door frame, heading towards Mickey.
“Pretty, huh Gallagher?” Mickey flashes a one-sided grin up at where Ian stands behind him, hovering over his head, a certain softness in his eyes.
Ian shrugs, “I stand by it…” Ian leans down and presses their lips together spider-man style, “Fucking beautiful,” he whispers as their mouths part, but still remain close together.
Mickey beams, a warmth that only Ian can provide spreading all throughout his body, “Yeha, you too, Red.” They kiss one more time before Franny comes running in, demanding a popsicle. They all three sit on the patio and eat their popsicle, Mickey looking on in amusement as both Ian and Franny end up with red all over their mouths and shirts by the time they’re done.
— — — — — — — — — —
these two take up so much space in my brain it’s sick and twisted! told myself i wasn’t gonna post anymore today but here i am on your dash to annoy u more about these gays😞
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honeybleed · 8 days
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tr moots i have this mikey x reader fic but cos i like problems she’ll cheat 😭 im sorry infidelity is my guilty pleasure lol
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mqkoeyes · 3 months
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this fanfic.
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milyki · 4 months
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how did a fic dissipate my art block.
Do I love drawing Tanjiro? I will take any excuse
Do I love drawing Zenitsu? Yes. Baby Zenitsu? Oh yes.
And yes I love drawing low quality Tengen
YET AGAIN GO READ ‘Once more, with feeling’ BY @kuwajima AMAZING AUTHOR AMAZING STORY AND AMAZING ART POTENTIAL
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creampill · 10 months
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SIGHHHHHHHHHH…
…*opens a fresh word document*
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wri0thesley · 9 months
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Hi hi, I hope you're doing wonderful ! I've wondered about your thought on something, a while back -like a really long time ago, you made a fic about a desesperate Diluc go to a brothel and look for a gem that looks just like reader to quench his thirst, and that made me wonder who do you think other than him in the genshin universe might do the same ? Don't feel pressured if that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself. Thank you for blessing us with your writing every day !!!
oh, i don't mind!!! diluc, i think, is likely to do this because he thinks himself a gentleman and he doesn't want to corrupt or ruin you, he thinks that by doing such a thing and getting out his baser instincts on someone else he can 'protect' you (and you remain on the pedestal that he's put you on). so i think the yanderes who are likely to do such a thing fall into one of three categories;
one) the ones who think of their darling as something so so precious, who are gentlemen and try to deny themselves. diluc, definitely. zhongli perhaps also. pantalone, capitano.
two) the ones who have plans, and who simply cannot yet put them into practise. these ones are simply biding their time; filling a you-shaped void until all of the things they have put into motion are able to be carried out. kaeya, albedo, ayato, baizhu.
three) the ones who are a little bit mad about how attracted they are too, and who might think that doing this will get out some of their yandere type feelings. childe, xiao, scaramouche. (it doesn't, naturally).
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do rice krispies alenoah get together? or do they have a battle to beat all battles? uhm thats probably not the best way to describe what im tryna say, but you probably get it?? uh yeah
bold of you to assume that "a battle to beat all battles" isn't them getting together 🙄
anyway noah bites alejandro again and gives him rabies and alejandro fucking dies. that's how the fic ends.
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general-dweebous · 7 months
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Listen- listen, think Miguel O’Hara but Pride & Prejudice vibes
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Right?????
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eastwindmlk · 27 days
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Written for @jilymicrofics prompt: Infatuated Word count: 141
There were two possible reasons why Lily was feeling queasy right now.
One of them was a stomach bug, plain and simple.
More importantly, it had nothing to do with the fact that a certain quidditch captain sitting next to the open window, his shirt hanging open in a blatant flaunting of the dress code.
Pulling a blanket around her, in the hopes that it was just her being under the weather. Physically, that was.
If it wasn’t that, then it was something far worse. An ailment of the mind is curable and unavoidable.
It would involve having to admit to herself that she was infatuated with someone who had finally become her friend. Just her friend.
Pulling the blanket tighter around herself, willing the flush on her cheeks to be a fever.
At least she knew the cure for that.
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rimunagenius · 1 day
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Wish You Were Gay
ღ Pairing: Josette Maskin x AFAB!Straight!reader
ღ Word Count: 2k Words
ღ Warnings: RPF!! angst, hardcore pining (jojo obv), internalized homophobia, unrequited love, crippling jealousy, both preferred pronouns are used for Josette in this fic!
ღ a/n: This is based off Billie Eilish’s song ‘wish you were gay’ and I feel like i actually became a fucken poet with this. I’m sorry for the amount of therapy bills imma have to pay after this really sad fic…but also i feel like this is the perfect pining and unrequited love trope song that billie wrote imo.
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ღ "Baby, I don't feel so good", six words you never understood
"I'll never let you go", five words you'll never say
Jo had this reacurring dream that you'd be here. In her bed. With her. Happy.
Everytime, you'd look to her and smile. Your one dimple on your left cheek more prominent as you layed on her chest. She'd stroke your hair, a matching smile plastered on their soft pink lips.
Josette would then say how they wished they could stay like this forever. You and her. Together. Finally happy. You'd smile, cheeks warming a soft pink, before your arms wrapped tighter around her waist, legs tangling together creating a perfectly entangled mess.
"Don't worry, baby. I'll never let you go."
That's usually where the dream ends. Waking up to cold sheets, no you by her side. Poorly dimmed room setting the precedent that her life feels just a little more empty without that part of you in it.
ღ I laugh along like nothing's wrong, four days has never felt so long
If three's a crowd and two was us, one slipped away
"Bye, you'd guys would make a cute little old lesbian couple!" Katie laughed as she watched you and Jo bickering over something so tiny. Naomi nodding their head in agreement, a small chuckle escaping their lips.
You laughed, a weird feeling settling in your stomach. You'd never even looked at Jo that way. So why would others think the opposite of you? You had a boyfriend.
Jo had noticed the look you gave her. Your joking and feigned annoyance over the small tussle, now shutting down the unserious side of you. It was because Katie had made a lesbian joke when you were straight, right?
Could you never think of her in such a way that when a joke is made, you get uncomfortable? Jo didn't want to over analyze so they laughed, albeit it was dry and short. A small pang in her chest, she wiped the tip of her nose, taking a deep breath and started to scroll on her phone.
She only had a day and a couple hours left to endure of this painful 4-day getaway friends trip. They just wanted it to be over.
ღ I just wanna make you feel okay
But all you do is look the other way
"Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay, baby?" Baby. She knew she should stop calling you that. That's something she's only ever heard him call you. Nicknames like that weren't reserverad for someone like her in your life.
"I'm okay, I could just really use a hug right now." You sighed, tears starting to well up in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around her neck, her arms finding place on your waist.
"What do you need? Let me make you feel better, yeah?" Josette pulled away from you, her arms going from either side of your upper arms, to lifting your chin so you could see her. So she could look you in your pained eyes once, to see that she never wanted them to look that way again.
"Hey, you called me?" Jo recognized his voice anywhere. Your boyfriend. Of course. She should have known he'd be the first one you called. They should have known that whatever was bothering you, whoever made you cry, what ever you were struggling with, the burden was yours to carry and his to help.
How naive of Jo to think that maybe this once, you'd actually want her. Need her, to help you.
ღ I can't tell you how much I wish I didn't wanna stay
I just kinda wish you were gay
The more Jo had thought about yours and hers relationship, the more she thought about just up and leaving. She hates to admit that she spent a good amount of time every now and then wondering what her life would be like without you in it.
She knew what she felt was real, she knew you wouldn't ever give her a shot. The friendship was great. Blissful. But what could she possibly stay for if whenever she was around you, the crippling feeling of longing and yearning to feel you and know you completely; all of you, was something so impossible?
The way she felt...the way she wanted you to love her. It was so strong that she prayed that you'd soon realize that maybe he wasn't the right man for you and what you needed was her. A woman.
She wished you were gay. She wished it was her you longed to be with. To feel their skin. To know them so deeply and romantically that whatever you did, you did it because you loved them. Not him.
It was wrong. It was wrong that she wished your healthy relationship that made you happy, would crash and burn like her mind, heart and soul, whenever you walked into a room. How she prayed for impending doom on two happy people so she could be the one to make you happy. It was selfish. It was wrong.
You weren't gay, but god, she wished you were.
ღ Is there a reason we're not through?
Is there a 12-step just for you?
Our conversation's all in blue
11 "heys"
Ten fingers tearin' out my hair
Nine times, you never made it there
I ate alone at seven, you were six minutes away
Josette knew the only thing holding this friendship together was her. She didn't have to stay, have to be here. She didn't need to make herself feel this way.
You had him. You spent most of your time with him, most of your guys' plans cancelled or postponed because he needed something.
As a silent lover, she watched as you made time for him. Showed up for him. Yeah, you showed up for Jo too, but never with as much love and passion as you had for him. You did actually, but just not the kind that Josette wanted. You chose him. She just wished you chose her instead.
This was no different. You had plans to meet up for lunch. This nice cafe, in the middle of both your residing areas and it was all going to happen at 2. Soon, the first five minute of waiting turned into 15. Then to 30. Multiple messages sent to you waiting for an ETA.
You responded in seconds with a short response of a emergency on his side of the family. Jo sighed, the dull and aching feeling rising in her chest again.
They had to stop thinking swooping you away from him was going to change the fact that you weren't into girls. Jo had known you caught on.
Maybe this was her punishment: All the forced proximity and trying to change something already set in stone, was rejection by the one person she sought acception from. This was you pushing her away. God how could she be so stupid.
Jo was never going to change your mind, maybe this was the only way you could tell her without breaking her heart. Letting her eat alone...be alone.
ღ How am I supposed to make you feel okay
When all you do is walk the other way?
I can't tell you how much I wish I didn't wanna stay
I just kinda wish you were gay
When you started having problems with him, Jo heard about it. To Jo, it seemed that she was only here for you when he wasn’t. That wasn’t even true. It’s just the way her mind chose to see it, to be able to cope with the rejection she took in an absolute way.
She shouldn’t have let these feelings get in the way. She was setting herself up.
Josette couldn’t fathom loving anyone else with her whole being. It’d take a nuclear act of god to get her to stop her life from circling around you. The purgatory that was loving you when you couldn’t love her the way she wanted you to, was something she’d take over anyone else. The constant suffering was worth it.
You always ran to him for your romantic needs. But Jo’s heart had always ran back to you. She knew you knew. You just know she could never act on it without you setting up a block. So you did it all the time when you were around her.
Maybe in another universe or lifetime, she’d get to have you and experience different parts of you the way he did.
ღ To spare my pride
To give your lack of interest, an explanation
Don't say I'm not your type
Just say that I'm not your preferred sexual orientation
You may have looked at your boyfriend with heart eyes and the most romantic, endearment and adoration and with Josette, you looked at her the same.
Platonically binded by both your caring souls, like mindedness, and mutual interests. She was your soulmate in bestfriend form. You had certainly thought that if you had liked girls, or if Jo had been a boy, you’d love to love her in more ways than one.
But she wasn’t. Something about you two, together in this lifetime, was something that felt wrong. She was always meant to be your bestfriend. Nothing more. Josette had understood that.
She understood that it’s something you had grown up to understand was something that wasn’t socially accepted, atleast by your family. So she understood why you couldn’t pursue something romantic together.
She felt that maybe you did love her, maybe even felt the attraction, but she just wasn’t a man. The idea was unsettling to swallow at first—but it appeased her brain to know that it could happen…if the circumstances were different.
ღ I'm so selfish
But you make me feel helpless, yeah
And I can't stand another day
Stand another day
The longing was weighing down. The burden of carrying such a strong but passionate love for someone who couldn’t physically return it was starting to fuck with Jo.
She knew it was selfish to pray that you’d change your mind about your sexual orientation. To pray that you have always been that way but wanted to hide it. She prayed for any possibility that’d allow you to love her how she wished you did.
But she knew it’d never work. No matter what she said or did, nothing was going to change your mind.
She knew that; they couldn’t stand this anymore. It was becoming too much for her. The attachment and attraction blossomed more than she could’ve imagined. She needed to stop. Needed to forget you. Needed someone else.
But she couldn’t do that to you. Her body and soul couldn’t allow it. She couldn’t stand to breathe the same air as you if you weren’t breathing it together. How could she form a new connection and love someone so deeply when every part of her had already belonged to you.
Together. Together. Together. It’s all she’s ever wanted.
ღ I just wanna make you feel okay
But all you do is look the other way, hmm
I can't tell you how much I wish I didn't wanna stay
I just kinda wish you were gay
I just kinda wish you were gay
I just kinda wish you were gay
It was on her face, in her eyes, everytime they looked at you. You couldn’t bare seeing Jo in it so deeply and you couldn’t return it. You never wanted someone to break Jo’s heart.
It just never occurred to you that you were the one doing it. Everytime they looked at you, they always thought the same thing.
“I just wish you were gay”
Repeated like a never ending song in her brain. Everytime she was with you, she wanted to confess the feelings that she’s been carrying ever since you guys met. It was overwhelming and heartbreaking but a privilege.
Jo would rather you break her heart a little more everyday than anyone at all. She’d settle for the possibility of her possibly being able to change your mind about girls than forget the way you made every inch of her feel.
To feel love in the most absolute way. It was a privilege to love someone like you. So it was either she had to repeat the mantra in her mind and just go on about their day, pretending everything was fine, or not have you at all. She’d choose the first one everytime.
Cause she knew…in another life, you two would have it all. You be running to her. For anything. Whether it was for comfort or romantic endeavors. She’d be the one you’d choose.
You two would be together.
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lgbtlunaverse · 1 month
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It is such a travesty I was hardcore not looking at the fact that I was into girls when I was a kid. The amount of "mia and me" mia/violetta wattpad fanfiction 10 year old me could've been writing... tragic.
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iken · 1 month
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i’m thinking of a completely negative/opposite relationship. one where both parties are so alike that they’re actually different, but also not in the enemy category. more like “i love you so much i actually hate you” or “i can’t stand you but i want you so bad”
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thesistersarcheron · 1 year
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Pairings: Elriel, background Feysand Rating: E Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Murder, Attempted Kidnapping, Inappropriate Erections, BDSM, Blood Kink, Title from a Taylor Swift Song, Elain rips out a man’s throat with her bare hands and that’s a turn-on for Azriel Summary: When a stranger tries to kidnap Nyx during an outing to the park, Elain reacts the same way she did that day on the battlefield: by going for the throat. Azriel distracts her in the aftermath. ——— Find more on my masterlist or read this fic on AO3!
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Kissing Azriel felt like waking up from a nightmare.
Every stroke of his tongue against hers, every desperate press of their mouths, his cool breath on her overheated skin, the shadows his wings cast as they shifted and spread and hid the rest of the room from view… It was the first real thing she’d felt since she sank her fingers into that male’s throat and killed him.
Or, she thought, perhaps since Azriel sank into the shadows after that awful Solstice night and remained hidden in them until this morning.
The large hand she held clenched as if he could somehow tell what she was thinking, and Elain could feel the smooth scars that marked it stretching over her fingers. She lifted it to her heart on impulse, needing to share the wild rhythm imprinting itself onto her soul. Azriel groaned, pressing the back of his palm against her breastbone, and Elain wished he could reach into her and cradle her heart in those gentle, nimble fingers.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured against his mouth, vaguely aware that her dress was still sticky with lukewarm blood, that it likely stained his hands now too.
But Azriel’s groan merely deepened, gaining a rough edge, and he rasped back, “Don’t be.”
“I missed you,” she said next into the hairsbreadth of space between them. There were a million things she needed to say to him, a million half-finished conversations that never got closure and idle, musing questions from his letters she needed to answer.
Without missing a beat, barely parting their lips, Azriel shifted so he was no longer seated on the ottoman, his legs spread wide around her. He moved to his knees fluidly instead, the hand on her jaw angling her head so he could continue kissing her as he moved.
The words she’d spent endless hours reading and rereading in his spiky, urgent handwriting brushed across her face on a gentle breath.
“I love you.”
She was half-convinced she was dreaming again; she had never been able to fully imagine what that sentence might sound like in Azriel’s midnight voice. She had crafted million possibilities for those words—spoken in the garden while he brushed a flower over her cheek, laughed over a spilled bag of flour in the kitchen, whispered in a dark hallway late at night, murmured over her breast in a shadowed bedroom—but she felt like a fool for trying now. None could ever match the reality of it. Of hearing the charged, enamored devotion that she knew he reserved only for her. Revealed only to her.
I miss you, I forgive you, I love you, I need you...
Every possible response played through her mind on an endless loop. She couldn’t settle on just one, and she didn’t possess the time or patience to list them all. She chose, in the end, to whisper back the one word she hoped would convey it all.
One word to offer him everything.
“Azriel.”
A soft growl rent the air between them.
“Look at you.” Even though his shadows had all but disappeared, Azriel’s eyes were dark and wild as they raked over her again, and a pleasant shiver rocked Elain when they lingered on her throat. His teeth bared, just slightly, as if he wanted to sink them into her. “Just fucking look at you.”
“I’m a mess.”
The words weren’t as demure as they should have been. They weren’t colored with the shame or horror she had felt just moments earlier, and Elain didn’t coyly avert her eyes or duck her head while willing a blush to her cheeks.
There was something about being covered in someone’s lifeblood, something she hadn’t been able to pin down in the aftermath of the war. But now that her blind, feral panic had abated and Azriel had finally, finally kissed her, Elain was left with a familiar, heated rush of pride and desire pooling at the base of her throat.
It felt much as it had when she was human, and men used to bow before her and lift her hand to their lips. When they looked at her with glittering, greedy eyes and complimented her laugh, her smile, her hair. When they begged a dance from her, and Elain got to lift her chin and consider them for a long moment, keeping them on tenterhooks while she weighed their status and looks and taste in formalwear.
It felt just like that, but amplified, like the primal, animalistic thing that lurked in the back of her mind now had given the feeling teeth and claws.
Elain felt powerful.
And with Azriel kneeling in front of her, still drinking her in with molten-copper eyes that had shone with the promise of violence when he first saw her drenched in blood, she was not afraid anymore.
The slightest curve of his lips betrayed his amusement, his thumb catching her chin. His lips were a hairsbreadth away from hers, feinting and drawing away with a huff of laughter at her expense as she tried to steal a kiss, when he said, “I like it.”
Elain pouted, but she pressed her legs together and admitted, “I do, too.”
“Fuck, Elain.”
Azriel descended on her again, dropping her hand to curl his arm around her waist instead. He pulled her to the edge of the chair, pushing forward until she had no choice but to spread her legs to make space for him between them.
He kissed her hard, tasting her until her head spun, and only when she withdrew for breath did he bow his head and latch his teeth onto the delicate, oversensitive skin of her neck.
“You’ll leave a mark!” She slid a hand into his hair, pulling hard. He didn’t move, lathing the skin between his teeth with his tongue. She felt every smooth stroke pulsing between her legs. “Az— Azriel. They’ll see!”
The hand on her jaw drifted to her thigh, squeezing a gasp out of her that he lifted his head to swallow. He hooked it under her knee, dragging her closer, close enough that she could feel the ridges of his leathers through her ruined stockings and bunched skirts, and guided her leg around his waist.
“Good,” he murmured into her mouth. “I want them to see what I do to you, Elain. I want them all to see.”
Elain blinked, her vision going hazy with desire, and Azriel grinned. His teeth were a sharp, lethal slash in the dark.
“Hold on,” was all the warning she got before cool shadows whipped at them, and the chair disappeared beneath her.
The sudden sensation of weightlessness pulled a noise of surprise from her, but Azriel was already on his feet, keeping her legs locked around him.
She managed a glance around the hallway where he had winnowed them—and tried to crawl out of Azriel’s grip as he made for a familiar door.
“My room,” she gasped. “I want to do this in my room.”
Azriel stilled, but didn’t let go of her. His brow furrowed and he tilted his head in a deliberate show of consideration. His eyes flicked back to the door to the bedroom set aside for his use when the River House had been built, the one she and Feyre had so carefully decorated together.
The bedroom Azriel hadn’t used in well over a year.
“Why?”
Heat flooded Elain from her hairline to her navel.
“It’s more comfortable,” she said. The excuse was weak to her own ears.
Azriel walked them forward, and Elain involuntarily tightened her legs around him, instinctually protecting herself from the threat of falling despite the firm grip he had on her waist and her thigh. She tried not to focus on how nice the bulk of him pressed against her felt.
Her back hit the wall, and Azriel’s wings flared, caging her in his embrace. He let her drop a few inches, let her heartbeat catch as she shrieked in surprise, before he caught her in his arms, tighter than before.
“Liar.”
She could feel Truth-Teller’s hilt digging into her thigh, but as she tried to shift, Azriel shifted with her until it bit deeper into her flesh, a playful, warning glint in his eyes.
“Your room is closer to the stairs. Do you want Feyre and Cassian to hear you, too, kitten?”
Her stomach swooped at the endearment, at the thick length of him she could feel clearly pressed against her now that they had stopped moving. She shook her head.
“You have one chance to tell me the truth, Elain.” When Elain pulled her lip into her mouth and shook her head again—gods, the truth was too embarrassing, too mortifying—and Azriel jostled her, Truth-Teller settling into the crease between her leg and the very center of her. “You can kill as coldly as any of us, but you can’t tell me why I’m not allowed to take you in my own bedroom?”
Once more, Elain shook her head. Some thrill flashed through Azriel’s expression, there and gone, and then a tendril of shadow curled around his ear.
Azriel didn’t break eye contact, didn’t so much as breathe.
And then the shadows consumed them again.
———
Azriel dropped Elain onto the plush duvet atop his immaculately made bed and stepped back into the darkness.
“Clever girl.” The praise fell from his lips too easily as he reappeared across the room. He took a deep breath and slid open a drawer of the otherwise empty desk set against the wall. A bundle of letters lay inside, and he pulled them out, examining them with closely.
The seals were all carefully shut, having once been pried up from the paper and then ever-so-slightly melted and re-sealed; he could tell by the way the edges weren’t quite as adhered to the paper as they once were. The folds and corners were all crisp, barely worn down; as if he himself had only worried the letters once or twice before committing to sealing them.
And hidden away, tied together with a bit of the leather cord he used for all the packages and missives he sent to the River House, it looked as if Elain had never touched the letters. As if he, the foolish, doomed romantic that he was, had torn out his heart and stored it in a room just a couple of hallways away from Elain rather than carry the sorry thing with him.
“Very clever,” he said again.
Elain lifted herself onto her elbows, shucking her singed wool coat with a little wrinkle of her nose at the clean bedspread, oblivious of how badly Azriel wanted to be the one undressing her.
When she pressed her knees together, it took all of his control not to stride across the room to pull them apart again, to settle himself between them and stake his claim, make his home in her sweet cunt. Already, every muscle in his body was taut with the agony of being parted from her, a dozen feet transformed into a yawning chasm.
Azriel planted his feet, tamping down the temptation to crawl atop her.
“I avoid this wing of the house like a plague,” she told him, but her eyelashes flickered ever-so-slightly.
“During the day.”
Elain’s kiss-swollen lips parted.
Amusement lanced through him, but Azriel speared her with a look, just so he could see the way she trembled. “You would have been more successful at convincing me if I couldn’t smell you on my sheets from here.”
Her pale skin went impossibly pinker, and his cock pulsed with the need to be inside of her.
“How many nights have you spent touching yourself in my bed?” he asked, prowling closer. It was second nature to let his hand drift to his side, to wrap it around his dagger and pull it from its sheath. When Elain didn’t answer, he flipped the blade in his hand, lightning-sharp desire coursing through him as she watched it spin in the air and licked her lips. “Did you hope I would come in here one day and scent it?”
He reached the end of the bed, and Elain nodded, her doe eyes dark. “Yes.”
“Did you imagine us doing the things I wrote in my letters?”
“I did.” Elain’s scent deepened again, matching the warm, aroused trace of her on his sheets.
Azriel wrapped his hand around her delicate ankle, tracing the curves of the bone there with a fingertip and watching chills raise her smooth skin. “Which one did you like most?”
The silence was weighted as she considered her answer, her eyes sliding over to the bundle on his desk. Her pretty eyes were heavily lidded, and each breath she took pressed her breasts up against the bodice of her blood-stained gown. Azriel wanted to cover them in marks to match the bright bruise blooming on her neck.
“The shadows. On my knees,” she finally admitted, blinking hard—as if she were picturing it. As if she could see it clearly—or had Seen it clearly. “When you wrote about—“
Azriel knew exactly which letter she was referring to; he kept every fantasy tucked away in the back of his mind, but especially the ones he had shared with Elain once his shadows told him what she did with his more innocent love notes.
And with the mental image of her pleasuring herself to the thought of being bound in his shadows at the forefront of his mind, he couldn’t resist any longer. He dragged Elain to him by the ankle.
“Az!”
He relished her little squeak of surprise and the sound of his name on her lips.
Once she was at the end of his bed, her legs spread around him again as they always should be, he raised Truth-Teller. “Say the word and I stop.”
Elain, the brave, playful thing, looked at him for a long moment and then raised a hand to her smiling lips. She mimed turning a key, and Azriel couldn’t help but laugh as he dipped his fingers and then the tip of Truth-Teller’s blade into the bodice between those perfect breasts and cut her free.
———
Azriel was not a gentle lover.
The moment he finished slicing her bloody gown to bits—too many to be practical, but the thrill had sliced through Elain as surely as Truth-Teller’s blade through delicate lace—he knelt at her feet, gazing up at her with reverent eyes as he gave the slip of silk between her legs the same treatment.
And then his fingers filled her—one then two then three in quick succession—and stretched her until she burned. They curled upward against the sensitive spot inside her until that burn transformed into stunning, desperate need for more. The second she opened her mouth to beg for it, his was on her clit, licking and biting and sucking endlessly, the low vibration of his growling voice dragging her into the dark.
Her chest ached with the force she used to keep herself silent, every breath filling her throat until she was lightheaded with it. She almost cried out when he pulled away, licking her own glistening wetness off of his lips like a starved male.
“Scream,” he ordered her before returning his mouth to her cunt.
So Elain screamed as she came, heedless of who might overhear them, stars bursting behind her eyelids and her hips pushing against the hand holding her down.
She barely had a moment to come back to her sensesbefore he was above her, wings spread wide as he balanced on one hand.
The other, the one that helped him pull that orgasm out of her, dipped into her mouth.
“Suck, kitten.” His voice was softer now, fond and fascinated, and Elain couldn’t help but smile as she wrapped her lips around his scarred, shimmering fingers and licked them clean. Her sex was sweet and slick as salted honey, but she hardly paid attention to that as she mapped the ridges of Azriel’s scars with her tongue.
Beautiful.
Awestruck surprise peered out at her from behind the mask Azriel usually wore. She could have licked at him all night, but he slid his fingers out of her and down her chin. They ghosted over her neck, and then the world spun out around her, and she was on her stomach.
Dark, solid ropes of shadows curled around her wrists, dragging her forward until she was propped only on her knees, her breasts pressed into the mattress, prone and weak as a—
Well, as a kitten.
She could only listen as Azriel stripped himself, leathers creaking and falling to the floor with hushed whispers of material. Each popped button ratcheted up her anticipation and, finally, the snapping of his Siphons as he tore them from his hands threatened to drive her mad with need. Already, she could feel herself dripping onto the bed.
He was on her in an instant, grabbing a handful of her ass with one hand, the other snaking around her to roll a pebbled nipple between his fingers as she moaned. He laid his weight on her, spread his wings out around her, until all she knew was the all-too-real press of her shadowsinger and the darkness that accompanied him everywhere.
“Sweet, lovely thing…” The tip of his cock pressed against her entrance, teasing and maddening. Elain pulled at the shadows keeping her wrists bound above her head, pushing her hips back, trying to draw him in. But a strong hand pressed against the small of her back, nearly spanning the width of the space between her hips, and pushed her back into the mattress.
He clicked his tongue. “Did I say you could move?”
Elain could have cried.
“No, but I need it.”
“What do you need?”
“I need you,” she whined, trying to roll her hips toward him again. His hand pressed more firmly against her, and she could have sworn that she could feel the heat from his palm in her belly.
She tilted her head backward, and the breath was stolen from her lungs at the sight of Azriel smiling wildly down at her. It was the most untamed she had ever seen him, his hair falling into eyes that burned with feral need. His mouth opened, and Elain braced herself—
“What part of me do you need, Elain?”
“I… you…”
“You can tear out a male’s throat with your bare hands, but you can’t say cock?” The tip of him left her entrance, and she could have cried out at the loss—until Azriel pressed the long, pulsing length of it fully against her, catching at her clit and then sliding past it, over it… “That’s precious.”
“Please, Azriel, please.”
“Say it, Elain. Tell me you want my cock as your reward for killing that male, and I’ll give it to you.”
His hand traced a path up her spine as she buried her burning face in the sheets, mustering the nerve to ask for what she wanted. By the time she lifted her head, it was tangled in the loose, sodden ends of her hair.
“I want your cock.”
Azriel wound her hair into a rope around his hand and tugged. “As…?”
“As my reward.” The words tumbled out of her mouth as he pressed the broad, thick tip into her. He paused, and she gasped, “For killing that male.”
“Good girl,” Azriel murmured, and then his hand was on her throat, long fingers curled around it, as he buried the rest of his length into her in one smooth stroke. “Look at you, taking every inch of it so well… Such a filthy girl, Elain.”
Even if his hand weren’t around her throat, she would have been breathless—at the drag of him against her innermost walls, the sharp, burning stretch, the insistent, aching push of his cock against the deepest part of herself. He stroked his thumb over her pulse, which fluttered wildly beneath his touch. It should be sickening, should disgust her, the reminder of what she had done—
But, as Azriel tightened his hold and began to fuck her in earnest and she tugged desperately against the shadows binding her wrists, she couldn’t bring herself to care.
Every thrust pushed what little air she managed to gulp down from her lungs. Every lazy sweep of his thumb made her dizzier and dizzier.
“Waited so long for this,” he was growling against her shoulder, teeth dragging a painful line across her skin. “Couldn’t imagine how you’d taste, how fucking wet you’d be, how you’d sound—“ Suddenly, Elain was aware of the weak, mewling whines he was pulling out of her. “Would’ve slaughtered that bastard months ago if it got us here sooner.”
It was insensible—what would killing that male do before he became a threat?—but Elain sobbed with pleasure anyway, rocking back on her knees to meet his next thrust.
So much time lost. The deep, vast well of her immortal life and the sweet, welcome visions she had seen of it seemed like nothing compared to the endless months of yearning that stretched behind them.
“Never again,” Azriel was promising into her ear, over and over. “Never again.”
Unrestrained power, brutal and hard, rocked into her. Her hair stood on end as it indiscriminately consumed the space around them, warming the air. This— Was this the legendary Illyrian killing power? The one Azriel needed an unprecedented seven Siphons to contain? Was that what he would use to keep that vow?
“Breathe, love.” Azriel’s grip on her neck loosened, the bonds around her wrists lengthening. He pulled her back until she was flush against his chest, his own breath cool on her cheek. She took a breath. All she knew was his body against hers, inside of hers. She would kill for this, too, if that’s what it took; a life for every day she was granted with Azriel.
“Azriel, please.”
Azriel’s voice rumbled in her ear, as if he knew what she were thinking and agreed. “Good girl. Good. Now come.”
“With me,” Elain managed to say as she tilted her head back once more. Her climax tore through her, shredding her to pieces, and Azriel’s lips met hers, a frantic Yes, yes, I’m with you murmured into her mouth.
———
“She was thorough.”
Rhys’s voice was frozen as it cut through the dark in the cells below the Hewn City. He rolled his shoulders, as if to relieve himself of the excess energy wound up in his muscles—energy he hadn’t gotten to use when he’d found a cooling corpse by the swingset in the park, just where Elain left it for him.
Feyre stood at his side, white-faced as she examined the partially decapitated corpse of Soren Vanserra laid out on a slab of stone. Her eyes glimmered with the same cold, foreboding thirst for blood that leaked off of her mate in razor-sharp ribbons of darkness.
“She did this? With her bare hands?”
Azriel couldn’t help but let out an impressed breath as Rhys answered her questions. Four deep gouges in the side of Vanserra’s neck widened into a gaping, life-ending wound, his throat wholly exposed. Something akin to terror was etched onto his face, and it gave him a cool, sweet sense of satisfaction to know the male had seen his death coming before it claimed him.
Amazingly, however, he was covered in less blood than Elain herself had been.
Regardless of how impressed he was, of how his blood heated at the sight of Elain’s handiwork, his hand drifted to Truth-Teller. There were no signs of life in any of the other cells, but… “Did you find the others?”
A muscle in Rhys’s jaw ticked, and Feyre reached out a hand to smooth it out. “No, but I could scent the other two.”
His High Lady’s eyes went distant, and Rhys trained his gaze on Vanserra’s blood-soaked hair as he captured her hand in his own. Whatever they were discussing mind-to-mind made Rhys’s shadows darken, and Feyre wound her arms around his middle and pressed a long kiss to his cheek, utterly uncaring that they had an audience.
“We will deal with them tomorrow,” Feyre told Azriel when she pulled away, her eyes clearing.
Azriel dipped his head. “I will inform Cassian to prepare—“
“No,” Rhys’s voice was quieter, rougher. “Just us.”
Azriel stilled. He couldn’t help his glance downward—down, into the heart of the mountains beneath the moonstone palace and the Hewn City, where all of the High Lords of the Night Court were laid to rest. Where Rhys’s father was entombed.
Rhys shook his head. Perhaps he skimmed the question off the top of Azriel’s mind. “Go.”
Without waiting for a response, Rhys pulled a wickedly sharp blade and a brand bearing the Night Court’s sigil out of thin air. He handed the brand to Feyre, who accepted it with wide eyes, and then an unlit brazier blinked into existence at his side.
There would be no magic to inflict these final wounds. If tradition held, Elain would be the one to mark her kill and mount his head—and Azriel was beginning to wonder if she would even balk at the task, the way he sometimes did when the sizzle and tang of burning flesh in these dungeons became too much—but Rhys was poised over the brazier with a flint in one hand. He paused, a small mercy, and then Feyre tilted her head at Azriel.
Despite the empty, russet eyes staring out at her from a dead male’s face, despite the plans for bloody vengeance she and Rhys were undoubtedly making together in their minds, she flashed him a brilliant, pleased smile.
“Stay with Elain and Nyx for me?” The smile dimmed, and she worried her lip between her teeth as she glanced back at Rhys, but the plain affection in her eyes as she looked at Azriel threatened to knock him on his ass. “We won’t be home tonight.”
The implications of that should concern Azriel—at the very least, he ought to ask how widespread the slaughter would be, how many Illyrians they ought to prepare and station at their borders, if the Darkbringers and the Vaklyries might be necessary… But Rhys sparked the flint against his steel blade, and Azriel felt the absence of Elain in his arms like a wound that was bleeding him dry.
So he bowed to his lady and stepped away.
He resurfaced outside the gates of the River House. The guards stationed there nodded, and he cut a path through the gardens and into the house as his shadows slipped away in all directions. They returned quickly, telling him what he already knew—Cassian and Nesta were bickering in the dining room, the other Valkyries were beside the Sidra behind the house, the wards were strong, unbreached…
And there she was.
Elain, her golden hair illuminated by a shaft of buttery sunshine streaming in through the window, bouncing a giggling Illyrian baby on her knees. She looked up when he stepped into the doorway, his shadows sweeping through the room and then slipping away, as they always did in her presence.
She smiled, brilliant and bold, and held out her hand.
He went to her.
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swankytown04 · 1 year
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THE NEW DECA FIC CHAPTER REINVIGORATED MY DECA BRAINROT FR
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