fever-fluff - Tumblr blog

fever-fluff · 2 months

Text

Rainy Season

Azriel x Reader

An angsty little one shot. Azriel’s mate is tired of being at the bottom of his list of priorities.

Update: Due to popular demand, there will be a part 2!

The air’s getting heavy and we both know why

There was a time when an evening like this brought solace to my weary soul.

Azriel’s hand wrapped around my waist, caressing my stomach, pressing soft kisses to the juncture of my neck and shoulder. His hair tickling against my sensitive skin as we hid under blankets absorbing the incessant melody of drip, drop, drip, drop and the echoing pitter patter of rain drops hitting the roof. His warmth seeping right through to the coldest depths of my soul.

I’d turn around, pressing my bare breasts against his muscled chest. Our breath hitching as his sunburst eyes of brown, amber, and gold bore into mine, his soft lips whispering promises of forever.

Say that this storm is just passing through

But Azriel wasn’t here. He hadn’t been for 6 days, 23 hours, and 50 minutes now. It would have been laughable, comparing the past to now, if it weren’t so damned sad. In the beginning there’d been long, doting love notes with risqué quips regarding his intentions upon coming home, little gifts that he couldn’t resist bringing back from his travels, and the stolen hours where he’d sneak in a visit during the intermittent downtime on his missions. As a realist, I knew that it was not sustainable long-term but relished in it as the gift it was. Newly formed, passionate love that exceeded anything I had ever imagined upon finding my cauldron-blessed mate.

As the years went on I understood when the love notes became briefs and the thoughtful gifts became pecks on the cheek as he hurried through the door to exchange his leathers for clean ones, wipe down his weapons, and rest before his next mission. But time went on, as is inevitable, and distant were the memories of stolen moments away from missions, the desperate caress of his hands roaming my body as if he couldn’t quite believe I was fully corporeal before him - needing to touch me to reassure him that this was real. Now the touches were detached, perfunctory, another task on his never-ending to-do list.

Drop after drop we’re destroying this house and eachother.

The boiling point had been simmering for a while, left on the fire with reassurances of “Things are just busy right now”, “It’ll slow down soon”, “I would stay if I could, love. You know I would. I have no choice.”

But we both knew all too well that there was always a choice. There were times when Rhys let it slip that Azriel had volunteered for missions that his other spies were perfectly suited for, times when all I wanted in the world was to be curled up and listening to the rain with my mate.

Missions became tasks with the Valkyries, “chaperoning” Cassian and Nesta, and emotionally supporting the lovely doe-eyed fawn - Elain - who was the delicate cherry blossom of spring opposite of my wild summertime storm.

It wasn’t her fault. The trauma inflicted upon her, the loss of autonomy that came with being thrown into the cauldron and having her mortality stripped away without her say. The powers she never asked for overwhelming her senses. Hell, maybe it wasn’t Azriel’s fault for responding to the traumas of his past and the need to overcompensate for every ounce of blood he’s drawn by saving anything and everything that needed rescuing.

The problem lay with the fact that where Elain is a “seer”, my ability to “sense” when things are amiss was strong and Azriel’s intentions with her were becoming blurred. Feelings of lust had become more frequent down the bond along with flutters of joy and adoration. When it began I thought maybe things would look up in our relationship - he was missing me, fisting his cock to fantasies of taking me over and over when he returned home - but he only became more distant. He’d return more often than not smelling of jasmine and honey. The strength of the scent coating him correlating with the increase in enamored feelings slipping through the bond.

Six days ago when I’d asked him to skip out on training with Cassian and Nesta and whatever it was he and Elain would do - that was when the thunder clapped and the sky opened. “I can’t just stay home and cater to you all the time. I have duties to this court. Why can’t you find a hobby to occupy your time? Nesta reads and trains with the Valkyries, Feyre paints, Elain gardens and she evens bakes! Why can’t you be more like-“

He caught himself too late, immediately reaching out to place a gentle hand on my shoulder and apologize but it was too late for that.

Please, make it stop

It wasn’t that I wasn’t a forgiving or understanding person. i appreciated his dedication to his court and family and those in need but…

“Why can’t I be more like what? You can stop mid-sentence but you already said it all.” I looked down, shaking my head as silver lined my eyes. Gods, I hate that I’m an angry crier. “You want to know why I can’t be more like Elain in your eyes, Azriel? Because I exist in your fucking blind spot! I have been helping Feyre AT the studio, volunteering at a food pantry in Velaris, and teaching self-defense classes to women and children at the park but you wouldn’t know because you never ask me what I’ve been up to while you’re gone.”

He started to speak but I wasn’t finished. “The reason I cannot be more like Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta is because I’m none of them. I am ME. And you know what? I like me. I don’t want to be anybody else.” Trying and failing miserably to hold my head high I pathetically fell to my knees, shuddering as tears of rage flowed freely.

Warmth enveloped me as Azriel knelt down to soothe my quaking form. I let him if only because I didn’t have the composure to tell him otherwise as he began pressing kisses to my forehead. “I’m so sorry. I have been a terrible mate. I love all that you are- I- I’ll stop with Elain. She’s doing much better and Nuala and Cerridwen can keep an eye on her, so can Rhys and Cassian, and her sisters. It will be okay.”

That consolation attempt only drove the blade of bitterness deeper into my heart. Elain had so many in her corner and who did I have anymore? My chronically absent mate? The family I left behind to move to Velaris with Azriel? There was nobody close by.

“I think you should leave.” I sobbed out.

Azriel ignored the shaky command, continuing to hold me. Fuck - is this what it took for him to notice me? Breaking my heart so he could stitch it back up again?

“Azriel.” I stated firmly.

He met my eyes.

“You should leave.”

His look grew puzzled. “I thought you wanted me to stay - to spend time together? Please, Y/N. Let me make this better.”

“I need space. Give me one week.”

“But-“

“One. Week.”

Azriel’s shoulders slumped, head hanging low for several minutes before realizing that my decision was firm.

“I love you.” He said before heading out the door.

——————

Like clockwork as 7 days, 0 hours, and 1 minute were up, the front door to our home opened and Azriel’s footsteps padded in behind me, my gaze remaining fixated on the rain falling outside the window. A lump formed in my throat as I avoided turning to meet his gaze.

So dance one more dance and tell one more lie.

Azriel stepped around me, wordlessly extending a hand, patiently waiting as I avoided his gaze a moment longer before taking it. His shadows began humming faintly, increasing their melody and reaching a crescendo as Azriel began dancing with me through the room.

Say that you love me even if it’s not true

I let myself melt into the warmth of his chest. The thick air remained heavy upon my soul but I could have this. I could let myself enjoy this moment.

We wordlessly danced through the room in the soft glow of the fae lights.

We made our way through the hall into our shared bed that had become so neglected.

“I love you, Y/N.” he murmured as he laid me down, stripped bare underneath him.

“I love you too, Azriel.”

——————

Wish I could just say it and words were enough to keep you from being the one giving up.

The middle of the night left me restless as he lay soundly asleep beside me. My senses tugged me toward his bag that he’d discarded at the entryway. I brought out his dirty clothes from the week only to be greeted with the fresh scent of jasmine and honey.

Like the sky letting go for no reason

I packed my essentials and voyaged out into the pouring rain. Its patter on my skin washing away the salty tears streaming down my face. Following my senses to where the love was true back to my Summer Court home, my family. As free as a summer storm.

It's just the rainy season.

—————————————

A/n - I know there are plenty of Azriel x Reader and Elain fics out there. It was rainy and dreary here yesterday and this song was in my head for the first time in like 10 years so…. I wrote this.

1K notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 3 months

Text

Part 2 Darlingggggggs

I’ve been waiting for this

Hobbies Part 2.

~ Azriel X Reader

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Part 1

Warnings: Little bit of angst

The days all seemed to blur together. If it wasn’t for his shadows whispering in his ears, Azriel doubts he would even know if it was day or night. The time spent crying in bed at his situation had decreased. Instead, an empty feeling settled in his chest, too exhausted to cry anymore. To tired to spend any more time wallowing, despite the fact Azriel could have sworn he has never slept more in his life.

The food baskets kept on coming, though their arrival at his door weren’t announced by any more knocks. His shadows had began reporting their presence to him, making sure their master was taking care of himself. There was no lingering scent of vanilla in the air whenever he opened the door to snatch them in. Maybe Y/N had given up on him, signed him off as a lost cause and ordered some other member of Helion’s staff to drop the food off outside of the flat. Good, Azriel thought. Maybe this was for the best, to be left alone. That’s what he wanted wasn’t it?

And yet in the moments Azriel’s pain at his abandonment lessened, he would find his thoughts drifting to the woman he had met the other week. How was it possible for one woman to be so happy all the time? Maybe it was the spymaster in him but a part of Azriel felt the overwhelming need to find out more. Surely someone that gleeful had some hidden secrets or ulterior motives. Or perhaps Y/N was just an open book, heart on her sleeve, no reason to be anything other than happy. No trauma from past events or failure in the love department to make her as scarred and bitter as Azriel was.

He struggled to pull his thoughts away from her as he got up for the day to make breakfast. At least he was eating properly now, food a little easier to stomach as his emotions settled down. And yet Azriel still couldn’t escape the hollowness inside him.

The boredom he had felt since his arrival still remained. There were moments when Azriel thought back to what Y/N said and thought if only he did have a hobby he enjoyed doing to pass the time as the days felt longer and longer from his lack of activity. The sketchbook gifted from Y/N still lay open on the floor from when he threw it but Azriel had no intentions of picking it up and drawing. He wasn’t like Feyre, who could transform all her emotions into beautiful pieces of art.

In some meagre attempt of crushing his restlessness in the flat, Azriel had began doing the one thing he knew how to do best. Train. It wasn’t the most efficient thing training in the flat. He had no equipment other than truth-teller and a few other daggers. He hadn’t packed for a long trip, expecting Rhys wasn’t serious and would come and retrieve him after a week or so.

That clearly wasn’t happening, and so in effort of building a routine to follow, Azriel got back to training. He would wake up, do pushups, eat, throw his daggers at the wall imagining they were Rhysand’s face, eat, sleep and repeat. It was dull work but Azriel found a fraction of satisfaction from simply having something to do.

Yet another day had arrived and Azriel woke up, ready to start his now regular exercise when there was an enthusiastic knock at his door. He didn’t need his shadows to tell him who it was. Only one person could have a knock as annoyingly bubbly as their personality. His rage had simmered down over the past few days, a slither of guilt taking its place at the way he had treated Y/N during their first meeting, after all she was only doing her job. Yet Azriel did still have the want to be alone. Sighing, as he stood up from where he was on the floor, strong arms under him as he was set to do push-ups. She was probably here with another food delivery, just to check he was still here so she could report back to Helion and move on to another job. He would answer, so only that she could leave him in peace once it was done. His form of a feeble apology for the other day.

Azriel opened the door and looked down at Y/N, eyes immediately snapping down to her body.

“What in cauldron’s name are you wearing?”

Azriel snapped his mouth shut, not meaning to voice his thoughts. But what did she expect to hear when she had come to his door hair tied up in a ponytail, wearing only a pair of short leggings and a small, tight bralette, both the most violent shade of pink. Not a basket of food in sight.

Y/N grinned at his shock holding her arms out and sticking a leg forward, showing off her outfit. “You like it? It’s no Illyrian leathers but it’s all I had and I thought it would do!”

Unable to stop his curiosity Azriel replied, “do for what? I’ve seen prostitutes with more clothes on than you.”

“For training,” Y/N replied simply, smile still on her face unaffected by his comment, “need to be able to move around, right? I’ve never actually done any training but it seemed like the right thing to wear.” This confused Azriel, had she really never had any form of training? But then he reminds himself that females in other courts, even ones in his own, aren’t as lucky as the women who make up the inner circle, the only women Azriel really spends time with. Being able to fight is a luxury most women aren’t able to have. He swallows the lump of anger that builds in his throat at the thought of yet another woman unjustly treated by the system.

“So why are you here then if not to bring food” Azriel presses on, eager to finish up this conversation and head back inside before his eyes can wonder any more than they already have.

“I just told you silly. I’m here to train. Well not here here,” Y/N leans to the side glancing past Azriels shoulder to the wall inside his flat, covered in holes left by his dagger, “I don’t think your poor flat can take much more. We’ll go to the grounds nearby.”

Dumbstruck, Azriel just stands there, mouth hanging open slightly, a noise of confusion unwittingly slipping out, all the while Y/N stands there smiling at him expectantly. “You said that’s your hobby right? Thought I’d try something new and who better to ask than you who’s surely had hundreds of years of experience,” her words were laced with excitement.

Wanting nothing more than to desperately get out of yet another annoying situation Y/N had forced him into Azriel looked for an excuse, “Doesn’t Helion have people for this kind of thing? Get one of them to help you.” With that he started to pull the door to, only for it to get stopped by your foot.

“Please,” Y/N begs, “I know you have nothing else to do and I’d really like to try this I just can’t trust myself to get it right.” Azriel wasn’t sure whether the batting of her eyelashes or the widening of her doe-like eyes was intentional or not but he cursed himself for falling for it all the same. The temptation of leaving the flat and the itch to get in some proper training after being cooped up for so long was overwhelming.

He stared into those wide, hopeful eyes and cursed himself. “Fine”, he relented, “Just this once.” Y/N squealed and for a moment he could have sworn she was going to throw herself on him in celebration, but thankfully she held her ground, instead rocking backwards and forwards onto her heels in excitement.

Already in suitable clothes for training and not wanting Y/N to see any more of the mess inside his flat, Azriel steps out and pulls the door too. Sighing he says, “let’s get this over with” as he follows Y/N who was walking out the building with a spring in her step.

It didn’t take long for them to walk to the training grounds, Azriel making note of where it was so he could come back another day to train alone. Thankfully Y/N didn’t initiate any awkward conversation while they walked, seemingly smart enough to understand that if she did anything to annoy him he would likely leave her and head back to his flat. Instead, she opted for her sweet humming that ignited something in his shadows, causing them to dance around their feet as they moved.

The longer he was outside in his thick Illyrian leathers, the more he understood Y/N’s risqué clothing choice. He hadn’t even started training yet and he already had an uncomfortable layer of sweat forming under his clothes.

The two finally came to a stop in the middle of the arena and Y/N stopped her humming to look up at Azriel in anticipation, “now what?”

“Now we stretch and then we move onto working on your balance” Azriel shrugged and silently began his usual warm up exercises.

“That’s it?” Y/N asked smile dropped and brows furrowed as she attempted to follow Azriel’s lead when it came to the stretches, “what about fighting or swords or… anything more exciting than that?” Clearly expecting to have a much more interesting time in the area than Azriel had planned.

Exhaling, Axriel extended his arm and lightly shoved Y/N’s shoulder and with little force necessary she went flying to the ground with a shriek. “Balance is important” he spoke, unable to stop the small traces of a smile that had worked their way onto his face, finding some joy out of pushing Y/N to the floor.

Now it was Y/N’s turn to huff as she dragged herself up off the floor and dusted the dirt off her new clothes she had just bought for this occasion. “Alright boring stuff it is” she said, and Azriel had to try ignore the strange tug in his chest he felt when he saw the determined grin that flashed across her face, rubbing the area to try soothe the senstation.

It wasn’t until their session was four hours in that Azriel realised she was hopeless. Y/N had grown bored of basic stretches and balance and had insisted they move onto footwork even though Azriel insisted she wasn’t ready. “What are you even doing?” He exclaimed, not understanding how someone could trip over their own feet a total of six times in the last five minutes, “there’s newborn babies that move more gracefully than you do.”

His insults did nothing to put you off from trying again. And again. And again. If there’s one nice thing Azriel could say about you, it was that you were clearly made of strong stuff. It beat him how you could be failing this miserably at training while simultaneously receiving insults he spat at you and still have a smile on your face.

“I’m getting there,” she panted, getting back up from the floor for what felt like the millionth time, “I’ll be able to take you on soon enough.”

Azriel smirked at this, “I doubt you could even lay a finger on me if you tried.” An endearing twinkle appeared in Y/N’s eyes.

“I’ll have you know, Azriel, I take challenges given to me very, very seriously” Y/N said as she lifted her fists and widened her stance in preparation for a fight. Azriel, took a lazy step towards her, cocky smirk appearing on his face, “bring it sweetheart.”

Y/N dashed forward and surprise flashed across Azriel’s face, he hadn’t expected her to be so quick. Intimately, it didn’t make much of a difference though as Azriel’s own quick reactions and hundreds of years worth of more experience allowed him to step to the side, causing Y/N to go barreling past him before skidding to a halt and turning back to face him. “Oh come on” she wined.

“Just one hit” Azriel teased, holding up a finger. Gritting her teeth, Y/N balled her fists once more, ready to try again. Just like the time before she ran right at him, only this time instead of stepping aside, Azriel grabbed her wrist as her fist headed towards his chest and used his strength to flip Y/N over his shoulder, causing her to land on her back on the dirt floor. Amusement filled his eyes as he glanced down at her struggling to catch her breath.

Accepting defeat, an exaggerated groan left Y/N’s mouth as she pushed herself up into a sitting position, rubbing her head where it had collided with the ground. And yet, even after being tossed like a sack of flour over Azriel’s shoulder, that unwavering grin was still present.

“Next time,” Y/N wheezed out, winded from the fall, “Next time we’re doing something I find fun.”

All Azriel could do was release a small laugh as he held out a hand to help her up from the floor.

After another hour of ‘disgustingly horrific torture no sane human would choose to do for fun’ they had both decided to call it quits for the day, and as Azriel was walking out the arena, satisfied at the day of training, Y/N called out to him that she would see him real soon, to which he only replied with a playful scoff.

It wasn’t until Azriel arrived home that he realised he had gone a full day without even thinking of Elain and how infuriated he had been by the situation he was forced into. And as he made his way to the kitchen for some food, stomach rumbling after training, Azriel couldn’t help but let out a small smile to himself as he thought about Y/N. Maybe this sabbatical wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list:

@thelov3lybookworm

541 notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 3 months

Text

Once again TBR post work

I Didn't Know Azriel x Reader

WARNINGS: ANGST, ILLUSION TO ASSAULT (NOT AZRIEL), ASSHAT AZRIEL, LANGUAGE

You were alone in your apartment crying for the third day. A soft knock sounded on the door before Feyre's voice filtered through, "I was wondering if you'd like to join me at the studio and help with some classes." You ignore her as you had everyone else. She knocks again, "we're really worried about you. You haven't left the house, none of us know when the last time you ate or drank anything. Please, y/n. We just want to help." She says before the sound of glass shattering against the door filled the silent room. "Guess I'll check on you tomorrow." She says before walking away and leaving you to your misery.

They're his family. In the end, they'll always choose him over you. You can't even be mad about it because they were his first, and you'd already caused him enough pain. The sooner you left the night court, the better off everyone would be. You just hated being away from him. You hated keeping your secret but couldn't bear how things would change if he knew the truth. He'd see you as weak and pathetic if he knew the real reason you didn't show up the other night. You'd rather let him think whatever he wanted because no matter, you believed it to be better than the truth.

His words cut deep when you wouldn't explain your absence, and he hadn't tried to reach out since. You didn't want to know how he was doing because you couldn't bear living in two hells at once. You hadn't left the house, and you barely functioned. Cassian had left food for you, which you had taken a few bites of after he left. He was the only other one to know the truth, a secret he's forced to keep thanks to the tattoo hidden within his others. The only reason he knows is because he's the one who found you. He took you home as you begged him not to tell anyone. He told you to worry about it after getting cleaned up.

You refused to let Cassian help you unless the deal was struck that he wouldn't reveal your secret under any conditions or through any loop holes. Once he agreed you let him stitch you up. Shortly after he left Azriel pounding at your door. You glamoured yourself to hide your injuries before opening the door. "Where have you been? We had dinner reservations and you never showed!" He practically growls. "I know, Az. I'm sorry, something came up." You say softly. "That's it? That's all you've got to say?!" He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I waited like a fool and all you give me is something came up?! You know what maybe it's for the best you didn't show up. You may have saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life tonight!" He shouts tossing a black velvet box on the ground at your door. "Goodbye, y/n." He sneers before taking off in a fit of rage and pain, leaving you brokenhearted at the door.

Once he was out of sight you picked up the ring box and set it on the table inside the door. After locking the door you sank to the floor and fell apart. Broken sobs racking your body as you felt truly alone for the first time with nobody to blame but yourself. As the two days passed you barely ate and drank except for small bites from the food Cass delivered. You became numb to everything around you as you checked out, emotionally and mentally. Crying hysterically and forcing yourself to survive the panic attacks. You cried until you had no more tears left to cry.

Another knock at the door brings you back to the present. "Y/n, open up." It was Cassian. "I know you're in there and we need to talk." He says. "Go away." You say, your voice hoarse from screaming and crying. "I'm not going away and I'm not above breaking into your apartment." He says sternly. You walk over and flip the lock before laying back down on the couch. Cassian enters carrying a bag from the café down the street. He puts it on the coffee table in front of you. "Eat." He says. You ignore him. "I did not stitch you up just to watch you kill yourself! Now eat!" He commands. "I'm not one of your soldiers." You say, glaring at him. "Be thankful you're not. You're my friend and I hate seeing you like this." He says gesturing to you.

His words hit a soft spot and you reach into the bag and pull out a container of chicken noodle soup. "Thank you." He says softer after you eat your first spoonful. "You need to tell Azriel what really happened for both your sakes. You need to unburden yourself of this secret and stop letting him think the absolute worst." Cassian says. "Easy for you to say." You retort. "No, it's not easy for me to say, I know you're hurting and your so fucked up mentally and emotionally right now. I know this isn't easy on you because its clear as day how much your hurting. If other's knew, if you had someone to talk to I think it would help." He says. "He hates me. I broke his heart and he hates me." You say as tears fill your eyes.

"He doesn't hate you. He just wants answers, answers only you can give him." Cass says trying to reassure you. "Cass, look on the table, he made it clear how much he hates me that night. He told me I saved him from making the biggest mistake of his life before tossing that on the ground." You say through sobs as you relive the moment. "He isn't coming back and nothing is going to change that. He's better off without me. He's already suffered enough and anything is better than the truth. I release you from the bargain, it was wrong of me to make you agree to it and I've been a shitty enough person already." You say before locking yourself in the bedroom as you fall apart all over again until you cry yourself to sleep.

You awake to the sound of someone pounding on the door. Looking at the clock its 3 in the morning. Half asleep you answer the door, surprised to see Azriel standing there. You swing the door open wider before walking towards the kitchen and putting a kettle on for tea. "It's on the table, grab it and go. I know you hate me so I won't stop you." You say emotionless. "What? You think I'm here for the ring?" He asks. "Yes, figured you'd be back to get it so you can get your money back." "To hell with the ring! Y/n, is it true?" Your shoulders sag and your heart sinks. Of course Cassian told him right away. "Yes." You say as you grab a tea bag from the container. You hear glass shatter knowing if this keeps up you'll need new dishware. You turn and see the shattered cup on the floor and the contents dripping on the wall.

"I'm sorry, shit. I'll replace it." Azriel says quickly realizing what he did. "Don't worry about it." You say turning back to your tea. "Don't do that." Azriel says as you feel him behind you. "Don't pretend with me, please." He says following you into the living room. "Why didn't you tell me?" He asks directly, his tone soft. "I couldn't." You answer. "Why, y/n?" He pushes. Your hands start to shake forcing you to put down your tea. "Because I couldn't bear the thought of you thinking I'm weak and pathetic to allow something like that to happen. I couldn't stand the thought of you looking at me differently. You've been through so much already I didn't want to drag you through this. For me it was easier to let you believe whatever you wanted, whatever you felt like was the reason behind me not showing up."

"So you'd rather let me think the absolute worst of you than tell me the truth?! That some bastard thought he had the right to do what he did to you?!" He grits through his teeth before remembering to take a few deep breaths to calm down. "I understand why you didn't tell me but I wish you would've. If I had known, I never would've said what I did that night. I ended up making the biggest mistake in my life that night by not giving you the benefit of the doubt and seeing how upset and hurt you were. Instead, I only added to your pain with my hateful words and actions. I truly am sorry for the added pain and suffering I caused you. I hope one day you can forgive me and we can rebuild our relationship." He says, his hands craving to reach out and feel you.

338 notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 3 months

Text

TBR when i finsih work

Mating bond

What happens when you confess to you closest friend you have found your mate? Eris x Reader

This is my first time writing please give me constructive criticism 🌝

‘Why? Truly what have I done to deserve this?’ Eris laughed mirthlessly questioning what he’d done to deserve such a fate.

As if being born into that damned family wasn’t enough the mother also tried to take the one he loved from him.

The only one keeping him sane after all these torturous years.

Struggling to comprehend what he’d just heard he rose from the leather chair he’d sat in. Sweeping back his hair he tried to keep his feelings under control, to not let the fire within him soar and burn the place down.

He was losing his mind.

His inner peace destroyed, fear begun seizing him.

Walking around the room aimlessly he tried to think of nothing - to forget what he’d just heard. Anything to not slip into the madness that seemed to call to him.

The dark abyss waiting for him to loose himself within.

Is that how father felt when he found out about his mother and Helion?

Tamlin about Feyre and Rhysand?

Their possessiveness suddenly made sense - their insanity too.

Tormented he faced one of the many big windows in his office seeking solace in the moonlight. Looking for solutions how he could prevent her from leaving him, of him taking her. He would give up his court for her. He would murder that bastard mate of hers like he had killed his own. He would do anything to keep her.

Watching him stood the woman he loved rooted in the place she confessed - unaware of his thoughts.

Clutching her red satin dress she tried fighting back her sobs while tears ran down her face. Anguish and rage filled her.

Had she destroyed her only chance of having him? Would he hate her as much as she hated herself? Would he have her even though she was bonded to the Night Courts Spymaster?

‘No’ he roared, whirling around, his blazing eyes locking onto hers.

This time will be different. I will be a better man.

Approaching her with determined strides, he tilted her chin up, softly wiping away her tears with his shaky hands. ‘You are mine! I will kill anyone that dares to take you from me. No mother damned bond will stop me from having you or that cursed mate of yours,’ he seethed.

She nodded offering him a tearful and wry smile. Hope filling her chest of him accepting her despite what she’d revealed.

Somewhat satisfied he released a shaky breath, resting his forehead against hers.

Afraid he might turn into his father he needed to remind himself that she loved him. That she would never betray him or leave him.

He wanted to be strong for her knowing traitorous thoughts and actions were the downfall of his parents marriage.

Sensing his inner turmoil she put her hands onto his in an attempt to calm him.

Locking eyes, she whispered softly ’Eris’.

Tears fell as he closed his eyes at her voice and his trembling lips betrayed a whimper,

‘ Please don’t leave me’, he pleaded.

Her eyes filled with terror, ‘I won’t ever leave you! I love you Eris!’, she cried this time not trying to be quiet.

Breathing hard he kissed her, putting everything he felt into the kiss hoping she would know of his feelings for her.

They both broke down, sinking to the floor by the sofa, devoid of their strength to stand.

Embracing one another tightly they sobbed.

‘Eris you are my soul. I can not breathe without you let alone dream of ever leaving you for a useless mate. You are the only one who loves me unconditionally, the one who never rejected any part of me. This will be just another obstacle we will overcome.’

She kissed his face, cradling him to her chest and rocking him gently.They continued exchanging tender whispers of their love.

Bathed in the dim office, only the moon and the stars bore witness to the moment of their tender love.

200 notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 3 months

Text

Keeping this for later

Hobbies Part One. ~ Azriel X Reader

Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Summer Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?

Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader

Warnings: Sad Az. Angst

Azriel was bored.

It had only been a week since Rhys had sent him to stay in a flat he had borrowed from Helion in the Day Court with the excuse that he had worked so hard all these years and deserved to take a break.

Azriel saw right through him. It wasn’t long ago that Rhys had pulled him aside and banned him from seeing Elain. And so Rhysand wasn’t too pleased when barely a month later he had caught Azriel and Elain on a walk together along the streets of Velaris. Always one to overreact, it was safe to say that Rhys wasn’t too happy and a week later he had taken Azriel to the Day Court, walked him into the flat he’s currently been sulking in for the past few days and winnowed away.

Azriel wasn’t a fool, he knew Rhys had asked Helion to keep an eye on him during his stay, his shadows reporting back to him that people were watching the flat, no doubt reporting back that he hadn’t left. That he hadn’t even opened the blinds. Selfishly, Azriel hoped they reported his lack of movement to Rhys. He hoped his brother would take pity on him, forget his anger and let him come back home. He would do his best to stay away from Elain, he just wanted out of this damn court. He just wanted to go home.

It wasn’t until another week had passed that Azriel had come to the grim realisation that Rhys wasn’t coming. He was stuck here for the indefinite future.

The time finally came when Azriel would have to leave the flat. The cupboards which were filled with food by Rhys upon his arrival had run bare and after suffering for two days without food as he sulked in his bed, his stomach was now cramping with hunger. Reluctantly, Azriel opened the door and left the flat. Immediately shooting his hand up to cover his eyes as the sun blinded him, causing his head to pound at the change from the sullen darkness of the flat to the bright skies that waited for him outside.

Grumbling at the situation, Azriel started to make his way down the street hoping it wouldn’t take long to find somewhere where he could purchase some food before heading back to the flat to wallow in his self pity some more. Unfortunately the Mother had other plans.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes”

Azriel whipped his head around at the sound of the annoyingly cheerful voice directed at him. He locked eyes with a young woman who was sat on the floor outside the flat building, book propped open on her lap as she leant her back against the wall and looked up at him, a wide smile adorning her lips. Cursing his shadows for not noticing someone watching him, Azriel turned back around without replying, continuing on his way and praying that the woman would stay where she was and not bother him.

But of course his run of bad luck continued as she put her book away into the bag by her side, stood up and dusted herself off before running to catch up with his long strides. “I was beginning to think you’d never leave” she continued, looking up at him now she had caught up to his side, smile still plastered on her face as if they were old friends. His shadows slowly inched towards her before Azriel subconsciously tugged them back to him. Again, Azriel didn’t respond, hoping that if he didn’t talk she would get the hint and leave him alone. But that didn’t stop the woman who was clearly intent on making his life a living hell, “so why did you leave today? Finally got bored of sitting around doing nothing?”

He was bored, but Azriel wasn’t prepared to tell this stranger that. It was obvious she wasn’t going to leave him alone any time soon so Azriel stopped in his tracks and turned to her, a deep scowl covering his face at the realisation she was waiting for him and had probably been the person he felt watching the flat the past few weeks. His scowl didn’t phase this unknown woman, she was slightly panting from the pace of keeping up with him but still annoyingly grinning up at him, the smell of vanilla overwhelming his senses as she walked alongside him. “What is this? Did Helion send you? Because if so get lost and tell him that I don’t need his lackeys following me around when I’m perfectly capable of going around on my own” he spat, different from his usually deadly calm demeanour but after two weeks of solitude and thoughts swimming with anger over the situation he was forced into, Azriel didn’t care about pleasantries and was looking for something or someone to take his anger out on.

His rude behaviour didn’t even phase the stranger before him, in fact Azriel could have sworn he saw her smile twitch a little bit wider. Now he was definitely certain that she’s positively insane. “Yes Helion sent me, but only because Rhysand asked him to. He was worried about -“

Azriel cut her off, “Well you can tell Rhysand that I’m fine, I don’t need your help” and with that he resumed his fast-paced walking once again trying to get away from her. Thankfully, she didn’t follow him this time. Instead she stayed standing where he had left her and called out, “the markets the other way!” He whipped round, cheeks heating with embarrassment at having this pointed out to him. “Just thought you should know” she grinned before nodding her head in the other direction, towards where the market must be, “shall we?”

He huffed out in frustration but admitted defeat, the quicker he got to the market and got food, the sooner he could get away from this pestering woman and go back to the soothing solitude of his flat. Content with his decision the lady smiled and fell into step with him, humming to fill the void of uncomfortable silence. Azriel clenched his jaw - couldn’t this woman stay silent for a minute?

As if his day couldn’t get even worse, Azriels shadows began to slowly dance around him as if enchanted by the melody she was producing. He was struggling to reel them in and his jaw clenched even harder at this unfortunate situation. If the lady had noticed, she doesn’t say anything or let on that she’s uncomfortable, continuing to him to herself as she skipped along.

Finally, as the street turns, Azriel can see the market stalls and some of the tension in his body is eased as he knows he’s one step closer to getting home. Not home. Back to the flat.

The two of them approached the stalls, Azriel looking over the food, some of which he hasn’t seen before as they don’t have the likes of them in the Night Court. His guide had started enthusiastically talking to the vendor of the stall, clearly they were familiar with each other and so he took the opportunity to silently break away and move away from the stalls, seeking to get away from her, need for food forgotten.

This didn’t go unnoticed though, as she excused herself and trailed after him. “So do you enjoy cooking?” She asked, aiming to break the awkward atmosphere between them and start a conversation.

“Litsen-“ Azriel started but was interrupted by your voice “Y/N”

“What?”

“My name. Y/N. May as well know it if you’re going to yell at me” she teased, lips upturned into a playful smirk as if she was enjoying this. Which only angered Azriel more.

“Listen Y/N. I didn’t ask to be here and I most certainly didn’t ask to be babysat by the likes of you. I’m perfectly capable of getting my own food and finding my own way back.” Azriel noticed Y/N’s confident demeanour wavering and took a deep breath out, satisfied that she would now leave and give him the space he so desperately required. Her face, a picture of sadness as she looked up to Azriel and asked, “and then what will you do?”

He could feel brows furrowing in confusion as he looked down at Y/N, “What?”

“What will you do when you’re back? Surely you can’t expect to just stay alone in your flat all day every day?” He wanted to make an angry retort and comment about how being alone would be miles better than being with her but Azriel was left speechless by this woman who he had never even met, who had the beginnings of silver tears in her eyes at the thought of him being alone in his flat.

Azriel was always used to caring for people , his brothers, Feyre, Elain and even sometimes Nesta but he wasn’t used to receiving care.

“I know it’s not fair. The situation you’re in. But you’re just going to make a shitty situation even worse by locking yourself up. Aren’t there any hobbies you could do while you’re here? Isn’t there anything you enjoy doing?”

Azriel could feel the anger wash away from him as shock flooded in. Did he have hobbies? It had been a long time since he had time to do anything he wanted. He wasn’t even sure what he liked to do. That’s when his thoughts turned defensive, shadows pulling tight against him to provide a sense of protection. Why was he letting these words from someone he only met a little under an hour ago get under his skin?

“I train” he tried to sound convincing, perhaps more so trying to convince himself than Y/N. Training was a hobby right? He’s done it everyday for hundreds of years… well up until he got sent here and then he hasn’t been doing a right lot of anything.

Y/N tilted her head in thought, “Do you enjoy training?”

Again, her questions had Azriel thinking harder than he had in days. Did he enjoy it? He liked the routine it brought and the strength it made him feel. But the more he dwells on it the more self conscious he becomes that he’s never done a lot of anything else.

“I… guess I do,” Azriel was unsure now. Why was he even entertaining this conversation. He knew if he really wanted to he could leave. Leave Y/N standing there and go back to his dark little piece of the Day Court. Heck he could even use his shadows and travel back to the Night Court, but he was sure his arrival wouldn’t be appreciated by Rhysand and he really didn’t want to risk angering his brother even further. No. Azriel was well and truly stuck here until his brother decided otherwise.

Sensing his unease, Y/N donned a soothing smile. Oddly enough it calmed Azriel and he found his shadows, that had started swirling around him at his distress, start to calmly sway. Even more unusual than the fact Azriel found comfort in this woman’s smile, was the lack of pity in her eyes. Her eyes that he found himself gazing into for some form of stability, some indicator that told him he wasn’t really alone in this court until he had been staring to long that he could feel the suffocating tension in the air.

“Well…” Y/N started, Azriel tried not to flinch as she sliced through the tension, not letting on whether she felt it too, “you may be here a while. I don’t see why you should hide away and force yourself to suffer. Why don’t you take the time to pick up some new hobbies?” The thought she voiced brought a dazzling grin to her face as if she couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than the thought of Azriel doing something new.

The suggestion made Azriel scoff.

“Oh yeah like what?”

“Like…hiking! That’s similar to training right? Or you could try baking. Or art is meant to be very therapeutic…ooh you could paint!…”

Y/N trailed off looking to Azriel who was stood with his brow raised as if he couldn’t think of anything worse than all the things she had suggested. Fear crept into him as he kept staring at her wide grin, as if she was already picturing him in an apron, decorating cakes in his kitchen. Wanting to step away from this situation and melt into his shadows Azriel just stood in silence.

“Rhysand wouldn’t want you to do nothing”

And that was when something snapped in Azriel. Pure rage at the thought of Rhysand feeling anything other than contentment at the suffering he has forced Azriel to enjoy. Y/N clearly realising she said the wrong thing as her smile wavers and she took a step back to avoid his shadows which were amassing around him, stammering apologies of how she was just trying to be helpful.

“Well don’t,” Azriel stated, void of emotions, “I don’t need your help and I don’t want it” and with that he took off, striding away and leaving Y/N behind who finally had the sense not to follow him. He made it back to his flat, not even caring that he didn’t grab the food he had gone out for and collapsed into bed.

His emotions hit him in powerful waves, the abandonment he felt from his friends, his brothers, sending shockwaves to his heart. Alone in his flat, tears fell down his face. Was this truly what he deserved for just trying to get close to Elain? To help her feel more settled into the night court with the rest of the inner circle, with him?

Azriel cried and cried until exhaustion overwhelmed him and he had no other option than to let sleep take over him. He wasn’t sure how long he had slept when he was awoken by a soft knocking at the door. Anger coursed through him again at the thought of having to talk to you on the other side of the door. At the thought you may have been doing your job, watching him, reporting his tears and his begging to go home to Helion so he could report to Rhysand. He flung the door open, prepared to curse you and shout at you.

Only when he did open the door he wasn’t greeted by you. There was no one there. He could smell the sweet scent of vanilla in the air but his shadows told him you were long gone. His eyes fell to the floor where there was a basket full of food which he grabbed and brought inside and closed the door.

He emptied the basket, snacking on an apple from the goods as he did so. And when he reached the bottom, his hands faltered before taking out a simple black sketchbook and a set of pencils that were placed inside. Azriel let out a disgusted sound and tossed them on the floor.

634 notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 3 months

Text

IM OBSESSED WITH THIS

Dadbod!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Can't stop thinking about big boy Miggy so here's a little light body worship for chubby Miguel which leads into some more serious body worship 😈 Content: Cock Warming, Messy Oral, Swallowing. (Reader is GN, no mention of characteristics on reader.)

Word count: 1,400

‘Mmf—How long are you planning on keeping this up, exactly?’

You grunted in response to Miguel’s tired question, as you were unable to speak.

You were sat on his lap on his old couch, the one where the understuffed cushions sank down so hard that it seemed to swallow people whole, and your head was nestled into his chest.

You were smooshing your face between his pecs, your soft eager giggles muffles by his loose shirt. They were huge. Rounded and squishy, perfect mounds that you could cup from beneath with your fingers before sliding your palms up to move them up and down. They were weighted in your hands, heavy and warm.

You buried your face in hard and heard him chuckle.

‘Oye, ten cuidade.’

You felt his firm hand shifting your head aside until he could see you, tutting a little as you strained in his palm. ‘I don’t want you- at, at- I don’t want you, amor, making me- ticklish, because I don’t want to accidentally hit you again. Hm?’

His hands were rough, easily able to fit around your entire skull, and you could feel his calloused thumb on your forehead. You could feel the little bump where his claw would usually come out.

‘Hmph.’ You shrugged and leaned back to appear obedient. ‘This is what you get for being so mean to yourself. What did I tell you about those snide comments? Gotta make sure you feel loved.'

You caught his smile, that rugged but strangely coy little tilt in one corner as he turned to look around your head. ‘Ahuh. That’s what you’re doing, is it?’

‘Yes. But—fine. I’ll be nice to the rest of you as well then.’

Miguel closed his eyes and shook his head in a kind of amused exasperation. You watched as he sank his face into his hand, lightly squishing the rough flesh on his thickset jaw between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Mhm. Go ahead. But like I said, careful, okay? That’s my only stipulation, don’t make me move to the other couch.’

You pressed in close and kissed his cheek with a light laugh. ‘So pretty’ you whispered against his skin. Despite him trying to downplay it, you saw his eyes flutter shut for just a moment.

You continued your praise from there, running your hands over every part you could. The hard, muscled slopes between his neck and shoulders, the smooth squish of his biceps, moving down back to his chest and his plush belly beneath it.

His stomach was stocky and curved, as was his thickened waist. You stroked over it before slipping your hand beneath his shirt to get closer. He was warm, his skin covered in a thick unkempt layer of dark hair which you eagerly ran your fingers through. You stroked him back and forth until his eyes drooped, a sign that the repetitive motion was starting to relax him.

‘Mm… You really like doing that, huh’ he said, his voice dipping into a husky murmur as he reached for your head. You let him scratch your scalp as you ran your hands down from his stomach to his thighs. They were just as thick, with the firm, smooth muscles accentuated by the fat, the perfect lap for you to sit on. He continued scratching your scalp until you shivered.

‘Mm.’ His soft, affectionate grunts gave you butterflies.

Your hand moved back up, tracing the thin fabric of his loose pants back up to the soft pouch of his belly right above his pelvis. You noted how his shirt was just a little too small and purred.

‘Pretty, pretty man’ you cooed a second time.

Your hands drifted further, and further, until they brushed over the hefty package between those perfect thighs. He shuddered.

‘Ah- hey, careful’ Miguel said. His voice had cracked from just one brush, which told you he was already on edge.

You bit your lip. It looked so perfectly presented for you, with your own thighs framing it and the loose fabric of his pyjama’s highlighting every curve and contour. You brushed the tip again.

‘Ah…’ Miguel’s breathing got a little harder. ‘Fuck.’

You watched it twitch beneath the thin fabric, and truly couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. You stroked it again, once, twice, three times, before pulling his pants down and grasping it semi-hard in your fist.

‘F-Fuck, ah—feels so good’ Miguel dumbly blurted.

You pumped his shaft a few times, admiring how it looked slowly growing erect in your hand. It was thick like the rest of him, girthy and uncut on a bed of dark hair. As you fisted his throbbing rod you used your other hand to stroke that little sensitive spot on the underside of his balls, which immediately made him squirm.

‘MM—uh- f-fuck, you’re so good at that.’ His breathy little curses made you giddy.

You pumped him while stroking his belly again, feeling how warm and broad and squishy he was, admiring the way your hand sank into his stomach while his cock leaked pearly little pre-cum drops all down your hand, until you could take it no more.

You shifted from his lap and licked his shaft, once, before devouring it whole with your desperate little mouth.

Your mouth was filled instantly with the warm taste and feel of skin as you sucked him off, and you were gifted with the sound of his low groan.

‘Fuck- ah, y-you sure? Right now?’ Miguel panted. You shot him a glance with his shaft halfway into your mouth before silently sliding a few more inches in, taking as much as you could before he started choking you. His thighs shook and he collapsed back into the couch.

‘Ah- ah, okay. You’re sure. Fuck, that’s heaven.’

Your nose kept gently bumping his stomach as you arched your neck back and forth. You had to grab and squeeze his side for stability as you got more frantic, more ravenous with your sloppy mouth movements. His deep, breathy moans were like hot honey being poured over your head.

‘Mmm..mm.’

He felt so good. He tasted so good. You squeezed your thighs together for stimulation; the soft throbbing in your nether regions was insatiable.

You released his waist and moved your hands back down to his cock. You ran your fingers down through the thick matt of hair and up to stroke the base of his shaft, a move that caused his leg to shake and stamp.

‘M-Mm- o-okay, okay, you are- making me feel real loved. You win. Okay? You win’ Miguel breathily panted, that dumb smile still clear on his face. You look up and smiled with his cock still in your mouth.

‘Ay Dios Mio’ he panted in response, as your eyes met over the soft ridges of his body. His hand instinctively gripped your head. ‘Feeling—really, loved—’

He started to buck his hips to get deeper. You gripped his thighs for support, your nails digging right into the thick, rough skin. The slip of his cock pounding back and forth across your tongue and down your throat was orgasmic.

You relished in the power of his pumps. He was holding back, trying not to hurt you, but even when restrained he was straining your jaw. You loved the way he bounced when he moved like this. You clung to him tight.

‘Fuck I’m—close, okay— y-you wanna finish in my hand, or—’

To answer his question you practically swallowed his cock back into your throat, leaning in until your forehead was smooshed against the soft mound of his stomach. Your hand went down to stroke his sweet spot again as you drew him to completion.

He grunted, hard, his hips bucking involuntarily. You heard his claws rip the couch lining.

‘F-f—AH, f-fuck—’

With one final groan his lips fell open and he pumped his load into your mouth. It was thick, as you’d expected, and you struggled to take it all as it coated your tongue and cheeks, but the feel of that thick shaft throbbing and pulsing on your tongue was too good to give up. You let him empty himself into you.

Once he was done you pulled back and diligently swallowed it, a sight which made him weak all over again. He rushed to tenderly wipe the mess from your lips and chin.

‘Mi amor, me vuelves loco’ he groaned. You just lovingly buried your face into his palm.

‘Now, ah…. your turn?’ he asked softly, his fangs flashing behind his lips.

‘Yes, please’ you panted back. ‘Holy fuck—please.’

#I couldn’t keep a straight face #literally panting when I come across writing like this

336 notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 3 months

Text

I feel like Aelin would be more likely to make a alliance with Eris over everyone else in the ACOTAR world. You can’t tell me she wouldn’t choose the man who is playing all of his cards close to his chest and trying to usurp a throne from a mad man by himself. He’s basically Aelin coded.

That or she’d absolutely annihilate him because she wouldn’t trust someone who works exactly like her

#acotar #pro eris vanserra #high lord eris #aelin galathynius #aelin ashryver galathynius #throne of glass #aelin throne of glass

43 notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 3 months

Text

┊.˚🪩 ༘┊͙ 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 ; ↳ as a rising star in the tumultuous world of hollywood, you're handed a golden opportunity to boost your career – a fake relationship. what your manager forgot to mention? your leading man is none other than satoru gojo, hollywood's notorious fuckboy. easy? well, not exactly.

pairing: fem!reader x satoru gojo tags: smau/partially written; actor/actress!au, fuckboy!gojo, jjk is a live-action show in this au, fluff/angst/humor/eventual smut length: 1/?? note: AAAAAAAAA im a sucker for fake dating, actor au trope. enjoy besties! <3

[disclaimer: the way the reader is portrayed is just for the reason of style/posing! this is not what the reader looks like (she should look like however you’d like her to!) just wanted to clarify!! <3]

PROFILES ↳ y/n's besties ↳ gojo's group ↳ others

ONE – hold on, i'm dating who?

TWO – the deal

THREE – he will be a pain in the ass

FOUR – satoru, don’t be a whore

FIVE – act like you like her

SIX – meeting and matching hoodies

SEVEN – exclusive! satoru gojo’s party

EIGHT – interrupted movie night

4K notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 3 months

Text

Men suck! So why not drain their bank accounts for wasting your time?! It would be foolish not to. Even more foolish to push the buttons of a very powerful man in the underground world of Tokyo.

But hey wait! He messaged you first! He wanted you to be his sugar baby so badly it makes him look stupid!

Although Bakugou Katsuki is anything but stupid.

It was supposed to be an easy mark. He followed all of the rules of the unspoken game between sugar baby and sugar daddy. He reached out to you first. He set the time and place for the first date and he asked about your pricing.

To which you told him was a steep two thousand consultation.

Immediately there was a notification with your fee plus a little extra for the expedited meeting in your bank account before he messaged you again.

Wear somethin nice.

His profile was vague as most marks were. Choosing to keep their identity a secret, embarrassed to have to buy a woman's time with their endless cash flow for one reason or another.

Some because of their looks, some their abhorrent attitude, some because they were too busy drowning in their work and some because they just couldn't be bothered for much of anything real only to fall in love after the third date thinking they could buy your heart like they did everything else.

Because at the end of the day all of these marks had something in common. Something to exploit.

They were all terribly lonely.

And despite how forward this mark is, like others have been before him, he was no exception to this rule.

You roll your eyes as you doll up for tonight's meeting. You always wore something nice and appropriate for the setting yet undeniably sexy. Something that made every eye rove over you with the heated gaze of envy. Something that made you everything those men wanted you to be.

A trophy, a status symbol, a yes I'm fucking that.

Scrolling his profile or lack thereof, a little bit more in an attempt to be his perfect baby girl. Knowing that to have a good long lasting con to afford you the luxuries you sat in now, you had to shed your true skin and stuff yourself into something two sizes too small.

Because all men expected that of all women. Of anything of their desire. One must cut away the truest, deepest parts of themselves in order to hold a man's attention span for longer than five minutes. The second you start to look anything relatively human and anything more than a walking sex kitten or cock sleeve is the second they lose interest.

A man often times doesn't want to actually fill the loneliness, not with anything long term, they just want to relieve the ache in their cock.

At least that's all you've ever known and so who was anyone to judge you to exploit them how they exploited others.

Smiling at your reflection as you apply dark eyeliner to your lid, dragging it across your lash line as you go for a more noire mysterious look since you cannot find out much about your potential benefactor. Not that that worried you, you'd worn many skins before.

A recently divorcee, a 'single mom', but most benefactors liked a heavy power imbalance. They lived for the broke college girl act. Showing up in threadbare dresses that were still cute in an old shit box car you'd borrow from a friend and some classical piece of literature those fucks could recognize but knew they'd never read.

Mostly you figured they enjoyed that broke college girl act because they felt they were "helping you build a solid future" all while neglecting their own real daughters at home that they constantly compared you to. Showed you pictures of, similar in age to you and you'd have to stamp down the disgust at these men who probably didn't even know their real baby girl's favorite color.

Absolving themselves of guilt you supposed.

However this new benefactor was something to be excited about, mostly because of the unknown that he seemed to shroud himself in. No interests filled in, no movies or hobbies or songs that he likes.

Not even a profile picture or his name. Just GZ for now and when you checked the banking information on your wire in, it didn't give you any real leads. Received from a business or estate account that google results had no address or number for.

Only his age, 32. Three years your senior.

Which wasn't too bad of a gap well to you anyway, he saw your age as 25 because anything older than that, even one fucking year, men's interest dropped by sixty percent.

Another message comes through the little app.

GZ: Give me your number.

Aggressively forward as you giggle to yourself reading the message, let the read receipts show your interest when you lock your phone and don't reply. Taking the time to apply a nice dark shade of lipstick that made your mouth absolutely sinful as you wore a skin much too close to the real you. Going to your closet for your dress, knowing he was taking you to a very expensive, very highly rated restaurant, most likely to both flaunt and prove he has money.

Zipping up the velvet body con dress with a halter top, the hem stopped just above the knee and you knew it would ride up when you sat down or walked in your black heels with the pearl strap. Pulling on bicep length lace gloves and putting on an onyx ring on your middle finger before adding your pearl necklace to make a suggestion of what he could do to you at the very steep price of seven thousand dollars.

Some men even paid it and even asked to do it in the parking causing them to pay an expedited fee of four thousand. It meant nothing to you and every bit of power they thought they held over you to them.

Opening a drawer to your vanity all with unused pairs of underwear. Choosing a black lacey pair where the ass would be half exposed by lace and strings digging around for the to go tide pen so you could lightly bleach the crotch to make it seem as if they'd been worn all damn day "just for him"

Fuckin gag me.

Your phone pings again, another notification from the SDSB app.

GZ: I don't like waiting, Sweetheart, give me your number.

This time you reply but only after looking over your outfit in the mirror, debating if he'd be into stockings and ripping them before you realize it might make you look a little too conservative for his tastes.

Bbgrl: tell me what GZ stands for and I'll give you those special digits

GZ: I don't barter

Bbgrl: Everything comes at a cost. You know this otherwise you wouldn't be messaging me.

You watch the bouncing bubbles pop up before his quick reply.

GZ: Ground Zero

GZ: Now give me your fuckin number Princess.

Bbgrl: maybe in person, Mr Zero.

Not giving away your actual number was your number one rule and because the last sugar daddy you cut off went full tilt you had to disconnect your other phone and just hadn't had a chance to get a burner yet.

Picking up a small clutch purse you shove inside your lipstick for the night, your phone, the doctored pair of underwear and you don't even bother to bring any sort of wallet.

Walking to a public place a block or so from your luxury condo before you flag down a cab giving them the address as the man smiles down at your cleavage. Enjoying the view in the rearview and it's a wonder he doesn't crash and kill you both. Leaning down to meet his gaze with a disarming smile, wearing a skin to protect both you and him from harm as you force a giggle.

"Eyes on the road silly." When really you wanted to take the knife strapped to your ribs and slit his throat for thinking he even deserved to stare at you like that.

You wore this dress for attention yes but there is a fine line between appreciation of a body and straight up eye fucking you.

And just because you wore this dress didn't give him the right to stare. Counting down from ten as you have pretty visions of gouging his eyes out only for him to pull up right to the restaurant, acting as if he was going to get out and help you.

"No need." You smile politely, "And the fare?"

You look at the triple zeros and his eyes flash to it in embarrassment, so busy eating you alive with his eyes he forgot to start it.

"On the house for a pretty lady."

Forcing a smile as you give him a thanks, leaving the cab as quickly as you can before you walk inside, twenty minutes late for the date.

Tardiness was a big part of the game, whether it agitated them or made them anxious, it would certainly place a little more power on your initial interaction. Gaging their reaction to your power play always determines how you'll respond. Clueless, lost, down right stupid.

The hostess gives you a warm smile as she welcomes you into the restaurant asking of your party size. You're quick to tell her you're here for GZ.

"Or maybe under the name Ground Zero if the initials are too vague." You smile and watch the hostess blanche a moment before she fixes her face.

"Right this way." Expect she doesn't lead you all the way over there, stops just before the darker corner of the restaurant making a gesture with her hands and you chalk it up to nerves. That maybe he owned the whole fucking restaurant.

Watching his large palm swirl a bourbon straight, watch his other heavily ringed hand card through his ash blonde locks.

"Mr Zero?" You ask with a cat like smile, coming to stand beside the table. He glares up at you either oblivious or acting it as you wait for him to pull out your chair.

"Yer fuckin late Princess." He doesn't wait you out though can tell from a glance you'll stand there with your sexy ass heels rooted to the hardwoods of the restaurant before you'd ever sit down. He doesn't give in, this just happened to give him a chance to show his stature. He slams his drink down, clattering the water glasses and your wine glass filled with a pinkish color. Most likely something sweet. For a moment it makes you wonder if he read your profile considering most men didn't bother and showed it often on their first dates that they hadn't when they ordered you red wine. Which you had as your top dislike.

When he rises he's much much bigger than you. Tall enough you have to crane your head up to look at him, broad shoulders and now that he's fully facing you you can see his scarred face. A deep fissure of discolored skin from just over his eyebrow cutting through his eye flaring over his cheek before tapering off at his throat before it meets another deep scar that's hidden under his shirt.

He didn't even bother with a dress jacket, only a dress shirt, black, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows exposing his tattoos and even more scars, his black vest if swirling velvet on the front only emphasizes his broad chest and tapered waist.

He stands there a moment watching you take him in and he cannot lie he is surprised. Most women cowarded at his size especially when they see his scar and his half clouded bromine eye but you just smile. Maybe even a bit of excitement flashed in your eyes but you stand unmoving still that fuckin cat smirk on your dark stained lips.

"My chair, Mr Zero." You remind him and he snarls, leaning in close to your face tipping your chin up to him. It's here you realize how large his hands are, especially when the other settles at your ribcage a moment. You just hope he doesn't feel the knife nestled there and take it as a threat to himself.

"I told you I didn't like waiting." He growls, "So what makes you think Imma continue this date?"

"You're still here aren't you? Besides," You half guide him by moving your face gently from his grip, stepping towards your chair and he follows, "You wouldn't want to cancel a date with such a pretty girl would you?"

"A pretty woman." He corrects with a growl, pulling back your chair and shoving it in roughly when you sit, leaning behind you to whisper in your diamond clad ear, "Yer no girl that's for sure."

As if to say a predator recognizes a predator but you feign ignorance.

"Year?" You ask, smelling your wine before taking a sip. It's fruity, peach you realize with hints of citrus and angel food cake.

"Didn't ask." He bites waiting for you to ask where the menus were, he makes eye contact with the waiter to signal to start their meals. Oblivious, you take another sip of this amazingly delicious wine.

"Bit of a dessert wine isn't it?" You comment, usually men would blunder by now realizing they aren't as prestigious or well versed as they pretended to be but this man proves to be different once again.

"Peach pairs well with spicy and smokey." Glaring right back at you before a mean smile curls his lips, "Unless ya lied twice on your profile."

You set the wine glass down thanking the waiter when they leave fresh bread. Zero is faster than you grabbing for the crusty pre dinner treat as he butters the rich white center before placing the slice on your plate before starting his own.

"Hmm, I haven't lied on my profile." You refuse to touch his offering for now.

"Sweetheart, you may look twenty five but I know that you're closer to thirty than what you want to admit." There's that cruel smile of his again.

"It's quite rude to make a woman seem older than what she is. Touchy subject ya know?" Going back to sipping your wine as you've decided you may need a buzz to endure this date, "Or maybe you don't have a lot of experience with women. Is that why I'm here?"

Smirking over the vein protruding from his throat but the satisfaction only lasts so long, thoughts rounding back to wondering how the fuck he knew your real age and so quickly.

Suddenly you feel his fingers wrapping around the back of you knee as he pulls you forward leaning over the table.

"Haaah? Ya think I don't have experience with women? Oh sweetheart I could have you begging to take my cock in this bathroom in under ten minutes. But I need you for somethin else." He lets his bruising grip go when he sees a flash of the real you, sees your pretty lip snarl in disgust before you fix your face so quickly it would have him wondering if he ever saw that snarl or not.

He thinks he likes this version more than what his right hand picked out from your profile.

Your profile was vague but your photo album was filled with a lot of photos that men could easily project on or imagine themselves with you. Looking demure, easy going, a submissive.

Really Bakugou can tell you're a fucking brat at best and far from demure.

"Is that true Mr Zero? Sex on the first date is quite expensive." You smile cutely, make it a giggle all while the steak knife whispers to you that it belonged shoved through his hand on the table.

"I bet it is sweetheart." He spits back.

"So…our contract?" You're ready to rush this along thinking that maybe this benefactor isn't going to work out and that you'll have to save your underwear for another time.

He leans back, finally looking a little more relaxed as you bring up business as if contracts and dealings were part of his expertise. Taking a sip of his bourbon as he looks you over in that fine velvet dress he imagines on the floor of his expensive bedroom.

"Dunno can ya behave long enough to talk about it?" Deadly smirk on his lips now, one that makes your stomach clench.

"I always behave, Mr. Zero." A purr, one that changes the tone of the entire dinner, at least for now.

A light scoff but he's smiling, genuinely and he looks so handsome like that. His eyes catch something you don't see before the waiter comes over with two starter salads.

You look down at the fresh bed of greens matching his and try not to grimace that he's most likely ordered dinner for you. Hating when benefactors took it upon themselves as they never paid enough attention to order even remotely right.

"Let's see how dinner goes first yea, princess? Gotta make sure I like it before I buy it." A clear taunt and stab at you to which you give a tight smile. Him placing himself above you but you were determined at the very least to secure the after dinner deposit fee from him that was clearly stated on your profile.

Any dinner lasting longer than two hours or is set after eight thirty pm is considered to be equal to two consultation fees.

He already violated the time since he messaged you at exactly six pm tonight and you were always sure to take your time getting ready.

But you had to finish the fucking date first.

"Okay." Agreeing without issue as you bite your tongue. Finishing your salad and your wine, asking him to order you another glass. Batting your eyelashes and for a second you see his face flash with something other than his gruff nature. Standing with the brief explanation of "freshening up."

Annoyed as you enter the ladies room, looking at your reflection as if to share a what the fuck glance with a friend before rooting around in your bag. Touching up your lipstick, spraying yourself with a bit of your perfume that made all the men insane for you before turning your attention to your hair.

Making sure it was still in perfect placement as you angle your pretty face this way and that. Clutch open on the vanity, the dummy pair of underwear threatening to fall out. Checking your account to see if the rest of this date was worth it when you see your stipulation fee is sitting in your account despite the date only being an hour long thus far.

Figuring you'll make this date worth it now, mostly curiosity getting the best of you over what is going to make this contact so fucking special he's more than willing to pay everything upfront.

To deal with your more cheeky side you used to scare off weaker men.

Clawed fingers curling around the soft pair of underwear, rubbing them between your hands vigorously to make them warm to the touch. To have him thinking that this sexy lingerie style underwear was nestled right to your cunt.

Balling them up as you make your way out of the bathroom while the waitresses gossip over the fact that some violent ringleader was dining there tonight and that he was "dangerously hot." Hushing when they see you pass the refreshment nook before you make your way back to the table.

Thankfully his left hand with all his rings is resting on its side on the table giving you more than enough space to press the warm fabric into his palm and curling his fist around it before sitting back across from him. Giving a flirtatious smile to the large blonde who turns his hand to see what you placed into his palm. Smirking and shaking his head as he looks down at the fabric.

Unfurling it with his large hand and seeing the pair of underwear with a little spot on the crotch that makes him chuckle.

You look over your meal that's been set out, can tell he was polite enough to wait for you as the aroma of spicy smoked meat sits before you. Breathing deeply and hating to admit that you'd actually like this dish. Picking up your fork as you let him become dumbfounded over the thought that you were bare under your dress when that was far from the truth.

Bakugou leans over the very expensive meal on the small table. Grabbing at your jaw a bit tightly so he can turn your face to husk in your ear.

"Now gimme the ones you're actually wearing, Princess." He growls, pulling back to hold out his hand expectantly.

Feigning innocence you look up at him and bat your eyelashes since that worked earlier, even letting your eyes get a little glassy.

"Wh-what are you talking about Mr. Zero?" Voice soft and going softer still when you add, "Those are my underwear. I wore them just for you."

He laughs loudly in your face and his grip tightens, mouth back at your ear with a deadly tone. A mix of playful flirtation and restrained anger.

"Now Princess, 'fore I get mad."

It sends a chill down your spine and a jolt to your cunt. Breaking your facade entirely when you let sharp nails bite into his thick wrist as you yank away your face. Looking around trying to come up with an excuse that this was too much of a public place before he adds.

"We're secluded enough." Letting his fingers wave impatiently with his palm up. Your eyes widen as you see how serious he is. Unable to hide the snarl on your lips or the flash of deep seeded anger in your eyes as you obey a benefactor's command instead of tricking them into thinking they had control.

Shimmying up your little bodycon dress, hooking sharp clawed thumbs into the band of the underwear to bring it down past your thick thighs that part for just a moment exposing your pretty mound to Bakugou by accident. It makes saliva coat his tongue and his cock twitch in his expensive pants.

Quickly fixing the hem of your dress that still tries to ride up thanks to your hips and thighs, balling up the black underwear and slapping it into Bakugou's waiting palm harshly. The corner of his lip curls up as he realizes it's a thong, much better than the dummy pair you gave him moments ago.

"You're such a fuckin pervert." You cross your arms over your chest, pushing up your tits giving the ash blonde a snarling pout. Wholly forgetting about your dinner now as you look away from him, can't believe he's won this round.

"Yea? Who's fault is that? Yer the one who gave me a clean pair of underwear to make me love sick for ya so I'd cough up all my cash." He makes no move to pocket the thin pair of underwear you've just given him, making your eyes dart to look for the approaching waiter, "This work on most men Sweetheart?"

"Tsk, yes." You scoff, "Then they send me whatever I fuckin want."

Pushing away a bit, thinking of leaving from how condescending his tone is. Inspecting the first pair you've given him now that he has the actual pair you'd been wearing, looking closely at the crotch.

"Did ya use a bleach pen on these 'fore ya came in?" He laughs when he watches your face blanch, most men couldn't tell. Just thought it was real and went with it, asked for more.

The waiter starts to come back to the table with another glass of Bakugou's bourbon and your wine, trying not to crack. Shoving down the panic and letting your nails bite into your palm letting crescent moons form in your soft skin. To try not to shove his hands into his lap to save you the embarrassment because the last thing you want him to know is that he's actually getting under your skin. He looks over his shoulder to follow your gaze, feral smile on his mouth.

"Besides, who's the real pervert here, Me for enjoying a pretty woman's time," He rolls the dark fabric around in his hand, still warm from your cunt and when he gets to the crotch it's damp, sticky, "Or you, for getting off to playing some dumb ass men outta thousands."

"I'm not-"

"Not what? Wet?" He laughs, letting his thumb slide through the slick of your underwear, uncaring that the waiter is here now. Setting down the drinks and forgoing asking how the meal was quickly slipping away in hopes of not bothering Ground Zero.

"Sweetheart I bet I could run my fingers through that sticky cunt and everyone in this restaurant would hear it." Bringing his thumb up to his mouth licking at it as one would to get sauce off their fingers, his eyes flutter and suddenly your cheeks burn.

"You're insufferable." You hiss, crossing your legs now, still unable to look at him.

"Ya know, I hate liars." He tosses your fake pair of underwear, pocketing the thong you wore with one hand while the other swirls his drink, "Ya've lied three times now."

"I have not."

"Ya have. Yer age, yer whole personality, yer underwear." He lists them on his fingers and funny enough you chose to die on only one of those hills.

"I am twenty five." You hiss, grabbing at your wine and downing it in three swallows.

"But yer not." He chuckles, eyes flicker to your face, you don't have foundation on, going for a mostly natural look, and Bakugou has good eyes where most men didn't, "Ya've got crows feet sweetheart. Seems like ya've smiled a lot in your life."

Reflexivity you go to hide the corner of your eyes, they crease heavily when you really smile. Everyone who knew you, actually knew you, always made the comment of "you smile with your eyes."

"Ah come on they're barely noticeable and nothin to be ashamed about." He chuckles, pulling at your wrists so he could see your face again, "Gimme a smile."

"Fuck off." You hiss waving him away dismissively trying to regain control, "The contract Mr Zero."

He sighs, annoyed as he leans back, "We haven't finished dinner."

"I'd like to skip to dessert." A snarling hiss as you push away what was probably the best meal you could've ever had.

"Oh would you?" Deadly smirk, "I could skip to dessert iffin ya want. In my car or the bathroom, your pick Princess."

"Again you're fucking insufferable." You make motion to stand, to leave, only for his strong hand to catch your wrist and pull you into his lap making this somehow worse.

"What's wrong? Embarrassed now?" He tilts your chin to him and you squeeze your eyes shut in defiance he chuckles lowly, "Tell me yer real age and I'll stop teasing, for now."

You open your eyes to glare at him for a long, long time. No judgment in those bromine eyes as he patiently waits for your answer. You sigh, scratching roughly at his undercut with your long nails whether it was a strategic move or your fingers having a mind of their own, you weren't sure. The only thing you were sure of was that this man was trouble.

Big trouble.

Yet you answer honestly anyway.

"Twenty nine." It's soft, genuinely this time as if you might be a little embarrassed about it when you know you shouldn't. He smiles up at you, letting his thumb linger at one of the corners of your eyes before he lets his fingers trace your face down to your jaw.

"See, won't so bad to admit it was it?" Genuine gentle tone, his hand on your hip squeezing at the fat there.

Your heart races and that foreboding feeling creeps up your throat as you're slowly realizing that you are no longer the one who was hunting.

No, no, now you were being hunted.

Nails bite harshly into his nape as you stand, snarl to your lips and all he can do is chuckle at your flippant attitude.

"M leaving." Holding out your manicured hand, "Give me my underwear back."

"No, I paid for it." He growls really spurring on your temper now.

"All you men are the same. Pigs who want to keep their dicks wet." A scoff as you snarl your pretty lips.

"And I can say all women are the same. Bitches who want to keep their pockets full." He retorts forcing your sharp claws to grab onto the cheeks of what you don't realize is the most powerful man in the entire country.

Even making sure your nails bite into the skin of his cheeks, "I don't need your fucking money."

"Then why're ya here sweetheart?" He smirks up at you, grabbing onto your wrist tightly.

"Fuck you. You don't know me." Shoving his face and escaping his tight grip before you begin to stomp from the restaurant with your head held high.

"You'll be crawling back to me, princess." He calls out with a chuckle.

"I won't!" You send a snarling growl back, unable to get through the too quiet dining room to the exit of the five star place.

Hissing through your teeth with an echoing groan as the night air hits you doing little to cool your temper while you hail a cab.

Pulling up the sugar baby app on your phone going to his profile to block him but before you can a message pops up.

GZ: See ya in two months sweetheart.

You'd never blocked a mark faster in your entire life.

But the thing you don't know about him yet is that Bakugou Katsuki always kept his promises.

A/N: yay! You've gotten to the end! Thank you so much for reading! Now I have plans to make this a series however I'm not very good at long term things if I'm being honest. Lmfao but please! If you liked or loved this reblog it! I'd love to hear in my inbox or in the body of the reblog or even in your tags of your reblog what you thought of this!

2K notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 3 months

Text

This is STUNNING I love it and the idea

His Shadow Azriel x Reader

a/n: quick little idea i had (that could honestly get turned into another series) idk if this has been done before, if it has let me know please, I'll probably delete this. I hope you enjoy :)) <333

synopsis: azriel takes you for granted

Warnings: angst

He thought it was poetic, the way the shadows disappeared around Mor. She brightened up his life, literally.

He never thought he’d find someone else capable of doing such a thing until he met Elaine.

The change was gradual, so gradual he hadn’t even noticed.

They stayed with him, at first, treating the once-human girl like any other person. But then she was turned fae, and Azriel’s visits with her began. With each visit less, and less, shadows joined him.

He was completely unaware, she stole his focus.

He felt protective of her, like a precious flower he had to keep from wilting. That protectiveness slowly became something more, a yearning. Even more so when Cassian discovered he was mated to the eldest Acheron.

But then Elaine kissed him and everything changed.

They’d sat outside, in her garden, and even though the sky was already dark they’d stayed. Getting lost in conversation. She told him about things she cared about, and he listened. She asked him about himself, and he answered.

At some point she ended up in front of him, gazing up at his lips.

She looked so beautiful, illuminated by the stars, surrounded by her lovely garden. A sight he felt lucky to witness.

When she leaned forward he couldn’t stop himself. He met her halfway, so softly, so gently. But as soon as his lips touched hers, all those feelings for her died. He felt nothing.

The switch in emotions almost gave him whiplash. It was dizzying.

Underwhelming didn’t feel like the best word for it, but it was the only thing he could come up with. Nothing was exciting about the kiss, nothing revolutionary. It wasn’t like it felt wrong, but it didn’t feel right either.

Disappointment was what Azriel felt. A little part of him was hoping that maybe the Acheron sister would be his mate.

It seemed fitting, right? Three brothers, three sisters. But now that her lips were against his, he knew it wasn’t right.

The spymaster pulls back, taking a step away. Looking at the beautiful woman. Any feelings beyond protectiveness had vanished from his body. Not even a tickle of butterflies when she smiled at him, so obviously delighted with the kiss they shared.

It wasn’t her fault, any male would be lucky to have Elaine. But it was clear to him, that male couldn’t be him.

“It’s getting late, we should head in.” Her face drops at his words, he doesn’t even look at her as he begins leading her inside and back to her room.

He should say more, apologize, and tell her how he feels so she at least has reason. Not just silence. But his brain was still reeling from the drastic change in emotions—or lack thereof. No words leave his mouth.

He walks Elaine up to her room. Bidding her a short goodnight before leaving the frowning woman to her own devices.

He kicked himself for hurting her, for allowing it to get that far. Elaine was just so tempting, and he was so hopeful. He kicked himself for that too.

Of course he wouldn’t have a mate.

He couldn't even give the poor woman an apology.

It wasn’t until he made it to his room, all the way up in the House of Wind, that he realized no shadows were with him. Not even a whisper reached his ears.

They’d been with him as long as he could remember, and now they were just gone.

He couldn’t place the feeling they left in their absence. But he knew he didn’t like it.

*****

You knew it was unfair of you to be jealous. He didn’t know how deep your devotion ran. He didn’t see life the way you had, you didn’t even think he saw you as anything other than a servant.

It wasn’t unfair of you to feel sad about that.

You’re nothing but shadows to him. When he’s always been everything to you. From the day he called to you for the first time when you were barely a flicker of darkness. But he would never see that.

Azriel is sound asleep when you slip through the cracks of his door and into his room.

He hadn’t even called to you. Did he even care you were gone?

You find yourself taking form, a form of something he could relate to. A beautiful woman, someone like Elaine, or Mor. But you knew you looked nothing like them. Your darkness couldn't captivate beauty like that. Bold and enchanting, like the Morrigan. Pure and innocent, like Miss Elaine.

A sigh leaves your mouth as you curl up in your designated corner, looking at the hands that felt alien to you. Even if you showed him this form, saw him face to face, would he see you any differently?

You doubt it. You’d always be shadows to him.

You were so busy wallowing to yourself in the corner you didn’t see the shadowsinger stir at your sigh. Didn’t see him blink awake, or sit up and look around.

But you felt it when his eyes settled on you for what felt like the first time. Heard the gasp that left his mouth.

Your heart stops, frozen in fear for half a second, before it starts again, and you collapse into clouds of darkness.

*****

It was the middle of the night when Azriel woke Rhys up, shouting at him from outside his mental barriers. The worry in his voice was what had the High Lord jumping out of his mate's arms, waking Cassian, and heading to the abode carved into the top of the mountain.

Azriel paces around the office room, running a hand through his hair. If he wasn’t so stressed he would’ve noticed that his shadows don’t try to comfort him like usual.

“What’s going on?” Rhys asks as he and Cassian walk into the room. Both are in different states of undress with looks of concern on each of their faces.

Cassian immediately notes Azriel’s distressed state, a rare sight considering the spymaster had long ago mastered staying calm and stoic in the face of trouble.

Cassian almost doesn't want to know what has the male so bothered.

“There was something in my room.”

“What?!” The reactions are simultaneous. Any sign of sleep was immediately gone from both of their faces.

“I think it was a woman… I don’t know I didn’t get a good enough look. It disappeared right after I woke up.” His fingers grip his hair. Heart still beating fast from the interaction. No one has ever snuck up on him like that.

He's usually the one doing the sneaking.

His shadows, which had returned sometime after he’d fallen asleep, hadn’t even noticed the stranger, if they had they certainly didn’t warn him. He tries not to feel the nerves that fact struck in him.

“What do you mean, ‘disappeared’?” Cassian asks.

“Exactly what it sounds like, Cass. One second it was sitting in the corner of my room, the next it was gone.” Which made absolutely no sense, the wards surrounding House of Wind forbid winnowing of any kind.

This was obviously a serious issue, the wards could either be faulty or someone could have found a way around them.

“Are you sure you it wasn’t just a vivid dream?” Cassian asks, just trying to come with any better explanation.

“Was your encounter with Bryaxis just a vivid dream?” Azriel snaps. There was no way he imagined it. No way.

Rhys diffuses, stepping in with hands raised in surrender. Silently telling Azriel that they were on his side. “What did it look like when it disappeared? Did it look like it was winnowing?”

The spymaster thinks about it. No. No, it didn’t.

It was like its body blended with the darkness. Became the darkness. Almost like… Azriel’s eyes widen.

A shadow.

“What? What is it, Az?” Rhys asks, probably noticing the revelation he was having from the look on his face.

The shadowsinger's face becomes neutral, as calm as a person with his features was capable of looking. He shakes his head. “Maybe it was nothing. Sorry for waking you guys up. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Then he left without another word.

Rhys and Cassian share a look. A mix of bewilderment, concern, and exhaustion filled their features.

Azriel waits till he reaches his room to say anything, making sure to close the door behind him before a single word can leave his mouth. “Are you jealous? Is that it? Is that why you always leave around Elaine and Mor? Why you thought it would be fun to scare me and my family? Because I don't give you enough attention?”

His shadows scattered, detaching from his body, hiding under his bed and in the darker nooks of his room.

“Don’t hide now. I know it was you, that’s why you didn’t warn me.” He gazes into the dark corners of his room, glaring. How could they keep something like this from him? Hide the fact that they could take form? “Show yourself.”

There was an eerie pause, Azriel’s heart began beating faster. Then the fae lights started to flicker.

With each flash more and more shadows gathered before him. Building on each other. The lights went out completely.

When he turned the lights back on you stood before him.

The most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

Pure darkness rose from your body, looking like black smoke. It encapsulates you, different from the way it encapsulates him. The darkness wasn't an extension of your body, it was a part of you, was you, moved with you like it was just another limb.

“My intention was not to scare.” You spoke in a whisper he’d heard many times. A whisper that was most loyal to him. That fulfilled his every beck and call.

Azriel was at a loss for words. You were stunning, a word he'd not known the true meaning of until he laid eyes on you.

“For years, centuries, I’ve followed you. I chose you as my singer. I answered your call.” Tears fill your eyes, but when they fall they dissipate into smoke. Blowing away with a wave of your hand. “I have shown you nothing but loyalty, and care. I’ve sat back while watching you love others and I’ve made peace with it, I’ve accepted our differences.” You suck in a deep breath and steady yourself. “But when I leave, you don’t care, don't even notice.” Your lips tremble, voice breaking as you ask him a question he couldn’t even think to answer. “After everything I’ve done, how can I mean so little to you?”

Azriel’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. He has so much to say but his vocal cords are tied. He did care, though it was clear he hadn’t shown it enough. He found himself thinking about all the little times the shadows had been there for him, comforting him, caring for him. And now he could put a face to those moments, it wasn’t just shadows, it was you that’d been there for him over the years.

“So yes, I was sad and mad, and maybe a little jealous... But I wasn’t trying to scare you. I was just- I don’t know! Imagining? Yearning for a life I can’t have?”

The fae lights began blinking again making his heart jump with every flicker. He doesn't want you to disappear yet. He opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it.

“You don’t have to say anything, I don’t want an apology.” You lift a shadowy hand, wiping your face and steeling yourself. “Don’t fret, shadowsinger, I’m still your faithful servant. I couldn’t refuse your calls even if I wanted to. And I’m okay with that, it’s what I chose. Just don’t expect me to be there for you in moments where you can't even acknowledge my existence.”

The lights flicker again and you're gone.

Leaving Azriel to wonder if he’s lost you. Though, he never really had you in the first place.

1K notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 4 months

Text

NO ONE knows how to use thou/thee/thy/thine and i need to see that change if ur going to keep making “talking like a medieval peasant” jokes. /lh

They play the same roles as I/me/my/mine. In modern english, we use “you” for both the subject and the direct object/object of preposition/etc, so it’s difficult to compare “thou” to “you”.

So the trick is this: if you are trying to turn something Olde, first turn every “you” into first-person and then replace it like so:

“I” → “thou”

“Me” → “thee”

“My” → “thy”

“Mine” → “thine”

Let’s suppose we had the sentences “You have a cow. He gave it to you. It is your cow. The cow is yours”.

We could first imagine it in the first person-

“I have a cow. He gave it to me. It is my cow. The cow is mine”.

And then replace it-

“Thou hast a cow. He gave it to thee. It is thy cow. The cow is thine.”

56K notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 4 months

Text

Nesta knows As is smitten with her sister. But has done nothing about it in the slightest, saying it’s not her secret to tell. But yes she’s an Elriel.

“Nesta is an Elriel”.

Nesta: *fantasizes about fucking Azriel about partaking in a threesome between Az and Cass (and this was originally supposed to happen)*

Also Nesta: *calls Elain a wretch for how Elain is treating Lucien at Solstice.”

Also also Nesta: *tells Azriel he’s Gwyns new ribbon, further encouraging the flirtation*

But sure. Nesta is an Elriel.

563 notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 5 months

Text

Forget Me Not

After a night out with your friends, Azriel forgets to take you back home, resulting in a night that will forever change your life and your friendship.

WC: 2.5k

Warnings: TW: SA!!! Please do not read if this is triggering for you. It does not go into a lot of detail but it will in future parts. Blood, injury, death, angst, feelings, unrequited love.

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

Blood dripped from your fingertips, the hot slippery texture making your stomach churn. You could hear nothing, feel nothing, but the liquid wetting your hands and the clang of the dagger falling to the pavement at your feet.

Your breathing was ragged, the body slumped to the ground two feet in front of you becoming obscured by the cloud of your hot breath in the cold winter air. Oh, gods - oh, gods. You tried to swallow, but your throat stung, it ached, and your shaking hands didn't know what to do, your feet numb and stuck in place.

And all your brain could process at the moment was that despite the cold winds, despite the light dusting of snow intermittently making its way to the rooftops of Velaris, you didn't feel cold. Your clothes were shredded, falling in tatters from your body, your skin wet with blood, tears, and spit. But you felt like you were burning alive.

Rationally, you knew you were panicking. You were going into shock. But what did you know about preventing your body from succumbing to it? What did you know about killing?

"Help me," you choked out, barely a whisper leaving your cracked and bloody lips. "Please, someone-"

And then your shaking body was sliding down the wall it was previously pinned to, the stone architecture scraping against your open back. A hand covered your mouth as your eyes refused to leave the body in front of you, trying to steady your breaths, make sense of the situation that so quickly unfolded after leaving Rita's alone. Tears blurred the sight of the male, but the red covering his neck and chest was unavoidable.

You had gone to Rita's with the group, spending the night sipping on drinks and laughing with Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, Nesta, Azriel, Elain, and Mor. It was a night you were looking forward to - you rarely saw Azriel anymore, and this night was a chance for you to soak in his presence again. To soak in the comfort he brought, the feelings of safety and joy, his beauty springing butterflies in your gut and warming your cheeks. But that's not how the night went at all. Instead, couples latched onto one another, Mor left with a pretty female in hand, and before you knew it, you were left with Azriel and Elain, Mor asking Azriel to winnow you home when you were good to go on her way out.

You didn't blame Mor. She had brought you there that night, but she had made sure you had a safe way home. That you wouldn't have to climb 10,000 steps to make it to your bed at the end of the night.

You did blame Azriel, however. Because he heard Mor. He nodded, and then he had left with Elain while you were in the bathroom, leaving you stranded in a newer environment, in a newer city, lifestyle, not nearly comfortable yet navigating through anything completely alone. You had only arrived in the Night Court a few months ago, brought by Mor from the Court of Nightmares. An old family friend who had not forgotten you or your horrendous family.

In those months, you had stayed close to Mor and became friends with the rest of the inner circle, even going as far as having Cassian give you some defense lessons - which might have just saved your life tonight. But it was Azriel who caught your attention, who made your heart yearn and reach out for someone who did not tear his gaze away from the middle Archeron sister.

And tonight was a prime example of that. Of how embarrassing you were. The shadowsinger was obviously infatuated with Elain, to the point of not even noticing your presence. He was a spymaster, and he didn't even see you. He didn't even care about your safety or wellbeing at the end of the night.

Maybe this was what your heart needed to move on. To stop hopelessly longing after him like a little girl with a crush. You had needed him to reject you, to hurt you, to forget about you. You had needed something to disrupt your perfect view of him.

And now you had it.

"Hey, hey-" Someone was gripping your face gently, their thumbs turning your face toward their own instead of the one lifelessly looking at you. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

How long had he been there? How long had he been trying to get your attention? You could only blink at Cassian in response, swallowing hard.

The movement sent a fresh wave of blood trickling down your neck and Cassian's eyes met the movement, a curse leaving his lips. His palm was instantly on the soft skin, putting pressure on the gash the male had left on you. Cassian looked the rest of you over, his jaw tightening at your body more covered in blood than clothes. Quickly, he placed your own palm to your neck.

"I need you to put pressure on that. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?" His hand covered your own, pushing hard on your knuckles to show you.

When you only remained locked onto his chest, your attention unmoving since he arrived, he hesitantly removed his grip on your hand, quickly removing his coat to wrap around your shoulders.

You could barely feel the soft material meeting your skin. You felt both cold and on fire, your vision both hyperfocused and wavering, your ears both ringing and too clear.

"I'm going to pick you up now, alright? We'll get you back to the house. You're safe now."

At your lack of response, his brows dipped further in concern. But he flexed his knuckles to control his own worry and fear, slipping an arm under your knees and cradling your back with his other. He was careful to turn you in a way that allowed his body to shield the dead male from view.

Then he was shooting up into the air, his grip on you both tight with protection and light with care, and that's what finally made the tears start to fall from your eyes, a cracking sob breaking from your throat.

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

When Cassian landed at the House of Wind, he rushed inside, hoping Rhys was already there waiting with Madja.

He had been unable to sleep that night, despite Nesta and himself having a good night out and returning semi-early to settle in. So he had taken a quick flight, tried to tire out his wings and body to help him rest easier. Instead, he was met with the overwhelming smell of blood as he flew over an alleyway in Velaris. He wasn't prepared to see you of all people in that alleyway.

Cassian had basically tried to scream his thoughts to Rhys or Feyre, whoever could hear him. Normally Rhys would let his presence known first, as if he had to make an effort, to appear, before the thoughts would drift to him. But Cassian also knew that Feyre had once pushed her thoughts so heavily onto Rhysand that they found him from a different court. So Cassian yelled in his mind. Begged Rhysand and Feyre to wake up and get Madja.

But when he got to the House of Wind, Rhysand wasn't there yet, and you were unconscious in his arms. He wasn't sure if you passed out from your hyperventilating sobs, from the shock, or if you truly had lost that much blood. He couldn't tell how much of the blood on you was yours or the dead male's.

Cassian barged into the main living area, his own dark shirt sticking to his skin as it absorbed the blood on your body.

He had just kicked your bedroom door open with his foot when he heard Azriel appear before him, his hair slightly mussed with sleep.

"What's going on?"

Cassian didn't answer as Azriel took in your form, too busy making his way to your bed and laying you down gently. His feet working before his mind could, storming into the adjoined bathroom to get a small towel to hold against your neck.

"Cassian." Azriel's tone was deeper now, his voice hard and rough.

But then Rhys was there, winnowing into the middle of the room with the healer in tow. His eyes immediately locked onto Cassian, and the general froze in place, ignoring the shadowsinger's plea as he felt Rhysand at the edge of his mind.

Cassian couldn't find it in himself to feel bad for Azriel at the moment. All of his own sympathy and guilt were going toward you, even if his brother looked absolutely grief-stricken.

He showed Rhys what he had seen when he entered the alleyway. He showed him the dead body he saw, still laying cold and lifeless out there on the pavement, a few feet from the gleaming dagger by your foot. He showed him the blood that trickled from your wound, the tattered clothes hanging from you before being replaced by his coat, the shock permeating your features.

And Cassian could tell as soon as he was finished that Rhys wished to go into your own mind as well. But he held himself back. Cassian knew this was for your privacy, that the high lord would ask you once you awoke if you would be willing to share anything, if you needed anything. So for now, they remained helpless.

They remained helpless and angry for their forgotten friend.

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

Azriel stood there anxiously watching as his two brothers conversed without him, as Cassian showed Rhys what had occurred, what he had found. And he was left to stand there and watch as Madja quickly worked over your beaten and half naked body.

Your white cropped sweater was soaked red where it wasn't torn, the comforting fuzzy fabric now matted down. The gash on your neck slowly began to bubble with blood instead of drip down your neck. But this did nothing to reassure the shadowsinger. Your lip was split, your cheekbone and undereye cut open and beginning to bruise. And as Azriel's gaze drifted lower, he physically had to steady himself on his feet. His mind roared, his vision turning red as he took in the sight of your black pants, unbuttoned.

Azriel was breathing heavily, trying to contain his rising emotions. His fists clenched, his feet begging him to move, to do something.

As soon as Rhys' gaze moved to you, his jaw clenching, Azriel was speaking, the words coming out through clenched teeth. "Someone tell me what the hell happened."

Rhys only looked at you. It was silent for far too long before the high lord's smooth voice cut into the once cozy room. "Why was she alone."

The words did not come out as a question but as a demand. A high lord commanding an answer.

Azriel felt his stomach drop. Rhys and Feyre had left Rita's first, followed by Cassian and Nesta. Which left Mor and Azriel responsible for escorting Elain and you home. His mind replayed Mor's request to him as she grabbed her things. Get her home safe, will you?

And Azriel had agreed. He had agreed and then left. The look of devastation and self-hatred on the shadowsinger's face was enough to answer the high lord's question.

"Everyone get out. Let Madja do her work," was all Rhysand said though. And Azriel wished one of them would hit him, because somehow the disappointment drifting through the room was so much worse.

He had forgotten about you. He had been so fixated on Elain that he had left you to walk through Velaris in the middle of the night alone. He had expected you to somehow find your way back to the House of Wind, to climb 10,000 steps after drinking. And someone had...

Azriel felt like he was going to be sick.

He had been late to saving countless people. There were so many deaths and injuries on his shoulders, sometimes he found it difficult to breathe with their weight. But he always tried. He took honor in protecting his friends, in guarding the borders of Velaris, in protecting his court. Never has something of this sort happened because of him.

Azriel felt Cassian's hand grip his shoulder lightly, guiding him out of your room. He wished he could get one last breath of your scent, to make sure you were there and alive and alright, but all he could smell was the metallic scent of your blood. The scent stuck to his nostrils as Cassian guided him out onto the landing of the house, like he knew by Azriel's expression what was coming.

And then the shadowsinger turned to the side, dodging his brother, and emptied his stomach onto the concrete.

There were tears in his eyes when he finished, but he stayed hunched over, gripping his chest. "What have I done?"

Cassian was quiet for a moment before sighing, his grip on Azriel's shoulder tightening. "You are not the male down in that alleyway. You don't take blame for his crimes."

But Azriel shook his head, squeezing his eyes tight as he tried to get the image of your assaulted body out of his mind. "I was supposed to take her home. I left her there, Cassian."

And then Cassian was speechless, his brows furrowing as he watched him unravel, unsure of what to say.

"Oh, gods," Azriel got out, his knees giving out beneath him as the weight of the situation settled over him. His sobs breaking through the quiet night around them.

"I'm sorry-" Azriel repeated over and over, not even feeling Cassian move to crouch next to him in an attempt to comfort the devastated male. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Cassian only shushed him, but Azriel couldn't stop as his chest cleaved open underneath his fingertips, as he imagined the confusion and hurt that flowed through you when you realized he had left, the anxiety and weariness as you tried to find your way home, the fear at the male approaching you.

All while he was with Elain, soaring through the sky and gazing at stars.

He had never hated himself more.

And he could never make this up to you.

2K notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 5 months

Note

Ive been loving all the fics youve been posting. I had this lil idea that hopefully sparks joy for you if ur requests are open. Its an azriel x reader. Where reader is very cold hearted and kinda mean almost bitchy like nesta. Hates to be touched eapecially on her back. Azriel hates her cuz she so unpleastant and so incredibly difficult. The bond snaps for azriel and hes so so confused because he for sure thought elain was for him. Reader always looks at azriels hands almost disgusted but the truth is that she had her wings cut off and the stumps burned down to her flesh, so her entire back is scarred like azriels hands. Her face isnt of disgust but since he hides his hands she assumes he'd be disgusted in her. Azriel softens up to her when he finds out she has a soft spot for children, maybe she teaches orphaned children in the city. Idk i just like the idea of a cold hearted reader thats just as scarred as azzy but actually has a soft heart for kids. Or maybe shes always longed for a family of her own but cant get passed her own insecurities. You can change whatever you'd like to fit your writing style. ❤️

Thank you love!!!! I am OBSESSED with this idea and took off with it. I decided to turn it into a mini series, when I started writing the Readers POV it was getting wayyyy long. I hope I have done your idea justice, here is part 1 <3

Cold Hearts: Azriel x Reader

Chapter Warnings: None

***

Azriel couldn’t stand her. She was nothing but cold and hateful to everyone, especially to him. When she had first come to stay with Rhysand in Velaris, he had tried to be kind to her. Rhys hadn’t told anyone why he brought her, and she certainly never opened up about it.

The first day he met her, she was sitting silently in the small library in the House of Wind. Azriel had smiled at her and given a “Good morning.” She had turned sharply to look at him, her gaze focusing on the hand he waved with. He watched the look of disgust come over her face before she turned back to staring into the fire.

Azriel had been a little taken aback. Sure, he struggled with the way his hands looked, and was no stranger to the dirty looks. The look on her face had been nastier than he had ever seen. She looked at his hands like they caused her pain. He left the library after that, not sure what to think.

Many years had gone by since that first meeting, and Azriel preferred to stay far away from her. No one else wears very fond of her either. He still didn’t know why Rhys had brought her here, nor why he allowed her to stay. She spent most of her days locked in her room or sitting in the library. She occasionally came to meals with the family, rarely speaking. And when she did speak? It was always some cold remark, as if she wanted to be anywhere else with anyone else.

So why did she stay?

Azriel pondered that question far too often. When Rhys became trapped Under the Mountain, he had included that everyone should be prepared for war in his last message. Azriel took it upon himself to train her. He had shown up to her room early in the morning, expecting a fight. To his shock, she willingly came.

She took to training quicker than Azriel had thought. She proved to have some skill under that cold shell she showed everybody, even if it took some coaxing for it to come out. He was impressed. Azriel even started enjoying teaching her, until the day she lashed out at him and declared she never wanted to see him again.

He didn’t know what he had done wrong.

He was trying to teach her a slightly difficult new maneuver. She was struggling to angle her body the correct way, unable to understand how Azriel did it. He had reached out to help her, placing a hand on her lower back and shoulder to move her body into place. She shot out of his grasp like he had stabbed her, whipping around to face him.

“What do you think you are doing?” She had seethed, eyes on fire. Azriel had held his hands up in surrender, confused.

“I was just trying to help-“ He had begun, being cut off by her.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking touch me.” She had glared at his hands, a stare he didn’t miss.

“I don’t understand why you must be so insufferable all of the time!” Azriel had snapped, fed up with the constant negativity and judgement that came from her.

“Maybe don’t be a nasty pig and grab up on any female you see!” She had shouted, turning to leave the ring. “Stay away from me. I don’t wish to see you anymore.”

And that was that.

Cassian had taken over her training from then on out. Azriel was fine with it. She clearly had some sort of issue with him, and it seemed to stem from his hands. His ugly, scarred hands. Were they really so grotesque she couldn’t even stand him touching her?

***

When Rhysand had returned from Under the Mountain, things got better and worse. At first, she had been kinder. Azriel had noticed how she rushed to Rhys before anyone else, how carefully she wrapped him in her arms. The two of them had disappeared after that, not seen until the next day. Azriel couldn’t figure out why the two of them had such a bond, why Rhysand cared for her so much. He had just come back and announced that the human girl - Feyre - was his mate, so it couldn’t be a romantic attraction.

Or could it?

Azriel shook his head, demanding those thoughts the leave his mind. Ignoring the spark of jealousy that ran through him. He didn’t know why he cared so much about her.

***

Elain. There was no doubt in Azriels mind that Elain was his. Rhysand had Feyre, Cassian had Nesta, naturally Azriel would have Elain. It didn’t matter that the cauldron had mated her with Lucien. Three sisters, three brothers. Anyone could read what that meant.

Azriel tried not to notice the way she had slunk into the shadows lately. When Feyre first came to the Night Court, the two had struck up a friendship. Azriel couldn’t believe his eyes and ears when he saw how fun and sweet she was with Feyre. It further confirmed his belief that she was so disgusted in his scars that she couldn’t stand to be near him. She had even started to being nicer to Cassian, her training with him going much better than yours with Azriels had.

Once the bond snapped with Feyre and Rhysand, she had taken a small step back from the both of them. When it snapped with Cassian and Nesta, she had backed away from Cass as well. She barely even had a witty retort anymore, choosing to stay quiet most of the time.

Azriel felt like no one else had noticed the change in her. However, he had to admit, so much change had happened in such a short time that he couldn’t blame them for not realizing.

Why did he realize?

Even as she created small friendships with the others, she ignored Azriel. She only looked at him to stare at his hands. He had taken to wearing his gloves around her at all times, but she just stared as if she could see through the fabric. He had spent decades trying to be nice to her, for nothing. She rarely spoke to him, mostly just gave that look to his hands.

She was always going to be cruel to him.

***

Azriel was trying desperately to find a Solecist gift for Elain. He knew he had a reputation for gifts, and he wanted to make sure what he got Elain was perfect. As perfect as she is.

And he had no idea what that would be.

He was wandering the paths of Velaris aimlessly, peering into the stores as he passed, trying to see anything that seemed like Elain. He was getting worried that he would never find anything, turning away from yet another shop.

He stopped when he saw her.

She was inside a little building, large windows open for anyone to see in. He watched as she stood at the front of the room, facing a small group of…children? He angled his body a little to see clearly into the room, listening to her voice come through the window. Her tone was kinder than he had ever heard it. Azriel watched with wide eyes as she demonstrated a defense move-a move he had taught her.

And now she was teaching it to children.

He watched for the rest of the class, amazed at how well the kids grasped onto the concepts she was teaching. He felt his heart skip when her laughter floated out the windows, a bright smile on her face as she looked at one of the students. He had never seen her like this before.

When the class ended he watched as one of the smaller children ran up to her and threw their arms around her legs. Azriel expected her to jump back at the touch, instead watching her bend down and wrap her arms around them. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t believe any of this. He turned and headed back to the House, the gift for Elain long forgotten.

***

He wanted to approach her. He wanted to ask about the children he saw her teaching. He had a sudden desire to know more about her, to see who she may be under that cold exterior.

Azriel should have known she wouldn’t let him.

It was a few days after he had spotted her in town, and he had finally found her alone in the little library. He cleared his throat as he approached her, hoping to get her attention. Of course, she ignored him. He shouldn’t have been hurt by it, but he had been so hopeful after seeing her with the children.

Azriel called her name.

Her head slowly turned to him, eyes blazing. “Yes?” She asked coolly. Azriel have a small smile, refusing to lose his nerve now.

“I saw you, in town? With the children? I-“ He started, cut off by her suddenly standing.

“Spying on me, are you?” She asked, anger all over her face.

“No! No! I was shopping, for Elain, and I happened to walk by!” Azriel was gesturing wildly, not wanting you to think he was following you. “I saw you and then I saw the children and I was interested. You were, nice to them.” He cursed the words as they came out of his mouth, sounding just as sorry as one could imagine.

She scoffed. “Why would I not be? They’re kids.” Her words were sharp and Azriel felt embarrassment creep up his neck.

“Well, you’re not really nice to anyone.” He bit out, temper rising as she laughed.

“You don’t know anything about me.” She said, looking at him curiously.

“Oh? Is that so?” Azriel felt the words coming out before he could stop them, all the things he had wanted to say for years. “Maybe that’s because you don’t let anyone get close to you. I tried to be your friend in the beginning, just for you to be cold and nasty. You are always cold and nasty. I’ve noticed you slowly losing the friends you have made, slinking off into the shadows. Do you ever stop to think that maybe it’s because you’re a cold-hearted bitch?”

She looked like he had slapped her.

“W-what?” She stumbled out, eyes wide.

Now it was Azriels turn to scoff. “Don’t pretend to be innocent now. You rarely speak to anyone except for Rhys, and when you do it’s usually to tell them to leave you alone! Even when I was trying to train you, you lashed out at me for just trying to help. You have always acted like I disgust you, always glaring at my hands. Do they really upset you so much that you have to act like i’m the worst thing you’ve ever encountered? That you have to look at me like that and flinch when I touch you? I tried to be nice to you, just for you to react like that.” He was breathing heavy, all the hurt coming to the surface.

He watched her eyes flash and then suddenly, she was yelling at him. “How dare you? You have no idea what you are talking about. Are you so self centered that you truly believe everything I do is about you? Do you ever stop for one second to think that maybe, just maybe, I have my own shit to deal with?” Her cheeks were colored red, her hands clenching into fists.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “We all have our own shit going on. It doesn’t mean we take all of our miserable feelings out on everyone else!”

“I don’t! I just don’t have any interest in getting close with you. Not everyone has to want to lick the ground you walk on, Shadowsinger.” She spat out the last word like it was dirt in her mouth.

“Why not? What have I ever done that makes you hate me so? What has any of us done? The only one of us you would talk to for years was Rhysand. Did you love him? Are you bitter now that he has a mate and no one will ever be interested in you?” Azriel knew that was a low blow, but his anger overrode him common sense.

“What are you talking about? The relationship between me and Rhysand is none of your business. For a spymaster, you’re truly horrible at reading a situation.” She was angry, angrier than she had been in decades.

Azriel didn’t care. “No one here likes you. They’ve all moved on from their short friendships with you. Even your precious Rhys has found someone else to occupy his time with. Why do you stay here? You have no one.” He felt the pain in his chest at the expression on her face.

She blinked quickly, fighting tears. “You are the cruel one, Azriel.” She turned and ran from the room, leaving him in the aftermath of their fight.

It was the first time she had said his name.

He felt it snap in his chest, the tug to follow you. He could barely react, the shock of it keeping him rooted to the spot. No, he thought. No. Not her. It wasn’t supposed to be her.

The mating bond didn’t care for his concerns.

***

Please let me know how you feel!! Honestly Pt. 2 should be out tonight or tomorrow, i’m pretty far into it. I’m thinking this will be a 3-4 part mini series!!!

1K notes · View notes

fever-fluff · 5 months

Text

I INHALED this can’t wait for more

Talk Refined - Chapter One

Michael Gavey x Reader

Summary: When Michael Gavey unwittingly insults a fellow Oxford student, they enter into a game of intellectual cat and mouse.

Content Warnings (this chapter in bold): Language, Smut, Saltburn Spoilers

Pool was never your forte. Truth be told, you were more of a darts girl. There was something though, in the soft click of the balls knocking together and the damp thunk of them landing in the pocket that scratched an itch on your over-worked mind.

Hilary term was coming to an end, and with it brought the dread that your extended essay title had been submitted. ‘“For the sake of some colour;” women as decoration, in response to Turner’s High Street, Oxford (1810)””. No going back now.

You’d escaped the January madness that had descended on your best friend, Esme. Like most other courses, she had exams at the start of the new year and spent her days in the library and nights in the pub. Much like now, come to think of it.

“You’re up,” you called to your friend as you missed potting a red. “Esme!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” she shimmied between the pool table and a few pub patrons, taking her cue in hand and leaning over the felt green. Click, thunk. A yellow sank into the corner pocket.

“Who were you talking to?” You indicated a man in his early twenties, eyeing up Esme’s backside as she leant over the table to reach another yellow.

“Bartender,” she missed the ball and passed the cue back over the table. You took it and swiftly potted a red. “Nice one. Just borrowing this,” she lit her cigarette with a metal lighter. When she was done, she tossed it back to the bartender and he winked.

The two of you’d met at a humanities and arts, inter-college social less than two weeks into your first term. Dress as your subject and be ready for a night of frivolity even Elagabalus couldn’t imagine. You’d found some of silk scarves in a charity shop, bought cheap pearls from Primark and gone as the Girl with a Pearl Earring. Outside the Blenheim was where you first spotted her. Dressed in a bedsheet draped as a peplos, she had climbed a lamppost and was swigging wine straight from the bottle. That is a girl I want to be friends with, you’d thought, and promptly beelined for her and begged for the bottle.

“You doing philosophy?” You asked after chugging the cheap merlot.

“Classics. And you, I’m guessing history-”

“History of art, yeah.”

The next morning, you’d woken in her dorm room at Brasenose, the autumn sunlight blinding and your breath smelling as if something had crawled inside you and died there. Esme didn’t mind. Her mouth was stained red from the wine and a hickey the size of Brazil adorned her neck. You’d been inseparable ever since.

“Bollocks,” you missed potting a red and, as Esme swept to grab to pool cue, the pub erupted in song.

“RUBY RUBY RUBY RUBY!”

“Ahah ahah ahaaaaaaaah!” Esme sang the refrain in your ear as she twirled you round, the cue discarded on the table.

“DO YA DO YA DO YA DO YA!?”

“Fuck’s sake,” It was hard not to smile despite your best efforts. You felt like a twat but no-one was looking at you. All were too busy singing to notice the two tipsy girls dancing by the pool table. In any case, the only person whose opinion mattered to you was the one spinning you in her arms. One wayward spin and bumped you into the pool table. Giggling, you opened your arms to be embraced once more-

“Oh shit,” Esme whispered hastily, suddenly standing straight and flattening her hair. “Got any lip gloss?”

“Erm,” you patted your pockets. “No sorry.”

“Damn,”

“Who’ve you seen?” you smirked, standing by your best friend’s shoulder and following her line of sight. Well, it could have been any number of students in the packed pub. There were some rugby lads, double polos with both collars popped. Pretty boy Felix Catton and his posse of poshos. It could have even been that girl Eleanor, now greeting a friend at the bar. Esme and Eleanor hooked up at the Brasenose Christmas party. Esme said it was “unexpected” and “not her usual flavour”, but you’d met her once after tutorial, and the way she looked at her tutor’s bottom as it wiggled down the corridor in her Peacock’s pencil skirt was not one of envy. “Well?” You asked impatiently. “Who is it?”

“There, blue check shirt, dark hair.” Esme pointed at the bar where such a man was standing. Two pints of lager in hand, he turned and seemed to look around the pub. “Cute, isn’t he? He’s at Brasenose too, doing English I think.”

“Oh right.” As a Wadham girl, you had never seen this boy before. You supposed he was quite good-looking, in a boy-next-door sort of way. You thought perhaps he would be bonny, were it not for the solemn expression on his face. He meandered through the crowd to a small table at which sat another boy.

The two were starkly different. Where Esme’s boy was dark haired, the other was fair. Esme’s boy was stocky, but even sat down the other was gangly, and while Esme’s boy clearly wasn’t an avid reader of Esquire, the blond boy looked like he’d rolled around Oxfam’s bargain bin in total darkness and worn whatever stuck; a pair of baggy cargo shorts pulled up far too high and cinched tightly with a black belt, a pair of Merrell trainers and a novelty tshirt. THIS IS HOW I ROLL. Below the wording was an anagram and equation.

If it weren’t for the middle-aged glasses and frankly atrocious haircut, he’d be quite good looking too. Two Oxford virgins; Trinny and Susannah’s wet dream.

“What’s his name then?”

“Oliver, I think.” Esme was licking her lips and fussing with her bangles.

“You look great,” you swatted at her hand. “And the other one?”

“No idea. They’re always hanging around together. Oliver,” she said his name with some uncertainty. “Oliver never says anything, the other one’s always talking a mile a minute but I haven’t really seen him about. Doesn’t go to any parties.”

“Him and the girl with-”

“Agoraphobia.” You said in unison. The characters of Esme’s college were more vivid to you now than those in a Dickens novel.

“I bet he does maths,”

“I told you, he does English.”

“No,” you tut. “The other one.”

“I reckon it’s physics.”

“Put a pint on it?”

“You’re on,” Esme smacked your hip. “Come on, there’s a table by the bar.”

Following the plume of her cigarette smoke, Esme led you to the sticky wooden table and ordered you a pint of Thatchers. She, a pint of Stella. At the table beside you both, Maybe Oliver and The Other One were talking quickly. Well, the maths-slash-physics boy was. Maybe Oliver was staring distractedly towards the other end of the pub. You looked over your shoulder. Felix Catton was settling down with another round of beers, his stupid eyebrow piercing gleaming in the low pub lights.

“Swap with me,” Esme whispered.

“What?”

“Swap with me so I can look at Oliver.”

You sighed and stood up, shuffling round the table to sit parallel to Oliver. Esme smiled at him as she sat down and he smiled back. When she giggled, you kicked her under the table. Now across from maths-slash-physics, you could see him clearly.

This close, you stood by your assessment that he could have been handsome. His light eyes were framed by not just those hideous glasses but thick, dark lashes. He had a jawline and cheekbones that would make Agyness Deyn jealous. His lips, though strangely curved were plump, and he had a distracting habit of frequently wetting them. But there was something so distinctly and undefinably creepy about him. He talked like a snake, quickly with hissed “s”s and “t”s. You noticed with unease that he barely blinked as he watched for any minutia in his friend’s reaction, and he moved with an almost jerky stiffness. All elbows and angles. This strange combination of beautiful and revolting made him impossible to ignore. Like catching yourself in the mirror after dying your hair. A strange feeling of the uncanny.

He caught your eye, sensing you staring at him, and you quickly glanced at Esme. Shit. She’d been talking to you about something.

“-of course, it’s easy to compare the Iliad and the Aeneid, but really they’re very different.”

Aha. She was trying to impress, hoping Maybe Oliver would hear. “Oh yes?” You leant forward on your arm and wiggled your eyebrows at her. “Tell me more.”

Esme was clearly delighted that you’d cottoned on to her plan. Brushing her hair from her shoulders and leaning forward too, she continued. “Well, you have to start with the language. One is Greek and one is Latin. Now, we go through this in linguistics. Everyone has to get up to speed with their Greek and Latin so we’re all on the same level-”

You giggled and she kicked you under the table. Esme knew you already knew this and didn’t care. You knew that Esme was just showboating. When you kicked her back she got the giggles and glanced at Maybe Oliver. His eyes were still trained on the back of the pub, and she sighed, taking a gulp of beer. In perfect symmetry, you drank your cider and in the lull you admired the lengths your friend went to flirt with a seemingly average boy.

“-Jameson spends the whole time staring at her tits, completely ignoring the fact she can barely do her times tables.”

Esme choked a little on her drink and your eyebrows shot upwards with barely contained glee. This was far more interesting. You and Esme watched each other, communing telepathically about the intriguing conversation between the boys next to you.

“-times tables, Oliver!”

“Told you it was maths!” You whispered at Esme. Without a word, she got up with a smile to buy you another pint.

“-just fuck off and do history of art, love, save us all the trouble!”

You stilled in your seat, cider halfway to your lips. Did he just-? You ran the sentence over in your mind. “Fuck off and do history of art, love, save us all the trouble.” It wasn’t the first time you’d encountered snobbery about your selected study. Friends from school deemed it “hoity-toity,” and even your parents had worried about your career prospects.

“But what can you actually do with a history of art degree?”

You’d thought Oxford would be different. Surrounded by other young minds, eager for knowledge and an appreciation of the world around them, freshly opened up like your first bottle of champagne; long-awaited, exciting and with a little bit of bite. Just for the adults.

“Excuse me?” Your heart was pounding in your chest as you leant over a little and smiled at the pair of boys. You were proud of your subject but that eagerness to prove its, and your, worth was impossible to ignore. Oliver and Maths Boy looked at you. “Do you,” you cleared your throat. “What’s wrong with history of art?”

The gangly boy scoffed and turned rigidly in his chair to face you. Like most other nerds, you’d expected him to shy away from anyone outside of his carefully selected circle. This boy, however, seemed to take up an enormous space in your mind. He was confident. Already taken aback by his vicious comment, that threw you even more.

“What’s wrong with it? It’s an easy option that’s become an elitist haven for the middle class.” He pushed his glasses up his long nose with a bony finger. “You ever met any of those ‘students’?” He put air quotes around that last word and you flinched, neck bristling with anger. You doubt he’d have noticed if you put your top over your head and did the Cupid Shuffle; he continued as if nothing happened.

“Load of public-school wankers spouting their useless opinions on aristocrats lounging about in gilded frames, just so they can justify getting a job in daddy’s gallery. It’s an irrelevant, niche subject for people who think their view of the world is superior to us mere plebs’.”

“Michael,” Oliver murmured. He turned to you, not quite looking you in the eye. “Sorry-”

“Here’s your pint,” Esme placed another Thatchers before you. Both you and “Michael” ignored your friends.

“You think it’s irrelevant?” You took a swig of cider without taking your eyes off him. Angry little prick, this fella. You knew the like; maths, physics, economics, law. The students were all the same. Thinking they were better than everyone else because they could swan off into the sunset with £40k job straight out of uni and reap the benefits that the arts provided them without any need to know better. The designer clothes and fast cars, the beautiful buildings they worked in, the nails on the woman ripping open the condom wrapper…

“What’s irrelevant?” Esme said brightly. She held out her hand for Oliver. “Esme, hi.”

“Oliver-”

“History of art, apparently.” You said haughtily.

“Ouch. Who said that?” Esme sat down beside you, still smiling at Oliver.

“Michael.”

“Who’s Michael?”

“Michael Gavey.” The man in question announced himself by extending a long arm in Esme’s direction. She shook his with slight shock and raised her eyebrows at Oliver. He lowered his head in shame.

“Our girl here’s a history of art student.” Esme patted your hand. If you, Esme and Oliver expected this to soften Michael, it didn’t work.

“Ah,” he smiled, mirth lighting his eyes. “That’s why you’re so tetchy. Which school was it then? Cheltenham? Roedean?”

“She went to state comp actually,” Ever your champion, Esme came to your defence.

“Scholarship student?” Michael sneered.

“No,” you rebuffed quickly.

“What’s wrong with that? Me and Oliver here are.”

“Nothing You were the one trying to get me to say it was.”

Michael smiled with satisfaction and an awkward silence fell between the four of you. The clink of glasses and drunken chatter continued around you. This wasn’t the first charged student encounter that had happened in this pub, nor would it be the last.

“I suppose you think maths is superior?” You folded your arms and raised an eyebrow. A challenge. Prove it then.

“Of course it is,”

It was your turn to scoff. “Why can’t there be room for both?”

“There is room for both. Mathematics is just more important.”

“Jesus,” Oliver rubbed his hands over his face.

“Mathematics is the foundation for everything. The modern world as we know it wouldn’t exist without it. Technology, healthcare, finance, governance, everything. It prevents chaos. Without mathematics, society would collapse.” He fidgeted in his chair to turn more vividly towards you, his hands excitedly grasping for something in front of him that didn’t exist. Maths, probably. “We create predictions and complex design systems so that life as we know it can exist, and continue to exist.”

He looked at you as though you should have been impressed. You supposed his excitement was quite sweet. In truth, you knew maths was important. History of art student though you were, you weren’t an idiot. You were at one of the world’s top universities for God’s sake.

“But what’s the point of existing if there’s nothing to enjoy? To live for?”

“Pardon?” What had he expected? For you to roll over and kiss his feet? Take him round the back of the pub for a quick knee tremble? “Oh yes, Michael, tell me more about Fermat’s conjecture! More! More!”

“Art is what makes life worth living for. Its history helps us understand politics, religions, societies and peoples of the past.”

“All that from staring at a Bruegels?” Michael looked at Oliver with a laugh, hoping for back up. Oliver was tearing up a beer mat.

“Yes!”

“Well, it’s never done anything for me.”

His arrogance and ignorance was astounding. This final comment was the drop that sent you overflowing with exasperation. “Yes it has,” you snapped. Michael glared at you. “Aside from what I literally just said, art has done everything for you. Take today for example.”

At this, Michael sat forward. He couldn’t resist a reasoned argument with concrete evidence.

“You woke up this morning at Brasenose, is it?” He nodded. “At Brasenose, in a dorm with Carol Vorderman posters on the walls, posters designed by graphic designers who studied art. Those posters line the walls of a building almost five hundred years old. From barely known architects to Powell and Moya, each added to its history with their extensive understanding of art and beauty. For some reason you then got up and decided to put on that God awful tshirt which, although many would believe otherwise, was designed to be aesthetically pleasing or visually arresting. The latter it certainly is. There you go. Art.” You were on a role.

“I’m assuming you had lectures or tutorial today? The book you read? The covers were made by, you guessed it, artists. You came here with Oliver and decided to get a craft beer because you’re a pretentious prick, and got the darker of the two because, and I agree with you here, the label is prettier. You’re gonna go home in an hour or two when you’ve had one too many pints and ogled that pretty girl at the bar,” you pointed at Eleanor. “Whose thong caught your eye above her low rises. Fashion? That’s art by the way and extremely influential on society ‘as we know it’.” You quoted him back and loved the way his lips quirked into a tight line.

“And thinking of her and her pretty thong, you’ll whack out ZOO mag and whack out a swift one over some big-titted page three girl in a pair of lace knickers that were designed by someone with a fashion degree. Art.”

Esme and Oliver stared at you. A manic, self-satisfied smile was plastered on your face, and when you downed your pint to cool down from the warmth that outpouring had exerted, Oliver actually smiled. Michael said nothing. Did nothing. He was entirely, utterly unreadable. You wanted to smack him.

He glanced from you to Esme, to Oliver and at last to his pint. Like you had done, he picked it up, finish it in three gulps and placed it back on the table. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus.” What the fuck was he talking about? He spoke to his friend as if you and Esme had ceased to exist. “Going for a slash. Get me another pint please, Oliver? Thanks.” He stood from his chair, unfurling like a stick insect, and made purposefully for the gents’.

Your mouth fell open. Esme chuckled nervously. “He’s a charmer,” she said to Oliver.

“Yeah, ‘scuse,” he muttered, shuffling awkwardly to the bar.

You both sat in your chairs, baffled silence befalling of you. “Well, no double dates for us then.” Esme said.

You laughed. “No date for you fullstop.”

“Yeah,” Esme glanced at the bar where Oliver was now waving at someone. You watched as he made his way over to Felix Catton and his friends. “Bit dull, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Oliver sat down as the rest of the posho’s table cheered. “Though if he’s friends with Felix Catton…?”

“Didn’t realise you were so shallow?” Esme teased.

“I’m not! But the parties, Esme, the parties!”

“I know, I know, I’ll remember that Christmas one forever. Oh God, here he comes,” Esme shrank in her seat. Michael was weaving through the crowd back towards the table.

“Why isn’t he going to sit with Felix and Oliver?” You whispered. “He better not be coming back here.”

You and Esme watched as his approached slowed, faltering when he noticed Oliver and his pint were missing. He glanced around, looking at his feet as if to find Oliver on the floor. It was painful. Watching the realisation dawn on his face. You and Esme knew it before he did.

A hand raised in the air; he had spotted Oliver at Felix’s table. You watched, with pity and embarrassment, as Michael waved and Oliver turned away.

“Shit,” Esme said.

Hand moving to push up his glasses, Michael, with head hung low, left.

“Shit,” Esme said again. “Bet you feel like a bitch for shouting at him now.”

And despite his pomp and arrogance, his cynicism and creepiness, you really did feel awful.

Notes: The amount of research I did for this was wholly unnecessary. Added some links because 2006/2007 was quite a place. The script hit me like a fucking train. It says, “Back with Michael: CRUSHED.”

Many thanks to @thecruel for their help with the transcript of the Saltburn pub scene, and to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for the Michael Gavey inspo, your headcanons are always spot on.

Tags: @lexwolfhale* @theoneeyedprince @lovebittenbyevans @fan-goddess @ellrond @very-straight-blog @arcielee @tsujifreya @liv-cole @myfandomprompts @annoyingkittydetective* @elizarbell @solisarium @thekinslayersswordhand @nightdiamond8663* @slowlysparklyninja* @kate-to-the-ki @bellaisasleep @xxxkat3xxx @lacebvnny @moonriseoverkyoto @ewanmitchellcrumbs @moonlightfoxx @pendragora @aemonds-holy-milk @st-eve-barnes @sapphire-writes @babyblue711 @targaryenrealnessdarling @slytherincursebreaker @bottlesandbarricades @valeskafics @anjelicawrites @exitpursuedbyavulcan @barbieaemond @chattylurker @itbmojojoejo @humanpurposes @cyeco13 @heimtathurs @in-a-mountain-pool

*could not tag

#ewan mitchell #michael gavey #michael gavey x reader

532 notes · View notes