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florencemtrash · 4 months

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The Artificer: Part I - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: None

✨Based on this ask ✨

Masterlist of Masterlists

"Azriel flipped through the information in his mind like a picture book: She specializes in crafting fae-bonded weapons using autoimmune magic. Brilliant, capable, and loyal - only a fool would underestimate her."

The air burned with unknown magic, mingled with the heady smell of smoke and metal and something else… something sweet and clean. Azriel couldn’t put his finger on it as he followed behind his brothers, weaving through the packed, but homey workshop.

Bookshelves filled with carefully attended tomes on woodworking, metallurgy, glassblowing, and more lined one of the walls, some faint traces of magic keeping them safe from the dust and soot that tended to accumulate in the corners.

The other wall was decorated with an assortment of keys - brass, gold, silver, steel, even glass twinkled in the faelight, like a hundred pairs of eyes winking. When Cassian reached for one, the metal began to glow and spark, spitting out thin bursts of magic that smarted until the Illyrian had the sense to pull away.

When Helion first offered your weapon-smithing services to Rhys, he had sung your praises so loudly that Nyx had awoken from his nap, whining incessantly for his father to rock him back to sleep.

Originally born to noble parents in the Dawn Court. She moved to Day thirty years before Amarantha’s rule to escape an ill-suited marriage and has been quietly designing weapons for Helion ever since. She specializes in crafting fae-bonded weapons using autoimmune magic. Brilliant, capable, and loyal - only a fool would underestimate her.

Azriel flipped through the information in his mind like a picture book, cycling through the lines Helion had spoken and his own independent research. He could recite your birthday, the names of your parents, your grandparents, your older brother who’d been killed in the war against Hybern, and the day you graduated university. He even knew the planned date of your wedding to some pompous Lordling from Summer.

What he didn’t know was what you looked like, and he wasn’t sure what to expect.

Perhaps he’d expected someone more refined and regal - you were of noble blood after all… but then they rounded the corner and your soot-stained face popped out from beneath the workbench, purple lens goggles magnifying your eyes to vibrant proportions.

You flipped the goggles up, resting them on your head like a crown.

Azriel blinked.

Strands of hair curled around your fire-blown eyes, framed by soft skin that had been spared the worst of the soot by your goggles. You looked like you had stepped out of a flame - strong and resilient as steel.

You were absolutely breathtaking.

“Oh shit.” You quietly cursed, bouncing to your feet.

You chucked the gloves to the side, hastily wiping away at your cheeks before dipping into a perfect curtsy. You were an actress caught in the spotlights after an ill-timed curtain opening, and you needed to make up for the poor first impression. You hastily slapped on the costume of the High Born Lady, feeling every etiquette lesson your mother had hammered into you slide over your limbs until you were a puppet on strings.

“My apologies, my Lords. I lost track of time.” The words rolled out automatically, perfectly timed and perfectly pleasant, “Forgive me.”

Azriel frowned. He didn’t like the change that had just taken place.

You held one hand artfully over your chest, the other flowing out to the side as you remained frozen in your bow. His eyes traced over the curve of your neck, catching on the sliver of skin that peeked out from beneath your work shirt, then down the slope of your sturdy shoulders and arms - strong and limber after decades of hammering away at glass and steel.

The High Lord of the Night Court waved off the comment, a charming smile brightening his face as he hoisted you out of your curtsy. If he cared about getting soot on his fine clothes, he didn’t show it.

“There’s no need for any apologies. It’s a pleasure to meet you Y/n. Helion’s told me much about you.”

You blushed, subtly brushing back the hair that stuck to your forehead and wishing you’d taken the time to clean yourself up… maybe wash your face properly and change into cleaner clothes.

“My brothers-” The High Lord swung his arm out in a slash of Night Court velvet, “Cassian and Azriel.”

You had to keep yourself from sighing. They were all terribly attractive. It almost wasn’t fair.

“The pleasure is all mine, High Lord,” You curtsied again, “And Lords.” You appended gracefully.

The High Lord was as sensual and charismatic as everyone said with his twinkling violet eyes and perfect smirk - the kind of smirk that announced to the world that he was very aware of the effect he had on males and females alike.

Your eyes flickered down to the tailored velvet suit. It clung to his body impeccably, carving out his broad shoulders and trim waist. How he wasn’t stifling in the heat was beyond you. The furnace roared a little louder, as if to push the point.

The Lord of Bloodshed - Cassian as he was called - possessed a wilder beauty. He was all hard-cut lines and cords of muscle with a faint brush of stubble along his jaw that suited him well.

But the Shadowsinger. He was the one you had trouble dragging your eyes away from. There was something heartbreakingly solemn about him, like a hero plucked out of a fairytale bound to end in tragedy. The same boyish joy that touched his brothers seemed to have skipped over him, and you couldn’t help but wonder why. In fact he seemed… displeased, and your heart began to beat a little faster.

“Call me Rhys.” The High Lord winked, drawing your attention away from the dark and silent Shadowsinger, “Any friend of Helion’s is a friend of mine, and I like my friends to call me Rhys. It keeps me humble.”

Cassian snorted, “Sure it does.”

He shoved past his brother, settling into a comically wide stance. You tried to disguise your surprise and confusion when he leaned down further to be eye level with you. His eyes twinkled with mischief, as if he’d caught onto the slip in your perfectly tailored costume and he wanted to rip it off and burn it to the ground.

“The name’s Cassian,” He held out his hand for you to shake, “Or Cass,” He tilted his head to the side, deep in thought, “Or Bastard brute, as my wife so lovingly calls me.”

You snorted, then froze in horror, one hand flying up to slap over your mouth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Cassian tipped his head back and roared with laughter. It was the kind of sound powerful enough to fill a tavern and made you feel as giddy as three glasses of wine.

Azriel tamped down the jealousy that flared to life in his chest upon seeing that Cassian was the first to make you laugh. Not that he would have been able to make you laugh as easily as breathing… but he could dream.

Your eyes were blown wide, confusion racking your body as every etiquette lesson crumbled into a pile of dust. Your mother had warned you of what to do with males that were too forward, too cold, too dramatic, too charming. But Cassian was a different breed entirely - he was too casual, too friendly and normal. It took you aback.

Rhys rolled his eyes. Leave it to Cassian to make a High Born Lady crack as easily as fresh ice on the Sidra.

Cassian tapped his chest, looking quite satisfied with himself, “There’s no need for bowing or Court pleasantries. Rhysand’s the only one of us with any real house training anyhow. Prissy little Lordling.”

“Hey.”

“You know it’s true, Rhys. You’re wearing fucking velvet.”

Rhys snorted, “Don’t attack me because I have some sense of style.”

You swiveled between the two of them, uncertain of how to continue. “Well I-” You stammered, taking a step back and straightening your shoulders.

Your mother’s words rang through your mind: Don’t slouch.

“Apologies, for my… manners.” You finished lamely.

“Good manners are wasted on Cassian,” Azriel said. Gods, even his voice was tragically beautiful, like the sound of rain drumming against a window, or the crisp call of wind when Autumn sighs its last breath and gives way to Winter. “And Rhysand too, actually.” He added, ignoring the sounds of protest from Rhys and Cassian.

His heartbeat picked up when your eyes fell on him completely.

“Are they wasted on you?” If they were going to act so… uncouth, perhaps that gave you a pass, “Or did I suffer through endless hours preparing for my debutante ball for nothing?”

Azriel tilted his head. He tried to imagine you as a debutante, paraded around to various suitors in a puffy dress like the gods-awful one Feyre had been shoved into for her first wedding, and it left a sour taste in his mouth. But when he tried imagining you in Night Court attire - something blue - he couldn’t help but find that he quite liked the scene he’d conjured up for himself. He smiled - a faint and quiet smile that made your heart go still.

Cassian and Rhys gaped when their brother quietly closed the distance between you two and bowed. He was the picture of grace - deadly, beautiful grace.

Azriel took your hand in his, reveling in the feeling of your calloused fingertips against his scarred palm, and gently brushed his lips against your skin.

“No.” He murmured, casting his eyes up at you. You melted, falling into the molten sea of his hazel eyes, and it wasn’t because of the heat, “Good manners are not wasted on me.” He finished, straightening up and taking a step back.

He didn’t look disappointed anymore. If anything he looked… amused and… at ease.

You tried to imagine him smiling - a true smile full of teeth and unburdened joy - and found you quite liked the image you’d crafted for yourself.

You tilted your head to the side, trying to disguise just how much he’d affected you. One kiss and a look and you were a goner. How silly of you.

“That was quite good. I’ll give you that.”

Azriel tipped his head in a subtle bow, “Thank you, My Lady.”

You scoffed. No one had called you by any proper title in centuries.

“Shall we begin with you, High Lord?” You asked him first out of propriety, missing the faint frown on Azriel’s face.

He knew he shouldn’t take anything personally. This was a business meeting first and foremost, but that didn’t stop the flicker of jealousy from budding in his stomach whenever you laughed at Rhysand’s teasing or whenever he leaned just a little too close to look at the sketches you drew. The only moment of satisfaction he felt was when you slapped Rhysand’s hand away from the wall, choosing to pull the samples from the chestnut shelves yourself before taking notes on the styles he preferred.

Are you ok? Rhysand asked, raising his eyebrows. It was Cassian’s turn now and The Lord of Bloodshed sat beside you, carefully watching your hand drawn sketches come to life.

I’m fine.

You don’t look fine, brother. Rhys said with a smirk, You look like you want to murder Cass.

Azriel wiped the faintest hints of emotion from his face, turning away from Rhys to look around the workroom.

Everything was warm and coated in soft orange light from the raging forge. It felt like the moment before the sun sinks into the horizon, when the world is as syrupy and comforting as caramel. Chestnut bookshelves lined the wall, filled with as many trinkets, plates of armour, and weapons as books. A long workbench ran the length of the room, neat stacks of paper punctuated by gleaming blades of obsidian, moonstone, and steel. It was where you currently sat, outlined by the fire like some angel sent down from the heavens.

Azriel’s eyes stuck on one blade in particular, carefully laid out on a bolt of midnight blue velvet. Its bronze handle gave away to gold threaded steel sharp enough to cut light and shadow. The sheets had been folded over and hammered so many times that thin rivers of radiance twisted and turned down the blade, mirroring the runes that had been painstakingly etched along its spine.

“Lord Azriel?” His head snapped to the side, following your lyrical voice. You’d soundlessly made your way around the table without him noticing and now stood at his side, “Do you like anything you see?”

Azriel froze. From this close up he could see the faintest gold flecks in your eyes, as though a forge was burning there too, some piece of you always hammering away at an anvil… but maybe that was just the hammering of his heart.

Cassian coughed. Loudly. Rhysand smirked, elbowing his brother, but Cassian was successful. Whatever spell had come over the Shadowsinger broke and color dusted his cheeks.

“It’s just Azriel - or Az. Either works.” He was technically a Lord… emphasis on technically. “Could you tell me about this one?” He pointed to the brilliant blade, hating the sight of his ruined hand so close to it.

You picked it up with ease, spinning it around your body with a strong grace that made Azriel’s breath catch. You weren’t the most skilled swordsman by any means, but you knew enough. After all, if you were going to spend your life making swords you’d be damned if you couldn’t wield one properly.

“This one,” You said with a smile full of pride, “Is Sunseeker.” The blade began to glow, content to once again be in the hands of its master, “It took me decades to figure out how to bind weapons to one master, but once I did - well - I thought if anyone should have that kind of weapon first it should be me.”

To your surprise, a faint smile graced Azriel’s lips. It was such a minor display, but it brightened the air around him. Even his shadows began to emerge, wrapping around his arms and inching towards you like a moth to a flame.

Sunseeker truly was a work of art, beautiful and deadly in equal measure.

Cass whistled low, coming closer to admire it. “How does weapon binding work?” He asked curiously.

Your eyes lit up mischievously, “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

Cassian had just enough time to say “yes” and stretch out his hands before you handed him the blade and he dropped like a stone.

“CAULDRON FUCK ME!”

Rhysand sputtered, doubling over in laughter. Azriel snorted, a hand flying up to cover his mouth in surprise. They watched Cassian fall to his knees on the floor, grasping the handle of the blade that felt two thousand pounds heavier in his hands.

You looked rather pleased with yourself.

Cassian growled, bracing his feet on the floor and pulling up so hard Azriel could see the veins pop out of his neck. “Fucking hell.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Come on, Cass. Get up.” Rhysand teased, shoving his brother with the toe of his boot.

Cassian kicked him in the knee, but from his position the blow didn’t land properly, “I would if I could, you son of a b-”

“Don’t talk about my mother like that.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just. Get. Up.”

“I. Can’t. You piece of shit. I can’t let go of this gods-damned sword.”

Azriel shifted closer to you, heavily amused as Rhys leaned down and grabbed hold of the hilt. His signature charming smile slid off his face.

“What the fuck-” He pulled once. Twice. Tried to pry his fingers off the hilt, but he couldn’t let go no matter how hard he tried. It was as though he’d been glued to a boulder.

Cassian smirked, “I told you.”

You smiled up at the Shadowsinger as the pair continued to bicker, stretching up on your toes to whisper in his ear, “Hardly anyone knows about what I do so I have my fun when I can.”

He fought not to shiver, feeling your breath curl around him as intimately as his shadows. Azriel chuckled - a low rumble in his chest that reverberated through your bones.

“And how many have fallen victim to your tricks?” He asked. His voice was as smooth as butter and honey to your ears. “Just three. Your brothers and Helion.”

“Helion?”

You nodded.

“I would have paid good money to see that.”

You grinned, leaning closer to him. Without a second thought, Azriel leaned in as well, as if he were a light-starved flower and you were the sun.

“Sunseeker is bound to me - tied to my magical signature and my blood. To me, she’s as light as a feather. To anyone else, she may as well be a mountain.”

“And why can’t they let go?”

“It’s another trick. If anyone tries to go for my weapon, they’ll be brought down to the ground and I’ll have enough time to kill them first.” You cleared your throat, “Not that I’m a naturally violent person but… well it doesn’t hurt to be smart about it.”

“I would agree with you.” Az smiled once again, “Incredible.” He whispered, looking you in the eye, “You’re incredible.”

You shifted on your feet, clasping your hands behind your back and looking away so he wouldn’t see how much his praise affected you.

“If you two are done flirting with one another, can you please help us?” Cassian grumbled. Rhys and Cass had both given up, opting to sit cross legged on the floor like a pair of scolded children.

You hurried over, muttering sheepish apologies. You’d overstepped and you knew it but… well they just seemed so casual with one another and with you that you’d forgotten they were highly powerful fae first, and your clients second.

The spell broke the moment you touched the sword, Cass and Rhys groaning in relief and jumping to their feet. You polished off the sword and placed it back on the table.

“Ta da.” You wiggled your fingers. Cass huffed and Rhys cleaned off his clothes with a sweep of his hand.

Az leaned down and spoke in your ear, hazel eyes glowing, “I think it’s my turn now.”

You shivered, feeling both small and powerful under the weight of his gaze. Azriel decided to forgo the chair, choosing instead to kneel beside you. One arm rested on the back of your seat, hovering dangerously close to your shoulder blades as you repeated the same questions you’d asked Cassian and Rhys.

You jotted down notes diligently and Azriel took the time to admire your neat and simple handwriting. Your hand stilled over the paper as a tendril of darkness curled around your fingers. Azriel sat so close that your head swam with his scent. He smelled like winter mountains after rainfall - crisp and clean like a breath of fresh air. His shadows had similarly begun to wrap around you like an Autumn breeze, slipping through your hair and around your neck like they wanted to feel the pulse of your beating heart.

Azriel swore under his breath, pulling them back as quickly as he could, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“I like them.” You said quietly, registering the shock in Azriel’s hazel eyes. You quickly went back to your sketch, “They remind me of home.”

As a final step you took their measurements - the length of their arm, shoulder width, the distance between their hips and knees. Measuring Cassian and Rhysand went without incident, although they did poke fun when you pulled out a stepladder.

“It’s not my fault you’re all so ridiculously tall,” You grumbled, stretching out the tape across Azriel’s shoulders, “Did your mother fuck a tree?”

The Illyrian snorted, “I wish.” He flinched once the words left his mouth, his smile twisting into a grimace.

“Hmmm?” You hummed curiously. Azriel felt your breath brush against the nape of his neck and shivered.

“A tree might have treated her better than my…” Azriel trailed off.

You’d been too young to attend Court when you still lived with your parents in Dawn. But even so, whispers of the Night Court were always followed by discussions of Amarantha’s whore and the Illyrian bastards.

His wings drooped and from the corner of your eye you saw Cassian’s gaze fall to the ground. Even Rhys bristled, the charisma sliding off his skin and replaced by something colder.

He loved his brothers more than himself, and the lack of a blood connection had never minimized the fact that they were his family - his legitimate family. He liked you, but one wrong word about his brothers and he would take his business elsewhere, no matter how talented you might be.

Azriel dared to glance at you, wondering if some part of you believed in the truth - that they were bastards unworthy of attention and respect in the eyes of true high fae nobles, or anyone for that matter. Even in your mussed up clothes you were radiant, carrying yourself with a confidence and grace that came from birth as much as it came from upbringing.

You were royalty… and Azriel suddenly didn’t seem worthy of your attention, even though he was craving it right now.

Your lips tightened into a flat line, anger flaring up in your deep eyes, but you swallowed that anger and channeled the energy into making the brothers laugh once again, “Well I’ll go down on a limb and tell you trees are fantastic lovers.” You said, followed by a cheeky wink.

Cassian turned to look at you, absolutely dumbfounded. Rhys was similarly shocked, violet eyes twinkling and mouth twisting into a smile. But it was Azriel who broke the silence first, tipping his head back and laughing so hard that his shoulders shook from the effort. The sound rang through the workshop, like the sound of rain falling. Cassian and Rhysand joined soon after, clutching their stomachs and leaning against chairs and tables for support.

You bowed dramatically, arms sweeping to the sides like a tropical bird, “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all evening.”

And Azriel took that very seriously. After the sketches were finalized and the blood samples were collected to be bound to metal, Azriel hung close to you, quietly begging Rhys with his eyes to stay longer. They wouldn’t be back for another six months after this.

Rhysand raised his eyebrow knowingly at Cassian and The Lord of Bloodshed smirked.

“Y/n,” Rhys said, voice dripping with persuasion, “Are you hungry? Perhaps you’d like to join my family for dinner?”

You blushed at the invitation, “That is very kind of you, but I think I’ll stay here and work on these further.” You shook the papers in your hand, “I don’t want to forget anything.”

“At least let us bring you food then,” Cassian jumped in quickly, “Az! Why don’t you keep our favorite artificer company until we come back.”

Azriel blanched, stiffening up like a board. He could admire you in the company of his brothers when you were distracted, but he would be hopeless if left alone. “Cass, I don’t think-”

“Oh, I don’t want to take up-” You stammered.

“What a wonderful idea,” Rhys clapped Cassian on the back, all but shoving him back the way they’d originally came, “We’ll be back soon!”

The door hissed closed behind them and you blushed, daring to glance over at the Shadowsinger. At least he also looked flustered. You could find comfort and hope in that.

“I guess it’s just us now.” You murmured.

His eyes softened, taking in your figure, “I guess so.”

You spent hours talking with him that night, both of you leaning over the tables as you discussed your work and what your life in Dawn had been like. Your parents’ marriage had been arranged in haste after a drunken one-sight stand resulted in your brother’s conception. There was little love to begin with, but after his still-birth, whatever affection had existed between them vanished into thin air. You’d been born seventy-three years later - a true born noble in name only. Your parents never hated you, although sometimes you wished they did. Their indifference was a unique pain that you’d never been able to shake off.

But Azriel… Azriel was anything but indifferent. He hung onto every word like it was liquid gold dripping from your lips, and you did the same. Clutching what he said like pearls and committing them to memory.

You couldn’t hide your disappointment when Cassian and Rhys finally reappeared four hours later. “Oh.” You whispered, pulling your hands away from where they brushed against his on the table.

“Apologies, it took so long.” Rhys grinned.

He didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, he looked very pleased to see you and Az pressed together, sharing the same seat despite the empty chairs scattered about the room.

Azriel was less pleased and Rhys didn’t miss the faint frown on his brother’s lips as you begrudgingly reclaimed a seat of your own, nestled between Azriel and Cassian. He also didn’t miss when one of Azriel’s shadows curled around the leg of your chair and tugged you closer to him.

You listened to the brothers talk. Rhys and Cassian carried the weight of the conversation, as they usually did, bickering over lunch leftovers and proudly discussing the progress their mates were making with their respective projects - Feyre with her art studio and Nesta with her Valkyries. Azriel’s shadows shrank away, a glint in his eye dimming when the subject came up.

You stole a glance, watching him carefully. When he caught you staring you smiled and some of that glimmer came back.

“Can I see you again?” Azriel asked quietly once you’d finished eating. Rhys had already cleaned up the food scraps with a snap of his fingers and now lingered by the door, speaking with Cassian.

You looked puzzled, “Won’t you be here when the swords are ready? It shouldn’t take longer than six months. Maybe less. And I can still make adjustments then, if you don’t find it to your liking.”

Azriel shook his head, smiling softly, “No I meant before that.” He glanced at his brothers - his lovingly overbearing, nosy, matchmaking brothers, “Just us again.”

Your heart skipped a beat, tempo quickening after the momentary stillness. “Oh.” You breathed, “I would like that. I would like that very much.”

“Good.” Azriel took your hands in his, feeling the rough calluses of your palm against his scarred skin. He pressed a kiss to both hands, then looked at you, “Until next time then.”

Azriel could never regret meeting you that day, nor could he completely regret seeing you the next week… and the week after that… and the week after that. He burrowed underground with you, sought after the warmth of your home and of your heart like a moth to a flame, daring to brush closer and closer with every beat of his wings.

But it had been a mistake to visit you so often, and so brazenly. Here, in the safety of your workshop, he forgot there were fires that were not so nurturing and lovely. And he forgot that there were others who sought your power and not just your company.

Next Chapter ->

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar #fluff #meet cute #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #rhysand #cassian #azriel #the artificer

823 notes · View notes

analog-kidd · 3 months

Text

If Fire Emblem Had Tumblr

🪄child-of-elimine Follow

This is a reminder that practicing dark magic will always be dangerous, evil, and very problematic!

🌑purplegaymagic Follow

Oh fuck off,, NOT ALL DARK MAGIC IS INHERENTLY EVIL!!!

Yes certain types of dark magic can be dangerous but ITS NOT EVILL!!

🖤the-elder-mage Follow

First of all op, you're from elibe so you should know that the preferred name for dark magic here is elder magic.

Second, op is a dragonphobe and supports the g*nocide of all dragons.

(4,322 notes)

❤️️crimsonrider Follow

henlo,,,

👼talyspeggy Follow

henlo!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(25,434 notes)

🪚sidecharater121 Follow

Me watching my friend getting warped to Zenith for the 5th time in different clothes cause they were popular

(1,547 notes)

🌪wimdymagey Follow

wdym you dont need a tome to summon magic in fodlan and valentia??????

🌪wimdymagey Follow

Im over here flipping thru the pages of my book for my life hoping my head doesnt get caved in by a hand axe!!

(3,957 notes)

🌘nohrian-cum Follow

Wait... weapons can break????

⚔️myrmigone Follow

YOUR WEAPONS CANT BREAK!?!?!?!?

(122 notes)

🪵chopinheads Follow

Hey guys! I'm a fighter about to promote!

Should I promote to warrior or hero?

(23 notes)

🗿the-real-axe-man Follow

Godssssss

pegasuses are such misandrists. wtf did i do to you flying pony??

Pegasuses arent even usful, they litterally get one shotted by an archer with 5 strength.

👼talyspeggy Follow

Literally not every pegasi breed "hates" men.

Go to Hoshido if you wanna see men riding pegasi.

I'm so sorry that certain pegasi were born not wanting a man to ride them.

(344 notes)

😷helpfulheals Follow

Hey guys @/begnionianloverss is a laguzphobe and supports the s*renes m*ssacre saying that "they deserved it"

😺ran-the-catboy Follow

Oof,, thanks for informing us, I have friends who follow that account, gonna tell them that info immediately!

(99 notes)

🏰armored-general Follow

Can myrmidons shut up abt their crit rates???

Yall cant even do 1 damage against me, how tf that crit rate gonna help you???

⚔️myrmigone Follow

Flame Sword

Levin Sword

Wind Sword

Runesword

Sonic Sword

🏰armored-general Follow

with YOUR 3 MAGIC???????? LMAO!!!! stop coping and admit that myrmidon is a shit class

(649 notes)

🏹no1-archer Follow

Heard that @flameempire was hosting a bbq at belhalla, very excited!

🏹no1-archer Follow

THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ THAT WASNT A BBQ--

🐉divinedragonfanclub Follow

wtf is happening in jugdral

(2,038 notes)

🚫anti-crest-revolution Follow

Gods I hate people with crests

Privileged mfs

⚡️zapanddash Follow

Brooooo my crest literally randomly summons a thunder storm whenever im around.

I was in khadein (a literal desert nation) a while ago and in the middle of THE HOT DESERT DAY A FUCKING TORENTIAL RAIN STORM APPEARS!!!

That is not a privilege

🌑purplegaymagic Follow

OP you literally have a crest! how can you say you hate crests when YOU HAVE ONE YOURSELF!!!! SMH

(34,667 notes)

🧙‍♂️gotohs-big-naturals Follow

I can fix him

💐eirika-erica Follow

No you fucking can't

🐎expthiefseth Follow

No you fucking can't

🐲frenofdragon Follow

No you fucking can't

🪨the-obsidianrock Follow

No you fucking can't

🔱lancemaster22 Follow

No you fucking can't

(2,331 notes)

🥷ninja-paint Follow

pets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets youpets you

😺ran-the-catboy Follow

gets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets petgets pet

(776 notes)

🪙annablr-staff

This website was a waste of money

(933,720 notes)

934 notes · View notes

senualothbrok · 4 months

Text

Words

Summary: At your home in Waterdeep, you and Gale recall the early stages of your relationship.

Word count: 1.6k

Disclaimers: 18+. NSFW. Smut. (Unascended) Gale x female reader/Tav.

AO3 link

More disclaimers: Masturbation / mutual masturbation. Oral sex.

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

You are sitting in the library, nestled into an armchair that is just big enough for the two of you. Gale rests beside you, frowning into an ancient tome. Your legs are draped over his, your tongue peeking out the side of your mouth as you read. The scent of sandalwood and book dust swirls around you. You feel a sudden tingling on your skin. You glance up.

Gale is watching you, his gaze full and bright. The intensity of it makes you faintly self-conscious.

“What?” Your hand flies to your cheeks, your hair.

Gale’s laugh is a warm bath.

“Nothing, my love. I’m just feasting my eyes, now that there’s nothing to stop me.”

After all this time, you still feel a flutter in your belly, a shyness, when he looks at you like this. When he does not look away. You smile at him.

“I still remember how flustered you used to get if I caught you looking at me.”

“Ah, yes.” Gale chuckles. “The early days of longing and budding love. The stolen glances, the lingering looks. The magic of words unspoken.”

A grey-brown strand falls over his eye. You brush it back, tucking it behind his ear. He kisses your palm before it drifts away.

“Mind you, it wasn't just nerves and awkwardness on my part. I truly had to exert all my efforts to control my excitement. The orb would have wiped out an entire city, or maybe more, depending on what kind of look you’d given me…”

You arch an eyebrow. “I don’t think I realised the extent of your excitement, or the threat it posed.”

He is stroking your leg under your skirt, up and down, gently grazing your flesh. Your skin prickles at his touch.

“Indeed. You drove me to distraction at every turn. Thank the gods for my disciplined mind.”

There is a familiar glint in his eye. A heat begins to quiver through you. You hold his gaze.

“Your mind must have been more disciplined than mine.”

You watch as his brown eyes darken and mist. The flame inside you flares at the hoarseness of his voice.

“How so?”

Gale loves words. Sometimes, your words alone can bring him to the brink of ecstasy, for touch to push him over it. He can read your thoughts at any time if he wants to. You have let him on occasion, with delicious results. But usually, he prefers the words you choose when you tell him. And you know, from the hitch in his breath and the curl of his lips, that that is what he wants now.

“Well.”

You bite your lip. You pause, savouring the spark that is gathering between you.

“I used to think about you, when I was lying in my tent at night.”

That flash in his eyes. That sideways lift of his moist lips. His fingers are drifting up your thighs, flickering with yearning. Your eyelids flutter.

“Did you?”

You nod. A throbbing has begun inside you, and will not be ignored. It grows with the intensity of his stare as he watches your every movement, hanging on your every breath. It burns with what you are about to tell him and show him.

“Night after night.”

Your hands move down to the hem of your skirt. You gather it up, lifting it further to rest above your waist. His hands linger on your bare legs as you draw away from him slightly to sit back. A frown creases his brow, as if he cannot bear your withdrawal. But you keep your eyes fixed on his.

“I thought about the things I wanted you to do to me.”

You are not coy as you slide off your lace panties. They cling to you with the beginnings of your desire. It does not escape his notice. His lips are parted, his eyes blown wide as he watches you. There is a yearning ache that makes you tremble as you widen your legs to face him. Slowly, you snake your fingers downwards.

“That made me so wet, I had to touch myself.”

You lick at the pad of your middle finger, so that it is moist with your spit. You press it into the damp warmth between your thighs. He sucks in a sharp breath, and you watch his tongue running over his lips as you stretch your slick folds to find your swelling centre.

“Like this.”

It does not take long to find it. You shudder when you touch yourself, drawing small and eager circles around the pulsing edges of your clit. Your legs shake as the thick sounds of your wetness fill the air. You push into yourself more and more, moaning as you struggle to keep your eyes on his. Each time your vision wrenches shut, he utters a soft groan which surges through you.

You want him on you. You cannot wait much longer.

“What did you want me to do to you?”

His voice is low and husky, the brown of his eyes almost black. Your reply is a plea, your fingers a frenzy of wetness.

“I wanted your tongue all over me.”

He leans forward, mercifully, desperately. He slides his tongue inside your waiting mouth, over the fullness of your lips, against the girth of your twisting tongue. You cannot get enough of his bittersweet taste. You are ravenous, gulping and gasping and lapping, and when his greedy mouth leaves yours, you want to follow. But before you can, he is trailing his tongue across your cheek, flicking at your earlobe, licking at its edge.

“Like this?” he pants into your ear.

You whine as he sucks at your earlobe with wild fervour, barely stifling his moans. The outline of his cock bulging against his breeches is almost too much to bear. You flinch as your clit threatens to erupt. Your fingers stop moving.

He notices immediately. His hand leaps down to press against yours. Your hips buckle. You bite your lip to muffle a wail.

“Don’t stop,” he breathes.

You cannot keep going much longer. You look at him, begging. The grin that plays on his lips sends you grinding into his hand once more, desperate for relief. He grimaces, and you can see that he, too, is straining to burst.

“What else did you think about?”

He undoes the clasp on your shirt without effort. But even that fleeting moment of waiting is torture. You flesh is aflame as he glides his tongue down the side of your neck, over your collarbone, around your breast. When he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, you cry out. It is so stiff, so hard, and when he wraps his tongue around it and flicks at it, you throw your head back in a silent scream.

“Tell me,” he whispers, your nipple still in his mouth.

You shudder at the burst of air on its tip. The fact that you can still form words is a miracle to you.

“I wondered…”

You writhe as he licks at the darkness around your nipple, the delicate underside of your breast. Your clit aches under your shaking fingers. It is a battle to continue.

“I wondered,” you murmur between halting breaths. “If you were in your tent, touching yourself as you thought of me.”

He looks up at you, flushed and dilated. And you see that this is the final straw for him. The words that have brought him to the brink. You are wet, so wet, as he unfastens his breeches. His lithe fingers flutter as fast as you have ever seen them. His veined, pulsing cock springs free as he edges onto the floor in front of you. You do not have time to grasp hold of it, but your dismay is short lived.

You gasp he hitches your trembling legs over his shoulders, pulling your ass towards him with a grunt. Your hands weave themselves into his hair, dishevelled with passion. He looks at you with a blind, unbridled hunger.

“This is what I think about when I touch myself,” he rasps.

He plunges his face between your thighs. As his tongue swipes at your clit with swift, smooth whirls, you collapse backwards in spasms. Your back arches, your toes curl. Each circle of his tongue brings you nearer and nearer to the excruciating edge.

You can tell that he is taking his time, listening and feeling for the corner that will be the end of you. And when he has found it, you realise that both of you are groaning. You suddenly have a frantic need to see his face. You lean up on your elbows, and it is then that you see him, jerking with the movements of his own pleasure as he laps and sucks at the centre of your fire.

The peak of ecstasy takes you. You dive over the edge, letting out a whimper so loud that you are sure half of Waterdeep can hear. You roll your hips into his mouth and clench your calves around his shoulders as you ride out the crest of the wave. In your haze, you are aware of the frenetic lurching of his frame, a long moan that rumbles out of him in spurts. And then he is still.

It takes you both a moment to come back to yourselves. You are still panting when he returns to his place beside you. You had thought the flames inside you would be doused, at least for a while. But you quiver at the sight of the moisture on his beard, the thick streaks on his breeches as he pulls them up over his cock, still half-hard and gleaming.

He meets your gaze with a knowing smile. When he wraps his arm around you, you cuddle into him. You soak up the smell of his sweat, musk and pleasure mingled with your own. He is silent as you plant gentle kisses on his forehead, his nose, his cheek. And then he sighs.

“I’d say we both have remarkably disciplined minds.”

You clasp his hand and laugh.

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#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #gale fic #gale fanfic #gale smut #gale x tav #gale x reader #baldurs gate 3 smut #gale dekarios smut #gale of waterdeep smut

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catcze · 6 months

Note

wriothesley would do the thing when you make out with him where he like. shoves his knee between your legs while he pins you to something and I absolutely stand by that.

16+ !! Suggestive content !!

OH HE WOULDD oh fucking shit he would that's so hot. Also. I got. Carried away. Again.

「 CWS : 」 Heavily suggestive. Like. incredibly so. Teetering the line between suggestive and worth classifying as h word content, even. They make out. Wrio likes biting and marking reader up and hearing the reader. Reader is kinda needy and sensitive.There's nothing explicitly sexual (which is the primary reason i only marked this as 16+ and not something higher) but it is heavily veering in that direction lmao. Also some softness at the end. GN reader.

Wriothesley takes every chance he can to pin you against a wall and absolutely kiss you breathless. You'd be hard pressed to find anywhere in the fortress where he hasn't tried to sneak a kiss in once or twice. It's as if he has to meet a regular quota of kisses from you to get through his day, and now is no exception.

His office is arguably one of his favorite locations aside from his bedroom. Your back is against one of the many bookshelves, the hard spines and shelves digging into your skin, but you couldn't care any less with his lips on yours and his hands roaming all over you. He pulls from you a stream gasps and whines and eagerly swallows them down like the finest of tea, so readily taking everything you have to offer.

"Wrio," you gasp when he lets you come up for air, face warm and practically shaking in his hold. Wriothesley on the other hand immediately goes to your neck where he laves heavy kisses, kitten licks and the occasional nip on your skin. As you whine at the sensation, you're damn sure that the skin there is going to be sore tomorrow.

One of Wriothesley's hands comes up to grip your waist and the other weaves his fingers with yours, pinning your hand back against the bookshelf and making a couple thick tomes tumble down with a loud thump. Wriothesley doesn't care in the slightest, never tearing his attention away from you.

You tremble in his hold, legs shaking and practically jelly. Small gasps and whines leave you with each pass he makes on your neck, and at the rate you’re going you might just end up tumbling to the floor, too.

Wriothesley knows this, and graciously he shoves a thigh between your legs, and lets you practically sit on it while he gets right back to business.

He does it to be caring, you know, to make sure you’re supported and you don’t fall. But in the long run it's even more detrimental to your sanity than if he had just let you collapse in a heap. The extra touch has your mind abuzz, has your hands shaking and a whimper crawling up the back of your throat. With his thigh between your legs, he leans more of his body weight into you and against the bookshelf, pressing his face further into your neck and making his ministrations feel all that more heavy.

It has you letting out the loudest gasp, a breathless call of his name that has you mortified at how needy you are. Flames of embarrassment lick at your neck and your face, and your free hand slaps over your mouth to muffle any other noises you make.

Wriothesley nips at your skin a bit harsher, as if in punishment.

"Let me hear you, sweetheart," he says, voice a raspy, low rumble. "I want to know you feel good. Please." He pulls your hand away from your mouth and settles it on his shoulder instead, letting you grip his shirt for support as he goes back to marking you up, intent of pulling every single noise he can from your throat.

Helpless, you gasp and whine and fucking squirm as Wriothesley keeps his mouth and his teeth on your neck, intent of painting your skin like a canvas. When he's satisfied with his work and returns to kissing your lips raw, your mind feels hazy and there's an apothecary of butterflies fluttering wild in your stomach.

You squeeze Wriothesley's hand, his shoulder— any part of him that you can get your hands on. He hums in delight every time you do so, his efforts to kiss you senseless redoubling and making the tingle in your limbs grow.

"Wrio," you whine between kisses, resting your weight on his thigh, practically slumping against him as you go boneless in his hold. His hand on your waist pulls you closer, pins you securely between him and the bookshelf. You shake like a leaf in the wind, the blood running hot in your veins.

Wriothesley holds you against him while you regain your breath, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

"I love you," he says, softly. Sweetly. So at odds with the hungry way he’d kissed you and covered you in his marks. His hand squeezes yours, he pulls you even closer against him. He sighs. "I love you so very very much."

You don't respond— don't have enough air in your lungs for that yet, but you squeeze his hand tight in your own. One, two, three times, and lean into him like you're about to fall asleep. He doesn’t mind your silence. If anything, he sidles up closer and adjusts his grip so that you can be a bit more comfortable. Another kiss finds it’s way into your hair. Another hum escapes you.

Wriothesley doesn't need to hear your answer aloud— not when he's already well aware of his place in your heart.

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

#「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #cw gn reader #genshin impact #wriothesley

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alexa-fika · 2 months

Note

Hello! A couple more ideas for you to have! *Pls don't feel pressured to make them :(

• Rayleigh and shakky finding out child!reader is being bullied

•Marco/whitebeard pirates trying to give child!reader a check up but as normal kids will be kids

These little stories provide me with such comfort so thank you for that and remember to take care of yourself before anything♡

His One-Piece ( Whitebeard Pirates x gn!child!reader)

A/N hey hey! So I have something kind of similar to what you describe but not exactly, but the same concept but not really but at the same tome it is but not at the same time Got it? 👍🏼 Thank you so much for the kind words 🥹. I went ahead and did the second one and I Think I COOKED 🫦

Here Reader is Replaced by Dokusha which stands for Reader in Japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

Izou sighs, still trying to get the struggling child in his grasp to stop moving

“Dokucha, it’s just a checkup,” sighs Marco

“We won’t do much, just going to take your temperature and weight, maybe see if you have any issues,” Marco sighs as he tries to calm the squirming child down

“Dokucha, we just want to make sure that you are okay,” grunts Izou, struggling to keep up with the abrupt and constant movement of the child

“Last time, you told me it wouldn't hurt, and you stabbed me!”

“It was a shot,” the doctor says, exasperated

“You shot me?!” the child screams

“No-

“I trusted you, Marco-nii!, Izou-nii!”

“H-Hey! “ Izou protests as the child manages to wiggle his way out of his grasp and run out of the door, leaving the clinic and the two men behind

Dokucha pouted, hiding in one of the kitchen’s cabinet

They look up as the doors of the Cabinet open

“How did you find me?” they mutter

Thatch sighs while Ace simply huffs at their statement

“You always hide in the same spot when you get scared,” he answers

“I appreciate that my station is the one you like to hide in, but I would prefer if you stopped sneaking into my Kitchen.”

“Sorry”

“It’s alright,” Thatch sighs

“You know you can’t hide from him forever, right?” Questions the flame-man

“Marco simply wants to do a regular checkup on you; it’s a quick procedure,” The Chef explains, trying to ease them into it

They shake their head

“Okay, Okay, can you come here?” Thatch asks, trying to coax the child out of the Cabinet

They look at him suspiciously

“I promise I won’t take you to the clinic until you are okay with it,” he assures them

They stare at the commanders a few seconds longer before eventually crawling out of the cabinet and nuzzling into Ace when he picks them up

Ace chuckles warmly as he tries to make them comfortable in his arms

“Why don’t you get the checkup and be done for?” Thatch asks softly

They shake their head, digging their head deeper into Ace

The men glance at each other, both coming to the same solution to coax them into completing the checkup

“Hey, Dokucha, how about we make a deal?” Ace asks

Dokucha lifts their head from his shoulder, looking up at them

“How about if you get a checkup done, you get to do something special with us?” Thatch offers

“Like what?”

“Like getting to help me finish making dinner?” offers the Chef

“And maybe take a lap on the Striker,” Ace suggests

The child perks up at their offers

“Really?”

Thatch smiles. “of course, but you have to get your checkup done first,” he states

“Promise?”

Thatch smiles and looks at Ace, who nods as well

“Of course, promise.”

“Okay”

Thatch ruffles their hair

“So, how about we go to the clinic first, then?”

Dokucha turns around to glance at the two men, who smile and gesture for her to enter the clinic

They turn back around, walking through the clinic door

“There you are!” exclaims Marco, his eyebrows furrowed in worry

“Where have you been? I got worried.”

They fidget in their spot

“It won't hurt?”

Marco tilts his head, confused until he realizes that Dokucha is asking about the checkup, and he shakes his head

“It won’t”

They nod

“But no shots!”

“You don’t need any, so no, no shots.”

“Okay, but if you give me a shot, I’ll…I’ll…” they pause to think, suddenly thinking of a threat that was acceptable in their little mind

“I’ll be really Mad at you!”

Marco chuckles warmly, lifting Dokucha up and gently putting them on the table

“Sure, Sure”

As soon as Marco turns around to grab his stethoscope, they inch farther away from him, sitting at the far end of the examination table

Marco turns around, narrowing his eyes at the Child

“Dokucha?”

“yes?”

“It’s a little hard to do the checkup with you over there. Could you come over here?” he said, gesturing to the spot in front of him, where he had initially placed them

“I’m good.”

He sighs

“How about I tell you what each tool does?”

…okay” they say, scooching to their original spot

“Okay, the Stethoscope is what I use to listen to your heart and lungs,” he said, showing them said tool and placing it near their chest

They squeal as soon as he does

“It’s cold!”

Marco chuckles fondly as he moves the stethoscope around

Once finished, he offered the earpieces to the child

“Would you like to hear?”

“Yeah,” they say, smiling as he gently places the stethoscope over their ears, putting the chest piece in place

“Is that mine?”

“Your heart,” he confirms

“My heart?”

“Mhm,”

“Are you ready for the next one?”

“Can I listen a little longer?”

He smiles and nods

“How about you keep listening while I finish your checkup”

They nod absentmindedly, smiling at the steady beating

“Grandpa Grandpa!” the child screams happily, running towards the giant man

Whitebeard grins as he places the bottle he had been drinking from down and lifting them to meet him eye-to-eye

“What are you doing here, Dokucha?” he asks warmly

“Grandpa, I got my checkup done! And Marco-nii gave me a sticker!”

The captain smiles gently and pats the child on the head gently

“Gurarara, did you?”

“Yeah! And I listened to my heart and...

Newgate smiles, hearing the small child rambling about their checkup, his chest swelling with happiness as he realizes he had finally accomplished his goal; he had created a family, his family, his one Piece

Idk I lowkey thing is all over the place but I really wanted all my bois there, but try as I might I couldn’t fit Vista : ( What we thinking? Were the scene changes smooth ish?

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

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bloodycassian · 9 days

Text

Striking a Deal - Reader x Azriel

Reader is a demon, capable of granting information in exchange for things she wants. When Azriel summons her, she may be more than he can handle.

Warnings - ‘forced’ sex due to circumstance, bondage, unbreakable ties, choking, teasing, orgasm denial, HFO/hands free orgasm, cock milking, squirting, cum paly, g-spot and clitoral stim, fingering, mention of knot (no knotting), hand job, wing play, mention of blood ingestion (not super sexual, not in scene),

As always, skip to ++++++++++ for just the nasty stuff. <3

NSFW 18+ MDNI

Azriel was desperate. Fully, truly desperate for stooping this low.

Still, he chanted on, plowing through verse after verse of the summoner’s spell.

He had little regret over what he’d done. Scaring away fifteen priestesses hadn’t been hard, but finding the right tome had been. He should have asked for the book first.

“Of blood, and by this flame I summon you.” He finished, slicing a cut into his wrist deep enough to coat the pile of bones and herbs he’d gathered for this ritual.

And there was silence. He glanced around, taking in the painted walls of the temple and carved archways. The moon was little more than a sliver, the thing he’d summoned could be anywhere. He scented his own fear and clamped down on it, forcing his mind to ease.

To fear would be fatal, now.

“I expected someone more powerful than a shadowsinger.” Her voice was like honey dripping into his ears. His neck went stiff, as if a puppeteer was controlling him. His shadows lashed out into the darkness, quickly finding the owner of the voice and wrapping them - no.. her - in bindings.

Very much her. Gorgeous proportions and the hair, his mind went foggy with lust. He saw her now that his shadows had pinpointed her, and was wholly overwhelmed with the perfection of her. Something deep inside him rumbled with warning, though.

This was no witch or sorcerer, not even a Queen. This was something far more powerful and deadly, and he struggled to remember that.

“I may be more powerful than you know.” He said, attempting to put on the saam air of seduction the female radiated.

She walked through his shadows as if they weren’t even there, and again his mind quaked with unfamiliar fear.

“What is it such a powerful shadowsinger needs then?” She hummed, bending beside him and plucking a bone from the floor. She stuck out her tongue and lapped at the length of it, staring at Azriel the whole time. His cock surged, and he cleared his throat.

“I seek a weapon. Something to end a God.” Azriel began, gauging her unimpressed reaction.

“And?” She prompted, taking another lick of his blood. Goosebumps broke out along his flesh.

“Would you be able to help with something like that?” He his his irritation behind an easy smile, watching her tongue. At least her beauty made up for such informality.

“I suppose. It depends how much the asker is willing to pay for such a thing.”

“I have gold.” He supplied, not convince his lowest bid would be enough. Especially not with a demon this peculiar.

“I do too.” She smiled, and waved a hand. His vision went blurry for a moment, then all around him appeared as if he were in a vault of gold marks, gold pillars, stretching from the floor going up and up into the blackened sky. A hot breath fell on his neck, and when he whipped around, the golden eye of a massive beast greeted him.

He jumped backwards, knocking his ritual items over, sending them clattering through the temple. He whirled back around, facing the demon he’d brought here. She shrugged, casting the bone aside and approaching him.

“Show me what you’re really willing to lose, Shadowsinger.” She walked two fingers up his abdomen, to his chest and rested them under his jaw, forcing him to look up. “A weapon that powerful is going to cost more than anything I sense you carry.”

“What do you want?” He hissed, hating how much her touch turned him on. Her nails scratched down his neck, and it was like a branding iron on his skin. Chills raced along his arms.

She sighed, admiring the way his throat bobbed, the way the tendons in his neck stuck out when he was so tense. “I’ve been so… lonely, stuck in the Pit by myself.” She pouted, making his cock ache with the suggestion of what she was proposing. “No one summons us anymore. All you fae and mortals trust so much in your common magics and healers. No one is desperate enough to call upon us anymore.”

He took a steadying breath, his heart hammering in hsi chest. She leaned in, so close to his ear he could feel her hot breath against it. “I want you… to summon me. To bring me back to this planet and allow me to live. Even for the short while before they pull me back. Cast this same ritual, and bring me back.” She took his hand and brought it to her breast, squeezing his fingers tight around it. A groan fell from him, and before he could even think about the implications of striking such a deal, his mouth was on hers.

The deal had been struck.

++++++++++++++++++++++

The searing burn of his tongue upon yours was so deliciously delightful, so full of need and challenge that you could hardly feel the brand of the deal writing itself on your neck.

The kiss had sealed the bond, the rest of this would be just for fun.

“Your weapon-” You say between moans, pulling his tunic off and freeing his muscled body. “Will be found in the deepest lake on the highest peak-”

He rips your clothes off, tearing and urgent with need. “I didn’t summon you for a riddle.” He growls, dipping his head to catch a nipple between his teeth. A sharp gasp escapes you, and you squeeze his cock in your hand.

“You didn’t summon me as your whore, either.” You correct, yanking him back by the hair. He bares his teeth, and his shadows wrap around your ankles, thick and cool against your skin.

“You certainly act like that’s what you’re here for.” He grunts, and those shadows snake farther up your exposed legs until they’re massaging into your thighs. A ripple of want shoots through you at their closeness to your waiting cunt.

You’re too distracted by his hands and shadows on you to really give him a comeback. Truthfully, his filthy mouth could be saying anything at this moment and you wouldn’t care, not as long as he was touching you. It’d been a century since you’d seen anything other than the black pit of your home, and with such a gorgeous male before you, how could one resist? Your blood had been thrumming with need the second you’d crawled out of your home.

He pulls you forward, onto one of the short steps that leads to the recessed center of the room. “Now, what do I have to do to get you to bring me this weapon?” He rasps against your skin, biting your shoulder as he sat you down on the step. He pulls away, only to start lapping down your body until he is between your thighs, joining his shadows there.

“You want another deal, Shadowsinger?” You pant, leaning back on the step behind you and spreading your legs wide for him. He groans and the shadows ghost over your folds with teasing, almost-touches.

“Tell me.” He demands, and laps at you with a flattened tongue. “Such a pretty pussy.” He praises.

Your legs snap together, squeezing his head. “I cannot retrieve it for you, but I can take you to where it is.” You promise, and the half - truth of it feels sour on your tongue. You could retrieve it, but it’d take much more time than you had after you were released from the Pit.

He hums, seemingly content with the answer as he laps at you. His shadows join, dipping into your pussy and writhing there, fucking you softly but with ferocity. Your breaths are coming in shallow, frantic spurts as you focus on not coming on his face.

You want his cock for that.

A lick of your power lashes out, breaking his shadows away and freezing him in place with a leash of your own making. Magic bound, he straightens at your command and the sight of his surprise sets you giggling.

“You’re eager.” You critique. Sitting up, you take his cock in your hands and admire it, loosening your magic on him when you feel him relax and sigh at your touch. “Much too eager.” You observe the thick rivulets of pre-come dripping from his tip. You dip down and take a taste of him, humming at the sense of it. The salty, needy taste of him.

You wrap your hand around him and give him a long, slow pump and he shudders. His cock is magnificent. You can barely touch your fingers together around him with his thickness, and the knot at the base of him is hardly formed. Was he one of the fae able to change his cock at will? A ripple of excitement rolls though you at the possibility of it. You stroke him again, and another drop of precome wets his tip and you tap the tip of your finger with it, trailing it over his shaft and up his abdomen until you reach his lips. He takes it eagerly still, enjoying the taste of himself it seems.

You bind his hands to his sides, and ghost your fingers over his cock. Barely touching him, just as his shadows had teased you. He spits venom, cursing you with each delicate touch. You stroke him hard and through occasionally, but watching him be so needy for the touch is such a turn-on.

Your nails trail from his balls and up his shaft, then you circle the tip of him gently with the pad of your finger, swirling his lubrication there. He’s watching you the entire time, his brows pulled together and his lips a deep shade of red that matches the tip of his cock.

“I am glad that you were the one who’s summoned me.” You hum, getting up and going behind him. Even with him on his knees, he still reaches the height of your breast. He’s huge and lithe in his build, even his wings are a powerful kind. You touch them gently, humming when he hisses curses under his breath.

That gets your attention.

“Sensitive. Illyrian wings are different than the wings of other winged species, aren’t they?” You question, raking your nails over the arches of them. He cries out, lurching forward but your magic catches him, hauling him back up and in place before he can fold onto the step.

You kneel behind him, and wrap an arm around to take his cock into your hand again. He shudders and thrusts forward, into your grip. He’s needy and desperate and with you touching his wings he’s going to cum embarrassingly quickly. He hates how much he’s loving this, how the control you have over him is making him so fucking desperate.

He fucks into your hand, his precome wetting him enough that it heightens the experience further. Your hand is wet and hot and not nearly as good as your mouth had been but it’s better than the teasing touches you’d been giving him earlier, and he’s grateful. His need is rising and his muscles are working, his balls going tight with the need of release.

Then, you pull away. Your hand is gone and he’s left fucking the air like an animal, and he’s shuddering. “You fucking- bitch..” He grinds out, his abdomen flexing with how close he’d been. His balls tighten and relax, his cock twitching and slapping against his stomach.

You stand and go back to be in front of him, watching him twitch and writhe uncomfortably. His cock is surging and desperately seeking more stimulation, The angry redness of the tip a delicious strawberry color that makes you salivate.

You go back to tracing over him, and you can feel his power, his every fiber struggling against your magic. He’s close, so on the edge that you’re sure he’ll break with only a few more strokes. Good. You want him to. You want him to remember the only female who’d bested him at his own desires. You want him to fuck you endlessly, if that is the only time you have on this planet.

His balls are tight and heavy, and when you trace a finger along his ridge he shudders, leaning forward again. You allow it this time, catching his lips with yours and letting your tongue flick over his own. He groans into your mouth and snaps his hips forward when you make a loose fist over his cock.

His needy cries echo across the temple like a song.

You tighten your hand, allowing him to fuck into it for a few more strokes before pulling away again. But it’s too late. You pull back and watch as he thrusts into the air, his cock pulsing with his orgasm. He’s snarling and cursing as the pleasure takes him in a violent way. You watch in supreme pleasure as he gets what he finally wants. His cum shoots out and lands on your legs, your belly. The stone floor and steps. His spend is hot and dribbles from his tip when you release his bindings.

He wavers, and his shadows return slowly. His muscles flex as he leans forward, clearly exhausted with the experience.

His hands shake when he leans over you, catching your chin in his hand. “You are a horrible little thing.” He curses, then forces his tongue into your mouth.

He forces you back, so you’re arched against the steps, and the fingers of his other hand go between your folds, slickening them before plunging in. The most exquisite burn fills you, and is then eased by his curling fingers. He draws out your wetness, coating your clit with it and rubbing firm circles for a moment before pushing deep back inside of you.

He uses his entire forearm and wrist while he does it, truly fucking you with his hand. His fingers are thick and they do satiate a part of your own need, but it’s nothing compared to what his cock would be.

But this part of the game is up to him. You’d had your fun, and now it was his turn.

His tongue is aggressive in your mouth, fighting your own and showing you exactly what he’d been doing against your pussy before. He pulls away, leaving drool on your chin. His shadows go to your wrists, and you allow them to lock you in place, legs spread wide and wrists bound to the floor.

This is his turn. If you want him to stay true to his bargain not just for bargaining sake, you’ll let him have his turn. You could use him, sure, - force him in place and take him as you wanted - but where was the fun in that?

“Azriel-” You pant, and he takes your throat in a hand. Not hard, not dangerous, but certainly a silent command.

He’s working you deep and swiping against your g-spot with every stroke, and if he doesn’t stop you’re not sure if you’ll be able to either.

“Making me cum without even letting me really touch you first?” He scolds, punctuating it with his thumb stroking over your clit. Your yes clamp shut, your thighs desperately trying to do the same but his shadows - as weak as they are - won’t allow you to. You moan, the pressure of his hand against your throat a devious thing.

Your body is betraying you, reaching your high peaks so quickly while he rubs your clit. Your walls squeeze him, wanting more. Needing more than just two fingers. But his thumb is relentless and consistent, you try to fight the building orgasm but it only makes your g-spot more sensitive.

“Azriel please-” You whine, panting and squirming as much as you can under him. His hand leaves your throat and instead goes to the back of your head, knotting in your hair there. He forces you to watch his hands word, how spread you are for him, the way your wetness shines against this dark skin. He’s humming something in your ear but you can barely hear it over the mounting pleasure, the cascade of twitching need that writhes inside you, begging to be released. A dam too overflowed, your control slips, and slips.

You push against the heat, the pressure of the orgasm but again, he brushes into that spot inside you and your clit again, and you’re shaking - coming apart in his grasp. Wetness coats him, your own juices flowing out of you in an intense way, splattering against the floor and coating his arm. The wet sounds of his fingers still working you echo against the high ceilings and stone walls.

You’re shaking, shuddering and breathing hard when he gently removes his fingers then laps at them.

The sight nearly sends you into another orgasm.

“Safe to say you’ll be summoned often, little demon.” He says, offering you a finger wet with your own juices.

You take it greedily, sucking on his finger the same way you wanted to suck his cock.

“Next time I expect you to last longer.” You critique, earning a laugh from him.

“If I make that promise now, does that mean we get to fuck again and seal that bond?”

#azriel #azriel x reader #reader x azriel #acotar fic #acotar smut #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger #azriel fic

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rosieofcorona · 5 months

Text

All We Do Not Say

Hi beloveds! I have crafted a soft little Gale fic for you because it's my firm belief that everyone's favorite wizard deserves all the warmth in the world. 😌 Also on AO3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕

There was a time in his life that Gale could sleep anywhere, provided he had a good book and a space to sit down.

In Waterdeep, he might wake in his armchair or on his balcony with the weight of an ancient tome still resting in his lap, or at his desk, his cheek pressed against parchment. The smell of it, of ink and lignin, would bring him back to his senses before his eyes were fully open, and he’d recall what he’d been studying, and begin reading again.

At home, in his tower, he could do this night after night and still feel mostly rested come morning.

But he is far from his tower, and farther each day.

Perhaps it is the orb that keeps him up as of late, with its insatiable, unnatural hunger, or perhaps it is the tadpole that wriggles and pulses impatiently inside his skull. Or it could, he supposes, be the simpler and less curable matter of aging– an affliction that seems, on occasion, more frightening than either of the others.

Whatever the cause of his recent insomnia, it pulls Gale into a rather distressing cycle– he cannot sleep, so he cannot focus, so he cannot read, so he cannot sleep.

Instead, he finds himself offering to keep watch over camp in the evenings, if only for the distraction. The far-off gibbering of a newborn gnoll, the crunch of foliage under goblin feet, an animal scream– each night a fresh and distant horror calls his mind away from greater threats, from illithids and tadpoles and gods.

It’s an odd remedy, he knows. But the alternative is lying awake in his tent, turning death over and over in his mind until the thought is worn smooth as a river stone.

It works well for a time, keeps his mind on the present and off of some vague, future doom.

That is, at least, until they reach the Underdark.

Deep beneath Faerûn, there is something profoundly disturbing about the lack of…well, everything. They find no grand cities or quaint little villages, few animals and even fewer people.

No trees, no light. No sky.

Most nights spent underground are so quiet that Gale may as well stay in his bedroll, staring up at a canopy of fabric, dark as the velvet earth above them.

He thinks, It is like being buried alive, without even the stars to bear witness.

On these nights he can feel the stones in his head turning over.

Even so, come the evening (or what he guesses is evening), Gale volunteers to stand sentinel for the fifth time in a tenday.

He always asks them after dinner, when his companions are most likely to agree, after his cooking has warmed them and filled their bellies and made them want nothing more than to close their eyes and dream of somewhere, anywhere else.

Tav is the only one who protests with any frequency, the only one who seems to notice that the circles under his eyes are half a shade darker than they were yesterday, when they were half a shade darker than the day before.

Even on nights when she convinces someone else to take his place, he will relieve them after Tav has gone to sleep.

It starts the same way every time.

Gale walks the perimeter in an infinite loop, looking for life in the darkness, illuminated only by the fire in the center of their camp. It makes him feel like a distant planet, nearly untouched by the sun. How strange to think that he’d once felt like the sun itself.

He continues in his orbit until the subterranean cold gnaws at his limbs. It bites down hard on his nose and ears and fingers, chases him back to the fire, back to the light.

Hypnotized by the flames and their radiant warmth, he does not hear the quiet stirring in the tent beyond his own, doesn’t hear the soft approach of nimble feet.

A voice comes to him out of the darkness.

“I hope you’re not keeping watch again.”

“Mystra,” Gale gasps, startled, the goddess’s name invoked in equal parts a prayer, a curse.

“Forgive me,” Tav says, through a laugh she cannot help. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” If it were anyone else he might be annoyed, or even a little embarrassed– but the sound of her laughter bubbles like seafoam over sand, rushes over and around him. Coupled with the relief that she is not some dreadful creature of the Underdark, he finds it difficult to feel anything besides affection.

“It’s quite alright,” he recovers, with a shake of his head. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

“Then I really hope you’re not keeping watch.”

She is teasing him now, just lightly, a familiar spark of warmth behind her eyes.

It is the same look she gives him when she brings him a new book, or when he cooks for her, or when he tells her about Waterdeep. It is the same look she gave him earlier in the day, when she had offered to brew him a tea that might help him to sleep.

Gale has trouble remembering the last time another looked at him this way, so interested and inviting and earnest.

Perhaps, he thinks, another never has.

“Are you alright?” Tav asks, when he’s been quiet for too long.

“Of course,” he says with the sincerity of a promise, offered with a smile that he hopes will be convincing. “Just lost in thought.”

There is a part of him that doesn’t want to leave it there, that wants to share his every thought with her, his every terror, every dream. She must know that there is more to it, must’ve learned by now to recognize when Gale isn’t telling her everything, but he is grateful that she doesn’t press him, never presses him.

Instead she breaks into a grin and says, “You’re lucky I’m not a bulette.”

“I’m lucky they’re not so light-footed. What are you doing up, anyway?”

“The cold always wakes me, sooner or later,” Tav sighs. “If I’d known it was so godsdamned frigid down here, I might’ve nicked a fur or two from the Zhent.”

It’s Gale’s turn to laugh, though she’s only half-joking.

She’s drawn near to him, to the flames, her palms outstretched, her fingers spread wide as if to grab hold of as much warmth as possible.

“But it’s alright,” she continues, “So as long as I’m close to the fire.”

“Any closer and you’ll be in it, I’m afraid. Perhaps I can help.”

Tav tilts her head and quirks an eyebrow in a curious little expression. “Can you?”

“If you’ll allow me.”

Gale turns to face her fully, and she mirrors him out of instinct.

“Hold out your hands to me,” he says. “Palms together, just barely. Like you’re praying.”

“Like this?” “Like that.”

The spell is one his mother taught him, among the first he’d ever learned.

He still remembers that winter in Waterdeep, when the snow fell hard and fast. When the ice in the harbor kept the ships at arm’s length and the frozen streets shone like glass. He was young then, six or seven, but even now he can feel his small hands in Morena’s, warmed by a word and a touch.

Warm and fed, she used to tell him. That’s how you show someone they’re loved.

Gale cages Tav’s hands lightly in his own, the way he might hold a butterfly. He pushes all thoughts of winter away and calls to mind the rippling heat of summer, an orchard grown fat with peaches, the silvery shimmer of sweat on skin.

The rose-petal flush of a cheek cradled in a hand, her cheek, his hand…

“Calor aestas,” he says quietly, when the image comes into clear view. He feels the cold melt from her fingers, hears the comfortable sigh that follows. “Better?”

“Yes,” she murmurs. “Much.”

She is looking at him now with an intensity he has not seen since the night he first showed her the Weave, all that time ago. The night he saw her thoughts laid bare, had all but felt her lips on his.

Had she seen them now, the visions he had conjured? Had she felt him pull her close in his own mind?

Tav clears her throat softly and he comes back to himself, his heartbeat thrashing wildly in his chest. He realizes with some urgency that he has not let her go and pulls back suddenly, but not without reluctance.

“I hope,” he swallows, trying to compose himself. “I hope it helps you sleep.”

“Do you want me to stay up with you?”

Yes, he thinks selfishly, Yes. Stay up with me, stay close to me, always.

He shakes his head instead. “You should rest while the spell holds.”

“And how long is that?”

“As long as I’m able to concentrate.”

He will think of her hands and their pull on a bowstring, their pluck of a lyre, their grip on a sword. How they weave her own magic, how they cradle a book. How they felt clasped in his, soft and cold.

A focus worth holding, at last.

“Only if it’s no trouble,” she says.

“None at all.”

Gale is grateful that he manages to stop himself, for once, from saying the rest of the thought as it enters his head. I would think of you anyway, magic or no.

Tav takes his hand in hers again, this time to squeeze it fondly.

For a moment, he feels that if he were to die just now– from the orb, from the tadpole, in the jaws of a hungry bulette– it would all have been worth it, for this.

“Thank you, Gale.”

Her smile is warmer than any summer he remembers, brighter than any star he can name.

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