#modern!azriel

[azsazz]

Midnight Muse (Part 14)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3,355

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Masterlist]

Notes: Okay I'm a lil sad for my baby azzy in this part 😭

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“Listen kid,” the tattoo artist across the table from him sighs, and Azriel already knows what’s going to come out of his mouth.

This interview hadn’t been going well since he stepped through the door to Steppes Ink. The guy who was supposed to be conducting the interview for an apprenticeship at the parlor—a lanky lad tatted up with the worst ink Azriel’s ever seen…is that a clock dripping blood for fucks sake?—had forgotten he was even giving an interview today.

He—Brad? Chad? Something or other, he suspects—hadn’t listened to a word Azriel said when he spoke about his time tattooing. That it was his passion. That he wants to make a career out of it. Instead, the guy had kicked his sneaker clad feet up onto the edge of the table and flipped through his portfolio, not allowing Azriel to speak on his work.

He’d seen the look the fucker had given him when he’d pulled his portfolio out of his bag. The way he stared openly at his latex gloved hands as he held the book out, stuffed full of drawings and pictures of tattoos he’s given both at parties and his art focused study groups.

Azriel thinks it’s an impressive show of skill, but this fucker doesn’t.

He doesn’t even want to apprentice here anyway, not after all of this, but he’s running out of tattoo parlors to apply to in town. He’s not against driving out to the next town over because he has a reliable source of transportation, but driving all the way out after his classes is something he’d rather not have to do.

Azriel sets his jaw. He’s more than ready to pack his things and leave, maybe swing a fist at the fucker on his way out. He had been ready to go when the second comment out of this shithead's mouth was, “Taking cleanliness to a whole new level there, ey kid?” In response to his gloved hands. He’s glad he’d worn them, because he knows if he hadn’t, it would’ve been something much more insulting spewing from his lips instead.

He’s had better interviews with the same result. The fact that he keeps putting himself through this shows his determination, but Azriel would be lying if he said that the plethora of no’s he receives wasn’t disheartening. He feels like he’s come a long way since his accident, when he’d essentially had to relearn how to hold his pencils, charcoal sticks, and tattoo gun.

All of that pride he felt is slowly deteriorating like an ages old painting.

“I think you’re very talented with your sketches, but it’s not translating into your tattoos,” the man starts, scratching his patchy beard. He sucks his teeth, but it doesn’t help get rid of the cluster of food jammed between them that Azriel has been talking to for the past forty minutes. Yeah, he really does not want to work here. Not only is this guy disgusting, he’s seen at least three violations the second he walked into the parlor alone.

Imagine if he had to put up with this shit everyday.

The man continues, because he doesn’t really know how to shut up. “Your lines are all jagged, and we can’t have that. I’d be happy to look at your work again next semester when you have a little more experience.”

No. Fucking. Thanks.

Azriel grinds his teeth because he doesn’t know what else to do. How many times has he heard this line before? He knows, Mother help him he fucking knows that his lines aren’t the straightest, but he’s come a long way, and his more recent tattoos aren’t suffering because of it. 

Why won’t anyone just give him a fucking chance?

“I understand,” Azriel nods, and it takes a lot more effort to keep his tone neutral when he replies.

He’s thankful that the guy can’t see how white-knuckled his fists are under the table.

“What made you want to get into tattooing, anyway?” The man flips his portfolio shut with a harsh snap. The way he says it makes Azriel feel like he’s about to be told that he should find a backup plan. He has one already, but this fucker doesn’t need to know that.

Who does this guy think he is anyway? He has a bleeding clock and a lion head on his arm for fucks sake. It even has a mechanical eye. And he’s sure that if he lifts the sleeves of his cut off flannel, he’ll be showing a plethora of gears forever marked onto his pale skin, too.

“Every tattoo has a story,” Azriel answers, because it’s something he believes with his whole heart, and maybe, just maybe, this fucker can relate to that.

The idiot has the audacity to cock his head, questioningly. “Is that so?”

“The one’s I get do,” Azriel responds stiffly, and he hopes that this interview is over because he can’t bear to sit here a moment longer. What’s with all of the follow up questions? He’s already said no, so why the fuck is he still interrogating him?

Azriel is being looked at like he’s some dumb college kid with no idea what he wants to do with his life, and he fucking hates that. He knows exactly what he wants to do once he graduates, and that’s to be a tattoo artist, hence trying to find an apprenticeship at a local shop. Right now, he’s starting to wonder if all of the shop owners have meetings together where they talk about the kid in black gloves and tell each other not to hire him. 

Either way, he’s beyond fucking annoyed.

“Well, I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me,” Azriel says, gathering his things. The guy looks at his gloved hands again and he knows that the question is on the tip of his tongue so he hurries, shoving his portfolio into his bag and standing from his chair. 

“No problem kid. Like I said, work on it and maybe next semester—” 

“Right,” Azriel forces a smile like he’s never had to before. It feels like cutting steel, and he’s sure it looks more threatening than genuine. “Thanks.”

He dips out of the shop before the fucker can ask anymore questions.

He’s glad he didn’t even care to remember his name.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The wind against his body and the rumble of his motorcycle makes things slightly better.

Azriel tries to let the interview roll off of his shoulders with the current pressing against his body, but it just isn’t happening. 

Usually, he enjoys the ride. The way taking the curves a little too fast makes his heart stutter in a rapid pace, the smooth asphalt beneath his wheels wiping his worries away, but there’s something about tonight that has him feeling like he’d rather just put on some music, wallow in his bed, and work on his sketches.

He’ll show that fucker.

It had gone shittier than all of the other interviews he’s had. Four, to be specific. Four interviews, where three of them had mentioned his shaky linework, two of them had told him to come back next semester, and one had been conducted by a total fucking idiot.

His hands are shaking now, memories of the accident dredged up from the way the last interviewer was staring at him. He can still feel his beady gaze on his hands, like he was some fucking specimen to be examined under a microscope. Maybe if Azriel had peeled back the latex and showed him the damage of his scars, the guy would’ve left him the fuck alone.

He knows that that’s not how it would’ve gone, though. Guys like him always ask more questions, and Azriel does not want to repeat that story to someone like that.

His gloves are still on, clenched tightly around his handlebars. He can’t ride like this, needs to stop, but he’s two blocks from his apartment now and he just wants to be home.

The fact that he can still feel the phantom touch of your body pressed up close to him every time he rides his bike now helps distract him. It subconsciously eases the trembling in his hands, and Azriel relaxes only slightly. He still doesn’t like you, but the way your thighs had pressed so firmly around his body had felt like being completely doused in warmth. He hadn’t even needed his jacket while the cold rain pounded down on the both of you, because with your chest pressed tightly against his back, your hands around his waist, he was nearly sweating.

He wonders if you had felt the same. Like there was lightning zipping up your rigid spine. If your heart was thundering as loudly as his. If you just wanted to keep going like he did, pass the town up and go on to the next—

Azriel nearly passes the apartment building whilst he’s distracted. Cassian’s big, beat up bronco is a red flag waving at him from its usual spot in front of the building. Literally, the crimson rust bucket is an eyesore, and he’s surprised they haven’t gotten any complaints from the landlord about it bringing the value of the building down.

He jerks to a stop and backs his motorcycle up in front of the truck. Always parking in the closest to the corner, Cassian had said, so that no one can block him in. Azriel hadn’t known if it had been a slight jab from when he’d trapped your and Feyre’s moving truck in on your first day here, but he’d laughed nonetheless.

There are people wandering in and out of the building. Giggling groups of girls and guys carrying racks of beers on their shoulders, hooting and hollering, eye-fucking the girls in their short skirts as they wait for the elevator. There’s parties up and down the building all weekend, and Azriel prays that for once, Cassian has decided to wander down a few floors to find a fuck instead of hosting another party.

His prayers are not answered.

When Azriel shoves through the stairwell out onto the fourth floor, the music hits him like a fucking truck. It’s bass-heavy, blaring down the hall like a goddamn rave. Internally, he groans, shoving his way through the people loitering in the hall, ignoring the more than interested looks he receives from a group of girls, staring him down like a pack of hungry hyenas.

Fuck, he really doesn’t want to deal with this right now.

It’s late enough that the pregame should be finishing soon, but knowing Cassian, it’s only just beginning.

Azriel had stopped off at the local diner for something sweet to take his mind off of the awful interview. It hadn’t helped his shakiness at all, the anger coursing through his veins, not even when his favorite waitress Rita had brought him a small fry on the house and put an extra cherry on top of his shake, then proceeded to sit with him for a bit to check in.

He loves Rita. He, Cassian, and Rhysand used to frequent the diner often during freshman year, when they had no transportation and were broke art students. Rita had always taken care of them, but now, the tradition seems to have dwelled as they’ve gotten older and are able to attend bars and have the money for restaurants that don’t only serve smash burgers and shakes. 

Azriel’s pretty sure he’s the only one that still visits out of the three.

His apartment is packed to the brim. He can smell the alcohol and sweat in the air, the stench of it makes his nose scrunch. He could use a fucking drink right now, he thinks, but he doesn’t do it often because it only makes his hands shake more and that’s the last thing he needs right now.

Upon first glance he doesn’t see either of his roommates, and then Cassian is barrelling through the crowd as if he has a sixth sense for knowing when Azriel enters a room.

“Hey, man,” Cassian grins wildly, throwing his arm around his shoulder. The drink in his cup sloshes precariously close to the rim of his glass, and Azriel grimaces. His roommates eyes are blurry with drink, and he’s swaying a bit, leaning his body weight against him. Hopefully, he hasn’t tripped and crushed anyone with his sheer size, because it wouldn’t bode well for the person trapped beneath the behemoth. “Are you setting up tonight? There’s these two chicks that want to get tatted up. Underboob.” Cassian waggles his eyebrows and grins like he’s just caught a glimpse of heaven. “Matching.”

“Not in the mood,” Azriel grunts, pushing past his roommate. He hates every second of shoving through this crowd, bodies plastered against his own like the ink on his arms. He wonders if the loud music is bothering you on the other side of the thin wall, and then he shoves that thought straight from his mind because he doesn't care.

He does care that it’s bothering him, though.

Azriel digs his keys from his pocket. The lock on his door was added after their first party and he’d found a couple right about about to fuck on his bed.

He’s the only one that gets to do that, even if he hasn’t touched another girl in months. He’s been too much of a surly bastard to even want to pursue a girl, and he knows they wouldn’t want him touching them with his fucked up hands, despite the glowing eyes feeding off of his appearance in the hall. 

Someone bumps into him and he nearly smacks his head into the door. Azriel chokes back the growl threatening to crawl from his throat, and decides against whirling around to bark at whoever’s run into him. His grip on the knob tightens.

There’s a soft light emitting from his room when he opens the door, the lamp beside his bed glowing. Azriel releases an exasperated huff, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders, but it skyrockets when he notices the lump tucked tightly into his covers.

It’s you, and you’re in his bed.

Two thoughts pass through his mind so quickly he can hardly discern one from the other.

One, what the fuck are you doing in his bed?

And two, who the fuck let you in his room?

Okay, so the second question is easier to answer than the first. It’s obvious that Cassian must have let you into his room, because he’s pretty sure the fucker had made a copy of the key the second day he’d put the lock on his door. Azriel hadn’t let him in when he’d been trying to get him to smell four different colognes he got as samples in a magazine, so his roommate took it into his own hands to make sure Azriel could never be in his room in peace.

The first question, however, makes no sense. You live right next door for fucks sakes, so what the fuck are you doing here?

Azriel stares. He can’t help himself, he’s frozen in the doorway until Cassian’s belting voice complaining about the pop song that the playlist has switched to snaps him from his stupor. He ducks inside of his room, shoving the door shut behind him, and flicking the lock.

He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. 

He’s staring at your sleeping form like you’re only pretending to sleep, armed with a weapon and hoping he comes closer. You’ll pop out at him and scare the shit out of him and then Rhys will fall out of the closet laughing and Cassian will burst through the door, falling to his knees in hysterics.

But you’re not moving. You’re curled up on your side, and a metal mixing bowl sits on the table next to his bed, the small stack of books that is normally stacked there spilled haphazardly, one face down on the floor. 

There’s a glass of water next to the bowl, and Azriel doesn’t like that it sits so close to his books, despite it being only half full.

His bag falls from his shoulder and he slings it over the back of his desk chair, all while keeping his eyes pinned to your sleeping form. His dark sheets rise and fall shallowly with each breath you take, your lips parted slightly, unbothered by the intrusion and the loud music shaking the walls.

You must be used to it by now.

This is weird. This is so fucking weird that Azriel doesn’t even know what to do with himself but his feet move him closer to the bed against his better judgement. No, this is fucking beyond creepy now, with him looming over you like this, watching you sleep.

His fingers itch and he rips the gloves off of his hands, tossing the latex into the trash by his desk. His fingers flex, and Azriel gulps down a fresh breath of air now that his sweating hands can breathe. 

Doing so doesn’t stop that feeling, though. The one where he wants to feel that familiar pencil in his hand, charcoal coating his fingers. There’s a blooming in his mind, inspiration swiping the foulness of his interview away. He need to grab his sketchbook and flip it to a clean page and start drawing the curve of your—

No. He scolds himself, shaking his head furiously and backing away. He trips over your shoes, discarded in a pile on the floor, but he doesn’t eat shit. Maybe if he did it would help clear his mind from this. The way your presence has painted over his tainted night, when he should be more angry to see you occupying his space, but instead, he feels more intrigued.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be looking at the way his sheet is draped across your body. You’re still clothed, and Azriel is more than thankful for that. He shouldn’t be admiring your quiet, peaceful side, not when he’s so used to seeing that crease between your brows and frown tugging your lips whenever he’s around. He shouldn’t be brushing the strand of hair falling across your face behind your ear—

Azriel jerks his hand away from you. He hadn’t realized that he’d moved closer, had been leaning in like what? Like he was going to caress that smooth skin of yours? No, that’s not happening. Now or ever.

He bolts from his room, but not before making sure he locks it behind him. He feels frantic again, like his skin is stretched too tight over his bones. He needs to find Rhys because the music is making his head spin and he’s so, so close to spiraling right now.

Stumbling through the living room to the other side of the apartment, Azriel reaches Rhysand’s door. He hopes it’s unlocked, because being alone right now sounds even better than having to be around anyone right now. 

It’s fucking locked.

Azriel pounds on the door. There’s an urgency to it that Rhysand must hear, because he’s cracking the door open a bit and Azriel is met with his glowing violet eyes and naked chest. 

“What’s up Az? I’m a little…busy at the moment.”

He doesn’t need to peek over his shoulder to know that Feyre’s waiting for him in his bed right now.

“I, ah—nothing man. It’s nothing,” he mumbles, turning away from the door. None of his questions are being answered. If everyone's over here, why is no one at your apartment? Why aren’t you in your own bed? “What the fuck,” he grumbles, scanning the crowd of gyrating bodies in the middle of his living room.

He spots Cassian somewhere near the middle, a group of girls rubbing their bodies up against his. They’re so close together they look like a pack of sardines, and Cassian is their king. He’s laughing, making suggestive eyes at at least three of them.

Sometimes, Azriel wishes he was that carefree. 

With nothing else to do, he makes his way to the kitchen. 

He needs a fucking drink.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Midnight Muse Taglist: @going-through-shit @honeycriess @natashachelsea @thisisew @kennedy-brooke @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @magical-mischief-makers @reiincarnatiion @ccucumbers @secret-ly-here @throneofsmut @cami26cami @torchbearerkyle @a-frog-with-a-laptop @sevikas-whore @endless-worldss @vellichor01 @bangtans-jagiya @kalulakunundrum @pinksmellslikelove @sakurafrost3-blog @imxnotxhere @bookishbroadwaybish @justdreamstars @i-am-infinite @whichwitchisthebitch @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @sia-r

[imaginesmai]

Your name on my body - modern!Azriel

Beautiful and amazing @thehighladywrites posted this INCREDIBLE idea and I had to try it. I've never written a modern!acotar AU, a college!acotar AU or nerdy-tattooed!Azriel. I haven't written bimbo!reader, and since English is not my first language, I don't know if I have done it right. I enjoyed this sooooo much, let me know if you want more or have some requests!

Extra points for whoever gets the crescent city saga reference!

Plot: nerd-tattooed!Azriel gets a tattoo with your name and it leads to smutty time.

Warnings: porn and porn and Azriel being freaky and porn with just an inch of plot. This is dirty.

The door of the apartment closed behind your back and you were met with an empty living room. You usually didn’t come in unannounced, because Azriel’s shared apartment always had some type of surprise. But your boyfriend had asked you to do so, and to use the spare key he had given you a while ago.

Azriel had been studying for his finals for weeks, and had finally finished them. Instead of going out to celebrate like you had, he had stayed in with his friends. You hadn’t seen each other too much, apart from the long hours in the library where he tried to help you with your exams – and you didn’t count those hours, since you did nothing more than stare at him.

The apartment, as expected, was trashed. There were beer bottles in the ground, suspicious stains in the carpet and a very naked Cassian sleeping in the couch. You had just barely gotten out of your hangover, and Azriel’s roommate was about to start his.

Through all the chaos, you were certain none of it belonged to Azriel. He liked to party, sure, but not hard and long as you. He preferred to stay quiet and observe, with a drink that lasted him the whole night. You were trying to remember if the heel that poked through the back of the couch was from your friend when you heard him coming.

“This way, princess”

His deep, morning voice made you turn around and stumble to his presence. Like a serpent caught in a sweet melody, you were always pulled towards him. Azriel was wearing a grey t-shirt and black shorts, that fit him like a globe. Dark glasses and disheveled hair. And lots of tattoos that you had traced previously with your fingers and tongue.

“Hey, handsome” you greeted him, not hiding your bright smile. “Got your text this morning. What were you doing up so early?”

“Hit the gym before breakfast. Not all of us are hangover”

“Tell that to the other half of the campus or your roommates. Rhysand spent the night with Feyre in the rooftop”

Your roommate hadn’t appeared last night, and you had found a very cryptic text that morning that led you to the rooftop – where both her and Rhysand were fast asleep with the bottle still uncorked.

As soon as you were within reach, Azriel pulled you closer by your waist and smashed his lips against yours. He tasted like coffee and mint, and erased any trace of drunkenness from last night. You tangled your manicured fingers between his locks, shamefully scratching the nape of his neck with your long nails.

They differed from Azriel’s bitten ones. Your short dress from his baggy clothes, and your dyed hair from his untamed ones. While you liked to shine in the public, to dress up and party, Azriel preferred to be quiet, thrift clothes and study. To the campus, you were the bimbo, and he was the nerd.

But you were his bimbo and he was your nerd.

“How was the party?” Azriel asked between kisses, his lips not staying for too long on yours.

“Good. Missed you” you almost whined when he pulled back too soon, and he chuckled.

“Missed you too. Did you have fun?”

You hummed as his hands lowered until they cupped the edge of your ass. The dress was short enough he could pull it up until anyone could see your panties, but neither of you cared. He had to lean down to do so, and you took advantage to deepen the kiss.

On the outside, Azriel might have looked like the shy, nerdy student, but he was freaky. You had been surprised when a hook-up with your assigned tutor turned out in the best night of your life, and there was nothing that could unhook you from him.

His hands were big enough to squeeze most of your ass, kneading it just like you loved it. Roughly, you were pushed into his body. Azriel was always semi-hard when you came to view, and you always took care of choosing the shortest and most provocative dress in his presence.

Few things were better than a good night out and a good morning fucking.

“I’ve got a surprise for you. Can I take you to my room?”

“You don’t have to ask”

But he did, breaking away your heated kiss. Azriel pushed the bridge of his glasses up and gave you a crooked smile, offering you his hand. You gladly took it and let him guide you to his room. The farthest, the darkest, but also the neatest. Azriel spent a good part of his time in there, and you loved it. He had incorporated you slowly in it, from the spare clothes in his closet for you to the stupid crafts you did together when you were bored.

“And what did you do last night? Started studying for the next semester?” you teased him, and he gave you a sideway look.

“I could, but I was busy with Mor”

“What were you doing with Mor?”

Your frown was instant, as the jealousy that rose to your chest. Morrighan was his friend, and you respected that, but you knew he had liked her in the past. That the woman was gorgeous, brilliant and smart in ways you didn’t complement Azriel. You liked her enough to be kind and maybe envious, but the notice of her with Azriel left you with a sour taste in the mouth.

Azriel chuckled at the edge of your tone and didn’t answer. If anyone had reasons to be jealous, was him, yet he never was. You had quite the reputation in college, and dressed to impress. More than once, you had been walking with Azriel and received not so subtle glances. You had even gotten the barista’s number when you asked for his order. And through all of that, Azriel had just shrugged and told you he trusted you.

So, for his sake, you tried to do the same.

During the longest seconds in your life, you were quiet. You sat on his bed and crossed your arms across your chest. Azriel closed the door behind him, just as you heard the first groan from his roommate, and turned around so he could face you.

The height difference, the size difference, warmed you in every place of your body. Azriel loved the gym just as he loved his books, and there was not a part of his body that he didn’t work. You liked the difference, liked his big form and how it towered over you even standing. As you sat in silence, you bit the inside of your cheek to control yourself.

“We went to the tattoo parlor, since she knows the owner. I wanted something done” he watched your frown with diversion, and continued when you said nothing. “So, you can be jealous of her, who has a girlfriend now, but I’m supposed to be fine with guys drooling over you last night?”

“I didn’t look at them”

“I didn’t look at her” he answered back, and took off his tee.

The sleeveless piece of cloth didn’t hide much, but you still lost your breath when it hit the ground. His muscled, tattooed chest came to view, and that was enough to make you get up. It wasn’t Mor’s lips that had left marks two nights ago on his left shoulder, or who had bitten his pierced nipple until he had come into his pants in the library’s bathroom.

It was you who had caused the tent in his pant, that caused his eyes to darken when you stepped closer. You placed your hand over his right thigh, the muscles tightening underneath. His boner hit your stomach and you pushed yourself against it, opening your mouth to apologize, or maybe to suck the life out of him.

“Don’t you want to know what I got?” he asked, sounding on edge.

“I don’t understand half of your tattoos. Whatever you got is hot and perfect, just like you”

“Look down, princess” Azriel groaned when your nail touched his dick.

“On my knees?”

You were ready to do so, or let him bend you over the table. He could do with your body as he pleased, but you were caught off guard when you noticed the reddish, new ink wrapped in invisible paper. It looked delicate against the rest of his tattoos, new and beautiful. Right between his hips, where the dark trail of dark hair had just been removed, was a new tattoo.

In his v-line, that you licked and adored and stared at so much. With the nickname he had gifted you since he met you and the stupid, childless heart you drew on every notebook of his.

Princess ♡

Your breath came out shaky as you traced the letters with your finger. If it wasn’t for the make-up, you had so carefully put on that morning with a killing headache, you would have burst into tears. His own hand covered yours and helped you trace the missing letters, and the heart.

It should have been distracting to look at it while his dick demanded your attention inches lower, but you couldn’t look away. Not when you felt a hard clench on your heart that left you lightheaded.

“Do you like it?” it was a whisper in the dark room, a spark of doubt that made you look up.

How could you not like it, not like anything about such a perfect man? You nodded enthusiastically, your other hand searching blindly for his.

“Why did you get that?”

“Because I love you, and I want to carry you with me always” Azriel’s eyes were kind, and soft, and loving – and they were making you dizzy with desire.

“Did it hurt too much?” you asked, looking down again at the tattoo. You, who had smooth and unmarked skin, couldn’t phantom the pain of a nursing needle to draw blood. “It must have”

“Worth every second. Lay in bed, princess. I need to be between your legs”

He didn’t let you take the initiative and threw you on his bed with a quick move. Azriel towered over you for a second before kneeling between your already open, wide legs, and leaving his glasses on the. He smirked with no doubts as he pulled the hem of your dress over your panties. His fingers were rough, pressing hard enough to leave red marks on its way.

You only bit your lower lip when he rose your dress to your waist and sneaked his hand beneath, the edge of his fingers pressing over your breasts.

With the idea of that outcome, you hadn’t bothered with a bra, and his eyes darkened even more at the discovery. You watched his throat work around the new information as he rose his body higher, now covering your breasts with his hands. He squeezed them, keeping them trapped in his palms as he lowered where you needed him.

“I’m gonna erase all those looks from last night” he promised, hands retreating following your curved. “Whose got you this wet, hm?”

“Azzie, don’t be mean”

Azriel was in your hands the moment his nickname fell from your lips, and at your mercy when you used that whiney, flirty tone. He didn’t even bother taking off your panties – he tore them off. Like a sheet of paper, like a piece of cake. You moaned his name, and it came out like a yelp when he dug in without reservations.

His tongue was feral as he licked a long stripe between your entrance to your clit. He pressed it against your clit and actually trapped it between his teeth for a moment. The barrier between pain and pleasure was hard to tell when he snuck his hands under your ass and lifted you a few inches for him to devour.

“Love this so much” you spoke with a content smile, as he massaged your ass in silent appreciation. “Love you”

One of your hands reached to his hair, pushing his face closer to your center. He agreed and pushed one finger inside you. Your mind emptied when he began pumping it in and out, curling it just in the right spot before pulling out and replacing it with his tongue.

Cassian pounded on the wall and yelled at you to be quiet, and Azriel pounded back harder as a fuck you response. You didn’t have it in you to care about him as Azriel pulled you closer by the ass, your legs laying boneless against his wide back.

His nose brushed your clit, up and down, and you weren’t sure he could breathe from how passionate and hard he was eating you out. You called his name wordlessly, your mouth emitting only broken noises.

“So good for me, princess. My beautiful princess” his voice was guttural, so primal it made you lock his head between your legs. “Give me one, come on. Give me the first one so I can wreck you from behind”

“That sounds clinically dangerous!”

Azriel growled against your clit and parted your folds with his chin. He ran his lips through all of them, and by the time he pushed his finger back in, you were cumming on his face and screaming so loud his name you could have woken up the rest of the campus. He caressed your lower regions as you came down from your high, accompanying your orgasm with lazy, long stripes through your folds.

When Azriel came back up, his chin and mouth bright from your juices and his hair sticking in every direction, you were already ready for round two. He didn’t need to be told, and he rose leaving a trail of bites up your body.

He briefly stopped to leave two twin marks between your breasts, so round and perfect and purple you were squirming under him again.

“Azzie” it had been the only word you were capable of saying, and your mind cleared down for a second

“Was that good? Worthy princess treatment after a night out?” Azriel asked, leaving wet kisses on your neck.

“Perfect”

You hugged his back as he pulled himself above you, and your nails left angry, red marks across his lower waist. You pulled the band of his sport shorts and underwear down, and squeezed his hard ass just like he had been doing to yours. His dick sprung free with little effort, and he rubbed himself against your side as you caught your breath.

It wasn’t a one-time thing with Azriel, and you heard Cassian muttering about calling 911 before turning on the music. It took Azriel at least three of your orgasm to be content, and he could cum another three before he let you go. He always stopped, for your sake, when your legs couldn’t hold you up anymore and you had tears ruining your perfect make-up.

Few things turned him more on than being the cause of that ruined make-up.

Before he could empty your mind again, you quickly brought up the only coherent thought that kept pounding your head.

“I want your name too. On me”

“A tattoo?” he raised a brow.

Azriel didn’t stop rubbing himself slowly but tightly against your thigh. His hand was over your sore cunt, in a possessive manor he only showed inside the bedroom. At your petition, he pressed his finger tighter.

“Here. Between my breasts, with your name” you quickly explained. “I want Azzie between my breasts, so each time someone looks at me, he knows these are yours”

“You are mine”

None of your relationships had lasted as long or had been as deep. You were the type of girl who would have his ex-name tattooed, but truth was you were wary of tattoos, and Azriel knew that. He had tried to get you into a simple one, something he could draw for you and hold your hand through it.

His body was a map of ink and drawings, some of them goofy and some of them deep. He liked your innocent, smooth skin, but he found himself breathing harder at the thought of his name on your chest. Thinking of how many kisses, how many marks he would leave there every given moment.

Azriel recalled not a month ago pulling down your cleavage between classes to kiss your nipples sore, the hand he always sneaked to unclasp your bra and touch you beneath the lace. His name, the nickname that brought him to his knees, decorating that skin.

“Are you sure?” he didn’t want to get his hopes up, not when he was ready to tattoo you himself right then and there. With Cassian playing loud classical music in the next room.

“And a crown drawn by you on the top” you rose a teasing eyebrow at his lack of movement, given the discussion for finished. “Are you going to wreck me from behind or do I have to ask Cassian for help?”

Azriel broke into a loud laugh before smacking your cunt loudly, then manhandling you around. With his left arm holding you by your waist, he pressed himself against your back. His dick brushed all the right spots between your bodies, but your hands were trapped under you and you couldn’t touch him.

Complaining would only make him take out those beautiful handcuffs you knew he owned so you only bit your lip and whined like the good girl you were for him.

“I’m gonna tattoo my name between your breasts, if that’s what you want” he whispered against your ear, his other hand appearing around your throat. “I love you so much, princess. So fucking much”

Azriel squeezed your throat at the same time he entered you with a rough, only thrust. It avoided the moan that died in your chest, that had you rolling back your eyes in pleasure. It didn’t stop Azriel from moaning your name out loud, loud enough for Cassian to turn up the stupid music.

The headboard banged against the wall and his glasses fell to the ground, as he left you no room to breathe, to recover. Maybe he had managed to shut you down, but he was doing nothing about his own sounds. You were vaguely aware of Cassian slamming the door of the apartment after screaming some profanities, but you didn’t acknowledge him.

Not when Azriel seemed to be trying to tattoo his name deep into your body and soul.

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[tadpolesonalgae]

Up The Junction

ModernYA!Azriel x reader

a/n: set circa 2008, England :) also, this is heavily inspired by Up The Junction by Squeeze if you want to give that a cheeky listen 🧡💛

warnings: angst, smut -> pregnancy, slightly bittersweet ending but I think they’re happy :)

Word count: 7,194

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“Will you marry me?”

Your jaw drops open, hands flying to your mouth as you nearly stumble back a step.

He’s down on one knee, presenting a slim, golden band in a simple velvet box, hazel eyes intent and nervous. Slightly jittery as his chest rises and falls.

Your lower lip wobbles, vision blurring, small sobs already wracking your chest. He waits patiently, anxiously, as you try to get the words out, pushing tears away, wiping your nose as you sniffle.

“Yes…!” You cry. “Yes! A thousand times yes!”

Relief sweeps through his body, and he’s wrapping you up in his arms, raising you into the air as he swings you around before lowering you again to the floor, pulling you tight. You cry harder, trying to wipe your nose on the scratchy cuff of your navy jumper, thankful you’d decided to put that wash on a few days ago.

“I promise I’ll be good to you,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion, and you squeeze into him tighter. “You won’t regret it,” he swears, managing to pull away long enough to cup your jaw, pressing a kiss to your tear-stained cheek. “I’d never regret it,” you mumble out, still sobbing heavily, trembling with happiness and that rush of joy. Your whole lives together. That feeling of wanting it to be always; forever—requited.

“I’ll be a good husband to you,” he murmurs thickly, gently holding your hand in his larger one, pulling away long enough to slide the thin band around your ring finger.

Fresh tears drip down your cheeks as you raise it up to the watery sunlight, crying at what it symbolises. “I’ll make a good wife, Az,” you manage, turning to look at him with a wide, wobbly smile on your lips. “We’ll make this work. Together.”

Hazel eyes gleam, able to see your reflection in their glassy surface as he nods, still holding you close. “Together.”

—

You’d moved in together after college, happy and engaged, feeling on top of the world. Like nothing could get you down.

You were going to spend your lives together, how could you ever be sad?

It was tricky in places, but you’d found someone renting their garage, a basement attached, fully equipped with a bathroom, working plumbing, and an in-built kitchen. Sure, it was tight, but it was affordable, and most importantly, temporary. It was okay to start small, to build your way up to a family. Rome wasn’t built in a day, after all.

The basement was dingy, one small window in the far wall of the open-plan room, the bed pushed into the corner beneath it. A sink was along the other wall leading to the door, some counter space available along with a washing machine, hob, and oven. The fridge was kept at the far end of the raised surfaces, adjacent to the bed, squeezed in to fit.

The only slight problem was washing. The bathroom was tiny, the only private space in the basement, hidden behind a waterproof curtain in swimming-pool blue, containing a sink and toilet. No shower or bath. You’d have to hand wash.

But it was fine. The two of you couldn’t be happier living together, having your own space and privacy. A place to start building your home.

It took a while to get on your feet after graduation, but Az had managed to get a job in IT, working to keep things functioning at a local law firm, while you managed to snag a spot as a receptionist at a nearby motel. The hours were difficult, with your shifts constantly being moved around, sometimes working double over a day, sometimes called to be in overnight, switching out at two in the morning to make your way back to the cramped basement.

Azriel’s hours were set, but they were long and tiring, often he would get back exhausted, having to explain the same thing over and over to big-wigs who couldn’t care less about how specialised he was in his area of expertise.

A year later, and you’d gathered enough savings to buy a computer, so Az would be able to work from home in the events of…something happening.

That talk had been had late one night, after he’d gotten back from his shift and you were headed out for your own, how it might be a good idea to start thinking about what the future will hold. Who else might be joining your lives. The conversation had ended with a giddy smile on your face, Az’s eyes practically glowing with happiness, the dimple at the edge of his mouth making its rare appearance at the possibility of a future baby.

And now that safety net was in place, the hunky piece of equipment having taken up a valuable spot of counter space, a bar stool bought so he’d be able to work.

You’d become more relaxed after that. A air of electricity between you, charged and excited, yet neither of you dared address that elephant in the room. The shared desire neither of you had the courage to yet voice. Confined to the dark hours where naked bodies would press together, and he’d go slower, rolling his hips deeper, more tenderly that you were accustomed to, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was you were together, together and in love. So intense it was like wildfire.

The first time that subject had been broached was entirely accidental. He’d been kissing down your throat, your nipples sore from the attention of his touch and teeth, hands gripping your hips firmly with your thighs spread apart. You’d both been so near that edge, shared heat passing between you when he’d brushed a spot inside of you, having you squeeze him so deliciously.

“Fuck,” he’d panted, skin flushed with colour, inky hair flopping over his brow, swept across to one side, curling at its ends from sweat. “So fucking good,” he’d praised, bucking his hips, angling so he’d hit that spot again. “Gonna knock you up. Fill you to the brim.” The orgasm had found you right then and there, crying out as you came, fluttering around him, mumbling how badly you wanted him to take the condom off, to finish inside of you.

It had been the morning after the two of you had finally sat down and discussed those secret thoughts, all you’d needed was the others confirmation, and you were ready. It could take a while to conceive, and you wanted to take action before your fertility began decreasing, chances slipping away.

The process had been draining, with you taking a test each month, wondering if that time would be different, if maybe this time he’d taken root inside of you, instead of your cycle being late. But the cramps started again and again, kicking in a mere few days after you having taken the test, as if to spite you. And each time he’d comfort you, wrapping you in his arms when you opened the the small curtain, shaking your head sadly, with him reminding you there’s still time. You’re in no hurry to conceive; this is why it was good you’d started early. You had more leeway.

But then it had been two years since you’d initially gotten engaged, and still no signs of life.

It wasn’t as if he was lacking either. He was thorough in his attention, making sure to keep his hips pressed tight with your own in the minutes after you’d both found completion, keeping release tucked away inside of you.

Slowly, you began worrying—if it wasn’t him, it had to be you.

So you’d made an appointment, searching for any kind of sign to continue trying. There’s be no point if you really were infertile. What could you do then? How could you build a family if your body was wrecked irreparably. But there had been nothing wrong with you that the doctor could find, so you’d gone home, lost and confused. Why wasn’t anything happening?

Azriel had suggested maybe it was hormones—neither of you could deny you were stressing over the lack of development. You weren’t seeing friends as frequently anymore either. In fact, it had been weeks since you’d last hung out with anyone other than your fiancé, so a trip had been arranged. It had been messy, with constantly changing plans, but eventually you settled on a day. Az, Rhys, Cass, and Nesta would be heading to the theatres, while you, Feyre, and Elain spent a girls day together—likely shopping, listening to music, preparing a dinner for when the others returned.

Your own plans aside, most of the confusion had centred on Az’s end, struggling to find a film they’d all be happy to watch. The decisions had been so tiring and seemingly so endless they’d decided to split and see two separate ones instead—much to Cassian’s grumpiness. Az and Rhys would get to see The Dark Knight—a movie you know he’s secretly been desperate to see ever since the villain’s actor’s unfortunate passing earlier that year. Meanwhile Nesta would be dragging her boyfriend to a film adaptation of a book series she’d been subtly obsessed with for years—Twilight.

The day came, and you had kissed your fiancé on the cheek before heading out, making your way to the bus stop to take you to Feyre and Rhys’ place, where the three of you would be spending most of your time. It had been good getting to see the two of them again. It almost felt like you were back in college, chatting away in the cafeteria, slouched on sofas while the radio blasted out whatever was in the charts.

All three of you had gotten into their truck, Elain the only one with a licence so she took the wheel while driving you to the shopping centre. It was all so exciting! It really had been so long since you’d done something like this, having taken out some money beforehand as a precaution, in case you saw something you really liked. Az had insisted, despite the tight budget you managed to make work.

Elain had grabbed a large ceramic mug, small flowers growing up the sides, while you and Feyre had taken an interest in a pretty pair of ruby red heels, the silver buckle contrasting with the popping colour. There was no way you’d be able to afford them, but it didn’t stop you from dreaming, nor did it stop you from encouraging Feyre to buy them, seeing how her eyes twinkled, her mouth pulling up into a wide smile as you spoke about what to wear with them.

Eventually though, the two of you had left the storefront, finished ogling, Feyre having ultimately decided to leave them be. You couldn’t help feel she knew you wanted them, but were unable to buy them, choosing to move on and pick something else—a matching mug with her sister, insisting on grabbing another for you and a forth for their older sister. If it hadn’t been for the black mug with a howling wolf on the side they’d insisted on getting for Nesta, you wouldn’t have accepted their gift. Though that’s likely why they did it in the first place.

The day came and went, cheeks aching from smiling all day, your new mug kept in your bag, precious and exciting, your heart skipping each time you subtly peeked down to catch a gleam of the glazed surface.

Az, Rhys, Cass, and Nesta had gotten back later as you’d anticipated, and while she made no explicit comment about the film, she’d had an excited air about her, Cassian keeping his arm wrapped around her the rest of the night. Az had given you a happy smile, dropping a kiss to your forehead, asking how your day went, and you’d mentioned the heels before you’d proudly shown him the mug in the privacy of the hallway of Rhys and Feyre’s home. Carefully leaving out the gift part. It had been an act of kindness on their end, and you knew Az would insist on paying one of them back if he knew, so you kept it as your secret.

—

Life resumed its normal pace, but you were feeling happier, more uplifted since having gotten out of the cramped and slightly smelly basement, spirits raised from spending a day with your friends.

And then a few months later, you’d missed your cycle.

You’d hardly dared hope, having rushed to a nearby pharmacy to purchase three tests, shakily handing over the money before hurrying home and drawing the swimming-pool shower curtain to a close to give yourself some privacy.

Az had gotten back a while later, calling out for you as soon as he’d stepped foot in the basement, but had been greeted with silence. Then quiet sobs coming from the bathroom.

You remember it so clearly. How he’d hurriedly strode over to the small washroom, calling out for you, making sure you were okay, concern heavy in his voice. It had been then you’d appeared, a positive pregnancy test held preciously between shaky fingers.

“You’re—…” His eyes had started gleaming then, hot and wet, and he’d wrapped you up in his arms, your feet raising off the ground and he lifted you up, your hands locking over his shoulders as you’d managed a tearful nod. “It’s happening, Az,” you’d cried softly, sniffling, wiping your nose on the worn sleeve of your top. “We’re going to have a baby. It’s really happening.”

He’d squeezed you tighter, before setting you down on the floor, hands lightly gripping your upper arms as you pushed wetness from your cheeks. You hadn’t cried like this since your engagement.

“And you’re sure this is what you want?” He’d asked, brows curved as he searched your face. “You’re happy with this?”

A fresh wave of tears had started all over again, a croaky laugh creaking from your throat as you’d nodded. “Over the moon, Az.”

—

The pace had changed all over again, and you’d noticed how he kept the fridge fully stocked, even if it strained on your budget. More expensive foods had made their appearance, no longer cheaping out to scrape by. If you were eating for two, Az had reasoned, he wanted you to be as well-fed as possible. A good diet was important, and you needed more than pasta with the occasional vegetable cooked in.

It wasn’t soon after that you’d noticed the coffee smell fading from his shirts, becoming fainter and fainter after each big clean. When you’d brought it up to him however, he hadn’t minded, reasoning he’d been needing to drink less of it anyway, and now was as good a time as any to start waning off it.

Parenting books had begun cropping up around the place, briefly making an appearance beside his robust computer before being read thoroughly, and returned to the library, moving onto the next one. You couldn’t help how your lips tugged upward at the edges each time a new title appeared, glancing down at your stomach, no noticeable bump yet showing. Though that never stopped either of you from laying hands over your abdomen, pressing close, treasuring the gift.

You’d told your parents, and Az had broken the news to your friends, and you couldn’t have been happier. Finally, three years into your engagement, things were coming together. Hard work paying off.

He’d been trying to get you to rest more often, but you knew you couldn’t afford to take time off before your maternity leave started. Money was still tight, and you savoured every cheque you received, steadily adding to your savings pound by pound. You knew Az had been working overtime more often, taking every chance he could to bring in some extra cash—every little counted now, and you both knew it.

The evenings you had alone together grew further and further apart though, and while you tried not to fret, you missed spending time with him. Eating together, lounging atop a lumpy mattress before sleep, one of you washing the dishes while the other dried and put away.

But routine had shifted: more frequently you would cook, eat supper, and leave his in the oven to keep it warm for when he eventually made it back. It wasn’t everything, but physical intimacies were rarer too, having a few minutes of conversation and hugging, before he was passed out. In those moments guilt weighted in your gut—he was working himself to the bone, the slight darkness he’d always had beneath his eyes becoming more pronounced as the weeks had worn on.

At one point you’d begun timing your schedule with Feyre’s, catching the bus over to her place whenever she had a gap in her shifts—usually a Wednesday, sometimes a Thursday. Weekends had still been precious though, when Az would be back by five instead of ten or eleven, and Sundays when he wouldn’t be working at all.

Between chatting about your lives, future plans, where you’d like to go on holiday to, the topic pf your baby had come up. It had been a surreal experience, but you’d crumbled a little, admitting how much you were missing him. Feyre had sat quietly and listened to every confession, nursing her tea, contained in one of the matching mugs.

“He isn’t around as much, Fey,” you manage, peering into your tea, tucked up on one of her sofas. “He’s running himself ragged, and I don’t know what to do. It’s dark when he leaves and it’s dark when he returns. He leaves early and comes home late, and I know we…it’s difficult…but I need him,” you admit softly. “I need him to be around, so we can do this together.”

Tears had splashed into your tea then, and you’d both discarded your mugs as she’d shuffled closer, arms wrapping around you as you’d cried into the soft cashmere of her jumper. “Am I being selfish?” You’d mumbled out, throat aching from how you were trying to be quiet. “I know he’s doing it for us, but, I just…”

“You aren’t selfish,” she’d whispered, hand stroking up and down over your back. “It’s difficult, like you said. But it will pass, remember? It’s a difficult patch in your life, but you have to trust it will pass. Things will get better.”

You’d sniffled, nodding into her shoulder, pulling back to dry your teary eyes. Guilt tightening around your throat, constricting across your chest as you felt your heart throb with strain.

“You can always come round here, too,” she’d reminded gently. “If you need to get out, I can move some things around, okay? You’re not alone. I know you’re head over heels for one another, but you’ve got us, too. Whenever you need us.”

The sobs had started afresh, but you managed a wobbly smile, playing with the golden band on your finger—an anxious habit you’d fallen into.

“Thanks, Fey.”

—

Christmas had rolled around, and it was the first time in months—years—you’d all been in the same place at once.

Mor had made it back from the states, Amren joining her on the trip back to meet up with everyone and celebrate.

Rhys and Feyre had hosted, and you couldn’t help but hope this would become a tradition of sorts. You’d missed them all acutely, easy days of college long in the past.

You’d all chipped in one way or another, and an agreement had been made to not do presents all around this year. Just spending time with another, with gifts permitted to be exchanged between couples.

The night had started, and straight off the bat you’d noticed the absence of any sort of alcohol, the sharp scent surprisingly noticeable in its absence, and your heart warmed at the thoughtfulness. You kept tight to Az most of the night, treasuring the minutes you spent together with him, and from the way his arm remained around you in some way, you got an inkling the distance might have been waring on him, too. More than you had thought.

Food was put together, and you’d taken the time to appreciate the scents, how much there was to consume—there’d definitely be leftovers. Pudding was brought out, non-alcoholic fruit cake, as well as some biscuits and other little treats.

Then the small gifts made their appearance, and you’d handed Az the small parcel you’d snuck into your bag earlier that night. He’d given an inquisitive look, a suspicious smile curving his mouth, but you’d grinned, nodding your head for him to hurry up and open it. His brows had risen in surprise when he saw the small guitar picks inside, coloured black, blue, and grey, then one with a flaming skull on.

Hazel had practically glowed as he’d smiled, pulling you tight, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. There hadn’t been much time for him to play in recent years, but you’d noticed how his eyes would sometimes flick to the discarded instrument, kept sealed away, leaned against the grey walls of the basement.

“Thank you,” he’d murmured, pulling away to look at you, before pressing another kiss to your forehead. “I hope you get more time to play this year,” you’d whispered back, hands greedily taking in his heat, memorising his feel while you had the chance.

His throat had rolled, then he’d stepped away, pulling something out from his pocket. “It’s not as good as yours,” he’d admitted thickly, almost nervously, “but I thought you might like it.”

You’d cocked your head, holding your palm out when he’d extended his closed fist, dropping something into your hand. It had been a small bracelet, and a smile had curved your lips when you’d noticed the slightly shoddy clasps, stray thread hanging out on one side. Along the string were some small square beads, the type with letters on you could purchase at a craft store, and you held the bracelet up to read the tiny name he’d spelled out.

“Mama bear?” You read aloud, eyes gleaming with heat as your mouth had stretched wide, a grin broadening your lips as you had beamed up at your fiancé with unabashed adoration. A relieved smile had played on his mouth then, nodding his head, affection clear on his features. “For the strongest person I know,” he’d whispered, hazel eyes soft at the edges.

You’d laughed then, shaking your head, but he’d kept that smile on his mouth, like he could see something you couldn’t, until you’d lightly patted him on his arm, telling him to stop spewing nonsense.

A gasp had drawn your attention away from him, turning to see Feyre opening what looked like a neatly wrapped shoe box, and you could make out the shock on her face. Your smile had broadened, happy she’s happy—Rhys was usually good when getting her presents, a twinge of joy that she’s also found someone who cared so deeply for her.

“What d’you get?” You’d asked, keeping tucked into Az’s side.

Panicked eyes had flitted to you before she covered it up, smiling as she shook her head, as if to say ‘oh, Rhysand’. But then you’d moved forward to see what he’d found for her, and you spotted those ruby heels in the box. Silver buckle gleaming beneath the kitchen lights.

Feyre had stiffened, but a smile had broken across your features, hugging her excitedly. “I’m so happy for you!” You’d whispered as you’d embraced, squeezing her tight and you felt as she began relaxing. Her arms had tentatively squeezed you back, leaning into you. “Thank you,” she’d murmured, before you’d both pulled away, Feyre glancing at your smiling face before reflecting the expression.

She’d pulled back after that, and you’d returned to Az’s side as you watched Feyre hug and kiss Rhys, how he’d smiled like he was the luckiest man in the world, and you couldn’t help the warmth that had spread across your face. You’d glanced up at Az, but his expression was unreadable, hazel eyes watching them intently. The open box on the table.

You’d nudged his side, linking your hand with his, guiding his attention back to you. “Want to get out of here?” You’d whispered, grinning, free palm over your abdomen. He’d swallowed thickly, but pulled together a faint smile, nodding.

The ride home had been quiet. Unusually so.

But sometimes he liked his peace, so you’d been happy to play with the bracelet around your wrist, smiling as you‘d looked out of the window into the dark streets outside.

“Those were the shoes you’d mentioned, weren’t they?” He’d asked into the silence.

You’d stiffened, fingers stuttering over the beads, turning to look at him, but he’d been staring ahead. “They wouldn’t have suited me anyway,” you’d said quietly, trying to push some humour into your voice to comfort him. “When would I have even worn them?”

In the low light you could make out how his jaw had worked. “They were.”

You’d lowered your head, peering down at the bracelet he’d given you. “Yeah.”

There’d been a tense silence, then he’d sighed, running a hand through his hair. “One day,” he’d murmured heavily, nodding to himself. “One day.”

You’d looked at hime again after that, wanting to squeeze his hand. “Together,” you’d added, quietly.

—

Winter had been harsh, and the heating had shut off throughout the basement, though it had been fixed within the week.

You’d kept closer those seven nights, and you’d secretly enjoyed the apparent misfortune. He’d been more attentive during that week, making sure you were kept warm, covering you in various jackets, though neither of you could really afford something tough enough to keep the chill out. But it hadn’t mattered when you were lying together, your back pressed to his front, his arm around your waist, hand settled over the noticeable bump in your stomach.

To this day, you can still remember the first time you’d felt her kick.

How you’d been together in bed, on a cold Sunday morning, and you’d felt something. A few moments later you’d felt it again, and had nearly started crying, gripping for Az’s hand to guide it over your abdomen, excitement glowing in your eyes as your baby had kicked again.

Azriel had smiled wide then, a look of awe on his face, gazing at you before returning his attention to your stomach. You’d watched him then, how his face had lit up each time he’d felt a kick, and that giddiness had warmed you up.

Proud of the father he’d already begun to change into.

—

Eight months in, and morning sickness had been running you thin.

It hadn’t been every morning, but more often than not you’d wake, been allowed a few minutes of peace to enjoy with him, then nausea would be creeping up your throat. You’d give a resigned groan, before rolling (actually rolling) out of bed and wobbling to the toilet to throw up.

Azriel had been there for you at first, holding your hair out of your face, soothing your back, reminding how well you were handling the pregnancy, but as you began staying up later waiting for him to come home, with nothing to do throughout the day, you’d begun sleeping in too. He’d never wanted to wake you—wanting you to have as much rest as possible—so had quietly gotten up and headed off to work before the sun was up, letting you sleep in.

Consequently, you’d be alone through the morning sickness, heaving into the toilet bowl, legs trembling. Sometimes having to spend the first hour of your day changing the sheets after having vomited all over them.

It had been getting harder to cope, without him around. But you knew he was working hard—and you needed the money.

The strain hadn’t been helped when one evening he’d brought the bracelet up. You’d never taken it off, since without a shower or bath, there was no reason to, as a flannel could move around it.

“Did you wear that to work?” He’d asked, when you’d been laying on the bed while he washed and dried the dishes. You were too large to reach at this point, so it made more sense for him to do them. Sound reasoning you had detested as it was just more work for him to do while you lazed around, unable to help or contribute.

“Yup,” you’d replied, smiling again as you’d glanced down at the handmade gift. Your heart had always warmed whenever you read his little message, gradually allowing that possibility to take root. Maybe he really did think you were strong. Maybe you actually were. “Never take it off.”

He hadn’t looked at you as you had anticipated, no smile thrown over his shoulder as he’d continued washing the dishes.

Your brows had narrowed then, worry tightening your throat. “Why?”

Azriel had been silent for a bit, putting the plates away on the drying board. “And your work didn’t mind?” He’d asked. “They didn’t think it was unprofessional? Or distracting?”

“No,” you’d laughed quietly, “they thought it was a wonderful gift, and thoughtful. Nancy complimented it endlessly.” His posture had gone a little rigid, spine stiffening when he moved onto drying. “You showed it to everyone?” He’d asked quietly, and worry had hollowed out your ears. “It’s precious, Az,” you’d replied, “of course I did.”

He’d gone silent then, choosing to focus on rubbing off the water with the dish towel.

“Az?” You’d shifted on the bed, heaving yourself into a more upright position. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he’d replied lightly, carefully putting your special mug aside.

Your chest had tightened, and you’d swallowed thickly before setting your slightly swollen feet on the floor, walking to be beside him. “Az…” you’d murmured, hands wrapping over his forearm, pulling him to a halt as hazel eyes had at last swept over you, dark and exhausted. “Please talk to me,” you’d requested quietly, fingers linking with his damp ones. “What’s bothering you?”

Moments had ticked by, then his eyes had grown hot and wet, brows pulling together as tears had escaped down his cheek. “I’m sorry it was such a shit present,” he’d whispered, hands moving to grip yours when he’d turned to face you fully, crying. “I’m sorry I can’t do more for you. I should’ve gotten you something better, something you deserved.”

Your heart had ached painfully, struggling to keep your own tears at bay, as his head had lowered with shame, hands shaking lightly as he held onto you. He hadn’t needed to bring the shoes up for you to know that’s what it was about. His perceived insufficiency, and inability to care for you.

“Az, I…” You had cut yourself off, trying to choke down tears to comfort and reassure him. He was perfect, how could he ever feel like he wasn’t enough, when he was almost singlehandedly keeping all three of you together and looked after. “Az, I don’t care about presents,” you’d managed, “this?” —you’d nodded to the bracelet— “This I love, because you made it for me. Between all your work, and cooking, and caring, you found the time to make me something I could have on me at all times,” you’d said, tears dripping down your cheeks as you’d stared at one another.

“It’s so important to me, because of you,” you’d cried. “You do so much to look after us, working yourself to the bone… I love you, Az. You’re everything to me. The whole world and more.”

“You don’t—… You don’t regret it?” He’d managed thickly, keeping his hold on your hands. “Being with me?”

You’d shaken your head, trying to get the words out as your throat constricted. “No…no I don’t,” you’d cried, peering up at him. “A thousand times yes, remember?”

His brows had pulled together then, pain gleaming in that swirling cosmos of hazel as he nodded, breathing heavily, leaning over you as his arms had wrapped over your shoulders. You could feel his shudders, your hands gripping the back of his shirt—one of his favourites, a comfort item of sorts, with one of the bands he likes printed on the front.

“I love you, Az,” you’d whispered, shaking together. “I love you for you.”

—

Looking back, things had improved for a bit. Until he’d tried to give more of himself.

That had been when you’d begun crumbling.

He’d pushed himself harder, and had managed to get a part-time job in a car-repair shop, having already been familiar with the maths of engineering and having had a fascination with mechanics when he had been younger.

Just like that, the weekends had been taken too.

He’d leave for work before you woke, stop at six, then help out for a couple of hours after dark, returning when you were asleep. Saturdays and Sundays were no longer spent with him—he’d sold them off. Bargaining his time for your future.

He’d work all day, weekends the busiest as it was when folk with regular nine-to-five jobs would have the time to take their cars round for a checkup, or to be evaluated and told where to go if they were unable to fix the problem. You’d hardly seen him in that final, tiring month of pregnancy.

Would he stop once you gave birth? Somehow you’d begun to doubt it.

You’d admired his conviction, his drive and determination to see something through to the end, until it had ultimately taken him away from you. All when you’d most needed him. No amount of talking had been able to convince him otherwise, so set on being useful. On proving to himself he wasn’t insufficient—that he could look after you.

It had been then that you’d left him. Leaving a sticky note on the oven handle telling him you’d gone to Feyre’s, and that you’d needed space.

And he’d given it.

It hadn’t been unusual to chat through notes, but with his long working hours, you’d treasured the new form of communication. Reading and rereading each one he’d left, memorising his handwriting, the tiny hearts he’d added, or the lopsided smileys he’d doodled before heading out. But that hadn’t been enough for you, so you’d reached for help elsewhere.

A few days had gone by before the landline had rung, your fiancé having become too worried to leave silence for any longer, even if you had requested space. He couldn’t leave you like that.

Not soon after, you’d moved back in with your parents, and the guilt you’d felt when Rhys had offered to be the one to tell Az had nearly had your legs giving out. Shame so crushing you’d felt faint. Especially upon accepting.

God knew you wouldn’t have been able to handle that pressure of explaining it to him. Not when you had been on the verge of giving birth. It would have been any day then, and you’d been under enough stress you’d been worried for the health of the baby.

It had worked out in the end though.

—

The knocker thuds thrice against the hardwood door of your parents house, and you instinctively glance over to little Valerie, but she remains soundly asleep.

Your mother smiles as she passes by, heading for the door since you’re still struggling to walk after being discharged from the hospital on the condition that you rest.

You pull Val closer, wanting to keep her as nearby as possible, the pressure in your chest easing as you look over her, quiet and peaceful—for the moment, at least.

Minutes later your mother returns, a gentle look on her face. “It’s Azriel,” she says hesitantly. “Are you feeling up to speaking with him?” At his name alone you feel your eyes grow hot, but you push the feeling away, glancing down at Val. It’s been five days since you gave birth, and he’s yet to see his daughter in person. He deserves to meet her. So you nod.

Your mother watches silently for a little, before reciprocating the gesture. “Do you want to be alone?”

Your throat rolls, but you manage to answer, “yes…we’ll be okay.” She nods again, before turning to leave, “your father and I needed to get some more shopping in anyway—good a time as any, right?” You smile, before she disappears out of sight, and you breathe deeply, holding Val slightly closer, groaning as you straighten on the sofa.

Footsteps scuff in the hallway, and you brace yourself.

He’s messy tidy. Clearly having made an effort, but unable to conceal the circles beneath his eyes, the exhaustion on his features. Hair a little disheveled, likely from playing with it out of stress as you sometimes used to catch him doing.

“Hey,” you manage, pushing a faint smile to your lips.

Hazel eyes scan you carefully before settling on the bundle in your arms, unable to conceal the emotion that flashes through his face. His throat rolls, raising his gaze to yours. Licking his dry lips. “How are you?” He asks thickly, entering the living room, boots having been discarded at the door.

“Good,” you reply, hoarsely. “Still aching in places, but, you know…”

“Staying strong,” he finishes, voice slightly raw. He nods to himself, “you’ve always been good at that.”

There’s a pause in the conversation, and you look at one another.

Then tears are spilling out from both of you, and you’re trying to hold your sobs in to not disturb Val, while Azriel rubs at his face, trying to get himself under control.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes raggedly, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone like that. I just—… I wanted to look after you. I want you to be secure—for us to be secure, but in doing so I left you all alone, and I’m so fucking sorry. I was so stupid.” You sniffle, wiping your nose while trying to dry your cheeks. “Az, it’s fine. I, I get it. You were just trying to—”

“It’s not fine,” he breathes rawly, hand over his face as he rubs his eyes. “You needed me, and I wan’t there. And I can’t make up for that time. Fuck, I shouldn’t have left you like that. I’m so sorry.”

“Az…” you cry softly, trying to cover Val’s ears so she doesn’t wake.

He looks at you, hazel eyes glassy and red rimmed as he tries to pull himself together, to recompose himself for you. “Can you…do you think you can forgive me? I swear I won’t— I’ll never make such a stupid mistake again.”

“Az,” you sob, “I get it. Fuck, it hurt that you left like that, but how can I be mad when you were doing it to look after us?” The tears drip down your face, breathing in wet gasps as you try to pull it back in, wiping away the tears. “Of course I…of course it was difficult, but it came from a good place, Az. I won’t fault you for trying to look after us. I just— I just wish this hadn’t happened now. During the pregnancy, I mean.”

Azriel swallows thickly, grief clear on his face, looking more wrecked than when he’d first entered. “I’ll be better,” he manages quietly, still stood near the doorway, not wanting to impose if you don’t want him there in that moment. His heart simultaneously fractures and heals when he spots that stupid bracelet still kept around your wrist. He wonders if you’ve taken it off since he gave it to you.

“Az…” you sigh, tears still hot on your cheeks, not wanting to say what you have to. He stiffens at the tone, and it feels like you’ve already told him, hazel eyes devastated.

“Az, I think…I need some time.”

He holds completely still, but you’re practically able to see the world falling apart around him.

“It’s not…I don’t think it’s forever, but…for now. I can’t go back there. Into the basement,” you manage, lower lip wobbling, tugging down at the corners. “I’m sorry.”

“What does that mean?” He asks quietly, hardly a whisper. “Are we…do you not want the ring anymore?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know Az,” you cry, “I need time to think about it all. To figure how to go forward.”

He manages a slight nod of his head, breathing shallowly, then his eyes dip to the baby in your arms. “Can I…can I hold her?” He asks, brows curved desperately.

You nod, sniffling again, managing a small smile. “Yes. Yes, you can,” you breathe, trying to shift to make room for him as he walks over, and you turn Val over to face him.

Azriel settles on the sofa beside you, and you revel in that familiar dip of cushion, deprived of his familiarity for so long. It’s a subconscious shift for both of you, how he’s turned slightly toward you on the sofa, with you leaning into him as he holds your baby with reverent care, wincing at how his hands confront her youth.

“You can’t see them at the moment, but she’s got your eyes,” you murmur, moving closer to him still, taking in his familiar scent, nestling into his body, aching to feel him at your side again.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers, eyes growing glassy, and your smile becomes real and alive again. “She’s in good health too. The doctor’s said she was born at the expected weight, and they had nothing to be concerned over so long as she’s taken care of,” you add, head leaning against his shoulder.

Azriel glances over to you, and your breath catches. The proximity at last returned, alone and together in peace. “You did so well,” he whispers, hazel eyes swirling with emotion. “I’m glad you think so,” you whisper back, fighting off tears.

You settle back into quiet, both of you watching as Val continues sleeping, her little face calm and void of disturbance.

Neither of you really know how you end up holding your baby again, tucked into Azriel’s lap with his arms wrapped around both of you. Your head rests on his shoulder, fast asleep with Val comfortably held between you, both her parents at her swaddled fingertips.

Azriel holds both of you close long after his legs go numb, relieved he hasn’t entirely messed things up. He can’t have, if you’re allowing this. Allowing him to see the baby you made together, even after you had to make her practically on your own.

His arm shifts, thumb swiping over the beads of your bracelet, doubting it knows a surface other than your skin. You held onto it through the uncertainty, through the turbulence he unknowingly subjected you to. Never again.

He’ll never leave you on your own again. Especially not now you share a child.

Azriel’s lips brush against your temple, dropping a long, soft kiss to your skin.

He’ll be better this time. For both of you.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[a-frog-with-a-laptop]

I see people talking about jobs they think the batboys would have and Azriel is always a hitman or something which yeah i agree with but personally i like to think of something completely different and imagine him as a circus performer.

He just graduated from his circus school and was looking for somewhere to perform. He has filled out multiple auditions and sent in multiple videos showing his skills yet all replied saying that he wasn’t what they needed at the time or correcting him what was wrong and wishing him luck in the future. But one.

This place however was not in his home country with all his friends and family but instead across the world in a foreign place. 

Azriel spoke to Rhys and Cassian about it and they said that he should go. Meet new people. It was his dream to do this and if he’s given the chance he should go for it. Mor, Amren(surprisingly), and the three Archeron sisters agreed too and one day he woke up with a plane ticket to the country on his bedstand scheduled to leave the next week.

At the airport his family all said goodbye and while he was terrified of flying so long and far he distracted himself with what his life might be like if he was accepted into the circus and finally started performing.

When Azriel finally landed on the ground he almost dropped to his knees and kiss the ground but instead he pulled out his phone and called his brothers to inform him that he survived and went to get his luggage and then get a taxi to his hotel.

He arrived two weeks early so he took the chance to travel around and sightsee before live auditions, obviously not forgetting to train where he can.

In the final week before live auditions the circus opened their own personal gym for all those who were to audition could train in their skills.

Azriel however didn’t go due to social anxiety and anxiety from the auditions himself. He didn’t feel like going and seeing his competition before the day and feel like he already failed before actually getting judged.

On the day though he arrived 20 minutes early(on time for him) and just got to warming up. Azriel avoided looking at anyone or drawing attention to him yet it felt like all eyes were on him.

When he was called in his nerves grew to the point that he felt sick. What if he fell? What if his clothes ripped? What if he was unable to do any of the drills and skills given to him? 

He introduced himself and what his main skills were. He’d rehearsed this multiple times. “Azriel ____, 28 years, main skills in cyr wheel and aerial straps but also trained in trapeze and tramp”.

Azriel mentally tapped himself on his back for not messing up and then he turned his first half of the audition.

He ran through his drills and acrobatic skills first and then turned to the Cyr wheel set out for him. Once he grabbed the metal hoop all worries left his mind. 

As he ran through his routine all he thought of was what he was doing currently and what trick came next.

Azriel finished the routine proud of himself and left with his head held high. They said they’d contact the auditionees in the next few days.

Once he arrived back in his hotel room he instantly started panicking again. Azriel was so bad he forgot to call his family until dinner time the next day.

The few days until he received the results on his audition he didn’t sleep until the day before.

Azriel was so exhausted that the night before he fell asleep and didn’t wake until the afternoon and woke up with an email from the circus company.

He instantly called up Rhysand and told him that if he didn’t stay on call while opening the email he’d be very mad at him.

Rhysand called everyone else into the room and Cassian ended up making suspenseful drum noises before Nesta yelled at him to shut up.

Once Azriel opened and read the email he was silent. And his family grew more and more concerned as each second before he quietly muttered that he made it in.

His family all screamed in excitement and they stayed on the phone for almost 2 hours just celebrating.

He was able to go back in for his first day on the job just a week later so he bought anything that he didn’t already have and needed and a week later he walked into his new workplace.

Everyone was focused on what they were doing on there own or getting help from others.

Azriel enjoyed being able to practice on his own until someone stood at the front and announced they were already being assigned acts in the upcoming show.

He waited as everyone's names were called out until he heard his. And woman's who when he looked at her he recognized her from the auditions.

“Hi. I guess we are partners for this? It’s nice to meet you. I’m pretty sure we are doing and aerial straps routine. How long have you been doing circus so far?”

She spoke so much and so quickly that he couldn’t get a word in quick enough but he was fine with that. In fact he liked not having to speak.

Azriel was excited to learn the routine with her can couldn’t wait to get to know her.

A year later the two were performing together in Azriel’s first professional show with his family and watching and the two could not be closer but it wasn’t for the next few years that the two ended up forming feelings for each other but even longer to actually act on their feelings.

[cat-or-kitten]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGe2w11XA/

Sorry but this screams Modern!Azriel?!?! 😭

[lyssasdrafts]

biker! azriel aesthetic

[surielstea]

Kitty Cat | Drabble

Pairing: Modern!Az x Fem!Reader

Summary: A normal night for Azriel, his wife, and his son (a cat.)

Warnings: the briefest mention of oral (m receiving) but it’s all fluff :)

1.1k words

The black cat was curled into a ball, lying on my stomach as I petted between his ears and he purred, small vibrations coming from Shadow. “Aren’t you just the cutest kitty ever?” I hum as the cat looks up at me with wide golden eyes, his ears cocking at the pitch of my voice.

“Your dad’s gonna be home with more treats I promise,” I smile at the cute animal and he meows in reply, I giggle and scratch under his chin. “But you like me more than him don’t you?” I grin wildly.

The door knob rattles and me and the cat both look in the direction of the noise, and within a second my husband enters with three grocery bags in his hands.

“Welcome home,” I raise my arms in a cheer. “No hug today?” He frowns, missing the usual embrace I gave him every time he came home. “I’m a little preoccupied,” I gesture down to the kitten who couldn’t be bothered to spare a glance at his original owner.

Azriel only shook his head and walked into the kitchen where he set the bags and his briefcase down then quickly returned, coming back to the living room and pulling his tie loose then undoing the first few buttons of his collared shirt, revealing his dark tattoos. I smiled and reached my hand out toward him as he approached my side.

“Isn’t he so cute?” I croon, looking down at the kitten. “Are you talking about me or the cat?” Azriel arches his brow. “The cat,” I giggle, looking up at him. He scoops Shadow off my stomach and I whine, missing the comfort of the animal. “I bought you treats, and you repay me by stealing my wife?” He holds the kitten in one of his large hands, holding him up to his face as he narrows his eyes on the dumbfounded kitten. “He’s innocent!” I defend and Azriel shakes his head placing the cat by my feet.

“Shadow’s a war criminal, don’t let him fool you.” My husband jokes in a serious tone before flipping over me, slowly lowering down so as not to crush me as he rests his head on my chest, his waist between my thighs, replacing himself with the cat.

“How was your day?” I ask as my hand weaves into his dark hair. “Better now that I’m home,” He says, stuffing his nose into my breasts and I chuckle, twirling a lock of his hair around my ring finger.

“How about you?” He propped his head up to look at me. “The usual,” I shrug. “Cleaned around the house, played with Shadow— oh I found a movie for us to watch that I think you might like,” I grin excitedly. “It’s a horror.” I sing.

“But you don’t like horrors,” He tilts his head and I smile. “I know but, you do,” I shrug. “Besides, we watch what I want all the time, and this one actually seemed interesting,” I explain and a smile pulls at his lips, he leans up and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “I love you,” He whispers against my mouth and I blush at the three simple words, he was my husband and yet he still had me going pink. “Love you too,” I murmur.

I hear a familiar meow and then look to Shadow who had climbed up Azriel’s back and was staring at me from over his shoulder. I giggle and remove my hand from Azriel’s hair in order to pet the kitty. “I love you too Shadow,” I reassure and he leans into my hand, licking my palm with closed eyes.

“Okay, go change I’ll get the movie ready,” I say, shooing him off of me and he groans, guiding Shadow off his shoulder and down onto the floor before getting off me and disappearing into our bedroom.

While he’s gone I turn the TV on and find the movie, then I get up from the sofa and walk into the kitchen, unpacking the groceries— tossing Shadow a few treats that Az just bought, while I wait.

I put a pack of popcorn into the microwave and watch impatiently through the window like a child. “It’s not going to cook any faster if you stare at it,” Azriel hums as he snakes his arms around my waist, his bare chest coming into contact with my back. I turn to look up at him, dark tattoos twining from his forearms to his collarbone, the same ones I’ve traced thousands of times.

“I put the groceries away,” I utter, running a fingertip down the ink on his neck. “And I found that you got me my favorite chips,” I smile, biting into my lower lip. “I noticed we were out,” He shrugs, hands on my hips. “You’re getting the sloppiest head for that,” I say innocently, pecking his lips, leaving him utterly stunned.

I smirk mischievously and the microwave beeps. I swirl around and take the hot bag out, pouring the buttery snack into one large bowl.

Azriel plops himself down onto the couch and I find my spot next to him, tucking my legs up to my chest as I lean into him and he starts the movie.

I had been so confident in myself for picking this movie in broad daylight but now that it was dark outside and the lights in the house were off, I was starting to doubt my fear tolerance.

Azriel wrapped an arm around me as I anxiously snacked on the popcorn balanced on my knees.

A few jumpscares and a minor heart attack later I was officially terrified and had my head stuffed into Azriel’s chest, my other hand over my eyes, peeking through my fingers and barely watching the screen. I look up to Azriel who had an amused grin on his face as he observed me, how I cuddled a little closer to him every time the suspenseful music picked up, or how I looked at him instead when the killer showed up on screen, watching through the reflection of his eyes.

“I’m starting to think this was a bad idea,” I confess, frowning up at him. “I think this is the best idea you’ve had in a while my love,” He presses a hard kiss to my temple. “It was my idea to get Shadow!” I defend, and as if on queue the cat jumps up onto the couch, meowing. “Now that was a bad idea,” He hums as the kitty burrows into his other side.

The three of us all cuddled up, sharing the intimate moment. I intertwined my hand with Azriel’s and cherished the warm feeling blooming in my chest. “Oh shut up, you love him,” I rolled my eyes and the cat looked up at me, kneading his paws into Azriel’s torso. “I do,” My husband rubbed the top of his head and the cat purred, nuzzling into his owner's touch.

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[serpentandlily]

Wicked Games

Dark!Batboys x Reader

Summary: Desperate to pay off a debt, you decide to break into the penthouse of one of Prythian’s richest males, one rumored to make his money in a less than legal way. But after witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, you find yourself caught in a wicked game of cat and mouse with three of the most dangerous males in Prythian. (Modern AU!)

Warnings: Violence, dark themes (will update per chapter)

Part II

Part I

༺♥༻

It had been too easy sneaking in through the back door of The Sidra, a huge building filled with luxury apartments only the top one-percent could afford. Too easy sneaking into the laundry rooms downstairs and finding a freshly cleaned maid’s uniform. And too easy convincing one of the maids on duty into believing you were a newly hired employee.

It wasn’t hard to play the role. You had worked as a cleaning lady before—at a motel when you were only sixteen. So it wasn’t long before she was dropping a keychain filled with master keys for each floor into the pocket of your apron and pushing a cleaning cart into your hands.

Before you knew it, you had an access card to the elevators in one pocket and those all too important keys in the other. You waited until no one else was near the elevators before slipping into one and immediately pressing the button that would take you to the penthouse.

According to your sources, aka one of your exes, one of the richest males in Prythian lived in that penthouse. A male who was rumored to make his money in a…less than legal way. And if you knew anything about those types, you knew they’d have cash stuffed into just about every hidden crevice of that apartment. Because that kind of dirty money never made it into banks.

You had tried to do some research on who was living here but it seemed like he was a rather elusive male. All you could find was a first name, Rhysand—and that he had ties to Velaris, the illustrious night club downtown.

It didn’t matter though. All that mattered was getting into this penthouse, finding his hidden stacks of cash and getting the hell out of here. You needed this money and this guy was rich enough that you doubted he’d even notice a measly six grand missing from his piles of cash.

But that six grand meant life or death for you. Because you needed to pay off the debt you owe your ex. You knew his patience with you was slipping and you were worried that for once he’d actually go through with his threats.

The elevator dinged, signaling you had made it to your destination. You stepped out of the elevator, leaving the cleaning cart behind, and found yourself in a grand corridor. There was only one direction to go, only one set of large double doors up here.

You knocked once. Twice. A third time. No answer, no noise, nothing. You thanked God for your luck today as you fumbled with your ring of master keys, trying to figure out which one worked for this door.

It took you longer than you liked but soon you were pushing the doors open and making your way into the insanely large penthouse. Your jaw dropped as you took in the place, envy crawling up your skin like thorny vines.

This place was…incredible. It was opulent, full of expensive looking furniture and high-tech electronics. You spun around, taking in everything. Jesus, the sitting area alone was larger than your own studio apartment. Everything looked so ornate and for this being the supposed bachelor pad for one of Prythian’s richest males, you were surprised by how elegant it all was.

But you quickly snapped yourself out of your admiration. You had a job to do. Find the money you needed and get out of here before someone returned. You checked the usual spots for hidden safes—behind paintings, where medicine cabinets should be, in closets. You cursed as you found nothing out of place.

That was until you stumbled upon a large painting of three mountaintops with a star painted above each in the master bedroom. It was incredibly heavy, but you managed to get it off the wall and nearly let out a squeal of joy when you caught sight of the safe built into the wall. You pulled out the small electronic stethoscope that you had found at a pawn shop years ago and got to work with cracking the safe.

It was one of the skills your ex had taught you. A skill that had come in handy quite a few times. And you were particularly good at this part. So good that you had the safe opened within the hour. Your jaw dropped as the door clicked open and revealed piles and piles of cash, some gems and gold chains. You were half tempted to take it all but restrained yourself.

Just enough. You needed to take just enough to pay off your debt…and maybe some extra for rent this month. Just to get you back on track with your payments. Still, just a small amount that hopefully would go unnoticed. You opened the satchel you had hidden under the maid apron and started tossing stacks into your bag.

Once you were certain you had enough, you closed the safe and went through the strenuous process of hanging the large painting back up on the wall. You were sweating a bit as you finished, wiping your clammy hands on the apron.

Now all you had to do was get the fuck out of here. You could not believe your luck as you made your way back to the front door. Could not believe that everything had gone exactly to plan.

Which is why you shouldn’t have been surprised at the sound of a key unlocking the front door. Of course it wouldn’t have been that easy. Fuck. You looked around quickly, spotting a closet in the hallway and managed to slid yourself into it right as the front doors opened. You held your breath as three large men came walking in, the two in the back lugging in another person whose head was covered with a burlap sack.

Your eyes widened as you took in the scene, your heart beginning to pound in your chest. The male who led the group forward was one of the most handsome males you had ever seen. He was wearing a finely tailored suit, his tie loosened around his neck. His hair was short, a dark blue-black color which suited his golden skin.

The two guys holding up their captive were equally attractive, if not more. One was huge, taller than the other two, with muscles cut from stone like a God. He had shoulder length dark brown hair that had been pulled into a bun and wore black pants and a white button-up shirt with his sleeves folded up to his elbows, exposing his veiny forearms.

The other male was just straight up beautiful. His features were more elegant than the other two, as if a romantic artist had spent their whole life carefully crafting him out of clay. He also had dark brown hair, cut short like the first guy, and golden skin that matched the other two. His face was expressionless, unreadable, and that made him look all the more lethal.

The two guys dropped the captive to his knees and yanked the burlap sack off his head. You nearly gasped in surprise as you recognized him. He was known widely in the criminal world as “The Attor.” He was a slimy looking male who used all sorts of weird torture methods to get his victims to talk. Last you heard of him, he was working with Hybern, one of the many gang leaders in Prythian.

“Are you going to talk now?” The male in the suit purred. He sat down in one of the plush armchairs, resting his ankle over a knee. He held an air of authority and you guessed that he was the leader here.

“Fuck you, Rhysand,” The Attor spat, wiggling to try and break free of his bonds.

Ah, so this was the famed Rhysand. You had expected someone older, someone maybe in their fifties. But this guy couldn’t be older than thirty. And god, he was so hot. Most criminals were ugly, aging men. Nothing like the handsome devil who sat in his chair like it was a throne.

Rhysand merely chuckled before running a finger down the armrest of his chair. “Tell us what Hybern’s planning and I might just decide to let you leave with your life.”

But The Attor just spat at his feet. “You and I both know I’ve been a dead man since your dogs caught me.”

The lethal looking male snarled at that. The noise was so animalistic, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re right, you have been,” Rhysand answered with amusement. “And now I tire of our games.” He nodded at the male who had snarled. “Kill him,” he ordered.

Before you could even process those words, the man yanked a blade out of his pocket and swiftly stabbed it straight through The Attor’s throat. A small gasp escaped your mouth as red blood sputtered out of the wound and the man slumped to the ground, his eyes glazing over. You quickly slammed a hand over your mouth, praying to God that they hadn’t heard your slip-up. But you had never seen someone killed before. You had only ever dealt with petty criminals, mostly thieves.

“Did you hear that?” The one built like a God asked, his eyes narrowing as they swept over the place.

You smothered yourself further with your hand, pressing your body against the wall of the closet—as far from the door as you could get.

“I did,” the lethal one answered, yanking his dagger from the dead man’s neck and wiping it clean on his clothes before returning it to his own pocket.

“Who’s here?” Rhysand called out, standing up.

The other two began to search through the room, their footsteps surprisingly silent. You squeezed your eyes shut and sank onto the floor, praying and praying that they wouldn’t look in the closet, that they wouldn’t find you. As a few moments passed, you were beginning to grow hopeful.

But then the closet doors were yanked open and you were being pulled out by your upper arms. You let out a small cry as you opened your eyes to see the lethal one staring down at you, his face impassive as he dragged you into the sitting room and tossed you onto the floor next to the dead man’s body.

You let out a whimper, your apron soaking up some of the blood on the floor.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves an intruder,” he called out, gaining the attention of the other two who returned from wherever they had been searching.

Rhysand stepped forward, looking down at you in surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected to find one of the maids hiding in his closet. Your whole body tensed as the corners of his lips ticked up. This close now, you could see the unusual color of his eyes, a rich shade of blue that almost looked violet.

“Well what do we have here?” His voice was so sensual, bringing color to your cheeks. “What a pretty little mouse you’ve caught, Az.”

“I’d say so,” the other one smirked, his eyes roaming your face. But you kept your attention on the leader.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. I was cleaning in the bedroom when I heard the ruckus and…I swear I won’t tell anyone what I saw. I’m sorry. Please, just let me go,” you pleaded, quivering under his amused stare.

“That’s odd,” he said, tilting his head at you. “I didn’t schedule any cleaning services today.”

You blinked, trying to come up with another lie. “I-I’m a new hire, sir. I only d-did as I was told.”

He stroked his jaw, glancing at the other two men who stood behind you. “Interesting. You know, I didn’t happen to see any cleaning supplies when I was looking around just now. Did you two see any during your search?”

“Nope,” the bigger one chimed. You could hear the smile in his voice. The other one must’ve shaken his head because Rhysand looked back down at you.

“I-I…” you choked on your own words. Fuck, how were you going to get yourself out of this one? You were screwed. So fucking screwed. You were going to die right here just like the man next to you.

Rhysand stepped forward before bending down on his haunches in front of you. A pathetic whimper fell from your lips as you backed away, only to run into a pair of legs. You gulped, looking up to see the pretty one staring down at you, that unfeeling face sent another shiver through your body.

“You’re not a maid, are you, little mouse?” Rhysand purred, reaching a gloved hand out to brush some hair from your face. You were shaking like a leaf now, as you found yourself surrounded by three dangerous males.

Fuck, you were going to die. All twenty-one years of your life wasted just to die here, likely never to be found. Not that anyone would be looking for you or miss you. You had grown up in foster care, never knowing who your parents were.

“I-I am,” you lied. “I swear it.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue, giving you a mocking frown. “What a pretty little liar you are. I don’t like liars, little mouse. Do you know what I like to do to the people who lie to me?”

You shook your head, not able to form any words. He gave you a wolfish grin and pointed a finger at the dead body on the ground, blood still oozing from the wound on his neck. You whimpered again, a few pathetic tears now slipping from your eyes.

“Oh, don’t cry, pretty girl,” Rhysand purred. “It would be a waste to kill a little thing like you. Don’t you agree?”

Your head was spinning now.

“What…what do you want from me?” Your voice shook, making you feel even more pathetic. Rhysand smiled again but it was not reassuring—more like a predator showing off its sharp teeth.

He glanced up at the other two. “What do you guys think? Should we let this little mouse go or should we punish her for her trespassing?”

“We don’t even know what she’s here for yet,” the pretty one said. His voice was as dark as him and just as cold.

You used this time to glance towards the front door, noting how far away it was. You could make a break for it. You were a fast runner and you had the advantage of being smaller and more agile than them.

It could go horrible but you had to try. You had to try and get out of here before they did whatever it was they wanted to you. You would only have one shot, one chance.

Before any of them could notice you plotting, you scooped a handful of blood from the floor and flicked it into Rhysand’s face. He let out a noise of surprise and you used the distraction to slip between the other two and dart towards the door.

You could hear their yells from behind you but didn’t look back as you yanked the door open and sprinted into the hallway. You bypassed the elevators and slammed into the stairway.

You could hear footsteps running behind you and you pushed yourself to run faster, hopping over railings to other floors when you could. You burst through the door leading into one of the other floors and sprinted down the hallway.

A man was leaving his apartment, his eyes glued to the phone in his hand. You pushed him out of your way and slipped into the open door, ignoring his curse from behind you. You ran into the bedroom, darting for the window.

You let out a small cry of relief when you noticed it was connected to a fire escape. You quickly pushed it open and flung yourself through the window, landing with a thud on the metal landing.

You didn’t waste any time climbing down the ladders from landing to landing. You had made decent progress by the time one of the males had figured out where you had gone. The metal fire escape rattled with both of your weights now on it, but you continued climbing down until you reached the bottom.

As soon as you landed on the ground, you took off down an alleyway—twisting and turning down different paths, trying to keep them off your trail. Unlike those rich pricks, you knew the underside of this city like the back of your hand.

As soon as you were confident you had lost them, you found a spot in the shadows to rip the maid uniform off. You tossed it on the ground and quickly got dressed back into the clothes you had brought in your bag.

Once you had pulled on the jeans and jacket, you tossed the hood up and slung your bag back over your shoulder. This time you made your way to a busy street, hoping to get lost in the crowd.

You didn’t let out a breath of relief until you were on the subway, on the line that would take you back to your neighborhood where your shitty apartment would be waiting for you.

You bit your lip, unzipping your bag to make sure all the money you had stolen was accounted for. You finally let out a breath and rested your head against the cold wall of the subway cart.

You had fucking done it. You had stolen from one of the richest men in Prythian and gotten away with it.

༺♥༻

“This is only six grand, bunny,” your ex, Tamlin, said with a small frown. “Where’s the rest?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean? I owed you six grand, right? That’s what you said. It’s all there.”

“Oh, bunny, you owed me six grand last week,” Tamlin replied, pushing some of his blonde hair away from his face as he looked up at you. You bounced from one foot to the other, standing in front of his desk. “It’s seven thousand, five hundred now—you know, because of interest.”

“What?” You breathed out. “You never mentioned anything about interest!”

Tamlin chuckled, sitting back in his chair. “I did. You must’ve not understood. It’s okay, bunny, not all of us can be smart. It’s a good thing you’ve got that pretty face of yours to get by. But I’ll take this for now. I’ll need the rest by next week, though. And it’ll be an extra one thousand, eight hundred seventy five by then.”

“You can’t be serious! Tam, I—do you know what it took to get that money! Please, I’m begging you. Can’t this be it? An extra thousand dollars is nothing but petty cash to you. Please.”

“I don’t think so, bunny,” Tamlin responded with a mockingly sad voice. “You see, you lost those kinds of privileges when you broke up with me. I could’ve taken care of all of this for you but you’re the one who wanted to cut ties. So now you have to play by the same rules as everyone else.”

“This is ridiculous, please,” you begged. You were willing to get on your knees at this point. All you wanted was to be done with this—done with him. “I can barely afford rent. Barely feed myself. I won’t be able to get you another grand by next week.”

“That stopped being my problem a long time ago, bunny,” Tamlin said, all niceties gone from his voice now as he stood from his desk, placing his palms flat against the surface. “Get the money to me by next week. I’d hate to see that pretty little face of yours ruined. Do you understand?”

You scoffed but Hart, one of his guards, took a step closer to you, so you swallowed your pride, ignored the tears building in your eyes, and nodded your head. You quickly left the room, made a quick exit from the warehouse and started the long walk back to your apartment.

How the hell were you going to get more money for him? He was doing this on purpose, still upset with you for breaking up with him. You wiped at the angry tears spilling down your face. Would you ever be able to pay him off? Would you ever be able to get rid of his presence in your life?

You kicked at the loose concrete pebbles on the ground as you made your way home. You kept your hood on, head ducked towards the ground to avoid any unwanted attention. Now that you no longer had Tamlin’s protection, the men in this neighborhood had gotten rowdier with you.

Once you reached your apartment building, you took two stairs at a time to get to the fourth floor, wincing as you heard Marcus yelling at his wife again for the third time today. You wished she’d put a kitchen knife through his gut and do your whole neighborhood a favor.

You pulled your cheap, burner phone out of your pocket along with your keys, ready to call your friend Valerie to bitch and moan about Tamlin as soon as you were inside.

But apparently God had other plans.

As soon as you flicked on the lights to your apartment, your phone slipped out of your hands and landed with a thud on the floor. Your eyes widened, your heart plummeted all the way to your stomach as your gaze fell on a pair of unusual violet eyes.

Rhysand.

Rhysand was sitting there on your dingy mattress, his nice clothes a stark contrast to your fraying sheets. He gave you a grin that could rival the devil’s.

“There you are, little mouse,” he purred. “I’ve been looking for you.”

[lalacliffthorne]

modern!batboys as (your) roommates - headcanons.

because let's be honest, we have all thought about that at some point.🦇

(this is the introduction of my new drabble universe!!! I can´t tell you how fucking excited I am.)

it would be wrong to say that your life was boring before you met the three idiots you now call your roommates

sure, it wasn't as exciting

but you had your tiny little apartment, went out with friends once in a while and mostly enjoyed having your own space and routines

but then

shit hits the fan

and by shit I mean your landlord

because of a loophole in the rental agreement, he's able to kick you out of your apartment with only a months notice

in other words

you're fucked

or, as your best friend Feyre, who you met the first week of orientation and became inseperable with, says -

"That bastard." Feyre's eyes are stormy.

"What the hell am I gonna to do?" You bury your face in your hands, your voice muffled when you mumble: "How am I supposed to find a new apartment in a few weeks? For this one, I looked over a year, and it's a glorified shoebox!" Your voice rises as you feel a wave of dread crash over you and your heart rising into your throat.

"Hey, it's okay. If worst comes to worst, you can crash at my place,", Feyre raises her brows, "even though we'd have to share my bed, but - I won't just let you sleep on a park bench if that's what you're worried about. Unless you find another glorified shoebox that's technically out of your budget, it's you and me, crashing on my bed, climbing over your stuff to get to the bathroom, finding out what married life would feel like."

even though you love her to death, that really does not sound like an option you want to explore

so you try everything

scouring every paper for apartment advertisments, posting on your uni's socials, going to all the viewings you can find -

nothing

but just when you're ready to just give up

a miracle happens

the miracle is 5'5, has impeccable style and hair, a love for deep red lipstick and drops by for lunch

Mor has been your friend for two years now, since you almost spilled your coffee over her laptop at the library

(she's still not letting you live that down)

she also likes to get you out of your comfort zone

"Are you serious?" Mor stares at you wide-eyed.

"Yep." You tiredly stir your coffee. "I've been turned away for twenty apartments in the past few days alone. I'm aready seeing myself bunking with Feyre. She offered, but her bed barely fits into her apartment as it is."

Mor breathes a giggle before hastily clearing her throat. "Sorry."

You grin weakly before rubbing your face. "I don't know what I'm gonna do. I know it could be even worse, but -"

"It already feels pretty shitty,", Mor ends. You sigh in confirmation and are about to change the topic, because you haven't seen the blonde in weeks and feel bad about ruining your lunch. But before you can open your mouth, Mor suddenly squints in thought. Then she looks at you.

"How much do you value your privacy?

Given the fact you'll be basically homeless on the street in about a week if you don't find a new place - not much.

Mor begins to grin, and there's a bright twinkle in her eyes.

"Well, then I might just have the solution."

the next day, Mor drags you downtown

she takes you to an old but sophisticated building you wouldn't even dream about living in

a single month's rent there would probably empty your whole bank account

but Mor just winks and pulls you up the stairs

on the third floor, a guy leans in an open door

and that

is how you meet Rhys.

Mor's cousin is annoyingly beautiful

tall, with perfectly tousled dark hair, a perfect grin that causes his cheeks to crease and, from the looks of it, the also perfect physique

he's also annoyingly charming

(if you'd met him somewhere without Mor, you would have probably gaped for a moment before catching onto the mischievous twinkle in his nearly violet eyes and promptly avoided him, because someone that pretty had to have some fault)

as it turns out, Rhys' fault is offering practical strangers to live with him without even batting an eye

"What?"

You blink at Mor from where you just sank onto the very comfortable couch, because she can't possibly -

"Okay, before you freak out, just listen, okay?" Mor is grinning giddily. "The guys have a free room they don't really use anyway and you really need a new place - so you could just move in here!" She beams. "The place is definitely big enough, and you'd fit in perfectly, I promise! They're just as chaotic as you, but also very responsible -"

"Mostly." Rhys' eyes are twinkling. He's looking completely and slightly concerningly unbothered by the prospect of you, a factual stranger, moving in with him and his friends.

"- they don't have any bad habits, they're fairly neat -"

"Mostly."

Mor widens her eyes at you. "It's perfect!"

You blink at her.

"I've already talked to my roommates." Rhys' deep voice is almost soothing - mostly because he sounds a lot calmer than Mor, steady and reassuring.

"If you want, this can be temporary, until you find a place just for yourself, but this way you don't have to stress about needing to find a place in a certain time, plus,", he cracks a grin, "I don't like the idea of you having to crash on somebody's couch in the foreseeable future, that's just bullshit if we got a free room here no one uses anway. And if this works,", one corner of his lips quirks even more until his grin is a lot closer to the wicked twinkle in his eyes, "none of us would mind another roommate."

"You don't have to decide right now." Mor smiles brightly. "But I think it would be great, and you'd make a bargain with the rent, because Rhys loves to play sugar daddy -", her cousin flips her off, "and I think this would be a really good idea." She grins, suddenly a little sheepish.

if you weren't so desperate, you would whip out about a dozen arguments about why this probably isn't a good idea

like the fact that rooming with three dudes sounds like a lot of testosteron, or that you don't even know them, and that they don't even know you -

but from the way Rhys lounges in his chair, smirking easily while Mor beams at you, he doesn't seem to see too much of a problem in that

also you are very, very desperate

but there´s still that one thing -

"About those roommates -"

When you hear the door, you raise your head, your heart doing a slightly concerning flip in your chest.

It's a day later, and you just finished a tour of the apartment Rhys has given you. Even though it's huge and very grand with it's high ceilings decorated with stucco and the original hardwood floors, it feels warm and cozy. The room you'd be sleeping in is as big as your whole current apartment, light with two big window and a view of the trees on the street outside.

It kind of makes you wonder where the catch is.

Maybe it's about to walk through the door.

You hear a deep voice and heavy footsteps, then a dude appears in the door to the kitchen.

Your heart does a somersault, and you feel your lips part a bit. Because frankly, it's a miracle he makes it through the door without hitting his head.

The guy's huge. His shoulders and chest strain against his t-shirt; he looks like one of those dudes who basically have muscle in their DNA, all corded muscle under ridiculously huge shoulders and a solid middle, muscular long legs under black jeans -

And you're staring.

Big time.

The dude's looking over his shoulder, which means he thankfully doesn't notice you oggling him. The half of his hair that isn't pulled back in a bun brushes against his neck when he grins, his cheeks creasing. He's really good looking, in a rugged kinda way, with his roughly curved jaw and the scar on the side of his face, and when he looks back ahead, his eyes twinkle warmly.

Then, behind him, another guy appears in the doorway, and your breath catches.

Because if Rhys is annoyingly beautiful, the guy in the door is drop-dead gorgeous.

Just like the other two, he's tall and all lean muscle. His shoulders shift under his black t-shirt as he leans against the doorframe, his hands sliding into the pockets of his black jeans. His eyes look like amber in sunlight, his dark hair is tousled, a strand curving over his forehead. His face is all angles and soft lips, dark brows that look like he likes to crunch them in a scowl, but right now, he looks fairly relaxed, though his gaze is watchful.

And on yours.

Feeling warmth wash into your cheeks, you hastily look away while crap, crap, crap echoes through your head, because of course he caught you staring.

On to a really great start here.

Your gaze grazes his hands and the bit of uneven skin that merges into veiny, tan forearms before your eyes trail over the tattoos peaking out from his sleeves.

There's the sound of someone clearing their throat, and you feel the heat in your cheeks deepen when your eyes dart up and meet Rhys', a twinkle in his iris when he sends you a lazy grin.

"Boys, this is Y/N." He raises a brow. "Our new roommate."

and that is how you meet Cassian and Azriel

it almost makes you reconsider

because you're really not sure you're gonna survive rooming with three guys that pretty

but after thinking it over for a few days, you realize that you really don't have a choice

and so a week later, Rhys and Cassian come over to your apartment to help you move the first half of your stuff

neither blink an eye at the fact it's about the size of a broom closet in comparison to their home

Rhys does however scowl when he sees the condition of the bathroom

you're ready to sink into the floor when you hastily explain pretty much all the apartments in the building look like that

(a lil dingy and moldy)

but when he turns, Rhys just glowers and grumbles under his breath about how he'd like to rip your landlord a new one

it's the first time you realize that under all the aloofness and swagger and cheeky grins, Rhys cares

it's proven again when you move into your new room a week later and there's a new mattress on the also new bed bed

you haven't bought either of them, but when you try to protest, Rhys just huffs about your back probably being fucked up because of your old one and about how he'll add it to your rent

he never does

you get used to rooming with three guys surprisingly quickly

sure, it is pretty much a total 180 -

going from living alone in a tiny apartment

to sharing a huge flat with three dudes who make the place vibrate with laughter and bicker like they have been married for thirty years

but even tho you never thought you'd be the type to actually enjoy having roommates

you find that with them - you don't really mind

of course it is nice to have the place to yourself sometimes

and after about two weeks, you're comfortable enough to blast your music and dance through the kitchen when you're alone

(yes, at some point, they catch you - it takes you about a minute to realize there are three guys standing in the doorway, watching you dance with a broom. you get a mild heart attack and Cassian and Rhys start cackling while Azriel smirks)

but even if usually there's always someone around -

you find that all three of them are very good at both respecting your boundaries and leaving you be when you need to curl up in your room

but also seem to know when you need someone to drag your ass out into the world

and something about knowing at least one of them will probably be there when you get home makes you feel very warm and fuzzy

and even tho you weren't completely sure about this situation in the beginning

you get roped into living with the three guys instead of just rooming with them

it really starts with Cassian

probably gets used to you living there the quickest

after barely a week, he's treating you like you've lived with them since the beginning

like just sticking his head into your room and roping you into helping him with dinner

it surprises you a little that they all have dinner together

(from what you've heard from friends who have roommates, they usually all do their own thing most of the time)

but it makes you realise that these guys are more family than just roommates

Cassian is surprisingly easy to talk to

he's quick with the quips and the banter

also very flirtatious

constantly makes you laugh, his deep, boisterous chuckles infectous

also super affectionate

you're convinced that the man is actually just a huge teddybear

after just a few weeks, you're used to hugs that lift you off your feet, cheek kisses as greetings and being casually lifted out of the way like you don't weigh anything

not that you're the only one who gets that treatment

no, there are hugs in greeting that make Rhys groan dramatically like his air supply is cut off

pats on the shoulder and smacking forehead kisses that make Azriel crinkle his nose

Cassian quickly becomes the one you go to when you need advice.

he always listens attentively

doesn't sugarcoat things

stays objective while never making you feel bad or less about anything

and it quickly becomes pretty clear he'd put everything aside if any of you ever need help

gives you rides in his beat up truck to uni

always picks you up when studying at the library gets late bc he doesn't like the idea of you out alone after dark

with Cass, even mundane things like grocery shopping become fun

he's just casually funny and teases the shit out of you at every opportunity

has no understanding of the concept of personal space

and with most people, that would kinda put you off a little in the beginning

but Cassian just has something about him

something so inheritly good and warm and sunny

that he never once makes you feel uncomfortable

if anything, with him around, you feel a lot more at ease

and not just bc it's always nice to have a guy in your back that towers over you like a lighthouse

though the whole massive, tatted dude with the dark eyes thing kinda goes out of the window as soon as he grins at you

dimples and all

but don't be fooled

when the grin's gone and he's glaring, you know why people make way for him immediately

works at a gym to earn some money at the side

once, he takes you with him just for fun

then one time becomes another and before you know it, you tag along twice a week

it would be wrong to say it's not doing something to you when he crouches in front of you, his deep voice rumbling as he mumbles encouragements

"Alright, come on, sweetheart, gimme one more."

Trying not to make a very embarassing groaning sound, you crunch your face in concentration and slowly lower yourself into a squat, your muscles trembling slightly.

"There you go, that's it." You can feel Cassian in your back, spotting you, his deep voice rumbling through you, and it's just almost distracing enough for you to -

"No, no, come on, you can do it." Cassian's deep chuckle sets you at ease, and he lightly pats the side of your thigh. "You got this, c'mon."

With a soft groan, you push yourself up again, and you can hear the triumph and wide grin in Cassian's voice when he goes: "Yeeessss, good job, baby. C'mon, you can do one more."

Blowing out a heavy breath and glaring at nothing in particular, you ready yourself.

when one day, he makes you lose focus, you're gonna throw something at him

you're pretty sure he does it on purpose just to see how red you can get

but Cass is really good at pushing you without overdoing it, always teasing and encouraging

and if you manage to do something, in the gym or otherwise, he grins so widely you're almost sure he's more proud of you than you are yourself

Rhys is a flirt.

and after you get over the first initial blush that just won't leave you alone for the first few weeks

it actually becomes entertaining

now bantering back and forth is basically all you do

it gets so bad, Azriel constantly rolls his eyes at the two you

but just like you suspected, behind all the flirtiness and mischievous grins

Rhys cares

a lot

whenever you´re upset, he looks like he's contemplating ripping apart whatever or whoever made you upset

and whenever someone has a go at Cass or Azriel, Rhys picks them apart with lethal precision and a wicked smile

if Cassian is most affectionate, Rhys is close second

he's slightly more casual about it

pinching your nose, flicking your ear softly, offering his cheek for a kiss in greeting

always down for amazing hugs tho

whenever you get on your period, Rhys turns full mother hen

it's actually quite entertaining to see a 6-foot-something dude grumble because you don't want to take painkillers

"I just don't like to take them until it's really necessary, okay?" You glower at Rhys, curling up on the couch and trying to suppress a wince.

Rhys incredulously narrows his eyes.

"You're bleeding from your uterus and look like you want to curl into the couch. I'd say it is pretty necessary."

behind all the snark and arrogance, Rhys cares

also seems to have a rather unhealthy tendency to put everyone else first

you catch on pretty easily that even though his father is absolutely loaded, Rhys doesn't particularly cares about his money

in fact

he doesn't hesitate to spend whatever money his father pumps into his bank accounts for a second

when you ask Mor about it, she just smiles lopsidedly.

"I think it's his kind of protest?" She squints into the sun shining onto the balcony of the flat, the big glass of iced tea in her hand glittering in the light. "You know, spending all that money, preferably on his friends? Mostly because I don't think his father really likes them."

You wince.

"He knows he can't win against his father." Mor crunches her brows in thought. "I think he came to terms with having to take over the business one day, and he cares about the people who have their jobs there, so he won't let them down. It's just hard sometimes, if your whole life is already planned for you." She shrugs gently. "Doing this, living with Cassian and Azriel and now you, spending his fathers money on it and actually having a good time than just being bitter and stuck up - it's his way of not surrendering completely."

you have never met Rhys' father, but even tho he's powerful af

you really feel a strong desire to kick him in the balls

Rhys has a knack of knowing exactly when you need to talk and when you need to be distracted

it's not unusual that after a bad day, he just joins you on the couch, plopping down and pulling your feet onto his lap

it either leads to you venting and him listening

usually giving very appropriate responses of either huffs, scowls or downright glowering

or, if you don't want to talk

he either lets you use him as a human pillow, grumbling over your choice of movie while scratching your head

or he takes you out

to the cinema, a museum, the theater

you're pretty sure you've grown a lot more cultured in a few months than the whole of your life before that

it never gets boring tho

the whole thing kinda annoys the crap out of you in the beginning bc he never lets you pay for anything

but you get better at finding ways to pay him back in other ways

like taking over making dinner on days when he's exhausted

coaxing rants out of him when his father gets to him

dragging him out on nightly walks through the city when he can't sleep

and after a while

you understand that it's just one of Rhys' love languages

and it is fun to spend his father's money ;)

especially when it means museum saturdays with the two of you just sitting and staring at paintings

or going to the cinema and pigging out on popcorn and greasy stuff while whisper hissing facts at each other

even takes you to stuff like wine tastings

Rhys is a foodie

likes super fancy pickles, trying food you can't even pronounce and splurging on dinner

and if he decides the two of you need to get out of the apartment

one way or another

it usually ends in a restaurant

always orders like half the menu

also cooks the best out of all of you

like I'm talking freaking perfection

whips up the fanciest, most delicious far-too-many-courses meal for holidays

and goes all in even if he just makes dinner

you often get lured into the kitchen by the delicious smells

usually ends up with you on the couch at the table while Rhys moves around the kitchen

talking about everything and nothing

(also not above slapping anyone's hand away if they try to sneak a taste)

Azriel is quiet

not shy; you catch onto that pretty quickly

he's too quick and easy on any dry remark in response to his friends' boisterous teasing for that

and his gaze too firm and piercing

rarely shies away when you catch his gaze

in the beginning

that intimidated the shit out of you

the way he appears without a sound, towering over you, all dark and quiet and brooding

it's like he perfected the art of going unnoticed

tho you're not quite sure how

bc how could anyone not notice him?

after a while tho

you realise that even tho Azriel is dark and glowering and brooding

there's something gentle about him

it surfaces in the smallest things

like how his lips curve the softest bit when you grin up at him

how light and careful his touch is

how he is always respectful, putting himself between you and the street, holding doors open without ever seeming to think twice about it

and how everything about him seems to darken when he witnesses anyone being treated poorly

but even if anger rages within him like a rising tide, quiet and dangerous

you still always feel safe with him

maybe it's bc, even in those moments, you just know it will never be directed at you

and that even tho there's always that darkness within him, it's never something that feels unsettling or dangerous

and instead soft and welcoming

like something about him and that steady, dark gaze just calms you

maybe because he's so quiet, Azriel seems to see and hear everything

in record time, he begins to catch onto every little detail about you

mundane things

like how you like your favorite drink or what your favorite ice cream is

the only reason you know he notices is because he begins to hand you cups in the morning that are exactly right and the freezer starts to always hold a big container of your favorite ice cream

but also seems to know exactly what your tell is when you're nervous

uncomfortable

or tired

what makes you upset

happy

nervous

what causes you to giggle uncontrollably

and so on

it should probably unsettle you, how easily he sees through you

but it doesn't

sure, it's a bit weird at first

but you quickly realise it's strangely comforting - that someone pays enough attention to know even the smallest thing about you

is your favorite person to be around when you just need a break

it's like something about him is grounding, steady to you

like being around him makes your thoughts calm down

makes it easier for you to sort the chaos your mind sometimes becomes

beneath all of the quiet watchfulness lies a wicked, dry sense of humor

his mumbled remarks make you snort laughter or beam widely up at him

always makes his lips curve

reads a ton

when you first see his room, you almost gape

because the guy has books

they fill the shelves

balance in towers on the floor

sit on the window sill and next to his bed

most of the books in the shelves in the living room are his as well

has a great dislike for movie adaptions

sits there with that scowl of his, glaring at you until it's over when you make him watch one

says it destroys the pictures in his head

(to be fair

you don't think he's entirely wrong about that)

always has a camera in reach

got a few, all older ones; no fancy digital ones, but all on film

just like he seems to catch onto everything

so does his camera

it's like the manifestation of his quiet perception of things

to fix things onto film

captures everything

most of the time, you don't even notice

only sometimes you raise your head to find the camera in his hands, a slight curve to his lips

develops all pictures himself, in a dark room on campus students can book

spends hours in there, just working in silence

there's usually a lot of bugging involved before he shows the developed pictures to anyone

usually ends in all of you leaning over them eagerly, trying to figure out when he took them

Rhys standing in the kitchen, grinning over his shoulder like Cassian just made a bad joke

you and Feyre, laughing so hard you lean into each other

Mor, lying upside down on the couch while focusing on the cards in her hand while you're next to her, mid-motion, a focused expression on your face

Cassian napping on the couch, twisted in a very uncomfortable position to fit all six feet something of him onto the cushions

there seems to be an endless number, and they're all carefully stored away in his shelves

some, he refuses to show to anyone

it takes you so little time to feel at home in the huge flat, the prospect of looking for an apartment for yourself is off the table before you can actually start

and it doesn't take long until you're part of the routines like you'd been there since the beginning

Saturday and Sunday evenings are for movie nights

sometimes, Mor joins you

you sit with Azriel on the couch, sharing a big bowl of popcorn while staring at Rhys and Cassian argue about which Star Wars movie to start with

in the summer, you take trips to the lake for swims

have game nights

and evenings sitting on the balcony, squinting into the setting sun

barbecues

afternoons in the park, one joining in after the other

in winter, you go to the ice rink

bake together

and spend whole weekends on the couch, watching movies

you go to the gym with Cassian or accompany him on his runs

(well, he's running - you're on your bicycle, because there's no way you can keep up with that dude´s long legs)

get dragged out onto hikes by Rhys

in the evenings, you usually all end up in the kitchen for dinner, banter thrown over the dinner table

Azriel and you mostly take care of the grocery shopping together

it usually entails you trying to reach something on a high shelf and Azriel huffing, moving to grab it without even having to stretch

sometimes Cassian joins in, and you both make it your mission to annoy Azriel until he laughs

both Az and Rhys regularly give you rides on their motorcycles

while Cassian likes to stick to his old, beat up truck, Rhys has a car as well, but alternates between it and the motorcycle

more often than not, he uses it as opportunity to flirt

small cleaning duties in the apartment are rotated between the four of you

but big-once-a-month-deep-cleans are something you make a day of

blasting music, you divide the flat and get to work

(bathroom duty is rotated)

in the (very rare) case of an argument, it usually ends in one of you being mediator

which means after a cooling off period

the arguing parties are locked in the pantry until they've talked things out

works surprisingly well

sometimes, the boys bring someone home

it usually comes with a text

or the very oldschool sock on the door

tho you ban that one after Cassian forgets it

and you walk into the flat unsuspectingly only to be flashed

Cassian apologizes profoundly

after he's done laughing

there are also a few awkward encounters in the hall in the morning that leave you contemplating not running around in just big t-shirts

Feyre still gives you rides to campus and back

but sometimes, it's Azriel waiting in the parking lot instead, leaned against his motorcycle, two helmets next to him

it does not help with the way your heart seems to speed up whenever you find his amber eyes on you.

but you're very adamant on pushing that away

it's probably not that serious anyway.

so

it would be wrong to say your life was boring before you met the three idiots you now call your roomates

but it sure as hell is a lot better now that you have

even if they do drive you a little nuts sometimes

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels

[highladyandromeda]

The Stolen Pen

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel inadvertently steals a pen from Y/n, his crush. His covert operations to rectify the situation spirals into a comedy of errors…will Azriel be able to return the pen and admit his feelings, or will he forever be labeled as a thief? 

Warnings: None, just fluff with stupid decisions, a sprinkle of jealousy, silly mistakes, and perhaps too many details about pens. 

A/N: So I was supposed to be writing my other fic, but I was a bit stumped on where to take that…So I started this with the intention of it being a cute, short, one-shot or blurb…but here we are…7k words later….this is a fluffy mess. 

“Ohhh there come the lover boy”, Cassian whisper-yells, as Azriel silently slides into the chair next to Nesta in their shared criminal justice elective. His attempt at stealth, however, is foiled by that not-so-subtle announcement. With a scowl aimed at Cassian, Azriel attempts to shrink further into his chair, hoping that their professor remains engrossed in her lecture and oblivious to his tardiness.

“Shhhhhh” Nesta whispered, smacking the back of Cass’s head, giving Azriel some support before she smirked, “He’s not lover boy yet. Have you even been able to say something beyond hello and goodbye?

The question hits Azriel with the force of a freight train, his cheeks burning with a flush that he prays is hidden by the shadow of his hoodie. He's saved from having to voice his defeat by the TA, who chooses that moment to distribute study guides for their impending exam. Grateful for the distraction, Azriel takes out his pen, only to catch the curious—and amused—gazes of Nesta and Cassian directed not at him, but at his hand.

Always self-conscious about his scars, he hunches further into his hoodie, but as he follows their stares back to his paper, Azriel's heart sinks. In his hand lies a distinctly feminine, pink pen adorned with a star or flower emblem at its tip, an object so glaringly out of place in his grip that it screams for attention. The realization hits him like a wave, leaving him momentarily speechless. Oh. Oh. 

“Please tell me that's whose I think it is," Nesta teases, barely containing her laughter as she observes Azriel's stunned silence.

At Azriel’s complete silence, Nesta waved a hand in front of his face, glancing at Cassian and mouthing did he stop functioning? To which she got a shoulder shrug in response.

Her attempts to elicit a response from him were futile; Azriel was lost in a haze of embarrassment, fixated on the damning piece of evidence in his hand. Nesta's playful pokes did nothing to snap him out of his daze, and in a moment of sheer mortification, Azriel let his forehead meet the desk with a thud loud enough to turn heads. If he thought he was invisible before, he's anything but now.

Azriel was mortified.

He was utterly and completely mortified. Azriel felt like he was living in a nightmare, one where embarrassment was the main theme, and there was no waking up. He wished for anything—a magic trapdoor beneath his feet, or maybe a sudden, convenient superpower to teleport himself out of this situation. But no, the reality was far less accommodating, especially since he was holding onto something that wasn't his. A pen. Not just any pen, but one that belonged to you, given in a moment of desperation.

Azriel let out a groan, which Cassian tried to cover with a cough that was more like a shout, and Nesta with the dramatic slam of her books. Their attempts were valiant but futile against the tidal wave of Azriel's mortification.

He thought back to earlier in the day, in the calculus class he shared with you, the one in which he always sat in the back corner and one day you came in late, and sat next to him. Somehow, since then, you kept coming back to that spot, and though he replied each time to your good mornings and goodbyes, he wanted to speak up. Maybe ask if you were new because he would've noticed you in the previous math classes. Or maybe inquire if you had transferred, under the guise of offering a tour of the campus. Yet, whenever he caught sight of your ebony hair and the spark in your eyes, words fled from him, leaving silence in their wake.

Just like today, where for once he was there after you…he had made it a bit of a habit to be early to that one class, mainly because it was a class that was important to his major. Of course, he couldn’t finish his computer science degree if he failed multivariable calculus, and the…added benefit of watching you walk into the building from the windows and then up the stairs, always giving him a smile before sitting down, was just that…a benefit. 

But yes, today he slept through his alarm, got trapped in a conversation with his elderly neighbor, the one he didn’t know how to escape without Cass or Rhys, was almost run over twice on his motorcycle, and arrived as a verifiable mess to class. After jumping into his seat, he patted himself down so rigorously and nearly up-ended his entire bag trying to find a pen, needing to copy down the partial derivatives he knew the professor would showcase on their next exam. 

His frantic search for a writing instrument ended when you noticed his plight and offered yours with a simple, "Do you need a pen?" Frozen, Azriel could only nod, accepting the lifeline you offered but cursing his inability to say anything more–Oh, caldron boil and fry me…

“You stole her pen?” 

“I–I didn’t steal her pen, Nesta”

“You stole her pen.”

“Her mount blank pen”, added Cassian, smiling cheekily behind his phone.

“Whose what–Cass, don’t smile at me with fries sticking out of your mouth.” Feyre joins them in their usual diner, sliding into the booth next to Az. 

“He stole his crush’s pen,” Cass continues, swallowing his food this time, after Nesta pinched his thigh.

“I didn’t steal her pen!”

“You stole someone’s pen?” Rhys joins, sliding next to Feyre and setting down a tray of milkshakes. 

Azriel's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, if that was even possible, under the relentless teasing of his friends. "I didn't steal it. She lent it to me," he mumbled, his voice barely rising over the din of the diner.

"Ah, but you've yet to return it," Rhys pointed out, a mischievous glint in his eye as he took a sip of his milkshake. "Sounds like a classic case of pen-napping to me."

"It's not like that," Azriel protested, but the laughter from his friends suggested they weren't buying his defense. He glanced down at the pen in question, its sleek design and the way it perfectly balanced in his hand making it all the more precious now that it was a symbol of his hapless affection.

Feyre, having quietly observed the exchange with a gentle smile, finally chimed in. "Maybe it's fate, Azriel. That pen could be your excuse to finally talk to her."

Azriel's heart skipped a beat at the thought. Talk to you. Use words this time instead of just nodding like a lovestruck fool. It sounded so simple when Feyre said it, but the mere idea sent his pulse racing.

His thoughts were interrupted by Feyre's voice again, pulling him back to the present. "Wait, Az, can I see it?" Her curiosity piqued, she leaned sideways, her gaze fixed on the pen he held so carefully.

With a hesitant motion, Azriel passed the pen to her, but before she could comment, Rhys's whistle sliced through the din of the diner.

"I take that back, this is definitely a case of pen thieving," he declared, an unusual seriousness lacing his tone that drew the eyes of the entire table.

Rhys sighed, muttering under his breath about uncultured friends, a comment cut short by Nesta's sharp look. "Azriel, that’s a Mont Blanc Pen."

"That’s what I said! A mount blank pen!" Cassian echoed, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and amusement.

Sitting up straight, a sense of urgency overtaking him, Azriel looked from one friend to another, their faces a blend of jest and genuine surprise. Rhys continued, "What that means is it’s quite an expensive pen, Az...I’m sure whoever you borrowed it from will want it back."

The words hit Azriel like a cold wave, his anxiety spiking anew. The fear that you might see him as a thief, as someone who took advantage of a moment of kindness, gnawed at him. 

Azriel's mind went back to this morning, the moment of leaving the classroom flashed vividly before his eyes—your parting words, something about the pen, but all he had managed in response was a series of nods, mesmerized by your smile. The possibility that you might have asked for it back, only for him to unwittingly refuse, twisted in his gut. Did your smile mask pity, or was it simply to avoid the brief intimacy of touch?

"Oh, cauldron, I am a thief. I did steal her pen," he muttered, the realization settling in with a weight that was hard to bear. The joke had turned into a confession, the humor of the situation evaporating as the reality of his inadvertent theft dawned on him. He had to make it right, to return the pen and clear the air, hoping beyond hope that you wouldn’t think less of him for this misunderstanding.

“Oh Az, I’m sure it’s not that bad” Feyre hands it back to him, trying to provide words of comfort. “It’ll be fine as long as you see her again.” 

This must have been the sixth stare Azriel received, as he shuffled in front of the large windows in the building’s hallway. He supposed he cut quite a figure, dressed entirely in black, complete with a mask and his hoodie covering his entire head. But he was here on a mission, no matter the next group of students he saw from the corner of his eye, whispering and pointing at him. He needed to keep watch and see when you would be walking up to the building. He could only think about your pen for the past 2 days, cursing whatever entity who’d assigned this calculus class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He needed to give it to you today because he wasn’t sure if he could handle the anxiety all weekend. 

At first, he just wanted to leave it on your regular seat and skip class today. Maybe leaving behind a cute note with the pen, asking to treat you to coffee in return for his unintentional theft. But, then he spiraled, what if you no longer went to the seat next to him, thinking of him as some ungrateful and lying douchebag. He couldn’t just leave it there for someone else to pick up, especially after Rhys mentioned its exclusivity. He didn’t want to accidentally lose your pen and ruin all chances of ever getting to talk to you. 

But as the minutes ticked by, the usual stream of students thinned…and the bell that marked the start of class echoed hollowly in the emptying hallway. You didn't appear. Confusion, then concern, wound its way through Azriel's thoughts. You didn’t appear. Confusion, then concern wound its way through Azriel’s thoughts. Had something happened? Or had you simply decided to skip class? The latter was a possibility that he simply hadn’t considered, having seen you in every class since the start of the semester last month. 

With a heavy heart, Azriel made his way to class, the pen still in his possession. The seat next to him, your seat, remained empty, a silent testament to the day's ruined intentions. As the lecture on derivatives and integrals droned on, Azriel couldn't help but feel the gap next to him acutely, an empty space filled with missed connections and unspoken words.

The clatter and chatter of the diner wrapped around Azriel like a familiar blanket as he sank further into the booth, an attempt to escape the scrutiny he knew was coming. The weekly Saturday breakfast with Rhys and Cassian was usually a highlight, a chance to decompress and share laughs over greasy food. Today, however, Azriel felt the weight of his unresolved dilemma like a lead apron around his chest.

Rhys slid into the booth, arching an eyebrow as he took in Azriel's disheveled appearance. "Looks like someone hasn't slept in days," he commented, his voice laced with concern and a hint of amusement.

Azriel could only groan in response, the word "sleep" feeling foreign and elusive. Cassian's next words did nothing to improve his mood. "He's still a thief," he joked, nudging Azriel with his elbow.

Rhys's surprise was evident. "You still haven't returned the pen?" He shook his head, disbelief and curiosity mingling in his expression.

Cassian leaned back, sipping his coffee. "He hasn’t been able to find her. She skipped class."

The conversation paused as a waiter delivered their usual array of milkshakes and waffles, a temporary distraction from the topic at hand. Rhys, ever the problem solver, wasted no time in offering a solution. "I can see if I can pull some strings, and find her contact information. Or at least her email."

Silence descended upon the table, thick and heavy. Both Cassian and Rhys turned to Azriel, expecting confirmation or at least a nod of approval. Instead, they were met with a profound silence that spoke volumes. The shock on their faces was almost comical.

Rhys was the first to break the silence, disbelief coloring his tone. "Don’t tell me…"

Cassian's eyes widened. "You don’t know her name??"

"Not even her first name???" Rhys added, his voice an octave higher in astonishment.

Azriel felt a flush creep up his neck, coloring his cheeks a deep shade of red. The truth of the matter, laid bare amidst the remnants of breakfast, felt absurd even to him. He had spent the week agonizing over a pen, over missed opportunities and unspoken words, without ever knowing your name.

“But you said she’s in your compsci class?” Rhys continued

Azriel shook his head, “No, we're in multivariable calculus together. But she’s definitely new.” 

At Cassian and Rhys's blank stares, Azriel elaborated, “It’s one the hardest math classes, I would have noticed her in the previous levels.”

“Wait Az, pull out the pen again.” Rhys reached his hand over. 

His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, flicking between Azriel and the pen before he floated an invitation his way. "Why don't you take and break and join Feyre and me tonight? We're catching up with my childhood friend—the one who introduced me to Feyre. Actually, Cass, join us and bring Nesta along. We’re meeting at Rita’s as usual so Mor will be there too. 

Azriel, however, wasn't so sure. "I don’t know…" he mumbled, lost in his whirlwind of thoughts, missing the significant glances Rhys shot towards Cassian.

As if on cue, Cassian's boisterous encouragement broke through his reverie. "Oh, come on, Az. It's not like the pen's going to grow legs and run off!"

 And with Rhys adding, "Give us some company, won't you, Azriel? My dear friend will feel left out among the couples." 

With a mix of encouragement and playful ribbing, Azriel found himself agreeing if only to escape the orbit of his own overthinking for a while.

Thus, Azriel found himself stepping into Rita's coffee shop, transformed at night into a cozy jazz club, clad in his finest casual attire. Gone was the hoodie, replaced by a crisp black shirt, his best jeans, and the leather jacket that felt like a second skin. The pen, its significance magnified beyond reason, was securely tucked inside his jacket, close to his heart.

Entering the cafe with Nesta and Cassian, who both looked effortlessly chic, Azriel couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement beneath his apprehension. Rita’s transformed at night from a quaint coffee shop into a vibrant jazz club, complete with dance floors and hidden alcoves, a favorite haunt for their group.

Curiosity about this mysterious friend of Rhys and Feyre nibbled at the edges of his thoughts. Described by Rhys as a "childhood companion" and by Feyre with glowing terms of talent and kindness, she seemed almost too good to be true. Feyre’s stories painted her as a guardian angel of the arts, guiding Feyre through her first year with museum visits and personal tutorials in art history, a beacon of support that enabled Feyre to pursue her dreams in Fine Arts.

Azriel couldn't deny the intrigue, a part of him eager to meet the person who had inadvertently brought both his brothers' such happiness and given him such close friends. 

Rita's was a place of warmth and music, where coffee aromas mingled with the sultry notes of jazz, and where the dance floor beckoned the brave. It was here, amidst the casual elegance of his friends, that Azriel hoped to find some semblance of peace.

His heart was already racing from the anticipation of the night, but nothing could have prepared him for the moment he stepped into the semi-circle of his friends and saw her.

The back of a girl, her black tweed jacket adorned with intertwining threads of red and gold, caught his immediate attention. It was a unique piece, one he recognized because it hung over the chair next to him just days ago in calculus. As if on cue, Cassian nudged him forward, breaking his trance and thrusting him into the moment he had been both dreading and longing for.

Time seemed to stretch and bend, each step toward the table feeling like a journey in itself. Then, as Rhys and Feyre stood, pulling the girl up with them, the world snapped back to its rightful pace, but not for Azriel. For him, everything continued in slow motion, the ambient noise fading into a distant buzz, drowned out by the sudden pounding of his heart.

"This is my childhood friend," Rhys began, his voice cutting through the fog in Azriel's mind.

"And my first college friend, Y/n," Feyre added, her smile bright and welcoming. “She just came back from a year abroad, so everyone welcome her well!”

Rhys continued with the introductions, but Azriel heard none of it. His gaze locked with Y/n's, and in that moment, everything else fell away. Her eyes, a captivating mix of curiosity and warmth, seemed to hold him in place, rendering him utterly speechless.

"Oh hi, Azriel!" Y/n's voice, clear and cheerful, attempted to bridge the gap between them. But Azriel remained frozen, caught in the storm of his own emotions, unable to muster even the simplest of greetings.

Then, the silence was shattered by Cassian's laughter. "Sorry about that, Azriel is just too shy, isn't that right?" he joked, clapping Azriel on the back hard enough to jostle him from his stupor. With a friendly push, Cassian maneuvered him into the booth next to Y/n before sliding in next to Rhys and Nesta.

As Feyre drew Y/n back into the conversation, wanting to connect her with Nesta over their love for books, Azriel couldn't shake the feeling of the pen in his pocket. It was as if the object, a simple tool for writing, had become a symbol of all his unspoken words, his hidden desires, and his fear of reaching out. It burned against his thigh, a constant reminder of the words he had yet to say.

As the night wore on, and their friends' laughter filled the air, Azriel found his eyes constantly drifting to Y/n’s, wanting to capture every smile, every glance, every subtle expression that danced across her features. The ambient light of the club, dim and forgiving, cast a warm glow on her face, highlighting the contours and the genuine joy that seemed to radiate from her. 

When the girls got up to join the dance floor, a tidal wave of reality crashed over Azriel. Rhys and Cassian's sudden attention, their probing questions about his unusual quietness, felt like spotlights on a stage he wasn't prepared to stand on. "I'm just tired," he managed to say, the words feeling like sandpaper against his throat. "And a bit worried, you know." But his attempt to deflect only invited more scrutiny.

Rhys immediately saw through the facade. "She's the girl, isn't she? That's why she said your name before I introduced you." At Azriel's silence, Rhys elaborated further, “She’s also the one I assumed was the owner of that pen, Y/n has an entire collection of Mont Blanc, and she fits into your description, being technically new as she just returned from abroad. 

Azriel’s flush, heavy and telling, confirmed his friends' suspicions without a single word spoken.

“Then this the perfect moment!” Cassian continued. “When she comes back, give the pen and ask to buy her a drink as an apology for the delay”

Rhys perked up as well, hitting Azriel on the shoulder, “Cass is right! I know Y/n, and she’s not one to hold a grudge, especially if you apologize. In fact, get her a tequila daisy, she loves those.”

At his friend’s encouragement, Azriel felt his spirits being lifted. He could do this, he thought, the Mother blessing him with such good luck that he found the girl he was looking today. He should take this as a sign, telling him that this was his time to have courage. As Cass and Rhys shooed him up, spotting the girls returning, Azriel shot back his drink and stood up. With a slightly steadier step, he decided to take a little detour back to their table, positioning himself so he'd see Y/n first. It was a small thing, but it gave him a moment to steel himself, to prepare for her smile, her presence. "Alright, let's do this," he thought, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

As Azriel navigated his way back to the table, a sudden wave of nervousness washed over him. The confidence he had just moments ago seemed to evaporate with each step he took. By the time he was close, he found himself unable to meet the gaze of his friends or even Y/n, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, a beacon of his newfound apprehension.

He made a beeline for the chair adorned with the distinctive tweed jacket, so caught up in his thoughts that he completely missed Cassian's worried glance. With a heart racing and a mind swirling with rehearsed apologies, Azriel reached out to tap the shoulder of the person he assumed was Y/n, all the while starting his practiced spiel. "Hey, I just wanted to give you this, I--uh--I'm so sorry couldn't before--let me buy you a drink to make it up—"

His words faltered, dying in his throat as he finally mustered the courage to look up, only to find Elain's familiar face smiling back at him. The confusion was immediate, his brain struggling to catch up with the reality in front of him as Elain, seizing the pen from his grasp, chimed, "Oh, Az, my birthday's still a week away...but thank you so much!" The affectionate kiss she planted on his cheek was meant to be a sweet gesture, yet it only served to heighten Azriel's horror as he watched her examine the pen.

“Oh, that’s so preetty Elain! Mor stumbled by, the alcohol clearly catching up to her by now. “But, why do you have a pen right now? Don’t work, come dance with us! She said laughing, grabbing Cassian on her way back. 

Azriel, now left alone with a blushing Elain, had no idea how this happened. One moment he thought he’d finally get to confess to Y/n and the next moment, he’s given perhaps her prized possession, which she lent him, to another girl. It turned out that he was incorrect before, it's clear that the Mother brought up the worst luck he could have.  

He needed to fix this. 

Now. 

And tell Elain that he did have something for her birthday…just not that. Yes, it had to break it to her now. 

“I know you said you’d be busy and couldn’t make it to my birthday, but you didn’t have to get me something, Az! This is just my color though…”

Azriel stood there, his mind racing with a mix of panic and disbelief. How had he managed to entangle himself in such an awkward situation? The irony of it all was that he had known about Elain's soft spot for him, a sentiment that had grown perhaps from the time he had escorted her back from class to keep her away from her troublesome ex. 

He had considered the possibility of returning her feelings, had even tried to envision something more between them, but his heart never quite made the leap. Elain was wonderful, truly, but the spark he was supposed to feel just wasn't there. And deep down, he knew she deserved someone who could put her at the center of their world, something Azriel couldn't do.

Before he could get a word out, the din of laughter and chatter signaled the return of Rhys and Feyre, their expressions shifting from amusement to confusion as they noticed Elain holding the pen.

Azriel's eyes pleaded for help, a silent, desperate appeal that Feyre caught instantly. She stepped in, her words a flurry of explanations aimed at untangling the misunderstanding. But the situation took another turn with the arrival of Y/n and Nesta, their approach cutting Feyre's explanations short. In a panic, Feyre grabbed Elain's arm, insisting it was late and they needed to leave, effectively dodging the impending awkwardness but leaving the air charged with unsaid words.

Y/n and Nesta returned to find the table enveloped in an unexpected gloom, Rhys and Azriel's expressions painted with unmistakable dismay. The contrast to their earlier mirth sparked immediate curiosity.

"Where did Feyre run off to?" Nesta inquired, her words slicing through the heavy air just as Y/n, with a mixture of concern and confusion, reached out to Rhys. Her fingers brushed his forehead gently, a silent question in her touch. "Are you sick, why do you look so pale?"

Azriel hated the jealousy that sprung up at her actions, especially after what he had done. He immediately chastised himself for the feeling, fully aware that the concern shown was purely platonic. Yet, he couldn't help but long for a similar connection, a moment of care directed towards him, especially from Y/n.

Nesta couldn't resist a teasing jab, her observation laced with humor yet not entirely devoid of truth. "Lovesick more like it," she scoffed, her comment hanging between them like a challenge, prompting a momentary flicker of amusement to dance across Rhys's otherwise somber features.

Nesta’s words, though teasing, unwittingly mirrored the turmoil swirling within Azriel, a turmoil stemming from his unvoiced feelings for Y/n.

Amid the group's subdued atmosphere, Y/n took the initiative, her concern for her friends sparking into action as she decided to fetch water and some food for the table. Once she was out of earshot, Rhys leaned in, his voice low, "Remember when I said she's very forgiving? Well, Y/n is a bit possessive over letting others use her things." Azriel paled considerably.

Upon returning, Y/n placed the food down with a gentle smile, announcing, "I'll find Mor to say goodbye before I have to leave."

Nesta's questioning gaze prompted Y/n to share a bit more about her plans, revealing her Sunday brunch with her father. It was a tradition, yet one that held mixed feelings for her. Rhys, catching the underlying sentiment, ventured cautiously, "First time since you're back...any welcome presents?"

Y/n's nod was accompanied by an eye roll, her voice tinged with a mix of amusement and resignation. "He'll probably gift me a pen, as always." Then, leaning closer to Rhys, she confided in a whisper, "He still thinks I don't know his assistant keeps buying them." Their shared laughter, though tinged with sadness, was a brief respite from the tension of the evening.

As Y/n waved goodbye and made her way through the diner, the weight of what had transpired settled heavily on Azriel's shoulders. Rhys’s earlier statement now mixed with what he had just heard father gets me a pen…hates sharing… 

The pen he had intended to return to Y/n, now in Elain's possession, wasn't just any pen; it was akin to a token of her father's affection…

He was so, so doomed. 

If Azriel thought he was mortified before, well, it couldn’t be compared to now. His current stakeout, crouched in the dense foliage outside Elain and Nesta’s apartment, felt like a scene straight out of a spy movie—only infinitely less glamorous and with higher stakes. 

After searching the entire night for the pen, he realized that you really were Rhys’s friend, the resell prices he found made him want to throw his computer out. But even if he could afford it or request Rhys for help, it seemed that the version you had was sold out. He didn’t even know they made limited-edition pens, let alone ones of this price, were they made of gold? he thought pulling up the product description….set with a pearl…Oh.

Well, that led to his current predicament, knee-deep in the bushes outside Elain and Nesta’s shared apartment. Given that he had borrowed Nesta’s key, which was carelessly strewn on the table of his and Cass’s apartment, he knew she wouldn’t be back for a while. The problem now was getting Elain and it seemed Feyre out…which was why he had texted Rhys an SOS. 

As he waited, hoping that no one noticed him acting like an absolute creep, he finally saw Feyre pulling Elain out, something about a project with Lucien? 

Whatever, that wasn’t important now. His phone buzzed in his pocket with an aggravated all-clear from Rhys. He knew he owed him and Feyre a lot…and technically Elain and Nesta too. The plan was simple: get in, find the pen, get out.

He had been to their apartment before, but always with the company of someone else, usually Cass when he went to pick up or drop off things for Nesta. It felt…eerie being here alone, and he tried to ignore how much of a creep he felt looking through their things. Yet, despite his efforts, the pen remained elusive, a realization that sent a wave of panic crashing over him.

Mother above, where would one keep a pen?? He checked the various surfaces in all the rooms, he checked Elain’s desk, her vanity, and even her bedside table….he looked at the bathroom counters and even scanned through Nesta’s room. As he debated how many more boundaries he’d cross by opening the drawers, his phone buzzed again, with a text from Rhys, feyre said it's with her *crying face emoji* *crying face emoji*...

It’s with her…it’s still with Elain?! The words echoed in his mind, a mantra of frustration and defeat.

Needing to escape the claustrophobia of his failure, Azriel abandoned his search, the apartment, and any pretense of dignity he had left. He found himself wandering aimlessly, feet leading him through the city's streets with no destination in mind. Hours passed, his thoughts a tangled mess, until the financial center's impersonal skyscrapers towered over him, indifferent to his turmoil.

It was there, amidst the steel and concrete, that a familiar voice pierced through his haze of self-reproach. "Azriel?" Y/n called out, her presence like a beacon in the dimming light. 

She emerged from a store, the elegance of her white lace blouse and black slacks contrasted sharply by the vivid red purse she carried. It was the bag she swung from behind, adorned with the same white flower symbol as the pen, that captured his attention, a silent testament to the reason for his current state.

Azriel was at a loss for words, his surprise at seeing her mirrored in the way she regarded him. “I’m surprised to see you here, what are you doing?”

Caught off guard and scrambling for an explanation, Azriel mumbled something about needing a walk, a half-hearted attempt to mask his real reasons for being there. 

Y/n's gaze held his, a hint of curiosity mixed with understanding flickering in her eyes. "A walk that led you all the way here?" she asked, her voice soft but pointed.

Azriel felt the inadequacy of his answer hang between them, an invisible barrier he wished he could dissolve. "Yeah, it's been one of those days," he admitted, his voice trailing off, the truth of his statement more profound than he cared to explore.

Y/n studied him for a moment, her intuitive eyes reading the layers of unsaid words. Then, breaking the tension with a smile that seemed to light up the dimming city around them, she said, "Well, in that case, I could use a bit of company. I was about to grab some coffee. Join me?"

Azriel hesitated, the weight of his earlier mission pressing down on him. Yet, there was something about Y/n's offer, an earnest simplicity, that cut through his reservations. "I...yeah, coffee sounds good," he finally said, not surprised at his own eagerness.

Seated in the cozy enclave of the coffee shop, with bookshelves brimming with tales and plants that whispered of care, Azriel found himself enveloped in a warmth that the stark lines of the financial district rarely offered. The glow of the setting sun, filtered through the tall windows, bathed Y/n in a soft light, casting her in an almost ethereal aura. Her laughter, light and easy, filled the space between them as she caught his look of pleasant surprise.

"This place isn't quite the corporate café you were expecting, is it?" Y/n teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Azriel chuckled, nodding. "I was expecting somewhere... more stiff. This is a nice surprise."

Leaning in, Y/n shared her secret with a whisper, "This café is my little escape. Not many know about it here. But trust me, the coffee’s unmatched, and you have to try the food."

As Azriel began to protest, not wanting her to treat him to even more, his stomach betrayed him with a timely growl. Y/n’s laughter rang out again, full and genuine, just as an older lady approached with their order. "Here you go, dear," she said to Y/n, then turned to Azriel with a warm smile. "First time I've seen her bring someone. You take good care of her, okay?"

Y/n’s protest that they were just friends, and really just classmates, did little to deter the lady's knowing look, leaving her a flustered shade of pink as the lady departed. Y/n then explained to a bewildered Azriel about the café's significance to her, a place discovered during times she'd rather forget waiting in her father's stark office, with the building being down the street. 

As they shared the meal—Y/n insisting Azriel try her favorite sandwich and a tart chosen especially for him—Azriel marveled at her attention to detail, at the fact that she'd noticed his fondness for blueberries. "How did you know?" he asked, his heart aflutter at the realization that she paid him such mind.

With a shy glance away and then back, Y/n admitted, "I noticed you always carrying around blueberry bars. It's the little things, you know?"

Azriel, moved by her attentiveness and kindness, found himself unworthy of her attention. How could he let her remain ignorant about his transgressions, and watch her smile and laugh with him? But he also couldn’t bear to let her go, not when she made him feel things he thought he’d never be able to. Azriel decided then and there that he would admit his faults and then he would beg, he would plead for her to forgive him, or at least continue to talk to him, after he returned the pen from Elain. And if she refused, then he would accept it, but he would grovel as much as she allowed, if only to not lose the smiles that she sent his way. 

"I... I don't deserve your kindness," he confessed, his voice a whisper of turmoil. "Because I'm a thief."

Y/n's eyes widened, confusion and concern mingling in her gaze, "A thief?" she echoed, her head tilting slightly, inviting him to explain.

Azriel's words tumbled out in a frantic cascade, a confession spilling forth about the pen, his failed attempts to return it, not knowing her name and the catastrophic mix-up at Rita's that saw Elain inadvertently receiving what he thought was Y/n's treasured possession. "I know it was a gift from your father... I'll get it back," he assured her, his heart sinking as he prepared for her to walk away, to maybe throw the coffee in his face, for the soft warmth of her smiles to vanish.

But instead of anger or disappointment, laughter bubbled up from Y/n, rich and unrestrained. Azriel lifted his gaze, bewildered, only to find her smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine amusement. It was a moment Azriel wished he could freeze and live in forever, were it not for the fear of her next words.

From that dreaded black bag, she produced a sleek box, emblazoned with Mont Blanc, and Azriel's heart sank. This was it, the moment of reckoning. He half-expected her to reveal a price tag that would make his eyes water, a reminder of his foolishness. Instead, Y/n unveiled a pen, its body a dance of blue and white lacquer, sparkling with what he could only guess were jewels.

Y/n shared a piece of her past with him then, her voice soft and nostalgic. She spoke of her younger self, who found more joy in the worlds of books and art than in the dry texts of study. 

"I used to collect colored pens, fancy ones that made writing notes less of a chore," she explained, gentle laughter threading through her words. She revealed how her love for calligraphy had blossomed from there, a passion she had hoped would catch her parents' attention.

The story took a turn Azriel hadn't expected. "For every achievement, every missed event, every return home, I got a pen. I thought it was my father remembering my words, but," she chuckled, shaking the elegant pen in her hand, "it turns out it was his assistant who remembered. My father doesn't even use fountain pens."

She waved the decorative pen with a flourish, proclaiming it beautiful but utterly impractical. "They're more for show than anything else, the nibs aren’t even correct for the type of stylized calligraphy I enjoy. I still keep them, just locked in a drawer at my apartment. But for everyday use, I stick to the rollerballs from Mont Blanc. They're just easier."

Y/n paused, eyeing him with a playful curiosity. "The pen was pink, wasn't it?" At Azriel's nod, she continued, "I swapped that one with a friend. Not really my color, but she wanted to exchange it for a white version that wasn’t available abroad.” 

Azriel nods, still caught in the whirlwind of his own confessions and fears. 

She shrugs lightly, her gaze drifting down to the black box, "Mont Blanc treats me too well and sends me many extras because I’m on their VIP list due to my father’s assistant. I don’t mind, though. It’s nice to know they’re going to someone who appreciates them."

Azriel's mind races as he tries to process this. The pen, the source of so much turmoil, was just one of many to Y/n, an item of little consequence. Yet, feeling a sense of responsibility, he insists, "I’ll get it back for you. It was yours, after all."

Y/n's response is a gentle wave of dismissal. "You don’t need to worry about it, Azriel. You didn’t steal it. I told you to return it whenever you wanted. I just...hoped it would make you think of me." Her voice fades, a note of melancholy creeping in as she turns her face away slightly, hiding the vulnerability in her eyes. "I guess you didn’t, though. Do I bother you, sitting next to you in class?"

The earnestness in her question, the raw hint of insecurity, pierces through Azriel's defenses. He reacts instinctively, his words tumbling out in a rush to bridge the gap his silence had created.

"Bother me? Y/n, you’ve been...I’ve been trying to find the words to talk to you since you first sat next to me. You don’t bother me; you distract me because...because I think you’re beautiful."

The confession hangs in the air between them, a fragile truth that sends a blush creeping up Y/n's cheeks. Azriel's heart pounds in his chest, his earnest declaration laying bare his feelings.

"So, friends?" Y/n ventures after a moment, her voice steady but her eyes searching his for an answer.

"Friends," Azriel agrees quickly, too quickly, perhaps, because what he really wants to say is so much more. "But, I'm hoping for more than that," he added under his breath, a vow to himself as much as to her.

Y/n's smile in response is shy but hopeful, a silent agreement to the unspoken question hanging between them. In the quiet of the café, amidst the scattered pens and the remnants of their past misunderstandings, they find a new beginning.

A/N: The pen Y/n received above! So, I have no idea where this story was meant to go. I just had the idea to write about Azriel doing something silly because he was so distracted by a crush, which became him unintentionally stealing a pen. After all, I have an obsession with pens due to the same reason Y/n said...And then this spiraled a little too much into my own uhh grievances with pens, calligraphy…and uhh parents. ANYWAYS, I hope this made you all laugh and fyi Mont Blanc does make great pens, I highly recommend their roller balls and fountain pens, though some are so extravagant I can’t imagine ever using them. 

[azsazz]

Midnight Muse (Part 3)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: Mentions of how Azriel got his scars, burning.

Word Count: 3,528

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Notes: This one is a hum-dinger.

_________________________________________

The party is in full swing. Music beats loudly through the apartment, and the rumbling of voices trying to shout over it crams the room, bouncing off of the walls and down the hall. There are people everywhere, crowding the space. The furniture has been shoved aside to make room for dancing and there’s a beer pong table set up between the fridge and the counter that’s plastered in bottles of beer and liquor and red cups. Someone’s standing on the countertop pouring a beer into a luge with a frat bro on the other end, chugging. Azriel doesn’t know how the fuck he got in.

The air is thick with over-sprayed perfumes, body odor, weed, and alcohol. Azriel watches from his spot by the window as he preps his latest victim. He’s working his hands into a second pair of black latex gloves, fresh for the girl sitting in his chair. It’s one of the rickety ones they had at their dining table, but they don’t eat there anyway, so it’s mostly used for this. She’s excited, wearing a skimpy dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. There’s a group of guys standing nearby, watching her with glossy eyes and beers in their hands, half hard at the prospect of watching the girl get a tramp stamp.

“A little purple unicorn,” is what she’d requested, and Azriel didn’t ask why. He pulled out his sketchbook and took his pencil to it silently, sketching a few options for her to choose from. 

Azriel isn’t proud of the set up he has currently; tattooing drunken college kids whenever Cassian throws a party. Usually a weekly occurrence. He is completely out of his element, but he needs the practice, should he want to open his own shop someday. The only reason he doesn’t have his headphones on, blasting music a little more to his own taste, is so that he can hear what’s going on, and tend to his client’s needs should anything happen. He’s perceptive, and will keep an eye on the hiccuping girl with her dress pulled over her ass, only because he cares more about the tattooing than whatever else is going on.

He preps her skin, taking a clean razor to remove the area of any hair. The girl scoffs when she sees it, but it’s protocol for him, and she is happily distracted when someone shoves a drink in her direction. The liquid spills over the rim a little, and Azriel grits his teeth, but continues to focus on his preparations.

She keeps squirming, shouting in the direction to the dancefloor where her group of friends can hear her. Her long, red hair that she persistently sweeps over her shoulder when Azriel tucks it back keeps brushing the area he’s just taken an antiseptic to. He sighs when she does it for the third time and sits back in his seat in frustration.

“Get out of my chair.”

His voice is a low rumble, and she doesn’t seem to hear him. She’s too busy trying to call her friends over, to brag about what she’s doing. It’s incredibly annoying, and Azriel’s already had a hellish day.

He hates knowing that the girl he’d met in the lobby lives next door. You’re infuriating, aggressive with your words and actions, pounding at both the elevator and their front door, demanding he move his motorcycle. 

You may have been arguably as drained as he was, with your unruly hair and tired eyes. He’d come straight home after hearing the news that he hadn’t gotten the apprenticeship he’d wanted at Mystic Mark Tattoos. He thought he’d shown an incredible portfolio of work, both drawings and tattoos done in this very living room, without the distractions of beer, girls, and weed. They thought he was too young, that he needed to work on straightening his lines and that maybe a different style would suit him better.

And then there were no parking spots when he’d gotten home. Normally, Azriel parks in front of Cassian’s enormous rust bucket of a Bronco, his sleek motorcycle teetering on the white painted line just before the tow zone. But there had been a moving van jammed there instead, which meant more noisy neighbors moving into the already packed building. He doesn’t need to meet more people at the mailboxes, fight them for the one slow-ass elevator that might crumple if more than three people get on it. He doesn’t want to fight for a spot in the parking lot, either.

In his haze of annoyance, he’d parked in the small space between the front of the van in the no-no zone and the car bookending it. He hadn’t given much thought to the blinking hazards on the van, hoping he’d be in and out of his apartment to drop off his art supplies and portfolio, then be right back outside for a long ride to clear his head of his failures.

You had changed his mind on that, with your stupidly good-looking face and snippy attitude. He knew he’d caught you off guard, waltzing into the building like that. He’d even stopped to get his mail, something he should’ve walked right past to avoid more contact with you, but even he couldn’t keep his eyes from your backside as you stalked past him through the door.

Your question had been his aggravating final straw.

No, his final straw was finding out you were his neighbor, most likely the one next door. You’d shown up with fire in your eyes and pink cheeks, and he was hardly able to keep his surprise locked away at the sight of you and your roommate, angrier than all hell. That same surprise you weren’t able to conceal nearly made him smirk, but your taunt of towing his beloved motorcycle sparked something almost deadly in him. He wanted to grab you, force you down the stairs with him to see if it were still there, maybe press you up against it and—

“What?” the girl asks incredulously, craning her neck over her shoulder. 

“Get the fuck out of my chair or I’ll put a dick on you,” he grunts, already packing up his things. He ignores her spluttering confusion, the red to her cheeks that looks nowhere near as pretty as it had on you.

“Fuck you,” the girl screeches, stumbling to her feet. The group of lingering men watch on, one even stepping closer to help steady the poor girl. Tears prick her eyes but Azriel doesn’t feel bad in the slightest. If she really wanted a tattoo, she would’ve acted properly, not fucking wasted his time. He’s done. He’s so done.

She whirls, wrenching her arm from the other boy's grasp, and tosses her drink right into his face. Azriel winces, the juiced-down alcohol stinging his eyes. He licks his lips and cringes. It’s as fruity as it smells. Vodka, it tastes like.

He swipes his wet hair out of his face so he can use his best glare that makes anyone cower from him, but she’s already dragging the boy into the throng of people on the dance floor. Azriel takes the loss, peeling the black gloves from his hands and shoving his things under his arms.

“Woah, dude,” Cassian says when he stumbles into Azriel on the way to his room. His locked room, because he doesn’t need anyone touching his things. Being in his apartment is already enough. They can fuck in the stairwell for all he cares.

Cassian’s pants are slung low off his hips, button and zipper both undone. His shirt has been shucked off, either because he’s spilled beer on himself or because he’s about to get lucky, Azriel doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. The music is too fucking loud and too fucking poppy, and the air is thick and hot. His skin is sticky and he just can’t take this day anymore. “What the hell happened?”

“You invited a bunch of assholes to your party, Cass. What the hell do you think happened?” Azriel bites, pulling his key from the keychain in his pocket. He doesn’t even have the temperament to deal with his roommates right now. He wants to be left alone.

“So she denied you Azzie,” Cassian teases, slurring a bit. The hazel of his eyes is bright, and normally it’d help Azriel’s mood, to joke around with his best friend like this, but he’s itching to get clean and get out of here. 

He really should’ve started drinking.

“Don’t start with me,” Azriel sighs, twisting the key in his lock and shoving his way into his room. His shoulders loosen a bit when he steps inside. His own space, decorated how he likes. It’s dark, moonlight streaming through the open curtains, and he likes that. 

“Hey,” Cassian pouts, following him. The door shuts softly behind his friend and the noise of the party dims a little, but not enough for him to want to stay. Azriel drops his tattooing supplies on his desk, eager to take a shower and clean this day off of himself. He’ll organize it all later, rip out the page with the unicorn drawings on them out of spite. “You’re acting as grumpy as our new neighbor,” he continues, and Azriel really doesn’t like being compared to you. He’d rather call that drunk girl back to finish her tattoo. “What’s going on with you?”

Azriel sighs, tearing off the shirt that’s plastered to his body with alcohol. He swipes at the remnants before tossing it into the laundry basket in the corner. “Just a rough day, man. Nothing to worry about.”

Cassian frowns and tries to catch Azriel’s eye, but his friend refuses to meet his gaze, rooting through his dresser to find a clean shirt. He’s come to the realization that he isn’t going to be able to take a shower in the only bathroom they have without people trying to knock the door down, trying to pee. 

“It’s not like…” Cassian trails off like he doesn’t even want to ask this. “It’s not like last year though, right?”

Azriel’s body stills, spine going tight. His muscles constrict and he squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to breathe, fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt. Last year, when he’d been forced to go to his father’s home for the winter break. He had wanted to make sure that his son was doing something with his life, going to school for accounting instead of art like he’d wanted since he was a child. 

So, Azriel pretended. He’s a smart man, and with a little help from Google and his memory, he played off the business student his father could only dream of. It hadn’t stopped his step brothers from finding out the truth, though, pinning him to the ground when their father was out for a business dinner later that evening. They’d taunted him, spat at him, and poured gasoline over his hands, setting them alight. They’d laughed while he screamed, struggled. They thought they were doing proud by his father, he couldn’t really become an artist with fucked-up hands.

And he’d fled as soon as he was released from the hospital. He didn’t go back to his fathers for his things. He’d had someone help press Rhysand’s contact on his phone since his hands were in too much pain to do so himself. Rhys had called Cassian, and both of his friends had flown down within hours.

“No,” Azriel answers shakily. He can still hear their ugly words sometimes, how they made his hands as brutalized as their insults. He can still smell the burning of flesh. Beach bonfires are a no go anymore. Azriel can hardly sleep most nights, terrified of closing his eyes and reliving the night over and over again, even a year later. “No, it’s not like last year.” 

It’s both better and worse, somehow. Better, because no one is assaulting him, and his father is no longer reaching out, but worse because maybe his father had been right. Maybe his artistic abilities are not good enough to be where he is right now. Maybe the tattoo shop denying his apprenticeship only confirmed that.

“We can ditch this party right now,” Cassian says, and he sounds closer. A little more sober.  “Let Rhys deal with it. We can go on a ride and talk if you want to, Az. I’ll even let you drive Cherry.”

Azriel shakes his head. Cassian doesn’t let anyone drive his beloved Bronco, painted cherry red, faded from years worth of sun damage. He doesn’t want to talk at all, really.

“That’s alright, man,” Azriel answers, turning to face his friend. Cassian’s eyebrows are furrowed deeply, and now Azriel feels bad that he’s ruining his friend's night. “Grab those condoms you came in here for and go bag your girl.”

That seems to distract Cassian enough, the boy cursing and eyes going wide. “Oh fuck! Sage! Or is it Paige? Shit, man, I don’t even remember her name.” He’s frantic, catches the box of condoms perfectly when Azriel tosses it his way. 

“Just call her baby or something,” Azriel claps Cassian on the shoulder, guiding him towards the door. “They love that.” 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

The wind in Azriel’s ears drowns out all of the bad thoughts. 

This, this is what he loves, thrives off of. Roads untraveled, the night and wind his only caress. Shadows chase his route, and the silence rights his presence. The darkness takes care of him, feeds his weary soul. The thrum of the bike between his thighs is exhilarating, especially when he climbs to speed that makes his heart race so fast in his chest he’s afraid it might burst.

He’s alone in the world right now, just him, his bike, and the moon. No one can catch him, taunt him, insult him, hurt him. The night would never treat him as others do. 

Gliding around a curve, he comes to a slow stop. He’s arrived at a hilltop, one he’s found while biking through the town on another night similar to this. It overlooks part of the town, and he likes being able to see the lights of the city. It’s also far enough to get a good view of the sky, and he counts what constellations he can. He cuts the engine, shoves the kickstand down, and pulls his helmet off, breathing in the scent of night.

He hangs the helmet on the handlebar and unzips his coat, peels his gloves from his hands to stare at them under the moonlight. They’re fucked beyond belief, red and puckered with marred flesh that will never truly heal. They shake sometimes, when he’s sketching or trying to tattoo. Cassian has three or four jagged tattoos because he’d offered his body for Azriel to practice on after they’d healed enough to where he could hold a tattoo gun again. He’s lucky to have such a friend, even if the tattoos he requested were dumb. He hasn’t convinced Rhys to get one yet, though. Soon.

They’re unlike the ones scattered around his own body. Mythological stories inked into his tan skin, each with their own story. Icarus on his torso because when he’d truly begun to reach out for what he wanted in life, he was burned. Psyche and Eros intertwined  on his forearm because he too should only be loved in the dark, where no one can see his flaws. Large bat-like wings that cover the expanse of his back because he’d always wished that he could just up and fly away from here, all of his problems in life. Many others line his skin, each one curated to perfection, no matter what anyone else has to say. He adores each and every one of them. 

The breeze blows some of his flopping hair in his eyes and he brushes it away. He should get it cut soon, he thinks. 

Azriel slides from the bike, digging into the inside pocket of his jacket for a small notepad and the pencil he’s brought. He keeps the headlight to his motorcycle on, and goes to sit in front of it, letting the light wash over his sketches. 

Turning to a fresh page, he puts the tip of the pencil to the pristine paper, and begins drawing, ignoring the slight shake of his hand. He has to get used to it, relearn how to make crisp, straight lines if he wants to go into tattooing, but right now, in the middle of the night, none of that matters.

He draws until his wrist hurts and he can hardly hold the pencil, and then he sits back, looking at his work. He swears he loses himself in it, not really thinking about what he’s drawing, but allowing the pencil to guide his movements. There’s a scratchy sketch of legs, the tops of the thighs covered by the fitted hem of a large sweatshirt. He’s drawn another unicorn, this one a skeleton, the black of it’s eye sockets reads “fuck you.” There’s a cerberus showing a full row of sharp teeth as it growls, two of the canine heads gnashing at each other. Azriel thinks this might be his next tattoo, actually.

It isn’t until the early hours when he’s sure his apartment has cleared out that he returns home. He takes his time, enjoying the little time to himself he has left. He doesn’t need to go back home, because he knows he’s not going to sleep, but he wants to be in his room with easy access to the rest of his supplies and the comfort of his belongings.

He’s not expecting to run into his new neighbor, but it's inevitable, the Mother playing tricks on him. You’re walking back from the parking lot as he’s getting off his bike, removing his helmet as you walk, head buried in your phone.

“Finally got that truck moved, huh princess?” Azriel comments, and watches you startle. You spin on your heel and he can’t help but take in your appearance. Your clean hair is brushes, no longer curling and knotty from your day spent moving in. Your eyes are wide, but he can see the tiredness lacing the color. You’re wearing a large hoodie despite the balmy summer night, but he can’t judge because he’s strapped up in his leather coat. He can barely catch the hemline of your shorts, peeking out from your top, and his eyes drag down your legs before climbing slowly back up.

“No thanks to you, asshole,” you mutter, trying to avoid crossing into his space. He’s massive, and you have to lift your chin to talk to him. You’re trying not to admire his stature in his leather jacket and dark jeans. Warmth spreads across your cheeks.

Azriel tuts. “So rude.”

“Why would I be a peach when you’ve been nothing but a jerk?” you cross your arms over your chest and he kind of likes this look on you. You're easy to rile. “I’ve had a hellish day, and you didn’t help. Then you go and slam doors in people faces and play your horrendous music as loud as fucking possible. Some people want to sleep, you know.” 

Azriel wishes he could sleep, too.

“Still salty you weren’t invited, princess?” 

You scoff, stepping around him, ready for this conversation to be over. “As if.”

You stalk for the building, trying to get away from him, but his strides are long and he can easily keep up. “Think I might catch the elevator with you,” he says. His rough voice sends shivers up your spine. “Since we’re going to the same floor, and all.”

He doesn’t know why he’s egging you on. He’s had a nice ride, gotten his head clear, but he finds himself enjoying your sharp tongue and dark glares. He enjoys your attention, the way you stubbornly have to have the last word.

“No, thanks,” you respond, all but ripping the front door off its hinges. Maybe it will hit him on the backswing.

Azriel’s large, gloved hand catches it in time, much to your dismay.

“More of a stairs kind of girl, I presume?” He asks, referencing your little trip to the fourth floor by stairwell after he’d taken the only elevator up. You grit your teeth, trying not to take the bait as you jam your finger into the button. It’s still on the ground floor from the few minutes you’d left to move the truck, finally noticing the stupid dickhead’s bike no longer blocking you in. You couldn’t sleep due to the party waging next door, but Feyre had been able to, snoring softly on the couch.

“More of a ‘don’t talk to me’ kind of girl,” you retort, nearly growling when he shoves himself inside the elevator with you. His presence takes up almost the entirety of the metal box, and you keep your eyes to yourself, staring at the bright green numbers as the rickety thing ascends. 

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks. “Feisty, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” you scowl.

“Sure thing, princess.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Midnight Muse Taglist: @going-through-shit @honeycriess @natashachelsea @thisisew @kennedy-brooke @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @magical-mischief-makers @reiincarnatiion @ccucumbers @secret-ly-here @throneofsmut @cami26cami @torchbearerkyle @a-frog-with-a-laptop @sevikas-whore @endless-worldss @vellichor01 @bangtans-jagiya @kalulakunundrum @pinksmellslikelove @sakurafrost3-blog

[moviesismylife]

Movie night

(Azriel x f!reader)

!Modern AU!

Summary:

Movie night with Azriel gets a little heated…

Warnings:

18+, smut, oral!giving

Trope:

None really

Note:

This is modern au, but I still wanted to keep the wings x

Enjoy <3

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

Y/n

I’m sitting on my couch at my apartment, Azriel seated next to me, a movie on the screen, and a blanket over us both.

His hand is draped on the couch behind me, and I’m nuzzled into his side. His other hand rests on my thigh, and mine are clasped in my lap under the blanket.

But the movie is boring me, so I decide to do something else instead.

Slowly, but surely, I slide my hand onto Azriel’s muscular thigh. He’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants. My favorite.

As my hand slides onto his thigh, his breath catches slightly. He turns his head to look at me with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. I can also feel the warmth spreading throughout his body.

I don’t say anything, letting my hand rest there, and turning my attention back to the movie.

Azriel follows my lead, turning back to the movie as well.

After a little while, I dare shift my hand on his clothed thigh, gently stroking it.

A soft gasp escapes his lips as my hand moves on his thigh. He bites his lower lip, but his eyes remain glued to the screen.

I hear his soft gasp, and trail my hand higher, moving my fingers to his inner thigh.

Azriel swallows hard as my hand moves higher and higher. His breathing becomes deeper, and his gaze darts between the screen and me. I notice a small grin forming on his face.

“Eyes on the movie.” I say, keeping my eyes on the screen myself.

He nods, his eyes locking onto the screen.

I let my hand slide higher, to the hem of his grey joggers, toying with the strings he’s tied so loosely.

I notice him biting back a groan, his body tensing. But his eyes stays on the screen nonetheless.

I slowly untie the strings of his sweatpants, and slide my hand inside, gliding my fingers over his undershorts, finding him rock hard.

His breath hitches and he closes his eyes, letting out a soft groan, making me heat up. But I turn my attention back to the movie, all while palming him through his undershorts.

I feel his hips starting to gently grind up against my hand, seeking more friction and contact.

I grip his clothed cock hard as soon as he starts to grind into my hand. A warning to sit still or I’ll stop.

He lets out a gasp as I grip his clothed cock harder, and freezes immediately, his hips stilling beneath my hand. His eyes remain locked on the TV screen, a silent understanding.

“Just watch the movie.” I instruct him, and he barely nods.

His breath catches in his throat as I slide my hand inside him, wrapping it around his erect cock. He moans softly, his hips bucking against my hand again.

I immediately remove my hand as he starts his movements.

He looks away from the TV screen, staring at me with a mixture of frustration and desire. “Stop teasing me.” He warns. “I can hardly concentrate on the movie, with your hand wrapped around my cock.”

“Try or else you get nothing at all” I fire back, command in my tone.

His eyes darker with lust at my tone. “Fine.” He growls softly. “But if I lose focus, don’t be surprised” he adds, gesturing towards my hand where his cock throbs in need.

I let out a chuckle, and only tighten my grip around his throbbing cock in response.

He closes his eyes, biting his lip to keep from moaning loudly, and clenches his fists. “Fuck.”

I smirk to myself at the half-groan, and start stroking my delicate hand over his erection.

His breath hitches as I start stroking his cock, and I notice him trying badly to focus on the movie.

I drag my manicured nails over the skin, drying up a bit of pre-cum that’s leaked from his tip.

I soak up all his pre-cum between my finger and remove my hand from his pants, sticking each finger into my mouth, and licking them dry.

He lets out a low groan as he watches me lick my fingers clean. Then his eyes drift down to where my hand was just a few moments ago, seeming to ache at the sudden loss of contact. “You’re testing my self control, angel.”

I only smirk at him, using my other hand to tilt his head back to the movie, as I slide back into his undershorts.

He lets out a soft sigh of relief as I slide my hand back into his undershorts. I notice him struggling to keep his attention on the screen. “You’re merciless.”

I let him talk, keeping quiet myself as I slowly, finally start to stroke his cock.

He lets out a sharp intake of breath, then closes his eyes. “Fuck.”

I stroke the hole, long, length of him, making sure every place is touched.

His grip on the armrest tightens as I stroke his cock, slowly increasing the pace. His breathing becomes ragged, and I notice him biting his lip harshly.

He’s sweating and writhing under my touch, but keeping his eyes on the movie nonetheless. I decide to reward him for that and start moving my hand faster, every now and then dragging my nails over him.

He gasps as I increase the speed of my strokes, and his body trembles.

“Doing so good for me…” I praise, as my hand continues its fast strokes.

He only groans in response and his cock twitches in my hand. “I-I can’t…”

“Not yet…you can hold out longer…” I warn him.

His eyes flutter shut again and he clenches his fists tighter on the armrest. “Please…” he manages to whisper, his hips starting to move involuntarily in time with my strokes.

As he jerks his hips into my hand, the slick sound of pre-cum and sweat coating my hand that makes it easier for me to stroke him, sounds through the air.

His breath comes in short gasps as I continue to stroke him. His body arching into my touch. “M-more…” he pleads, voice shaky with need.

“Tell me what you need…” I say, even though I know exactly what to do to make him explode.

His head falls back as he struggles to catch his breath. “Faster…” he manages to say, his voice thick with desire. His hips buck against my hand and he groans loudly as the pleasure builds up.

I obey, my hand now almost cramping from going so fast, but I continue. He is twitching in my hand, his face written in pure pleasure. Head thrown back, eyes screwn shut, and knuckles white at gripping the armrest so tightly.

His breathing becomes ragged, each groan cutting through the silence. “Ahh…fuck…yes…” he utters, voice hoarse with excitement.

I move my mouth towards one of his wings, licking a stripe up the sensitive flesh.

His entire body tenses as I make contact with his wing, a moan rumbling up from deep within him. He arches his back further into my touch. “C-close…”

“Come for me Az…” I mutter, teasing his swollen head and that seems to do it.

He finally releases, his seed shooting out of his tip and covering my hand. His back arches impossibly high as he cries out in pure bliss. “F-fuck…I’m…cumming…”

“That’s it…” I say, continuing my strokes as he cums all over my hand.

His body shudders and twitches, each contraction sending another wave of pleasure through him. His wings flap weakly against the couch, his face contorted in ecstasy. “Ahh…god…I can’t…”

“I love you…” I say, stroking him further.

“I love you too…” he gasps out, his body finally relaxing into the couch.

I smile at that, and finally remove my now cum-coated hand from his pants.

He turns his head slightly towards me with a contented sigh. His cheeks flush brightly as he becomes aware of the mess on my hand; embarrassment mixing with gratitude for such an intense release.

But once again, I only stick every finger into my mouth, licking up his seed and moaning at the taste.

His eyes widen as he watches me clean up his seed, and a small smile tugs at his lips. “You’re…”

With his seed now in my mouth, coating my tongue and lips, I lean forward giving him a slow, sensual kiss.

His tongue darts out tentatively to taste himself on you before diving deeper into your mouth.

Azriel is a needy man, and as soon as his tongue darts into my mouth, I know he’s gonna return the favor.

He moans against my lips as he deepens the kiss, his hands finding their way to my hips. He pulls me closer, his hard length pressing against my thigh in anticipation. As the kiss breaks, he whispers breathlessly, “I want to taste you too.”

“Azriel you don’t need to-“

“No please.” He interrupts. “I need to feel you.” His hands move down to my hips and and underneath my skirt, trailing along the inside of my thighs until he reaches the edge of my panties.

I moan at that too, my cunt already aching after hearing all his groans. “You sure? You don’t need to.”

“I want to.” He insists. His fingers traces slow circles around the elastic of my panties, his gaze never leaving mine. He gently pushes them aside, revealing my damp core to his touch.

“Alright…” I say, letting him.

His eyes darken at that, and his fingers dive into my core, and I let out a loud moan.

I shift in my seat, throwing the blanket off us, and turning the tv off, as I move to straddle his lap. “Why don’t we skip the fingers and go straight to you being inside me instead?” I suggest, my hands going to his neck.

His hands grip my hips possessively as he nods in agreement. “I’d like that very much.”

With that I drag down his pants and undershorts, his hard cock springing out. Azriel slides my underwear to the side, and I sink down onto him.

His eyes lock onto mine as he enters my wet cunt, his hips bucking up to meet me. His hands clutch at my waist, his chest raising and falling rapidly with each thrust.

“Fuck, that’s so much better…” I moan, moving in to kiss him.

He groans into the kiss, his tongue dancing with mine as he pounds into me harder and faster. I can feel the tension building within him, and when he pulls away from the kiss, he growls. “I’m going to fucking ruin you for any other man.”

“There are no other men. Only you.” I tell him, grinding my hips down to show him I mean it.

His eyes darken even more as he presses his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling hot and fast. “Then take what’s yours.” He growls, before slamming into me again and again, claiming his possession with each thrust.

“Only mine.” I moan as he thrusts into me. I let my hands slide down his stomach, to the hem of his shirt.

His body tenses under my touch as he feels the heat of my hands on his skin. He pauses for a moment, then slides his t-shirt off over his head in one swift motion. I gasp at the sight of his broad chest and rippling muscles.

“Your turn.” He smirks and moves to pull off my top.

His hands slide up my sides, tracing the curves of my body as he pulls off my shirt. His gaze travels over every inch of my exposed skin, and when he reaches my breasts, his breath hitches.

“No bra?” He asks, and I smirk.

He chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving my breasts. “I kind of like the idea of you being free from unnecessary constraints.” He leans down and takes one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking gently while his hand cups the other breast.

“Mmm…fuck that feels so good Az…” I praise him, as my hands tangle in his hair.

He groans against my skin, his body shivering with pleasure as he continues to tease and worship my breasts. His hips start moving again, thrusting deeper into me with each passing moment. “God, you’re so fucking responsive.”

“Ah-fuck-don’t stop.” I say, as I grind my hips into his, digging my nails into his shoulders.

His thrusts become more urgent, his breathing ragged as he feels the familiar coil of pleasure tightening in his belly. He reaches down between us, rubbing at my clit in time with his thrusts.

I moan his name, my head falling into the crook of his neck as I bite down, eyes rolling into the back of my head.

He growls low in his throat, his hips bucking wildly as he loses himself to the sensations. His fingers continue to tease my sensitive flesh, searching for that one perfect spot to send me over the edge.

The skin of his neck and shoulders muffles my moans, as he continues to thrust into me hard, his fingers keeping a firm pace at my clit.

His lips find the pulse point at my neck, and he sucks gently as he feels me starting to tremble on top of him. He knows I’m close—so close—and he wants nothing more than to push me over that edge.

“Fuck-I’m close…” I remove my head from his neck.

He groans in response, his thrusts becoming harder and faster as he feels me tighten around him. “Cum for me love.” He whispers against my ear before nipping lightly at my lobe.

“I want you-fuck-to join me-“ I manage to get out.

He picks up the pace even more, his hips slamming into mine as he feels the familiar sensation of his own release building. “Oh god yes.” He moans, his fingers digging deeper into my flesh. “Come with me.”

My moans continue to get louder, my body nearly shaking as I’m reaching my peak.

He feels the tremors running through my body and knows he’s not far behind. His cock throbs inside me, filling me up completely as he loses himself to the pleasure. “Fuck yes.” He groans, his hips bucking wildly as he releases himself into me.

“Fuck!” I cry out as I spill myself onto him at the same time, my walls clenching around him.

His eyes roll into the back of his head as he i convulse around him, his own release spilling deep inside me. He collapses under me, our sweat-slicked bodies entwined in a post-orgasmic haze. “Fuck.”

“Fucking best cock ever.” I let out, as I lift my head to look at him. I swipe some damp hair that’s stuck to his forehead, out of his face.

He smirks up at me, his chest still heaving with exertion. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” He breathes before leaning up to capture my lips in a slow, passionate kiss. “But I have to admit, I’m not surprised you think so.”

“Cocky bastard.” I murmur onto his lips.

He chuckles softly against my lips. “Only when it comes to this.” He admits with a wink. He pulls out of me slowly, his cock slipping out with a wet pop.

Release still dripping off his tip, and my thighs soaked in it, I stand up to get a wet cloth, stumbling a little as I stand.

Azriel catches me by my waist, steadying me. “Careful there.” He murmurs, his fingers trailing down my stomach. “Let me help you clean up.” He leans in close, nuzzling his face against my neck. “You smell amazing.”

“I smell of you.” I say, leaning into his touch.

He hums in approval, his fingers gently brushing over my sensitive flesh. “And that’s exactly how I like it.” He murmurs, nibbling at the soft skin behind my ear. “I want to leave my mark on you.”

I smile at that and move to the kitchen to grab a cloth and wetting it.

As I return, Azriel is sitting on the couch, his legs spread slightly as he watches me. “Let me help you with that.” He offers, standing up and taking the cloth from my hand.

I wait patiently as he stands up tall in front of me, wings spread out behind him.

He smirks at my gaze, his hand moving to run the wet cloth over his own chest and abs. “You like what you see?” he teases, watching my reaction closely.

“Oh shut up.” I scoff at him, turning away from his chiseled chest and stomach.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against my skin as he wraps an arm around me from behind. “You’re just going to ignore it?” He asks playfully, nibbling on my earlobe. “I thought you liked seeing me like this.”

I move to take the cloth from his hand, and wipe at the mess between my thighs.

Azriel watches me intently, his hand moving to my hip to steady my as I clean myself. “You know,” he begins his voice low and seductive, “I could help you with that.”

“There’s no need in cleaning me if you’re just gonna mess me all up again.” I answer, knowing where this will go if I give into his commands.

He chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “Oh, but I intend to.” He promises, his hand sliding up my stomach until it rests just below my breast.

“Az…I’m tired…” I breathe out, my body already sore and limp.

Azriel leans in, his lips brushing against my neck. “Tired?” He whispers, the tip of his tongue tracing my pulse point. “Or simply resisting me?”

I turn around in his grip, pecking his nose. “Tired.”

He smirks, pulling me closer until our bodies are pressed against each other. “Then let me take care of you.” He says, his hand moving to cup my breath gently. “I’ll make sure you’re well rested for round two.”

I move my hand up to his scarred one, stopping him from doing more. “I would love to but I’m exhausted and it’s late. Let’s continue this first thing in the morning alright?”

He sighs, his eyes softening as he looks at me. “Alright.” He agrees reluctantly, his hand dropping from my breast. “But remember, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I smile at that. “Wasn’t planning on it.” I say, taking his hand and leaving the cloth on the table. I lead the way into my room, or rather our room,feeling ready for cuddle and sleep.

As we approach the bed, Azriel scoops me up bridal style and carries me over to it. After gently laying me down, he crawls in beside me and wraps his strong arms around me. “Close your eyes.”

I laugh at that. “Az I need a shirt to sleep in. And you need to remove those joggers.”

I hear him groan, but get out of bed. I turn and scoot out of bed as well, sliding off my skirt.

He walks into his closet and grabs one of his old t-shirts, handing it to me.

I take the shirt from him and slip it on, then crawl back into bed with him. He pulls me close and wraps his strong arms around me, nuzzling his face into my neck. “Better?” He murmurs softly against my skin.

“Mhm…” I mutter, sliding my leg over his.

“Good.” He whispers, running his hand down my side and cupping my ass through the soft fabric of my panties.

I yelp and frown at him. “Az. Hands off.”

Azriel smirks and removes his hand, but not before giving my ass a playful squeeze. “As you wish.” He teases, turning off the lamp on his side of the bed.

I roll my eyes, but smile as he turns off the light.

In the darkness, Azriel scoots closer to me and wraps his arms around me once more. We lie there in silence for a moment before he speaks softly against my ear. “I’m glad you’re not mad at me.” He murmurs, kissing my neck lightly.

“Mad at you? What would I be mad at you for?” I frown, even though he can’t see it.

“For pushing you a little too hard tonight.” He answers truthfully, his warm breath against my skin. “I lost track of time and just wanted to make sure you knew how much I desire you.”

“It’s fine. I trust you. I knew you’d listen to me, and stop as soon as I say so.” I trace circles on his bare chest.

“You’re amazing.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to my hair. “Thank you for trusting me.” Azriel’s hands find their way under my shirt, tracing light circles on my back as he pulls me closer against him.

“I’ve always trusted you. Even before we were ever a thing.”

He smiles in the darkness. “I’ve always treasured that trust.” He says sincerely, kissing my forehead softly. “And I promise to never to anything to break it.”

“I know, I know.” I whisper.

“Good.” He breathes out, his lips finding mine in a gentle, loving kiss. As our lips part, he continues to hold me close, his strong arms wrapped around me like a protective shield. In this moment, all is right.

Even in the darkness, the golden in his hazel eyes shine through. “I love you.” I say, noses brushing.

He presses his forehead against mine, our noses touching lightly. “I love you too.” He whispers back, his voice barely audible, even to himself.

“Never leave me, or I’ll kick your ass.”

He laughs softly, his warm breath caressing my cheek. “Never.” He promises with a wink. “And you know I wouldn’t stand a chance against that ass of yours.”

I laugh at that too, and scoot closer in response.

His smile grows wider, and he presses his body against mine, pulling me as close as possible. “We have a deal.” He says firmly, his hand running through my hair in a tender gesture.

“We have a deal.”

Azriel’s gaze locks onto mine, his intensity burning bright even in the dim light. He brushes a stray hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear, his fingers trailing lightly down my neck. “Together.” He murmurs. “We can conquer anything.”

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

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x Cam-Girl!Reader: His Personal Assistant

A/N: I just— Azriel in a suit and tie? Getting all hot and bothered because he recognises reader from her late-night streams that he spends his evenings watching? How am I supposed to resist that?

Also, apologies to anyone named Kieth :)

Warnings: slight work-place harassment

-Part 2-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“Really?”

Helion gives you a smile, “I told you: anything. I can’t imagine why you would want to, but—”

You’ve already launched yourself at him, arms wrapping securely over his wonderfully muscled shoulders, dark skin contrasting gloriously with the crisp white polo he’s wearing that stretches over his chest. The top few buttons are undone in the summer heat, giving a simultaneously tantalising and teasing view. Enough to have your mouth watering, enough to pique your interest, but not enough to reveal anything else. An appetising suggestion.

“Thank-you!” You squeeze him tight and his laugh reverberates through your breasts, nipples peaking in response to the deliciously deep sound. His large hands span your waist, squeezing back and his breath tickles your neck. You press a smacking kiss to his cheekbone, sliding down his body until your flats land on the terrace—warmed by the sun.

“I’m not sure you’ll be thanking me by the end of the month, Luscious,” he chuckles, using your stage name, releasing you as you step away again, still smiling broadly. “I think you’ll be bored to tears by the end of your first day there.”

“Nonsense. I’ve always wanted to see how normal people live their lives,” you counter, grinning confidently. “Besides, how did you manage? It’s not like I have a particularly outstanding CV or anything…” You squint your eyes at him, “what strings did you pull to get me this job?”

Helion smiles, gesturing to continue the walk through his garden. “A good friend from my university days owed me a favour for something in the past,” he explains, eyes twinkling. “One of his directors has a habit of overworking himself—he thinks a personal assistant might do the trick. You’ll be there to give them an extension on finding a suitable fill for the role.”

Your nose crinkles a little, “so…what’ll I be doing? And what sort of job is it? Tell me I’m going to get one of those fancy chairs. You know, all big and executive? That have wheels on the bottom and spin around?” You ask excitedly. You gasp, “will I get a desk, too?” Helion laughs again, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “You’ll be filled in on the details when you get there. As far as I know, it’ll be fairly straight forward: photocopying, emailing, getting coffees—general admin tasks.”

Sounds fun—interesting.

“You probably won’t sit in on any meetings, since he runs a pretty prestigious law firm, but hopefully it won’t be too much of a bore.” He winks over his shoulder and you grin broadly. “How big is the building? Is it far from me?”

“Yes, it’s a skyscraper. And about a twenty minute drive—if you avoid rush hour,” he replies, moving toward the fountain. You could whoop with joy, but manage to restrain yourself. “Thanks again, Helion,” you say, still bursting with happiness—you’re going to get to work a real, normal job!

Your boss just grins over his shoulder, eyes gleaming, “don’t thank me yet.”

You don’t really consider his warning, instead launching more questions his way: What will you wear? How long is the work day? Will you get a decent lunch break?

————

Monday morning, you’re up and ready.

You’d selected your clothes the day before, having gone on a mini shopping spree to get in some appropriate attire for a law firm—which was both and arduous and fun task. A law firm…how grown-up!

The week before, you’d poured over the short and concise email you’d been forwarded from Helion, informing you about dress codes, break times, and when you’re expected to be there, accompanied with parking directions. You’d smiled to yourself that night, before stripping off your clothes, hopping in your shower, then switching on the webcam as you settled in your spare bedroom.

Helion hadn’t been lying when he’d told you the building was a skyscraper, complete with large windows and—most impressively—solar panels covering the elevated roof. The sun is out, making you second guess your cardigan, but hopefully there will be AC inside to counteract the heat. Checking your phone for the email, you step inside the building.

Five minutes later, you’re knocking on a looming door that leads to a room overlooking the entire city—he’s on the top floor. When there’s no answer, you peer at your phone, rereading the email. You’re definitely where you’re supposed to be—maybe a little early, but that’s never a bad thing. You perk up when you hear your name, footsteps drawing closer as you turn to greet whoever it is.

You conceal your shock perfectly—he’s so young! He can’t be older than his early-thirties—and so handsome, too! What a pleasant surprise. Your red-painted lips split into a carefully crafted smile, designed to be both alluring and demure, extending your hand before you, “I am expected, aren’t I?”

The man stops before you, eyes flicking to your hand as he grasps it firmly, gaze piercing into you. The shake is firm and assertive, more of a yank on your arm than the polite gesture you had expected. “You were supposed to wait at reception to be escorted to my office,” he says in a stern, but not unkind, voice. “I was expecting to find you there, but it seems you like to take initiative.”

Your smile morphs to a grin, “that I do.”

His lip twitches, but he gestures to his door, walking inside as he moves for his desk, muttering something under his breath: handful, indeed. You shut the door behind yourself, the slightly clouded floor to ceiling windows that separate his office from the hallway registering dimly in the back of your mind.

“You must be Rhys, then. The friend Helion mentioned,” you probe, taking the seat in front of his large desk. The chair is wonderfully comfy, making you want to purr. Somehow, you don’t feel he would appreciate the reaction. “Rhysand, yes. But you will not be addressing me so,” he replies smoothly, opening his suitcase and pulling out his laptop. “How much has Helion told you about your work experience?” He asks without looking up, preoccupied with commencing what is probably his daily routine of work.

“He said something about working as a temporary P.A. to one of your workaholic directors,” you drawl. There’s that lip twitch again. Not too bad, then. First impressions seem to be going okay. “He also mentioned not getting any ideas concerning bringing my prior work experience to your firm,” you say smoothly, offering a polite smile, watching for his reaction.

He doesn’t remove his attention from the laptop, deft fingers already flying over the keys, features a mask of vague amusement as he gives a brief nod. Right, a power play, then. He wants to make it clear that you’re working for him—one step out of line and you’re done. At least, that seems to be the rough message he’s sending.

“Say, did Helion mention anything about that?” You ask, feeling him out a little. “About what?” He asks, absently. Definitely a line in the sand. Helion must have mentioned your attitude. Fine, then. You can play pretty-personal-assistant. You can be a good little corporate slave. That’s your talent, after all: switching your personas to keep people at your feet.

“About my main job. In entertainment?” You ask, the smile turning demure, while keeping your tone polite. “I know his own line of work, yes. And no.” He looks up from his laptop, eyes turning cold and stern, “you are not to indulge in any sort of work that does not relate directly to tasks you have been given by my Director.”

Your smile widens a little, “understood, Mr. Rhysand Sir.”

————

Helion hasn’t prepared you enough.

Why hadn’t he mentioned the man you’d be working for has looks to put your male counterparts to shame? With a face like that, you’re mildly surprised your underwear stays on and doesn’t drop to your ankles. That a puddle of wetness doesn’t seep into the chair you’re currently seated on.

You stand to greet him, holding out your hand, hoping he’ll be a little gentler than Rhys was. But as soon as his eyes settle on you—red lips, pretty pearl earrings, sweet little pencil skirt—nothing. Not even a blink, or a double-take. Not even a roll of his throat. And it seems his eyes have already flicked back to the CEO by the time you’ve realised he is blatantly refusing to shake your hand. Your teeth grind as you bring your arm back to yourself. For a brief moment you wonder if it’s distain for your occupation—but Rhys had made it very clear he’s the only one who knows about your situation, so it can’t be that.

Of course you get stuck with the pissy, entitled Director who probably thinks women still belong solely in the kitchen and are only good for popping out babies one after another. You feel bad for his wife—if he has one. You should have given some thought regarding to the type of men you’ll be dealing within this discipline. Probably grew up with topiary surrounding his father’s estate, with an obscenely long gated driveway to flaunt it. His own house probably came with underfloor heating and bedrooms that are purely decorative. Probably says scone instead of scon.

“This is my Director, Azriel. Azriel, this young lady will be helping relieve your obscene workload,” Rhys introduces, a plain smile on his handsome face that somehow isn’t as interesting now that this classically-carved, marvellously-muscled, entitled ass has entered your world. “This is her?” He asks, keeping his attention off you. Not showing so much as an ounce of respect. He’s getting on your nerves and you’ve known him less than a minute.

Rhys nods his head once, a swift, concise movement, “correct. You will show her around the firm, demonstrate how to use the necessary equipment, and make sure she is working to the overall exceptional degree that is expected within my company.” Internally, you’re trying to keep yourself together—remarkably tricky. Working to not just a satisfying, but an exceptional degree? With this stick in the mud? All too suddenly, Helion’s warnings are making sense.

Azriel barely nods, “understood.”

He turns for the door, a silent dismissal passing between them, not once looking at you as he makes for the exit. It takes less than a second for you to realise he’s expecting you to follow behind him, like an obedient dog, but you manage to make a graceful exit, muttering a relatively polite, thank-you for your time to Rhys before you’re striding to match Azriel’s brisk pace. You’re not sure he’s even doing it intentionally, with those long legs of his—finely muscled, just like the rest of him. Dickhead.

————

The first place he takes you to is his own office, stopping by to drop off his satchel and turn his laptop on, preparing for the long day ahead. Then he’s escorting you out, striding down the hallway, directing you to a new location. It’s all rather terrifying—the speed and precision with which he conducts himself. Brutal efficiency lacing every movement.

You pick up your own pace to match his, having to kick up to a slightly faster walk than usual to keep up with him. He shows you to your temporary office—across the hall from his own—along with how to use the photocopying feature on the chunky block of machinery at the side of the lounge, as well as how to scan documents in. He shows you once how to do everything, then lets you try your hand at it. Unsurprisingly, you stumble the first two times, either forgetting to select an A4 sized piece of paper, or forgetting to make sure the documents are scanned in with colour.

Despite his previously sour attitude, he’s patient with your learning, not snapping at you when you get something wrong. Not encouraging you, either. You can’t tell where you stand, and as a socialite, it unnerves you—you can’t get a read on him. But you can’t let him intimidate you. He seems like the type to go for blood if he detects it.

“We’ll move on to filing,” he says, once you successfully scan, and photocopy a Grant of Probate, and driving licence. “Any questions?” You get the vague impression it’s not a sincere offer, but maybe you’re making unjust inferences based on the assumptions of his character. Maybe that’s also why you ask the first thing that pops into your mind. “Do you think you could slow your pace a little?” You give him a shy smile, aiming for humour as an ice-breaker, “I’m surprised my heels haven’t fallen off with how fast you’re going.”

His features don’t shift. Not even a twitch of the lips, like with Rhys. He only nods curtly, then sets off at a slightly less demanding pace than before, heading to his office. On the way, you pass by a young man who seems to be a similar age to you—perhaps a little younger— with light brown skin, eyes the colour of matcha tea, and lashes you would die for. He gives you a polite, albeit shy, smile as he passes, which you return.

“Who was that?” You ask nosily once the young man has passed.

“That was Gabrielle. He’s doing an apprenticeship under Kieth. You might run into the two of them over your time here; Gabrielle will have similar tasks as you.” Azriel explains in his monotonous voice—strangely pleasant. You wonder what it would sound like first thing in the morning. You smile mischievously to yourself as you imagine getting him into your bed. All the ways you could blow his mind. You have a hard time imagining he’s particularly fun in the sheets, with his stick-in-the-mud attitude and stick-in-the-mud character.

“And what about Kieth? Is he also a Director? Like you, Azriel?” His eyes flick briefly to you—light brown—before cutting ahead. “Correct.”

You resist the urge to lick your lips. You already know you’re going to fuck him—it’s just a matter of figuring out what kind of woman he wants. You’re going to break him down, until he’s begging for more. No matter Rhys probably won’t want you sleeping with one of his directors behind his back, but he’s not going to find out.

Azriel won’t even know what hit him until his knees are buckling.

You eye the way his suit seems be perfectly tailored to every round muscle, every bone and fibre of his body. Wrapped to perfection, like a sweet, little Christmas present for you to rip into.

————

As soon as you’re home, you’re stepping into the shower, needing to release the tension from your shoulders.

He’d worked you within an inch of your life.

At first, you’d made his coffee too hot, then it was too sweet, and the third time he seemed to have given up, grunting after the first sip—though it was finished by lunch. Then, he’d had you scan a two-hundred page document to him, which had taken you an hour and five minutes of monotonous lowering the machines lid, allowing the blinding white light to slide beneath the glass, changing the page, lining up the corners, then repeating the whole process. It was a task in itself to not drift off and forget if you’d already scanned in a page. Not to mention the additional half an hour spent waiting for the damn file to send.

That hadn’t even been the worst of it. The entire afternoon had been spent filing: finding papers that needed to be strung into the same file, ordering them chronologically—which sometimes meant removing months worth of documents just to slide one stupid printed email to the back of a Correspondence File.

The upside of the afternoon? It had presented you with many opportunities to bend over a cabinet, leaning on a file draw while you sorted through the papers to find the date you were searching for. You’d switch it around sometimes, too, leaning so you were facing him, flashing him a peak down your shirt every now and then.

The downside of the afternoon? His eyes had never left his computer. It was like you didn’t even exist. What sort of man doesn’t take advantage of fate when a pretty lady is offering a plentiful view of her backside? What sort of man doesn’t take advantage of you when you offer him a chance? It’s insulting…but you suppose it’s only been one day. Maybe he’s shy—you’ll have to step up your game.

Maybe you can spill some coffee between his legs. Or wear one of your more sheer tops with a dark bra. Or un-pop a few buttons on your shirt when he works you too hard. Really, he has no right to be so focused on his work when you’re in the same room as him, in your pretty little heels, and pretty little cardi, and pretty little skirt.

Maybe he doesn’t want pretty and little, though. Maybe you should try to be a little more “executive”, like him.

You fall asleep pretty promptly that night, schemes for how to ruffle Azriel’s feathers playing through your devious, sex-addled brain.

You still have a whole month to get him addicted to you. Shouldn’t be too difficult.

————

When you get in the next morning—a whole half an hour before you’re required—you head straight to your office. Only to see Azriel already sat at his desk, deft fingers flying over the keys, looking as stern as yesterday. Why is he in at 7:30 in the morning? From the look of it, he’s been there for a while already.

His dark eyes flick over the lid of his sleek laptop, catching you watching. Without so much as a word of greeting, he returns his attention to his computer, “you aren’t due for another half an hour.” Even if it isn’t a direct invitation, you step into his office, moving to be a few steps from his large desk. “I was planning on secretly sneaking in a couple of practice runs for coffee this morning, but it seems you’ve caught me,” you reply, gently.

Nonsense. You’re supposed to be mirroring him today. People like others who operate in similar styles to them, so you’ll act like a calmer counterpart—more feminine. Softer at the edges. So you straighten a little, standing with elegant poise, raising your chin ever so slightly. “You don’t need thirty minutes to make a good cup of coffee,” he says, eyes remaining on the screen of his computer. “Come back in half an hour when the work day commences.”

“No filing you want me to do? Get me warmed up for the work day?” You ask casually, as if remarking on the weather. His brow dips almost imperceptibly, “come back at Eight.”

“Just eager to help with your workload, Azriel.” You nearly smack yourself as the habitual lilt honeys your tongue. Executive. Not flirtatious. You clear your throat, trying again. “Eight it is, then. I’ll be here on the dot.”

You close the door behind you, heading across the hallway to your office, settling down into your chair—that has wheels. If everything else is miserable, at least you can roll across the floor with ease. You tap your desk restlessly, before logging onto the computer. As soon as you lay eyes on the digital scans from yesterday in your emails, you spin to the side and pull out your phone. Time for an update, anyway.

Undoing enough buttons to easily reveal your tits, hiking up your skirt, you snap a pretty picture, uploading it with a few taps of your fingers. The light is catching on your shiny red lips, making them appear plump, and Luscious. The image loads quickly, followed by a short caption. Getting a little handsy at work. Think I should fuck my boss? xxx

Deciding to be productive, you set yourself straight, and make for your door. You’d passed a coffee house on the way in, and just because you can’t make the bitter liquid in a way to satisfy him, doesn’t mean somebody else can’t be called in. Surely a barista will be a suitable improvement.

————

When you return, you decant the coffee into a nondescript white mug, careful not to burn yourself while handling the hot liquid. Maybe you undo an extra button, too, so he’ll have a little treat when you lean down to place the mug on his desk.

It’s eight on the dot when you knock on his door before before entering. Your plans are fucked sideways when you spot another man stood in his office. Legs in the usual man-spread, a little wider than shoulder width apart, with his hands in his pockets. Someone who’s used to feeling at ease in most spaces, who’s confident in his ability to own and dominate any room he’s in. He reeks of entitlement.

However, you’re pleasantly surprised when he turns at the sound of the door opening, eyes running appreciatively up and down your body, resting for an inappropriate moment on your chest—the undone button. He’s blandly handsome, with a hard jaw and slightly wavy brown hair that’s pushed back from his face. A slight shadow of stubble is already darkening his chin, not enough to look raggedy—more rugged masculinity. It suits him.

“And who’s this little lady?” The man asks, interest sparking in his chocolatey brown eyes. You smile, extending the hand that’s not holding his coffee, “I’m his Personal Assistant—”

“Secretary.” Your attention flicks to Azriel, but he’s eyeing the man before you, sternly. “She’s filling the role of my secretary, until a permanent replacement is found.” You fight the urge to furrow your brow, instead returning your attention to the man before you, who’s still regarding you with male interest.

“There you go then,” you smile, red lips parting enough to lift into a small grin, “I’m his secretary.” His large hand grips yours roughly—demandingly—as he shakes it. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Secretary,” he replies, mouth lifting into a charming grin. “I’m another Director here.” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper as he leans in, breath smelling faintly of mint, “the better one, that is.” He winks then stands straighter, and you release a soft laugh. “I don’t suppose you have a role open for a secretary, do you?” You tease back, noting the way his eyes flicker with approval.

“If one ever opens up, you’ll be the first one I contact. Personally,” the man drawls, eyes again dipping to your chest, and you can practically see the fantasies in his gaze. Maybe you’re wasting your time on Azriel.

But then the man turns away from you, “how come you’re treated to a Personal Assistant? Where’s my pretty lady to get me coffee in the morning?” You smile dutifully at the flattery, but Azriel looks mildly pissed off. “She’s my secretary, and she does a lot more than get me coffee in the morning,” he says sharply.

You take the chance to walk round to Azriel’s side of the desk, leaning over slightly as you place the coffee beside him. You intentionally angle your body away from the man, showing the discreet view to Azriel, but his eyes aren’t on you. You don’t really have the time to be frustrated with his lack of attention. “I’m sure she does.”

Woah. That has to be some sort of HR violation.

“Kieth.” Azriel barks, breaking you out of your stare. Thunderclouds have gathered in his eyes, and you can’t help the way your spine straightens. “She’s on work experience. That is not appropriate.” The man—Keith—isn’t deterred, instead flashing you a panty-dropping grin, “not even making him pay?”

You take a step back from Azriel, leaving an appropriate distance between your bodies as you turn to face Kieth. A feline smile slices your lips, eyes flicking to Azriel, making a show of looking him up and down, then back to Kieth. “With a pretty face like that? Never.”

You know Kieth gets the message—how you’ve stood yourself at his side, the opposing end of the desk that serves as a metaphorical wall. You’re aligning yourself with Azriel, and you can practically see Kieth marking the invisible leash you’ve silently suggested is connecting you to him.

If Kieth wants you, he’s going to have to go through Azriel.

———

Despite the seemingly clear alliance formed earlier that day, all traces of camaraderie had dissipated the moment Kieth removed himself from Azriel’s office. It seemed apparent that it was something about the opposing Director that got his panties in a twist, and you needed to investigate.

That being said, even after the team-up, nothing changed between the two of you. He was just as quiet as usual—almost sullen—not even sparing you a glance. You can’t figure out what’s not clicking for him. He has a woman all to himself for most hours of the working day, yet that’s all he seems to be doing: working.

What’s wrong with him?

The only time he’d paid you an ounce of attention was this morning, and since then—nothing.

You flop into bed, tired and frustrated. It’s proving more difficult than anticipated. It’s not like you haven’t had men who’ve taken a while to warm up to you before, but this is unreasonable. He seems completely uninterested. Utterly unbelievable.

The only logical conclusion you can come to is that it must be intentional. Any normal person would make eye contact with someone entering their space, or at least look up. And you’ve been in his office when other people have come in—Gabrielle popped in to ask after a particular file that Kieth had been after—and he’d functioned reasonably then.

It’s iron will that’s walling him off from you. And how are you supposed to break through a self-imposed barrier?

Easy.

You ware him down until the walls turn to dust, then you sweep in, and dominate. Crush down and obliterate.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[skyjasper]

Don't call me crazy

Professor!Az X Student!Reader Modern AU

Masterlist

Summary: Y/N has been lusting after her new British professor since the first day of class, what a perfect coincidence he also becomes her private teacher in all things war and torture.

Warnings: vulgar content, smut, 18+, age gap romance, oral (Fem and Male receiving), choking, praise, dom!az.

Word count: 4207

The first time I stepped into Mr. Singers' classroom I was expecting an old white man who thought he was funny.

What I wasn’t expecting as I took my seat in the front row was for a mid-age, tan skin, handsome man with tattoos and a thick British accent to walk out of the office. I wasn’t the only girl who sighed at his devastatingly handsome face.

“Good morning class. Let’s start with basic attendance so I can put faces to names and then we will get started.” The words rolled out of his mouth with the most sensual deep British accent.

The professor for War and Peace in Historical Perspective was not at all what I thought. Not with his crisp black button-up that had to top button undone and the sleeves rolled up. Not with the inky shadows that peaked up the collar of his shirt and down his very muscular forearm.

I was too busy daydreaming about those muscular forearms holding my waist to hear him call my name.

“Mrs. Y/N?” He asked again, which I only heard because of my seatmate elbowing me.

“Here.” I hesitantly lifted my hand, slowly sinking back into my seat out of embarrassment. His gaze fell upon me with his golden honey eyes.

“Next time, if you choose to be in the front, be more present.” He scolded me before moving on. A blush rose over my cheeks with the stern words.

~~~~

My War and Peace class hadn’t necessarily gotten better but also not worse. My work excelled and I never got below a B. So one could imagine my disappointment when my latest paper on Torture Tactics in War got a C-.

Mr. Singers' hand stayed on my desk as he whispered into my ear.

“See me after class or during office hours today.” His deep voice rolled through my body, shooting straight in between my thighs.

Was it inappropriate to have a huge sexual crush on my teacher who was 20+ my senior? Absolutely. Did it stop me? No. Goosebumps rolled down my bare legs and under my pleated white skirt. I nodded my head quickly as he moved to the next student.

After mentally going through my schedule I decided it would be best to stop by during office hours later.

~~~

My fist lightly knocked on Mr. Singers' office door.

“Come in.” He rumbled.

I opened the door before stepping into the dark space. His dark mahogany desk was neat and organized with papers and notes. The room only being illuminated by a tall lamp in one corner and a smaller salt lamp in the other corner.

“You wanted to see me?” I ask as my hands pull at the end of my navy sweater.

“Ah, yes Mrs. Y/N I wanted to discuss your last paper. Sit.” He nodded to the chair across from him. My feet moved on their own accord to sit, as if aching to obey his every word.

“Yeah I saw I got a C- and I was pretty confused. Is there any way I could revise the paper? I planned on using the topic for my dissertation.” I pulled out the printed paper from my bag.

He watched my every movement very closely. His eyes raked my body from my white headband, over my navy blue sweater and white skirt, and down my bare legs that were currently crossed.

“Yes, the topic is very good however the research is not accurate which in turn made most of your paper inaccurate. I was very disappointed to have to give you a C. You are a bright girl Y/N. I know you have a bright future in history, so I do want to work with you so you can gain better research skills and a better understanding of the topic.” He spoke, moving his dark round glasses back onto his face.

The glasses gave him a nerdy Clark Kent look. The glasses made me want to rip off his shirt and ride him. My thighs squeezed a bit tighter at the warmth that pooled in the lowest parts of me. I nodded with understanding before he continued.

“I specialized in War Torture when I was in school. I interviewed real victims and studied the methods and techniques.” He paused pushing up his sleeves and leaning back before continuing. “In the least creepy way possible, I became a master of torture and its history. When I decide I want to know something, I won’t stop until I devour all I can about it.” He finished.

I think I was delirious because I swear that last phrase was an innuendo. My toes curled in my black boots.

“I understand, and I would love your help since you’re so knowledgeable about it. I double majored in History and Journalism so I could research. How would this work? Should I stay after class or come to office hours?” I asked with a tilt of my head, I felt my hair fall off of one shoulder as I did so.

“How about it this, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday you stop by at let’s say 5:30? Right after office hours so that way we don’t take time from other students.” He asked with his eyebrows raised.

“That works for me! Is there anything I should bring sir?” I asked as I gathered my things.

“Maybe a notebook and your laptop for notes. Other than that we can wing it as we go.” He finished with a small smile and a shrug of one shoulder.

We said goodbyes before I walked out of his office, my thighs now slick in anticipation.

~~~

“Today I figured we could work on the actual technical details of the methods. It is important to understand the thought behind each movement.” Azriel spoke as I walked into his office.

We have been doing this mentorship for the last two months so far. It’s been going well, both of us flirting now and again but never quite crossing the line. He asked me to call him by his first name outside of class, and what a beautiful name he had. Azriel.

I felt his eyes take over my outfit choice for the day. With the warmer weather, my skirt and sweater combo has become more rare. Today I wore a tight white skirt with a cropped white tank top with a thin dark blue cardigan over it and some platform boots. even with my platforms Azriel still stood over me.

“You-you want me to torture you?” My breath hitched with the statement. He let out a small chuckle under his breath.

“No, I’m going to see if you can handle the most basic form of torture. If we can’t understand what torture feels like how can we accurately report it?” He said while moving close to me.

“So what are you going to do to me Mr.Singer?” I asked looking up into his eyes.

“Sensory deprivation. We start with sight, sit down.” He voices as he walks behind me and gently pushes on my shoulder to sit me down.

I took deep breaths as his large hands brought a thick strip of black fabric in front of my face. I felt his presence all too well as he placed the cloth over my eyes and tied it behind my head.

“They start with sensory tactics because there is nothing quite like the paranoia of not being able to see your capturers and what they are doing.” He spoke, his voice drawing quieter as if he moved across the room.

“For example,” He whispered in my ear, easing a small jump out of me. I hadn’t heard his come back, his footsteps silent.

“You have no idea what I’m about to do to you.” He whispered in my other ear, running his fingers over my shoulder. Goosebumps appeared in his wake.

“Can I remove my cardigan? It’s warm in here.” I asked before my fingers fumbled to find the bow holding the top of my cardigan closed. I felt a pair of hands wrap around my own small hands. His fingers slide over mine, quickly pulling the strings of the bow and slowly sliding my cardigan off.

“How are you feeling?” His voice rumbled thick with an accent as he took my cardigan out of my lap.

“I’m ok, it just feels like everything is heightened. Like I can feel everything around me, every breath, every touch. How is this torture?” I whispered with a shaky breath. I know his touch could be innocent but with the massive want between us, every touch feels like he’s about to fuck me.

“It isn’t yet, the next thing they would do would be take away your hearing, they would play sounds that would drive you insane. I’m not going to subject you to that however I am going to create certain sounds and I want you to identify the sounds and objects. Knowing how to use the heightened hearing to your advantage is something that could be very useful in a situation like this.” This time I heard his steps, like he purposefully made them louder.

I gave a nod, moving my hands under my thighs to keep from fidgeting. The first sound I heard sounded like glass. I waited another second before responding to be sure.

“Is it a glass? Like a cup?” I tilted my head towards the sound.

“Yes very good. Would you like some water Y/N?” I felt his approach to my front. I gave another quick nod, sticking out my hands for the cup.

“Ha, knowing you if I tried to hand you this glass you would spill it all over yourself.” He chuckled under his breath.

“You’re not wrong, but how else am I supposed to drink the water?” I lifted a curious brow even though he couldn’t see it.

“Tilt your head back.”

A simple command, yet hearing it set my body alight. I felt warmth gather low in my belly as I did what he asked. As I felt his fingers grasp my chin, pulling open my mouth, I felt that warmth seep out of me. I tried to cross my legs, not realizing how close he truly was.

“Is something wrong Y/N?” He asked with what sounded like knowingness in his voice. I tried to shake my head but couldn’t because of his grip.

“Use your words.” He spoke again. More heat seeped into my panties at his command.

“Nope, nothing's wrong.” My voice came out more breathless than intended.

He hummed before touching the cold rim of the glass to my bottom lip. I felt him tip back my head some more before pouring in the water.

“Would you like to know something Y/N?” He asked as he closed my mouth, allowing me to swallow with a gulp.

“What’s that Mr.Singer?” I asked, feeling his thumb coming up to wipe a small dribble of water that escaped my lips.

“You look divine like this, I can only imagine what you would look like if I could see your eyes.” He whispered as his hand moved from my jaw into my hair.

I sucked in a harsh breath before lifting my hands to remove the blindfold that prevents me from seeing him.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. I didn’t say you could take it off just yet.” His voice was light and full of amusement. Then the entire room shifted as his hand fisted my hair and brought my face closer to his.

I felt his heated gaze take over my body as his breaths gained speed. Then I heard the most torturous sound leave his lips. A groan that sounded like I hit him. Then his heat was gone, all contact broken.

“I shouldn’t do this. You’re my student.” He spoke with anguish. I stood quickly, a little too quickly by the way I swayed. I felt his arms wrap around my waist, steadying me. One hand found the tie holding together the blindfold, I quickly undid it and let it fall to the floor.

My eyes raked over his chest as I adjusted to the light. Did he get hotter while I couldn’t see? His shirt was messy like he had been raking his hands over it. And when I tilted my head to meet his eyes, a whole head and a half taller than me, the hunger I found there was insatiable. And whatever he found my eyes must have changed something for him.

“Fuck it.” He whispered before pulling my head closer to him, smashing my lips into his. I melted as he kissed me.

He kissed me like he was a man dying of starvation and I was his only food source. The hand that was holding the back of my neck moved into my hair pulling it tightly. He ripped his mouth from mine with a gasp.

“Fuck.” He muttered with a new horse and raspy voice. There was a war in his eyes, a conflicting battle.

I decided to end that battle by slipping one of my fingers over his black button-up, slowly undoing each button. When his chest was fully revealed I took a second to marvel at the gorgeous tattoo that spanned his entire muscles chest before pressing a kiss into his pecks.

“Please, Mr.Singer?” I asked, looking up at him with doe eyes and using my softest voice. I saw the battle end and that hunger take over again.

“Jesus fuck, you will be the death of me, baby.” He grunted as his hands slid under my thighs and lifted me onto his desk.

A smile overtook my face as his hands gripped my ass. I gently tugged on the open shirt, asking for him to remove it. I almost let out a cry at the loss of his heat. He pulled his shirt off in one fluid motion, stepping back in between my spread legs.

Azriel slants his mouth over mine once again, his hands grazing over my bare thighs, reaching under my skirt. I let out a small moan when his fingers gripped my thighs.

“Do you like that Y/N?” He asked with a raised eyebrow before sliding his hands under my thighs and pulling me to the edge of the desk.

“God yes, Mr. Singer.” I moaned as he continued to manhandle me. His hands roamed from my thighs to my waist pulling my chest into his.

“Fuck I love the way you say my name. But I love your beautiful tits even more.” He grunted out before pulling my tank top down.

“You have no idea how many times you’ve distracted me in class. Prancing around in these tiny skirts without any tights and your tiny tops. The number of times I’m lecturing and all I can look at are your beautiful thighs.” He ground out as he brought his mouth to my nipples.

A wave of pleasure rolled through me as his tongue swirled my nipped. A loud moan fell out of my mouth when he lightly bit it. My hips bucked forward, almost causing me to fall off the desk but his hands were there, sliding me back onto the steady table.

“Careful there baby. Tell me what you need.” His breath whispered over my nipples with a shuttering sensation.

“You. I need you Azriel.” I whined, grinding my hips into the air. He fell to his knees, his hands pushing my skirt up.

“How do you need me? Do you need my tongue?” He asked as he licked a line from the base of my core to my clit, letting his tongue linger with an audible groan.

“Do you need my fingers?” His strong fingers followed his tongue, drawing a line through my wetness and swirling around my clit, causing me to gasp. My hand reached for my nipple as he paused, leaning back to look at me. After a beat of silence and direct eye contact, he said,

“Or do you need my cock?”

I’m pretty sure I almost orgasmed from those words alone, but I still replied.

“I don’t know, just please. Touch me. Anything, please.” I begged as my hips writhed against the desk. A wicked cruel look came into his eyes.

“Please what? If you’re gonna beg you might wanna address who you’re begging too.” An eyebrow hitched as he slowly brought the finger that hand wiped my wetness to his lips. Rubbing my arousal onto his lips.

“Please, Mr.Singer. I don’t care how but I need you to fuck me.” I whined out.

“Good girl.” My body came alive at the praise and the sight of him moving forward, face into my pussy.

His tongue licked another stripe before sucking on my clit over my panties. One of my hands fell to his hair, holding him into me as he continued to eat me like his life depended on it. His fingers slid up my thighs before grabbing the waistband of my panties and tugging them down. The cold air sent shivers down my spine as he hesitated.

“Mr.Singer?” I asked, looking down at where he sat with his eyes locked on my bare core.

“You are so fucking beautiful. I haven’t stopped thinking about this since the first day of class so I’m going to enjoy it,” he whispered in a daze. His hand forced my legs open even wider, completely exposing me to him.

His thick fingers traced every part of me as one of his hands fell to his hard erection in his pants. My gaze slid down to stare at the now bulging point in his black briefs. I took a moment to truly appreciate the sight before me.

One of the hottest men sitting on his knees, palm rubbing himself, his lips glistening with my arousal, hair a tossed mess from my fingers, and those damn tattoos that moved with each of his breaths. I nearly came at the sight.

I closed my legs, nimbly sliding onto the floor in front of him. My knees hit the hard floor as his gaze dragged over my bouncing tits. One of my hands found his belt and tugged, trying my best to convey what I wanted without words.

He stood quickly, one hand unbuckling his belt and pulling it off in a fast and clean motion. He took a second to wrap up the belt and place it on his desk, not once breaking eye contact. My thin hands slid up his legs, quickly unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down.

His cock sprang free with a small bounce. A small gasp left my mouth as I beheld the sight of his long and thick cock that has barbell piercings along the shaft. I rubbed my thumb over his head, collecting the small bit of pre-cum, and sucked it into my mouth.

Azriels head fell back with a groan, one that became even louder as one of my hands wrapped around his length. I let my lips softly kiss the head of his cock before sucking it into my mouth. I took a minute to warm up to his size before looking up at him.

The second I made eye contact his hand flew to my hair and forced me down on his cock. Tears welled in my eyes as I struggled to take it all.

“Come on, be a good girl and take my cock, pretty girl.” He ground out as his thumb from his free hand smudged my mascara with my tears.

I moaned around his cock and I forced myself up and down him. He was too long to fit in my mouth so with what I couldn’t swallow I used my hand. I pulled off of his cock with a pop, leaning forward and spitting on it before using two hands to jerk him. I moved his cock over my chest, savoring the professor's low groans and curses.

I felt two strong arms slid under my arms, stopping my movement. He picked me up until I was face to face with him and my feet were dangling. He started at me with so much heat to anyone else it might seem like anger. He slid his arms to my waist and pulled my body against him as I kissed me. On instinct, my legs wrapped around his waist, lining me up perfectly to feel the head of his cock push against me.

We both gasped at the contact. It didn’t take him long to walk us over to the wall by the chair, pushing me against it and thrusting his cock so he slid through my folds. A loud moan leaves my mouth when he hits my clit.

“I need you. I’m clean, please fuck me Azriel.” I begged.

A long and overdrawn “Fuck” left his bruised lips. One of his hands guided his cock to line up with my hole.

“I’m gonna fuck you, it’s not gonna be sweet, and it’s not going to be slow. It’ll be hard, and dirty, but fuck will it feel good. Is that ok baby?” He tormented me by nudging the very tip of him into me.

“Yes, god yes.” I threw my head against the wall. I would do anything to just put him inside me.

“Good, I want you to ride me, I wanna see those beautiful tits bounce as you struggle to take me in your little cunt.” He whispered into my ear before moving us so he was sitting on the chair and I was sitting on his thigh. I rubbed against his thigh for any friction I could get.

“Fuck you’re killing me.” His hands ran up and down my sides, as I readjusted myself so I was hovering over his cock.

One of my hands gripped his shaft helping me to sit on his cock. I did it slowly, letting myself feel each inch, feel the stretch of him. We both moaned at the sensation, and he didn’t give me much time to adjust before his hands were moving my hips.

I moved with his hands, grinding on his cock, watching his face contort in pleasure.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt something as good as this. You are perfect.” He said as he tilted his head back. I started to move up and down on his shaft, every so often switching to grinding against him.

His head snapped back to lock me in the eye before his hands found my hips with a bruising grip, stopping my bouncing. He thrust his hips up, hard and fast.

“Oh fuck.” I screamed out as he continued to fuck me.

His arms enclosed my waist fully, holding me to his chest as my fingers raked the strong muscles.

“You’re so good, thank you sir.” I moaned and pulled my nails down so hard I left marks.

His replying hum was more than enough for me as he moved his lips to suck on the sensitive spot between my neck and ear.

I felt a tight tension run down my spine as my orgasm grew closer. He let me grab one of his hands, and I guided it around my throat, gently squeezing to signal what I wanted.

“You want me to choke you? Maybe you did pick the right field.” He muttered with a condescending laugh. But still, he obliged, squeezing the sides so I got that beautiful blood rush. His pace quickened as I tightened around him.

“Cum baby, milk my cock with your cunt. Be my good girl and cum.” He said before he licked a strip of my neck.

My orgasm shook my body with a force that I hadn’t felt before. Frat guys are notorious for not making girls cum. My cunt squeezed him as he jerked up into my cunt before pulling out. I whimper at the loss of contact before I felt ropes of his cum paint my stomach, just where it would be if he were inside me.

As I came down from my high I felt his fingers dragging up my stomach, collecting his cum onto his digits. He brought them to my mouth and pushed them into my lips. I took no time licking them clean of his cum and sucking them like they were his cock. I kept my most innocent eyes as I swirled my tongue around them and popped them out of my mouth.

“One day I want to see your mouth full of my cum. For now, I need to clean you up and get you back to my place.” He gently lifted me and sat me down on the couch before turning and getting a rag out of his office cabinet.

He sunk to his knees before me, gently wiping me clean and muttering praises. My mind was a puddle and my body was spent. He gently pulled my tank top back up and covered me with his suit jacket. We made sure the coast was clear before walking to his car and driving to his apartment where we spent the rest of the night fucking, cuddling, and getting to know each other better.

~~~

A/N: here it is!!!!!! Next up, chapt 4 of S&S!!!!!!!

Taglist: @littlelunatica @going-through-shit @annaaaaa88 @i-am-infinite @impossibelle

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Headcanon

~Introducing Azriel to a modern world~

~Part 2~

You are a world walker and bring Azriel to your modern fae world. Shenanigans occur.

Part 1

Warnings: Sexual content

Video Games

- It took Azriel a minute to adjust to the concept of playing against other people on a screen. He was very suspicious that they could spy on the two of you for the first month.

- I mean hackers are a thing but like, that’s too complicated to explain. We’ve got an encrypted network babe. It’s fine.

- You came home from drinks with your girlfriends one night to find that Azriel was more silent than usual. Finally he blurted out, “What’s a noob?”

- Oh, um, it means you’re really novice doing a great job.

- It’s not like you want to lie to him, and you wouldn’t about anything major but… he’d stay up all night determined to kick the 15 year old that called him that’s ass.

- Listen, you truly are a lenient lover. But sometimes you have to get creative to get him to put the controller down and come to bed.

- Walking naked through the living room usually does the trick

Showers

- So obviously baths are great. You two love baths together but…

- Showers are amazing.

- Bad day? He sits on the floor of the shower for 45 minutes while the steaming water rolls off his wings and back.

- Good day? He’s blasting his fav club rat tunes as he lathers, rinses, AND repeats.

- You teased him with a sneak peak of what you in fact were NOT wearing under your dress before heading out for girls night?

- Cold shower. Frigid shower. ASAP.

- Quietly sneaking into the washroom after girls night to wash away the potent scent of mirthroot and tequila?

- No BB- he’s a spymaster. He heard you before you even stepped foot back into the apartment.

- He loves the symphony of your moans and skin slapping skin echoing through the bathroom

- That little tease before you left cost you. He’s not going to take it easy on you.

- You never learn and will absolutely do it again.

Escape Rooms

- You’re convinced he’s the only person keeping Escape Rooms in business at this point.

-Seriously. Does anyone go to them anymore?

- Honestly, it’s endearing and you will go with him any time he asks.

-You’ll do anything with him though. Yeah, he’s your lover but he’s your best friend too.

- Escape Rooms are like little training exercises for his shadows.

- He definitely rolled his eyes the first time you said that

- You two might have gotten kicked out once after his shadows covered the cameras and he took you on a desk.

[lyssasdrafts]

— AFTERGLOW (azriel x reader)

014: “ i don’t wanna lose this with you. ”

masterlist previous next

— NOTES

azriel stayed on call with you for HOURS when you were sick even when you couldn’t talk much

here’s a happier fluff chapter (for now…)

y/n: exists, azriel: 😍😍😍

— TAGLIST

@ithan-holstroms-girl @strangelycami @fell-in-luvs @goldenmagnolias @glam-targaryen @acourtofdreamsandshadows @bloombb @mp-littlebit @gamarancianne @stqrgirlies-blog @peachcontour-blog @azriels-shadowsinger @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @chessebookgirl @fairywriter-oracle @thelov3lybookworm @corvusmorte @evergreenlark @marina468 @405rry @azrielsmate3 taglist is open!! lmk if you want to be added