summary: the new intern naively asks where clark got his mug.
pairing: you guessed it, husband!clark kent x wife!fem!reader (you’re not in this but referenced of course!)
word count: 1.1k
content: clark giving everyone a headache talking about his wife. that’s about it, maybe some cussing lmao. inspired by two tiktoks i saw!
a/n: i’m plagued with the need to write for him. last of the drafts! maternity leave does wonders.
Daily Planet was just as intimidating in its interior, as well as its exterior. For a fresh new intern, the high ceilings, smoke lined rooms and frantic clacking of keyboards matched with papers being crumpled and tossed aside; it was severely nerve-wracking to step foot into such a business.
Luca, the intern, dressed in his best hand-me-down suit from his eldest brother, a tie he may have stolen from Chaney’s and a briefcase with one piece of paper enclosed within, stood at the doorway into the bullpen of Daily Planet. His throat bobbed when he swallowed, feeling rather like a small fish in a big pond with some of the best journalists in Metropolis within reach.
He almost turned on his heel.
It was either Daily Planet or Luthorcorp.
As he contemplated a quiet escape, — he’d tell his mom he got the date wrong — a taller body possibly made by steel, bumped into the back of him.
Luca let out an ‘Oof!’ but was caught by the steel-made man.
“Gosh, I am so sorry.” The male apologised with sincerity, wide-eyes behind glasses that had slipped down the bridge of his nose, pale pink tie slightly askew with glittery lip gloss caught on the side of his mouth. He had his phone lodged between his ear and his shoulder, “Are you OK? No—Honey, I wasn’t talking to you. I’m going to go now. No, again, I didn’t forget my glasses.”
Luca furrowed his brow and brushed down his brother’s brown tweed suit whilst the male bid his goodbyes on the phone.
“I’m sorry. You must be Luca, the intern? I’m Clark. Clark Kent.” He held out a hand for Luca to shake.
As Luca slipped his hand into Clark’s, another voice called from behind them, “Or you could call him Whipped!”
Clark blew hot air out of his nose, “That’s Steve. He hates his wife. Hates that I love mine.”
“OK…” Luca wasn’t sure what to respond for that.
Clark felt the radiating awkwardness and diverted their attention to the bullpen with a one-handed gesture and a tight-lipped smile. He walked with Luca, not to make him feel scarce on entering the Lion’s Den. After all, Perry White had assigned Clark Kent to show Luca the ropes for the few weeks he would be shadowing the Daily Planet crew.
Lois whizzed past them, waistcoat fitted with a notepad in one hand and a coffee in the other. She dropped into her seat and stared at Clark and Luca with an unreadable expression before standing up and extending a hand out to Luca whilst Clark set up his desk.
“Lois Lane.” She offered a smile.
“Luca.”
“Welcome. Hope Kent doesn’t bore your eyes too much with his writing skills.” Lois teased and sat back down without another word.
Another voice, “Or bore your ears off talking about his wife.” Luca turned to see another male. A relatively attractive male at that, leaning back in his desk chair. He gave a two fingered salute, “Jimmy Olsen.”
Clark stood next to Luca.
“Ha. Ha.”
Jimmy grinned.
“Luca, you’ll be with me for most of your time here. Feel free to put your two-cents in on my articles. I’m always up for critique." Clark seemed genuine with his honesty, gesturing for Luca to sit next to him on a chair he pulled up.
The two men spent an eternity editing and re-editing, totally scrapping and staring harshly at Clark Kent’s screen for four hours. It seemed as if Clark took the position of being one of the only people to ever snag an interview with the elusive and controversial, Superman. Every word to weave into a sentence was thought out for five minutes. It was a delicate piece of writing, Luca thought.
Or, Clark was just a perfectionist with luck.
Luca’s eyes began to drift away from the screen and onto the items on Clark’s desk. A cup filled with pens missing their caps, a nearly depleted sticky-note stack and a framed photo of a woman, he could only assume was Clark’s wife.
Sweet. Don’t ask about her.
He watched Clark mumble against his coffee mug. A unique looking thing. Looked a little battered — intentionally? — with hand painted flowers and a large handle so Clark could fit his fingers through it comfortably.
“Where did you get your mug?"
The bullpen groaned.
Clark guffawed, fingertips smoothed down his pink tie until the pads of his fingers reached the initial etched into the tip of the tie by Ma Kent. It was the initial of your first name.
Albeit confused by the visceral reaction from those surrounded, Luca blinked at the pink tinge spread across Clark Kent’s cheeks as nose and supposed it was a taboo subject.
Shit, he was so wrong.
“Thank you for asking.” Clark sipped the dregs of the coffee and kissed his teeth, “My wife and I — married one year and three months — went on a pottery date night…We had the idea to make mugs as my wife likes her coffee in homemade mugs. So, I found this little pottery studio just four blocks from here and took her on a surprise date after work.”
Luca bit the inside of his cheek.
Clark continued, “Anyway, she asked what idea I had for my mug. I’m quite particular in design but, a little backstory for you, Luca—”
Luca side-eyed Jimmy Olsen who slowly nodded and mouthed: ‘Good job.’
He felt his ears get hot.
“—I proposed to my wife over coffee one morning. She had said before, I’d marry you over a cup of coffee. No grandeur, just us. So, I did exactly that.” Clark beamed at the memory, “Back on track, sometimes I don’t have time to have coffee with her in the morning, so, I decided to have her press her hands just ever so gently around the mug I had made, before it went in the Kiln, so her handprint was moulded into my mug. And, I could have coffee with her whenever and wherever I am.”
Luca almost missed his queue to drop back into reality with Clark blinking at him, awaiting a response. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat; vigorously nodding his head as if he hadn’t started thinking about his lunch halfway through Clark’s story.
He gave a thumbs up.
Clark grinned.
Without another word shared between them, Clark turned back to his computer screen, his nose almost touching the screen to read over his carefully curated interview with Superman after he lost a fight in public. A little convenient, Luca thought, but he was too new to ask those types of questions.
Luca’s eyes dropped to Clark’s tie. A nice shade of pink. He had been looking for one similar for his internship.
“Hey—” He started, “Where did you happen to get that tie?”
Summary: You’ve spent nearly a century hunting the monsters the Night Court turns a blind eye to: fae who hurt others and walk free. Azriel is sent to track you down, but you’re not just a killer — you’re the fae he sits across the table from. The fae he's slowly falling for.
T/W: Death, blood, reader is a killer, swearing.
A/N: I hope you guys are enjoying this series xx
Masterlist Azriel Masterlist The Hunter and the Hunted
Azriel recognised the stench of death before he set foot in the run-down cabin. He heard rumours of a male being missing for almost a week and was sent by Rhysand to investigate. He didn’t have high hopes for the poor male, a crease forming between his brows as he carefully inspects the blood that splatters on the walls and the broken glass littering the wooden floor.
Only after inspecting each wall and every room in the cabin does Azriel turn to the body in the middle of the room. The missing male was rather deformed, with multiple stab wounds on his chest and legs. Dried blood leaks from the male’s parted lips and forever-open eyes. In the middle of his chest, piercing his heart, rests a silver-crested blade.
Yanking the blade from the male’s chest, he eyes the engraved words written on the handle, annoyance curling his lip, anger eating away at his cool composure.
Happy four months! This blade is my gift to you. It’s a pleasure to watch you go crazy over me, Spymaster.
-The Scarlet Demise.
His hands begin to shake in agonising rage, mind whirring in waves of anger and confusion. How can you slip out of his reach every time? He had never felt so out of control before, never felt so lost. You were his kryptonite. The fire that licked his cool composure.
You were a nagging itch in the back of his mind and he couldn’t shake you out, though he tried for the third time, brown hair falling in front of his eyes.
He throws the blade to the floor, listening to it clang as he walks out of the cabin, craving fresh air and sanity. Taking a deep breath, the scent of fresh cut grass fills his senses and his nerves leak from his tense muscles.
“Rhysamd,” His eyes grow unfocused, “I’m going to have lunch. Get Cassian to deal with the body. I’ve done all I can.”
Ignoring Rhysand's nagging questions in the back of his mind, a large hand moves to brush his hair away from his eyes as his wings brace to fly. He doesn’t have time to drown in his ball of nerves, scared he’ll be late to meet you.
Your POV
You were in way over your head.
You were playing with fire, the flames threatening to lick your bones each time you play your little game. If Azriel knew who you were, he wouldn’t waste a second in punishing you for your sins – for the blood that stains your once-pure hands.
But you’ve always grown excited at the prospects of risks.
And Azriel was your biggest risk yet; not only was the Spymaster’s reputation as lethal as your cuts, but his devilish grin is far sweeter than the blueberries in the pies you love to bake. However, you were just as dangerous and conniving, having mastered the act of innocence when you first spilled blood.
The male had piqued your interest, bones itching to learn more about what makes the male tick. Perhaps you were foolish, stupid, but you’ve been called far worse.
Fingers warm from the steaming cup of coffee in your hands, your body comfortable in the calm cafe, you watch from your table behind the cafe window as Azriel lands on the stoned pathway just outside, a figure of grace and strength. His striking eyes have no trouble finding yours through the glass, wings briefly shaking behind his muscled shoulders before the cafe bell rings, signalling his entrance.
Your smile is mischief hidden behind shyness. “Hello,” You mutter, eyes consciously tracking his movements as he situates himself across from you. His smile is wide. “I’m sorry if I’m late; our High Lord has been keeping me busy.” The playful and confident tone in which he speaks has your head tilting ever so slightly as you grin.
“You’re not late, I was merely early.” Warmth from your mug coats your cheeks, taking a sip to hide the grin tilting your lips at the thought of what was keeping him busy. “Next time I shall be early as well,” He states, nodding kindly at the waitress who pours coffee into his mug before walking away.
“Next time? You haven’t even had a sip of your drink before deciding you want to see me again.” You lean forward, face drawing closer and eyes narrowing in shyful play. He doesn’t push back or blush in embarrassment, rather watches you watch him, a cocky smirk dimpling his cheeks. “If you keep looking at me like that, there’s going to be plenty of ‘next times.’”
You feign bashfulness, leaning back and resting your chin in your hands, eyes downcast to your mug in front of you. He takes pity on your supposed timidness, voice smooth and soft. “I hope you managed to find actually edible berries for that pie of yours.”
A laugh rumbles in your throat. “Yes, I got some at the market; I decided that I’d rather not take the risk of picking my own fruit, no matter how fun it was.” It’s at that moment do you notice the streak of dark twirling around his ear, a lone shadow, mastered in the art of observation, whispering mysteries into its master’s mind.
Your smile falters at the sight of it, reminded of the power that sits across from you. What were you doing? You’re being foolish. Before you have time to drown in panic, the ever-observant spymaster notices your aversion to the creature and the shadow disappears into the depths of darkness while Azriel smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry, I know my shadows can be a bit…unnerving.”
Smile returned, though more forced than the last, your voice is coated in child-like curiosity. “It’s okay, I just have so many questions about them. Like, how many are there? How do you understand them? Do they smell things, too?” You’re rambling, hoping the wide-eyed innocence reflected on your face buries your selfish want for answers.
Azriel smiles at your words, mouth opening to speak before closing. You visibly wince. “Sorry, was I prying? I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.” It’s as though you were born for the stage, your sheepish actions seemingly organic and truthful.
“Don’t apologise, It’s cute.” His wings shake from behind him. “I’m unsure if there’s a specific number of them, if there is, I haven’t counted. Talking to them is like using a different language – a language not many people know. They don’t smell things, or if they do, they haven’t told me.”
Eyebrows furrowing, you shake your head with a laugh. “Your shadows seem to be as much of a mystery to you as they are to the rest of us, shadowsinger.”
“That they are. However,” He leans in playfully, “right now they’re telling me that the blueberry pie here is a lot safer than the pie you were going to make…Do you want a slice?”
“What If I like the risk of poisonous pie?”
“Then I’d say you’re absolutely insane.”
You break then, grinning wide, shoulders shaking with laughter. “I’d love a piece, thank you.” At your answer, he shoots you another earth-shattering smile that would make even the stars shine brighter before moving to the counter at the front.
While he’s distracted, talking to the cashier as people move behind him and narrowly avoid his wings, you take this moment to inspect. Your careful, prodding eyes note his confident stance and straight back, the male a picture of ease. And yet, looking closer, you notice his thumb finger lightly rubbing against the scars on his index, the movements slow and seemingly unconscious.
It wasn’t hard to miss the blade at his side, catching the light of the sun that shines through the cafe’s windows, but most would ignore the small bump in the leg of his pants near his clean boots. Another weapon. If he brings two weapons to a date, how many does he take on a mission?
A pang of guilt yanks at your chest, acutely aware of how paranoid he must be if he always carried two weapons on him, and yet here you were, playing with his heart as if it were a chess board.
You pinch your arm and force yourself to remember why you were doing this – If you learnt of his habits then it would be easier to hide from him. If it’s easier to hide from him, then you’re less likely to get killed. You were doing this for you. For your survival.
A slice of pie interrupts your fiery glare at the table, mind at work in trying to excuse your getting to know him. The scent of blueberries invades your senses and your shoulders slump, stomach growing excited. Azriel laughs at your reaction, returning to his seat with his own slice in front of him.
His eyes twinkle. Your heart definitely does not skip a beat. “I must say, I’ve never met a female who seems to like pie as much as you.” Shoving a spoonful of pie in your mouth, you quickly chew with an appreciative sigh before playfully narrowing your eyes. “You have pie with lots of females?”
“Only the ones that wear pretty dresses and smile brighter than the glow of the sun.” Despite yourself, your cheeks go warm, eyes downcast to the skirt of your dress as you fiddle with its lacy hem. What cruel words, kind enough to make your heart melt – to momentarily turn you into a fool.
“You’re beautiful.”
“And you’re a flirt.”
“How could I not be?” Azriel quips, leaning back in his chair. Having collected yourself, you meet his eyes again and use his relaxed demeanor to your advantage. Perhaps you were as cruel as the fae you punished. “How was your morning?” You knew how his morning was, having watched from your spot in the highest of the trees as he inspected the body you left, the shadows around his shoulders growing erratic and angry.
He doesn’t seem to question your change of topic. “It was busy. The job of being the Night Court’s Spymaster is nothing but eventful.” You notice the slight tick of his jaw and the annoyance that briefly flickers his eyes with a smug smile, pulling your bottom lip beneath your teeth in an attempt to hide it.
“What do you do in such a job?” Your eyelashes flutter, finger twirling in your hair whilst your lip juts out in a slight pout. You were a picture of innocence, a facade that tricks even the smartest of fae.
“I fear that’s confidential,” He states with a slight smile, eyes moving from your wide, unknowing eyes to your plump, seductive lips. “Oh of course.” Leaning back, Azriel takes your hand before your back could return to its place against the backrest of the chair.
His hand is warm, fingers gentle and unwavering as they move against the back of your hand, his touch leaving tingles in its wake. He notes your gaze on your conjoined hands and slightly bends his head so you’re looking at him.
“I hope you don’t mind the scars,” He says, voice shy, almost insecure. You shake your head with a smile. “They’re beautiful.” You loved scars. They were a reminder of a person's strength, a trophy of their adventures. Azriel’s were nothing short of artworthy.
Light pink splatters his cheeks. “Now you’re the flirt.”
The words tumble from your lips before you could think, lips working faster than your conscious. “How could I not be?”
⋆༺ 𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻ ⋆
“We’re going to dinner in two days. Am I over my head?” Your voice is lost in the depths of the forest, blade swinging from hand to hand. The leaves beneath your feet crunch as you move closer to the figure tied against the tree in front of you.
The male doesn’t respond, the rope between his lips silencing him the same way he silenced his son. He struggles against the ties wrapped around his chest and legs. You slice his arm and he screams. “I mean, I enjoy risks but this might be too risky.” You shake your head and look up to the starry sky, deep in thought. “He held my hand all throughout lunch, insisted on walking me home – which I was a little suspicious of at the start but I just think he’s a gentleman – and almost kissed me.”
Your head drops, widening your eyes at the male. “The spymaster almost kissed me. The female he’s been hunting for months. How ironic is that?” His eyes narrow, body fighting against the tree with fierce determination. No luck.
“You’re right,” Your blade lifts, its sharp edge pressed against his sweaty neck. “Nothing bad has happened yet. I’ll go to dinner and see what happens. If I get a bad feeling I’ll just run off.”
With your mind now clear, thoughts quiet, you let out a huff and take in the male in front of you. “Now, this is for your son.”
summary: you’re a shy crow animagus, quietly watching the marauders from the shadows, admiring them from afar. you think you’re invisible, but sirius and remus have started noticing you in ways you never expected. then, after a sudden accident leaves you vulnerable, the quiet distance between you begins to unravel, one button at a time.
warnings: shy reder, animagus transformation, animal form, accidents and injury, vulnerability, slow-burn romance, subtle emotional tension, insecurity, blood, infirmary, angst, lonely reader, anxiety, social awkwardness, mention of ravenclaw!reader, teasing and gentle flirting, mild language, moments of self-doubt, themes of trust and acceptance, angst, happy ending.
w/c: 6.1k
a/n: as someone who was always seen as 'weird', this was so healing to write <3 masterlist
It wasn’t unusual for you to be roaming the grounds late at night.
In fact, it had become something of a ritual—an instinct more than a plan, something stitched into your routine without you ever deciding it. The forest always felt more alive once the rest of the castle fell asleep, the air cooler, the trees older, the world quieter in a way that let your thoughts breathe.
Most nights, you slipped from your bed and disappeared beyond the edge of the grounds, feathered and weightless in the shape of a small crow, darting through branches and perching high in the canopy where no one thought to look.
What was unusual, however, was this: Remus Lupin limping through the forest, his arms slung around the shoulders of Sirius Black and James Potter like they were the only things keeping him from falling apart entirely.
Now that—that was something new.
You stilled in the trees, tucked between the leaves, dark eyes following the scene below.
It was strange, not because they were out after curfew. That much you’d come to expect from the troublesome Marauders. But because even here, in the middle of the forest, long past midnight, the three of them still carried with them that same impossible brightness.
You had never spoken to them before, not once, and yet somehow you knew their names the way everyone did. James Potter, Quidditch star with a laugh loud enough to rattle windows. Sirius Black, the most troublesome student, who drew people to him like a flame. And Remus Lupin, softer than the others but no less magnetic, with his weary kind of stillness that felt older than all of them combined.
You’d seen them around—of course you had, everyone had, but you’d been watching them for longer than you’d care to admit. Not deliberately, or creepily, you hoped.
It was just that once you started noticing them, you couldn’t seem to stop.
They moved through the castle like they belonged to it, like the halls bent slightly to let them pass. Even when they weren’t trying to be the center of attention, the world seemed to place them there anyway, everything revolving around their presence like they were born to be the stars of some story no one else had been invited into.
And even now, deep in the forest where no one was meant to see them, that pull hadn’t faded. The trees themselves seemed to lean toward Remus, branches curving like they knew he was hurting. The wind circled Sirius like it was part of him, rustling his hair just so. And James—he kept his head high even though his shoulder bore half of Remus’s weight, eyes sharp and steady in the dark like someone who refused to be afraid.
From your branch above, your small body shifted forward slightly, feathers ruffling against the bark.
Remus looked worse than you expected. Pale and exhausted. His mouth was tight with pain, and he leaned heavily on both of them, clearly fighting to stay upright. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. You didn’t need someone to spell it out for you.
You already knew.
You’d known for some time now, if you were honest with yourself. It wasn’t a secret, not if you paid attention.
The monthly disappearances, the gray pallor that settled into his skin for days afterward, the limp he sometimes carried with him, the faraway look he wore when he thought no one was watching.
It was clear, if you knew how to see it. Remus Lupin was a werewolf.
You weren’t afraid of him.
You weren’t sure what you felt, actually. Not pity, not fear. Just this soft ache in your chest, a fluttering concern that made your wings twitch and your claws dig slightly into the bark beneath you.
You wanted, more than anything, to help. Not in a way that would ever be noticed, not in some dramatic act of kindness or courage. Just… to be useful. To ease the weight of whatever he carried, even if only for a moment.
But you didn’t move. You stayed quiet in the branches as they passed beneath you, Sirius murmuring something to Remus that made the corner of his mouth twitch upward, just barely.
James glanced up once, scanning the canopy, but didn’t pause. None of them noticed the crow perched above them, holding her breath.
You watched them disappear between the trees, the sound of their footsteps fading into the dark, and felt that familiar twist settle in your chest again.
You were never part of their world. That much had always been clear. You moved through corridors like a ghost with pockets full of silence, a soft-footed observer in a universe that burned far too brightly for someone made of distance.
Where they shone with the ease of constellations, you lingered at the edges like mist, half-invisible and entirely forgettable.
It was not envy that caught your breath when you looked at them, it was something lonelier than that.
You told yourself it was mere curiosity, a passing glance toward something golden.
But the truth pressed heavier than that simple excuse. You had spent so long folding yourself into the corners of rooms, shrinking beneath your own voice, that to witness something so effortlessly vibrant felt almost otherworldly.
It was not that they demanded your attention. You would have resented them if they had. It was that your attention, unbidden and unwilling, bent toward them in spite of you.
As though their presence altered the air itself. As though their laughter rewrote gravity.
You tried to retreat, to withdraw as you always had, but the further you pulled, the harder you were drawn in.
It was the slow inevitability of celestial force, like a lonely moon being dragged across the dark by a sun too blinding to ignore.
You told yourself you were content in the quiet, and maybe you were. But every so often, when the night made the world gentler, and their noise softened into something almost tender, you allowed the wondering.
You let yourself ache for the impossible. To imagine, just briefly, what it might feel like to stand in the warmth.
And then, as always, you turned back into the branches, into the dark, into the small and silent shape of someone who was never meant to be seen.
You stay in the tree long after they pass, eyes tracking the shape of them as they disappear into the thicket, the way James’s silhouette leads, the way Sirius shifts slightly to support more of Remus’s weight without ever making it seem like a burden.
They speak in low voices, too distant for words to reach, but the rhythm of their steps is steady, if uneven, and for a moment you allow yourself to believe they’ll be alright.
Still, you follow.
You shift in the branches, feathers settling against your sides as your body lightens, stretches, and then lifts, black wings cutting through the night with soundless ease.
You dart above the treetops, careful to stay far enough that they won’t hear the flutter of your passage, but close enough that you can still see them through the breaks in the canopy.
You watch as Sirius ducks beneath a low-hanging branch—too low, it turns out. The edge catches his shoulder, just barely, and he swears under his breath.
James chuckles while Remus winces and lets out a soft noise you can’t quite hear. They all pause for a beat, just long enough for Sirius to adjust his grip around Remus’s back.
And that’s when you see it.
The glint of something small and dark tumbling from Sirius’s cloak as he shifts. It falls soundlessly into the underbrush, half-hidden by shadow and leaf, but you catch the flicker of it all the same.
A button. Round, worn, and gleaming faintly in the moonlight as it lands near the base of an old root.
They don’t notice.
They keep walking, unaware, their laughter returning faintly on the wind as they near the edge of the woods.
You watch them for a few more moments—watch as James pushes the castle door open with his shoulder, as Sirius leans close to say something low into Remus’s ear that makes him sigh softly despite himself.
Their backs retreat into the stone, swallowed by the warmth of the light spilling from within.
Only once the door swings shut behind them do you move.
You dive, wings spread in a wide curve, and land beside the tree root. The button sits half-buried in moss, still holding the faint warmth of Sirius’s coat.
You press your beak against it, tilting your head. It’s not much, just a lost scrap. An unremarkable little thing that no one will miss.
You nudge it into your beak carefully, curling your claws against the bark to steady yourself. The metal is cool, and a little heavier than it looks. A strange weight for something so small.
You glance up once more toward the castle, just to be sure. And that’s when you see him.
Sirius.
He’s paused in the doorway, slightly turned, head tilted back toward the woods. His eyes scan the tree line..
For a second, your eyes lock—his wide, gray, still crackling with whatever storm he always carries behind them, and yours small and dark and unblinking.
Then he gives a tiny tilt of his head, just barely perceptible, like a question.
Then he turns and disappears into the castle all the same.
And you lift your wings again, button tucked in your beak like a treasure, and fly after him—back toward the tower.
The days that followed blurred into one another with a kind of quiet that felt dreamlike. Nothing monumental had happened, but something within you had shifted.
You told yourself it meant nothing. Just curiosity, perhaps. A trick of loneliness. A moment that would fade if you left it untouched. After all, you didn’t really know them.
And yet, your gaze sought them in every room. You lingered in places you normally passed through.
You didn’t know how to name the feeling that followed you. It was not love, not yearning, not anything so clear. Just a soft ache that fluttered behind your sternum whenever they looked your way.
So you tried to smother it gently, the way you always had, with quiet rituals and familiar comforts.
That afternoon, the castle pulsed with early spring. Laughter echoed through open halls, and golden light spilled across the stone like a secret.
You had left the library later than usual, the small wooden box clutched protectively to your chest, your bag slipping slightly off your shoulder as you hurried to make it down the hallway before the rush swallowed you.
You weren’t paying close attention to where you were going. Your fingers curled tightly around the lid of the box, and your thoughts, once again, had drifted far ahead of your body
You didn’t see them until you collided.
Your shoulder struck something solid—someone’s chest—and your breath caught in your throat as the impact jarred the box from your hands.
The lid sprang open, and in an instant, a hundred small fragments of your quiet world tumbled across the cold stone floor.
Buttons scattered in all directions, clinking and skipping like startled birds, tiny kaleidoscopes of color and shape spinning out across the corridor.
You dropped to your knees with a sharp breath, heart racing, hands frantically collecting what you could before they rolled too far.
You reached for them with trembling fingers, too humiliated to look up, your mind already preparing for the laughter, for the awkward glances, for the words you’d have to stumble through.
But the first voice you heard was warm, low, touched with a gentle humor.
“Are you okay, love?,” came the voice, unmistakably Remus Lupin’s.
Your breath froze.
You looked up slowly, dread tightening behind your ribs—and there he was.
Remus stood just above you, tall even when slightly tilted from the weight of his cane, his soft knit sweater stretched slightly across his frame, the collar turned wrong in a way that made your fingers ache to fix it.
His gaze was steady, unreadable, but not unkind—warm in that quiet, bone-deep way he always seemed to carry, as if the tiredness in him was ancient and affectionate and chose what it wanted to notice.
Beside him, Sirius Black was already crouched to the floor, hair falling in black waves around his cheekbones as he reached for one of the stray buttons—a glossy red one with a cracked side. He held it between his fingers and tilted his head as he offered it out to you.
“I think this one belongs to you,” he said, and there was a smile in his voice—not mocking, not teasing, just bright and real and somehow far too much for your chest to hold at once.
You reached for the button slowly, your fingertips brushing his for a second too long. “Thank you,” you whispered.
Sirius turned the button once more between his fingers before letting it go.
“This looks exactly like the one I lost the other night,” he said thoughtfully. “Coat got caught on a branch, and I remember it falling.”
You blinked, your mind scrambling to build some sort of casual response. “Oh. That’s… funny. What are the odds?”
Sirius narrowed his eyes with mock suspicion, but only smiled. “Yeah. What are the odds.”
Remus’s voice broke in again, quiet but curious. “Do you usually carry a whole collection around with you?”
You glanced down at the box in your lap, half-full, many of the buttons still scattered across the stone.
“I collect them,” you said. “I find them, and rescue them, I guess.”
Sirius leaned closer, crouching again, interest flickering in his expression. “You rescue them?”
“Yeah, I just think buttons are really cute,” you said softly, cheeks warming. .
There was a pause, quiet and weightless, suspended like a held breath.
Then Remus smiled, slow and gentle. He leaned down slightly, balancing his cane with practiced ease, his gaze steady as it met yours.
“I think you’re really cute,” he said, voice low but certain, as though he were stating a simple fact rather than handing you the sun.
Your breath caught. The heat in your cheeks flared instantly.
Sirius, still crouched beside you, let out a bark of laughter. “Moony,” he said, grinning wide, “you’re absolutely flustering her.”
He then picked up a button shaped like a starburst and turned it over in his hand.
“Do they have names?” he asked, half-smiling.
You hesitated again, but they were both still looking at you like they genuinely wanted to know. And so—shyly—you nodded.
“That one,” you said, pointing to the pink with the curved edges, “is Dai. The red one is Cheri, the little navy blue one is Ruxy, and the green swirl one is Teo.”
Sirius grinned. “Ruxy looks like a cutie.”
“She is!” you said automatically, and then blushed again.
Remus gave a small laugh—barely audible, but sincere.
And then Sirius’s gaze flicked back to you, brighter now, edged with something that felt almost like a secret.
“Well then,” he said, voice low and amused. “Can I have a button named after you, Miss Ravenclaw?”
The words hit you all at once. You stared at him, mouth parting slightly.
“I—um. You can have the whole box,” you said too quickly. “If you want, I don’t mind.”
Sirius laughed, rich and surprised, eyes narrowing just slightly as he leaned in a little.
“All of them?”
“They’d be safe with you,” you answered, almost without thinking. “With you and Remus.”
Remus looked at you again, gently. “But I thought you said they were precious.”
“They are,” you murmured, your fingers curling tighter around the box. “But I think they would be safe with you.”
Sirius leaned back, something like admiration flickering behind his lashes.
You didn’t quite know what to do with the way they were both looking at you.
And just when the silence stretched a little too long, a voice called from the far end of the corridor—“Oi! Sirius! Remus!”
All three of you looked up.
James Potter stood down the hall, grinning, fingers laced with Regulus Black’s in a way that felt less surprising than it should have been. Regulus looked vaguely annoyed, but didn’t pull away.
Remus stood first, then Sirius, both of them brushing imaginary dust from their sleeves.
Before turning to leave, Remus looked down at you once more, his expression softer than it had been all afternoon.
“Buttons like these,” he said gently, his voice as low and warm as a lullaby, “are safest with someone like you.”
He smiled once more, and then he was gone—walking beside Sirius, their shoulders brushing as they headed toward James and Regulus, leaving you behind with your heartbeat in your throat and your button box held close to your chest like it had just turned into something more than what it had been that morning.
In the days that followed, you found yourself seen in ways you had not expected. It was never loud or showy. Just the kind of noticing that lingered in the spaces between things.
Sirius would greet you with a grin that curved wide, his laughter always arriving half a beat early, as though he had been waiting for yours.
Remus had a different quiet, a warmth that never needed words. He would glance at you across the Great Hall, the corners of his mouth tilting up slightly, as though something about your presence softened the sharpest parts of his day.
Their light caught you even when you were not trying to catch it.
And somehow, you found yourself orbiting them without realizing when it had started. You did not speak of it. You simply moved in tune with it, steps quieter, glances longer, as though gravity had chosen for you.
But on full moon nights, the gravity changed.
You could never remain in the Ravenclaw dormitories, not when the thought of them beyond the walls left your chest tight and your sleep restless. So you became what magic had allowed.
You shifted. Feathered and silent, you slipped into the dark as a crow, wings slicing through the wind with singular purpose.
You did not follow too closely. You never let yourself be seen, but you watched. You hovered high in the trees, a shadow among branches, waiting for their safe return.
It was not out of duty. It was something far deeper, far stranger. It was worry, but it was also something you refused to name.
Especially when it came to Remus.
There was something about the way he moved beneath the moonlight that left you breathless. Something quiet and aching, something wild and controlled all at once.
It drew you in the way a fire does to someone who has always lived in the cold. You had not meant to fall into such devotion, but you did.
What you had not meant to do was get caught.
You had not seen the branch until it was too late. It had splintered beneath your landing, sharp as a blade, and pierced clean through the delicate bones of your crow’s foot.
You had cried out, a sound that belonged to neither bird nor girl, and now you are trapped. Your leg is twisted, impaled through the narrow branch, wings fluttering uselessly, body trembling from pain and fear.
The forest is deep and dark around you. The sky is heavy with clouds. The world below is quiet in the way that makes sound feel impossible.
You try to pull free, but it only burns. You try to breathe, but each breath comes thin and shaky.
You had come to protect. You had come to be sure they were safe.
And now, you are the one in danger, and no one knows you are here.
Remus was lying curled in the grass, his body trembling with the aftershocks of transformation. His skin was slick with sweat, chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths.
James crouched beside him, murmuring something too low to hear, while Sirius stood just behind, watchful and steady, arms folded tightly across his chest.
They were preparing to carry him back—like always. The routine had become muscle memory by now: someone took his shoulders, someone his legs, and they would move through the underbrush in silence, just three boys and the weight of what they refused to name.
You watched from above.
You always watched.
Perched in the tree line, your feathers damp and trembling, your heartbeat a staccato against the splintered wood that held you. The pain was sharp now—constant.
The branch had pierced clean through your crow’s leg, the wound throbbed with each flutter, and your small body had begun to lean sideways from exhaustion.
You really were trying not to fall.
You tried to call out again, but the sound was strange and half-formed, stuck somewhere between your beak and your pain. You blinked, dizzy and panicked, watching Remus blink slowly up at the trees, unaware that you were breaking just above him.
Sirius glanced up. It was casual at first, a flicker of curiosity. His brows furrowed slightly, his gaze lingering.
"There's a crow watching us," he muttered.
James looked up too. “Bit early for birdwatching, innit?”
You wobbled again, wings fluttering helplessly, and this time the pain stole your breath entirely. Something gave—a soft sound, barely audible—but Sirius stepped forward like he heard it anyway.
“That’s not normal,” he said, a strange edge to his voice. “That—James, that bird's not flying off.”
James straightened, still holding Remus’s arm draped over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s not scared of us. It’s watching us. Bleeding, even.”
You blinked again, vision swimming. The pain was starting to blur the edges of things.
And Sirius had always been sharper than he let on. He stepped forward, squinting up into the tree line, eyes narrowing. “It’s too still, like it’s waiting.”
Something about the way he said it made your stomach turn.
They didn’t know you had followed them—every full moon, without fail. That you had shifted the second they were gone, just to make sure they were okay. That you stayed out of sight. That it wasn’t a coincidence, the way a crow always seemed to circle above them at the end.
They didn’t know because you’d never told them.
Because what would they say?
The shy Ravenclaw girl who barely spoke at meals. Who had feathers hidden beneath her skin and a fondness for strange winds.
You hadn't meant to be seen.
You hadn't meant to fall.
And now, all it took was one branch and one mistake to unravel it all.
Sirius took a step closer.
“Something’s not right,” he said, voice low now. “I’m going up.”
“Pads—” James started, but Sirius was already reaching for a low limb, already climbing, already listening to something he couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore.
Sirius climbed carefully, boots pressing against bark slick with moss, one hand braced on a branch as he narrowed in on the trembling bird.
The crow didn’t flinch. It only watched him with dark, glassy eyes, chest rising unevenly with every breath. Its feathers were ruffled, one wing visibly twitching from strain, its claws caught by a jagged splinter of wood. The wound had darkened the bark below it with a smear of blood.
And beside it, nestled in the fork of two branches, was a small, uneven nest.
A nest filled with buttons.
Sirius froze.
Red. Pink. Navy. Green.
His breath hitched.
Cheri. Dai. Ruxy. Teo.
It struck him like a gust of cold wind, the memory rising all at once—how you had shown him those buttons in the quiet corner of the hallway when you bumped into him and Remus, your voice barely above a whisper, explaining that you named the small things you kept close.
He looked back at the crow, still trembling, and his chest clenched with certainty.
“Y/N,” he said, voice low but sure, “it’s you.”
And in the seconds that followed, you shifted.
Feathers melted into skin. Wings collapsed inward and became arms, trembling and bruised. Your body curled in on itself, still perched awkwardly in the tree, leg bloodied and twisted at an angle that made Sirius’s stomach flip.
You clutched the branch with shaking fingers, hair matted and face flushed with effort and something deeper—shame, thick and suffocating.
You didn’t cry from the pain. Not even when your injured leg gave a sharp spasm, tearing through the nerves like fire, or when your fingers trembled uselessly against bark still sticky with your own blood.
You cried because you had been seen.
It had always been the one thing you wished for. The softest, most secret ache of your childhood.
To be seen. Not glanced at, not acknowledged in the polite way professors nod at a raised hand or classmates murmur a distracted hello—but truly seen.
To be noticed with intention. To be understood in your full, strange shape. You had begged for it in silence, prayed to stars without names, asked the moon to make you visible.
And now the universe, in its crooked wisdom, had answered. You had been seen—bloodied, exposed, and caught in your smallest truth.
You had sat through years of being overlooked, of having your voice mistaken for wind or your presence mistaken for absence. You had learned to expect it, but never stopped wanting otherwise.
You had begged, in ways that did not involve words, to be noticed
And now, here you were.
Revealed in trembling flesh and blood. Not behind a desk, not through the soft offering of a smile or a story or a named button—but like this.
Injured, fragile, unraveled, and caught.
They had seen you, truly seen you. Not the version you curated in classrooms or in hallways with quiet nods and subtle glances. They had seen the strange bird who followed them into the night.
The girl who built nests out of threadbare things. The one who had watched them like they were made of light and belonged to a constellation she would never be brave enough to touch.
And it was cruel, wasn’t it? How the universe had finally answered your oldest prayer, but in the wrong language.
How being seen could still feel like being misunderstood.
You hadn’t wanted them to think you were weak. You hadn’t wanted their pity or confusion. You hadn’t wanted their worry to be born from the sight of your blood or the way your hands shook. You hadn’t wanted to be caught.
You had wanted them to understand.
You had wanted them to see the quiet devotion threaded through every watchful flight. The care behind every shadowed perch. The love it took to stay hidden when every part of you wanted to land at their side.
But now that they had—now that they had seen the part of you you kept hidden beneath feathers and wind—you wanted to disappear all over again.
Isn’t that the tragedy of it? That the very thing you once begged for could arrive in a form you didn’t recognize. That after all the aching, all the hoping, all the prayers you sent to unseen gods, being seen could still feel so much like being misunderstood.
And yet, even in that moment, even with shame biting at the edge of your vision and tears sliding down your cheeks, part of you still clung to the hope that perhaps—just perhaps—they hadn’t misunderstood you after all.
“Hey—hey. Look at me,” A voice low but urgent breaks through your haze.
Hands find your face, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes with a softness that makes something in your chest splinter further.
“Don’t cry, love. Please don’t cry. You’re alright. You’re safe. I’ve got you, just breathe with me, yeah? Just stay with me.”
You try to look away, but he won’t let you. His gaze holds yours, steady and unwavering, the kind of look that feels like being tethered—pulled back to something real, something warm.
You barely notice Remus limping toward you until he drops beside the branch, breath catching in his throat.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, and his voice breaks around the edges. “Is it your leg? Are you hurt? Y/N—what happened?”
You can’t answer, not right away. Your mouth opens, then closes again, but Sirius is still there, crouched in front of you, hands steady despite the thudding panic you can feel rising in both your chests.
He speaks again, softer now. “You—you’ve been watching us? All this time?” His voice trembles with something between awe and heartbreak. “Alone? During every full moon?”
You nod once, a small, broken motion, tears slipping down your cheeks in silence. Your jaw is clenched so tightly it aches.
“I didn’t want you to know,” you whisper. “I thought—if you saw me, it’d be weird or pathetic, or—”
He cut you off gently, reaching out to cup your cheek with a care that made your throat tighten.
“Pathetic?” he echoed, incredulous. “Pathetic? Y/N, you’ve been dragging your body into the sky just to keep us safe. You bled for us tonight. You’ve been doing this alone. That’s not pathetic—that’s... that’s fucking brave.”
His voice broke on the last word.
Below, James appeared at the base of the tree, voice rising in concern.
“Sirius?” James shouted. “Is it hurt? Is it—wait, where are you?”
“It’s Y/N!” Sirius called back down. “It’s her. She’s an Animagus.”
“What?” James’s voice cracked. “What do you mean it’s her?”
But Sirius wasn’t listening anymore. He was already helping you into his arms, cradling your body close with infinite care, his hand pressed protectively to your injured leg, holding you like something precious and breakable.
He whispered reassurances as he climbed down, slow, careful steps that betrayed the panic beneath his steady hands.
By the time Sirius’s boots hit the earth again, Remus was already beside him.
His breath came ragged, the lingering tremors of the transformation still curled in his limbs
Now, standing just steps from you, Remus looked like the ground had given out beneath him. All the color had drained from his face, but it wasn’t just shock.
You tried to speak, but the moment Sirius set you down gently in the grass, Remus was already kneeling, like his body had moved before his mind could catch up.
“Y/N?” His voice cracked, hoarse and thin. “What—what happened? What were you doing out there?”
You couldn’t meet his eyes. Not with the weight of both their gazes pressing into your skin. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“A burden?” he repeated, the word leaving his mouth like it tasted wrong. “You’ve been following us? While I’ve been transforming? Every full moon?” His breath hitched. “While I was—”
“I didn’t want anyone to worry,” you whispered. “I just needed to know you were okay.”
Remus inhaled sharply and let it go like a wound reopening. His hand hovered near yours, trembling. Then he reached for you anyway, brushing your hair back from your damp, dirt-streaked cheek.
His fingers paused near the scratch below your ear, reverent, aching.
“You shouldn’t have had to do that alone,” he said, softly but with conviction, like he was swearing an oath he never should’ve forgotten. “You shouldn’t have had to hide this. You didn’t have to hide this.”
“I didn’t think you’d understand,” you murmured, tears threatening again.
“We understand now,” he said, brokenly. “And it shouldn’t have taken blood for us to see it.”
Sirius’s jaw was clenched so tight it trembled. Remus’s voice was frayed, but firm. And both of them looked at you like you had done something immeasurably brave. Like you were worth mourning, protecting, holding—everything.
You finally looked up at them, eyes glassy, face streaked with tears and dirt and disbelief.
Sirius exhaled sharply, pressing a kiss to your temple. Remus closed his eyes, his hand settling gently over yours.
James crouched nearby, still stunned, but his voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “Next time, you don’t watch us from the trees. Next time, you’re down here with us.”
The walk back to the castle was slower than usual. Not because the path had changed, or because the forest was any darker than it had been—but because something between the three of you had shifted.
Sirius carried you most of the way, arms secure beneath your back and knees, murmuring quietly each time you winced, while Remus walked close beside him, watching your face as though afraid it might disappear.
James had gone ahead to clear the way and fetch Madam Pomfrey, but you hardly noticed his absence.
Your body ached, but it was the tightness in your chest that throbbed hardest. You had never meant for them to know, not the Animagus form, not the secret flights, and certainly not the nest tucked into the trees like a childhood you’d never outgrown.
By the time Sirius set you down gently on the edge of the infirmary bed, your throat was dry from trying not to cry again.
Remus didn’t speak at first. He just knelt beside you, hands gentle as he peeled away what was left of your sock and began tending to your leg. His fingers were deft but soft, brushing the dried blood away with a damp cloth, jaw clenched as he examined the wound with quiet intensity.
You hated the silence. You hated how heavy it felt.
“I’m sorry,” you said, the words breaking free before you could stop them. “I know it’s weird. I know I’m weird. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”
Sirius, who had been standing nearby, leaned forward suddenly, resting one hand on the mattress beside your hip.
“Stop,” he said, firm but not unkind. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for being the one person who cared enough to follow us into the dark.”
Your breath caught.
“I just… I didn’t want to be a burden,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”
Remus’s hands paused in their careful rhythm as he finished unwinding the gauze. He looked up slowly, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet but certain.
“Y/N, if you truly believe we’d ever mock you for caring—for watching over us in the only way you could—then I’ve clearly failed to show you the kind of man I am, and the kind of man I hope to be.”
Your fingers curled in your lap. “I watched you,” you whispered, eyes flicking toward Remus. “Every month. I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out there. I just... needed to make sure you came back.”
Remus didn’t look away. He soaked the cloth in warm water and pressed it gently to your scraped skin with hands that trembled slightly—not from fear, but from how much he was holding back. “You never needed to explain that,” he said. “But I’m glad you did.”
Sirius moved closer, silent until now. He sat down beside you on the bed, his palm finding the small of your back, grounding you.
“You watched over us,” he said, his voice low and rough at the edges. “Even when we didn’t ask. Even when we didn’t know. You broke your body trying to keep us safe. And you’re still sitting here thinking we might call you strange for that?”
You looked up at him then, wide-eyed, voice shaky. “I mean... I collect buttons. I sleep with open windows so I can hear the wind. I speak to animals. I—I’m not exactly—”
“Normal?” Sirius offered, a half-smile playing at his lips. “Good. We’re not either.”
Remus finished wrapping your leg and looked up, expression softening like a wave pulling back from shore. “You think we’ve spent all these weeks noticing you for no reason? You think we didn’t see the way you listen more than you speak, or how your eyes always catch the smallest things—the things no one else notices?”
“You care in ways no one else ever has,” Remus added, more gently now. “You cared about me in a way I didn’t know how to accept until right now.”
Your breath caught. “Wait… are you saying...?”
Sirius laughed under his breath and leaned a little closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “Love, we’re saying we’ve been completely enchanted by you for ages. We just didn’t know how to say it until tonight.”
You blinked, stunned. “Really?”
“Really,” Remus said, his voice warm. “In every way that matters.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came. Your throat was too full of something tender, too new.
Remus leaned closer, his voice softening. “Listen to me,” he said. “You don’t have to hide yourself from us. Not your wings, not your magic, and certainly not your quiet. We like you—we care about you—for everything you are. You’re not strange, love.”
Your lip trembled.
“And the button nest?” he added, grinning now. “It’s the most heartbreakingly you thing I’ve ever seen. That nest in the tree… it wasn’t weird. It was beautiful.”
Sirius smiled, something quiet and bright in his expression. “Well, we were talking about it on the way back—Remus and I, and if there’s ever room for two more in that nest, we’d be honored to be named and to be part of something you created.”
You blinked. “You want to be… buttons?”
“Not just buttons,” Sirius said, bumping his shoulder gently against yours. “Your buttons.”
Remus looked up then, meeting your eyes with something deep and sure and aching in its sincerity. “If we’re lucky, maybe you’ll even give us names.”
You looked down at your lap, hands trembling in your lap, and then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, tentative but real.
“You can be in my button nest,” you said, voice barely a whisper.
And for the first time, it wasn’t just that someone had seen you.
It was that they had recognized you — all the strange, quiet, fragile pieces you’d kept tucked behind your ribs, the ones you had never dared to name aloud.
They hadn’t flinched from your softness, or your silence, or the wild devotion stitched into the things you loved. They had understood it. And more than that, they had chosen it.
Chosen you.
You had spent your life making altars out of small things. Buttons, feathers, the hush between words. You had prayed in your own language — not in churches or temples, but in the way you noticed everything others overlooked. You had asked the world for so little: just to be held in return.
Just to matter to someone the way you had quietly, unfailingly let others matter to you.
And for so long, the world hadn’t answered.
But maybe it was not that it hadn’t heard you. Maybe it had simply taken time.
Because now, without asking, without performing, without even meaning to — you were seen. Not in passing, not in pieces, but fully, tenderly, and without having to translate your love to the world.
You were no longer a distant thing.
And perhaps, after all, the universe had been listening the entire time.
Now, it had spoken , softly and reverently, in the form of two boys who looked at you as if you were something celestial stitched into the earth.
After all, the button nest had always been waiting for them too.
a/n:
to the readers with soft hearts and quiet hopes;
may someone see your soul the way you see the world.
to the readers who love gently, who notice everything,
and who wait, patiently, to be noticed in return;
may your button nest always be full ❤️🩹
You’d retreated to the library’s depths, determined to heal from your past and ignore a certain Night Court general. But Cassian was relentless, determined to get to know the woman who made the golden tether in his heart flutter. [fluff]
Summary: You’d retreated to the library’s depths, determined to heal from your past and ignore a certain Night Court general. But Cassian was relentless, determined to get to know the woman who made the golden tether in his heart flutter.
T/W: Talks of past trauma
A/N: Sorry the summary is bad; I swear the actual fic is good haha. I haven't posted in a little while so here's a Cassian fic while I work on the second part of the hunter and the hunted!
Masterlist
Sometimes you feel like you were born with your lips sewn shut.
You had never learned how to speak for yourself or call someone out when they were being rude. You were born with a rock in your throat - a weight on your vocal cords.
Silent as you were, you fell into the role of priestess easier than most. Having been rescued by the High Lord of the Night Court, who promised you safety and warmth over two months ago, you fit in more than some who have spent years hidden away in the library. But you liked being invisible, lost in the shelves of the books, blending into the stone walls.
Perhaps that’s why Cassian irks you so much.
You can’t blend into the bland walls when he makes your cheeks heat such a vibrant pink, and you can’t lose yourself on the shelves when he’s tracking every step of your feet. He makes you feel more visible than you’ve ever felt before, unable to hide from his loudness and ever-perceptive eyes.
𓌜 - 𓌜 - 𓌜 - 𓌜
If Cassian had to explain why he was so infatuated with you, he would say it was your silence. Though some find it unnerving and uncomfortable, you speak a thousand times more with your silence than you do with your words. The narrowing of your eyes, the scrunch of your nose, and the tilt of your lips are keys into your mind, and he’s determined to decode every one.
Every Monday afternoon, like now, he enters the library and begins to scour the shelves, unfocused eyes reading the spines of the books. He rounds each shelf, eyes piercing the air until they land on you.
Your delicate hands gently dust a shelf with quiet concentration and sophisticated grace. Your shiny hair shields your face, hiding the delicate slope of your nose, the plush of your lips and your naturally long lashes. He wants nothing more than to brush your hair away, twirling it between his fingers while his eyes memorise each freckle and scar that contributes to your timeless beauty.
He’s learnt from past mistakes of making you flinch that he needs to make his presence known, so, purposely making his steps against the wooden floor louder, he begins to walk over to you. A pause in your movements gives way to your awareness of his presence, though you don’t look away from the books in front of you.
“Good afternoon,” Cassian whispers. If his family could see him - eyes softer than clouds, voice quiet, and body gentle - they would have believed you bewitched him. It was well known that he wasn’t a gentle or quiet male, but he was willing to be one for you.
You finally turn to face him, gaze meeting his from under your lashess. “Hello,” You whisper through barely parted lips, chin tilted up the smallest bit. Cassian can’t help but let his eyes drop, swearing you're secretly muttering a spell that has his heart beating wildly in his chest.
“Lunch?” He grins, showcasing his pearly whites and unknowingly stealing your breath. You look from him to the books in your hand, whenhe moves an inch closer, your eyes snapping to him immediately. “The books will be here when you get back. I, however, have to go to some Illyrian camps tomorrow and I won’t see you for a few days.”
You bite your lip in contemplation. “Oh.” Gently placing the books on the shelf, your free hands move to fidget with your clothing, unable to be held still. Your voice is barely above a whisper, “I just haven’t…Been outside since I’ve gotten here. I would like to keep it that way for a while longer.”
His heart warms at your sincere admission, grateful that you trust him enough to be honest. “I figured you’d say that,” He slowly begins to walk away, and you follow, “Which is why I organised a lunch here. Hungry?”
Your voice is louder. “Starved.”
𓌜 - 𓌜 - 𓌜 - 𓌜
Though Cassian is a sweet male with a heart of gold and bravery carved into his bones, you don’t believe his actions - bringing you lunch, and coming to see you almost every day - are built from genuine feelings. While that might sound stupid to some, your brain can see the logic in it.
Because, here’s the thing: A month ago, the general strolled into the library looking for a book. And a month ago, the mating bond snapped.
The moment was burned into your brain, replaying the moment he whispered the word ‘mate’ like it was his holy grail - like you were the sun when he was the midnight sky. He hadn’t done anything odd after the bond snapped, just came by the library more often, eyes seeking yours, lips carrying the conversation when you fall short.
And yes, he was lovely and gentlemanly, sweet and sincere, but how were you supposed to believe that he wanted you when you were raised to believe that you could never be wanted?
He could bring you flowers, and you would think his feelings ingenuine. He could be coated in the blood of the ones who have hurt you, and you would still believe his mind was clouded by the prospect of having a mate.
In other words; you were waiting for the shoe to drop.
In doing that, you’ve had to build the strongest of stone walls around your fragile heart; already so broken and worn. You knew being hurt by someone who tried to care would hurt more than the scars on your skin. But you’re not a warrior, just a girl, and every time he does something nice like makes you lunch and helps you clean as he talks, shatters one of the meticulously placed stones around your heart.
“Are you alright?” A warm, honeyed voice reaches your ears and you blink, the sight of a cheese and fruit platter splayed out in front of you returning. You flush at having been caught in your thoughts. “Yes. Sorry.” He pulls out a chair for you and you sit, the warmth of his body causing you to tense. He’s gone from behind you in seconds, pulling out a chair in front of you. “You’re okay,” His eyes twinkle in the candlelight, “I hope you like cheese, cake and fruit. Bit of a weird pairing, I know, but I didn’t know what you liked.”
You feel another stone brick around your heart shatter and crumble. “Thank you. I love all of those things.” You smile lightly, “Especially cake.” At your words, he passes you a slice of one of your favourite flavours with a grin. “Who doesn’t like cake?”
You smile, not knowing what to say and instead choosing to shove a forkful of the Godly food into your mouth. He’s undeterred by your silence. “Was your day good?”
“Yeah. I’ve just been putting away some books.” You clear your throat, a rock lodged in your throat. “How was yours?”
He brightens at your question. “It was good! I had training with Azriel this morning but, if I’m honest, all I could think about was you.” At your silence and flushed cheeks, he shuffles nervously in his seat. “I have something for you,” he admits, picking up the object by his chair.
Though he smiles confidently, his posture straight, there's no way to hide the shaking of his hands as he passes you the object. Slowly, as if a stray cat, you take it from his outstretched hands, fingers lightly grazing his own.
“Is this…” You trail off, a light gasp escaping your parted lips. You're lost for words, heart beating miles per minute. Because, in your slightly sweaty hands is a book you’ve wanted for as long as you can remember. When you first met Cassian, you made a passing comment about being disappointed that the library didn’t own the book you wanted.
He hunted the book down and got it for you.
A child-like joy possesses your body, a Cheshire grin painting your face, bones thrumming with the urge to stand up and pull Cassian into a hug. The urge wins, and you're rounding the table to throw your arms around his neck before your mind catches up with your body.
He’s hugging you back almost immediately, standing up to hug you properly with his arms fully wrapped around your figure and pulling him closer. You’re smiling into his neck, brain fogged by the excitement of the gift. But your mind is quick to remind you of where and who you were.
You were not a female that males wanted. You were broken and shattered, running from the horrors of your past. You were constrained in the walls of the library, too afraid to leave, too broken to heal. Cassian might think he wants you, but who wants a fractured female?
But…He got you a book. The book. The book you mentioned once but he remembered because he knew that it meant something to you.
No.
He’s doing it because you’re his mate. Not because he cares.
But what if he does want you? What if he cares?
The thought brings goosebumps up your arms, fear swallowing your heart. The thought of him liking you is just as scary as him not liking you.
You step back and smile awkwardly. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” His smile wavers slightly, noting the shift in thoughts though he doesn’t seem angry, just confused. He looks into your eyes, searching for an answer to his question.
The question remaining unanswered, he sits back down, and you do the same. An awkward silence follows, and you shove food into your mouth with an awkward glance at your lap. Cassia’s lips tilt as if trying to push away a smile. “I’ll, uh, have to go soon. But I’ll come see you as soon as I’m back.”
You deflate slightly despite yourself - unsure if it was out of relief or disappointment. “Don’t wait for me.” He stands up, hand moving to touch you before he hesitates, squeezing his hand into a tight fist at his side. His eyes narrow at your words. “Be safe.” His grin is kind. “Goodbye.”
“Bye,” you whisper.
𓌜 - 𓌜 - 𓌜 - 𓌜
Though you had built strong walls against your heart, you hadn’t realised how many had crumbled until Cassian had left. You had an ache in your heart, a strong pull on your heartstrings every time you thought of his smile. His eyes. Just him.
As much as you hated to admit it, you were moping. You were quieter than usual, which was saying something - and it seemed your lips had forgotten how to smile. You spent your days alone in the library, putting away books and then hiding away in your room.
He had punctured your heart with the arrow of affection, and you didn’t know how to pull it out. Even If you cut it or yanked it, you would still bleed the ache of unrequited love. You had bled so many times before, and you were unsure if your mind could take another jab.
Lost in the despair of your mind, you failed to notice the High Lady walk into the library, bathing in an air of confidence that glows her skin and brightens her smile. “Good morning,” She grins, leaning against the shelf you were currently dusting, eyes glinting with curiosity and mischief.
You jump, dropping your cloth on the floor as you stare at your High Lady with wide eyes. Not knowing what to do as you haven’t met her before, you cast your eyes to the floor and mutter out a quiet ‘hello.’ She laughs quietly and you look up. “You’re Cassian's mate.”
You’re unable to look her in the eyes. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“He hasn’t talked much about you. I think he wants to keep you to himself,” She laughs, eyes sparkling with joy and humble power. “Good thing he’s away so we can finally get to know each other. The market’s on, it’s girls' day, and everyone else is busy, care to join me?”
You take a moment to process her invite, blankly staring at her as she continues to smile, lips tilted in an awe-like fashion. “Um…” You fail to find nicer words for ‘I would rather set my skin on fire because the thought of leaving this library is more painful than charred skin.’
You don’t have to find the words because Feyre seems to read your mind. “I know it’s scary,” Her eyes soften with understanding, “but you’re safe here. Nothing from your past can reach you here. So join me,” she sticks out her arm, palm invitingly upturned. “We’ll have a girls' day and if you decide you hate me I’ll take you back. Deal?”
You look at her hand and the cloth on the floor, lip chewed in thought. Your words lower to a whisper, “Deal.”
𓌜 - 𓌜 - 𓌜 - 𓌜
Though you’ve been alive for hundreds of years, you’ve never had a ‘girls' day.’ It was as scary as you imagined. Feyre had practically dragged you out of the library with excited words, talking about going shopping and getting food. You had nodded along, zoning out as your fear of the outside world grew with each step you took towards the door.
But you had done it, and now you stand in the warmth of the sun, skin painted in its golden rays, bones shaking with nerves. Feyre hadn’t let you stumble or shake, her hand in yours as she pointed out the infamous spots of Velaris. Each place seemed to have its own story, its own memory of the Inner Circle, and you can’t help but smile as Feyre retells each one.
“Cassian once got kicked out of that place,” She points to a store at the end of the street, “He was too loud. And he accidentally broke three wine glasses. Rhysand and I had to reimburse them…Haven’t been back since.” You can’t help but laugh at her storytelling, imagining the kind General getting kicked out.
“That sounds like him,” You attempt to converse, huffing a laugh. Feyre giggles, linking your arms and dragging you to a stall that sells jewellery. “I find it adorable that you’re so quiet- so different from Cassian y’know? He must need some silence since the rest of his life is so loud.”
You’re lost for words, unable to muster a response. Feyre is too distracted by the jewellery to note your awkwardness. “Look how gorgeous this is!” She brings the necklace closer, “It matches your eyes. Here, this is my gift for you since you let me drag you out today.” You protest too late, Feyre already buying the necklace and turning you so she can place it around your neck.
“Thank you,” You stutter out. She winks and guides you to a table. You nervously look around, something lodged in your throat. Fear still grips you tightly, a slight shake of your hands that you’re unable to stop. Feyre’s knowing and gentle eyes encourage you to try and push that fear away.
“You’re awfully pretty,” Feyre states, her bright smile revealing a row of straight teeth. “I can see why Cassian likes you.” A warm blush heats your cheeks, your mind short-circuiting. “He only likes me because I’m his mate,” You say, mostly to yourself. Your doubtful mind forces you to remember the real reason he’s stayed. You may be doubtful and insecure, but you’ve never been delusional.
Feyre snorts, looking at you incredulously. “Cassian likes you because you bring peace in a world that’s always at war for him..”
“I’m too quiet,” You repeat the words you’ve been told many times before.
“Sometimes silence can say more than words.”
You nod absent mindlessly, looking around the bustling market. You’ve constantly been belittled and undermined for your silence; Feyre telling you something different is unnerving.
A child screams. A group of males laugh. A female markets her store. Everything is…loud. You fiddle with your hair. “Can we go back? Please?”
Her eyes soften with understanding. “Of course.” You hurriedly stumble out of your chair, the heat of the sun suddenly too hot on your skin. You crave the cool air of the library, the feeling of leather under your fingertips and the smell of worn books in your nose. You crave home.
𓌜 - 𓌜 - 𓌜 - 𓌜
Cassian keeps to his promise and visits you as soon as he returns, the morning sun barely rises above the horizon before his loud steps echo in the quiet library.
You were shelving a book on a corner shelf, mindlessly doing work to pass the time when the familiar soft scuff of boots on wood entered your ears. Your heart skips a beat, warmth trailing down your spine and leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Your movements pause, the beating of your heart loud in your ears. You quickly turn around, your back pressed against the shelf behind you. His rugged face graces your vision, the visible scruff of his beard and his gentle eyes fighting the barricades of your heart with quick and confident movements.
“Hey,” he grins, voice raw and tired from yelling instructions all week. You smile shyly back. “Hi.”
He doesn’t say anything, instead looking at you like you hung the moon. You shy away from his gaze, hating yourself for believing there was something akin to love in his eyes. “How was your trip?”
He steps closer. “It was fine. Some Illyrians just don’t listen, though. Good thing I know how to punch,” He winks, voice tilted in a joking matter. “I hear you had a fun week. Feyre told me you went out. That’s great! I’m proud of you.”
Your lungs forget how to work, his words snatching the air from your lungs and leaving you breathless. “You’re…Proud of me?” He nods enthusiastically. “Of course I am. I can’t imagine how scary that would’ve been-”
“-Please don’t.” You cut him off, voice shaky and cracking with emotion. You’ve been told many things before; that you’re unwanted, a waste of time and a bore. But no one has ever said they were proud of you before.
His voice is quiet. “Don’t what?”
You gesture between your bodiesyou too, looking into his eyes, tears unwillingly falling down your cheeks. “Do this. Act like you want this. Cassian, you don’t want me. You know that. You’re hurting me, please just stop.”
He steps closer, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I’ve never been a good actor. And I would never lie to you.” His hesitant fingers reach to tilt your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Why do you think I don’t want you? You’re everything to me - you’re perfect.”
You bite back a sob, eyelashes fluttering closed against your cheeks. “I’m not perfect. I’m broken. I can’t even leave these four walls for more than an hour without getting scared and wanting to go back. You only want the idea of me. Or maybe just the bond. I’m not…Someone you choose. I’m not strong or loud or brave, I’m not the one for you.”
You push against his chest and he steps back, giving you space. “I can’t be your mate, Cassian.”
A long silence follows. You try to breathe through the shame.
Though you just refused the bond, Cassian remains confident, though his eyes have lost the familiar spark of joy, replaced with the strange softness of concern. His shaky hands move to hold your jaw. You're too starved for the feeling of his touch to push him away.
His voice shakes. “You could be my mortal enemy but I would still feel weak in the knees when you smile. You could threaten my life, and my heart would still skip a beat at the fact you think of me.” His thumb brushes the fragile skin of your cheek, capturing your breath in words of truth.
He steps closer towards your shaking frame. “I don’t want you because you’re my mate, I want you because I am not myself without you.”
His forehead rests against yours. Your breath hitches.
“You’re the reason for my smile and laughter. The reason for the lightness of my heart. You’re my mate. My light. My love. Mine.”
A sob passes your lips, eyes squeezing shut. The heat of his body warms your skin and you’re frozen in place. “I’m so scared,” You whisper, the final stone crumbling against your fragile heart. Cassian nods, his shaking hands brushing your hair back from your face.
His lips brush your hairline. He leaves a gentle kiss. “I know, my love, so am I. But I would rather battle my fears instead of letting you go. I know you want this too. I can see it in your eyes.” His eyes are pleading, begging you. “Please. Please give us a chance. I can’t erase your pain but I can hold you when you cry, listen when you’re scared. Just please.”
Your hands raise, gently grazing the sharpness of his jaw. “You promise you want me?”
“I want you more than I’ve wanted anything before.” His words slip from his lips like honey, melting your heart and soothing your worries.
You’re silent, pressing your forehead hard against his, tears dampening his skin. “Mine?” You finally ask, a shy smile tilting your lips, nudging your nose against his.
Cassian’s hands tremble. “Yours,” he whispers. “Always.”
Summary: You and Azriel have a really dark relationship where the man literally worships you. He decides to tease you about your spending in front of all your friends.. bad for him you have some tricks up your sleeve.
Warning: Mentions of explicit sexual content, dominant/submissive dynamics, suggestive language, drinking, mild humour and shadow daddy Azriel obsession.
A/n: This is officially the last part in the dom!Az blurbs!
The Sidra glowed golden through the tall windows of the House of Wind offices, the late afternoon sun slanting across Azriel’s dark mahogany desk. Piles of parchment and dossiers sat untouched, completely ignored in favour of lounging.
Cassian was draped sideways across one of the visitor chairs, his boots on the edge of Azriel’s desk, idly tossing a paperweight from hand to hand. Rhysand had claimed the windowsill, half-reclined against the frame, sipping something expensive with the bored elegance of a male who was pretending to be working. And Azriel—Azriel was leaned back in his chair, shirt sleeves rolled up, shadows curling lazily around his forearms like smoke on a breeze.
They weren’t doing a single bit of work.
The door opened with a rush of familiar energy and soft perfume, and Feyre stepped in first, her cheeks flushed with laughter and shopping bags on each arm. “You boys hard at work?” she teased, already moving toward Rhysand with that knowing smirk only a High Lady could wear.
You followed behind her, giggling as your boots clicked against the stone floor, holding up your bags—three of which were Azriel’s favorite shade of black, though none of them contained anything even remotely professional. He was going to find out soon enough.
He was already giving you that look.
Azriel straightened in his seat, one arm hooked over the back of his chair, shadows alert now—curious. You ignored the subtle tilt of his head, the tightening of his jaw. Instead, you marched up to his desk, dumped your bags unceremoniously on the edge, and leaned forward on your elbows with the kind of grin that always made him grit his teeth.
“Babe,” you began sweetly. Feyre had already dissolved into Rhysand’s lap behind you. “So—this guy? At the boutique? Absolutely would not stop flirting with me. Asked for my address and everything.”
Feyre, half-laughing, gave you away with an exaggerated nod against Rhys’s shoulder. “He was bold. I was two feet away and he still tried.”
Azriel’s eyes—golden and gleaming with something very, very dark—narrowed infinitesimally. A single brow lifted, lazy and lethal.
His voice came out like rolling smoke. “You should’ve shown him how much you spend out of my bank account daily.” His smirk curled, slow and cutting. “He’d never speak to you again.”
Cassian barked out a laugh, loud and shameless, nearly knocking over the paperweight as he slapped a hand to his chest. Rhysand wheezed behind you, shaking with laughter. Feyre let out a delighted little gasp and half-covered her mouth, clearly not trying to stop the grin overtaking her face.
You, however, frowned in the dramatic, wounded way you’d perfected over years of loving Azriel. “Excuse me?”
Azriel didn’t move. He just leaned forward slightly, planting his forearms on the desk, his shadows wrapping lazily around his wrists like vipers. The glint in his eye was unmistakable.
“At least I can afford you,” he said lowly, dryly—then added with a wicked little smirk, “somewhat.”
The room howled.
Cassian was wheezing, almost falling out of his chair. Rhysand was bent over, face pressed to Feyre’s neck to stifle his laughter. Even Feyre was wiping tears from her eyes, utterly betraying you as she mouthed, “That was good.”
You just scowled, grabbing one of your shopping bags and smacking it against Azriel’s chest.
He caught it without flinching—didn’t even blink. Only murmured, “Is this another overpriced sweater I’ll never see you wear?”
You narrowed your eyes. “No. It’s lingerie you won’t get to see me wear.”
Azriel’s smirk grew lethal. “Challenge accepted.”
Cassian choked on his drink. Rhysand called for a war break.
Feyre just winked at you over her shoulder.
You had started it. Azriel, as always, would finish it.
Azriel was still smirking when he set your shopping bag down beside him, fingers drumming thoughtfully against the glossy logo stamped across the front. The laughter had settled into quiet snickers now, Rhys still grinning into Feyre’s neck and Cassian wiping at his eyes like he’d just witnessed the Cauldron-blessed comedy of the year.
He shifted in his chair and looked at you fully, golden gaze sweeping over your face, your clothes, the dainty little gold hoops at your ears, the silk scarf tied to your wrist.
“Let’s be honest for a second,” he said, voice as calm as the Sidra but with just enough edge to make your stomach dip. “Why don’t you tell our very amused friends how much you’ve spent this month—on books alone?”
Your mouth opened.
“You want to play dangerous?” he murmured, shadows curling tighter around his arms. “Okay. Tell them.”
Feyre turned fully in Rhysand’s lap, eyes sparkling. “Oh, yes please. I’ve been dying to know.”
You shot her a betrayed glare.
“I’m not judging,” she said, hand to heart. “But I do know you have three crates under your bed and a floor-to-ceiling shelf Azriel installed last winter that is double-stacked.”
Cassian leaned forward, absolutely delighted. “Is this about the library candle set you made Az buy you on the Equinox?”
You crossed your arms. “They were themed, and thank you, Cassian, they sold out in six minutes.”
Azriel didn’t let you breathe.
“Books,” he repeated. “Paperbacks. Hardcovers. Special editions. You bought the same book four times, just because the covers were different.”
“And don’t forget the book accessories,” Rhysand added silkily, tilting his glass toward you. “Which I didn’t even know were a category until this week.”
“Okay—what is a book accessory?” Cassian asked, honestly confused.
You shifted slightly, chin lifted. “Tabs. Annotating pens. Book sleeves. Stands. Custom bookmarks. Hand-stitched dust jackets. Decorative edge stencils. A mug that says ‘I Read To Escape Your Bullshit.’”
Cassian wheezed.
Azriel was relentless. “She bought a whole embroidered throw blanket last week with a quote from a book she hasn’t read yet.”
“Because I’m going to read it,” you snapped, cheeks flushing.
Rhys hummed. “The throw was eighty-seven silver marks, wasn’t it?”
“I love how you know that,” Azriel muttered without looking at him.
But he wasn’t done.
“And that’s just the books,” he said, tipping his head. “Let’s talk about perfumes.”
Feyre groaned and leaned forward like she was settling in for story time.
Azriel looked you dead in the eye. “I’ve bought you six bottles this month. Six. Each from a different boutique because, and I quote, they all smell like a different fantasy trope.”
You stared him down. “Enemies-to-lovers scent profiles are hard to find.”
Cassian looked like he was about to pass out. “What does that even mean?!”
“Clove,” Rhys said sagely, “and danger.”
“Exactly,” you muttered under your breath.
Azriel pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You made me order one from the Dawn Court because it had base notes of amber, ink, and morally grey decision-making.”
Feyre giggled. “Okay but that does sound like a good one.”
“Thank you,” you whispered to her.
Azriel just gave you a look—the mate look, the I-love-you-but-I’m-keeping-track-of-every-purchase look.
“Oh, and last month?” he went on. “The entire makeup set? The limited edition palette named after famous tragic heroines? That was imported.”
“It was revolutionary,” you countered. “Besides, I used my own gold for that—”
Azriel barked a laugh. “From the account I put the gold in.”
And finally, finally—
“The hair oils,” he groaned, sitting back in his chair like the weight of it physically pained him. “You have a whole drawer. I counted. Fourteen. Fourteen different vials labelled with things like moonlit curl restoration and wild fae frizz control.”
“They’re handcrafted,” you said flatly, arms crossed.
“They’re witchcraft.” His tone was dire. “Your hair is already perfect and you know it.”
That earned a trio of groans from the peanut gallery, but you—gods, you flushed under his praise. And his exasperation. And his absolute, meticulous attention to every little thing you loved.
“You know what,” Cassian said, throwing an arm around the back of the couch, “I take it back. You don’t spoil her, brother. You fund an entire cottage industry.”
Rhysand lifted his glass toward Azriel solemnly. “To mates.”
“To bankruptcy,” Azriel muttered, eyes still locked on you.
And still—still—you smiled.
Because despite the teasing, the mock despair, the public audit of your spending habits, you knew he wouldn’t change a thing.
And neither would you.
You didn’t blink.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even breathe.
You just sat there across from your mate, back straight, legs elegantly crossed, and smiled.
That slow, dangerous, syrup-sweet smile that made Cassian sit up straighter, Rhysand murmur “Oh, she’s going in,” and Feyre whisper, “Az, baby, you might want to start praying.”
Because Azriel had poked the bear. And you were done being dragged through your book tabs and fantasy-scented perfume purchases.
You tilted your head. “Interesting,” you said, your voice all silk and venom. “Very, very interesting.”
Azriel’s shadows recoiled slightly.
Cassian visibly perked up.
You turned in your seat just a little, settling in like you were about to begin a formal inquest. “If we’re talking about excessive, mate, then tell me—how many blades does one Shadowsinger really need?”
Azriel’s golden eyes narrowed. “I use them all.”
“Do you, though?” you asked sweetly. “Do you use the five identical twin daggers forged by that surly blacksmith in the mountains who only accepts payment in wine and combat poetry?”
“That poetry is ancient tradition,” Azriel said darkly.
You didn’t let up.
“And let’s not even talk about the combat gear. Rhys—back me up—how many different black-on-black shirts does Az own?”
Rhysand’s mouth twitched. “At least forty. All varying in collar style and ‘brooding potential.’”
Cassian snorted into his palm.
Azriel glared at Rhys. “Et tu.”
But you weren’t finished.
“In the last six months,” you said primly, “you have purchased three different pairs of boots. All made from the same Illyrian leather. One pair is just a half-inch taller in the heel.”
Azriel said nothing. Which was always dangerous—but so were you.
“Then,” you said, counting off on your fingers, “there’s the weapons oil, the wing balm, the Shadow-enhancing salves you ordered from that retired spell weaver in the Day Court—”
“That was a safety precaution,” Azriel growled.
You steamrolled ahead. “The reinforced travel cloak with hidden compartments for your throwing stars. The silk-lined gloves you had custom stitched for your stealth training in winter. And let’s not forget—”
You turned with flourish, smiling directly at Cassian.
“—his aesthetic purchases.”
Cassian exploded in laughter, pounding his fist on Azriel’s desk.
Even Rhysand leaned forward, grinning. “What aesthetic purchases?”
“Oh, you know,” you drawled. “The vintage dagger display case he bought from that antique dealer in Velaris who specializes in ‘sentimental murder memorabilia.’ The velvet-lined box with shadow rune embroidery that now holds—wait for it—his emergency ring collection.”
Cassian choked.
Azriel shot upright in his chair, wings twitching behind him. “That’s a tactical ring collection.”
“Tactical,” you repeated, fighting a grin. “Because apparently when planning an assassination, you just need a ring to match your shadows. Or your mood.”
Azriel glared. “You’ve got entire lipstick categories based on tropes.”
You shrugged. “And you have five rings for stealth moods. One is literally called ‘The Quiet Sting.’”
Cassian wheezed.
Feyre laughed so hard she fell off Rhysand’s lap.
And Rhys? Rhys raised his glass again, beaming like you’d won an award. “I stand corrected. You two deserve each other.”
Azriel was silent. Fuming. Eyes narrow, wings twitching. You could feel the rebuttal rising—
And then his shadows coiled gently at your wrist. Light, teasing. Like they liked that you called him out. Like they were used to this. Like they loved it.
Because he did.
Azriel leaned back slowly, spine perfectly straight, like a general conceding ground in a battlefield made of receipts and emotional damage.
Then, he said—quietly, smugly—
“Still cost less than your annotated edition of The Dark Fae’s Secret Affair.”
You gasped. “That was signed!”
He smirked.
You launched a pillow at his head.
Rhysand raised his voice over the chaos. “You two need a budget spreadsheet.”
Cassian just roared, “You two need a damn museum.”
And in the middle of all of it, Azriel reached across the desk.
Grabbed your hand.
Pulled you toward him without a word.
And pressed a kiss—soft, slow, possessive—to the back of it, like you were still in the middle of a quiet evening at home and not about to brawl in front of the High Lord and the General Commander.
“Still worth every mark,” he said low enough only you could hear. “Even if you bankrupt me with bookmarks.”
You beamed.
“Then I’ll buy you another ring,” you whispered.
And he smiled like that was the best damn deal he’d ever made.
Summary: You’ve spent nearly a century hunting the monsters the Night Court turns a blind eye to; fae who hurt others and walk free. Azriel is sent to track you down, but you’re not just a killer — you’re someone he can’t seem to stop thinking about. Now you're circling each other, predator and prey, and neither of you is sure who’s hunting who.
T/W: Death, blood, reader is a killer, swearing.
A/N: I've been away for so long!! As an apology, here is the first fic to my new series; The Hunter and the Hunted!! I'm really excited to write more of this series, and I hope you enjoy <333 If you have any feedback, please let me know!!
Masterlist Azriel Masterlist The Hunter and the Hunted
Death has become a normal thing in your everyday life. You were forced to look it in the eyes at a young age, watching as blood dripped down your mother's head, staining your white dress and stealing your innocence.
And as you grew older, death only followed you more, hurting the ones you loved and trying to get you in its tight grasp.
Until you turned around and started to chase it.
You had seen the lack of justice in your father, who faced no consequences for killing your mother, and in the young boy brutally killed in the streets. You had seen so much blood that one day your mind was tainted red, and you knew you had to take things into your own hands.
And so you did, killing an Illyrian male after he ordered the clippings of three young females, barely over the age of fourteen. You had been so scared of yourself, of the blood on your hands and the lack of remorse you had felt staring at his lifeless face. But no one else was going to clear the streets of the cruel faes, undeserving of another day free.
You’re reminded of your first kill as you hide in the same tree you did back then, almost ninety-seven years later. You had been hired by a young girl around the age of sixteen. Her wings had been brutally clipped by a male a week ago, stripping her of her dignity- her identity. She had drowned in pits of agony and pain until you found her.
Offering up what little she had, she pleaded for you to kill him. “I’d finally feel brave enough to go out again,” she had cried, her voice as broken as her appearance, her eyes penetrating your soul with such raw emotion only a young girl could express. You didn't hesitate to take the job.
Up in the tree, your skilful and observant eyes track the walking male as he enters the pit of the woods. He was big, with broad shoulders and wings almost bigger than your entire body. Despite his large form, your confidence didn’t waver; you trusted in your skills, with the skilful swipe of a blade as easy as breathing.
The male continued to walk through the isolated woods with an arrogance that shone bright with every step and ruffle of his wings. The sight had you looking away for a fleeting moment, not wanting to get blinded by his enormous ego.
He remained unaware of your presence, walking closer to his impending death with a joyful whistle on his lips. You playfully bounce your shiny blade from hand to hand, braid spilling out from under your black hood.
He gets closer, and you rise, taking in the smell of old trees and fresh rain, allowing it to guide you into pure calm. He takes another step, leaves crunching under his heavy boots, and you’re not afraid to pounce.
Unsuspecting of an attack, he lets out a pained grunt when the heels of your boots kick him in the head, sending him flying to the ground. Despite his initial shock, he gets back on his feet quickly, charging towards you with the rage of a bull.
You swiftly avoid his attack, wrapping your strong arms around the back of his neck and bringing your blade against his throat. A forceful kick to his groin has him collapsing on his knees, pathetic whimpers escaping through heavy breaths.
He tries to pull you over his shoulder with sharp nails, tearing the threads of your cloak and causing your jaw to clench in annoyance. “Are you kidding? I’m going to have to fix that now.”
“You pathetic bitch-”
His words become a whine as your blade slices down the thin membrane of his sensitive wings like the sun slices the sky each morning. He sobs out cries of pain that have your lips tilting into a smile. “Now you know what it feels like,” You whisper, anger still coursing through your veins and tainting your sight with shades of red.
You don’t waste another second in twisting your knife into his back, feeling him go limp in your hold. You throw him to the dirty floor without a glance in his way. Quickly sheathing your blade, you send one kick to the male's stomach before hurrying away, twisting between tree trunks and ensuring you’re quick in your haste; There’s a shadowsinger after you, and he could be anywhere.
Azriel’s POV
“She’s killed again,” Rhysand states, eyebrows furrowed in anger, lips downturned in annoyance. Azriel can’t help but slump in his seat, though he knew the conversation would be about you when Rhysand called him up to his office. “Who was it this time?” He asks, annoyance coating his voice.
“Lemuel.” Rhysand leans forward, elbows resting on his oak desk. The High Lord looked tired: whether it was Nyx keeping him up or the month-long hunt for a killer, Azriel wasn’t sure.
“Lemuel,” Azriel whispered, the name feeling familiar on his tongue. “He was…” He trails off in thought, his mind having reached full capacity of names and important information. “The male Cassian was taking care of. He’s clipped three females in the last two years.” Rhysand scoffs unpleasantly, “She needs to stop taking things into her own hands. We have it under control.”
“She doesn’t seem to understand that,” Azriel looks down at his scarred hands, wings twitching behind him in irritation. He stands up and attempts to shake the frustration off him. “One of those females Lemiel clipped probably hired her. I’ll go to the camps today and talk to them.”
“Thank you, brother. Stay safe.”
Azriel nods in acknowledgement, leaving Rhysands’ office and taking flight for the camps. His mind instinctively travels back to you, the female who’s taken over his mind, and absorbed his thoughts. He’s usually good at separating his missions from his personal life. After hundreds of years, he’s had to find a way to separate the evil from the good; it’s the only way he’s survived this long. But you stay stuck in his head long after the day is finished. Alone at night, in the confines of his room, his mind strays to you. You’ve forced yourself into his mind, and he can’t wait to kick you out of it.
Dust scatters away as he lands with a large flap of his wings and gentle steps of his feet. Schooling his features to hide any emotions reflected on his face, he puts on the mask of the High Lord’s Spymaster.
A cool shadow twirls around his ear, whispering secrets and knowledge. Azriel acts on the whispered information, knocking on the door of the third cabin to his left. A young girl answers the door, eyes slumped, mouth twitching downwards. She seemed to carry too much for such a young fae.
She doesn’t seem surprised at his presence, a small and mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “She told me you would show up,” The fae states with confidence. Azriel could feel his annoyance crawling back, attempting to control it with a rough tug on his emotions. “And who might this ‘she’ be?”
He’s not sure why he asked; he already knew the answer.
“The Scarlet Demise. The woman I hired to kill that man.” The young fae didn’t shy away from his intense eyes or her honest statement. She portrayed no ounce of regret, and Azriel couldn’t blame her; that man took away her freedom, cut away parts of her being like it was nothing.
But he was still part of the Night Court, and he had rules he needed to uphold. “You know it’s illegal to hire assassins, right?” The girl’s smile grows. “She also said you’d say that.” Leaning against the door frame, she shrugs. “She told me to tell you that you need to pull that stick out of your ass…Maybe that will help you find her.” She goes to shut the door, ready to end the conversation, but Azriel catches it with his hand, the wood cracking under his tight grip.
“You can’t kill everyone that hurts you-”
“-Oh, that male did a lot more than hurt me, Spymaster,” She spits out his name like it was an insult, eyes flaring with emotion. “My wings are gone. And you guys were doing nothing about it. I know how these things work; he was a powerful male and would have gotten away with it.”
She points a finger at his chest, and Azriel doesn’t flinch, ready to take the brunt of her words because, as much as he hates to admit it, she’s right. Even Rhysand can’t control the justice system; he can’t punish such a successful man without consequences. A lone tear traces the curve of her cheek, but she doesn’t shy away from his gaze. “How was I supposed to continue and act like everything was normal when I knew he was still out there? Still hurting others? The Scarlet Demise found me, and I couldn’t be more thankful.”
She goes to slam the door, and Azriel doesn’t argue, the old wood barely missing his face. He stands there for a second, wings restless behind him as they bristle in discomfort. He awkwardly scratches at his eyebrow while his shadows swirl around him.
Does he knock again? To what? apologise? Tell her off-
“-Well, that was a hard watch.” A gentle, warm voice sounds behind him, and Azriel is quick to turn around, wings tensed and eyebrows furrowed. “Excuse me?” His voice is gruff, annoyed, and frankly a little embarrassed.
“Forgive me for eavesdropping, but the girl has a point.”
He scoffs. “That conversation was Night Court business; nothing that concerns you.”
You look to the ground shyly, pink dusting already rosy cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on Night Court business.” One of your gentle smiles thrown his way, and a shy look into his eyes made him soft, his annoyance melting like butter. “You’re okay.” Smiling ever-so-slightly, a shift of the basket in such seemingly gentle hands pulls his attention to its contents.
Bright flowers lay in the woven basket, resting beside pieces of fruit, and…was that? “Those berries are poisonous,” He stresses, voice hurried though calm and sure. You look from him to the basket with wide eyes, dropping it like you were about to catch fire, its contents spilling out onto the cobbled floor, berries mushed into the floor. “What?”
“One berry and you could be dead in minutes.” You squeeze your eyes shut, laughing awkwardly. “I guess that’s the first and last time I go searching for food in the woods. Would have been one heck of a pie, I guess.” Azriel can’t help but laugh at your obvious embarrassment, bending down to pick up your fallen basket, fingers close to touching as he hands it back to you. “The woods are no place for a lady.”
Your eyes flash, a hint of mischief swirling in the golden rays of your irises. “If I listened to every male that told me where I did and didn’t belong, I’d be constrained to the kitchen.” You begin to walk away, stopping a few feet away and looking at him over your shoulder, your voice tinged with amusement. “Last I checked, your High Lady spent most of her life in the woods.”
His eyes widen when he realises how his comment sounded. “I didn’t mean it like that-” But you were already gone, faster than the cold breeze of the wind. He would’ve thought he made the whole moment up if it weren’t for the berries and flowers at his feet.
⋆༺ 𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻ ⋆
Azriel’s face was a mask of composure despite the pounding of his heart. His shadows creep around the corners of the room, inspecting the secrets his eyes couldn’t catch.
He crouches as Rhysands’ voice creeps into his head; How are things?
Azriel's glare towards the cold body would’ve killed the female again if she were alive. She was poisoned. Her son confessed to poisoning her, but he says he got the berries from… her.
Of course, Rhysand mutters. Get as much information as you can, and I’ll see you for family dinner tonight.
He does as instructed, talking to the son, who says nothing except that she deserved what happened. “She had been abusive,” The boy had said, “The Scarlet Demise didn’t put the thoughts of violence in my head, just gave me the berries to do something about it.”
Despite himself, he couldn’t help but think back to a week ago when he met you. You were gorgeous, like sun rays that pierce the morning sky, bright moonlight in a black ocean. Though your beauty was captivating, he thought of the berries in your basket.
But you didn’t know what they were. You dropped the basket faster than a pouncing snake when you knew of the pain those berries could inflict. He thought of your smile, your flowing hair, your pretty dress, and, though Azriel wasn’t one to believe in coincidences, he knew this instance was one.
So he dropped the thought, thinking only of your dazzling smile as he glared at the boy once more and set off for the sky, leaving the body to be dealt with by the son.
He was almost at the House of Wind, the warmth of the sun warming his wings in a comforting and familiar heat. The warmth was enough to make him want to stay outside for a little longer. Spotting the markets on the main street of Velaris, he finds it the perfect excuse to bathe in the sun and smoothly lands on the cobblestone streets.
His steps are silent, wings tucked in as he scours the market. Despite his attempts to look less intimidating, his broad shoulders, tattoos and cold face had people looking away, careful not to get in his way. It was isolating, being so feared, so he tried even harder to look more inviting, painting an unnatural smile on his face.
He went from stall to stall, looking at jewellery, soap, blades, and more, but nothing caught his interest. The sun was also beginning to fade, hiding in the clouds and leaving his wings cold. His reason to be out was gone, and he was about to leave until he found another reason to stay by the flower stall, clad in a flowy dress, hair in a braid: you.
He wouldn’t be surprised if his thoughts had spawned you; he had been thinking about you all day.
As if the sight of you had bewitched him, your siren call influenced him to walk your way, a sickening and unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest.
You were smelling the flowers, a sunflower as pretty as you pressed to your nose. The sight of your smile had him entranced, tongue going weak, stumbling over his words. “Hi-Hey.” You look up from the flower in your hands, eyes widening at the sight of the male in front of you before a gentle smile paints your goddess-like features.
“Well, this is a surprise.” Your eyes sparkle, and he flushes. “I saw you and I thought I’d say hi,” He explains dumbly, boots shuffling on the stone floor. “Oh good, I thought you were following me,” You laugh, though no humour seems to shine in your eyes.
Azriel’s breath is snatched from his lungs at the melody of your laughter. He can’t help himself as he blurts the words, ‘Dinner?’ Inspecting the golden flecks in your eyes, they shone like the diamond stars of Velaris, Azriel immediately growing infatuated.
Warmth paints your cheeks and your nose scrunches. “Excuse me?” You’re still playing with the flower in your hand, twirling it between your fingertips while your eyes cautiously size Azriel up. “Dinner,” He tries again with more confidence, “Tomorrow night. With me.” You’re silent. “Please.”
You laugh quietly, stepping closer and gripping his wrist. He dumbly watches as you place the flower in his hand, moving his fingers so they’re clasping the flower. “Make that lunch,” You mutter, looking up at him through your lashes, the look in your eyes promising nothing but playfulness. “Twelve o’clock. Meet me by the Sidra.” You wink, turning around and walking away.
Azriel watches you leave, hand tightly gripping the flower in his hand. The shopkeeper enters his vision and snaps him out of his trance. “You need to pay for that!”
You’ve spent nearly a century hunting the monsters the Night Court turns a blind eye to; fae who hurt others and walk free. Azriel is sent to track you down, but you’re not just a killer — you’re someone he can’t seem to stop thinking about. Now you're circling each other, predator and prey, and neither of you is sure who’s hunting who.
a peek at the cat-coded tendencies of matthew michael murdock ⋆🐾°
author’s note: my writing partner and i had a silly little chat about how matt is truly an orange cat at heart, and this was born ! warnings for a concerning amount of fluff, the tiniest hint of angst re: matt’s upbringing, and a dash of suggestiveness જ⁀➴ as usual, any feedback [likes, comments, reblogs + asks] is appreciated and welcomed ! title comes from where the lines overlap by paramore. reader is not explicitly gendered in this !
wc: 960
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
the evening light trickles in through the apartment windows, only slightly overshadowed by the neon of the billboard just outside them; everything is painted in hues of purple and orange and red, hazy and soft in the quiet peace. matt’s draped over one end of the couch, a stack of papers in his lap and a furrow in his brow as his fingers dance over the braille engraved there. you’re at the other end, book in your hands and a blanket draped over your tucked up legs, keeping him company while he works. the week has been long for the both of you, work bleeding over into the domestic time you two usually share, so you’ve taken to sitting with him while he slogs through paperwork after dinner. it’s not the most exciting, but its still quality time, and you’ll take whatever you can get.
every so often you’ll look up at him, admiring the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the light splashes patterns over his face; even with the exhaustion under his eyes and the stress lining his forehead he looks handsome, a stained glass painting that’s all yours to gaze upon. sometimes you like to tell him he reminds you of a church window, larger than life and beautiful to match it, just to watch a rare blush dance over his cheeks. usually it’s matt flustering you with his cheeky flirting and charm, so on the rare occasion that you get to turn the tables on him you take full advantage, warm with affection for him.
one of his hands stills on the page he’s reading, fingers twitching almost involuntarily as if wanting something he can’t voice, and a small smile lifts the corners of your mouth. in the months of dating matt, you’ve come to realize that for all his late night deviling and daytime lawyering he’s truly just ….
catlike.
he craves attention but never knows how to ask for it, the words always at the tip of his tongue. he’ll wrap an arm around you silently, squeezing you in a hug so tight it takes your breath away, resting his head against your shoulder and burrowing his face into your neck. he’ll deny it till he’s blue in the face, always brushing off your questions and sidestepping your concern, but he melts the moment you touch him, a puddle of repressed catholic goo in your hands.
you muse to yourself that it’s likely due to his childhood — the loss of his father, growing up in the church orphanage, seeking out the world with his hands open only to find it just out of reach. it’s put a muzzle on his ability to voice the need, the deep seated longing for intimacy that doesn’t involve heated touches beneath silk sheets. thankfully you’ve taken it upon yourself to study him, master the language that is matthew michael murdock, and you know all his tells when he’s in desperate need of affection.
setting aside your book, you look for the rest of his tells; the tightness in his jaw that means he’s clenching his teeth, the way his shoulders seem heavier despite being out of his work clothes and in a cozy sweater that doesn’t irritate his skin. the most obvious one is his hands, the restless way he’s tapping them against his paperwork, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on the pages. it’s enough for you to decide he needs a break, and you sit up enough that you can tug the work out of his hands and set it on the coffee table, pulling him in close to your chest with an exaggerated pout.
“i need a snuggle, c’mere. i feel like the mistress to law right now,” you tease, leaning back against the cushions and tugging him with you till he’s laying against you fully, head against your chest. one hand gently rubs patterns against his back, soothing away the stress in his shoulders little by little. your other hand goes to the back of his neck, nails lightly scratching at the hair there till he’s all but dead weight on top of you, like a matt-sized weighted blanket.
“i do have to review those last few witness statements before bed,” he manages to protest after a moment, but there’s no urgency in his tone; he’s perfectly content to stay right where he is forever, paperwork be damned. you do your best not to laugh, pressing a light kiss to his temple as his hands snake their way up your shirt, warm palms holding your waist to ensure you don’t wiggle away.
“sure, matty. after our cuddle.”
bit by bit he starts to crumble; his eyes close, the fingers drawing circles on your skin moving slower and slower till they stop, just the warmth of them there. his shoulders drop, the tension bleeding out of them easily, and his complaints about needing to get up come less and less frequently till they die off altogether, nothing but little huffs and mumbles when you talk to him like he’s purring, rumbling low from his chest.
he falls asleep like that, face in your neck and his arms around your waist, keeping you flush against the couch, and you don’t wake him. like this he’s peaceful, all traces of worry gone from his face, and you love it when he’s like this — sleepy and warm and pliant, not afraid to take what he needs. affection and love, that’s what he needed, and you’ll happily give it to him for as long as he’ll let you.
even if you had to trick him into thinking it was your idea. such a cat, you laugh to yourself, brushing his hair off his forehead.
Summary: You’ve hated James Potter for as long as you could remember. However, entering your last year as Head Girl and James as Head Boy, you’re forced to interact with the man you want nothing to do with. What are you supposed to do when you realise he’s not the egotistical jerk you made him out to be?
T/W: None
A/N: It's been way too long!! I've been more into writing poems lately, so I haven't had time for my lovely fan fictions. However, I sat in a forest and listened to the birds sing for a while today and finally gained enough inspiration to finish writing this fic I started a little while ago (this is also my longest fic yet, so go me). I hope everyone's doing well!!
Masterlist James Potter Masterlist
You absolutely hated James Potter. His egotistical smile grated at your nerves like no other, an unhappy frown pulling at your lips every time he was around. Paired with his unserious personality and sickly handsome face, you wanted nothing to do with the man.
However, fate - or Hogwarts for that matter- had other ideas, and both you and James Potter became Head Boy and Head girl during your last year.
James Potter barely knew anything about you. He vaguely remembers you during third year, the meek, quiet girl that accidentally fell victim to one of the Maruader’s prank’s, leaving you with half of your hair coloured pink. The half-assed apology you received was nothing compared to the judgmental and amused looks you received in the month it took for your hair to return to normal.
The ever-loved James had planned to mention this story to break the ice between you both. He was so used to being loved by everyone that he couldn’t hide the disappointment on his face when you merely smiled at his story and kept walking.
He was not one to give up. “You really did suit the pink,” He jokes, bright, eager eyes looking at you in hopes of seeing just a smidge of a smile. All he got was a fake laugh in return.
You didn’t hold a grudge against him for the prank he did years ago, but still couldn’t get over the mere audacity this man possessed with each step he took and flirty comment he made. You look over at him from where he walks beside you, head down, hands in his robe pockets. Perhaps you were being too hard on the boy. He’s Head Boy, so he can’t be that bad- “You always take things so seriously, don’t you? It’s no surprise that you’re only friends with boring nerds.” He laughs, nudging your shoulder playfully.
Ouch. Hurt stings your heart, and you attempt to shake it off. Your steps falter for a short moment, but long enough for James to notice. He frowns, worried that he’s hurt you. Before he can backtrack or apologise, you’re already ahead, speaking your first words of the night to a third-year roaming the corridors and ordering them to go back to their dorm. They roll their eyes but comply, and James feels it too late to apologise.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖
“Don’t make me go,” You plead like a four-year-old, wrapping your arms around Dorcas’ right arm. She looks up from the book in her hands and attempts to shake you off, her voice laced with amusement. “You’re the one who wanted to be Head Girl. So go and fulfill your duties and patrol with the infamous James Potter.”
“He’s horrible, Dorcas,” You whine, falling down to the floor when she manages to shake you off, a low groan escaping your lips when you hit your head particularly hard. You know you’re being pathetic, but you’re allowed to be when you’re stuck walking with an egotistical teenage boy three nights a week.
“He’s the golden boy with a six-pack and a cute smile. Stop complaining and flirt!” A pillow is thrown at you to emphasise her words, and you groan once again. With a glare sent her way and a huff, you stand up from your spot on the carpeted floor, still staring at her as you dramatically open the door.
“Don’t have too much fun!” You scoff, turning around to leave and running into the one person you really didn’t want to see.
James Potter leans against the wall beside the door, a playful smirk playing on his stupidly handsome face. “Not too much fun, hey?” You resist the urge to pull his glasses off of his face and throw them to the floor.
You hate that you can feel your cheeks start to heat, growing shy at the realisation that he heard what Dorcas said. Avoiding his eyes, you close the door behind you and rush down the steps, trying not to focus on the steps sounding behind you.
It’s only when you exit the common room that he speaks again. “How are you?” He questions, ensuring his steps match with yours. “Fine.” You bluntly respond. At the awkward silence and the fact you can’t stand being impolite, you coldly ask, “How are you?”
He visibly perks up at your question, raising his head to look at you with his golden brown eyes and million-dollar smile. “I’m good! I’ve been practicing for the Quidditch match this weekend. Are you going to come?”
“No.” You state, folding your arms against your chest and looking ahead. Your shoes clatter against the stone steps, the cool night air hugging your skin.
“You don’t have to feel bad about going alone. It will still be fun!” He smiles goofily, revealing more of his throat as he looks up at the stars. Your admiration is cut short when you process what he said. “Um…what?”
The way James’s eyes widened would have been almost comical if you weren’t so offended. “That sounds bad. You can bring people, obviously, but I just figured you’d go alone-“
“Do you think I have no friends or something?” You've stopped in the middle of the field, eyes narrowed in accusation. You dig your nails into your arm, focusing on the pain it creates instead of the pain his words inflict.
“No! I mean - you're just always…y’know…by yourself.” He stumbles, hands raising in defence. Your tongue rolls against the inside of your cheek. “So now I’m a loner?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. “No. No. Merlin, can you just listen to me?” At your silence, he continues, “I shouldn’t have assumed that you'd go alone, but can you blame me? You never go out, and I just figured that if you were to go out, you'd be by yourself.”
The sound of crickets is the only thing that can be heard, an uncomfortable silence thick between you. You take a deep breath and turn your back to him, beginning to walk back to the castle. “I saw a movement in one of the potions classrooms, I’m going to check it out.”
“I’m sorry-“
“Don’t, James. Just don’t.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖
James Potter’s eyes bore into yours from across the Great Hall, and you’ve never been so grateful for Miss McGonagall as she leads you around the room, pointing at areas in the room. “This year's theme for the yule ball is going to be Winter Wonderland. You and James have two months to decorate this entire hall. I want you two working together on making a wonderfully decorated ball…”
Her words are quickly drowned out by the discomfort bubbling in your stomach. James walks away from where he is, looking around to listen in to what Miss McGonagall is saying. It’s only when she walks away that you finally process your surroundings. “Looks like we’re going to have to spend a lot of time together.” He laughs uncomfortably.
You guys haven’t spoken since that awkward night two days ago, and he’s unsure how to act around you. “I guess we will.” You lean against the wall behind you, sliding down and sitting on the cool floor with crossed legs. Taking out a pad of paper and some charcoal from your bag, you begin a quick sketch of the room.
You’re surprised when James sits beside you, stomach fluttering with anxious butterflies. “What…are you doing?”
He turns to look at you, dimples staring right at you. “You heard her, we’re doing this together.” He’s careful to keep a good distance, and you keep your head down, eyes on the paper in front of you. “I’m just doing a quick sketch.”
He taps the paper gently. “It’s very good. Do you draw often?” You ignore his attempts at making conversation and instead begin a hopefully short conversation about the decorations. “I was thinking we could have white roses in the middle of each table and maybe this tree archway.”
He sighs at the change of conversation. “Listen, about the other day-”
“James, we really don’t need to talk about it. I don’t like you, but I can remain professional, and that’s all that matters.” At the defeated, almost frustrated look in his eyes, you can’t help but scoff. “What? Can’t you handle the thought that someone doesn’t like you? As much as people say you are, you’re not all that.” You abruptly stand up and begin walking out the hall, poison lacing your voice, “I’ll send you the list of ideas I have for the ball, and you do the same. We can talk about it more next time you’re free.”
You’re already out of the room before he can utter a word.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖
Despite the cruel words you uttered the last time you saw each other, James Potter shows up to your library get-together with a bright smile on his face. “Hello, love. I brought you a cupcake. Red velvet.” He places it on the table in front of you, and you shift your attention from your book to the small, delicious treat.
“You’re late,” You mutter grumbly. Despite your angry mood, you still slowly grab the cupcake, immediately bringing it to your mouth, unable to resist taking a bite. “I’m sorry. I’m a busy man, y’know?”
“I’m busy, too, James. We only have ten minutes to go over everything before I have to help this group of first-year students with Potions.” You scowl, rolling your eyes and continuing to eat the cupcake.
He ignores your words and instead grabs the book you were reading in front of you. “This is a muggle book, is it not? I’ve seen my friend Remus reading this.” You yank the book back and carefully put it into your bag. “Yes, he’s the one who recommended it to me.”
In hopes of reducing personal conversation, you jump straight into talking about the ball. “Now, about the ball. I’ve given the list of things we need to Miss McGonagall. The stuff should arrive next week Monday. We need to figure out what days we’re free to decorate.” You fiddle with the cupcake wrapper, looking down at his ruffled robes rather than his eyes.
“I’m busy on Saturdays for Quiddich practice, and I’m going to a party on Friday.” He smiles, unbothered by your quiet, grumpy mood.
“Okay, we can do Sundays and Tuesdays after school. Now, because you showed up so damn late I have to go and we’re going to have to meet again so let me know when you’re free.” He follows you when you stand up, gently grabbing hold of your arm before you can leave.
He forces you to stare into his eyes, and you’re surprised at the pure sincerity in them. “I’m sorry for being late. It won’t happen again.”
You take a deep breath, overwhelmed with confusion at the fact he apologised. “Okay. I forgive you. Don’t let it happen again, please.”
“Of course.” He doesn’t let go of your arm like you expected, instead, he holds it tighter. “Are you free Friday night? Come to the party with me.”
“I’m not free Friday. I have a date.”
“A date?” His voice is deep, unfamiliar. You nod awkwardly and pull your arm from his grip. “Yeah, I’m not actually a loner, James.” You laugh awkwardly before walking away.
You leave him standing there, gaping at your retreating figure.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖
You can hear James before you can see him. His loud, heavy footsteps, matched with his obnoxious laugh, is enough to warn you about his presence.
You keep your focus on the task at hand, moving your wand up as you attach decor to the roof. He’s unfazed by your cool attitude, playfully nudging your shoulder.
“So…” his voice grates at your nerves more than usual, “how’d your date go?”
Right. The date. The reason for your extra pissy mood this morning. “It was fine.” You hoped he would get the hint that you didn’t want to talk about it, but James couldn’t take a sign if it smacked him in the face.
“Just fine? Tell me about it,” he pestered, gently poking your side, the hand holding your wand falters, the decoration almost falling to the floor. You give up on your task, glaring and beginning to walk away.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Cmonnnn,” his voice raises a pitch and you scowl, “tell me how it went.” He goes to grab your arm, and you move back. You scoff. “I don't want to talk about it.”
His brown, usually playful eyes turn serious in an instant. A crease formed between his brows, and a frown that didn’t suit his usually happy face painted his lips. “Did he do something?”
At the concern and genuine curiosity in his voice, you can’t help but let your shoulders fall, keeping your head down as you whisper, “he didn’t even show.”
“Oh.” Pink tints your cheeks, and shame curls your spine. “Wel,l it’s his loss. I’m sure he would have had a blast if he went”
You clear your throat and begin sorting through boxes, trying to ignore the lump in your chest. “Yeah, I guess.” He moves to stand next to you, shoulders almost brushing while he sorts things next to you.
“I mean it.” He turns his head to look at you, and you look back, captured by those swirling brown eyes. “Any guy would be lucky to go on a date with you.”
A shaky breath leaves your parted lips, and you're unsure why his words have such an impact on you. Maybe it’s the way his eyes never broke eye contact. Maybe it’s because he’s standing right under a lamp, and his hair looks golden brown. Or maybe it’s because his words only held sincerity- even longing, if you felt like being delusional.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖
James Potter was pointing a wand at your face.
He was all arrogance as he crept closer towards you, a stupid smirk on his stupid face, his stupid eyes alight with mischief.
You raise your own wand, the wood cool and familiar in your hands, gripping it tightly. You watch his movements- the way his shoulders tense slightly and his eyes squint a smidge. “Expelliarmus.” His voice rings out, sure and loud. Expecting his attack, you're quick to block the spell.
You address the crowd without taking your eyes off of the boy in front of you. “When sparring, you want to study the person. Learn their tells.” The group of students nod in acknowledgment, much more interested in seeing who will win instead of learning.
The Defence against the Dark Arts teacher wanted you and James to come in and give a visual demonstration of sparring for some of the younger students. You were happy to agree, having only dreamed of a moment like this.
James was making it easy to spar with him: with his cocky comments about how he was going to win and the flirty winks he keeps shooting your way, you were more than happy to get him on his knees.
“Stupefy,” you mutter, scowling when he shouts a defence spell. “You're doing well,” he smiles encouragingly, “I’m pretty good at sparring and most people would have been on their ass by now.”
It’s the fact that he seems genuinely surprised at your doing well that sends annoyance travelling up your spine. His ego is bigger than Snapes, Merlin could he be anymore of an ass?
“Do you want me to go easy on you-“
“-langlock.” He’s quiet in an instant, unable to speak with his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. Eyes widened in shock, the hand that holds his wand falters, and you don’t hesitate to yell, “Levicorpus.”
The forgotten crowd behind you laughs as an imaginary force holds James in the air by his ankle. “I saw you use this on someone just the other day. How does it feel to be on the receiving end?” Despite the obvious annoyance swirling in his eyes, a glint lightens the caramel brown.
“It feels rather sickening, I’d admit,” he groans, his head getting redder by the second. You smile at his obvious discomfort. “Do you want me to go easy on you?” You mock, voice lowering in a feeble attempt to match his voice.
Despite his complicated position, he smiles brightly at your teasing. “If you wouldn’t mind, love.” You point your wand and smile innocently. “Okay.” The loud thud of him falling to the ground is enough to make you smile.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖
“She beat me at a duel. Me, James Potter.” His voice was especially loud as he walked around aisles in the library, an amusing look of shock on his face. Remus snorts from beside him, walking towards a particular genre of books.
“Believe it or not, James, you’re not always going to win. And she’s one of the best students in the school.” Despite James’ whiny tone, his heart was filled with pride. He knew you were a good witch, and he was finally glad to witness first-hand what you were made of.
“Now,” James catches himself before he completely stumbles into Remus, shooting the scarred man a sheepish smile. “This is the book you wanted, right?” Despite himself, James feels the apple of his cheeks turn red at the familiar book cover in Remus’s hands.
Merlin, what he’s doing is so dorky and pathetic. But he didn’t like the idea that he knew nothing about your hobby of reading - a hobby you waste most of your days doing. So he forced Remus to come to the library with him, under the guise of wanting to pick up a new hobby. He managed to remember the name of the book you were reading and asked Remus to find it for him.
Grabbing the book from Remus’s hands, he began walking towards the counter, hoping Remus would return to studying and leave it at that. His hopes were not answered. “I’m surprised you’re getting into reading. It’s never been your thing.”
Recognising the suspicion in his voice, James walks faster. “Just wanted to try something new.”
“Well, it’s funny you picked that book; you know this is a certain Head Girl’s favorite book?”
He doesn’t look back. “Really? I didn’t even know she could…read.” At his mix-up, he comes to a complete halt, shoulders slumping in defeat. He keeps his head down as he mutters, “Fine, I chose this book because she read it.”
“Really? I thought she couldn’t read.” At James’ glare, Remus’ amused expression turns into one of pity. “James Potter is reading for a girl. A girl that beat him in a duel, nonetheless. Do you have a crush?” James scowls despite his pinking cheeks, and Remus laughs gently in response.
“I do not have a crush. I just think I should be getting to know her more since she’s Head Girl and she doesn’t like me much.” James finally reaches the counter, chucking the dastard book on the counter much too harshly for the librarian's liking, earning a scathing glare that he ignores.
Remus doesn’t continue the conversation any longer, but the silence does nothing to calm the fast beating of his heart as his thoughts spiral and his breathing becomes uneven. James might just have a crush on you.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖
It was becoming harder and harder to dislike James. In fact, you weren’t sure why you were ever angry at him. Sure, he’s arrogant and immature, but right now, all you can think about is the way he’s comforting a crying first-year in the hall, genuine worry coating his actions as he pulls the little boy in for a hug.
You’re not sure what to do, standing there awkwardly in the hall and shuffling on your feet. You can’t look away; the kind look in James’ eyes is too sincere, his smile is too perfect, and his words are too warm. You’re scared you’re going to melt.
“It’s okay, bud. They’re mean and cruel, but you’re strong. You stood up for yourself, and that’s pretty great.” You can’t take this side of James. His caring, nurturing side.
So you turn around and smile awkwardly at one of the moving paintings. Behind you, you can faintly hear James mutter the words, “You’re going to be a great seeker one day,” then some shuffling before a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder.
You jump and turn to meet James’s amused eyes. “What are you doing staring at the wall, love?” Your eyebrows raise, and your eyes widen, mind whirring to come up with an answer besides the truth. “I just realised I’ve never actually stopped to appreciate the stone walls.”
“You’re an interesting one,” He claims with no real malice. You just laugh awkwardly and keep walking. “Is that first year okay?”
His smile dims at the thought of the young boy. “He’s alright. I promised to take him to Quiddich training one day; he wants to be a seeker.”
“That’s awfully thoughtful of you.” You smile, raising your eyes to look into his for barely a minute before looking away. If you had looked long enough, you would have noticed the pink that travelled up his neck and painted his cheeks, mouth open like a blubbering fish.
In hopes of looking calm and casual, he strugs off your compliment with an awkward, “U-u,h it was nothing, really.” You’re not ready to let the conversation end. “No, it was really sweet-”
“I’m reading a book!”
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. James Potter was a stupid, awkward young man - or at least he thought so. You didn’t mind the abrupt change in topic, especially if it was about a book.
Your face visibly lit up, the warm spark in your eyes growing tenfold. “Yeah? What book?”
The casual name drop of your favorite book coming from James’ deep voice has a bright smile taking over your gleeful face. James was too happy to be blinded by such a light.
“Really?” At his nod, you grip his arm and jump like a crazed woman. “I love that book!” You stop jumping and stare hopefully, wanting to know his every thought about the book you’ve read more times than you could count.
“Really? I had no idea,” He laughs awkwardly. “The main character is probably my favorite.” It’s only when he starts walking do you remember that you’re still holding onto his arm, awkwardly dropping it at your side.
“The main character?” He nods. You move your hand to fiddle with your hair. “I…She always reminded me of me. She’s always underestimated because she’s quiet, which I understand, and some of the things she’s gone through reminds me of my own memories- not that I’m saying you like her because she reminds you of me or anything.”
At your anxious ramblings, James stops, a gentle smile pulling at his plush lips. He moves so his eyes meet yours, and you’re too captivated to look away. “No, that’s exactly why she’s my favorite. She reminds me of you.”
Your stunned silence doesn’t bother him, and he moves closer, the soles of his shoes touching yours. A large hand moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you’re sure that you’re dreaming things when he mutters, “And that guy she’s dating? The captain of the football team? He reminds me of me. Different sport and all, but desperate for the attention of the girl.”
The whispers of his words graze your cheek, and you’re glad he had pulled away quickly before you did something stupid like kiss him.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖
You stared at the hall like an artist would stare at their paintings. Everything had come out better than you expected, and you were in awe of the glowing lights that shimmered in the eyes of the happy students as they danced and laughed.
Your eyes shimmered, but you were void of laughter and dance. No one had asked you to the Yule Ball, and you had no desire to ask anyone yourself. You didn’t mind being alone, you just didn’t like the pitying looks being thrown your way. Dorcas was already lost on the dance floor, and you didn’t want to ruin her night.
So you stood in the corner, smiling at the buzz of happiness that floated across the room. You weren’t alone for long. “Would you care for a dance?” James Potter was clad in a suit, standing in front of you with a playful smirk and outstretched hand.
A laugh of absurdity broke free from your coloured lips. “Ginny has been looking at you ever since you entered the hall. Go dance with her.” Despite your words, you wanted him to stay. His presence was comforting.
“Ginny and I didn’t work hard for months decorating this hall. Now,” He shakes his outstretched hand impatiently, “let’s dance.”
You wouldn’t be surprised if the punch was spiked because you lost your inhibitions too quickly for your liking, grasping his warm hand and letting him drag you onto the dance floor.
With his hand on your waist and the other holding yours, you’re forced to distract yourself from his touch by the band that plays at the front, the slow, deep voice of the singer enough to make you want to fall asleep.
You rest your cheek on his shoulder and close your eyes.
“Tired?” The kiss he places on your neck is enough to make you wide awake again, but you still nod.
“I bet you are. You’ve been working so hard lately with the ball and with the test you had today. How did that go, by the way? I’m sure you did great-”
“What are you doing?” You tense under his touch, his words, his hands, all becoming too much. As if sensing your discomfort, he pulls away. “What do you mean?”
You stare at him for a short moment before your gaze falls to your fiddling hands. “You’re being…kind. I don’t know what to do.”
“Be kind back, maybe?” He attempts to joke but falls short. “I don’t know why you have such a hard time being kind to me, but if I’ve done something wrong, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I really do like you.”
Your silence is enough to make him pull away; you grow cold without his touch.
“I’m sorry.” He stops his quick actions of leaving. “I’m not…I’ve been cold, and I’m sorry. You’re just so…scary. Merlin, the only interaction we had before we became Head Boy and Head Girl was when you turned my hair pink.”
He takes a step closer, and you take a step back, guilt spilling out of you in the form of words.
“It’s just…I judged you wrongly, and I’m sorry. I really am. You’re not an egotistical and mean person. You’re actually really sweet, and it’s playing with my heart. I’m torn between caring for you like I haven’t cared for anyone before and thinking of you the way I always thought of you.
He reaches for your hands, cradling them gently. “I understand. I’ve only really shown you the arrogant side of myself, and it’s not wrong for you to assume I am otherwise. It’s just much easier to talk to a pretty lady when I feel like I can make her mine.”
“You could have any girl in the school, and you know that.” He shakes his head at your words, the sound of laughter fading behind you as he leads you away from the hall, down corridors and through doors until you’re both outside, the moonlit glow hugging you like a baby’s blanket.
He tightens his grip on your hands and utters with a small smile, “I couldn’t have the only one that really matters because I messed it up when I dyed half her hair pink.”
You scoff and avoid his eyes. “You could have me.”
“Yeah?”
You nod. “Just don’t break my heart.”
“To break your heart would be to break my own. Why would I want to break something that I care for so deeply? That is worth the gold of millions of men?” He falls to his knees in front of you, hands gently gripping the fabric of your dress, looking up at you with eyes filled with more passion than a writer writing a romance.
You let yourself breathe in the cool night air, the cold spreading against your flushed skin. “I’m scared. You’re too good for me, James. Too good for me.” Despite yourself, your shaking hand moves to cup his cheek. He places a long kiss on your palm, never breaking contact with your misty eyes.
“Why would you say that, my love? You have so much courage. So much power and kindness.” At your silence, he slowly raises, never wanting to be separated from your touch as his hands move to your hips and his head falls to the crook of your neck.
Your hands fall to his head, playing with his soft curls. You look up at the ceiling and sniff as a lone tear falls down your cheek. “I’m sorry for being so rude when we first met.”
“And I’m sorry for turning your hair pink.” His breath tickles your neck.
“You’re forgiven.”
You can barely get the words out before his lips are against yours, gentle and warm and right where you want them to be.
~ omg two posts in two days 😮 this is not edited at all so ignore my mistakes
~ Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, WC: 1,679
- Matt comforts insecure reader -
Dating a blind guy is very different from any other relationship you've had for very obvious reasons. Not only is it an adjustment going out with and even living with someone that can't see, but Matt is different. He has senses that other blind people don't which makes things even harder. You love Matt but that doesn't mean it's not an adjustment.
Obviously he can't see you but he knows everything about you. He knows the basics of how you look but not the details. Sometimes that's hard. Only because you fear he has some other idea of you in his head. Like the real you can't match up to the look of you he has in his head.
It's silly, you know, but it's not like you can just get rid of the thoughts in your head. Matt can tell something's wrong, a bonus of his super senses. So far though, he hasn't asked about it. He's learned over time to give you a little bit of time to process your issue before he tries to get involved.
It's not his fault, simply your insecurities getting the best of you. It'll be fine you tell yourself, wondering around the apartment you now share with Matt. Maybe that's where it's coming from. You guys have always spent a lot of time together but now your space is his, and when you want space to yourself, you don't have a separate apartment to hide in. You certainly don't want that but what if he does?
You turn on some music to fill your rattled brain. Nothing loud but enough to distract your thoughts. You soon turn from wondering to cleaning. It's become a daily habit since Matt rarely has time. You have no problem doing it because you know it makes Matt feel slightly better. Not as much dust and grime for his senses to focus on.
You're very ingrained in your scrubbing of the counter when you hear the door shut.
"Hey, Matty." You call out to greet him, not taking your attention off the counter for a second.
"Hi." His faces lights up as he sees you. "How was your day?" He asks, planting a soft kiss on your temple.
"Not nearly as eventful as yours I imagine." You smile, turning around to meet his beaming face. He has already taken off his suit jacket while walking towards you and has began loosening his tie. Giving him that slightly casual look that you know and love.
"I actually think that's true today, though the most amusing part of it was hearing Foggy fall out of his chair not once but twice within a twenty minute period." You listen intently to his words as you finish wiping off the counter. His words get quieter as he slowly makes his way to the bedroom for more comfortable clothes.
You know Matt feels a great pressure to keep the city safe by going out every night, but your favorite night of the week is the one where you've both agreed he stays in. One of the few requests you had when moving in.
"How the hell did he manage that?" You chortle, imagining it in your head. You can hear Matt's laugh from the other room.
"I have no clue, you'd think he'd learn after the first time." He comes back into the living space wearing black sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. After you got together, you had to take Matt shopping for new, plain, clothes considering most of the ones he owned had something stupid and possibly embarrassing on them due to Foggy, bright colors and big slogans. "I heard him whine about it for the rest of the day."
"At least your days aren't boring like the other lawyers."
"That's definitely a plus of partnering with him."
This is the best part of your day. Talking to him about your days and gossiping about the people you know, plus all the people Matt hears about during the day. The only problem seems to be the words that won't leave your head.
"How do you feel about spaghetti for dinner?" You ask him as he grabs a water out of the fridge. Usually, he'd grab a beer but out of fear for his liver you haven't bought any in a week.
"Sounds perfect. How can I help?"
"I can do it, you worked all day."
"Worked is a loose term." He laughs to himself. You and he both know a lot of their work consists of finding new cases.
"You can boil the pasta if you want to be helpful."
"Oh that's easy. It's almost as if you don't believe in my culinary skills."
You turn and give him a stare that makes him smirk. "Matthew, I know what you lived on before I moved in."
"Okay water it is." He gives you get another kiss before searching for a suitable pot.
You hum along to the soft background music as you and Matt work on your tasks. Once he's done with his, he stands right beside you in silence.
"So." He starts.
"So?" You repeat.
"I didn't want to bring this up but I think it's important-"
"That sounds scary."
"For me, yes. I talked to Karen today."
Oh fuck. To say Karen knows your deepest darkest secrets would be an understatement. For Matt to start a conversation like this about her, she told him something. Something you're know wracking your brain to figure out.
It's not that you think Karen would sell you out. But Matt is very charming and sometimes you find yourself telling him things without even realizing.
"I would hope so." You try to play it off like you're not immensely worried about his coming words. "She is your secretary."
"I don't think she'd appreciate that title." He laughs nervously. You know he's nervous because his glasses are still on. He's trying to make sure you can't read him at the moment.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't want it to seem like I was invading your privacy."
"Matt, you always do that. You hear literally everything I do."
"Yes but this feels different."
"You wouldn't have started this conversation if you didn't have something to say so please get on with it."
"I heard you talking to Karen the other day when she was over. And I tried not to read too much into it but then I talked to her today and I'm officially reading into it."
"Karen and I have talked about a lot of things, that doesn't really help me understand."
You try to seem nonchalant by stirring the pasta sauce.
"I heard you telling her how you don't think you live up the version of you I have in my head." He whispers the words as if that'll make it easier. Of course. Out of everything he could've heard, it was the one thing you really, really don't want to talk about. You know Matt isn't going to let this go until you answer all his questions.
"That was over a week ago." You whisper over the sauce.
"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. But I only heard a part of what you said and I couldn't handle not knowing the rest."
A heavy sigh escapes you. It's not his fault. You are still adjusting to how much he can hear from so far so you didn't even think about that when he came home that day. You also can't fault him for wanting to know more, if the roles were reversed you would've gone to Foggy to know more almost immediately.
"You obviously weren't supposed to hear that." You turn off the stove top and look at him. "I don't suppose we can keep acting like you know nothing about that?" Your words come out with a hopeful tone.
"No we can't. Sweetheart, how can you feel like that? Have I made you doubt yourself like this?" He pulls you away from the kitchen and pushes you to sit next to him on the couch.
"You have done nothing Matt. You're perfect. I just can't get it out of my mind that every time you're complimenting me, it's not actually me. It's the more beautiful version of me you have in your head." He already knows enough, might as well tell him the rest.
"I know what you look like. Maybe I can't see every detail but I know enough to know every compliment I've ever given you, has been for you. I can't see everything on your face but I can sort of see the shape of you."
You're just now realizing you've never actually asked Matt what he can see. Knowing he was blind you always figured he couldn't see anything.
"What do you see?" You ask now.
"It's difficult to explain. I see certain figures but not all the time. It's kinda like flames that prevent me from seeing things but they don't always stay in the same spot."
"So how are you so confident I'm the same that you think I am?" He moves closer to hold your hand and lean more against you.
"Because I've had everyone describe you. Foggy, Karen, even Frank at one point. And I've felt your face a lot, enough to understand the shape of everything. Your eyes, lips, nose. Everything that makes you, you."
"Feeling is different than seeing."
"For other people yes. For me, this is the only way I know a lot of things. It's the way I've learned to know things so I'm better at it. I don't need to see every detail when everything I've felt is beyond perfect."
You feel tears appear in your waterline. Leave it to Matt to know the perfect thing to say. Always.
"When I say you're perfect for me, I mean it. More than anything."
He wipes the tears off your face the second they begin to fall.
"You're perfect for me too, Matty."
"Good." He states. "You're gonna be with for the rest of forever."
Hii idk if you take requests rn so feel free to ignore this! (first time requesting, kinda nervous)
I loved all of your marauders works (and CM too btw), and I desperately need a remus x shy!reader smut if you’re comfortable (can be fem or gn)
imagine this, he has to initiate most milestones in their relationship and be patient and understanding. BUT when they slowly build up to sex she’s all blushy and tense because she’s not in complete control of what’s happening and she discovers that’s she actually wants to be the dominant one.
idk if it makes sense i hope it does
also i had my birthday just a few days ago so it could be birthday sex☺️
thank youuu
Confetti and Cupcakes (18+)
Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader
Summary: Remus Lupin had planned the perfect, intimate celebration for your birthday. As the night winds down, still drunk on the glee that was the day, you realise that a need to take control rests under your shy demeanour. Remus is more than happy to oblige.
TW: Smut, pda, reader getting eaten out, not that proofread (lmk if there are any mistakes!)
A/N: Happy late birthday sweetie!! I cried over Supernatural while writing this and then my cat brought it a bird :( Enjoy!
Masterlist Remus Lupin Masterlist
It was your birthday.
You had a party hat on your head, confetti in your hair, and sore cheeks from smiling so much in the last hour, the giddy feeling rushing through your body.
You didn’t want to do much - just spend time with people you were comfortable with. Remus had promised to organise a little get-together, telling you to just ‘relax and look pretty.’ You blushed for what felt like forever before agreeing. And you were thankful you did.
Despite only being together for four months, Remus knew you like the back of his hand. He knew exactly how you’d want to celebrate. His shared apartment with Sirius and James was decorated with many pink and white balloons, sunlight pouring through the window and giving them a sheer-like look.
He made sure to keep the decorations to a minimum, not wanting to overwhelm you, knowing how shy you were with these things. Though he couldn’t stop Sirius from grabbing a popper from behind his back and spraying confetti everywhere, regretfully. Remus made sure to only invite people he was sure you’d be comfortable around; James, Sirius, Lily, Marlene and Alice.
You were grateful that Remus considered your quiet demeanour when planning. You weren’t comfortable in large groups of people you didn’t know well, and you didn’t like too much attention on you. This was why Remus organised a movie night where everybody’s attention was on your favourite movie instead of you.
He was lazing beside you, having initiated a cuddle session, your head resting on his chest, cheeks flushed as you struggled to pay attention to the movie. “You okay, lovie?” He kisses behind your ear and your heart flutters in response. “Yeah. Thank- thanks for tonight. I love it.” His fingers traced small patterns on your arm, some drawings of hearts, others of stars.
You want to hug him back more, instead of just a hand on his leg. You want to shove your head in his neck, wrap your arms around his chest and tangle your legs with his. But your nervousness is too strong, you're too shy. Longing pulls at your heart, but you can’t muster up enough courage to do anything about it.
His cheek squished against your head, the arm wrapped around your arm pulling you impossibly tighter. “Of course. You deserve it.” He craned his neck to whisper in your ear, breath hot against your skin, emitting goosebumps. “Do you want to sneak off for a moment? I’ve got a cupcake and candle prepared for you; I figured you wouldn’t want everyone watching you.”
You nod and then he’s pulling you into his body, dragging you into his bedroom. Sirius wolf whistles and you visibly cringe, a hand moving to cover your face.
You hear Remus leave, hurrying to the kitchen before returning. His calloused hand reaches up to grip your wrist, slowly pulling it away from your face to reveal your heated cheeks.
Candlelight flickers in his bright eyes, placed atop a pink-iced cupcake that he holds in his other hand. He sings a quiet and warm rendition of ‘Happy Birthday,’ the low timber of his voice sweet like honey to your ears.
Butterflies in your stomach and your cheeks ablaze, you quickly blow the candle out and let out a quiet giggle, pressing a hand to your mouth as happiness warms your bones.
“Thank you, Remus. I love you.” He places the cupcake to the side and with his hands on your cheeks he pulls you into a sweet, desperate kiss. Shivers trail down your spine yet you kiss him back, nervousness bubbling in your stomach.
“I love you, too.” He pecks your lips again. “Let’s go back out; don’t want them getting the wrong idea.” You let him pull you back into the living room, cupcake in your hands as you continue cuddling on the sofa.
⋆˙⟡🪶─ .✦📜⊹₊ ݁.
Remus was cleaning up, sleeves rolled up his arms, and his hair was over his forehead. You watched from the couch, fingers fiddling together, while your heart fluttered in the way it always did when you watched him.
He looked up and caught your gaze, draining the kitchen sink and wiping his wet hands. He smiled, walking over to you. “You’re staring,” He teased.
Your cheeks burned, tilting your head back to look at him as he towered over your sitting form. “No,” You denied pathetically.
“It’s okay if you are.” He tilts your head up gently, fingers warm against your skin. “I stare at you all the time.” Your stomach rolled at his words.
“Oh.” You laugh nervously, clenching your sweaty hands. His lips perk up, nose slowly trailing up your heated cheek before moving his lips to meet yours.
Your eyes fluttered shut. His lips were warm and familiar, unhurried as he leaned into you. Your breath hitched, a shaking hand moving to grip the hair at the nape of his neck.
His hand moved to cup your jaw, thumb rubbing soothingly against your cheek. He deepens the kiss, leaning into your body, your back slumped against the couch.
A sigh breaks out of your lips when he pulls away, having to bite your lip to stop yourself from pulling him back into you. He doesn’t stray far from you, his cheeks flushed red and his lips swollen. He manoeuvres so he’s sitting beside you.
“Let me know if I’m going too fast, okay?” You nod, mind whirring with nerves and excitement mixed together. His lips return to yours again, more intense this time. The kiss deepened and you felt his hand slide up the back of your neck.
A shiver went down your spine at the passion that poured into the kiss, the pounding of your heart suddenly overwhelming. Thoughts raced through your mind before you could stop them. Were you doing this right? Does he notice how much you’re shaking? The knot in your stomach grew until you hesitated, pulling back ever so slightly despite your body’s protests.
Remus noted your hesitation and stopped immediately, his forehead still brushing yours yet his eyebrows were furrowed ever so slightly. “Are you okay?” His thumb kept brushing against your skin, almost lulling you to sleep. “We can stop.”
You shook your head, waves of frustration at your nerves bubbling to the surface. “No. I don’t want to stop,” you blurt, words pouring out of your mouth before you can stop them.
He smiled gently, a hint of amusement laced in his eyes. “Okay. Just tell me what you need.”
What you needed. The question hung in the air, waiting to be answered. You find a spark of courage buried deep inside you and grip it tightly.
Choosing not to think about your actions too much, you shifted closer and brought your hands up to hold Remus’ face in your hands. Surprise flickered in his eyes, fueling your desire. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his again, the kiss no longer soft and hesitant, but now determined.
Remus let out a low sound of surprise, his hands instinctively moving to your waist, letting you take the lead as your fingers slipped into his soft hair once again, kissing him harder.
With your heart pounding for an entirely new reason, you pulled back, shoulders shaking with laboured breaths. His eyes darkened slightly, his lips parted as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
“Well,” He murmured after a beat, voice low and raspy with desire. “This is new.”
Your lip travels between your teeth, embarrassment colouring your cheeks when you realise how bold you have been. “Was that- is that…okay?”
His hands brushed up and down your sides, and the heat of his hands fell through the thin fabric of your T-shirt. “More than okay,” He muttered, lips curving into a crooked smile. “I like you when you’re like this.”
A grin paints your face as the nervousness shaking your bones melts into a warm sort of freedom. With your nerves settled you're much more comfortable with shifting your legs on either side of his thighs.
His hands grip your waist gently, his eyes flicking up to yours. Despite the surprise that costs his features, his eyes darken, and your pulse quickens at the sight.
“Is this okay?” You breathlessly ask, fingers skimming the collars of his sweater, your actions growing bolder as you push the sweater up, revealing a strip of pale skin.
You fiddle with the hem of his sweater and he hums, bringing his hands to your back. “More than okay, love. Do whatever you want to me.” You clench your hands around the fabric, yanking slightly. “Can we…go to your room?”
“Lead the way.” You stand up, trying not to look awkward. You take his hand in yours, pulling his arm behind you as you head to his room. High on dopamine, you let out a shy giggle, using your back to nudge his door open, eyes still tracked on Remus’ eyes that swim with desire.
The back of your knees hit the edge of his plush bed, and you pull Remus to your chest, spinning you both around so you can push him down on the bed. The mattress sinks below his body as he props himself on his elbows.
You stand there for a moment, some of your earlier nervousness bubbling up. One look at the way Remus looks at you - so filled with love and care - has you pushing that anxiety down, replaced with a fire-filled lust.
Your legs return to their earlier destination astride his lap, hands resting on his shoulders. “I don’t…I’m not sure what to do,” You admit embarrassedly. Sure, you’ve had sex before but not with someone who makes you feel as though you’re on top of the universe like Remus does.
He nods in understanding, a kind smile tracing his lips. His right hand gently rubs your thigh, dangerously close to your core. “Do whatever makes you feel good.” Biting your lip in acknowledgement, you trail your lips up his throat and place wet, sloppy kisses at his pulse point.
His responsive groans have your legs squeezing tighter around his hips, your core clenching around nothing. You nip and suck at a spot behind his ear, hips subconsciously moving against his.
His large hands grip your waist, fingers digging into your skin. Gently shoving his hands off, you grip the hem of your shirt and yank it off in quick movements, arms circling his neck and pulling him into a desperate kiss, hips still thrusting eagerly.
A lone finger trails down the crease of your spin, a low moan emitting from your mouth, muted by his lips. He undoes the strap of your bra with one quick movement of his hand and you pull away to let the straps fall down your arms, chucking the flimsy fabric somewhere random. “I love you,” you whisper.
“I love you so much, too,” he murmurs back, his eyes half-lidded and hazy, looking up at yours in adoration.
You move onto his shirt next, ripping the clothing off and lightly scratching your nails down his chest. His lips find your jaw, leaving passionate kisses over your heated skin. You throw your head back in pleasure, a loud moan falling from your parted lips.
Hands trailing down his bare chest, you hook your fingers in the belt loops of his trousers before moving to take them off completely, shaking hands moving to the zipper.
You move off of him so he can take them off completely, pulling down your pants and kicking them to the side. He stands, bare in just his boxers and pulls you into him by the waist, head tilted as he captures you in a slow, gentle kiss.
“You’re perfect, Y’know?” His words were slurred like he was drunk. You can’t help but shy away from his gaze, finding it ridiculous that you're shy, even at a time like this. “So are you.” Your hands trace the thin lines of his scars, meaning every word you say. It’s his turn to blush and you kiss his reddened cheeks before moving to lie down in the middle of the bed.
Remus is quick to follow you, towering over your flushed frame, arms on either side of your head. He leans down to plant a kiss on your swollen lips, a sharp burst of pleasure exploding in your stomach.
He slowly trails downwards, open mouth grazing against your skin before his lips wrap around your breast, sucking and biting gently. You push his head down further, his chuckle fanning across your bare stomach until you have him where you want.
He places a kiss over your clothed clit and a shudder runs through you. “Can you-“ You don’t even get your sentence out before he’s got your underwear down your legs.
“Don’t even have to ask.” And then he’s eating you out like a man starved. A hand in his hair is enough for you to control his movements, tugging and relishing in the groans that shake your core.
Your legs move to rest across his shoulders, the heels of your feet pressing into his back. Your hips thrust up, his nose nudging against your clit as you hold his face to your core.
Your legs shake and tighten around his neck, back arching against the mattress. Your body was on fire, each flick of his tongue and grip of his hands against your thighs setting off fireworks deep in your core, the tight bubble of your pleasure ready to burst at any moment.
And it does burst. Loud moans escape your parted lips, your body convulsing in pleasure, sweat dripping down your sticky skin. “Fuck.”
He pulls away when his touches become too sensitive, bringing his cum-soaked fingers between his lips, groaning at the taste. You shove your head into the pillow at the sight, an embarrassed whine falling from your lips that has him chuckling smugly.
His chuckle turns into a quiet moan, your hand having trailed down to palm him through the thin fabric of his boxers. His head falls to the crook of your neck, hand moving between the waistband of his boxers to grip his growing cock.
You pull his dick out, gripping the edge of his tip and using the leaking precum to stroke him tightly. His heavy breaths fan your neck, his hips thrusting into your fist, intoxicated by your touch.
His heavy moans have your mind spinning, your confidence growing each time he calls out your name. You’re prepared to make him cum like this but he pulls away before he can. “If I’m going to cum, it’s going to be inside you, my love. Is that okay?”
Butterflies flutter in your stomach. “It’s more than okay…Can I- can I be on top? Please?” Eyes dark with desire, he nods without any hesitation, kicking his boxers off and leaning against the headboard of his bed.
You straddle him, holding his dick as you slowly sink down on him, mouth falling open at the delicious stretch. “Remus,” You cry, hands clawing at his shoulders.
“I know, baby. I know.” You experimentally roll your hips, his dick skipping further inside you. His hands land on your body, one fondling your breast while the other moves to your core and tightly circles your clit.
Slowly, pain turns into pleasure and your hips roll faster, back arching as his thick tip hits your walls. “You feel so good,” Remus moans out, his hair stuck to his forehead.
Inhibitions gone, your moans fill the room, hips slapping together whilst you chase your high, sheer determination and lust fogging your mind. His arms are familiar and comforting, wrapped around your waist while he pulls you in for a kiss, a clash of teeth and a fight for dominance.
The smell of sweat fills the room, the orange of the evening sunset pouring through the open windows and emitting a golden glow over your two bodies. Remus had never looked prettier, a furrow between his brows and low whines escaping his lips.
It’s no surprise that you finish as fast as you do, with the way his hips slam up against yours and his hands grope anything he can touch, you're a goner, putty in his gentle grip. “Remus I’m going to-“
You're crying out before you can finish your sentence, the coil in your stomach snapping and unwinding quickly and you gasp loudly.
Wetness drips down your inner thighs, the tight clenching of your core enough to bring Remus to his completion, his grip tightening and his thrusts stuttering.
He slumps against the headboard with a satisfied groan and you follow suit, breasts pressed up against his sweaty, glistening chest. “That was amazing,” You state, cheeks flushing at the thought of what you two had just done, shyness already returning.
He chuckles at your red skin and the way you avoid his eyes, pinching your cheek playfully. “Happy birthday, honey.”
Summary: Hidden away in the woods to celebrate the mating bond, you decide to raise the stakes on a supposedly innocent card game. If you win, he has to do whatever you want. Thank the Gods he lost; you want to make the powerful spymaster squirm.
TW: Smut, drinking wine, needy Az, teasing reader, edging kinda?
A/N: I forget how hard writing smut is lmao but I hope you enjoy it!! I think it's the best smut I've ever written ngl. Thank you to my friend (who doesn't want to be named but is awesome) for giving me feedback/editing this fic - I'll give you gum when I next see you, hun.
Masterlist Azriel Masterlist
Azriel looked like the Godly male he was born to be. His smirk was nothing short of dangerous. His eyes gleamed in the dim room, cheeks flushed a rosy pink from the wine that hazed his mind.
With each sip from the open wine bottle between you two, he was losing his inhibitions, but who could blame him? He’s had the best week of his life; the mating bond had been successfully accepted with Azriel quickly whisking you away to a cabin in the woods to enjoy free, uninterrupted time for the mating frenzy.
The tall, captivating, Illyrian had taken you everywhere in the small cabin in less than a week - including the floor you were sitting on now. After spending the day with no food in your stomach, you had to put your foot down and demand a break.
Azriel suggested a game of cards and you never knew that a pair of hands shuffling a deck of playing cards could be so attractive. You have to fold your legs to stop yourself from pouncing on him - an action Azriel doesn’t fail to notice, considering the way his eyes darken.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, shoving a grape in your mouth, immediately relishing in the cold burst of flavour across your tongue. Azriel begins to hand you your deck, gaze not straying from your rosy lips for a moment.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s rare to see him so relaxed. So happy. His wings are drooped by his sides, his hair mussed and his clothes wrinkled.
He looks so handsome, yet the sight that has your heart fluttering the most is the permanent smile resting on his lips. A tempting sight.
He’s been so happy this past week and you want nothing more than for him to stay that way. “Now you’re looking at me weirdly,” he mutters, a light blush blooming across his cheeks despite the undeniable cockiness that laced his voice.
“I can’t help it. You’re just so handsome.” His smile turns shy. The red on his cheeks grows ferociously and he has to look away from your gleaming eyes. Despite your attempt to silence your laughter by chewing on your lips, joyous huffs break free and cause Azriel to slump against the front of the couch, hiding his face in his hands.
“You’re evil,” he states, eyes peeking out at you between the gap of his middle and ring finger. You ignore him, picking up your cards and ensuring they’re hidden from his gaze. “C’mon, grab your cards. Let’s make this round more interesting.”
He does as you say, grabbing his cards and propping his elbow on his knee, his other leg straight and stretched out over the plush carpet. “Interesting? And how would we do that?”
A smirk tilts your lips. “Let’s say…” your finger taps against the back of your cards. “If you win, I do whatever you want. But if I win, you do whatever I want.”
“Be prepared to lose, honey,” Azriel utters smugly, flashing you a wink that has your heart pulsing. A lone shadow wraps around your arm and you gasp, holding your cards to your chest. “No cheating! Keep your shadows on your side.”
He playfully mocks you, before placing down a card, effectively signalling the start to the game.
You can’t help but laugh at the boyish action, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Oh, it’s on, baby. You glare in return and place your own card down, taking a large gulp of wine before wiping your lips. Brown, eager eyes track the movement and you pointedly stare at the cards in the middle of the table.
He places another card, causing you to pick up four from a separate pile. And so the games begin.
****
“You’re cheating,” Azriel said, his suspicion clear and demanding. Your mouth falls open dramatically at the accusation, your hand extending to give him a light, punishing smack. “I'm not!”
You’re not sure when it happened, or how, but the two of you have moved closer. Both of you are still sitting on the floor, but now Azriel sits on the side of the table instead of at the end, his wing resting behind you, comfortable and warm. His long legs are stretched out in front of him under the table with his large hand returning to your thigh each time it’s your turn.
“How are you doing so well, then?” He demands, a light and playful scoff falling from his lips, though you can spy a hint of genuine annoyance in the glint in his eyes.
“Maybe you’re the problem. Maybe, since you can’t use your shadows,” you pointedly eye the shadows that swirl around Azriels arms, “You’re just not that good.”
“I have never used my shadows to cheat.” You wouldn’t be surprised if he has cheated before. Despite his honest personality, he’s just as competitive. Yet, you know he hasn’t cheated tonight; his shadows have stayed at his side, never once trailing up to whisper something in his ear.
“Oh?” You lean in closer, the smell of night-chilled air and cedar invading your senses. His eyes move from your lips and down your neck, landing on the inside of your shirt that hangs. He nods, gulping. You catch it, the way his Adam's apple bops, very telling of the effect you had on him. The notion sends a pleasant chill down your spine, and your lips curl up. “Then maybe you want to lose. Maybe you like the idea of being at my mercy. Of having to do whatever I say.”
“Maybe I do.” His breath fans your lips, so close but too far away for your liking. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.” He places a quick, barely there kiss on your cheek before placing down a card. You pull away and glare when you realise he’s now in the lead.
“I’m going to find out, alright.”
****
“Oh Fuck.” Azriel’s groan has your skin heating, waves of satisfaction sending goosebumps down your spine. You smirk teasingly. “Loser,” You menacingly whisper, voice a low drawl as you creep closer, faces a mere inch apart. “Now,” Your knees shuffle forward, yanked by an invisible force, “You have to do whatever I want.”
His hands move instinctively to rest on your hips. “And what is it that you want me to do?” You hum, tilting your head as your hair falls to one side, legs moving to straddle him. “Let’s say…” You pretend to contemplate, though you’d already known what you’d make him do hours ago. You take his hands and hold them in yours, thumb gently rubbing over the scars you love so much. You shake them gently. “These have to stay by your side.”
His eyebrows raised in interest and you watched his eyes darken, a subtle action only you could cause. “You mean…” He trails off, sucking in a sharp breath as your hands begin to wander over his chest, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his loose, white shirt.
His eyebrows crease, a shaky sigh falling from his plump, kissable lips as you begin to grind against his hard, solid body slowly. His hands raise to touch you before he quickly gathers his wits, squeezing them at his sides instead. Your lips ghost over his before you pull him in for a warm, sloppy kiss that shakes your body. You don’t think you’d ever get sick of kissing him - the way he pours so much love and passion into each movement of his mouth, the way his tongue swipes past your lips in such a gentle yet undeniably needy manner.
Your hands fist in the collar of his shirt as the kiss grows deeper, pulling him closer into your body as you continue to roll your hips deliberately... Your skin feels like it was set on fire, a deep rumble of pleasure evoking in your core. Azriel’s hands raise to cup your cheeks, mind too blurred with your movements to remember your only rule. You force yourself to pull away and stop your movements.
“What did I tell you?” You pant, breathing heavily in his ear as you whisper. His eyes squeeze shut, slowly dragging his hands away from your body as he groans. “I-” He gulps, voice coming out raspy. “Sorry?” You shake your head, heart beating wildly in your chest while you pepper kisses on his flushed skin, over his sharp jaw and down his neck before you find cause at his collarbone, sucking harsh enough to leave a mark.
“You should be.” Your hips continue their movements, pulling away from his neck to admire his face. His cheeks are red, mouth hung open slightly as he sucks in sharp puffs of air. His tongue flit out quickly to wet his lips, eager brown eyes momentarily looking down to watch the way your hips move against his.
His wings flutter behind him, spread wide. Your hand hesitates before you can touch them. “Can I?” His eyes show no sign of nervousness or hesitation as he nods. “I’m all yours.” All it takes is one swipe against the thin and leathery membrane before he’s throwing his head back as a loud, guttural moan breaks out of him and his hands find purchase at your waist, rubbing you against him with brutal force.
You tut, removing yourself from his touch completely, choosing to stand in front of his sitting form instead. “I only have one rule, Azriel. Why aren’t you following it? Do you not want me to touch you?” He spreads his legs, veiny hands lazily resting on his thick thighs, hidden beneath thick sweatpants. His chest rises and falls, betraying his desperate need. You have to clench your thighs to stop the painful ache.
His breath shudders, his body going pliant under your touch, completely defenseless to your ministrations as he shakes his head desperately. “I do. Gods, I do. You just make it so hard.” His voice trails off in an almost whine and you can’t help the pride that sinks into your skin. The most dangerous, hard-headed and serious male is sitting in front of you and practically begging for your touch.
“Then listen to what I say, okay hun?” At his answering nod, a strand of hair falling over his eye, you reward him by pulling your thin shirt off and chucking it to the side. The cool air sends goosebumps over your supple skin, the only source of heat being Azriels greedy eyes as he watches your nipples perk to attention.
Deciding you want to tease him more, you trail a lone finger up your stomach, over your breast and into your mouth, fire kindling in its wake. You swirl your tongue around your finger, eyes never straying from Azriel, saliva dripping down your chin and onto your chest. Slowly, you let your finger trail downwards, a trail of wet saliva being left behind as you bring the finger to your nipple, squeezing and pinching, quiet moans escaping your bitten lip.
Azriel sits in his spot, fingers squeezing his thighs so tightly he’s surely leaving a mark. You hum. “Azzie?” His eyes snap to yours, eager and awaiting instruction. “Take your pants off for me.” He shoots out of his sitting position, taking a deep breath to calm his excitement, some of his control returning as he slowly pulls his pants down his legs, hard, veiny cock now visible, drops of precum budding at the tip.
Your pants come off next, thrown to the side without a care. You take a step towards him, trying to not let it show how your breathing staggers at the way he looks at you. “Do you want to take my panties off?” Your voice is teasing, amused at how quickly he nods and falls to his knees in front of you.
Slow but sure hands graze your hip, fingers hooking between your panties and slowly pulling them down your legs. He makes sure to look up at you through his lashes, mouth wet and slightly open. The sight has you almost losing your composure, a thick fog clouding your mind and you have to grip his long hair to make sure you don’t crumble to pieces in front of him. Not that he would have minded.
He moans when your grip gets tighter, a deep rumble against your skin. Gently pulling his head back, a wave of heat soaks your core. “Do you want to eat me out for a bit?” His eyes widened with hope, followed by a desperate nod. You almost let him. Almost.
He visibly deflates when you pull away, hands resting at your sides, glowing body on display for him to see. “Too bad. Stand up.” His knees shake yet he stands to his full height. “Take your shirt off.” It’s gone in seconds much to your delight, the deep ridges of his abs glistening with sweat that you want nothing more than to lick off. Your walls clenched around nothing, a desperate need swirling in your stomach that you attempted to ignore. You wanted to tease him more.
“Sit on the couch.” He does as you say, legs spread, erect cock pressed against his lower stomach. You stand between him, hands resting against his thighs while your nails press into his skin hard enough to invoke a pain you know he likes. His wings bristled at the feeling, bringing your attention back to them once again. You can’t resist placing a gentle kiss on the rough texture of his wing, sensitive enough to feel the light, barely there kiss.
You watch as his abs flex, body yearning to reach you when you don’t sit on his lap like he hoped. Instead, you sit on the other side of the couch, one leg propped up on the couch, bent at the knee and showing off your glistening pussy. Azriel moans at the sight, eyes squeezing shut as he shakes his head harshly. “You’re evil,” He states roughly. You smile, a hand dipping to your soaked core, middle finger swirling around your pulsing hole and then circling your clit. You moan out an arrogant, “I know.”
Your back arches, body sinking into the sofa, breathless moans turning sinful when you press a finger into your tight, warm cunt. Your fingers aren’t as long or thick as Azriels but they still cause a sickeningly hot flash of pleasure to travel up your sweat-soaked spine.
The sounds of your finger thrusting in and out of your warm heat fill the room, a sound that has Azriel’s breath laboured. His eyes couldn’t leave your flushed form if he tried. Your hips greedily thrust into your hand, eagerly wanting more but not letting Azriel give it to you.
When a particularly loud, breathy moan falls from your parted lips he can’t help but moan back, the shadows wrapping around his body moving to his most sensitive part. The light friction from their tight movements as they swirl around his base is enough to have him whining; he was so hard and sensitive and wanted nothing more than to be touched. But he couldn’t break your rules and with one restrained tug, his shadows returned to the corners of the room.
“Az,” You moan, a whine breaking free as a deep, pleasurable feeling awakens in your core, wounding tighter each time you hit the rough, fleshy spot inside you. “‘M gonna cum.” He’s left to just watch and stare like a pervert, debating whether or not to end this pesky game and fuck you into oblivion. He’s about to do just that but then you’re looking at him, eyes bright with satisfaction and mischief and he knows he wants to see those eyes staring down at him while you take control.
It takes you a second to gather your wits, legs still shaking while you begin to crawl to Azriel on the other side of the couch, enjoying the way his eyes darken and his jaw clenches. You stop when you’re directly beside him, your knees touching his thighs.
You don’t waste a second in pulling him in for a kiss, lips pushing against his swollen ones, a deep rumble sounding in his chest. You pull away, lips still grazing over his as you whisper. “You’ve been very good. You deserve a reward.” His eyes brighten like a kid in a candy shop and he gulps in excitement.
A smile pulls at your lips in response to his eager reaction, looking away from his captivating eyes to look at his hard cock, flushed red due to not being touched. You bite your lip and bring your hand down to squeeze at his base. A quiet curse slips from his lips and you squeeze harder.
You thumb at his tip, using his precum as lube as you slowly stroke his rock-hard dick. He’s so responsive, needy wines falling from his lips while he groans out your name. His hands now squeeze the sofa, his right hand squeezing the armrest so hard you’re sure it’s going to rip.
Your pace is slow. Teasing. Your lips find their way to Azriels neck, sucking and biting, feeling his skin heat at your touch. You squeeze tighter. His breath quivered, hips thrusting into your hand like a man starved. “Are you-” You clear your throat, voice rough with pleasure. “Are you going to let me fuck you?”
His answering nod is desperate and hurried. “Fuck yes. Please fuck me. Please.” Goosebumps trail up your skin at his begging and you know you can’t refuse him. With a kiss to his sweat-soaked hair, your hand pulls away, back arching in protest while he cries out.
“Shhh,” Your breath fans over his ear, legs moving to straddle him, hips perched above his waist. “I’m going to fuck you now, okay?” He grumbles incoherently and you huff a laugh, storing the moment in your mind so you can tease him about it later.
And then you’re slowly sinking down, his large, thick cock spreading your walls in a painful rush of pleasure. He moans in your ear, the feeling of his breath against your neck has you lightly biting his shoulder. With a shuddering breath, you pull away until the tip is barely inside of you before you slam your hips down, his dick far deeper than your fingers could ever reach.
“Touch me.” He’s happy to do so, hips thrusting into yours while his lips travel to your perky nipple, tongue drawing tight circles before he pulls it into his mouth completely, sucking harshly and causing your walls to clench around him.
Your sweaty skin sticks to him, the smell of sex filling the air. Your boobs bounce with each thrust, capturing Azriel’s attention, eyes wide and pouty like he were in a trance. “I’m not going to last long,” He mutters around a moan, hands kneading at your flesh. Your hands raise to the brown strands of his hair, yanking tightly before pulling him in for a kiss. It’s messy, teeth clashing, his nose pressed into your cheek.
“I'm not going to last either.” You feel like you’re on fire, gasping for air as your back arches, legs shaking around his thighs. “You’re so beautiful,” You hear him mutter around a quiet groan, his lips leaving warm, open mouthed kisses on any part of you he could reach. His nails are digging into your skin, his hands shaky.
The familiar sensation of tightness grows in your stomach, coiling tautly as your breath staggers. You rub your finger against your swollen clit, already sensitive from your last orgasm, as you chase the height of your pleasure.
He throws his head back against the back of the sofa, Adams's apple bobbing as the veins in his neck throb. “Can I- Gods, can I come? Please?” Your nails scratch down his chest, his abs clenching in delight. “Cum for me baby, I’m right behind you.”
He shouts your name, his large hands moving to your hips and controlling your thrusts, smashing your hips down on his cock. His cum drips down your thighs and the coil inside your stomach bursts at the sight, a moan leaving your lips as your heartbeat echoes in your ears. Your legs shake and you feel so good it’s almost sickening.
After what felt like one of the longest, most intense rush of sensations, you slump against Azriel’s chest, head resting in the crook of his neck as you both attempt to catch your breaths. His nails lightly scratch down your back, causing you to shiver. His chin rests atop your sweaty hair and he kisses your head before muttering, “I’m going to be losing a lot more often if my reward is that.”
Your body shakes with laughter and you pull away slightly to look at him. “Shut up.” And then you’re kissing him, so filled with love and happiness you could burst.
Sooooo i need you to write more azriel becauseeeeee you are amazing at it and I adored healing
His Shadows
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: A disastrous date leads to an unexpected revelation: Azriel’s shadows aren’t just protective—they know the truth about the bond between you and him. Can you embrace the love you’ve always craved, or will fear hold you back?
TW: Kissing, one swear word
A/N: You ask and you shall receive! Ngl I love this fic so much!! Azriel longing has such a special place in my heart fr <3
Masterlist Azriel Masterlist
Azriel was sure he looked pathetic. He looked like a dog; wide, pouty eyes gazing at you longingly as he followed you around with desperate steps.
He was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Your smile was the sun to his shadows, your laugh music to his silence. He loved how you talked to him - gentle and kind, like he weren’t a man carved from death and pain.
Tonight was like no other. Stealing glances at you from across the dinner table, his heart was warm with adoration. You were absorbed in a conversation with Feyre, bright smile lighting up the room. Cassian was sitting next to him, chatting his ear away. He wasn’t paying attention, too enraptured by you and your colossal beauty.
He wasn’t all that surprised when he felt the tug in his chest; a tug that led to you. Despite the suspicion that you were his mate - he’d never felt this comfortable around someone, so warm and fuzzy - he still felt the breath leave his lungs. His nervousness was unmistakable, breathing laboured and cheeks flushed. His heart was racing, his palms sweaty, and his shadows…his shadows were everywhere.
They were swirling around his shoulders, darting towards you and wrapping around your hair as an invisible force attracted them. It was only when a shadow brushed against your cheek, so slow and caring, that he yanked his shadows back with a brutal force.
“Az?” Cauldron, your voice was enough to bring him to his knees. Your head was tilted in concern and he knew if he looked around the table everyone would be wearing the same concerned look.
“I-” His voice cracked, a rare slip in his usually perfect facade. “Sorry. I’m fine.” He wasn’t. And his shadows betrayed that as they reached out once again towards you as if wanting to confirm the bond was actually there. That it exists.
He had to force them away from you once again, taking everything in him to stay in his seat when all he wanted to do was go down on his knees and beg for your love and acceptance of the bond.
๋࣭ ⭑
Azriel’s nervousness had amplified. It was embarrassing how his heart would stutter when you got too close. Or how his breathing would stop when you touched him in any way, even if it was a mere shoulder tap.
His shadows, a lifelong companion, have betrayed him in ways unthinkable. They don’t listen. He can no longer trust them around you. Like now, you’re walking next to him, shoulders brushing against his own as you talk about your latest mission for the Night Court.
Your conversation was momentarily interrupted as someone’s arm bumps harshly into yours. Azriel’s eyes narrow in a glare, instinctively wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into him.
“I'm okay, don’t worry.” He looks down at the hand that’s found its way to his arm, squeezing it comfortingly. “Good. She didn’t even apologise.” Azriel would like to blame the mating bond for his protectiveness, but, truthfully, he’d been this protective before the bond even snapped.
You started walking, smiling once again. Azriel could still feel the anger boiling in his gut, his attentive eyes noting the shadows that swirled around your ankles, watching with a grimace as they continued to rise and slowly envelope you in darkness.
Return to me.
They rise quicker, your legs hidden. You’ve stopped in your tracks, eyes flitting up to look at Azriel curiously.
Return to me. Now.
They wrap around your waist and you move away from the busy sidewalk. “Azriel? What’s going on?” He grits his teeth, your voice an echo in his head as he tries to regain his composure.
Listen. Return.
They begin to wrap around your arms, almost your whole body shrouded in darkness. Your eyes, thankfully not panicked, scour the streets, looking for the danger that could explain why Azriel’s shadows were acting up.
Enough. Go.
His shadows hesitated around your frame, the icy chill of Azriel’s voice reminding them who their commander was. One by one, Azriel watched them slip away and into the darkness, banished into a space where they couldn’t interact with him or anyone else for the time being.
“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.” His voice was raw, cheeks flushing and eyes moving everywhere but your own. Your smile is filled with adoration and understanding. Azriel was too blinded by his nervousness to see it. “It’s okay. Let’s go get lunch.”
๋࣭ ⭑
Azriel was going crazy. Sitting in the corner of the room, his hands clench and unclench as he watches you. The dim lighting in the living room does enough to hide Azriels shadows from everyone else.
The moment you entered the room, his heart rate picked up and his shadows sharted flitting around the room erratically. Since then, he’s attempted to momentarily ignore you in a desperate hope to slow the beating of his heart and leash his shadows.
“How…is your garden going? Did you plant those Dasies you got?” Azriel mutters distractedly, eyes still on you even as he talks to Elain. Her candy-like voice reaches his ears and he forces himself to look at her.
“My garden’s going well! The daises really suit the rest of the garden. The white is a nice contrast with the buttercups-”
“Azriel, what the fuck?” Cassian’s confused voice cuts Elain off from her passionate rambling, his head snapping to look at him from where he sits next to you, hand raised above your shoulder like he was about to touch you.
But he can’t. Azriel’s eyes move from Cassian's confused, worried ones and down his arm to watch the shadows swirl around his arm and hand. The shadows are physically preventing Cassian from placing his hand on your shoulder. They wrap around tighter and tighter until Cassian’s face twitches in pain.
“You’re gonna have to explain this, Az,” Cassian teases, shaking out his arm. His voice was light, but his eyes flickered with genuine concern.
“Enough,” He muttered through clenched teeth, voice low in command. The trembling shadows obeyed, shooting away from Cassian's figure and back to Azriel, swirling around his ear as they whispered apologies in hopes of subduing the anger of their master.
They don’t stay by him for long, Azriel’s nervousness growing as the eyes of his family lock onto him. His shadows reflect his anxiety, darting from corners of the room and swirling around bodies. As a shadow twirls around Rhysand’s neck once again, Azriel stands up abruptly.
“I need to go,” Is all he mutters before leaving for the House of Wind with a brutal tug on his shadows, ensuring they follow his orders.
What in the cauldron was wrong with him?
๋࣭ ⭑
“What’s wrong with you?” The question quite literally stuns Azriel in silence. He’d been locked up in his room for days now, trying meditating tactics to calm his shadows - even going to Madja to see if she could help in any way. She couldn’t. He hadn’t seen you in days, and, despite the desperate longing in his chest, he’d rather it be that he doesn’t see you instead of embarrassing himself. Again.
You’d grown worried in his absence, constantly asking your family if they’d heard from him. Cassian had grown sick of your constant questions and offered to fly you up to the House of Wind himself.
You had happily taken him up on the offer, leading to you now standing in Azriels room, hands on your hips as you inspect his tense stance and flushed cheeks. “What’s wrong?” You repeat again, eyes narrowed as his shadows leave his side, seemingly darker than usual.
You’re still not used to how vulnerable he looks when his shadows aren’t around him. He looks so lost, hands fidgeting in front of him while his wide, brown eyes watch as his shadows leave him.
“Nothing’s wrong…My shadows are just acting up.” His eyes flit to the ground, folding his arms against his chest to stop his nervous fidgeting. “I’m sorry if I’ve been worrying you. I just needed to figure out what’s wrong with them.”
You smile apologetically, pulling him into a hug so you can feel his warm body against yours. Warmth coats your skin and you bite your lip to stop yourself from saying something stupid like ‘I love you.’
A shadow slinking up the wall catches your eye. “Um…” You mutter, still hugging him tightly. “I didn’t know your shadows could create shapes and stuff.” You feel him pull away, albeit hesitantly. He turns to look at where you’re pointing, a quiet curse slipping from his lips.
There, against the wall, rests a lone shadow, the darkness taking the form of a clawed hand, desperately reaching out to your own shadow, formed by the dim fae lights. It’s almost sad how it fights to get closer, yanking at invisible chains, stretching its long fingers in an attempt to touch you.
Azriel sucks in a sharp breath, placing a strict yet gentle hand on your back and slowly pushing you out of his room, all the while rambling. “I don’t know what’s happening.” Push. “You need to leave.” Push. “-what?-” “I’ll talk to you later.” Push. “-wait-” With one more push, you’re standing outside his room.
You nod in defeat, your protests ignored. “I’ll come and see you after my date tomorrow night.” He quite literally freezes in the doorway. “Date?” Before you can say anything, his shadows swarm around behind him, slinking behind gaps to reach you. The swarm around his wings, the darkest they’ve ever been. They seem to lash out, yanking at his hair.
He slams the door before the shadows can reach you. A quiet curse and thump is heard from the other side. You can faintly see a shadow slithering between the gap in the door before it’s yanked back.
Oh. Your heart is still racing at what just happened. He’s left you standing there in a pool of nervousness, anxious fingers attacking your nails as you debate whether or not you should knock on the door and ask if he’s okay.
You decide against it.
๋࣭ ⭑
The evening was interesting enough. The good-looking male was nothing short of kind. He had opened doors for you, pulled out your chair and bought you flowers. The warm glow of the candles at each table along with the gentle jazz music helped put your mind at ease, despite being on a date with a man you knew you could never truly love.
You smile politely at the male's joke, sipping your wine, knowing deep in your heart that something is missing. Azriel had stolen your heart years ago, practically yanked it out of your chest and refused to return it. No matter how many males you talk to or sleep with, no one could replace him.
“So you work for the High Lord and High Lady?” He asks curiously. You nod, playing with your food. “Yeah, I have a range of roles but I’m mostly a diplomat.” His smile was kind and attentive, nodding along as a sign for you to keep talking. “I-It’s a fun job. They’re like my family and I’d do anything for them.”
“I have a feeling you’d do anything for a lot of people, wouldn’t you? You seem sweet.” His hand reaches out, fingers gently grazing yours before completely holding your hand, fingers lacing between yours.
His hand feels weird. Too soft. You crave the rough scars that should be grazing against your palm. The tight way Azriel holds your hand (when he dares to; usually with the excuse that you’re in danger).
“Thank you-”
The air shift is subtle but you notice it almost immediately. The temperature dropped, a chill slinking up your spine despite the warmth of the restaurant. You glance around, suddenly aware of how shadows deepen in the corners of the room.
“Do you want my jacket?” Your date asks, brows furrowing as he notes the goosebumps trailing up your arm. “No. Thank you.” You smile, trying to return your attention back to the conversation at hand but it's captured by the flickering light in front of you. The flame of the candle danced erratically, as though it was caught in an invisible wind.
Then you felt it.
A wisp of darkness slipped between you and your date's hand. You gasp, yanking your hand back to your side with a speeding heart. The shadow didn’t stay away from you for long, slithering around your wrist tightly and anchoring itself to you.
“Are you okay?” He asked, leaning closer and inspecting your face. You nod, laughing awkwardly. “Yeah, everything’s fine-”
Before you could finish your sentence, the shadows surge.
First, they twist around your ankle, raising up and up until your legs feel trapped, so tightly surrounded by shadows it feels restricting. Then they move to your arms, twisting until you can barely move them, pressed to your side and unwilling to move.
“I- I need to go. I’m sorry.” Panic ceases as you struggle to stand, your heart beating faster while the shadows grip tighter. You ignore the protests of your date, sending an apologetic smile while you walk out, the shadows loosening up enough for you to move your legs.
Though they loosen around your legs, their grip on your arms grows tighter by the minute. It’s constricting, suffocating even. As you scavenge to find the leader of these shadows, your panic worsens. You. Can’t. Move. Your. Arms.
You search the bustling streets for any sign of Azriel, figuring he’d be close since his shadows were. But, after ten minutes of looking, and fresh rain dripping down your clothes, you try to find another way.
You lift your arm to your mouth, whispering desperately, “Get Azriel.” The shadow shoots away in seconds, rushing off into the distance while you find a bench to sit on, uncaring of the rain that pours freely.
After a few minutes of waiting in the cool rain, the loud flap of wings is the first of Azriel to greet you. Next, it's the shout of your name as he rushes towards you. He abruptly stops in front of you, eyes blown wide as he takes in the sight of his shadows slithering over your body like a snake.
“What-”
“Get them off. I can barely feel my arms.” Your glare is lethal, the numb feeling in your arms getting stronger. His eyebrows furrow in worry, eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to focus. “Stop.”
Everything halts at once. The shadows stop moving, returning to their owner hesitantly. “I am-” He shakes his head, any ounce of frustration leaving his body as soon as his eyes meet yours. “I am so sorry. They’ve been so out of control recently. I was so absorbed in my own thoughts I didn’t even notice they were gone.”
“They interrupted-”
“Calduron, did they hurt you? I’m so sorry-"
“-Stop Azriel.” He halts, eyes looking down in shame. “This whole thing has been getting out of hand. I was on a date, Azriel. What’s going on? This has never happened before.” You place a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look into your eyes as he speaks.
“I’m really sorry. I hope they didn’t hurt you. They’ve been acting up ever since the mating bond snapped and I don't know how to control it- They get so protective over you because I feel so protective. I’m trying to control it, I just think, because the bond just recently snapped they’re unsure of how to act around you-”
“The what now?” Your breathing stutters, your voice cracking in nervousness as you try to absorb everything he just said. Mating bond? He’s your mate? The one you’ve loved for so long is your mate?
“The-” He steps away, flinching when he processes what he’s said. Turning his back to you, he looks the part of a fallen angel, wings drooped, shoulders hunched while rain drips down his wings. “The mating bond,” he whispers in defeat.
You take a slow, timid step towards him. “The mating bond?” Your heart skips a beat, breathing ragged as a strange feeling warms your chest. A phantom string tugs at your heart, connecting you to your one true love. “The mating bond.” You say more confidently, a tentative hand reaching out to touch Azriel’s shoulder.
His back relaxes at your touch, head moving to look at you over his muscled shoulder. “I need you. So badly. I need you like the air I breathe. Please, if you’re going to turn me down do it quickly.”
You shake your head, shaking hand moving to his chin, turning him so he’s facing you. “Who says I don’t need you the way you need me? I’ve loved you for so long. I’m ecstatic to be your mate?”
Rain drips from his hair and down his nose. You quickly wipe it away. His scarred hands move to your cheeks and he does the same for you, brushing the rain away from your face like he were protecting a precious painting.
“You love me?” His eyes, so filled with love and hope have your heart melting.
“Of course I do, honey.”
“I love you too.”
You smile, heart so full you feel like it could burst. “Then kiss me.”
He does just that, warm, soft lips grazing against yours cautiously. He pulls away, eyes looking into yours. When he sees nothing but glee, he dips his head to kiss you again, this time more ferociously. All the longing and desperation he had been withholding leaked out in one kiss, the cold rain barely noticed in the warmth of the kiss.
He pulls away, gasping for breath as his forehead falls against yours. Shadows return once again, trailing up your back, through your hair and wrapping around your arms causing you to gasp. “You're mine,” He mutters.
