Urbain’s jacket is very special to him… but you’re not going to be cold on his watch! Carefully drapes it over your shoulders. He’ll keep asking you if you’re warm enough, if you want him to buy you a hot drink or something. You assure him that the jacket is just fine.
Naveen will let you wear his, but why don’t you just let him make you your own instead…? Will take some pictures of you in it to promote his business. He delivers you a matching jacket a few days later. If you wear it the next time you’re out with him, he can’t help but smile.
Philippe’s jacket is the perfect blanket for naps. It’s big and heavy, and keeps you nice and warm. If you ask him nicely, he’ll let you use his lap as a pillow while he works. Plays with your hair until you fall asleep.
Corbeau will lecture you about not bringing your own jacket while he wraps you up in his. The inside lining is soft and silky. He told you it would be cold, he says, but he can’t be too mad when you look so cute wearing his. It lets everyone know you’re with him.
Ivor doesn’t wear a jacket… but if you’re someone who gets cold easily, never fear! He keeps a blanket in his bag just for you. It has a print of your favorite Pokémon on it.
Grisham will happily let you take his jacket. Buttons it up for you with a smile. It’s already warm from his own body heat, and the smell of coffee is practically ingrained into the fabric. You’ll find some Pokémon treats in the pocket, and Charizard will beg you for some.
Az’s jacket is custom-made for him, so there’s no dream of it ever fitting you… He’ll still lend it to you if you want, though. It’s rough and well loved, and probably the most comfortable thing you’ve ever worn. The sleeves practically hang down to your knees. He’ll help you roll them up so you can still use your hands.
Summary: biker!azriel decides to take you on a smooth ride to his special spot for a little special fun👀
Warnings: 18+, SMUT, MDNI, biker!az, biker!azriel, modern au, dirty talk, semi public, fingering, clit play, vibration, squirting, praising, teasing, dating app, hook up, slight dom&sub, slight marking, he owns a bike & unfortunately also your self control
This wasn’t the first date. Nor the second. It was the sixth date between you and Azriel. When you downloaded that god-awful dating app your friends had you get, you never expected to match with someone so mysterious yet gentle in unexpected ways.
A quiet blade sheathed in silk.
However, what wasn’t quiet was the rumbling motorcycle engine beneath you two as he drove toward the lookout spot.
His secret, special spot. Azriel mentioned it to you through texts and the thought of something so secretive to him enticed you. Of course, you said yes.
“Closer—“
A demanding tone. Yet it held a sense of carefulness to it. You scooted yourself closer to the male. Your arms locked around his waist tighter while he leaned into the final turn like he trusted the road itself.
The bikes roar simmered as he came to an easy stop. Placing both boots flat on the ground, turning his head to look at you. “Wow… Az, this is breathtaking…” A mere whisper fluttering through your lips as you took the scene in.
From the cliff, the city lights gleamed brightly in the distance, and the stars twinkled ever so perfectly above both of you.
“Isn’t it?”
His voice purring lowly, sending a shiver down your spine as you stared over at him. But Azriel? He was looking at you. Drinking in your beauty. The view that was simply you.
“It’s so sweet of you to bring me here…”
You felt the apples of your cheeks shade into a deep crimson. His intense gaze burning into yours. And for a moment you felt your heartbeat pick up. Perhaps the one between your legs as well.
A sly smirk twitched onto his lips as he hopped off the bike and onto the gravel road. Leaving you straddled on it. “You deserve it. A special spot for a special girl-“
Butterflies filled your belly. So sweet yet so damn smooth. You felt yourself staring at the handsome man, getting lost in those hazel eyes of his. But Azriel? He was doing the same, yet the amber specks were slowly darkening. “W-what? What is it?”
A breath. A tension growing between you both. Feeling a pull to him. That same sly smirk only seemed to spread wider across his features.
“Every time I look at you…I want to touch you…”
So smooth yet again. Warmth ran throughout your entire body as he brushed some of your hair behind your ear. Fuck it. He was gentleman enough. It had been a few dates. You needed him. Fucking craved him.
“Then… touch me.”
The whisper hardly left your mouth before you felt his soft lips slam to yours. His body pressing firm and tightly against your own while his other hand gripped your waist tightly.
Heated. The kiss was instantly turning into one of seduction. Azriel repositioned you, turning you to face him as you sat on the bike. The vibration from the engine only building up that arousal between your legs more so.
“God— I’ve been waiting to taste you.” He growled, his hand snaking down from your cheek to your breast. Firmly grasping it before slipping lower to the hem of your flowy sundress.
You smiled through the kiss. “And? How do I taste?” Teasing Azriel, a small groan emitted low from his throat. “Absolutely sensational.” He husked into your mouth, his hand now massaging the inside of your thigh.
A soft little whimper slipped through your lips, only giving him that approval even more. He traced over your dampened lace panties. “Got you soaked already, hm?”
That damn domineering tone. You managed a breathy “yes—“ before he yanked your panties to the side. Taking his pointer finger and running it along your slit to tease you.
Your breath hitched as he moved his mouth down to your jaw, kissing until he got to the delicate side of your neck. “You gonna be a good girl for me, beautiful?” Again, you gave a quick and eager head nod.
With that, Azriel thrusted two fingers inside of you. The cool feeling of his silver rings only adding onto the pleasurable sensation. “F-fuck!” you cried out while he smirked against your subtle skin.
“You can’t control yourself, can you? Feels too good already?”
He chuckled under his breath before pulling his head back to stare into those submissive eyes of yours. “So good, Az— fuck. You really know what you’re doing.”
“I know I do.”
His thick fingers moved in such ways that it could only be described as otherworldly. A come here motion with both of them before he stretched his thumb out to press on your swollen little bud.
All the sensations were making you melt for the male. But what was really getting you now? When Az reached over with his free hand, twisting the throttle which only made the seat vibrate harder. The motorcycle purring along with you.
“You like feeling the bike's vibration while I finger fuck this slit?” He asked as your body jolted, a sea of moans effortlessly slipping through your now swollen lips.
Again, you nodded eagerly. Euphoric sensations only rising more so. “Y-yes. I do- god it feels— fuck!- it feels so good—“
A mess. You were slowly becoming a mess for Azriel. God did he adore this sight of you. And this was just some foreplay. Nothing crazy. But god, you couldn’t even imagine how great the sex would be with him.
“You feel how close you are to cummin’ from just my fingers? Imagine my cock-“
Azriel moved his head swiftly, dropping his lips back to the crook of your neck. Kissing, biting, and sucking as he pleased. Leaving his mark on his new beautiful conquest. You.
“God— I’m really close. Really fucking close.” Your entire body started to quiver. But the biker used that same free hand to twist the throttle yet again. The vibration from revving up the engine sending you right over the edge.
“I know, sweetheart, I know… That’s a good girl- Fuck— cummin’ on my fingers like that.”
Az talked you through an intense and pleasurable orgasm. His darkened gaze falling to watch as your juices squirted out onto his hand and rings. Drenching the saddle of his bike.
Once you started to catch your breath, you felt your eyes flicker between his. Heart racing as the tension grew. “Az, that was—“ Your words cut off when suddenly bright headlights were zooming in your direction.
“Fuckin’ Hell! Hop on, babygirl-“
Low and demanding yet again, you quickly obeyed. listening to him as you adjusted yourself. Both of you repositioned on the motorcycle before he took off.
Some random people were driving around the spot. You didn’t want them to see anything. And Az? He didn’t want anyone to see you in such a vulnerable position. Because that was only for his eyes.
Possessive and jealous already, though he wouldn’t say that aloud. Not yet at least. He craved you like no other. And even though he didn’t get to feel your walls stretch around his cock tonight, he knew he would soon. Especially hearing the little noises you made for him.
But getting this little teaser? Fuck it made his imagination run wild until the next time he’d see you…
Ahhh first biker!az fic🥹 love making au’s come to life! Hope yall enjoyed this one, plenty more to comeee
Idk why I keep thinking about this so much but I keep imagining a Pokemon Legends ZA fic where the reader gets attacked and put in the hospital. Mainly because the more I learn about the cast, the more I feel like they would all basically throw hands with whoever did it. At least if the reader is their partner. They are all feral Frenchmen and I love that.
I mean Corbeau would legit be out for blood. Not only would he have the resources to kill a bitch, running an entire crime syndicate and all, but this man might be 3 apples tall but you cannot convince me that he wouldn't absolutely pummel someone for his s/o. His partner would probably have to pull him off of them so he doesn't have to deal with the paperwork of covering up a murder. Also Philippe, for as stern and supportive as he is to the player, would absolutely break that attacker too. He's still a part of the Rust Syndicate and definitely has the brawn to do it, just look at him. 👀
Griselle would also need to be held back lol. She’s got a hot temper on a good day, so if someone actually hurt her s/o? Enough to hospitalize them?? Ohhhh she would absolutely wreck that mf the first chance she got. Grisham might be more of a quiet rage, but it’s still rage nonetheless. He’d probably get this really dark intimidating look and you would be able to tell how pissed off he is from the way he talks alone. He’d be more strategic about it than Griselle might, but the second he has the opportunity he’s putting that dude in the hospital too.
And honestly, I feel like AZ would also get surprisingly violent. He’s decently well-adjusted by the time of the game, but if someone really hurt the person he cares about? I feel like there would be biblical levels of rage in his heart. Even if the reader isn't his partner but instead a member of Team MZ, which is basically like being his adopted grandkid, he would throw hands either way. He’d be planning it out very carefully (probably) but he’d still be swinging, and good luck trying to hold back a 9 foot tall giant. Not to mention Floette with that Light of Ruin move… there would definitely be a missing person case popping up in the Lumiose newspapers.
Also like,, Jacinthe can absolutely ruin a person’s life if they mildly piss her off. If someone put her s/o in the hospital she’d probably have a hitman on them by tomorrow afternoon. And Lebanne would also be out for blood too, she’d beat that guy until she is physically dragged off of him. The soft, polite maid persona is coming right off, so... RIP, I guess.
Admittedly I don’t know as much about Ivor but if something ever did spur him to attack someone,, that person would be unconscious from the first punch and on life support by the sixth. I know he’s kind of an airhead but if someone did hospitalize his partner than I really doubt he’d be remotely calm about it, you know? Aside from AZ and maybe Philippe, Ivor is probably the most physically imposing character here, so that attacker is going to be regretting their life choices real fucking fast.
Honestly the only ones that I can see as not wanting to attack this guy are Lida, Naveen and Gwynn but like,, even then, man. Do you think that Canari would stream his ass beating?
Apologies if this is a little OOC, I sadly haven’t completed the game yet but I’ve watched enough playthroughs and read enough fanfiction to get the basic vibe of some of these characters (hopefully 😓)
Sometimes, when they can't sleep at night, they simply watch you sleep. Your lives are beyond stressful, full of endless twists and turns. In the right lighting, they are starting to notice early signs of aging; from you staring to gain a few stray grey hair to a small wrinkle by your left eye.
They see them as battle scars you have earned.
The quiet of night gives them to fall in love with your beauty over again. Your sleepy smile during dreams makes their heart flutter. Your hands are so small and delicate, yet they seem to cradle everyones problems like it is all air. Somehow, you make plain cotton t-shirts look like ballgowns.
Just what did they do to deserve your love?
ღ Gojo, Choso, Yuki, Russia, Prussia, Keith, Lotor, Xiao, Arlecchino, Navia, Stein, AZ, N
I love your work, and I’ve been creeping on your master list and it’s so good 😭❤️❤️❤️… pls do one with Azriel and AFAB reader who finds out first that they’re true mates but says nothing at all, too scared that he’ll reject her cause he’s in love with Elain and she witnesses the whole necklace gifting/almost kiss between them and runs away, tries to avoid both of them for days and gets sick or injured or something and that’s when Az realizes it too and smut ensues 🫶😭❤️
Since You Have A Lover
pairing : azriel x afab!reader
warnings: angst babe, torture too (oops👀🤣), not proofread, swearing, probs typos, mild smut at the end, testing out the longer fics and then we’re gonna figure out if longer or shorter is better 🫣
thank you for the request bean! i switched it up a little to add some much needed angst but i’m so happy you’ve been enjoying 💗💗
oh and…educate a girl. wtf is afab?👀 respectfully ofc
—
Deep breaths and a lowered gaze is how you make it through family dinners as your stomach lurches uncomfortably.
The feeling never got easier, even after months of enduring the debilitating emotions that ensued from watching your mate love another.
It’s instinctual to be jealous—to compare yourself to Elain when Azriel refused to tear his eyes away. He was supposed to be your equal and yet the longer dinner went on with overhearing their hushed conversation and not-so-sneaky touches under the table; you felt anything but suitable in comparison.
Drowning those thoughts is surprisingly easy, a plethora of wine bottles are scattered about the table and not a single person bats an eye when you snatch one up for yourself. They’re too caught up in each other to realize you’ve slipped away; abandoning the suffocating love that permeated from every direction besides your own.
Fresh air helps a little, the stolen bottle of wine aiding in keeping you warm from the unforgiving nighttime chill. Eventually the cool bite doesn’t send shivers down your spine and you barely even flinch when bare skin meets cold stone, your gaze dipping down to lively town below.
Time moves too quickly as the observer, seconds bleeding into minutes until hours have passed and the bottle has nothing left to offer. There’s a brief moment where your foggy brain contemplates the effort it would take to retrieve another when your solitude is broken.
Two bodies burst through the balcony doors on the furthest side, mostly concealed by trees and flowers but you’d recognize those wings anywhere. A hand smacks over your mouth to conceal any sound, body freezing in place as you witness Azriel press Elain into the wall, his hands cradling the sides of her face lovingly.
A part of you shatters when you catch that sparkle in his eye, the eagerness in his movement to have her closer until her cheeks go flush and thick lashes flutter closed in preparation for the sweet kiss Azriel is sure to grant her.
You’re unable to stomach another moment and neither of them even flinch when you shuffle from your spot and make a bee-line for the exit. Tears cloud your vision, shoulders shaking and steps unsteady as you all but run through the halls, darting up the stairs and colliding right into another body. “Oh,” The startled sound is all but whimpered out of you and red eyes and splotchy cheeks are the first thing Nesta sees as you look up. “Gods, I’m sorry.” You scramble to your feet, retrieving the book she’d dropped in the collision. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching here I was going.”
“That’s not like you.”
A weak smile quirks at the corner of your mouth, unbound hair in unruly strands down your shoulders. “I’m not quite myself at the moment.”
Nesta hums in response, slender arms crossing over her chest and the fabrics of her nightgown shifts with the motion. Her gaze is scrutinizing, picking apart the truth from the lies and you’re infinitely grateful that she doesn’t call you out on your state of disarray. “Want me to walk you to your room?”
“No.” You whisper, hastily wiping your cheeks and attempting to smooth down stray hairs and wrinkled silks. “No, I think I’m going to go for a walk instead. I could use the fresh air.”
“It’s three in the morning.”
Nesta's neck cranes, slowly turning on the balls of her feet as you swiftly slip past her and make way for your chambers. Perhaps, it's the defeated slump of your shoulders that catches Lady Death's attention; that emptiness in your eyes that couldn't even be filled by the overflowing tears that stained your cheeks.
She considers waking Cassian--he always was better equipped to handle the emotions of others but you're already gone, disappearing behind the door without even saying goodnight. Something about the interaction forces her to linger, smutty book long forgotten as she waits to see you creep out that same room ten minutes later.
You're dressed to better accommodate the weather now. Thick leathers insulating body heat while subconsciously providing much needed compression--the tight fabric mimics comfort in its attempt to hold together the broken bits of you shoved inside.
Nesta's lips part, a million possible words resting at the tip of her tongue but you're quick to intercept, tone numb and alarmingly empty. "Don't wait up."
--
Being alone was supposed to be relaxing.
Distracting, at the very least.
But, all you could feel was the cool prickle of awareness at the back of your neck the whole time you sat at the edge of the mountains that overlooked the Sidra. Each time you'd slow your breathing and attempt to regulate the unusual beat of your heart with the captivating view of Velaris at night. While most were inside, the homes that resided there were full of life; lights glowing golden through their windows, laughs ebbing through the woodwork and creating a sense of serenity that refuses to wash over you as well.
Eyes narrow, shoulders squaring and fingers twitch for the sharp daggers strapped to your thighs. The thick trees you’d come through seems far less attractive now, branches craning out like grabbing hands with gaps of murky darkness that resembled giant mouths waiting to swallow you up. “Nesta?”
The chuckle that breaks through the clearing is anything but feminine. “Not quite.”
It happens too fast--the hand that smacks over your mouth to mute the startled scream that rips free. You push against the solid wall of a body stationed behind you, attempting to sway his stability in order to break free but a sharp sting in your neck renders you still.
The burn that follows is instant and before you can stop it, the unforgiving darkness becomes all you know.
--
The palpable tension at breakfast is suffocating.
Azriel's seething brood casts angsty shadows along his strong build, creating a visible wall between himself and his High Lord after the stern conversation he was forced into the night before. It runs on repeat in the shadow singers mind, the order given to back off on his affections towards the middle Archeron sister.
It seems cruel. A sick form of punishment that Azriel can't quite wrap his mind around because who was really in charge of the tragectory of his life? Azriel ? Or his High Lord?
The mere thought has his teeth grinding in silent contempt, his gaze flickering around the table before landing on the bare spot directly across from him. His brows furrow, confusion briefly sweeping away the rage as he considers the time--your usual schedule and the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. "Where is she?"
A brief pause, the casual conversation slowing to a halt until Azriel catches a glimpse of something on Nesta's face--a strain of guilt he'd seen a million times on a trillion different faces. "Left earlier this morning." Polished silverware scrapes at fine china, pushing aside food that her body refuses to indulge in. "Said she was going for a walk."
Discontentment settles into Azriel's bones--a feeling he struggles to understand and Nesta's answer only exasperates the unsteady sensation.
"In this weather?" Grey clouds are thick in the sky, shades of slate and granite completely masking the sun as relentless rains pour down from above. "When was this?"
"Around three."
Cassian swears lowly from beside his mate, a sturdy hand resting at her shoulders but the regret lacing his features speaks plenty about the decision to stay quiet for so long. It was too dangerous, especially after the last few meetings Rhys had with Kier in Hewn. Change took time and the Steward and his men were complaining about that change taking too long. Hateful words were thrown in the name of the people of Hewn City and how they had desires too; dreams of a better world for themselves and their children but the High Lord’s better judgement rose question to the other consequences that could arise from giving what they were asking for. "Ness that was nearly eight hours ago."
The screech of Azriel's chair draws attention, a sudden boost of fuel being injected in his veins. "Did she tell you where she was going exactly?"
Nesta’s tone turns into vitriol, a subconscious reaction to the guilt that gnawed at her bones for not seeking for you sooner after finding you in your state. The reminder of tears streaming down your face flashes behind her eyelids; the choppiness of your words through labored breathing. How desperately you’d attempted to wrangle it together just long enough to make it to your room and suddenly the eldest Archeron feels that familiar uselessness creep beneath her skin. “She didn’t leave me a map with a drawn out route—she just said she needed air.”
“While crying?” It wasn’t intentional, Rhysand seeing the flash of memory that Nesta had unknowingly projected; her mental walls caving for just a fraction of a minute before the iron doors had regained their formidable security. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Silverware clatters against the table, staining table linen in strawberry jam but no one seems to give a shit when the severity of the situation behinds to settle over the room. Nesta runs a hand against the material of her dress, smoothening out wrinkles and creases in order to avoid all of the eyes settling over her face. “I was just going to the library to read and we bumped into each other. She came from the balcony—I offered to walk her to her room but she just…” A sigh pulls free, jaw setting tightly. “I let her go.”
“Nesta.” Feyre’s slow shake of her head holds enough disappointment to have Nesta’s shoulders squaring on the defensive.
“I’m not some evil bitch, I waited up!” She seethes, the beginnings of those silver flames lapping at the steely grey of her eyes but the fight within isn’t truly directed towards Feyre or anyone else but herself. Because she’d felt the exact moment that you walked from the doors and winnowed away, that she’d made a grave mistake. Nesta’s shoulders sag, fingers bunching unforgivingly into the inky linen cloth until she felt the tips of her nails digging into the polished mahogany underneath. “I waited.”
Azriel’s already out of the room without a word.
He didn’t have a right to shame her because Azriel had a feeling he knew what sent you running.
His teeth grind together when thinking back to the night before when he and Elain had scuffled off onto the balcony at the witching hour; hoping their sins would be shielded by the dark cast of night. Too caught up in one another to consider another already occupying the space.
And, no matter how many times Azriel brushed his fingertips over the soft curve of Elain’s cheeks or vyed for a fleeting touch when passing in the hallways—the kiss he thought he wanted lacked the spark he was sure would flicker to life when lips grazed.
He’d pulled away so abruptly, brows furrowing in a stark line discontentment that was visible to anyone with eyes and then he heard the broken whimper of a gasp.
It’s been too easy to pass it off as Elain and far easier for him to forget about it altogether after Rhysand had found an embarrassed Elain rushing back to her room with flushed cheeks and an unsteady gait. He’d never heard his brother shout so loud, the veins in his neck protruding as he ordered Azriel to never even look her way again. That if a quick fuck in the dead of the night was what he desired then Azriel should wander along the cobblestone streets of Velaris and find himself a suitable pleasure house and pay for it.
The words act as fuel, Azriel’s senses working on overdrive; shadows scrying for information faster than ever before until they’d returned with something he could work with.
Dropped neatly in his palms were the cool steel of your twin blades that never left the secure holsters forever strapped to your thighs.
And they were soaked in your blood.
—
You recognized the suffocating dank smell that tended to fester when stuffed so far beneath the earth—the perfect dungeon.
One you’d been in countless times before, wearing that shadowy mask of indifference when masquerading as the soulless monster that became necessary to survive while in Hewn City. It took decades of assistance by Azriel’s side; an apprentice of sorts when the bounds of your affections had just begun testing its limits—wondering to see just how far you’d go just to be near him.
To get him to notice you. Your mate. Yours. Yours.
All of that seems so foolish now. Insignificant compared to the dire situation you’d found yourself entangled in.
Sharp twinges of pain throb up your neck, aches settling in from the uncomfortable position and it’s a strain when you shift in attempts to take in your surroundings. Fear lurches in your chest when your hands don’t move, restrained by chains that had you hung up like a prized hog after a fresh hunt.
Not good. Not good. Not good. So, not good.
“I always did love that look.” Immediately your spine goes ramrod straight, fingers clenching into fists over the cool bite of the chains as that voice washed over you like a bucket of water. Refreshing on your own terms and a horrible wake up call when it wasn’t. “When panic shifts into realization—truly a sight worth capturing. Especially when attached to such a delicate disposition.”
Delicate?
You’d never once used that word in ordinance to yourself.
Hearing it now, under such circumstances makes your heart lurch, it’s beat untamed against your ribcage and it takes every bit of strength left to smooth that look of utter calm across your features. “Come a little closer, let me show you how sweet I can get.”
The underlying threat is easily palpable and Kier is wise not to follow the bait; aware of the wounded animals ability to put up a considerable fight and he’s too coward to brawl fairly. “As tempting as that is, it won’t be me who plays with you tonight.” Your teeth bare into a snarl, pure promise rumbling from your chest and the sound encourages a chuckle from the male.
He’s not close enough to injure; to swing the brunt of your weight around for a well-timed kick that you knew would disable long enough to figure a way out of these damn restraints. But even with the distance between you, the resemblance between this male and Mor was striking. She’d inherited the shape of his lips, even if the words she spoke were far sweeter than the shit spewed from her predecessor. More similarities are spotted during your scrutinizing evaluation of him; the line of his nose, the shade of his hair, the confident air that oozed from his form—no matter how misplaced it was.
“I’ll kill anyone who dares lay a finger on me.”
“So much fight in you,” Kier all but croons, his eyes raking across your body in a way that was less than savory. “I can’t wait to see how long it lasts.”
Breathe.
Years of training beside the spymaster had prepared you for this very moment and it’s easier to drift back into the memory of just another session; before things had gotten so complicated and he’d just been a friend eager to teach if you were willing to learn. Countless times you’d been in a similar situation—you, waking up tied up to some chair with ropes securing every possible joint in place and Azriel would leave you there as long as it took for you to figure your way out of it.
Allow the thrum of your heart be the beat that keeps you focused.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Relax and take in your surroundings. Notice things no one else thinks is important because that could be the one thing that keeps you from an untimely death.
The cell wasn’t very large, four stone walls covered in grime and mildew with just enough space for two grown men to fit semi-comfortably. No windows. One door with a thin slot at the top large enough for two eyes to peer inside. No fire. No light. No warmth. No breeze, just stale, dank air that tasted of iron when your breathed in too deep.
Just stay alive long enough to get help.
“What do you want from me?”
Kier inhales a greedy breath, his chest expanding in the ornate armor worn. It glistens even with no light—proving that even with his privileged title, he was never the one who got his hands dirty. “Many things,” He finally confessed, the words airy and nonchalant. He’s too cocky. Too comfortable. “But first, I want you to tell me about the Cursebreakers sisters.” He dares a step closer, arms crossed casually behind his back as a dark look begins to worm its way into his eye. “I want you to tell me everything you know about the Made ones and the power they stole from the Cauldron.”
Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.
Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.
Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A smile works its way across his face—one so familiar it taints good memories with its stain. “I hoped you’d say that.” Kier walks past, the smell of his cologne burning your nostrils and you couldn’t imagine ever smelling tobacco and ash, bergamot and oakmoss without gagging ever again.
One knock on the thick steel door and slender male with hair like soot and eyes like a raven enters.
Your face remains a blank slate. Even as you take in the rubber material of his apron and the sturdy material of his leather boots. Well used gloves cover his hands and tucked under his left arm is a rawhide holder filled to the brim with all kinds of terrifying treats.
Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.
“Who are you?”
He takes his sweet time answering. Making a show of neatly setting down the holder and undoing the braided leather straps holding it in place. “You can call me the Butcher—everyone else does.”
“How original.” A thick swallow to quell the nerves; to shove away the shake that threatened to disturb your carefully curated cadence. The chains rattle as you shift, the tips of your toes just barely skimming the cool ground beneath you but not quite enough to relieve your wrists of the burden of bearing the entirety of your weight. “Well, Butcher—come make yourself useful and loosen my chains, will you? It’s starting to chafe a bit.”
His head shakes in his denial, barely acknowledging the departing Steward and the heavy thud of the shutting door—a lock sliding into place. “You don’t really want me to do that.” For donning such a threatening title, the Butcher is deceivingly soft-spoken. It sends your nerves into a fritz, triggering your fight or flight and for the first time since your eyes had opened and the darkness had waned; that delicately woven web of control slips from your grasp. “If you’re as stubborn as I think you are,” The sharp ring of metal twangs through the air and in his grasp is a perfectly polished knife a little too curved to be considered a scalpel. “You’ll need something to hold onto. It helps with the pain…for a time.”
Breathe.
“Then let’s just get this over with, shall we?”
Butcher chuckles low under his breath, full lips concealed by an ever fuller beard—the only thing about him that wasn’t perfectly trim and proper. “Not a fan of foreplay?”
Fingers curl around the cool bite of thick chains, your chest rising and falling in a steady pattern as you began to dissociate. An attempt to keep your mind as protected as possible from whatever was to come. “I’m more of a rip-the-bandaid kind of girl.”
Death clings to the pristinely polished rubber of his apron, the creak of his gloves filling the space as worn fingers ready around the hilt of his weapon. “You know,” Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. Disappear off into that numb place deep, deep within your mind. Ignore the bite of the blade poking around already sensitive wounds. “Under entirely different circumstances, I think I might’ve actually liked you.”
The switch flips so fast—too fast for you to catch but it’s impossible to miss the devastating burn that ripples through you as flesh is severed, muscle flayed and so, so much blood spilled.
It’s hard to keep track of how much time passes down here without access to windows and you’re certain that it’s intentional, aiding in the psychological aspect of their torture.
Relax and take in your surroundings. Notice things no one else thinks is important because that could be the one thing that keeps you from an untimely death.
The masculine baritone of Azriel’s teachings repeated like a mantra in your mind until it becomes the only thing distracting you from the sound of your flesh tearing, your blood drip, drip, dripping a misshapen puddle beneath you.
You force yourself to keep conscious, mentally noting anything your eyes are able to latch onto. Insignificant things; ebony hair, umber skin, a brand burned into the middle of Butcher’s left wrist in a symbol half-obscured by his gloves.
There’s a block on your powers, not quite faebane in its most lethal dose but paired with the wards humming against the walls, you knew using magic wouldn’t be an option for you. “Tell me about the Made ones and I can stop.”
“I don’t know anything.”
Just stay alive long enough to get help.
“You live there with them,” Butcher goads, crooked teeth exposed when gritted into that grimace of a sneer. Leather creaks under the playful twist of his wrist, the sharpened blade carving at muscle and obliterating sinew until you swear it reaches bone. “You share drink and food, you fight beside them in battle and you expect us to believe that secrets aren’t shared as well?” Every breath is ragged, a sheen of sweat coating your skin and unruly hair sticks to the curve of your neck. “Tell me what you know before I decide to get a little more creative in my methods.”
“Even if I did know anything, why the hell would I tell you? What would Hewn scum do with such knowledge?”
Your words have nicked a nerve, robbing the Butcher of that soft-spoken charm and replacing it with something more sinister. “You say the same thing to that bastard Illyrian you’re always seen around?”
A brow quirks, furrowing ever so slightly as it became more and more apparent that this was more than some spur of the moment kidnapping. Their questions, the desire to keep you immobile and battered but not enough to render you unconscious—not enough to be fatal. For whatever reason, they needed you alive and judging by the desperation that claws its way to the edges of Butchers voice, his curses and demands falling on deaf ears as your mind runs on overdrive to accumulate all the information you could before it was too late.
Each breath grows more labored, lashes fluttery and thick with exhaustion but just when it feel like too much—when you feel like giving up and succumbing to the sweet oblivion.
The rake of talons brushes against your mental walls. A cautious prod, testing your durability and utter relief washes over you when that feline lilt floods your consciousness. “We’re coming, just stay awake.”
The syllables barely reach your ears, sound faded by the obnoxious ringing that refused to subside—a side affect from all the fucking screaming and shouting. Swears slurring together the longer you snapped at the male before you, knees jerking and wounds barking in agony when the heel of your foot smashes so hard into his nose, his skull caves in; limp body dropping to the floor with a thud.
It’s all the strength you have in you and the death-grip you have around the chains is released all at once. Time moves in slow motion as you dangle there, vision darkening at the edges and that thrum of your heartbeat loud enough to distract you anymore. “Rhys they want— they want…”
So much blood oozes from your wounds, drenching your leathers all the way through and you were definitely feeling the affects. Your vision blurs, lids going lazy with just enough time to hear that voice—Azriel’s voice bellowing your name. “Stay alive.” He mutters over and over and over when he’s finally reached you, adrenaline pumping so high that he breaks the chains from their bolt with nothing more than his bare hands. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare fucking die on me.”
You swear you try to obey the command, desiring nothing more than to keep Azriel's attention after finally being front and center in it. But it just felt so safe held in his grasp, tucked so close to his chest while he rids you of your restraints and applies pressure to gaping wounds.
All you wanted was one second. If you closed your eyes just for a second to gather your wits then you'd wake up and everything would be okay.
It sounds like a good idea-- so good that you allow the peace to wash over you like a cool tide washing over the shore in the early days of the burning summer; ignoring the desperate shouts from a vignette of voices that fades in the background like the haunting final notes of a song.
—
Confusion crashes at you in unforgiving waves, memories --or were they dreams?-- flash behind your lids with each blink. A dull throb pounds behind your lids, aggravating your mental shields to the point where you feel them wobble with each breath.
"You should stay still." Azriel's saying without giving you time to clear through the dense fog plaguing your mind. Instead, he busies his hands with fussing over your blankets, carefully tucking bare toes and pressing a five finger grip on your sternum when you attempt to rise from the soft cushion of a mattress that certainly did not belong to you. "It took Madja a while to get you all stitched up. Are you in pain? She left ointments and a few tinctures."
He's graceful enough not to mention the owlish blink of your eyes and their befuddled examination of his room until the crackly rasp of your voice cuts through the space; both of you refusing to address the elephant in the room. "My head hurts a little."
"Yeah," Shadows fuss with warm rags, sweeping it over your forehead and dabbing it along your cheeks while others occupy themselves with filling a glass of water to offer. "Rhys will be by later to apologize for that, I'm sure."
Your brows furrow deeply, nose scrunching when you sip your water. "Apologize for what?"
"You were in distress. We thought you were going to--" Azriel abruptly cuts himself off, fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Rhys went in your mind, said that before you'd gone unconscious that you were trying to tell him something that seemed urgent enough to bypass the usual request to wait for permission."
Your heart begins to pick up speed in your chest and suddenly the desire to rise from this bed and run away was becoming horribly intense. Legs shift under the weight of a duvet that didn't belong to you, attempting to hide the way your sore muscles sink into the overwhelming scent of night-chilled mist. "Okay...and what did he see?"
"He saw you get taken," Azriel turns his back to you, expertly avoiding your eyes but the nervous energy buzzing off his skin was unmistakable. "He watched them carve you up and torture you for information about Nesta and Elain." The stabilizing breath he takes shakes his shoulders, the strong line of muscle barely concealed by the tight stretch of his leathers--leathers still stained in the blood of those who'd spilled yours, no doubt. "Rhys said that you didn't say a word. You didn't give them a thing."
"That's good, right?" A pillow is fluffed behind you, shadows doting on every need. "Then, why do you sound so upset?"
"Why do I sound so upset?" Azriel cruelly mocks, his aurate gaze positively smoldering with rage when they land on you. "Because, you almost died! You almost died in my fucking arms before I ever got the chance to—. What the hell were you thinking?"
The beating you'd endured does nothing to quell your fiery spirit, eyes lighting with life and lips running a mile a minute—too fast for your logical brain to keep up with. "I was thinking that they wanted information on your precious, little girlfriend." You all but spit out, childishly pushing away the comfort the duvet from your legs as you attempt to shuffle from Azriel's bed without disturbing the tight wrap of your bandages. Why the hell were you in here anyway? "I was thinking that maybe, it'd be easier for them to fucking butcher me rather than watch what would happen to you if it were Elain there in my place."
Silence stretches along the hardwood floor, cloaking up the length of the walls and muting out the low crackle of the fireplace; its flame gentle and calm in the midst of an emotional storm. "I almost wish you would've let it be her." Azriel fills the void, finally mustering up the courage to face you. "I could've survived that and whatever consequences came along with it because my mate takes precedence above all."
Just like that, all the spitfire you’d prepared in retaliation absolutely dissipates after hearing those two words. “Your mate.”
Azriel doesn’t confirm with words. Instead, he searches inside for the humming gold thread wrapped taut around his ribs, just above his heart and pulls. Fucking yanking at it with all his might and something sparkles in his eye when your body jerks in retaliation.
“You know?”
“How long have you known?”
Your heartbeat hammers against your ribcage, threatening to carve out a hole if that’s what it took to get to its other half. “A while.”
“And you’ve said nothing.” He says, tone sounding almost defeated. “Why wouldn’t you have said anything?”
“Because, Az,” The shadows have seized their tireless caretaking, sliding back into place beside their master as you lose the ability to accept the tender affection. “You wouldn’t have chosen me. Not before Mor and certainly not before Elain.” You’re quick to bristle over that part, not leaving any room for the spymaster to interrupt no matter how expressive his face became. “Besides, the bond is a choice not a burden and that’s what it would’ve been for you if I spoke up about it.” Pure determination is what allows you to bear the brunt of your weight , willing yourself to appear strong in the face of the male who could render you to cinders if he so pleased. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d really like to shower the dungeon smell off of me.”
A childish whine of a noise is ripped from your throat when Azriel huffs out a breath, murmuring something about you being stubborn as hell before carefully picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom. It's embarrassing, a furious blush burning at the apples of your cheeks as he starts the shower, adjusts the temperature and slowly sets you down. "Thank you for that but you don't have to do this. I can handle cleaning myself."
"You can barely stand on solid ground on your own."
"I'll manage."
"I know. What I'm saying is that you don't have to." You nearly faint on the spot when Azriel crouches down in front of you, his hands shaky but sure when unlatching the difficult ties of your fighting leathers. His teeth grit together when the fabric is loosened and carefully worked down your thighs, over your knees and tugged away from your ankles. "Just let me help."
Azriel is nothing short of respectful, you notice. He doesn't sneak salacious peeks at the endless expanse of bare skin that he exposes. Doesn't once mention the tremble of your breath or the way your fingers seem to bite into the flesh of his arms whenever a new article of clothing is removed and dropped to the floor. Even after he's eased you into the shower stream; standing before him, perfectly presented on a soaking wet platter—he keeps his eyes trained on your face.
Shadows thicken over sensual bits, providing a shield between you and the male diligently applying soap to rag. Each drag of the slightly rough material against your skin releases a tension you hadn’t noticed you’d been carrying and all you can do is watch as he rids your skin of the thick film left behind when magic was used to clear away muck.
Eons must past before words are spoken, a this time Azriel is more intentional when he chooses them--more intimate when he relays them. "I'd always hoped for a mate. Ever since I was a boy and my mother told me stories about two halves scouring the world to finally become whole again." You're malleable under his care, pliant when he lifts your arms to scrub underneath and damn-near boneless when he turns you with slippery hands to slowly work the knots from your back. "I had always hoped that one day, I too, would find my equal." Azriel clears his throat, returning back from whatever memory he'd been sucked into but the massage doesn't stop; it only drags lower. "Then so much time had passed and I started to wonder if I couldn't find them because I wasn't being forward enough but that only lead to misplaced affections and unfulfillment."
"Azriel, I'm not sure if I really understand--"
"I felt something for you—something stronger than friendship but I pushed it away. I ignored it and looked elsewhere because I can bare not being as close with Mor and it’s as easy as breathing to never see Elain again but losing you—ruining the peace I feel when I’m with you would’ve broken me.”
Tears well in your eyes, a thickness welling in the back of your throat and your skin burns where his fingers touch, lingering near the dip of your back and just barely curling around the curve of your hips. “Az, you don’t have to say any of this to make me feel better. I just wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy.”
“Then, please don’t reject it.” His warmth ripples over every inch of you, your neck craning to make room for the forehead he helplessly drops in the crux of your shoulder. The perfect line of his nose drags along the curve of it, inhaling the soothing notes of your scent mixed with his body wash. “Don’t reject me—this is all I’ve ever wanted.” Finally his fingers curl around your hips, the grip gentle but oh, so claiming. “Can’t you feel it? This rightness.”
Raw emotion swims in the amber tones of Azriel’s eyes when you turn in his arms; searching within those rich shades to find any detection of a lie.
Not one reaches your radar.
The line of your vision drops, creeping down his nose until it fixates on the plush pink of his lips. Instinct takes over, offering a gentle nudge until the space between two is eaten up and breath becomes shared as a line was about to be crossed—a prophecy fulfilled.
When Azriel’s lips finally brush against yours, it’s like a coil snaps, unleashing an animal he hadn’t known existed. Sure, he had plenty of experience with childish crushes and boyish infatuation. But this, Cauldron, it nearly takes his breath away with its intensity—the burning desire that rips through his veins like a forrest fire.
One kiss bleeds into two hands desperate to acquaint themselves with your body until all that mattered was you, your spymaster and the sentient shadows protectively surrounding you both. “Azriel,” You all but keen in his ear, chest heaving and hips rolling into the hardness of him pressed against you.
“Mate.”
A whimper cuts through your throat, neck craning to make space for the perfect bruises he was sucking into the skin there. “I want you.”
“You have me,” He promises over the frantic beat of your heart, tongue laving over the soft fat of your breasts. “Even when my bones are rotting in the dirt, I’ll belong to you. My mate. Mine.”
nerdy shy med student azriel teaching you anatomy by fingering you and explaining everything like the little itty bitty nerd he is. you’re just writhing beneath him, going cross-eyed as he abuses your g-spot.
“Technically, this should… work, i mean— you should feel pleasure,” he murmured, half to himself, half to you. He was looking up at you with a blushy, shy expression as his fingers expertly pumped in and out.
“um, so, now i’m stimulating a point called the Gräfenberg spot, or g-spot.” he explained when you couldn’t talk back properly, all moany and fuzzy-brained.
“It refers to a erogenous area on the anterior vaginal wall and it typically makes women feel copious amounts of pleasure.” Azriel’s voice trembled a little as he adjusted his glasses.
“And if I put my thumb right here and rub,” he murmured, hesitating just a second as though double-checking a mental diagram, “you’ll feel even more… pleasure.”
He swallowed, eyes flicking up nervously before he continued, his voice trembling between curiosity and awe. “It’s called the clitoris. It has over eight thousand nerve endings — more than anywhere else on the female human body. It’s… actually the only organ made solely for pleasure.”
When he looked up once again, his face was bright red, pupils blown out and brows knotted in concentration. “Does it… feel good?” he swallowed hard, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth.
Being the youngest of two older sisters was hard. Too many mouth’s to feed, too many clothes to share, too little space to share… That was hard, so imagine what it was like to be the youngest of three older sisters, not that she was the youngest because she had been born with a few years between them, she was Feyre's twin, but as if fate had already marked her destiny, Feyre was the first one, and after a few agonizing moments where her life and her mothers life was in danger, she was born. With golden brown hair like all her sisters and blue gray eyes a little darker than usual, she was born into a family that didn’t want her.
Warnings !! Sexua1 abus3, disfunctional family except for Feyre and reader, negative thoughts.
Author note; I had this idea in my mind for a while but between school and life I never let myself sat to start writing this, so today when I finally decided to do it, I found myself unable to stop writing. This story is one full of love, deppression, tears and laughter. It isn't done, I need to start writing part 6 but I will upload them one by one. I'm not a psycologist to determine the pace of healing of a person and what has to be done to heal, this is a story where I let myself be Feyre's twin sister (it's written in 3rd person keep that in mind). I cried while writing this, it was just so heartbreaking for me to write... If you're not comfortable with any of this topics or you think your favorite character in this series isn't what you like, please, don't read this and forget this series exists. PS: English isn't my first language so I'm sorry for any misspelling.
Word count; 1004
Being the youngest of two older sisters was hard. Too many mouth’s to feed, too many clothes to share, too little space to share… That was hard, so imagine what it was like to be the youngest of three older sisters, not that she was the youngest because she had been born with a few years between them, she was Feyre's twin, but as if fate had already marked her destiny, Feyre was the first one, and after a few agonizing moments where her life and her mothers life was in danger, she was born. With golden brown hair like all her sisters and blue gray eyes a little darker than usual, she was born into a family that didn’t want her.
Now, that wasn’t exactly true. Nobody had expected their mother to have twins, but nobody had expected her to be pregnant after two babies, so Feyre and her had each other, born in the longest night of the year, Feyre was the sky on a winter night, while she was the light reflected on the snow.
Without knowing how to read or write, living in a cottage that was falling into pieces, and with a family that spent most time arguing and complaining, both sisters, obligated by their mother to take care of them, found ways to live in a world that wanted the contrary. At 19, Feyre had taken care of providing food and a few coins, while she had managed to find a job at the local tavern, earning two or three coins even though she worked from sunrise to sunset. Those two coins were for the family, to provide more food and clothes, while hidden in the drawer both of them shared, the other coins were placed in a little purse just for Feyre and her. Because she wanted to fly away. She wanted to run away from the family that had given her more anger and sadness than happiness, Feyre was the exception. She had always been and will always be, her twin sister, her twin flame, her heart.
But Feyre didn’t know where those few extra coins came from, nobody knew, that was her secret, one she had kept hidden since she started working there at the young age of 14. Between glasses of beer and alcohol, she would find herself underneath a drunken man, for her, she told herself every time the grunts and the rancid smell of his mouth filled the air, for Feyre she could do this. For Feyre, the only person in the world that had given her love and warm hug, for her she could do this, even if she was dying on the inside.
And she did.
She had been walking to their home, if that place could be called one, the coins clicking on her purse, today she had earned a few more coins, more men to attend and please. She had just walked the corner of the street when she saw the scene. Feyre was walking out of their home with a beast behind her, beast, animal, she didn't know it at that moment, not that it mattered, because when she locked eyes with her sister’s, she saw the goodbye on them. She was leaving.
“Feyre-” she whispered, afraid that if she raised her voice, the beast would do something to them.
“Please, don’t do this” Feyre begged.
“What? Feyre I don’t understand. What’s happening? What’s that thing?” Are you leaving me?
Feyre walked the few steps that were between them and the beast growled, but she didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t want to hear it. “I was hunting this morning- gosh I was desperate. We were running out of food, you were working on the tavern and when I saw it, when I saw the possibilities, the money that we could earn-”
“Feyre… What have you done?”
“I killed a fae.”
A fae.
Here.
“And now I have to go with them.”
And now I have to go with them.
Go.
Them.
Go.
She's leaving you behind.
She doesn’t care about you.
Her head was moving before her mind had fully recovered from the blow. Feyre was leaving. The only person she had cared for, the only person that had looked for her. She was leaving. And by the look on the beast's eyes, she was leaving for a long time. Forever.
“No. No, no, no, no, no, Feyre don’t please-” and before she knew it, she was crying. The tears she hadn’t dared let go when her mother died, the tears from the tavern, the tears from selling her body, she had kept them, guard them in a box and never let them out. But that box was now broken, and all the emotions and tears and fears were out like a storm. Her knees gave out and she fell to the ground, no pain came from it, she could only feel the pain in her heart. Feyre kneeled with her and with her slim arms, she hugged her sister. She hugged her back with a force she didn’t have. “Listen to me.” Feyre whispered into her head. “You have to live. Please. I’m not asking for more, I’m not asking you to take care of them, that has been taken care of. Now it’s your time, your’s. Live, sister.”
“I can’t, Feyre. I can’t do this without you.”
“Yes you can. Remember that you’re my twin, you’re half my heart and I love you so much.”
“Don’t go please… Please…”
“I love you.” I’m sorry.
Feyre untangled their limbs, and with a last look at her twin sister, she went to the horse waiting for them and walked away. She didn’t know what time it was, she didn’t care, not when the only bloodline she had cared for was now gone to another land, one of magic and cruel beasts.
She didn’t care.
Because Feyre was gone.
And now she had to live without her in a world that wanted her gone.
warnings: I wrote it on withdrawal, withdrawal symptoms, medicine dependency, angst?
divider by: @sister-lucifer
Note from when I was writing:
I ran out of my perscription meds, don't feel well and unable to think straight.
Symptoms are based on duolexitine withdrawal I am experiencing rn.
⛓️ Philippe 🌸
• Man is worried.
• You didn't wake up on your own today. At first he though It's cute how sleepy you are but he quickly realised something is wrong.
• He shook you awake after you didn't respond to him getting into the room.
• He blamed it on lack of coffee in your system and joked about you skipping the night
• But then he saw how shabbily you walk and stumble into furniture.
• He had to catch you so you don't fall.
• Instantly calls Corbeau to tell him he's not gonna be at work today.
• Considers calling an ambulance because as soon as you lay down you fall asleep.
• After shaking you awake the second time he notes that you look like you were either drunk or extremaly hangover.
• He gets you coffee and electrolytes.
• Frowns when you explain you had ran out from your meds.
• Once you squint because of spasms in your brain he holds your head close to his chest.
• Stays with you in bed until Corbeau barges in because 1) He's worried that he heard worry in Philippes tone, 2) He needs an explanation why his right hand decided to skip.
• Corbeau gets your meds. No matter the price. He explains it with the simple fact that he cannot affort for Philippe to be out of commision too long. But we all now he worries about both of you.
• Philippe refuses to let you leave the bed
• Also he gets spooked when you suddently start laughing then crying, wants to reassure you but then you tell him you have no idea what is happening either
• He makes a mental note not to let you run out ever again and checks how much you have left every day.
Corbeau🐛
• You never run out
• He tracks your perscriptions and has you on rust syndicate healthcare program
• If by some miracle you do run out, he gets you a refill in 15 minutes
• But let's say you run out long enough to feel the effects
• Corbeau realises something is wrong with you as soon as he sees you.
• You are unfocused, stumbling and seem to be in pain
• He instantly has you in bed
• And not in a sexual way
• "You are being rescued, please do not resist"
• Has Philippe guarding you when he goes get your meds (he will burn your psychiatrists ofgice later)
• If you experience weird mood swing thing he just holds you and kisses your head untill it's better.
• Let's you sleep. Checks your breathing to make sure you are alive.
• Wakes you up next day to give you your meds personally and insist you take it easy
🔥Grisham☕
• He as well is used to getting up before of you
• Although he doesn't track your meds
• Baby respects your privacy
• He falls into his usual routine of making you two coffee, getting ready for a day and waking you up
• Only then he realises something is wrong
• You don't wake up like you normally do
• He starts to panic and shakes you awake
• You don't register his panicked expression and just glance at him only to fall back asleep
• He panics even more, straight up yelling asking what is going on
• Once he finally gets you sitting he registers you eyes are unfocused
• You kiss him and stumble out of bed almost falling in the process, if not for him catching you.
• You explain to him you don't have your meds after drinking coffee
• Only that eases his panic a little and he starts sobbing slightly because not being able to wake you was scary
• Please reassure him.
• You start crying with him because you cannot process emotions in your state.
• He asks when you can get a refill and when you tell him doctor should give you perscriprion tommorow he nods
• Frequently asks how are you feeling and makes you stay in bed
• If you fall asleep expect charizard to nibble you to check if you are alive
• Makes sure you have proper meals and drink water
• Holds your head close to his chest if brain zaps get too harsh
🥋Ivor👊
• He wakes up at dawn to train usually waking you up in the process, but understands if you want to sleep longer and is not suprises when you stay in bed
• Oblivious to what is happening untill much later
• If you have uterus he will assume you are on your period
• Only realises something is really wrong when you get up and stumble
• Panic
• "Thanks for calling an ambulance" "We didn't call an ambulance, we drove you" "But I heard the siren-" "It was Ivor"
• Has no idea what to do so he gets Gwynn
• You have to explain her that you didn't have your meds refilled in time and now suffer withdrawal
• Ivor want to grab them for you but fortunately Gwynn stops him before he storms apothecracy
• He stays by your side while you rest, pouting and holding you
• Lowkey gets heart attack when you experience brain zaps
• Idk how they look like from second perspective but I flinch when I get them
• If you cry he cries with you
• Begs you not to forget your meds again
🦁L🦠
• Another clueless bean
• He doesn't know much and for sure doesn't know what to do
• He wakes up and notes you are sleeping deeper than usual
• He makes you coffee and waits untill you wake up naturally
• Alarmed once he realises it's almost 12 and you are showing no sign of waking up
• Checks your pulse and breathing
• Tries to wake you up and fails few times before starting to yell in panic, despite usually being soft spoken
• Looks extremaly guilty when you wake up confused almost starting to apologises
• You have to explain to him you don't have your meds
• Asks what do you need
• When you chug coffee and are still sleepy he suggest you to eat something
• He doesn't know/remember how to cook but he gets you some leftovers and tires to cook simple dish
• Like that man was a genius - he can figure out how to make some food
• Extremaly attentive
• Asks you to tell him how are you feeling
• When you describe brain zaps you feel the color from his face drains
• Man looks mortified and is ready to run to hotel Z for help
• Assure him that you are not dying and will feel better as soon as you get your meds
• Holds and calms you trough moodswings
• Gets you meds as soon as you get your perscription
👑AZ⏳
• He also keeps track of your perscriptions
• Most likely you keep your meds together with him and you two take them together in the morning
• But let's say (again) you miraculously ran out for enoght time to feel the effects
• When he sees the empty box he knows
• Most likely has enough money to run to the apothecracy and get them even withou refund but lets say they don't have them/refuse to sell
• He is pissed
• But also concerned
• Considers making you herbal medicine just to lughten the withdrawal
• But then he reads how dangerous it can be (Floette smacks him for even assuming he can do this)
• Also you get smacked by her for not making sure you have enough meds
• Dissapointed mom™
• AZ is grumpy that he has to watch you suffer
• You reassure him it's only a day but he still has that frown
• You are prohibited from getting up from bed
• He most likely has studied the effects of abrupt withdraval of all your meds so he is prepared
• Gives you water to hydrate yourself and light meals so you don't have to worry about eating while bedridden
• Floette makes sure you don't even think about getting up
• If you absolutely need to AZ is there to assist you so you don't fall
• Holds you when your brain decides to give you impromptu electroshock therapy
• Pets your back when you have moodswings
• I need peepaw to hold me while my brain uses thunderbolt and then I have Light Yagami moment-
I've got my perscription yesterday so I'm good, but I'm not proofreading this shit
Also might write self indulging ff about AZ bc I'm going to job interview rn and I'm scared
