More Than This (azriel X Reader)

more than this (azriel x reader)

summary: after Azriel and reader had a summer together, the last thing Az was expecting was to face her again. (angst).

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chapter six

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You close the door behind you, and the sound of it reverberates across the loud silence.

You eye Azriel; he’s standing very still, looking at you expectantly, as if expecting the first blow from you. 

But after a while, he seems to understand you are expecting him to talk first.

“Elain - she told you something,” he says but it sounds like a question.

At that, you feel your jaw clench, your whole face tensing into trying so hard to not let tears fall. He sees that, or at least his shadows do; running near his ear, whispering things you cannot hear, nor wish to hear.

He takes a cautious step towards you. You instantly take a step back. “Y/n,” he breathes as if in pain. “Please, let me explain.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “You won’t dare deny it, will you?” you say, mustering raw sarcasm in your tone to disguise your hurt. “You won’t have come all this way to deny it.” Too soon you feel tears running down your cheek. “Right?”

You hate it, and you hate yourself for being so weak. But above it, you hate him.

Selfish, manipulative, hurtful, lying Azriel.

Someone you wish you hadn’t met.

Someone you wish had only stayed as a summer memory.

Nonetheless, you find yourself waiting for his answer like a fool. Hoping you’re wrong, very wrong. 

But you are not; you’re sure of that when he avoids your eyes, when he clenches his fists.

“Well, it’s pretty secret, -you know Azriel-, but we… sort of have something.”

“For how long?”

 “Somewhere in May.”

You try to stop a sob, putting your hand over your mouth swiftly. Closing your eyes tightly, not bearing the sight of him.

“Y/n,” you hear him whisper even though your ears are ringing, blurring the exterior sounds. 

Then you feel his hands on your shoulders, and it brings you back to here, to now, to him. 

You open your teary eyes, meeting with his, noticing the lack of life in them. Nothing similar to their hazel color during the summer.

“Y/n.”

Another sob passes your lips. “You lied. To me, to her - Azriel, you lied.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says sounding desperate.

“Why did you have to lie? I tru - I trusted you. She trusted you!” You try to talk, to let him know how much you hate him, but the pressure in your throat is making it quite impossible. And you know the tears all over your face make you look pathetic. “She was telling me how you taught her training stuff. Gods. She told me about you as I was looking her - looking her dead in the eye knowing damn well what I had done. What you had done!”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

“Stop saying that! You are not sorry at all; you don’t care at all. Not for me. I always was just a side ting. A toy. Never - never anything more to you. You have never cared.”

He moves his hand to your wet checks. “That’s not true. Y/n. That’s not true, I swear.”

I swear.

“You want me to believe you now? Really, Azriel?”

“I’m telling you the truth,” he replies, his eyes pleading. But you don’t buy it, not anymore. Especially not when his scarred fingers caress your face, coaxing you to calmness. “Stop lying! You were with her, you are still with her! You li-”

“I’m not with her anymore, Y/n,” he cuts you off. “And I’ve always cared for you. Always. So much that when I first met you - this past summer - I couldn’t stop myself.” You watch him struggle with words, trying to not duck his head at your glaring. “I had to know you. I had to. And after that night, I couldn’t keep myself away from you. I wanted to be with you all the time. And I knew if I only had that summer away, only that summer to be with you, I had to take the opportunity. And I selfishly did.”

You watch him incredulously, taking the words in.

“I’m so sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you, Y/n, I swear. But when you came to the House of Wind - when I saw you again. Gods, I didn’t know what to do. I was so mad at myself - at the imminent consequences of my acts. And I - I hold that anger against you. And I’m so sorry; for that and for - for lying to you. I will be eternally sorry.”

It disgusts you; every single word he’s saying, the way he’s eyes scan your face, and especially, the way his hands cup your face. These same hands that weren’t meant to have touched you in the first place. It utterly disgusts you.

“Don’t touch me,” you whisper angrily. His touch falters but doesn’t back up. “Don’t touch me with those han-” The shout dies in your throat at the instant realization of your words.

But it’s too late.

He removes his scarred hands and hides them behind his back. And though it’s not what you had meant; never had you been anything but adoring of every part of him, especially his hands. So his. Hands that held a story of him he had told you with trust and comfort. You cannot help but feel glad you are hurting him back.

Maybe you’re just as depraved as him. 

“Don’t hate me, Y/n. Please.”

He deserves it, you make yourself think.

You dry your tears with your sleeves quickly and make yourself say, ignoring his previous words, “You’ve already explained yourself; now, go.”

He moves again closer to you. “Please don’t-”

“Go, Azriel! Just go,” you cut him.

“Ple-”

“Azriel, get out. Or I will make Helion drag you out of the court.”

“I have more to say,” he mutters, his voice suddenly dangerous. You know the mention of Helion is the reason. 

“I do not care.”

His eyes close but he doesn’t accept defeat. Not at all. “Gods - what do you want me to say?!” Your mouth parts in surprise at the angry tone he uses. He has no right - absolutely no right - to be mad. “What the hell do I have to say exactly for you to forgive me?!”

“Don’t you dare raise your voice, Azriel. I said go!”

“No.” He replies. “Don’t push me away.” He takes your wrist softly, but you try to pull away, failing as he catches it again, this time more restraining. “Y/n, you don’t understand, I-”

Then silence.

“You what?”

“I still cannot bear not being near you. Y/n, I’ve tried, but since that day, at the House of Wind, where I got to be close to you again, alone in that room, something - I felt… alive, lighter. And I had missed you so much, I realized. I don’t want to miss you anymore.”

As more tears threaten to fall, you consider backing off yourself. Leaving the room before you humiliate yourself. 

This, this was all you had ever wanted to hear. 

But not now, not anymore.

“Get out,” you breathe, staring at his eyes.

He is too close.

“You don’t want to listen. You don’t want to hear the truth,” he says slowly as if he didn’t want the words to actually get out.

“You know nothing about truth.” You reply, still feeling his scarred hand on your wrist. 

Azriel sighs as if in exhaustion. “What I did was so wrong; I know, and I will never forgive myself for hurting you that way. But, please, Y/n, you know me, I’ve told you everything, you know my heart; let’s not - please don’t waste this that we have.”

He had sure as hell not told you everything.

You glare at him. “We have nothing, Azriel. You said it yourself; ‘only one summer, then, nothing’.”

“I was so wron-.”

“It was your rule,” you interrupt him.

“It was!” He shouts, which makes you take a step backward, having him follow you immediately, towering over you as his hands still hold yours. You feel trapped. “It was a stupid rule I made for myself, 'cause no matter how much I wanted you, it was Elain who was supposed my mate! The third sister - It was supposed to be her.” His eyes then open in shock. “It was supposed to…”

Your breathing stops as you feel your heart break.

Wholly break.

He never deemed it possible for you to be his mate next to the Archeron sister.

But sadness doesn’t have a chance next to the bizarre feeling within your soul. It snaps you back to reality.

Azriel… 

Your mate.

“Y/n,” he breathes

“Get out,” you whisper for the hundredth time.

“No, Y/n, please; don’t do this.”

“Get out, please,” you plead, trying to get rid of his hold on your wrist, but it only makes him hold you tighter, walk even closer to you, till you have to tilt your head at a hurtful angle. 

“Don’t you feel it as well?” he asks.

Your mate.

“Get out.”

“Gods - Y/n, do not do this,” he cries, his face holding more emotion than it ever had. “Don’t ignore this. Don’t turn from us.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “There is no us. No matter what we are - no matter whatever, you made your choices. Choices that’ll condition everything. Choices that make us nothing.”

You watch tears cascading down his cheeks as he moves his other hand to hold you as well.

“Let go, Azriel, you’re hurting me,” you mumble.

But he doesn't seem to hear your words, as if in a trance. “I- please.” More tears start to fall from his pained eyes.

“I will call Helion in, Azriel; get out.”

“Don’t do this. Gods - Y/n, we are mates! How can-”

“Let me go, you’re hurti-”

“- you shove me away?” he continues over your protests. “I understand you are mad at me. But please just take your time to think. Don’t - don’t decide now. Please, Y/n. Just don’t turn from us.”

“No, Azriel!” He finally pays you attention, now that you are truly shouting. “I don’t want anything to do with you; a hurtful liar who hurts me just because he can. Who makes his choices abusing his power over others. I don’t want anything with you. I never will with a male like you.” 

He holds your gaze, his touch faltering yet still too tight. More tears fall every time he blinks. 

So you decide you have to do it; you have to make the last blow.

You have to ensure he hates you as much as you want to hate him.

So you spare a last glance at his hands on your wrists and then look up to him. “Maybe you’re just like your father, after all.”

And the aftermath it’s just blurry and vague; a memory you’d be better off forgetting. How more tears rolled down his shocked face. How his eyes lost all life in them. How he immediately moved his hands away from you as if your skin burned him. How he lingered in front of you for some seconds before he had it in himself to turn to the door.

How he left.

-Characters by Sarah J. Maas

HEY! IF YOU LIKED THIS, YOU CAN CHECK OUT MY AZRIEL MASTERLIST HERE <3

well, the best defense is a good offense, ig. i literally have been listening to "if i were a boy" on repeat as I wrote this lol. oh, and i did told you i was inspired by august by taylor swift - so.

tag list:

@kalulakunundrum @bubybubsters @goradgirl @kennedy-brooke @going-through-shit @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @linoisqt @minakay @nastynesta @lockedinmytower @stargirl1714 @justagingerliving @marvelpotter @mommyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @mis-lil-red@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @e-dollly @emptyporsche

One More Chance

Summary: Farleigh doesn't want to lose you.

Warnings: Cheating, drug use, drinking, slapping (you dont get slapped!!), oral (f receiving!), pussy eating, overstimulation (?), talks of stds, P in V sex, lemme know if i forgot anything.

Notes: Guess who's back and being ANNOYING! Lord when i say this took me forever to write and it's long. Whatever, but hi this is like 5k+ words not including notes, warnings or summary! Enjoy!! Leave comments n all that!! ALSO Shout-out to @cocoamoonmalfoy for putting up with me while i wrote this 😭 okay im running away now.

You think you're getting too old for clubbing.

Everything is so loud, dizzying, and sweaty and your outfit sticks to you uncomfortably. You pull at the laces, at the latex that annoyingly catches against the meat of your thighs as you sway to the music. Annabel, seemingly ignorant to your stiff movement, leans her whole body against you, grinding to the beat of the song, and out of instinct you wrap your arm around her waist and pull her closer. She melts into your arms then without missing a beat, she turns her head and even with the flashing lights you can see that her mascara runs, “You used to be good at this.”

You swallow thickly. You were good at this— clubbing, partying, getting so drunk you'd feel it the next morning but he had to ruin it for you, take the fun out of partying. “Sorry,” You say, nosing against her ear, “It’s just a lot.” Her hands clench over yours, her lashes fluttering.

“You didn't have to come.”

But you did. You couldn't spend nights in your dorm crying for the rest of the semester, not when you had an image to uphold. People were talking, half the campus knew that something happened between you and Farleigh, something bad enough for you to suddenly drop him and his family despite the looks he still sent you whenever you were in the same room. You had to come, if not for yourself, for Annabel who's going through the same thing as you, even if the cousin she got stuck with was a lot more cruel about what he did. “Couldn’t let you do this alone,” You smile. Couldn't let her sit in her dorm and cry over Felix who dropped her for India, she had lost two people in one night(—her boyfriend and best friend.) and while you two weren't the closest before this, you're friends— someone who understood what it was like to date a Catton.

Annabel smiles, turning to face you and it makes you laugh, her lipstick is smeared. You reach out and wipe out at it and she watches, her smile slipping off her face as her lip begins to wobble, “I wish I met you first.”

You smile and it's twinge with sadness. “You don't like girls, Anna.”

She shakes her head, tears falling from her eyes. It's been off and on all night and the booze running through her system isn't making it better. “I could though, I could like you.” She sniffles, “It’s not fair. I could have loved you instead but I'm here and– and crying over him while he's probably off fucking her in some dark corner. He said it was all a bit of fun– that we had the rest of our lives and it was wrong to tie him down when– when there was so much to experience. You would have thought I asked him to marry me, I just–”

Her face falls, “I just wanted him to be my boyfriend.”

Then, it's like a switch flips in her because she suddenly gags, lurching forward. You jump back in fear of getting puked on but she claps her hands over her mouth, pushing you and others out of the way and runs to what you hope is a bathroom. You stare after for a few moments, making sure you can actually see her go into the women's bathroom and when she does, you look away with a deep sigh, a hand running down your face. She's done this twice already and you know when she comes back this time, you'll cut your losses and drag her back to bed before she gets alcohol poisoning.

Politely, you try to dance your way off the middle of the dancefloor. You smile at people who seem to know you, they say your name in greeting and quickly go back to their dancing and just when you're at the cusp of exiting the crowd, a hand grabs yours. You jerk, whirling around and—

“Oliver, what the hell?” You snap over the music, you yank your hand free and his face falls. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Felix sent me over!” He shouts over the music then he draws closer to you, forcing you to take a step backward and out of the crowd. “Said you'd punch him if he came over–” Well, he's not wrong. “–and he said he needed your help, Farleigh–”

Your face crumples at the mention of your ex-boyfriend and you're already shaking your head, “No, Oliver–”

“Oh, love, come on–”

“I already told him I wanted nothing to do with him or his family-!” You quiet yourself when you notice the looks you're starting to get when you notice the group of kids near you quiet down as if to listen in. “Just no, Oliver. I can't leave Anna alone for too long–”

Oliver instantly begins to look around, “Annabel is here?”

You frown, “Yeah. Why?”

Oliver makes a face, “I have to chat with her too,” You start to sneer and he throws his hands up, his face paling. “Not for Felix, I swear. I just– we need to talk, how about we switch off– I stay with Anna and you go find the guys–”

“No. She's fucking drunk I'm not leaving her with you–”

“Oliver!”

Annabel appears from down the hall behind you, smiling as if she didn't spend the past few minutes puking up her stomach. She slides up next to you, bleary eyes peering at the both of you, “What are you doing here, Ollie?”

Your eyes narrow on him. The girl beside you is looking to make some mistakes tonight— trying to make someone jealous and while she didn't like girls, she loved boys and Oliver happened to be pretty and a close friend of Felix. You roll your lips together, eyes flickering to her when she prowls closer to him, and Oliver's hands clench and unclench at his side. She'd be picking the wrong friend to do this with, Oliver obviously had a thing going for Felix and Felix wanted something from Oliver, Farleigh had told you as much. Felix was still experimenting with his sexuality and didn't want to be kept in the straight category when he liked boys too, he had liked Eddie before he slept with Venetia and gave him head allegedly so bad, that he was gone from Saltburn by sunrise.

But that's neither here nor there, not when Oliver smiles at Annabel and you can see traces of Felix in it. It looks too practiced and painted and when he speaks to be heard over the music, it's like his accent changed to match the tallest Catton. “I just wanted to talk to you. Alone, if you don't mind–”

“Annabel–”

The girl cuts you off with a big, lipstick-smudged smile. “Of course, we can talk. I think I was just about to go back to campus, walk with me?” Then she looks back to you as if to say; ‘Relax, it's only Oliver.’

A little annoyed she's ditching you so quickly for a chance at fucking Oliver, you snap your mouth shut. It's only Oliver and that's what worries you, maybe you're being paranoid or maybe, Farleigh stuffed your head full of nonsensical claims but there's something weird about Oliver, like he's pretending to be something he's not. “Fine– just, just call me when you get back okay? If you don't I'm calling S.W.A.T on the place.”

Annabel smiles and presses a kiss on your cheek, “Thank you for being my very American guard dog tonight.” Then, to Oliver, “Let’s go, yeah?”

Oliver clasps hands with her, letting her pull him from the club but not before he turns to you and looks past the moving dance floor, “They’re all the way in the back, got a private room. You should go.”

You scowl at him, “Fuck off, Ollie.”

He smiles at you and it's like he knows you're gonna cave and go before you even decide to do so. And once you lose sight of Oliver and Annabel, you count to ten before you turn and push your way through the crowd trying to get to the private section behind them. Once you breach the crowd again, the security guards posted outside the private section only glance at you and then away, stepping out of your path as you pass them. You swallow at the feeling that evokes— that power that came with being seen with a Catton, a cousin or otherwise, was nauseating. You could ask those guards to do whatever you wanted and they would in hopes of a good tip, you could murder someone back here and they'd turn a blind eye because at the end of the day, if you weren't a friend of the Cattons’, you were against them and no one who stood against them survived very long.

You stop outside the door and you realize it's quieter back here. You can still hear the music from the club, yes, but if you pressed your ear against the door, you could hear crying. You could hear Felix talking, shuffling, and then more crying, choked and muffled and you think he's trying to silence himself and you ignore the way your heart aches. You should have ‘died’ a while ago. Should've been cast aside the moment you broke up with Farleigh and cursed Felix out, but they kept you close. Their gold-coated talons had dug too deep, you saw too much blood and bone, you saw too much of the real them and knew, in a way they'd never let you go. No matter what you did or said.

You take a breath and open the door.

Felix is crouching in front of Farleigh, his hands cupping his face as the man before him cries so hard, he heaves. He's cooing, using his thumbs to rub soothing circles on his cheeks, “It's okay, mate. It's okay, you just got to breathe– yeah, that's it, Far, just breathe with me.”

Your hand clenches around the knob and you clear your throat, praying your voice sounds uncaring.“Is he high?”

Both men look up, Felix faster than Farleigh but that doesn't stop the other man from staggering to his feet at the sight of you. “Baby,” He hiccups, he walks to you— stumbling and nearly tripping in the process and you enter the room, closing the door before any passersby can see. Farleigh reaches you and his eyes flutter, tears freely falling from his eyes as he sinks to the floor before you, his arm winding around your waist and his face placed firmly against your stomach. He's still crying, you note but he's mumbling too, “You came. You came back.”

Your hands clench at your sides to hide their shaking, you won't touch him. Even as he unbalances you and presses you flush against the door, you don't touch him as he cries which means, you won't push him away either, so you settle on ignoring him instead, your eyes on Felix who's still crouching. “Felix, is he high?”

The man sighs, running a hand through his hair before he stands, rolling his shoulders. You can't decide if he looks pissed that you actually showed or happy to see you after weeks of no communication. He looks like he's forcing himself to frown, “You’d want that, wouldn't you? Give you another reason to run away from him.”

You flinch as if he hit you and Farleigh holds you tighter, pulling you closer to him, “You don't get to say that, Felix. You don't even know what fucking happened.”

“Exactly!” He bursts. Its loud enough he throws a glance at the door, he takes a breath and you hear him struggle to keep his voice level. “I don't know what fucking happened between the two of you and he won't tell me. You won't tell me. Then, I try to call you– try to make it right and you– you fucking blocked me?”

“There’s no making this right, Felix. You can't fix everything–”

“Yes, I can!” He insists, his voice raising. “I did so before when you two fought, I did it when your scholarship fell through and you were going to get kicked from Oxford, I fixed it when Farleigh and you went streaking through the bloody campus, I can fix this but you have to tell me what happened– you just– you're family now and we just don't drop each other, we don't block each other and don't answer when the other comes knocking for answers. Just let me fix this because all I know– all I know is Farleigh fucking flushed it, okay? Flushed it all down the loo and hasn't been high in weeks and it's been fucking hell, he's been such a prick about it always snapping and blowing up over the littlest things. I can't even mention you without him trying to bite my head off.

“Please. Just tell me what happened. That's all I ask, that's all I want to know, we used to tell each other everything. We used to be friends.” He pleads.

Annoyed you snap, “He cheated on me.”

Felix draws back, surprised. “What?”

You lick your lips, trying to force the memory from your mind and Farleigh starts to cry again, he tries to curl into you, trying to bury his face and cover his ears. If he's not high, he's drunk out of his mind and you're not sure what's better, he's always been a bit of a baby when drunk, clingy, and emotional. You used to have patience for it, you used to be able to stare at him without wanting to cry, “He cheated on me with Alicia. He and her got super fucking high after I begged him to just stay in my dorm with me instead of going out and I don't know– they fucked, I guess.” You look down at Farleigh and try to force that image out of your head, how he came to you already crying and begging for forgiveness, he said he didn't even know what happened, how he even ended up alone with Alicia but the damage was done. You broke up with him then and there.

Felix makes a face like he sucked on a lemon. “Farleigh wouldn't do that. Not to you, there has to be a misunderstanding– there– Farleigh, mate, tell me it's not true.”

Farleigh doesn't answer and you didn't really expect him to, not with the desperation coating his cousin's voice. For a moment, Felix looks more hurt than you and you understand it— he had been the one to get you both together, two Americans in Oxford why not stick together, he had invited you to Saltburn last year where Farleigh worked up the nerve to kiss you whilst Felix and Venetia cheered from a balcony above. Felix in the course of it all, became your friend because you never asked for his wealth, never asked for gifts or privileges, and the only thing you ever asked for was notes in a class you shared. Notes that he had never taken before then but started taking almost instantly after and the rest was history.

“Fucking Christ, mate.” Felix curses, he's shaking his head at his cousin. He looks at you, then past you frowning, “Where is Oliver?”

“He left with Anna.”

Felix freezes, “What?”

“He took Annabel home, you remember Anna, don't you? Your ex-girlfriend?”

“We weren't dating.” Felix snaps then shakes his head, “Look I gotta go find Oliver–”

“What? No, you have to stay with Farleigh–”

“I don't even want to be in the same room as him right now. Leave him with the security guards, he'll be fine come morning.”

He kisses your cheek, ignoring your protest as he storms from the room, slamming the door behind him. You think he has no right being this angry when he did something worse but Felix sees himself differently from everyone else, and sometimes it took someone copying his actions to see how fucked up he treated someone.

With a sigh, you look down at Farleigh who somehow managed to doze off in all the bickering, slumped heavily against your smaller figure. You hesitate for a second before attempting to push a hand through his hair and get annoyed when it doesn't go through as it usually would— he wasn't taking care of himself but you can't say you were doing so either. You frown, debating.

“Fuck it, Farleigh wake up, we're going back to my room.”

He only groans against you and you know the hangover he gets tomorrow will hurt.

A part of you missed sleeping next to Farleigh.

You always ran cold and he ran hot, he'd tangle himself around you and pull you flush against his body and the warmth that bloomed made you feel like you were a bear waking from hibernation each morning. You'd shake the sleep from your bones while he'd grumble and try to pull you closer to him, trying to coax you back to bed.

A part of you missed it and you'd probably always miss it but you knew where you stood with Farleigh, you couldn't– you wouldn't go back.

He shifts next to you, his head falling off the pillow and resting in the crook of your neck, his lips ghosting over your pulse that steadily picks up the closer he draws. You've been awake for an hour now, passively texting Annabel as she updates you on her almost sleeping with Oliver, how she managed to give him a handjob (— she took several minutes to describe the size, shape, and feel of his dick to you.) before Felix burst in and dragged him out. You turn away from Farleigh, arm tucking under your pillow as you debate telling Annabel that Felix only showed up to drag Oliver out because he wanted to be the first one to fuck Oliver.

But you remember how eagerly she ditched you for Oliver. You remember how the two of you were just friends, barely acquaintances if you took away all the conversations about Felix or Farleigh so instead, you huff, turning off your phone and chucking it away from you. Farleigh follows your movement, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you back against him, his leg slotting between your legs and you freeze.

“Farleigh?”

The man hums, pushing his leg higher in an attempt to pull you closer and a startled breath leaves you. That shouldn't feel good, you won't let it show that it does. You shift, subtly trying to lift your weight from him, “If you can hear me, you should leave. Classes start soon and–” His leg presses higher, directly against your clothed cunt and you jerk, fingernails digging into the arm around your waists. “Farleigh–”

“I missed you.” He whispers against the skin of your neck and you shiver but trying to twist away only makes you grind against his leg or back against him if the breathy groan he lets out is anything to go by. “Can we– can we talk?”

“This isn't talking, this is–” He begins to kiss your neck, tongue swiping across your pulse before he nips at your skin and you nearly choke on your words. “You can't fuck this better, Farleigh. You– I don't even know if you're clean anymore.”

He stills against you and it allows you to pull yourself from his arms, to twist and sit up over him as your heart pounds. You should get out of bed, you think when he stares up at you with wide brown eyes, You should kick him out. You do neither, at least, not yet. Not when he's this close and staring at you like that. “I am,” He finally says and his voice breaks, he blinks quickly, shifting. “I got tested. Twice. I can show you–”

“No.” You say quickly, “No, it's fine. It's not like it matters anymore.”

Farleigh frowns up at you. “It does matter, baby. I shouldn't have– I shouldn't have fucked Alicia, okay? And I know you don't want to hear it but I was high.”

You instantly look away, hands clenching and unclenching. He wants to talk, fine, you could talk. “So that makes it okay?” You ask, “What if I got high and fucked Oliver, huh? Would you be okay with that?”

Farleigh scowls. “It’s not the same thing and you know it. Oliver is a fucking freak and I've told you that–”

“And I told you to stay.” You snap, “Stay in my dorm with me, spend time with me, fuck me. But you went out and fucked Alicia– so excuse me if I don't give a fuck about what you said about Oliver.”

The both of you sit in silence for a minute and you are the first to break it with a sigh, “Just leave, Farleigh. This isn't good for–”

“Do you want to get even with me?” He asks, sitting up. His eyes search your face, looking for…something. “Do you want to fuck Oliver?”

You gape at him, “Are you fuckin’ insane? No!”

“Felix, then. Do you want to fuck him?” He asks, his voice shaking. “‘Cause I'd let you. I'd let you fuck whoever you wanted if it meant you'd come back to me once you were finished.”

You try to get out of bed but he stops you, grabbing your hand and pulling you back in. A gasp rips out of you as you tug your arm away from him, anger pooling in your gut, “Do you hear how fucking pathetic you sound?!” He reaches for you again and you smack his hand away, “Don't fucking touch me!”

“Baby–”

“No!” You shout and when you stand, this time he doesn't stop you, only rushing to follow. “You can't do this shit, Farleigh. I didn't do this to us– I didn't fucking cheat on you!”

“I know–” He tries but you can't hear him, your heart is beating too fast, and your head is pounding. You're sure you're sweating in your effort to keep steady on your feet, to meet his eyes.

“You need to leave, Farleigh. We're done.”

“We’re not.” He insists, stepping closer to you. “Baby, I love you–”

You slap him before you can even stop yourself and you regret it as soon as you do. His head snaps to the side and his jaw flexes as he processes what you've done. He shakes his head, his hand coming to ghost across the reddening skin of his cheek before it drops, his eyes blown wide as he stares at you and you stare back, your hand falling to your side.

You have two seconds to brace yourself. To lock your knees and not bend against his body crashing against yours, his lips on yours as he backs you against the door. He kisses you like he misses you— like he's sorry for everything, for hurting you, for existing. His teeth bite into your bottom lip and when you feel the skin break, you turn your head with a sigh, allowing the man to kiss down your neck. “I’m so fucking sorry,” He mumbles against your skin, “So, so, sorry–”

He sucks a hickey into your skin and your hands clench at the fabric of his shirt, “Farleigh?” He hums, “That’s not how you're supposed to apologize.”

He drops to his knees before you without so much as a blink. He's nosing against your pajama shorts, his hands sliding up your thighs to pull at your waistband. “Take it off.” He orders, tugging at the material and the tone of his voice makes you frown and when he sees this, his tongue swipes across lips as he looks up to you. “Take it off, please.”

And you do so easily, giggling when Farleigh kisses your hands as you do. You push Farleigh back to kick off your shorts and the man leans forward between your legs, placing an open mouth kiss on your pussy– his tongue finding home almost immediately to flick against your clothed clit. “Oh– fuck, wait, wait–” You bend, trying to push him away once more but he shakes your hand off and pushes his face closer, mouth suctioning over your cunt. You thread your fingers through what hair you can, a choked moan leaving you before y anking him away from you, ignoring his choked groan. “Farleigh, what the fuck–?”

“I missed you,” He says, his lips parting as he pants, trying to shift closer to you. “Missed your pretty pussy too.”

Your fingers curl against his scalp, nails ghosting flesh and he moans. It's a filthy sound that makes something hot and warm pool in your gut— makes a breath punch out of your lungs. You missed him but you realize it's deeper than that, that this feeling— this want is something primal and it mixes with the anger that still lingers within you, it mixes and it makes you want to hurt him as much as you want to fuck him. “You’re so fuckin’ greedy,” You mumble, your whole body warm. “You’d eat me whole if I'd let you.”

One hand still in his hair, you use it to pull him further away from your pussy and he goes easily, watching wide-eyed as you use your other hand to pull your panties to the side. You can't bring yourself to be embarrassed about how wet you are, Farleigh has seen you naked dozens of times and you're sure half the wetness is his saliva that leaked through the thin fabric but this time it's different. He stares at you and your pussy like it made the stars, the sun, and the moon and he waits— panting, sweating, his dick straining against his jeans, looking up at you with big brown eyes. It's a good look on him, you decide, this obedience. You move your hand, fingers parting your soaked folds, “Apologize.”

And god, he does so eagerly. He jerks forward, his hands finding purchase with the meat of your thighs as he drags you forward, closer to his mouth. His tongue licks, circling your clit. You bow away from his mouth out of instinct, moans tumbling from your lips and he follows, riding the waves your hips roll to— you back away from the pleasure and he drags you forward, making you ride his tongue with each twitch. “Oh my god,” You whisper, whimpering as you roll your hips. You feel Farleigh smile against you before he slips, his nose replacing his tongue against your clit as he uses both tongue and fingers to fuck you open. “Oh my– O-oh fuck–” You clench around him, your muscles tightening and he parts them as if you're made out of wet tissue, slurping and drinking up the mess you leak onto his hand.

Your body curls away from him and he twists with you, hooking a leg over his shoulder and pressing you flush against the door, his tongue shoved up your pussy and nose against your clit and shakes his head and you nearly scream. You're so wet you can hear yourself, hear flesh sliding against flesh, hear his near-silent moans. His fingers curl into you, snagging against something that makes your legs weak and makes you babble out his name and he finds it again with a little prodding and bullies it with his fingers, rubbing and twisting till you're gasping, grinding down, and chasing the pleasure instead of running from it, “Oh sh-sh-it!” You cry, trying to pull him closer as you hump against his face, “You’re gonna m– I'm gonna–” Your lashes flutter as Farleigh shifts to kneel, hiking you further up the door and forcing you to grind down harder against his tongue and nose.

With a sharp cry, you cum. Your chord snapping as the warmth inside of you boils over. Farleigh makes you ride it out, keeping you closing and still working his tongue through your folds as you come down, he hums— drinking what you give him as your legs shall, and disbelieving giggles leave you. He's slow to stand, kissing his way up your shaky body, slowly coaxing the rest of your clothes off before he meets your lips and you taste yourself on his tongue. “You forgive me?” He asks, once he pulls away and he's still somewhat crouching to be able to look in your eyes, a smug smile pulling at his lips.

You force yourself to frown, to look annoyed despite your shaking legs and racing heart. “Did you make her cum, too?”

Farleigh has the audacity to groan. He hooks his arms around your waist and stands to his full height, lifting you easily and it sends a thrill down your spine. He wraps your legs around his waist as he carries you back to your bed, his teeth ghosting against your collarbone. “Does it fucking matter?”

“Yeah.” You say with a pout as he drops you on your mattress. You watch as he begins to strip, his shirt goes first, then his belt, and he slowly unbuttons his jeans clearly deep in thought so he doesn't notice your impatient looks. You watch eagerly as they drop and his hand slips into his boxers, clearly fisting himself. “Farleigh, did you make her cum?”

“I don't fucking know.” He admits with a frown, “I don't think so. Doesn't matter either. She didn't make me cum,” He lets out a little near-silent moan and you watch the fabric move over his fist, “Haven’t cummed since you left, not even when I touched myself. Closest I got was when I was thinking of you but it's not– fuck, it's not the same, baby. Missed you so bad I nearly fucked a hole into my mattress thinking of you.”

You bite your lip at his words. You bite it harder when he finally pulls down his boxers and his dick springs free and it is weeping, red at its tip and leaking. He rolls his thumb over the head of it before jerking his hand away when his hips try to buck against the feeling. “You’re sick.”

He fucking moans. “Say it again when my dick is in you.” He asks and despite the teasing smile on his face, you have a feeling he's deadly serious. He drops down to the bed, his lips once again connecting with yours. Farleigh rolls his hips against yours, his dick sliding against your pussy and the friction is not enough— you're too wet for it to be grinding at this point and you mumble this against his lips. Farleigh snickers, “There’s no such thing as being too wet.”

You roll your eyes. “Let me on top.”

Farleigh considers you with an odd look in his eyes before he bites his lip and grabs your waist. Your world spins as he settles back against your pillows, pulling you on top of him and he sighs, as his dick catches your entrance in all the movement. “Mm, sit on it, baby.”

You scowl, “Shut up.”

He doesn't, he smiles, his hips humping up towards you. “Know you missed my dick too, I know you missed me fucking you–”

You take him in your hand and he's hot, heavy and it throbs in your grip as you stroke him. Farleigh moans, his little rant getting cut off as he humps into your hand. “You gotta be patient.”

“But I missed you.” He gasps when you grip him harder, his voice cracking as you slowly, slowly sink down on him. “Missed you so fucking bad, missed your laugh, your smile, your beautiful fucking tits–” He gasps as you roll your hips against him. “Oh, fuck, go faster.”

You ignore him, rolling your hips at the same slow pace. Your bed creaks when you move too fast and you're suddenly uncomfortable, aware of the sunlight shining through your blinds, the possible students in the room next to you or below you— you try not to cringe about who heard you cum when you were pressed against the door. You roll your hips again, bracing yourself against his chest, grinding firmly against him, a soft moan leaving you. Farleigh only curses, his feet planted firmly on the bed and he bucks up into you, forcing you into the galloping pace that he wants. Your hands scramble, nails scraping across his chest as he momentarily brutal pace— he's panting in your ear, small and desperate, ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck-’s leave his lips like a prayer as he forces your hips down to meet him, the slap of skin nearly sounds like a song and it's nearly enough to make you cum all over again.

You gasp his name in disbelief, one hand rushing to push at his thigh because it's too much. You've just come and you're sensitive and gushy and he's making another mess out of you. Your other hand flies to his neck and you grip hard, pushing yourself up and then down in an attempt to stop his thrust and you're shocked when Farleigh almost completely goes still. He's still panting and his fingers are digging into your hips but he's staring at you with a glazed-over look in his eyes, his parting in a silent moan as your fingers flex against his throat. “I love you.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“‘m not.” He whimpers as you begin to ride him again, bed creaking be damned— he's never not fought you like this. He gasps as you pick up your pace, “I love you so fucking much, wanted to– want to marry you–”

You clench around him and he chokes out a moan. He continues, babbling. “‘nd I'm so fucking sorry baby– fuck– I-I am, I'm so sorry–” Your fingers tighten around his throat and his hips roll to meet your pace, chasing the pleasure. “I love you, fuck– I fucking love you and– and–” His breath catches as you lift your hips and drop back down, he bites his lip, his eyes rolling back. “Please?”

You let out a confused hum and he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing under your hand. “I'm so close, baby. Haven't cummed in weeks– just please, a little faster, a little harder.” When he asks like that, you don't have in you to deny him, you shift and he answers with a moan as you bounce on his dick. One hand still on his neck, and you bring the other one up to rub messy circles against your clit. The both of you are a mess, moaning and chasing pleasure and when he cums it's with a shuddering gasp— he doesn't warn you as he spills inside of you and you continue to ride him fixated on your pleasure. You cum only a few short minutes after him, collapsing against his chest and he wraps his arms around you.

“Come to Saltburn.”

You're too tired to pull away but you tense in his arms, a sigh leaving you, “Far–”

“Please.” He begs, his voice a near whisper. “Only Felix knew we–” He pauses, a choked breath and starts over. “I didn't tell anyone else we broke up and he's bringing Oliver. Don't let me go back outnumbered.”

“I don't know, Farleigh.” You mumble against his chest.

“It’s only for the summer.” He says. “It’s one summer. Then– then if you mean it, if we're done you can leave. I'll never speak to you again.”

You draw a soft pattern against his chest, a shaky breath leaving you. It's one summer, he's right. Nothing could go wrong in only one summer, you have nothing to lose. Still, “Promise?”

He hugs you tighter, almost as if he's afraid you'd disappear at that very moment. “Promise.”

Green is the Color

Pairing: Matt Murdock x FemReader

Word Count: 7,200

Summary: Karen Page looks flawless next to Matt in a way that you don’t. Insecurities and jealousies were bound to pop up at some point.

Trigger warnings: None. Just some angst with a happy ending.

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Forget Me Not | 4

You confuse healing with hurting others; Azriel's ready to let you hurt him anyway.

WC: 3.5k

Warnings: TW: SA!!! Please do not read if this is triggering for you. Angst, feelings, my poor boy Azriel is sad.

a/n: I'm so thankful for all the support and kind comments for this story! There will still be at least 2 more parts. Sorry for this one being a bit shorter.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

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Azriel hadn't interacted with you much since lending you his dagger.

He was always there, sure, but he seemed to be letting you lead wherever your friendship would go. He did not try to force you into speaking with him or being around him, but you did notice his nervous energy when you were around.

When you'd pass him in the House of Wind, run into one another in the library, or sit across from each other at dinner, you couldn't help but study how he'd changed. While he had been quiet before, he had always held a certain peaceful arrogance about him. Now, his silence seemed more insecure and anxious, as if he was not quite sure of himself in his own place of residence.

You hadn't had anyone stay the night with you since that night with Azriel either.

You noticed that he kept his bedroom light on every night, though. You weren't sure if he did this to pretend he was still awake, so you'd be less embarrassed if you needed to wake him, or if he did this to reassure you someone was aware and ready in the house during a time of the night you felt more vulnerable. Either way, you tried not to let it effect you too much.

Some nights when noticing the change between Azriel and yourself got too much, you would cry until your eyes became swollen and burned with exhaustion, finally allowing you to fall asleep. Other nights, every noise in the house caused your anxiety to skyrocket, and you found yourself heading to the library to read as a distraction, knowing you would have to try to rest the following night instead.

Nightmares came every now and then. You had mentioned this to Rhys, assuming that he might have experienced something similar with how much he had gone through, and he suggested a sleeping tonic from Madja. You took it nightly, and it seemed to help the majority of the time.

It had been two months since that night, and while your progress was no where near finished, and your trauma would forever be a part of you, you felt less fragile than you did in those previous weeks. You had started showing up to group events again with the whole inner circle, laughing had become more of a consistent part of your days with the help of Cassian and Mor, and the House had even helped prepare food you could keep down until your appetite was back to normal.

The only thing that didn't seem to be getting any better was your relationship with Azriel.

He tried to help in his own way. He left books out in inconspicuous locations that he thought you would like. There would be a box of your favorite pastries on the kitchen counter in the morning, as if anyone else in the household liked their tart flavor. Sometimes you would even notice shadows slinking into your room at night, tugging at the window locks and blinds to ensure everything was secure.

And you knew he wasn’t trying to be noticeable with these things. In fact, it seemed like he was doing everything in his power to not draw attention to himself. He would instead scan through the pages of the books to see if you had made any notes, check the pastry boxes to make sure you had eaten something, or have his shadows close the window when the cold air was beginning to wake you up.

The fact that it all helped only made you angrier.

The inner circle noticed your frustration around the shadowsinger as well, especially during Winter Solstice celebrations.

You had felt good enough to join the rest of the group at the River House, but it was obvious enough how tense things were between you and Azriel:

Friends exchanged gifts, hugs, and laughter, but Azriel kept to himself the entirety of the night, only occasionally sending one of his family members a small smile or taking a sip of his drink.

He had gotten everyone very thoughtful gifts, and he seemed genuinely touched at the presents he received in return. You tried not to flinch at the gardening book he had gotten Elain or the decorated sheath she had gotten him for one of his daggers.

Azriel and Elain didn't speak much that night though, as much as you tried not to notice. You really did try not to notice Azriel so much, but it was as if your gaze was being pulled to him by some unknown force, demanding that you acknowledge that he was here, close to your side, his attention all on you.

And you felt that attention more than ever when Feyre handed you a box wrapped in midnight blue, the wrapping paper glinting from where you sat by the fire.

Swallowing, you refused to look up at Azriel, knowing it would only make the feeling in your stomach worse.

You heard Rhys making conversation in the background, trying to ease the tension and take some attention away from yours and Azriel's exchange.

The shadowsinger also tried to give you privacy, chiming in here and there to add to Rhys’ conversation, but you still felt his eyes keep moving to you.

Fingers fumbled with unwrapping and pulling apart the box before finally revealing what lay beneath.

Underneath a layer of tissue paper sat a delicate piece of glass about the size of a piece of paper. It was transparent, but somehow held some light and color at certain angles, adding a sort of whimsical iridescence to it. It was stunning, and your careful fingers felt unworthy of holding such an awe-inspiring thing. Your only problem was you had no idea what it actually was.

Azriel cleared his throat, and you couldn't stop your eyes from floating to his.

"It's a translator." He fidgeted from the chair he sat in. "From the Day Court. If you place it on a page of writing, it will translate the text to whatever language you request. I thought you might want to expand some of the books you have access to."

Your heart pounded in your chest. He knew you loved reading. He knew you loved studying. He knew you and had gotten you a gift that made you so excited you had to actively scold yourself to loosen your grip on the glass.

His hazel eyes were filled with so much emotion as he tried to gauge your reaction, you felt something physically crack in your chest.

You tried to will your tears down.

"Thank you," you whispered, unable to make your voice louder. Azriel accepted it all the same, giving you a small nod before clasping his hands together and averting his gaze back to Rhys.

You hadn't gotten anything for Azriel.

You didn't have much to give him anymore. He knew that, despite the sadness that surrounded him that night.

Maybe it was because you would have gotten him a solstice gift before. Not only would you have picked something out months in advance, you would have teased him about it, gone giddy with excitement over the surprise.

After what happened, there hadn’t been a gift in that pile addressed to him from you, and it only served to show the damage that had been done to your friendship.

You tried not to let what he had done damage you further, continuing to build up your walls both physically and emotionally.

Cassian’s training was great for the body and mind, and you put all of your focus into that.

Training had allowed for you to channel some of the agony harbored in your chest into exercise. Every night around 9pm you would meet the general up in the training ring, going over anything from conditioning and weight lifting to actual battle tactics like sword training and hand-to-hand combat.

You knew that Azriel normally came up to train late at night, but it seemed like he pushed his time later in order to give Cassian and you some privacy. You tried not to think about how little of sleep he must be getting if he wasn't coming up to train until midnight. It wasn't your problem.

At first, you were scared both intrusive thoughts and your body's memory would hinder your sessions. You had been hesitant and nervous, but Cassian had quickly made you feel at ease. You knew he had trained Gwyn, and Cassian was a trusted friend, so you shouldn't have been surprised when the sessions went swimmingly.

Cassian was such a steady presence, someone you knew you could always rely on. He made sure to check in on you every night, casually asking questions that seemed nonchalant enough to not be overbearing or annoying while still showing he cared. That didn't stop him from overstepping at times though.

Hours ago, Cassian had been sparring with you in the training ring, his steps circling your own and hands raised ready to strike. You had followed his movements, trying to remember everything you had been taught while silencing outside noises.

You weren't sure if he had said it to get under your skin, to win the upper hand, or if it was something he had actually been pondering for a while.

When you had taken a step as if to attack, Cassian had eyed the dagger in your hand — Azriel’s dagger —and had bluntly asked, "Do you think you'll ever forgive him?"

You had nearly stumbled in your stance.

The inner circle had been very careful to tiptoe around you and Azriel. They didn't ask about your relationship or where you stood, never tried to force interactions or situations upon the two of you, and you had gotten used to the peace of their feigned ignorance.

You had to shake off the shock of his question before it festered in your chest.

"What?" You had decided to ask instead, buying yourself some time to think.

You didn't know what you were doing with your body anymore, if you were still on physically guard, fighting, or if all of your energy was being put toward guarding your emotions.

"I'm not saying you should," Cassian had quickly amended. "But I am wondering where your head is at."

Only staring at him, your eyebrow arched in challenge. "Should it be somewhere specific?"

Cassian's sigh had been near silent in the large room, and the large warrior seemed to deflate at your answer. "No. Of course not."

"Good," you had only replied, voice hard and final. "Then let's keep going."

Cassian had gone right back to his teasing, difficult self, but he left not too long after that sparring round ended.

That had been hours ago, but you were still there, knives and daggers lined up, throwing them at the boards across from you. Each throw had you huffing, and with your strength depleting, your aim became further and further off through the night.

Your arms were sore and numb, both from throwing the weapons and from sparring with Cassian earlier. But it felt good, knowing your muscles were being used, knowing you were growing stronger, more powerful and less vulnerable.

Sleep should have found you about an hour ago, but you knew you wouldn't be able to get any tonight. Cassian's words flowed nonstop through your head: Do you think you'll ever forgive him?

I don't know Cassian, do you think he'll ever stop being such a fuck-up?

The question made you angry, because this situation was never about him, and you didn't owe Azriel anything.

You knew Azriel was Cassian's brother. You knew everyone wanted your family to be whole again, to stop seeing each other hurting. But you were angry at the expectations placed on you by your friends to offer forgiveness, you were angry at Azriel for being too late in every area of your life, and you were angry at yourself for missing him.

Gods, you wanted to scream, to thrash, to hit yourself until you could force yourself into just minutes of peaceful rest.

Do you think you'll ever forgive him?

Do you think he deserves forgiveness?

You paused, breathing heavily as you thought over your own words and reaction. You knew he was trying, but you also knew some things didn't change. And some people weren't worth getting hurt over again.

Before you could pull the dagger in your hand back and launch it forward toward the wooden board, you noticed the shift in the air.

Shadows danced along the floors, curling and floating around training equipment.

You knew Azriel moved back the time he would come up here to train independently so that you and Cassian could have privacy. You knew that you were technically the one infringing on his claimed time and peace now. That didn't stop the wave of frustration that rolled over you, though.

Azriel's presence mimicked that same wave shoving you under. You were sick of it. Sick of feeling like you couldn't breathe, like you couldn't fight back, like every single inch of your body wouldn't listen to you anymore. You were sick and tired of feeling worthless, like you would never be loved, like you would never be someone's priority. And you were so fucking tired of being sad.

Fire burned within your veins, but it wasn't because of shame or hurt. You were angry again. You had deserved better, and you had gotten left in the dust like a piece of trash. And he thought a pretty present could fix things? Could fix you?

As if the iridescent glass sheet could blur the memory of the male's tongue on your neck, the feeling of his fingers touching where they shouldn't, translating the history written on your body into something more pleasant, more beautiful, like a tale of a hero rescuing the dame and whisking her off to safety.

Before you knew what you were doing, you took the dagger Azriel had lent you and turned with a speed and strength you had never aimed at another person, heaving out a noise of frustration and sending the weapon flying toward Azriel's form just inside the doorway.

You saw red. The red of the male's blood in the alleywall, the red of your own blood, the red of Azriel's blood now beading along his bicep, the red of pure unfiltered rage.

"You are a piece of shit, Azriel. A fucking selfish, cruel, shallow bastard. Do you know that?"

Your chest heaved as you tried to control yourself, your fingers already itching for another weapon. It wasn't enough to see you had nicked his skin. You wanted him to fight back, you wanted to hurt him as badly as he had hurt you.

"Is that why you go after damaged females? In an attempt to find something redeemable about yourself? To act like the hero, like some sort of protector?"

He flinched at the words but otherwise remained unmoving. You hated him for it.

"You're no hero. You're a joke."

You watched as the blow landed, and a wave of adrenaline rushed over you. You deserved this. You had been bleeding for months, crawling up the well of your depression until your fingertips were raw and worn, and these attacks against him felt like a hand reaching down from the heavens, like an extra surge of energy to keep yourself going. You didn't want to be the one bleeding, it was someone else's time to bleed for once.

A step toward him, but he didn't move.

"Do you know what the priestesses tell me?"

He blinked, swallowing harshly.

"They say it's not my fault, what happened to me." You shrugged, letting out a bitter chuckle. "I guess they are partially right. Because it's your fault too. And the male's. But I'm not completely blameless here. I mean what in the Cauldron's name was I thinking, putting my trust in you?"

That got him. Eyes squeezed shut suddenly, eyebrows furrowing as if he had actually been stabbed. Good.

"After all," you continued, beginning to pace around the training area, languidly taking small steps as if you were telling your own tale. "How many of those close to you have you let down before? Mor, Rhys, Gwyn, Elain, your mother... I really should have expected to get hurt because of you."

You could see wetness on his cheeks, but you still did not back down. And he did not move from his spot, his hazel eyes not even hardening at the onslaught.

You'd just have to go harder.

"Sometimes in my nightmares, your hands are the ones hurting me in that alley. I can feel your scars as you pin me to the wall, as I'm violated." You let out a humorless laugh. "I think my mind keeps trying to tell me that's all you're good for: inflicting damage."

A drop of blood from his bicep fell to the floor in a perfect circle.

You stopped your pacing, only about fifteen feet in front of him, and dropped your hands to your side. With your head held tall, you looked him directly in his eyes, pausing to memorize the broken look of him.

His chest was hardly rising and falling. He stood completely and utterly still. Hazel eyes on your own, jaw clenched, cheeks wet.

He was a beautifully broken portrait. And you had just torn him to shreds.

Summoning the rest of your courage, you spit out the thought that had been tormenting you, curling its way around your heart until you felt it would be strangled.

A thought, and a promise.

"You may have thought me worthy of being forgotten, but I will make sure you never forget what you have done to me."

Breaking eye contact, you walked past him out of the training ring, refusing to turn back. If you thought you heard a wounded noise travel softly from his lips, you ignored it.

Maybe you were a bad person, maybe deep down you were a sadistic, cruel being, but saying those words finally lifted something from your chest. Air came easier, and some part of you felt vindicated after unleashing yourself, despite the shaking that immediately overcame you in your retreat.

You might have been confused. Your chest might have been swarming with overwhelming, conflicting emotions and adrenaline. You were filled with so much love and hate, so much yearning and anger, but you at least felt like you had a release, the swirling poison in your chest no longer sitting so close to your heart.

Do you think you'll ever forgive him?

It was cathartic. The sharp words, watching them pierce him down to his core, seeing as he cried over what you'd become. And for once, as you let the cool breeze wash over your overworked muscles, you felt tears build in your eyes not from sadness but from relief.

Like a fire burnt out, you dragged your weary body back to the House of Wind, barely making it to your bed before collapsing.

You imagined Azriel standing where you left him, bleeding from where you had slashed him. He hadn't even said a word — he had just let you tear him to pieces.

Was it his own way to punish himself? Was this about him all over again?

Do you think you'll ever forgive him?

Maybe if you knew what was coming in the days following, you would have said yes. Maybe you would have wanted to be around him more, to actually try, instead of pushing him away. Maybe you would have realized that you weren’t just punishing him but yourself as well.

But you didn’t know what was coming. So you pushed the image of his wounded expression, the way he had physically flinched at your words, away from your mind, closed your eyes, and went to sleep.

If you dreamt about his scarred hands scooping you up in that alleyway, bringing you close to his chest and keeping you safe, you'd never admit it.

🍑 Matt + a friend confessing her love for him?

ohhhhhhohohohohoh okay

I’m going college!matt for this one cuz that is the ✨VIBE✨

you oughta know - matt murdock x fem!reader

✨kay’s 300 follower celebration✨

he’s frustrating, is what he is.

frustratingly handsome, frustratingly kind, frustratingly easy to get along with. frustratingly frustrating.

you’ve never been so frustrated in your life.

and he knows exactly what he’s doing, you just know it. you’ve been studying for hours, bent over your ancient laptop, glasses sliding down your nose every chance they get, and there’s matt, apparently fine to lean back in his chair and relax instead of freaking out and poring over his notes like you are.

it’s nearly midnight, and the two of you have been in the library since well before the sun was still up, foggy having abandoned you earlier to go chase marci around the campus bar. he’d all but begged matt to go with him, but matt was adamant, intent to stay in his chair at your table until you were ready to go. “it’s the chivalrous thing to do, fog,” he’d said. “not about to let her walk home in the dark, c’mon.”

foggy had offered you a quirked eyebrow, grabbed his coat, and shouted his goodbyes, earning glares from every other table in the library. you’d both giggled like crazy, a short reprieve from the brain-numbing reviews you were running through.

you’d met matt on the first day of second year, having transferred to columbia for a scholarship. foggy had been a half-step behind, crowing at matt that, “how is it, man, that you’re blind, and yet you always find the prettiest girls to hit on?”

you’d blushed, matt had chuckled, and the rest was history.

it’s not…flirting, per se, but it’s…banter. you have a good rapport going, one that translates well into the few classes you share, even earning you bonus points on your mock trial for ‘partner chemistry’. matt’s just easy to talk to, fun to look at, and he’s genuinely a good person. it’s a triple threat, and honestly, you didn’t stand a chance.

and he knows it.

grades-wise, it’s like a battle royale between the three of you. your law marks are almost neck and neck, matt at the top of the pyramid, you floating somewhere in the middle, and foggy with a solid (and still wildly impressive) bottom tier. but you and matt took spanish together, and son of a bitch if you aren’t this close to failing.

slamming your textbook closed and shoving it away, you heave a breath, ignoring the few dirty looks that are thrown your way. it’s too late for this. “I’m gonna fail,” you declare, pushing a hand through your hair and starting to gather your things. “might as well just accept it. I’m gonna fail spanish.”

“you’re not gonna fail spanish,” matt retorts, still leaning back in his chair, feet kicked up on the one beside him, arms crossed over his chest. his glasses are pushed up his forehead and his eyes are closed, lashes fluttering slightly. how can someone look so good just…sitting there? “c’mon, you’ve been staring at this stupid book too long. you need a break.”

you slump onto the desk, pushing your face into your crossed arms. “the exam is tomorrow. I’m gonna fail, murdock. it’s inevitable.”

“the only thing inevitable,” he starts, head turned in your direction, glasses slipping back down into place on his nose. it’s hopelessly endearing and your chest is aching, “is you coming back to the dorm with me and drinking something other than chai tea.”

you go to reach for your book, to flip it open again, but he grabs your wrist, fingers curling around your pulse. “don’t hate on my tea.”

“no hate,” he laughs, squeezing your wrist, “but you’re coming. let’s go. rapido!”

“fine,” you concede. “but I really don’t want to listen to fog and marci have sex in the bathroom again.”

“which is why we then go to your place if they come home,” he says brightly.

you roll your eyes, knowing full well he can’t see it, and start to shove your books into your bag, shutting down your laptop and stowing it too. matt has less to pack, and waits expectantly, unfolding his cane and taking your elbow when you nudge him gently and offer it.

it’s a quick walk across the campus to the dorm matt and foggy share. maybe it’s strange, but you’ve always liked walking with matt, his big hand tucked into the crook of your arm, his bicep firm against your shoulder, leading him through campus between classes. he claims to like your pace better than foggy’s, and you’ve sat on the almost-compliment since he said it, tugging at your heartstrings every time he asks you to go somewhere on (or off) campus with him.

their dorm is a mess. well, more specifically, foggy’s side of the room is basically a trash can, takeout containers and beer bottles littered across every available surface, while matt’s side is much tidier, his bed forever unmade but his desk orderly and his closet even more so.

you’re always quick to perch on matt’s bed, unmade or not (his silk sheets are so much nicer than the dorm standard), and you find your place at the foot while he crosses to the makeshift bar cart him and fog have set up, an old desk they stole from the empty dorm across the hall and a stack of red solo cups from your last rager. 

“I’ve only got that orange-flavoured scotch foggy bought,” he calls to you, fingers running over the different-shaped bottles, “or blackberry gin.”

“what is with foggy and fruit-flavoured alcohol?” you reply, making a face. “gin please.”

he hands you a cup a moment later, and you waste no time, tossing the whole thing back in one go. you let out a squeak as it settles through you, reaching over to put the empty cup on matt’s nightstand. once you’re upright again, he takes a spot beside you, sipping his own drink, the mattress dipping with his weight and pushing the two of you closer together.

“hey,” he says after a moment, “you really shouldn’t worry about spanish.” when you start to protest, he holds up a hand. “I mean it. you’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met, all right? you’re gonna do great.” he gives you a bright smile, reaching over and taking your hand, squeezing it lightly.

in return, you groan loudly, flopping back on his bed. “god, why do you do that?” you almost shout, blaming your volume on the alcohol now quickly making a home in your bloodstream. “you know exactly what you do to me, don’t you, murdock?”

he plants a hand behind himself and turns to face you. “do what?”

“tell me I’m smart or stay at the library so I don’t walk home by myself or, or…”

you both speak at the same time.

he says: “or be your friend?”

and you say: “or make me fall in love with you!”

oh.

oh.

you stand up so abruptly it’s a miracle you don’t shove matt off the bed. your fight or flight instinct just kicked in and everything is screaming flight! get the fuck out of here asap! so you’re running around the room, trying to find where you left your shoes and your bag and your jacket and where the hell is your phone and oh my god, did you actually just say that?

and then he calls your name, and you freeze.

“I could say the same thing to you, you know,” he says, his voice low as he finishes his drink and stands from the bed. he pulls his glasses off, sets them on the nightstand, and takes a slow step towards you, then another. you put a hand out when he’s close enough, and his palm flattens against yours, fingers curling around your wrist like they had in the library, a foot of space between you still

“why do you always call me out on my bullshit or call me murdock or do that stupidly adorable thing in class where you nudge me every time they change the slide? or how you always walk with me and make me feel like I’m a regular person, and that day, when you told me it was snowing, and you described it to me like you were writing a damn poem. you made me fall in love with you too, okay?”

he pulls on your arm, and you stumble across the carpet, straight into his arms. he catches you easily, and your hands grasp his shoulders, feeling the muscle jump in your touch. he’s fit as hell, and you’ve noticed.

his eyes are on you, and you can feel it. it’s the strangest thing, knowing he can’t actually see you, but his gaze is flitting over your face like he can, his dark eyes only made darker by the dim light, but you can still see the honey-streaked brown you’ve come to know and love.

matt’s mouth cracks into a grin and he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

you just nod.

it’s chaste, at first. it’s his fingers tangled in your hair and yours curling into the hem of his t-shirt. it’s soft lips and stolen breaths and a whispered I’m so in love with you that’s so quiet you think you might imagine it, but then he says it again and your whole being starts to tingle. his skin is so soft under your fingers, letting the pads of your thumbs slide under his shirt, feeling the dip of his hip and the curve of his waist. desperate kisses, wanting kisses, gently tugged lips and the soft swipe of tongues.

it’s chaste, and then it’s not.

he pulls you closer, the space between you disappearing, and then starts moving backwards towards the bed. matt goes first, sinking onto the mattress, and he’s pulling you into his lap before you can protest, hands hooking behind your knees and then moving up to grab your ass, squeezing once. it makes you gasp, the sound pouring into his mouth from yours, and he grins, hauling you closer, rolling his hips up into yours in a way that lets you feel just how excited he is.

there’s a bit of adjusting, some sliding on the silk sheets, and at one point, you’re straddling his thick thigh, the muscle hard between your legs, and matt tries to pull you up, but only manages to drag you across his jeans. between the seam of your leggings and the feeling of his thigh, there’s no way you can bite back that moan, eyes squeezing shut as it falls out of you.

“what?” matt asks, and you can hear the grin in his voice, mouth close to your ear as he drags his lips along your cheek. “did you like that?”

“it felt good,” you admit, grabbing his face blindly, pulling his mouth to yours for another searing kiss, this one much less chaste than the first. matt plants his foot, lifting his thigh against you, and you sigh heavily into his mouth. “fuck. really good.”

matt pulls your hips down hard, dragging you in just the right way, and you moan again, feeling that white-hot zip of electricity worm its way up your spine with every move. “you have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this,” he whispers.

he keeps kissing you, releasing your hips only long enough to drag your shirt up your body, tossing it somewhere on the floor. you move more than willingly where he wants you, shuffling back at one point to peel your leggings off, giving him space to yank his t-shirt off and kick off his jeans.

it’s a trip, sliding into his sheets with no barrier between him and you. sure, there’s been a few drunken nights when you crashed in his bed and woken up the next morning with his arm wrapped around your middle, but you’d always been fully clothed.

this is entirely different.

he puts his hand between your legs, fingers seeking out your warmth, and you guide him, gripping his wrist in both hands, murmuring yes, matt and oh, right there until he starts kissing the words out of your mouth.

there’s a bit of fumbling, an awkward reach into the nightstand for a condom, the shuffle of underwear around ankles getting caught in the sheets. but then he’s hovering above you, one elbow planted beside your head, other hand angling himself correctly. “ready?” he asks, and you breathe out a yes.

he knows exactly what he’s doing.

he manages to find the perfect pace, curving a hand around your thigh to push your leg wide, his hips bearing down on yours with every thrust, but you love it. he finds places inside you you weren’t aware even existed, filling your body with pleasure you’ve only dreamed about. you keep your hands on his face, his stubbly jaw in your chin, watching the feelings cascade through his features.

“matt,” you moan when he finds that spot, giving it the attention it requires, leaving you a squirming mess beneath him.

“tell me, baby,” he whispers, burying his face in your neck. “I wanna hear it.”

“I’m gonna—” your words choke off in a moan, tossing your head back on the pillow, matt’s mouth closing around your throat.

“good girl,” he whispers, hips still snapping into yours. “that’s a good fucking gir—”

then the door bursts open, light from the hallway flooding in, and you both freeze. foggy stands in the doorway, a very surprised marci at his shoulder, and before you can even react to fog’s sputtered “oh fuck, oh my god, oh shit, wait, you’re—”, matt’s grabbing the pillow beside your head and launching it at the door. foggy yanks it shut in time to miss the projectile, and you burst into giggles.

matt joins in for a moment, that handsome smile on his face, but you watch as it goes almost serious. his pace resumes, unrelenting and moan-inducing. you’re a mess, and you don’t care who knows it. he starts to curse under his breath, curving a hand around the side of your face, thumb riding the line of your jaw. “you have no idea how good you feel.”

you whine his name again, taking the messy kiss he offers. you’re halfway there again already, and it only doubles when he lifts your thigh, hooking your knee over his shoulder, and goes deep. he must feel you clench, because he gasps loudly, a groan cracking through his throat, the sound desperate and delicious. a few more stutters of his hips, and then he’s pushing his face into your neck again, teeth clamping hard on your pulse, a muffled moan reaching your ears.

he slumps against you, the two of you a sweaty pile of limbs between his silk sheets, and you sigh, more happily than you have in a while. you put a hand in his hair, pushing the damp strands away from his face, and he hums.

“hey, matt?”

“mm?”

“how do you say, that was really hot in spanish?”

a beat, and then, “you really are gonna fail, aren’t you?”

—————

murdock tags: @saintmurd0ck @lazyxsquirrel @mindidjarin @freshabogados @steadyasthe-flowers @whosfrankie @ancientbeing10 @plutoneu @grounderprincesslookspissed @hellskitchenswhore @hoewkeyesblue @simple-lovebot

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List of Installments for All These Years

Summary: You met Matthew Murdock unexpectedly at Columbia University and you couldn't deny that there was an instant attraction–for you. But for Matt, you became as close of a friend to him as Foggy did. As the years pass by, your feelings only grow for your best friend, but all you can do is watch as he dates and sleeps with every other woman on campus and eventually in New York City but you.

Installment List

Part 1: "Saturday Night"

Part 2: "Of Drinking and Dishonesty"

Part 3: "Betrayal"

Part 4: "All the Broken Pieces"

Part 5: "Graduation"

Part 6: "The White Whale"

Part 7: "So Close Yet So Far"

Part 8: "Planting a Seed of Thought"

Part 9: "A Truth Revealed"

Part 10: "The Weight of Grief"

Part 11: "Last to Know"

Part 12: "Considering the Offer"

Part 13: "Breaking the News"

Part 14: "Day Late Friend"

Part 15: "What If...?"

Part 16: "The Death of Miscommunication"

Part 17: "Bridging the Distance"

Part 18: "A Series of Firsts"

Part 19: "Coffee, Brunch, and Hotel Rooms"

Part 20: "This Isn't Goodbye"

Part 21: "The Sound of Your Voice" {Coming Soon}