A/N: I FINALLY updated my masterlist - I won’t be listing specific characters since most of them have so many. Of course, I write for the more popular/well-known characters but if you’re unsure don’t be afraid to ask :) As always my DMs are open. (Not just for requests, but to talk about anything related to the fandoms listed!)
Requests: Sometimes I may take a while to answer or post requests. I’m a college student, and work full time. So please bare with me…😔
Key: Fluff (🧸) Smut (💋) Angst (🪦)
☆———————————————☆——————————————☆
ACOTAR (SJM Universe)
Azriel -
To Love and Let Go (🪦)
Between Us Alone (🪦,🧸)
No Damsels Here (🧸)
Eris Vanserra -
Treasured Yearning (🪦, 🧸)
Fourth Wing
Xaden Riorson -
Healing Through Hurt (🪦, 🧸)
Baldurs Gate 3
Marvel Cinematic Universe
Bucky Barnes -
Two Heads of Hydra (🪦?)
Scars and All (🪦, 🧸)
☆———————————————☆——————————————☆
Any toxicity or hate towards characters will result in being blocked. Criticism and discussions are welcome, disrespect is not. They’re fictional, and everyone is entitled to their own opinion.
Description: After days away on a mission, Azriel returns home, desperate for you. Lucky for him, Azriel finds you just as desperate.
Warnings: Porn no plot, p in v, oral sex (m receiving), knife play, gags, choking, hair pulling, rough sex, inappropriate use of Truth-Teller, multiple orgasms, dom!Azriel, sub!reader
A/N: This was a request from a very dear friend of mine, the one who put me on ACOTAR in the first place. To my dear Sugar, eat it up girl. This was so fun to write I’m almost embarrassed. Feel free to send in some requests! Enjoy!
Everyone in the Night Court understood that the High Lord’s shadowsinger worked hard. Azriel knew everything about everyone, everywhere. He spent his days soaring through the skies of Prythian learning what he could and reporting back to the High Lord. No one understood how hard Azriel worked better than you, though. His wife. His mate.
You were the one who waited up on the nights he came through the doors of your bedroom with bags beneath his eyes. You were the one who sat with him when he saw something that made him want to uproot the entire political system of Prythian. You were the one who kissed his scarred hands when they shook in the dark hours of the early morning, when the dreams were too much even for a warrior like him.
Tensions were high in Prythian, following the war with Hybern. Keeping an eye on all of the varying courts and their post-war movements required a lot from the Illyrian spy. Rhysand had even recruited Cassian to do some spy work, in the hopes to alleviate some of Azriel’s workload. Hardly a dent in the mountain of tasks Azriel had before him.
He’d been away for days. Sudden plays from Beron made Rhysand nervous, and when Rhys was nervous, Azriel went snooping. You understood that the safety of the realm came first, that your mate was doing important work and needed to be away so long, but the loneliness that came with his absence was starting to get to you.
You missed his eyes, the depth in them. You missed his voice, and the gentle timber of his voice when he told you he loved you. The occasional check-in you got through the mating bond, a tug of warmth reminding you that he thought of you, wasn’t nearly enough to satiate you. You missed his hands most of all.
Those big, tanned hands, covered in brutal patterns that tell his stories whether he wants them told or not, were your favourite part of your mate. The way his knuckles whitened when he gripped the hilt of Truth-Teller too tightly, the way his fingers flexed when he was nervous, the way they manhandled you whenever he got you alone…
Four days was much too long to have gone without those hands. You had to give yourself credit for trying to get by without them. On the nights where the simmering loneliness turned into a boiling neediness, you’d slip your own hands into your lace panties, close your eyes and dream of your winged spy. You almost hated Azriel in the desperate moments where your fingers tried so hard to imitate his, but ultimately failed to come close, leaving you aching all the days he was away.
After hearing word that Azriel had returned, and feeling a confirming hum zip through your mating bond, you’d been patient as he recounted his findings to Rhys. You’d slipped into a deep purple underthing, made of lace and sheer mesh, and got comfortable atop the bed you shared with your mate. You knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be home to you.
The anticipation already had heat pooling between your legs, your thighs pressing together in a stupidly feeble attempt to ease some of your tension. The minutes seemed to drag by as you waited, your heart pounding much too loudly for your own liking.
When the doorknob shook, your core clenched. He was finally here. Sure enough, the door to your bedroom opened to reveal your mate, still dressed in his Illyrian leathers. Azriel’s seven siphons pulsed with energy, his power barely contained by the mass number of them. His wings were tucked behind his back, and you silently wished they weren’t. Strapped to his thigh, glinting in the candlelight of your bedroom, Truth-Teller sat in its place.
Azriel’s face was unreadable as he stepped into the room. He shut the door behind him, his eyes falling on your frame. You watch his hazel eyes slowly drag over you, the slope of your breasts, barely hidden by lace, the curve of your hip wrapped in purple mesh. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his wings lifting only slightly.
“Aren’t you a sight.” He practically whispered.
“I missed you, Az.” You purred, sitting up on your elbows to stare at him.
His jaw clenched, his fingers flexing. Not nervous, you noted, excited. He let out a deep breath through his nose, almost a sigh. He walked towards the bed, towards you, and your stomach erupted in butterflies.
“I missed you more, pet.”
The coolness in his response sent a shiver down your spine. As Azriel reached the foot of the bed, he circled it, instead of climbing on like you’d expected. He walked over to you, holding a hand out expectantly. You leaned over to him, setting your chin down in his palm, nearly moaning at the contact after so many days. His fingers curled inward, securing a firm, but not painful, grasp on your cheeks.
“Good girl. I didn’t even have to say a word.”
His praise is something you never tire of. He gave you a small smile then, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.
“How was your trip?” You ask softly, gazing up at Azriel lovingly.
“Long.” Is all he replies.
His thumb traced a gentle line over your cheek, back and forth. His eyes were dark as you stared into them, thin golden irises around blown pupils. Something in them told you, clear as the night sky, that he was in no mood for slow tonight. The trip had been long, and you both knew it.
“Let me welcome you home properly,” you offered, sliding a hand over to paw at the tenting bulge in Azriel’s armour.
He let out a satisfied huff at the contact, releasing your jaw so that you could crawl over to where he stood at the side of the bed. Your hands lifted to his leather breastplate, moving to unfasten it, but his larger hands were quick to swat them away.
“Leave it on. You don’t need to take my shirt off to welcome me.”
You swallowed thickly at his words, arousal pooling in your underwear at the tone he took with you. You nodded, lowering your hands to unfasten his pants just enough to free his already hard cock. Azriel let out a soft breath as your fingers curled around the base of him, your thumb and middle finger almost touching around his width. Your mouth watered as you stared at him, desperate to feel the weight of him on your tongue. A large, scarred hand came down to slide into your hair, the palm resting on the back of your head.
“Go on, pet.” He ordered.
You wasted no time in parting your lips, taking the tip of him between them. He groaned quietly as you took him deeper into your mouth, your tongue gently dragging along the bottom of his dick. The hand on your head pushed you gently, not forcing, but encouraging. You choked, only for a moment, and relished at the growl he made as you did. Forcing yourself to relax, you let him push all of him into your mouth, your throat.
Tears stung in your eyes as he held you there for a moment, his jaw set as he gazed down at you. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he took you in. Azriel’s hand, the one in your hair, curled to make a tight first, the new grip making it easy for him to drag you back off his cock. You licked over the tip as he moved you, tugging against his grip to take him back in your mouth.
“Needy, eager thing.” He taunted, loosening his grip enough to let you set the pace.
You set a simple rhythm, bobbing your head in time with your breaths. You braced your hands on his thighs, sitting on your knees on the bed as you sucked him. The tears in your eyes spilled over, tracing sparkling lines of starlight down your cheeks. Azriel’s free hand lifted, his thumb brushing away some of your tears. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning around him as he brought his hand to his mouth, sucking away the remnants of your tears.
Azriel’s throat bobbed, his breath coming in hot pants as you quickened your pace. You slide your hands along his thighs, the fingers on your left hand bumping into the hilt of Truth-Teller, where it still sat in its sheathe.
“Careful,” Azriel warned gently, “Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
The needy whine that left you was muffled around the cock in your mouth, but was certainly not lost on Azriel. His eyebrow cocked, his head tilting to the side like an animal. His grip in your hair tightened once more and he yanked you off his cock. As you gasped for breath, he stared at you, his gaze somehow darkening more.
“That’s how it is, is it?”
“I don’t know what you mea-”
“You like my knife.” Azriel cut you off, watching your face flush with his statement.
“I like you, and the knife happens to be yours, so…” You sass, trying to play off the light embarrassment seeping into you as you sit back on your knees.
“Yeah? Come back here.” He ordered.
You knew better than to disobey him, but you hesitated slightly as you leaned back over to him, now on all fours. You watched with nervous eyes as he unstrapped Truth-Teller from his thigh, pulling it from its sheathe. The metal blade glittered, shadow seeming to leak from its hilt. Azriel flipped the knife in his hand, catching it by the blade with two fingers. He turned his gaze from the knife to you.
“So eager to have that pretty mouth full, aren’t you?”
You nodded. He lifted his knife to your mouth, tapping the hilt against your bottom lip.
“Then open up.”
“You want me to–”
“Did I say speak?” He nearly snarled, his eyes narrowing.
You shook your head, earning a hum of agreement from Azriel. You licked your lips, opening them slowly so that Azriel can slip the hilt of his blade into your waiting mouth. It’s cold, and it tastes like the sweat of his palm. This blade has seen hundreds of battles, thousands of deaths, and more blood than you could fathom. You should be disgusted. Instead, you moan. You hear a humourless chuckle from above you, your gaze snapping up to Azriel’s.
“You like that, huh? I should’ve known. Always such a nasty slut for me. Isn’t that right?”
The tone in his voice has you clenching around nothing, humiliated and so turned on by his words. You tried to respond, maybe to deny his claim, maybe to agree, but all that came out around the hilt of his blade was a garbled moan. You sucked the hilt like you had his cock, keeping your eyes on his approving gaze.
“Fuck, that’s enough.” Azriel growled, pulling the blade from your mouth, “Turn around. Stay on all fours.”
You shuddered, nodding your head as you turned around quickly. Azriel’s hands roamed over your body, trailing over the lingerie you’d picked out for him. His fingers slipped beneath the straps of your top, toying with them by just slightly dragging them off your shoulders. He pressed a kiss to one of your shoulderblades as his hands slid over your stomach. His touch was reverent, a stark contrast to the way he’d shoved the hilt of his knife down your throat.
“Az, don’t tease.” You huffed.
“Not teasing. Appreciating.” He replied, biting down on your shoulder.
“I fucking missed this.”
His words had you melting, his fingers making quick work of your panties. He nipped at the skin of your thigh, your ass, as he dragged the lace down your legs, which had you trembling by the time he ran a finger down your core. He wasted no more time, plunging two fingers into you. You let out a startled moan, your head dropping forward as he slid his fingers in and out at a punishing pace. No more appreciating, then.
“Fuck, Az!” You moaned, earning you a bite on the hip and a curl of his fingers.
“I’ve barely touched you and you’re screaming my name. Is that all it takes, pet?”
“When it’s you.” Your answer is honest, and he knows it too.
His fingers don’t relent, not even as his thumb moves to press your clit. You cry out, clenching down on his fingers. This was what you’d been missing so badly. Your fingers could never do what his fingers did to you now. No matter what you tried, nothing could make you feel like Azriel did.
“I want you to come on my fingers first.” He said, his fingers curving upward to make you see stars.
Even without the order he gave, you were approaching your orgasm quickly. The sparks under your skin snapped brighter, hotter, and you knew you were a goner. A few quick rubs of his thumb had the cord in your gut snapping like a rubber band pulled too taut and you fell over the edge. You moaned his name as he continued to fuck you on his fingers, drawing out your whines and whimpers as long as he could.
He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, bringing them to his lips to suck them clean. You tried to catch your breath, your arms shaky beneath you as pleasure continued to zip through your veins. You choked on a sound at the blunt press of his cock against you, your pussy still clenching from having just come.
“Az, wait–”
“No.”
His patience had been thin the moment he’d landed back in Velaris after his mission. He had none left, not when he could feel your pussy trying to suck him in. Azriel pushed forward, groaning lowly as he sank into your tight heat. You whined at the intrusion, woefully understretched from just two of his fingers. The burn of him was thrilling, the stretch something you relished.
Your mate let out a deep grunt as he bottomed out inside you, stilling for a moment to trace his hand down your spine. Your head spun, dizzy from the feeling of him buried so deep, but you could’ve sworn you heard him mutter a quiet “beautiful” from where he stood above you.
When he drew his hips back and snapped them forward again, you practically screamed. Every nerve in your body was alive, singing at the feeling of having your mate home, having him inside you again. Azriel fucked you hard, not too fast, but deep and steady enough to have you crying out loudly at each thrust.
“You take me so well. Made for taking cock, aren’t you?” He grunted, settling his hands on your hips to pull you back into his thrusts.
“Yes, Az, made for it. I’m a slut for it.”
“That you are, pet. My cockhungry little whore.” He replied, making you moan louder still.
“Faster.” You breathed out, a knot once more forming in the pit of your stomach.
“Any faster and you’ll tell the whole house exactly what we’re up to.” He taunted, but the way his hips sped up betrayed him.
“A-As if they care.” You countered.
“Bite down on this.”
You focused your gaze to see Truth-Teller before you once more. Azriel’s hand carefully held the blade, the hilt balanced delicately in front of your face. You obliged, opening your mouth for the knife once more, sinking your teeth into the leather-wrapped hilt. The sound of your moans were muffled against the makeshift gag, and Azriel took that as all he needed to fully let loose.
He fucked into you without hesitation, his hips slamming into yours again and again. The four posts of the bed groaned as they shook from his movements. You felt a trail of spit slide down your chin from around the hilt of your mate’s weapon, dripping into the mattress below you. These sheets would need to be burned, you imagined. Your cunt clenched around him, making the male behind you groan.
“You’re close.” Azriel said, his voice deep.
You could only nod, even without the gag, the feeling of him rearranging your guts had sent you past the point of coherent sentences. One of Azriel’s scarred hands slid over your stomach and between your legs, two of his fingers rolling over your clit. He leaned over you, biting down on the shell of your ear as he fucked you.
“Come for me. Come because I said so. Because you’re mine.”
The growl in his voice was enough to tip you over the edge, your muscles tensing and relaxing as you came around him. Azriel managed two more harsh thrusts into you before he came with a low call of your name, rocking into you as you rode out your highs.
“Welcome home.” You murmured, once you’d let Truth-Teller fall from your mouth.
“I missed you so much.” He said, smoothing a hand over your side as he slid out of you, “I’ll avoid such long journeys in the future.”
“No, you won’t,” you laugh softly, breathlessly.
“You’re probably right. But I think I’ll keep you right here in this bed until the next one.”
“No complaints from me.”
Azriel chuckled softly, finally shucking off his uniform. His tanned muscles glistened with sweat, his tattoos now on proud display. You found your mouth watering all over again.
“Don’t give me that look. Rhysand told me he needed you to be able to walk tomorrow.” Azriel warned gently, though there was no malice behind it.
“Since when does Rhysand decide how much you get to fuck me?”
You watched something shift in Azriel’s eyes then, his mouth snapping shut as his jaw clenched once more, and you knew you were in for a long fucking night.
this had been on my drafts for a year and a half… how did i neglect him like that? | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, grief. some fics have 18+ content so minors please DNI.
part one | part two | main masterlist
SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS
hobbies • grumpy!azriel x sunshine!reader
↳ by @milswrites (angst, fluff, sometimes suggestive)
a new place • azriel x archeron!reader
↳ by @acoazlove (angst, eventual fluff, yearning)
flirting never got you nowhere | afterglow • azriel x daycourt!reader
↳ by @buckyschair (smut, idiots in love)
friends to strangers to lovers • azriel x fem!reader
↳ by @frknsteins (rhysand’s sister!reader, fwb, smut, angst)
trial and error • azriel x reader
↳ by @pellucid-constellations (angst, single mom!reader, comfort, fluff)
little star • azriel x reader
↳ by @idkyetxoxo (slow burn, friends to lovers, yearning, comfort, fluff)
azriel, are you okay? • azriel x fem!reader
↳ by @mahalachives (humour, angst, smut)
shadows of the exile • azriel x fem!reader
↳ by @sweet-pea-channie (angst, fluff, comfort, slow burn, soft!az, smut)
my only anchor • azriel x reader
↳ by @mooniscrying (angst, unrequited love)
tip of my tongue • azriel x single mom!fem!reader
↳ by @peachesofteal (fluff)
made to wait • azriel x fem!reader
↳ by @ellecdc (angst, yearning, pining, fluff)
the bond that breaks • azriel x fem!reader
↳ by @irisandink ((very angsty, slow burn, comfort, fluff, smut)
shadowstruck • azriel x reader
↳ by @zarteyaz (angst, fluff)
the softest place to fall | part two | part three • azriel x rhys’sister!reader
↳ by @julietreject (enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst)
sing to me • azriel x mermaid!reader
↳ by @prythianpages
supposed to be together • azriel x fem!reader
↳ by @angelshadowsinger (angst, smut)
the dusk in your eye • azriel x reader
↳ by @driedposies
the night we met | part two • azriel x reader
↳ by @mahalachives (angst, yearning, fluff)
ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S
all’s fair in love and war • azriel x fem!reader
↳ by @soulofapatrick (hurt/comfort)
maps • azriel x reader
↳ by @berryz-writes (dad!azriel, fluff, comfort)
my hero • azriel x reader
↳ by @really-fanny-longbottom (fluff)
bound by secrets • azriel x beron’s daughter!reader
↳ by @inkedinshadows (angst, fluff)
beautiful stranger • azriel x reader
↳ by @prythianpages (fluff)
a tactical ploy • azriel x reader
↳ by @azrielwingspan (jealous!azriel, fluff)
a part of me is tethered to you • azriel x fem!reader
↳ by @soulofapatrick (fluff)
like calls to like • azriel x shadowsinger!reader
↳ by @sodapopwrites (angst)
no grave (can hold my body) • azriel x reader
↳ by @valentina-writes (pregnant!reader, angst, hurt/comfort)
how will i know • dad!azriel x mom!reader
↳ by @coquettefrancaise (fluff)
figure you out • rockstar!azriel x reader
↳ by @court-of-starss (angst)
beneath the surface • azriel x reader
↳ by @anmwrites (angst)
inner ace • azriel x reader
↳ by @dont-look-its-embarrassing (angst, fluff, slow burn)
the great frosting incident • azriel x reader
↳ by @bluelillybooks (smut, fluff)
in the heart of velaris • azriel x reader
↳ by @nightcourtnovels (dad!azriel, fluff, slight angst, comfort)
i got you babe • sick!azriel x reader
↳ by @coquettefrancaise (hurt/comfort)
lovestruck • azriel x reader
↳ by @velaris-fic-repository (fluff)
in the silence, i found you • azriel x fem!reader
↳ by @sweet-pea-channie (mute!reader, angst, comfort, fluff)
moms day off • azriel x reader
↳ by @ghostlyinsight (dad!azriel, mom!reader, fluff)
shadows and candlelight • azriel x fem!reader
↳ by @durgenyx (fluff, suggestive)
don’t panic • azriel x reader, friend!nesta x reader
↳ by @tovibeornottovibe (friend!nesta x reader, angst, fluff)
his waking nightmare • azriel x reader
↳ by @hellsenthero (angst, hurt/comfort)
for you i would • azriel x reader
↳ by @azrielblue (friends to lovers! fluff)
a lovely person • azriel x reader
↳ by @miryum (enemies to lovers, angst but fluffy)
WHERE THE MOON SHINES BETWEEN US – one
Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader
synopsis As the sister to the greatest Night Court High Lord in history, the one thing you share with Azriel is that you live in Rhysand’s shadows—each in your own way. But even being hidden can’t stop your life from shattering, over and over again. When a bargain ties you and the shadowsinger together, what will stop that from being fractured, too?
tags yearning, slow burn, angst, hurt-comfort, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers, inner circle, found family, did i mention SLOW BURN, this fic is literally her entire immortal life,
warnings features the spring court attack, under the mountain with rhys centuries later, & everything before, after, and in between. in this chapter: violence, angst, grief, mentions of war, spring court attack described in detail
word count 7.5k
author's note she's here. rhysand's sister if she survives and grows to rely on a certain shadowsinger more than she ever could have expected. technically i consider this two chapters, but we're setting everything in motion right off the bat regardless – expect no shortage of angst & yearning w everyone's favorite shadowsinger to come <3
series masterlist | next chapter | read on ao3 | taglist open
THE BEGINNING
Two years after you were born, a pair of boys opened the door to a windowless cell and pulled out their younger brother. He squinted, stumbling out into the open field under the dusky sun, and winced as his brothers tugged on his too-smooth hands that had only seen eight years of life. They threw him on the grass, soil staining his teeth, and splayed out his arms.
They wanted to test the healing that came from his blood, and so they did the first thing they could think of. The second-eldest brother kept him in place as oil sloshed over his palms, fingers, wrists. The eldest brother was the one to light the match.
The boy’s screams were what saved him.
Seven years before that, your brother was born. For Fae, the five years between you was barely a breath, but to Rhys, he might as well have been double your age. Your mother didn’t need to raise him to care for you—it was innate, the way he wanted to shield you, to protect you.
He taught you to fly. Gently. When it didn’t work, your mother took it into her own hands, doing precisely what she had done to Rhys. It worked. And you’d fly with him, sometimes, whenever you returned to the Night Court after a rotation throughout Prythian. You’d tell him of Dawn and Day and Summer, and he’d look at you, grinning like you were showing him the world.
With a past of deprivation and enclosure, your mother knew more of what she didn’t want for you than what she did want. She wanted none of the barrenness that came from being raised an Illyrian woman, terrified to lose her wings. Doing anything to prevent her cycle, to deny her body its natural course, only to have it come anyway, sending her to the square to have her freedom stripped. Caged. Clipped.
She wanted none of that for you.
You grew up around Prythian—as free as she could make you. It was a boarding school sort of arrangement; cycled throughout the courts for your schooling. Dawn, Day, Winter, Summer. Night Court was but a resting point, a home. You did your basic schooling there, but it was among the other four courts you attended that you truly grew, meeting new people who taught you various crafts and trades.
Your mother justified the system to your father by claiming it would teach you how to gain the favor of the other courts, encouraging alliances. For all you knew, perhaps it would lead to marrying you off someday. The daughter of a High Lord, even half-Illyrian, was still a daughter, after all. But for the first decades of your life, you couldn’t be bothered to care. Not when women in your court—women like your own cousin—were suffering from within their cages, trapped.
It was thanks to your mother that you were nothing like them. That you were happy, safe, free.
You were barely twelve when Morrigan was brutalized by her own family, too young to truly understand the capacity of your eighteen year-old cousin’s suffering at the time. But you grew to appreciate the gift your mother gave you. It became your guiding star, your saving grace.
Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.
Even with so much time away from the Night Court, you saw Rhys often; despite being as worthy a warrior as his bastard brothers, he was in and out of Illyria to visit the Night Court as the High Lord’s son. You’d grown to know many sons of High Lords and found your brother to be a better, gentler, more cunning heir than the rest. More importantly, even as you saw him growing stronger, he was still just your brother; you saw none of that politics in him. He always seemed to make sure of that around you, as if he’d wanted to spare you. Considering he was the one your father focused on for such things, it wasn’t too difficult. It was your mother that placed any weight in your endeavors, who knew you truly.
Your mother had been merciless to Rhys in the way most Illyrian mothers were, though not unkind and generous—far from it. You knew it was your mother that made Rhys the way he was, who made your brother someone so fiercely loving despite your father and not someone cold and sharp because of him.
You might not have seen him often, but never once did you doubt him.
Rhys’s love always glimmered behind his eyes, even in that stony mask of cold he put on outside in court matters. You could see it whenever you met his gaze, that hidden warmth behind his cunning violet. But you most often saw that part of him that was a brother more than anything in your mother’s house—when he was with the two he considered his own siblings.
It was different for you, to know those two other Illyrian boys. You never stayed in your mother’s Illyrian house—she did all she could to keep you from Illyria, after all—and when you first began to visit her house at eighteen during your Night Court months, sick of staying in the Hewn City and desperate not to become what had been destined for Mor, it felt like being among intruders. Because throughout your life, you had been moving constantly, from court to court and back again. You had never had one safe harbor or refuge besides people. Home was Rhys and your mother—not these two Illyrians. Yet they were here, familiar to your home and not to you, born before you were even conceived. And they fit like puzzle pieces, even if you did not recognize them.
You were no stranger to Illyrians and their twisted ways; it was part of why your mother was so insistent on having you study abroad so often, unchained to any sort of possibility of what she had endured. That made you wary of Cassian and Azriel. What your mother had suffered—and almost suffered—at the hands of their kind, her kind, was horrific. Nearly unspeakable. Illyrians were brash, ruthless, lethal, merciless, and these two were no exception. But you soon learned the brash and ruthless one had been shamed and abandoned, had lost his own mother. And the lethal and merciless one had endured horrors and torture that turned his soul inwards. Yet neither brought their wrath upon you. No, they seemed tentative, careful with you at first. And yet—urgent. Steadfastly attentive. As if anything with a drop of their honorary brother’s blood was their own.
You would remember that day forever: returning from a month in Day Court, languid and sleepy after poring endlessly in Helion’s sprawling, glittering libraries, and opening the door to a swaggering, thunderous Cassian who moved rather comfortably in the house. You'd opened your mouth when your mother embraced you, wanting to mention that she hadn’t mentioned there would be other people here, too. You’d shaken hands with a quiet, cool Azriel introducing himself without an ounce of acknowledgement of the shadows cloaking him or the fact that he was a stranger in your home. A sleepy-eyed Rhys had slid into the house after dusk, shrugging off his leathers and kissing the top of your head before collapsing into one of the dinner table chairs. Then he smiled and chuckled and laughed, as if those two filled him with life.
For years, you couldn’t help your spark of ire.
A part of you—a hateful part of you—considered that perhaps you weren’t sufficient. But then Rhys would come home and you’d see how his eyes would crease in the corners when he faced his brothers. His voice would lilt between the brothers’ animalistic fighting and thrown words, and even silent Azriel’s eyes would sometimes grow soft, losing that fogged, haunted gaze that had always seemed to cloud him. And so even if they were more brothers than you were a sister, perhaps Cass and Az were Rhys’s brothers. And if anything, you were glad there was a place for him to keep tending to the flames of his warmth.
There was a period later on, of course, when he’d become withdrawn at the hands of your father, who separated him from his brothers entirely. You’d seen little of them, with the shadowsinger at the High Lord's whim and Cassian commanding legions. Rhys only had you until the trio reunited at the Blood Rite. That week, you were staying at the Night Court, and you couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think. You had no doubt in Rhys, in his abilities, and you had heard enough about his brothers by then to know that they, too, were formidable. But there was always a chance. And those who expected Rhys’s survival—all of the Night Court—thought him unbreakable. But you had seen him broken and softened too many times to imagine him as the rest of Prythian did.
And when Rhys won the Blood Rite and returned… he’d come back with his brothers, but you were the first place he winnowed to, taking you into his arms and holding you with such ferocity you thought you might crumble. He’d always cared for you, loved you as your brother, fiercely protective in the way many Fae males were, and you had always attributed it to those instincts and later; his guilt. But that day, when he’d held you so tightly, like it was this he’d been waiting for after reaching the top of Ramiel, you he was climbing towards rather than the summit, you realized how much he loved you for the sake of it. How much he needed you. And how much you needed him.
Nearly two decades drifted by. The war passed. Rhys gained and lost legions—gained and lost himself. He’d fought in battle, again separated from Cassian among the troops while Azriel was kept close to your father as spymaster. There were no more warm days in Illyria, no more voices filling the walls of your mother’s home. You hadn’t realized that it was the presence of those three and your mother that had made Illyria bearable at all—made it feel like a home at all.
You spent most of those seven years in Dawn, Day, and Velaris. Your mother, too, retreated from Illyria as it busied with warriors and preparations and kept to the City of Starlight.
Your brother, at least, kept in touch through your mind. There was no bond there, no steady assurance between you, but sometimes you’d be within one of Helion’s libraries when Rhys’s voice would find you, courts away.
He tried to hide it every time—how war hollowed him, stripped him bare.
And his walls were always up—those mental shields, blocking out the horrors of what he’d seen. Whenever the Illyrian legions returned to their home bases, you’d abandon Velaris entirely, relieved to find Rhys with your mother in her home. You always knew he was alive—nearly every night, he’d manage to send some kind of message to you, which you’d pass to your mother—but that never dulled the blow when you finally saw him.
One night, though, he hadn’t sent word before his arrival. You’d woken to the sound of the door opening, and you found him in the living room, sitting on the ground, wings drooping and his head in his hands, as if he’d been too tired to even sit on the couch.
I couldn’t find them, he’d always tell you first. It was often the first thing he’d update you with—if he’d found his brothers among the dead. This time, however, he hadn’t noticed you. Hadn’t even lifted his head. Instinctively, you slipped into his mind, finding the answer without startling him—
And was struck with the scene, so visceral and bloody you stopped short in your tracks.
That carnal, raw violence of the final stretches of battle, when weapons did little. When it was flesh upon flesh, brute force against brute force, and will against will. Bones cracking and guttural screams. No mercy. And the aftermath: bodies upon bodies, piling under the smoke. Flies and insects like maidens of death, flitting about the sea of the fallen.
And your brother, digging through them, hurling corpses aside at every sight of a wing.
Gently—so gently—you retreated from his mind. So smoothly and soft, as if you were part of his own darkness, soft enough for him not to notice.
“Rhys,” you whispered, and his chin lifted to you. His eyes were black, but his face was raw. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head. Rasped, “Didn’t find them.”
Good news, a relief. But there was little warmth in your brother’s voice. Only exhaustion. Bone-deep and so, so, lonely.
You said nothing. You only kneeled at his side and held him. Let him shed his tears in this darkness and solitude so that his legions would never know the heir to command was breaking apart. You knew that this place was a reprieve for him, that it was a pocket of the world that didn’t know bloodlust and death. You and your mother helped Rhys heal from that absence of love during the War, but it was difficult when there was always a return to the battlefield.
That night you saw your mother from her doorway, woken from sleep. Even an Illyrian mother, never coddling, her eyes would narrow in that way they always did when she saw either of you in pain—in true pain. In sorrow and desolation. As if she felt it, too.
Yet so softly, she would smile. As if her children, loving each other in a realm of so many brothers and sisters warring for power across the courts—it made up for it.
Impossibly, those seven years passed. You’d barely been able to study or focus knowing Rhys was off in the war, and to even imagine the rest of those you knew fighting made you sick.
Morrigan. Cassian. Azriel.
Your cousin, you were the most assured of. For she was making legends of herself with her successes, and there was always word of her—off with the human queens, leading the charges and strategy, formidable and guided by truth. And Cassian, though never in the same rotations as Rhys, would pass through the Illyrian camp near your mother’s house with his own legion, and whenever you were there, the relief was disarming. You’d find Rhys’s mind—or try to; he had always been better at the ways of daemati than you—and tell him his brother was still alive.
But Azriel… he was nowhere to be found. Nowhere at all.
Rhys told you it must have been because he was with your father, working closely as spymaster. You had little access to your father as it was and only Rhys’s word to count on. But you couldn’t erase the shadowsinger’s nature from your memory, no matter how vague it was. He was the only one who might thrive in solitude. In desolation. Still—at least Rhys and Cass were able to reconnect with your family in their own ways, no matter how rarely. Meanwhile, Azriel was the only Night Court spymaster there was. For all any of you knew, he could have been entirely alone with his shadows for those seven years. Just as he had been long, long ago.
As your family fought, you traveled between allied courts and mastered all else. Your studies were a welcome distraction as you grew, cultured yourself. You learned academics and the ways of healing and crafting and art. You practiced magic and glamours and fostered power. By three decades of life you knew things that Fae in their centuries hadn’t yet learned.
By the end of the war, when the wall was built and humans were given freedom, you were not hailed as a hero, as the others were, but had still become formidable in your own way. A jewel of all courts.
You did not know politics, however. Not like Rhys. And you had met Tamlin before, albeit briefly, and Rhys had spoken highly of him. You didn’t know that the rest of the Spring Court—Tamlin’s father and two brothers—hated your court for ridding them of their human slaves. Hated Rhys for the power he so clearly demonstrated. What you knew was what your studies and travels had shown you: the kindness of Fae. The warmth of different courts.
It hadn’t occurred to you that there was a reason you’d never been sent to Spring Court. No more than their stance on humans in the past.
Five years after the war ended, your benefit of the doubt was enough for the sight of Tamlin’s father, the Spring Court High Lord, at the traveling Illyrian camp not to scare you. Not when you saw him over her mother’s shoulder.
Not until he drew a blade and plunged it through your mother’s chest.
You had learned healing in Dawn and Day, been taught things overseas that many your age would never have acquired. And though your power was not the same as those with such magic native to them, you think there had always been a part of you, unexplainable, that could tap into anything. Any little bit of magic if you tried hard enough. And it was Dawn and Day you had honed most finely, grown to feel at home in. It was the skills learned there that let you survive the onslaught and play dead, fashion a glamour until you seemed no more than a corpse for him to abandon. To try to heal your mother through the tears and delirium—to mend the horrific, bloody strips of membrane left from being cut off. To somehow heal where the wings had been serrated from her, taken as if meant to be some prize or decoration. Her life force and freedom stolen to be framed like a prize of war.
You had failed in healing her, of course. Her head was already gone by then. But that didn’t stop you from being covered in your mother’s blood by the time Rhys found you. You still don’t remember what happened after that. Only the sight of Rhys when you woke in the House of Wind: his face in his hands, shuddering, too worn and shattered to even hear you wake. To even prevent you from hearing his voice when he thought you were asleep. It should have been me. It should have been me.
You did not fly after that. Not because you couldn’t—your wings were intact, summoned at will like Rhys—but rather because there was no part of you that could face your own Illyrian blood again. To use so freely what your mother had lost in agony with her life. Because it could have been you. Could have been you, keeping your wings in your mother’s place rather than tucked back behind you, disappearing into wisps of shadow. You could have been the prize, the target, rather than the spare that survived only because the Spring High Lord had underestimated you.
You never told Rhys what you heard him say when you first woke in the House of Wind, but you so terribly wanted to tell him that he was wrong. That it should have been you.
“Just something. Anything.”
You hated it when Rhys sounded like this. Strained. As if it physically hurt him, grated the insides of his throat to speak to you.
“Please,” he said for perhaps the sixth time that morning, his chin tipped down so low that he looked through his lashes at you, hugging yourself under the covers. His violet eyes glistened with miserably breathtaking beauty. Beauty you hated yourself for dimming. “You love the Rainbow. Come on. Just an hour. Half an hour.”
“Rhys.” You sounded hoarse. “Leave.”
He didn’t answer for a moment, but you saw him stiffen. It was the first time you’d spoken in nine days. It had been like this for three months, having you lock yourself into your room in the House of Wind, with Rhys visiting every morning and night to try to coax you out of bed. Nobody else had tried to. Nobody else could.
Robbed of your mother, you had abandoned everything, body and mind. You didn’t want to move or eat or speak. You did not use your wings. Did not summon them.
“I don’t know,” Rhys said at last, impossibly soft. “I don’t know how to help you.”
You swallowed a wince at the pang that shot through you. It hurt to see him this way, and you turned your back.
He called your name so desperately that you nearly whipped around.
“Please,” he repeated, and the break in his voice this time was unfamiliar. Strange. “Father wants to send you to the Hewn City. But if you find a life here in Velaris, I think you can… I don’t know,” he said, nearly frantic. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I—” His voice cracked entirely, and there was a sharp intake of breath that made the first tear slip down your cheek. “Please. You need to get up. You can’t be like this forever. If Father sends you down there, I don’t know if you’ll come back.”
To the Hewn City. To the place you insisted on being sent away from barely a decade ago, just a few years before the start of the War.
“Rhysand,” you breathed. “Go. Away.”
“Like hell I will,” he growled, but his voice died instantly. “I’m not leaving you here to rot any longer. I need you to let me help you. You need to live again. Even just a little.”
You squeezed your eyes shut. “Why?”
“You can’t—can’t be sent down there. You know what’ll happen.”
Whatever would have happened to Morrigan.
You all but pounced past the barriers of your brother’s mental shields, tearing through walls of dark, foggy smoke. Get the fuck out of my room, you snarled into his mind.
Get up and make me.
Prodding my anger won’t get you what you want, Rhysand.
A pause. All I want is for you to be all right.
For a moment, you saw yourself from his eyes—a silhouette under the covers, cloaked in night. You felt his anguish and fear and rage. The deep, languid shadows of his mind were familiar, warm to you despite their inherent cold, and he was permitting you free rein—you knew he was—but you also knew that you could pass through his defenses most of the time already. You retreated back into your own mind, sending out your next words, brisk and toneless: Get out.
Let me see it, he replied.
No.
I won’t do anything to hurt you.
No.
I just need to see what hap—
No.
Father has been wanting to—
GET OUT.
Out of your head. Your room. Your life. Your grief. You thinned your defenses to the scrape of his talons on your shields, letting your brother see precisely what it was you meant, what it was you wanted. To wither away, to fall from the cliffs you’d once flown from. After years of soaring in the sky, to crash headfirst into the ground.
Rhys slipped past your mental shields like smoke spilling into glass. I’m mourning her too, he said. I didn’t endure what you did, but I understand your pain, sister. I want to help alleviate it. Any way I can. Let me.
You said nothing.
He sighed. I can arrange for someone else to escort you out, if you’d like.
The very thought of anyone new, unfamiliar, untrustworthy made your stomach roil.
Cassian, then. He’d be happy to join you.
I barely know Cassian.
You trust him.
No more than you.
Who would you trust more than me, then?
Your mother’s face flashed into your mind.
I’m sorry.
Get out of my head.
You felt him retreat.
“Please,” Rhys said out loud. Again. “Just let me watch the memory. It could help Father find him. Make him pay. If you want, I can remove—”
Don’t finish that sentence. Your pillowcase was damp now, and you didn’t have the energy to speak. Just go.
For a moment, there was only stillness. I’ve apologized to you endlessly, and I’ll continue to do it until the day I die, he said. But I need to help you. How about Day? I’m sure Helion would be willing to host you for a time.
Helion has a court to run.
You are like a daughter to him.
I am nobody’s daughter anymore.
Rhys let out a shuddering breath.
“Go,” you said hoarsely. “Please.”
He sounded faint. “How can I leave you like this?”
Just like you have every other night I ignore you.
Talons scraped against your shields.
If my company is the issue, he said, consider Cassian or Azriel, at least. Genuinely. Just let them take you to the Artist’s Quarter for twenty minutes. Walk around. Say nothing. Wear a glamour for a while. Just leave the house. Even the room. I don’t have to be with you.
You felt it then, his pain. His guilt. Felt his regret at not meeting you and your mother halfway on your way to him as he was meant to, instead training his Illyrian legions. For mentioning to Tamlin where you were at all.
You turned back over to your brother. Faced his twisted expression. Your company is not the issue, Rhys.
Your brother’s brows quivered. How could you have forgotten, you thought, that he was the same male who had blamed himself for every fall you made when learning to fly? Who’d snarled at even Cassian’s sly remarks at your expense in the first year you’d lived with them for your Night Court visits? He had been gifted the power to experience the minds and lives of others—yet it surely tormented him now, to feel any of it.
You were evil, you thought, for making someone so fiercely loyal suffer with you like this.
His eyes softened. “Tell me what to do to make it better for you. Tell me how, and I’ll do it.”
And you knew he meant it.
For the first time, you settled in a place indefinitely. You moved to Velaris and dealt with the grief until it dulled enough to paint itself into the sky rather than every living thing the sun touched; just enough to function again. To start visiting Dawn or Day again and even sometimes Summer or Winter.
Never Spring. Never Autumn.
The latter was filled with power hungry hounds. Beron’s sons, you’d learned, weren’t all terrible—Eris was somewhat tolerable alone, you’d discovered in a solstice ball, when he’d proven himself not as vile as his brothers—and in turn had learned you were not as the Night Court had been made out to be.
Lucien Vanserra was the only Autumn Court son you’d come to somewhat befriend. You’d seen how his own court was cruel to him, how he, too, had love stripped away from him before his eyes. But when he fled Autumn to serve as an emissary for the Spring Court, you never saw him or sought to. You wouldn’t hold it against Lucien, knowing that in a life like his, any kindness at all, any safe harbor, was deeply, wholly necessary. Let him have it, even under the court that killed your mother. Even after you would hear years later that the order for your head instated by Tamlin’s father had been annulled by Tamlin himself upon coming to power. Let Lucien have that kindness; so long as you would never lay any eye upon it.
You kept to Velaris. You had already been fond of it, but you grew to find a true, steadfast love for it, walking along the Sidra and visiting the Artist’s Quarter. Nodding to passersby faeries who had never needed to face the monstrosity of the world beyond.
You still did not fly. Did not summon your wings.
Even as you began to smile again, enjoy yourself again—when fleeting moments of joy would find you, and for just a breath, you would forget the hole burrowed deep within you—seeing Illyrian wings made you want to collapse in on yourself. They struck you like the memory of blood against stone, like a fragment of the past thrust upon the present.
Rhys had never summoned his wings when begging for you to leave your chambers those first few months of your grief. He had no reason to. And outside of your nightmares, you never saw such wings at all, But half a year after your mother’s murder, when you did try, slowly, to live again, it turned out Azriel had begun to take partial residence in Velaris almost immediately following the incident while serving as your father’s spymaster.
“He’s rarely here because of missions,” Rhys told you a month after you began to join him for dinner. “He’ll be here for this week before the next. I just thought you should be made aware if you hear someone arrive in the middle of the night, or if you see any shadows slipping around. Chances are you won’t hear him at all.”
That much, you knew. In your mother’s house, Azriel was only heard when he wanted to be—when he knew you needed to know someone was in the house or approaching. Mostly when Rhys or Cassian were doing Cauldron knew what in their chambers and Azriel’s presence was enough to humiliate them into silence.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Rhys asked over his shoulder. He looked rested today—though worn. He’d been warmer lately, almost relieved. Perhaps he thought you were truly getting better.
“Starfall,” you said absently, following Rhys to the hall. You’d seen Azriel in the years following the war before your mother’s death. You’d taken those five years for granted—your brother, his brothers, and your cousin who felt more like your sister finally united with you again. There had still been affairs following the war that drew them to their duties, but you’d been able to sleep easily for once and learn to work without an undercurrent of dread. Gods, you’d replay the memory of Azriel coming back to the House of Wind forever after the War: how he’d embraced Rhysand and Cassian like they were air. The shadowsinger had never been so overwrought with emotion—and your brother never so relieved.
And you, watching them reunite… you’d decided right then that you would never forgive your father.
“That’s almost a year,” replied Rhysand.
You hummed distractedly, gaze trailing the archway. A month ago, you’d finally agreed to leave your bedroom to join Rhys for dinner—and only because you’d heard him arguing with your father. The High Lord had visited you those first few months, but you were too hollowed out and empty to care. After that, whenever he came, you often only heard the tenor of his voice burgeoning until Rhysand’s joined him—until they were roaring at one another, then the sound barrier would come up, and you would lose any hold on what they said. It became clear to you, though, what was happening.
Rhys was suffering for what you had become, in more ways than one.
You had decided that would be no longer. Even if a part of you would always thrum with dread when you opened a door to an unfamiliar knock, even if you would never fly again, at least Rhysand could heal. He could thrive if he didn’t have you weighing on his conscience. You could endure being hollow and broken, but you were tired of being a burden.
As you followed Rhys into the dining room, you saw Azriel—his back to you as he moved something along the kitchen counter. Behind him, as they often were, his wings were tucked in tight.
The memory struck you like thunder.
It was clear as day: wings, discarded and shriveled from detachment, as if they had tucked into themselves without their host. Red fluid from the membrane glimmering over wooden floors.
You stopped short, blood screaming through your veins.
A hand caught your shoulder, and you flinched, a yelp slipping from you. Rhys’s eyes were round, and the certainty of the panic in his expression—as if he wasn’t surprised but ready for this, waiting for you to crumble even if he didn’t know why—struck you with startling humiliation.
This is what you had become. Something skittish and fragile. So easily shattered.
“What is it?” Rhys asked softly. Behind him, Azriel had turned, brows lifted—then settled as he found you. Shadows danced around him like ocean currents.
He said nothing, eyes flicking to Rhysand first. You already knew there was a conversation happening between them.
“Speak out loud,” you snapped. “Don’t tread around me like a child.”
Azriel’s gaze finally landed upon you. Darkness incarnate. Yet warm. “I’ve been wanting to check on you for weeks, but Rhys said you wanted to be alone.” His eyes were unreadable, but his throat shifted. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
His chin dipped, as if it were a perfectly sufficient response. You’d forgotten what it was like to speak to Azriel, the only one of those three brothers who seemed to accept your silence.
What is it? Rhys repeated. Your mental shields weren’t up—they rarely were lately, with how little you left the House. And how little energy you had.
You swallowed, passing by your brother to get a glass from the cabinet. Nothing.
Something exasperated and tiresome pulsed towards your mind. Please don’t do this.
I’m too tired to push you out, Rhys.
Good. I don’t want you to. You practically threw terror at my shields a moment ago.
Azriel reached over you when you opened the cabinet, giving you a glass from the upper shelf. “Thank you,” you murmured.
Still waiting, by the way.
Your fingers clenched around the glass as you went to the faucet. Go back to Azriel’s head.
I’m afraid he already beat you to cursing me and throwing up his walls.
You slammed your shields up—much to your detriment, squinting your eyes for a moment as you filled the glass. Azriel’s gaze warmed you from your side, but you pretended not to notice for the sake of your dignity. There was already one Illyrian male coddling you. One too many.
Clouds of darkness surrounded your mental shields, slipping into the thinnest of crevices of your mind. Don’t tell me you forgot we can bypass each other, sister dearest, Rhys purred.
You jerked the faucet down and whipped around to him, glaring. Stop. Out.
Won’t do that.
Rhysand.
Tell me.
Why the fuck do you want to know so badly?
Because I haven’t felt that level of fear from you in months, he said. Did something trigger it?
You loosed a breath. I’m fine.
For Cauldron’s sake, stop trying to put on a show. His eyes burned. Just tell me what’s fucking wrong.
“My mother is dead is what’s fucking wrong,” you hissed, then froze. Azriel was at your side, and you could have sworn his shadows winced. Rhys blinked, then his features seemed to twist.
Shame flushed over you in an instant. “Fuck,” you muttered, practically dropping the glass into the sink and shouldering past Azriel.
You were already out the door by the time you heard Rhys call your name.
It wasn’t your room you went to, but the balcony outside the dining room.
When you’d begun to leave the House again, whenever your brother was out carrying your father’s orders, you were often left entirely by yourself. Rhys had managed to modify the wards of the House to allow you—and only you—to winnow in and out so that you wouldn’t be dependent upon his flying.
Because you certainly couldn’t depend on yours.
Rhys knew why you wouldn’t fly. He knew. But that hadn’t stopped him from pressing, over and over again, for weeks, months. And now, as you heard footsteps approaching behind you, you braced yourself for more questions, more why’s and tell me’s even though he knew damn well what had happened to you. It was as if enough questions would give the truth room to change. As if you could return to the way you were half a year ago, before the attack.
Biting your cheek as you stared out towards Velaris, you managed a weak, “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Hear what?”
You turned to Azriel. He glanced over his shoulder, as if your brother would be there.
“He left, if you’re expecting him.” The shadowsinger reached your side, looking out onto the glowing streets far below. “I think he understands now.”
“Understands what?” you asked.
“That he crossed a line.”
“No shit,” you muttered.
HIs gaze flicked to you. But he kept quiet.
“I shouldn’t have told him that,” you said. “I was just… I don’t know.”
Azriel shrugged. His shadows trickled onto the terrace rails, curling over your fingers. “He was pushing you too far.”
“You couldn’t even hear him.”
“No,” he admitted. “But I could see you.”
You felt your neck flush. “Lovely knowing my brother isn’t the only one watching me closely for damage control.”
“I’m not watching closely. It’s obvious. You’re an open book.”
“I’m not an open book. You’re just a spymaster. It’s your job to observe.”
He shrugged again. But his shadows seemed to compress—darken.
You frowned at him as his gaze drifted along the winding Sidra. “When did you start working directly under my father again?” After the war, his duties had loosened considerably—enough for him not to work at your father’s every whim. Enough for your brother to see him again.
“Only this year. After the ambush.”
The ambush. Not the Spring Court attack. Not your mother’s murder. Nameless yet direct. You didn’t know what to make of it.
“Is it… all right?” you asked. When his eyes met yours, questioning, you added, “I mean, I remember the war—how long you were gone. And I know my father. I can imagine working under his command is… demanding. Besides, the last time I saw you was last year.” You scoped his features. Azriel did look tired, you realized. Not entirely, but enough, with darkness pooling in more places than before—under his eyes, in the hollows under his cheekbones. The angles and planes of that undeniably beautiful Illyrian face had been sharpened. Honed. “You seem… preoccupied.”
“It’s been fine,” he answered simply, not wasting a breath. Rhys had told you the truth—that Azriel had been on constant missions, put under even more unrelenting pressure than even Rhys himself. At least your brother had the comfort of familial bonds to push back against your father when needed. Azriel had nobody and nothing to protect him. Nothing but his duty and honor as a shadowsinger.
“How’s Cassian?” you asked. You’d only seen him weekly since moving to Velaris. According to Rhys, he’d tried to visit almost every other day during those first few months when you isolated yourself, but Rhys hadn’t allowed anyone to see you. You’d barely been able to face your own brother and father, much less anyone else. When you began to enter the world again, it was Cassian and Mor who escorted you to the Rainbow on the days Rhys went off to his duties. Cass was kind, warm, easy. A welcome light in your pit of darkness.
And you hated it, how both him and your brother so easily looked after you.
“I haven’t seen him in a month,” Azriel replied. “But he seemed fine when I last did.”
You shifted on your feet. When you had resided in your mother’s home, Rhys and his brothers couldn’t go more than a day without needing each other’s company. Now things felt like the war—but without their resistance as they tried so desperately to find each other. “Rhys said he barely sees you these days, too.”
His wings seemed to tighten impossibly more—drawing your attention to them again and lodging in your chest.
Blood on wood. Blood on stone. Blood on wings. Blood on your hands.
Your breath caught, and you pressed a palm to the marble rails, drumming your fingers to stay in reality. To feel the cold. This is real, you told yourself. Velaris glittered, pulsed at your feet. This is where you are. The memories are just memories. What happened in them is over.
“What you said to Rhys wasn’t wrong,” Azriel told you suddenly. You looked at him. He was already watching you. “I know you regret telling him that. But if anything, it made Rhys see a little more clearly.”
You exhaled. “I just… feel bad. He’s suffering.”
Azriel swallowed. “I know.”
“I don’t know what to do. How to make it easier for him. I feel like I’m making him suffer more.”
Azriel looked at you. Blinked, as if… startled.
You bristled. “What?”
He seemed to regain his focus. “Nothing, just… he said the exact same thing about you just now. Word for word.”
Somehow, that made it worse. More tangible. You were the face of Rhys’s guilt, and you knew it.
“I know that you know,” he went on, “but he cares for you. Deeply. The kind of love he has for you is rare, even among siblings. Just be patient with him.”
You winced and hated yourself for it. Your brother loved you, and you knew it, and yet the idea only felt like a burden. “I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to worry for me anymore.”
“It can’t be helped,” Azriel said. “Both of you need time to heal. He’s grieving for himself, but he’s also grieving for you. You’ve always meant the world to him. You’re one of the only things he has that the court can’t take away from him.”
Perhaps when you were being schooled all across Prythian so long ago, when you had recounted the other courts to Rhys and he looked at you with such wondrous love, as if you were the world—it had been the world you were showing him. Perhaps to your brother, you had been a breath of freedom. And when you collapsed into yourself—turned into a shell—he had lost that. Been trapped in the world he was born into again.
Heat welled into your vision. “Fuck,” you said, and you turned from Azriel, now humiliated as much as you were heartbroken. If you weren’t so damn fragile, so weak-hearted, Rhys wouldn’t know you were irreparable. He could have found peace if you could just force this fear down, this grief. He could have had you as a safe harbor while his brothers were gone, pulled apart by politics and time and war.
Azriel shifted behind you, coming closer. You felt his shadow pass over you. “They will pay,” he said, deathly soft. “They will pay for everything they did to you.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, tears slipping down your cheeks. Shook your head. “They might not.”
“I swear it.” He sounded rougher now. Sharper. “I swear to the Mother.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Give me your hand.”
You sniffed, turning back to him. “What?”
“Give me your hand.” He extended his palm to you. “I’ll make a bargain with you. My primary task under your father has been to find the Spring Court’s weaknesses to counterattack.” His shadows whirled around him, almost entirely shrouding his wings. “Let me prove it to you. Let me promise you.”
You blinked. “I don’t… don’t want to force you.”
“I’m already bound to this mission by the High Lord himself. There’s no more forcing to be done.”
You held Azriel’s gaze, that hazel in the gilded fae light. They carried more than you had ever seen from him in those passing months each year in your youth.
“I swear on my life, daughter of the Night Court,” he said. “The High Lord of Spring and his sons will pay for what they did to you.”
Your brows furrowed. “That’s a vow, not a bargain.”
He inclined his head. “Then if I succeed, you’ll do a favor of my choosing. Deal?”
Azriel’s outstretched hand was lined and marred with scars, whorls of roughened skin. Memory, nightmares, permanently engrained into him. The darkest backbone of his life, wearing his promise.
You accepted. It felt like something had finally steadied within you as Azriel’s hand gripped yours, warm and firm. “It’s a deal, Shadowsinger.”
Almost imperceptibly, Azriel’s mouth tugged. And when you finally released his hand, your own was inked with the mark of the bargain, covered in night-dark lines.
author's note thank u for reading lovelies <3 let me know what you think! i've been in genuine flow state writing this fic because the concept of a half-illyrian daemati who isn't rhys and is a girlboss is just… well yes. i'm hoping to update weeklyish if not sooner. taglist is open, just comment to be added!
summary: azriel doesn't have to wake you up to figure out what you were doing before you fell asleep
contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. somnophilia, oral (f receiving), mate!reader, don't like don't read.
Azriel is itchy. It's an all-encompassing feeling, an anxious thrum to his very blood that makes his fingers twitch and his muscles ache. He hasn't had a moment alone with you in days, and it's worn his nerves thin. He's not sure when this snuck up on him- probably when the mating bond snapped, but even then he can't remember if he needed to be by your side so constantly, or if he just wanted to. It was probably both, and probably still is, which is why a whiff of your scent on the staircase to his bedroom makes him take the steps two at a time.
He opens the door quietly because that's who he is, but he thanks the mother for his natural spying abilities because you're passed out in his bed. You have your own room, two floors down and three hallways apart that feel like torture in the dead of night. But he loves it when he finds you like this, sprawled out over his massive bed in nothing but one of his shirts, legs tangled in his sheets and face pressed into his pillows.
Another one of his t-shirts is gripped in your fist.
It looks like you'd fallen asleep clutching it, and Azriel's heart nearly bursts in his chest, swelling an uncomfortable amount until he feels the need to clutch at it. He rubs at his pec, trying to ease the ache there until he breathes deeper and catches something heady in the air, a sweat-salty scent that deepens into a musk that makes his mouth water.
You smell like sex.
Not penetration- there's no lingering traces of Azriel's own lust between your barely-spread legs, nor, thank the mother, is there notes of anyone else's. He realizes with another layer of saliva coating the inside of his mouth, pooling there beneath his tongue that you'd made yourself cum, the fingers that aren't fisted in his shirt just barely poked beneath the hem of your panties. You smell clean, like you'd shuffled to his bathroom and wiped yourself down, but Azriel knows for certain that you'd fingered yourself in his bed, and he feels his cock stiffen against the unforgiving fabric of his training leathers.
His eyes rove over your sleeping form, your head nestled into his pillow, your hair trapped uncomfortably beneath your shoulders. Your occupied hand is holding his t-shirt just beneath your chin, and he has sudden visions of you holding it against your nose with your hips grinding against your fingers so dizzying he stumbles as he walks towards the bed.
He catches himself on the foot of the bed, breathing in the strong scent of what can't be described as anything other than pussy filling his nose. It's intoxicating, he has to swallow down that spit that's gathered on his tongue, begging to wet you. His forearms clench against the footboard and he eyes your panties, dragged back into place up your thighs from where you'd nudged them aside earlier.
He'd planned on finding you hunched over a book- sneaking a shadow up the back of your shirt and catching you as you flailed with a squeal at the way it would have tickled your skin. He was going to haul you into his arms, probably sideways or upside-down, just to see your eyes sparkle as you tried escaping the head rush. Then he'd have tossed you down on the bed and kissed you silly, all over the face, against your flushed cheeks, on the tip of your nose, in the crevice between your chin and chest as you desperately tried pinching your shoulders to your ears to evade him. It had never been his intention to walk in and pounce on you, he'd just fantasized about finally holding you after so many days of stolen kisses between errands, so many nights of crawling in bed and finding the other already asleep. But this- he can't ignore the smell coming from between your thighs, he can't stop imagining you pressing his shirt to your nose, he can't get the idea of you touching yourself in his bed out of his mind.
He blinks and realizes he'd sunk to his knees at the edge of the bed. Your feet are near his face, and he takes a brief few seconds to admire the pretty pink paint you'd chosen for your toes. He wonders once again when he'd fallen so deeply in love with you to be admiring your pinky toe, but he doesn't care and he takes your ankles in his scarred hands, gently pulling you down the mattress and making his shadows keep his pillow beneath your head. You don't wake, and the smell of your cunt hits Azriel ten times stronger now that it's mere inches away from him, your thin panties doing nothing to mask your scent.
You smell like you'd prepped for him. Like your orgasm hadn't been its own event, like you'd done it to open yourself up for his thick, long cock. It's what he has to do most nights to prepare you, and his teeth dig sharply into his lower lip at the thought of you imagining your fingers were his own rough ones.
He feels divinely lucky to be able to press his lips to your calves, sliding his shoulders beneath them and nestling his nose into the thin skin behind your knee. He kisses there for good measure, just to tuck his love into a spot he doesn't usually get to, and drags his nose along your thigh, lips parted as a hot, ragged sigh melts against your skin.
There's traces of your arousal on your thighs. You'd cleaned yourself up, but you'd probably done it in a hazy, sleepy hurry, missing splotches here and there along your legs where your sticky fingers had brushed accidental smears of wetness or you had simply leaked past your knuckles and soiled the bedsheets. He has to clench his eyes shut not to cum at the thought, using every ounce of willpower he possesses to shove his impending orgasm down before he even tastes you. He drops his head to your stomach in desperation, his nose pressed against your clit as he breathes in the heady smell of your clean, wet, ready cunt.
it doesn't help him gain control of himself, but it's so fucking intense, so fucking sinful that he can't pull himself away. You don't stir at all- you must have really tired yourself out earlier, so he takes a moment to press his forehead against your pelvis, thanking the mother in a silent prayer that he gets to have every inch of you flush against his mouth like this. He puckers his lips and kisses against the fabric of your underwear, feeling your sex beneath it, warm and semi-stiff with lingering arousal. Your lips are parted and he nearly forgets your panties are even there, the urge to burrow straight into your cunt with his tongue so strong.
He tests the waters by pressing a few more sweet kisses to the pad of your panties, and when a soft sigh escapes your mouth he has to freeze once more, teeth bared and hands clenched in the comforter at your feet. He grunts with the effort of restraining his orgasm, panting slightly as he opens his eyes again and wills his hands steady to remove your underwear.
The smell of the cotton covering your cunt is gone, and a gush of saliva floods Azriel's mouth. He sighs reverently at the sight of your pussy, still swollen from your former orgasm and he wastes no more time before sticking the tip of his tongue past his lower lip, leaning in to swipe it gently up through your primed cunt.
He has to jam a hand over his bulge the second he tastes you. He has to touch himself, he can't take the maddening lack of stimulation as every other sexual fuse in his body is lit. He smells sex, he sees sex, he tastes sex, he even hears it in the slick of his tongue against your folds and the way your breathing quickens in your sleep. But he doesn't feel it, and he squeezes himself through his leathers so viciously he's surprised he doesn't injure himself.
He's digging his palm into his groin to satiate his need for touch, but the real pleasure comes from dragging his tongue in fat, wet stripes through your bared cunt. You're clearly ready for a second orgasm, your pussy responding quick to his tongue and shining with hot wetness as soon as he gets a steady rhythm going. He groans as your arousal bleeds onto his tongue, burrowing it further into your sex, pushing it as far as it can go into your pussy and flicking it there to draw a broken whimper out of your mouth. His nose digs into your clit and he pulls back to pant against your labia, lips pressed to your sex even when he's coming up for air. You're still sleeping, but you're reacting to his touches, hands squirming and inadvertently knocking his shirt back over your face. He has to concentrate on loosening the clenched tightness of his jaw so that he can lick you again, tongue laving against you before breaching your slit and dragging your leaking arousal up towards your clit. He scoops it onto his tongue there, flicking the tip of the muscle against your clit in a way that makes you nearly sob in your sleep. Your thighs begin tightening around his head, pressing against his ears so that sound is muffled, but he doesn't need to hear you to know you're beginning to stir.
He unclenches his hands from the bedsheets to grab hold of your hips, pushing forwards beneath your thighs to seal his open mouth against your cunt. He plunges his tongue inside, wriggling it further and further until it's nestled in that tight spot again, squeezed by warm wetness that pulses to the beat of your heart. He begins working it in and out, in and out, in and out until you wake with a startled cry- something Azriel doesn't see but feels as your hands fly to his hair and yank. The mating bond between you sings with pleasure as he ravages you, pure, unadulterated bliss washing over him at the feeling of you clamping your thighs shut on his face, pulling his hair and pulsing around his tongue. He doesn't let up as your orgasm begins, and soon your fingers curl against his scalp, scratching and holding him in place instead of tugging him off. He fucks your pussy with his tongue, his nose nudging your clit until you're twitching rather than riding, overstimulation beginning to take hold. When you begin pulling again at his hair he reluctantly breaks himself away, realizing belatedly that some of the bliss he'd experienced in the moment had been his own orgasm, his palm sticky and his leathers stained.
He honestly hadn't noticed.
"Azriel," You pant, his shirt laying crumpled on your stomach where it had fallen when you'd shot upright. You stare down at him with wide, hazy eyes, noticing the sheen of bliss spread over his own hazel ones. He's covered in your slick, his chin and cheeks glistening, his nose reddened and his breathing heavy. His chest heaves as he drags in lungful after lungful of air, of your scent, of sex, shoulders remaining steady beneath the weight of your thighs despite the post-adrenaline crash beginning to hit the two of you.
He looks like sex incarnate, and it's making you want another round before you can even clean this one up.
"Sorry for waking you," Azriel pants, the words falling hot against your skin and making you jolt as the air hits your sensitive cunt, "I saw you sleeping with my shirt, and I smelled you- I put two and two together."
"Oh." You recall your pre-nap endeavors, your fingers pressed together between your legs in Azriel's bed, and heat rushes to your face, "I'm- I'm sorry, that wasn't very... polite of me."
Azriel scoffs, nothing but another gust of hot breath against your kissed thighs, "I don't care. Actually- I do. I want you to do it again. Whenever the urge hits you," Azriel begins standing, taking your legs in his palms and lifting them with him so that your feet rest beneath his chin, both of your ankles circled by one of his hands as he holds your legs in the air, "Come to my room and do it in here. Use my shirts, use my leathers, I don't care. Get it on the sheets." Azriel dips down to kiss against the bone of one of your ankles, then tilts his head to kiss the other, "Make such a mess of yourself that the room reeks of your cunt. I walked in and I almost passed out," He recalls, clenching his teeth and trying to calm his voice from the growl it had become, "Don't deprive me of seeing you like this."
Your eyes are wide and your cheeks are flushed. Azriel is beautiful, and he's in love with you, and he's telling you to fuck your fingers so good you leak all over his bedsheets. Your head is spinning and your core is throbbing, and you feel the still-prominent bulge in Azriel's trousers brush up against your exposed core as he keeps you folded in half against him, your breath hitching and your mouth watering.
"Please?" He asks, and you realize you've never answered him, nodding jerkily against his pillows.
"Okay." You answer obediently, willing to do whatever it takes to make Azriel happy, to please him, and his eyes roll back in his head, lashes fluttering and eyelids falling shut at the sound of your compliance.
"Thank you," He manages, reverent, polite, proud, as his shadows slip beneath your arms and begin dragging you back up the bed, "Which hand did you use?"
You brandish your fingers at him as he fumbles with the clasps of his leather pants, shucking them as fast as possible and kneeling before you on the bed, cock hard and heavy and waiting.
"Line me up with it," He pants, falling over you with his hands planted on either side of your head to stop his weight from crushing you, "Then put it in my mouth and let me taste it while I fuck you."
teasing clark by withholding the sweet, sweet sensation of being able to sink fully into your pussy. using him like he's your sex toy — god fucking damn.
tags: pwp, morning sex, pure filthy smut, fucking 'just the tip', teasing, edging, orgasm denial, creampies (1k+ wc)
—
the bed frames have been creaking, rhythmic and softly in time with clark's shallow thrusts. amber bathes the room, with the morning sun casting warm across the room. clark's body, fever hot to the touch, had barely stirred awake when you're needily murmuring for a quickie in that half-asleep haze.
your pussy was still aching from last night's activities, leaving you sore and creamy with his residual cum. his body quickly absorbs the heat, slick with sweat — muscles tensed with the effort of controlling his pace. he couldn't bring himself to break that gorgeous haze you were in, moaning wanton and soft as you're rubbing languidly over your clit.
clark's greedily watching, groaning low and content to the erotic sight you're providing, a sight you probably didn't even realise was downright lethal to him.
gosh…yeah. touch yourself, sweet girl. lettin' me watch you.
a startled whimper rumbles in your throat at the want in his voice. flashes of your canines catch over your bottom lip, movements turning a little more frantic. that was just so, fucking, hot.
it seems to undo him. the sight of his girl, chasing after her own pleasure — his thrusts become more controlled and intentional, driven by the sheer visual of your hand working between your legs, squelches of your combined arousal and whines.
fuck. you're so — incredibly, beautiful.
clark lowers his head, hastily capturing one of your nipples into his wide mouth. tongue darting out and circling the sensitive bud, all while his hips maintain the deep, heavy thrusts that got you to squeal for him every time. his free hand comes down to cover yours, the pressure evident against your clit. it's then he pulls back, just barely, so he could watch your features.
give me one more, mm? ah—…mm. wanna feel you come on my cock again…
you're quickly shaking your head, squeezing the base of his cock abruptly, forcing him to jerk to a halt in surprise at your intrusion into the sex-heavy atmosphere.
confusion is painted on clark's face, heavily panting, cheeks dimpled in what could've been annoyance — body trembling in the wake of being blue-balled. a sheen of sweat coats his chest, the coarse hairs there mussed up and gleaming in the morning haze.
his deep blue eyes search your face, trying to understand why.
there's no resistance when your palm nudges against his belly — he yields to your movements, rolling onto his side beside you. his cock, sick and glistening, rests heavily against his stomach.
are you alright? did i hurt y—
clark lets out a surprised grunt, a shadow taking over his chest as you clamber over him. his eyes lock on where your fingers are teasingly dragging down his length. picking the heavy shaft, to rub it flush against your slicked pussy. he gets the memo instantly, jaw tightened, muscles flexed as he fights his urge to take control.
geez…goddamn tease. had me — ahh-hahh…all worried.
he rolls his shoulders, and with a quick adjustment, your body bouncing hard at his shift to rest against the pillows.
want to drag it out, mm? last night not enough f'you?
his words are sharp, breath hissing through his teeth as you tease him further, letting him feel the hot, wet velvet cunt of yours, up and along his length.
you lock your gaze with his, finally lowering your hips enough just to notch his thick, weeping tip. it disappears promptly, sucked in greedily.
ngh—y-you're killing me.
clark's hips buck upward instinctively. desperately attempting to sink deeper into you, only to be met with your stubborn insistence on maintaining control. only allowing him to fuck his tip into you. the sheets are fisted on the other side of your legs, white-knuckled grips threatening to tear the sheets to shreds.
please…let me in all the way.
you find your resolve wavering a tad at the desperate, shaky want in his throat, but you shake your head, palm forcing his body to remain still.
clark relents, head falling back into the pillows on a pitched whine. you can watch his chest heaving. sweat glistening everytime his ribcage hollows at his restraint, up to the bobbing of his adam's apple, translucent trickles of sweat coating the veins.
each and every one of the shallow thrusts you award him with is received far too excitedly, cock twitching in you desperately. the hand, leaves the now tattered sheets to rest atop your bare thighs, as though he's somehow found control in himself.
they flex around the fat, squeezing and massaging to coax whatever demon possessed you to torture him like this. instinctively, his hips involuntarily thrust upwards, the cold, neglected inches seeking warmth.
o-one…more minute an' i'm flipping you over. warning you now — need to fuck you, sweetheart.
the ragged plea is met with a sharp glare from you, followed by a prickly, abrupt warning squeeze at the base of his cock.
u-eugh! o-okay, okay.
you slowly inch down deeper for him, offering him the promise of more. his hands come up to rest on your hips — not forcing, but to encourage the barely-there thrusts.
clark thinks his eyes might roll back, other hand appreciatively twining over yours, flattened on his chest.
a-ah, oh gosh. that's…
you feel his hand tug at your wrist, up from his chest, up his collarbone — until he's pressed your digits onto his lips. at first, he merely pants into them, they quickly grow into needy kisses over your knuckles.
j-jus' like that. little more.
the notion of his sneaky tactics registers, but you're far too achy to reject. there's no warning when you bottom out. thighs quivering from your release just at the perfect jut of the tip of his cock, right into your g-spot.
you feel your eyes actually roll back this time as you cum on his cock. you're pulsing in steady, sudden jolts.
clark lets out a breathy, guttural grunt, heavy, and stuttered — with the sheer force of your orgasms causing a domino effect to his own. his body seizes up as he spills deep inside you, shuddering through each fucking wave.
you collapse onto him, through your own pants, and clark catches your hips to steady you. the both of you are trying to gather your bearings from the aftermath of your combined releases.
h-holy shit…
he lets out a soft, airy laugh at your breathy exclamation, his much bigger palm resting on the back of your head.
Azriel the Shadowsinger fics recommedation | @peotego
Azriel the Shadowsinger fics recommedation part 2 | @/peotego
Azriel Fic Rec Library pt. 2 | @mischiefmanagers
Fic Recs | @amandamariee
Ceilings | @helionpegasus
Reader and Azriel announce they're FINALLY mated | @/helionpegasus
My angel | @starlightandsouls
Azriel and reader are in a relationship, reader already has a daughter who adores Az, maybe one night the little girl ask him to read her a bedtime story and she says something like "I love you daddy, goodnight" and that was the first time she said those to him and he goes tell reader
Exile Pt.II | @bookish-whore
Sunlight, Shadows, and Secrets | @acotarobsessed
Puppy Love | @acotrash
City of Nightmares | @heart-defendor
Azriel longed for a mate, a love like that of his brothers. Soft and sweet and gentle. Too bad he got a citizen of Hewn City instead.
City of Nightmares Pt. 3 | @/heart-defendor
lemon tart | @azrielslostshadow
I see you | @/azrielslostshadow
lemon meltaways | @/azrielslostshadow
All Those Years Ago | @maddithefangirl
“I’m thinking it would be very easy to love you.” & “Love can be a poison.”
headcanons about azriel’s wings | @azpizazz
Never Yours | @ladylokilaufeyson5
You’ve known Azriel was your mate for a long time, but you never enlightened him to the fact. When you find him kissing someone else you decide to take a trip to the Illyrian war camps to take your mind off of the shadowsinger. But the thing about shadows – they always follow.
Female!Illyrian!Reader
Grossly Dependent | @starcrossedreaders
tough love training | @finelinevogue
you attend defence training with the most attractive shadowsinger
family of crazy bedheads | @/finelinevogue
you and azriel spend a morning with your happy daughter
attention, please | @/finelinevogue
az wants attention and you just want to read
Ethereal | @/finelinevogue
azriel is lucky you are his
safe with me | @/finelinevogue
you say 'yes' to being intimate with azriel when you really mean ‘no', because your past relationship taught you that saying 'yes' is the only answer
bigger than all of them | @/finelinevogue
you and the girls have an extremely spicy wine evening
Reverence | @historiaxvanserra
Azriel’s love had always been rough-edged but in the soft light of morning his love is reverent, devout, almost holy.
Buttons | @luvmoo
you and azriel have gotten closer as the seasons changed, though never finding the time to talk about where your relationship stood. During a late night encounter, he finds himself trying to buy as much time with you as possible.
Heart of Ice Part 02 | @paigeswrld
Priorities | @angelshadowsinger
Azriel leaves for yet another mission, even when you beg him to stay. Little does he know, you won't be waiting for him when he returns.
Supposed to Be Together {part 2} | @/angelshadowsinger
Dressed to Kill (Part Two) (Part Three) | @claireswritingcorner
You’ve been hired to kill the Shadowsinger at a party but things don’t go according to plan.
Domestic | @azrielhours
Az watches you get ready for an event. He’s never seen the process before and is extremely taken by it. It feels so personal to him and he can’t explain it.
I want you to rest | @/azrielhours
Reader has a nightmare while on a mission w the boys. Azriel comes to the rescue, brings her to his room to comfort her. She doesn’t want to sleep so he stays with her through the night.
Experiment | @ravencoloredroses
Az is gone on a mission and two people from the past decide to pay the reader a visit to do some experiments…..
A lick of Flame | @tadpolesonalgae
reader is from Autumn, gifted with flame. You get into an argument and have to blow off steam, only to witness the shadows crack.
washing his wings - part 1 | @/tadpolesonalgae
As the oldest of the Archeron siblings, you’re used to taking care of them, particularly when they were younger. Upon taking a trip to the ground floor in the House of Wind, you bump into the Shadowsinger, just back from a week long mission away. He’s tired and the dark circles beneath his eyes are more prominent than usual.
Heartfelt reunion | @/tadpolesonalgae
reader is pregnant but is kidnapped along with Cassian. Azriel saves them and discovers reader is pregnant.
I really don’t think now’s the best time | @lalacliffthorne
battlefields are really not the right place for important revelations.
because it does have it’s perks that Azriel is running cool sometimes | @/lalacliffthorne
May I have this dance? | @florence-end
Azriel’s new mate is painfully shy, despite his efforts to get closer to her. Something shifts between them when Mor needs help with Cassian’s dance lessons.
Hurts Like Hell Part Two | @iamqueenpotato
Y/N and Azriel are mates, but when Azriel begins changing, it doesn't seem that love between them exists anymore.
Shadow and Song | @glittergelpensblog
As the second youngest Archeron sister, it always felt like it was you and Feyre against the world. You felt like you lost a part of yourself the day she left, and then came back to leave again. When she shows up at your door with three winged fae, you refuse to do anything but help her this time.
Archeron sister
Date Night | @itsphoenix0724
Gardenia | @/itsphoenix0724
winter’s frost | @svearehnn
As Kallias’ sister, you’re expected to help maintain good relations with allied courts. Your newest ally leads you to the Starfall celebration, and it ends up changing your life much more drastically than you expected.
Kallias’ sister
This Love | @littlestarlightseverywhere
Azriel would set the world on fire if it that’s what it took for his mate believe she deserves his love
domestic bliss | @bat-boys
a series of scenes that give an insight into the domestic bliss you had built with your mate
Besotted | @/bat-boys
Rhys and Feyre have asked you to babysit Nyx for the day, meaning you get to spend the whole time enjoying one of your favourite weaknesses: your mate cuddling cute babies.
Comfort of Family | @court-of-starss
Your cycle leaves you pining for your mate.
And I wouldn’t marry me, either. Part 02 | @bluetimeombre
You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.
Notice me! | @heartless-tate
Azriel courting an oblivious reader.
Happy Ending | @milswrites
Azriel's brothers remind him that he deserves happiness too.
Masterlist | @kymawrites
Pure Love | @/kymawrites
A series of moments that show your blooming love for Azriel, who was too busy cultivating his own love for you to notice.
Home | @/kymawrites
Leaving your family, leaving Azriel, for two whole months following Amarantha's reign of terror was harder than you anticipated. Azriel and you cling to each other upon your return.
Blush | @/kymawrites
You really like making Azriel blush.
My Heart Has Wings - Masterlist | @/kymawrites
You and Azriel long for the love your family members have found. That longing can easily turn into an isolating loneliness, so what if you rely on each other to numb that sickly feeling? What if your chance at love has been by your side for nearly a century?
Thorns and Toxins | @/kymawrites
Azriel knew something was off the moment you walked into the training room. You brushed him off, and ended up sending the poor male into a tailspin after you collapsed while sparring.
Snap into place | @soulofapatrick
You meet Azriel and the mate bond snaps into place
like calls to like | @/sodapopwrites
you and azriel have been dancing around the mating bond for years. hiding the secret of your shadowsinger powers from your friends for years. before leaving for hybern to destroy the cauldron some secrets must come out and some remain unsaid. both you and azriel must deal with outcome.
A New Place | @acoazlove
Your birthday felt ruined until you met someone new.
Archeron!Reader
Cauldron-born | @itsswritten
When an unexplainable energy pulls the Inner Circle to barge into the Day court, they're all shocked at what they find. But it's Azriel who can't help wonder if his dreams have finally been answered.
Earth’s Song | @/itsswritten
Fairies are made for the wind & sun
Eye of the Storm (Masterlist) | @thesunloveschips
In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.
Next To My Wife | @randomgurl2326
The one time Azriel let his two worlds collide…ALSO…Based off of this quote from EPIC The Musical: After everything you’ve done, how will you sleep at night/Next to my wife
Maps | @berryz-writes
Azriels daughter finds his scars far more interesting than the map you're trying to show her, indirectly healing a part of Azriel he had left in the dark
Blue | @/berryz-writes
There's a large contrast between the warm and gentle Az you get to enjoy versus the cold and quiet demeanour he reserves for others
A Helping Hand | @inkedinshadows
The bond snapped for Azriel the moment he saw her, thrown into the Cauldron with Elain and Nesta. Now, he wants to help her as she struggles to cope with what happened.
Echoes of the Bond | @/inkedinshadows
When mates are reunited, Y/N grows curious about what the mating bond is, causing Azriel's brain to short-circuit.
Bound by Secrets | @/inkedinshadows
When you get caught sneaking around the Hewn City, you end up in one of the dungeon cells to be interrogated by the infamous Spymaster. But things don't go exactly the way the General and the High Lord thought.
Azriel x Beron’s daughter!reader
Pretty Boy | @sapphicmsmarvel
Azriel overhears y/n tell people her type is a pretty boy and az doesn’t believe he fits that.
mr grumpy and his miss sunshine | @/sapphicmsmarvel
Unspoken fights | @azrielstaylorsversion
Feyre wonders why Azriel and his mate aren't speaking to each other. Rhys explains about there unusual communication habits and she feels the need to fix it.
Child Curiosity | @bookwormjust
Carry by shadows | @/bookwormjust
In Your Presence : Azriel’s Quiet Sanctuary | @/bookwormjust
requested: for some azriel angst, maybe the reader getting pregnant but not telling az (for justifiable reasons ofc), and az only finds out later on and angst ensues?
a/n kind of feel like this might be the saddest thing I’ve ever written. I hurt myself while writing this so now it’s your turn. So that’s that…
warning: neglect, fighting, pains associated with pregnancy, nausea, mention of possibility of loosing a child and just suffering.
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“Baby, you need to sleep,” you said, running your hands down your lover’s shoulders. Azriel had been sitting in that chair for hours, going through the information his spies had gathered for their master. He didn’t even come down to eat, nor did he eat the food that you brought up for him. You knew him well enough to know that when court responsibilities got this serious, reaching him was practically impossible.
“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. You can go up, love,” the spymaster said, catching your hand in his and bringing it to his lips, yet his eyes didn’t lose focus on the paper he held in his hands. You knew it was a lie. He wouldn’t be there for at least a couple more hours, maybe till the sun started to peak over the mountains. Get an hour of sleep, and then be off for a day of meetings.
Hi! I was hoping you’d be open to writing an azriel x fem!reader, they get into an argument right (they bond has snapped in place neither knows the other knows) and she gets trapped under the mountain and if u could write their reunion, ty!!
At last (Azriel x Reader)
(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)
Authors Note: I’m sorry this took so long, I had a bit of a writing slump. I hope I did the request justice! Angst below, but I made sure there was a happy ending.
(Thank you @slytherin-pen for the beautiful divider)
The argument doesn’t start as an argument.
It starts as tension.
The kind that’s been building for days — ever since Amarantha’s invitation arrived, wrapped in silk and threat and implication.
Azriel stands in the doorway of your rooms in the House of Wind, wings tucked tight, shadows restless. He’s been there for several minutes before he speaks.
“You’re not going.”
You don’t look up from where you’re sorting through dresses in your armoire. “I am.”
His jaw tightens. “Rhys said himself that he doesn’t need—“
“She asked for all court emissary’s to attend. She asked for me.”
“That’s exactly why you’re not going.”
You finally look at him, irritation starting to simmer in your blood. “You don’t get to make that decision for me.”
His shadows stir like a warning. “I do when every instinct I have says that you need to stay here.”
“That’s fear talking,” you say, more gently. “Not an actual reason.”
“I don’t care.”
That stops you.
Azriel steps closer to you. “There’s something wrong about this. About her. About that place. I can feel it.”
“You don’t think I know that?”
“I think you’re underestimating her.”
“I think you’re underestimating me.”
His jaw ticks. “This isn’t about pride.”
“Funny,” you say. “It sounds exactly like you don’t trust me.”
“It’s not like that,” he says, voice low and tight. “I need you to trust me on this.”
That lands harder than you expect.
“So you want me to trust you? But you won’t trust me?”
“Of course I trust you—“
“Nothing’s going to happen, Az. Every High Lord is attending, what do you think she’s going to do?”
You continue moving around your room, oblivious to the turmoil raging in Azriel’s chest.
He wanted you to stay. He needed you to stay. Something wasn’t right and he could feel it, his shadows curling around him as his anxiousness and frustration increased. Why couldn’t you see he was just trying to keep you safe?
Azriel had never been a man of many words. Whenever he did speak, he always chose his words carefully. He was content to wait in the shadows and observe. But you always had this way of enticing him into the light.
Words were failing him now though.
You didn’t understand. You weren’t listening to him. The thought of you being so far away from him actually caused him physical pain. But he couldn’t tell you that.
He couldn’t tell you why, not yet.
You huffed, not waiting for Azriel to respond as you continued to bustle around your room getting ready.
Truthfully, you didn’t want to go tonight. You wanted to stay at home. You wanted to stay close, to Azriel. The look on his face as you continually denied his requests was like plunging a dagger into your own heart, your chest screaming at you to stay—
But you couldn’t leave Rhys to attend on his own, especially after your presence was requested.
Why did Azriel care so much anyway? He had been especially indifferent towards you over the last several weeks and you didn’t understand why — leaving the room when you entered, suddenly becoming too busy to train with you, barely speaking to you through gritted teeth like he was in pain.
And now he was stood in the door pleading with you to stay?
You didn’t understand, although a small part of you had hope that maybe he had come to realise the same thing you had. No — he would’ve told you surely? Besides, he was in love with Mor.
Maybe he just didn’t trust you after all. Indignation and hurt flares in your chest at the thought.
Azriel opens his mouth to say something again, but you snap before he has to chance to say anything else.
“Az, you’re being overbearing,” you say, too sharply. “And unfair. I am not something you get to lock away.”
His eyes darken. “That’s not what this is.”
“Then what it is? Because you’ve been doing this too much lately. Why are you being like this?”
He opens his mouth.
You wait. You hope maybe he’s going to say the words you’ve been waiting desperately for him to say—
He closes it.
Whatever he almost says stays trapped behind his teeth.
“Fine,” he says finally, the word like ice. “Go.”
He leaves before you can take it back.
Cassian finds Azriel later on a balcony, staring at the city of Velaris below, his shoulders tense and shadows flickering with agitation around him.
“I can hear you sulking from across the House,” he teases.
“I am not sulking,” Azriel grumbles.
“Sure,” Cassian sarcastically replies, “and I’m shit in bed.”
Azriel doesn’t look at him. “She left.”
“Well what did you expect her to do?”
“To stay when I ask.”
“When does she ever do anything any of us tell her to do?”
As much as your stubbornness could irritate Azriel, it was also a trait he loved about you. You were powerful, intelligent, graceful, beautiful — he could go on.
“I was trying to protect her.”
“And pushing her away is going to solve that?” Cassian asks.
Azriel grumbles half-heartedly. “You know I find it difficult—to—you know…”
Cassian studies him for a long time. “You can start by telling her the truth.”
Azriel’s hand clench against the railing. “Now is not the time.”
“There’s never a ‘right’ time,” Cassian says. “There’s just the time you have left. The Mother has granted you something most people only dream about, brother. Don’t waste it.”
Azriel says nothing.
He knew Cassian was right. He’d been pestering him to say something to you for weeks now, but he hadn’t garnered the courage to yet.
Why?
He wasn’t sure.
Maybe he was scared.
Maybe he’ll tell you tomorrow.
You stand on the edge of the dance floor, watching other emissaries, dignitaries and guests from every court in Prythian twirl around.
A bitter twist in your gut erupts as you watch a couple embrace passionately, uncaring of peeping eyes, simply enjoying the company of each other as they twirled around.
Would you ever have that? Would Azriel ever curl his arms around you, his hand holding yours tightly, his other hand pressed low on the small of your back—
You feel him before you see him, tearing your eyes away before you can upset yourself any further.
You watch as Rhys approaches, two glasses of wine in his hands.
“Are you still sulking?” He teases as he reaches you.
“I am not sulking,” you mutter, accepting the glass Rhys offers to you.
Rhys shoots you a knowing look. He didn’t need to be a daemati to know about the fight you had had with Azriel. His spymaster and your own fear and stubbornness was the source of all your irritation as of late.
“You need to tell him,” Rhys says gently.
Gods, you knew he was right. But you were scared — you wanted Azriel to choose you for you, not because some bond told him he had to.
You couldn’t keep on like this though.
“I know. I’ll tell him tomorrow…maybe.”
Rhys nodded in encouragement, delicately raising his glass to yours in acknowledgement as a hush suddenly fell across the room.
Amarantha stood up on a dais to begin her speech, a sly smirk on her face as she called for a toast—
When the message comes, no one is prepared for it.
It was late.
You still weren’t back yet.
Azriel had taken to pacing back and forth, training abandoned after it had failed to distract him, waiting for his shadows to declare you had returned.
A sudden wave of panic and desperation caused his steps to falter, the familiar voice of Rhys abruptly echoing through his mind.
Amarantha has struck. We’ve walked into a trap. I am so sorry. Do not come after us. Keep each other and Velaris safe.
Azriel feels the sudden change in the air as an unknown blast of power ricochets through the night air.
Wards.
Before he feels Rhys disappear, a final message just for him echoes through his mind.
I’ll keep her safe. I swear it to you. I’ll watch over your mate until I can bring her home.
As Rhys’s presence disappears, the feeling that Azriel had only just started to accept and understand suddenly goes dead — the warm golden glow in his chest that he had been trying to suppress until the time was right.
The bond. Your bond is gone.
A startled cry of surprise and devastation slips past his lips before he can stop it. His legs collapse under him as his strength leaves him at the shock.
He had never felt so hollow. So empty.
Rhys knew?
How could he? Only Cassian knew and that was because he had actually witnessed the moment the bond had snapped for him. Noticed the way his pupils widened, his nostrils flared and he flinched so hard as if he’d been struck.
Unless—
Could you possibly know?
Oh, gods.
Had the bond snapped for you? Did you know it had also snapped for him? Why had the bond disappeared? Were you—were you dead?
Azriel felt himself begin to spiral. He had never felt so useless.
The door slammed open.
Cassian loomed in the doorway.
He took one look at Azriel’s broken expression and within three strides was on his knees beside him. His large arms enveloped him, one hand firmly grabbing the back of his neck to press his forehead to his.
Azriel met Cassian’s determined stare.
“She’ll be okay, brother,” Cassian declares. “Rhys will keep her safe.”
“I can’t feel her anymore,” Azriel choked out. “Cass, I can’t feel her!”
“It’s okay,” Cassian says, desperately trying to keep his brother calm. “Can you not feel Rhys’s magic in the air? It’s the wards, it’s blocking things out, that’s why you can’t—“
“But what if something’s happened? What if—we need to go there. I need to know—we have to get them out Cass!“
Cassian’s expression was broken as he slowly shook his head. There was no way out. No way for them to help. All they could do was wait.
A long moment of silence stretches between them.
“I didn’t get to tell her,” Azriel whispered, his voice cracking.
All Cassian could do was hold him tighter.
The last moments you shared with Azriel haunted you.
For fifty years.
The look on his face as he walked away, the coldness of his words as he told you to go — he’d looked so angry and upset — the look on his face would flash in your nightmares over the years.
The hardest thing to accept was that there was nothing you could do about it.
You were trapped under the mountain, with no way out. Forced to play the role of Amarantha’s puppet, alongside Rhys.
The only thing that got you through it was the flicker of hope that — maybe, just maybe — you would see him again.
You hadn’t been able to tell him.
You hadn’t been able to tell him about that one day, only a few weeks before that fateful night where you had become trapped, where you had met his eyes from across the room at a meeting at the Court of Nightmares.
The bond had snapped into place almost violently.
It had taken you by such surprise you’d clumsily dropped your glass of wine, completely taken by surprise at the sudden warmth blossoming in your chest at the sight of the Shadowsinger.
It didn’t make sense. You’d known Azriel for centuries. Why in that moment had the mating bond snapped?
You’d kept it hidden, believing there to be some kind of mistake. Azriel had been through so much in his life and although you’d harboured a strong physical attraction to him — who wouldn’t — he’d been in love with Mor for so long that it hadn’t even occurred to you to tell him.
You feared rejection.
The only person you’d confided in was Rhys, who’d encouraged you to be honest with him.
But you didn’t get the time before tragedy struck and it was without a doubt the biggest regret of your existence.
So you kept yourself alive in the hope that one day you might be able to tell him.
And almost ironically, the Mother answered in the form of Rhys’s mate — Feyre Cursebreaker.
Winnowing back into Velaris was like waking up from a nightmare.
Rhys collapsed into Mor’s arms, sobbing.
Cassian was suddenly there, sweeping you up off your feet into a bone crushing hug.
But that wasn’t what took your breath away.
When you were finally placed back on your feet, creeping shadows caught your eye.
You turned and there he was.
The sight took your breath away. The bond in your chest flared so suddenly you almost stumbled.
Azriel stood across the room, frozen, wings flared still from flight where he no doubt hurried his way to the House of Wind.
For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.
You’re not sure what to do. The last heated moments abruptly flashed across your mind — was he still mad at you?
Because if you step forward — if you touch him — you’ll be admitting to something you don’t think he knows. And despite the years wishing you had plucked up the courage to tell him, now that the opportunity was in front of you, you found yourself suddenly hesitant.
But what you don’t realise is Azriel is thinking the same.
You’re not sure who moves first, but abruptly each of you cross the space between you in sure strides, meeting halfway and colliding.
His shadows are frantic. Your hands grasp at his leathers. His arms come around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again if he doesn’t cling on. He lifts you clean off your feet without meaning to, burying his face in your hair.
You’re both shaking.
“You’re here,” he breathes.
“I’m here,” you say.
The bond thrums, bright and alive and so full in your chest it makes your eyes sting.
You pull back just enough to see his face.
He looks older. Sharper. But his eyes—
They’re wrecked.
“I thought I lost you,” he says roughly.
You shake your head quickly, tears already spilling. “You could never. You were the one thing I held onto whilst I was—“
You abruptly break off, realising what you were about to reveal.
His breath stutters.
Fuck it.
“—you were what kept me going. The hope that I would one day see you again, so I could tell you about—“
The words die on your tongue again.
“…About?” His voice is so quiet, you can barely hear him.
You swallow harshly at the look on his face. His eyes stare down at you so intensely you almost lose your train of thought.
You absently rub at the place on your chest where your bond sits, where it is currently screaming for your acknowledgement.
Azriel’s eyes widen as he catches your movement and the meaning behind it.
“You feel it too?” He whispers.
There’s no accusation. Just wonder, disbelief.
You let out a broken laugh in your own disbelief. “Of course I did.”
Silence falls between you both — not heavy, but stunned.
“You knew,” he says slowly.
“I thought you didn’t,” you admit.
His eyes widen just slightly.
“I didn’t tell you,” he says, almost disbelieving. “Because I thought you didn’t know.”
You stare at each other.
And then—
You both speak at once.
“I’m sorry—“
The words collide.
You blink.
He blinks.
And then you both laugh — helpless, watery, shaking laughter through tears that won’t stop falling.
“We’re idiots,” you choke.
“Complete fools,” he agrees, voice breaking.
Fifty years.
Fifty years of knowing and being forced to stay silent. Of loving each other so desperately but being ripped so cruelly apart and unable to do anything about it.
His hands cradle your face now, thumbs brushing your tears away now like he’s memorising the shape of you all over again.
The bond pulses between you, no longer restrained.
Alive. Thriving.
Azriel presses his forehead to yours, breath unsteady. “I will not waste any second.”
“Neither will I.”
You don’t care whose watching. You don’t care that the entire Inner Circle is in the room.
All you care about is that he’s warm and solid beneath your hands. That his heart is racing as hard as yours. That your dreams and hopes had finally been granted.
You don’t hesitate any longer.
You rise on your toes and kiss him.
It’s not hesitate. Or careful.
It’s everything.
Grief, relief, devotion, longing and above all, love.
He makes a soft, wrecked sound against your mouth and pulls you impossibly closer, one hand sliding into your hair and angling your face so he could access your lips at a deeper angle, the other gripping your waist like he’s afraid time itself might steal you away again.
The bond flares white-hot between you.
You kiss him like you’ll never let him go again.
Because you won’t.
Until a cough breaks through the heated stupor.
You and Azriel both break apart with a gasp of air, suddenly remembering that you weren’t alone, arms still wrapped tightly around one another.
Rhys, Mor, Cassian and even Amren stand with varying looks of amusement, mild disgust, but above all, happiness.
“Get a room,” Cassian scoffs.
“Not before she says hello to me,” Mor protests, her voice thick with tears. “It’s about bloody time you two.”
“You knew?” You asked, surprised.
“Everyone knew,” Rhys croaks through his own tears. “You two were so obvious.”
“Truly, the pining was sickening,” Cassian snickered, playfully punching Azriel in the arm.
Azriel shoots him a look that would send most people running.
Cassian only grins.
But Azriel doesn’t let you go. He never would again.
Not when Mor finally rushed forwards to throw her arms around you. Not when Cassian tries to pick you up into another hug. Not when Azriel thanks Rhys for keeping you safe all these years.
The bond hums softly between you both, steady, bright and impossible to ignore now.
You’d never felt so happy and content.
Azriel leans down slightly, murmuring just for you. “You’re not allowed to disappear for another fifty years.”
You smile up at him. “Believe me, you’re stuck with me now for eternity.”
His lips brush your temple — softer now, but no less certain.
“Good,” he says.
And as the Inner Circle closes around you in laughter and warmth and light, Azriel never once lets go of your hand.
summary: Bucky gets worked up and teases you when you’re getting ready for work, but you flip the switch and suddenly now he’s at your mercy.
word count: 2.8k
warnings: smut, MDNI, oral (m receiving), no pnv, nipple play, kinda sub!Bucky, no mention of y/n. lmk if i’ve missed anything.
a/n: absolutely no plot. basically pwp. oops. sorry.
One thing about Bucky Barnes was that, he was not a patient man. Certainly not when his pretty girlfriend was humming a low song while getting ready for work. He knew you would run late if he interrupted now. But you looked way too fuckable in that black trousers and the white blouse, that tried its very best to contain your breasts from spilling out.
"You're wearing that to work?" He's never questioned what you do or don't wear, but looking at you now, it's really hard for him to, well, not get hard.
"Mhm," you hummed without turning away from the mirror, your eyes catching his in the reflection. "Why, what's wrong with this outfit?" You feigned innocence. You knew exactly what was wrong.
He took a step closer to you, his presence you felt, before you even saw him move. "What's wrong," he muttered, his metal arm brushing slightly over your hips, "is that it's driving me insane."
You smirked. Your fingers brushed his arm now, and his breath caught like you just set him on fire. "Not my problem if you're easily distracted," you said sweetly, voice laced with mock sympathy.
His grip tightened once on your hips, and you leaned back to him instinctively. "Careful, sweetheart," he murmured against your ear, "keep talking like that and you'll be late for work."
Suddenly, work became the last thing on your mind.
All you wanted to do was rile him up. But part of you knew if you started playing this game now, you wouldn't be able to stop.
You turned around, still in his embrace, and his arm shifted to hold you better. You raised a brow, your lips dangerously close to his, "promises, promises."
If there was a visible thread holding his restraint back, you could swear you just saw it snap. His flesh hand trailed your back and settled on your ass, giving it a squeeze. You could feel his hard length pressing against your stomach.
You’ve just woken the beast, and you know it. But with that mouth of yours? You keep on running it anyway.
"Mhm, what do we have here?" Your hand slowly move to palm him over his sweats. He hissed.
"You're not getting out of here now," he threatened, but it sounded more like a wish of yours that's been granted. A smile grew on your face, and you stood on your tip-toe to reach his lips for a kiss. He hungrily answered that with his tongue licking your lower lip, asking permission for entry. You opened up, and he groaned into your mouth. An almost painful sound.
You pulled back—just for the fun of it—and he chased your mouth like he couldn't part even for a second. A laugh bubbled up from you, "are we still pretending that you're in control baby?" You asked him mockingly.
"You're killing me here, doll," he muttered like he was in pain, and you were the medicine, or the thing that caused him pain in the first place.
"I was just getting ready, baby," you replied against his mouth, "you were the one who started it."
The sound that escaped his lips was pitiful. "You started it when you wore that," he complained, voice bordering on neediness. He knew he lost the battle as soon as he got hard just by seeing you in that outfit. A guy being in love with every aspect of his girl shouldn't have these many repercussions.
"Aw is my baby getting flustered?" You taunted him again, and one thing became clear to him at that moment. He might've started off with being in charge, but he was not in control now. Any hand he had over the situation is over, and he was completely at your mercy.
"I'm not flustered," he said, clearly flustered. You smirked, letting your lips ghost over his jaw now. The warm breath raising goosebumps against his skin.
Your hands trailed over and landed on his chest. He tipped his head back, a groan escaping his lips.
With your hand still on his chest, you walked him backwards, his back hitting the wall. He looked divine, lips parted in a gasp, ears tinged with the most beautiful shade of red, he looked like he'd walked straight out of your wet dream.
"You look so pretty," you whispered into his ear, and you feel him shudder beneath you. Both of his arms were on your hips now, not in control but more like they were holding onto you for dear life. You could feel his length twitch once, reminding you of its existence. You pressed against him, and he groaned again.
"Please, baby," his voice was hoarse, as if he'd finally accepted that he wasn't in charge of that situation anymore. But part of you was sure he knew what he was signing up for when he barely looked at you and had gotten hard.
You thoroughly ignored his plea as your eyes went to the clock. "Oh look at that, l'm gonna be late if we keep standing like this."
Standing like this? Wait what? Is that what it was?
His brain ran a thousand codes and still ended up with an error message.
His hands held you tighter, as though you'd walk away if he took them off you. You had no plan on leaving right now, you just wanted to make him squirm a little, and maybe give him a taste of his own medicine.
Besides, the sight in front of you took your breath away. He was clinging onto you, pupils almost black, the blue from his eyes vanishing completely. And he made the most prettiest sounds, little whimpers, when he leaned more into you rubbing his thick length against you.
"Don't go," he whispered, like it pained him to let his voice leave his lips. You moved your hands to his neck, pulling him closer to you.
"What about work then?" You asked over his mouth, and he practically whined in response. Like who the fuck cares about work when his cock was twitching in miles per minute.
"Don't go," he repeated, trying to sound assertive, but the tone landing like he was begging you. You chuckled against his lips mockingly. How you've reduced your super soldier boyfriend to a whimpering mess in less than ten minutes must be studied properly.
You completely pulled back from him, and the voice that left him was barely human. Tugging his flesh arm into yours, you led him back to the couch. He followed you immediately, without any resistance.
You looked over your shoulder, his eyes were fixated on you not even bothering to blink.
You pushed him onto the couch, and he landed with a thud. His thighs immediately spread, as if he was making space for you. You didn't sink to your knees immediately, but you crouched a little in front of him.
Your breath was hot against his jaw, while his arms framed your body, trying to touch you everywhere all at once.
"Mhm, hands to yourself," you murmured, grabbing his hands and pushing them away. "Sweetheart, you're killin' me," he shivered, like your words just burnt him, but the look on his eyes said otherwise.
Lowering your body in between his thighs, you placed your palm over the much visible bulge on him.
His head fell back immediately, and he let out a groan.
You dragged his sweats back down, and he lifted to make it easier. His cock sprung and hit his abdomen, rock hard. "Christ," he muttered under his breath.
You hadn't even touched him yet, but he was twitching and squirming already. Your gaze lazily go over his length, as you bite back a grin.
A painful sound left his mouth, as you take him in your hands and pump him once. He instinctively bucked his hips towards you. You lowered yourself to his cock and whispered against the flushed head, letting your breath skim over sensitive skin, "You're jumpy."
His thighs tensed as his arms flex against them. Not allowed to touch you must be one of the hardest things he's ever done. But his hands betrayed him as they edged towards you, like he couldn't quite decide if he should grab your hair and end your games or just keep watching.
Pre-cum threatened to spill, as his cock is now hot and heavy in your palms. And you hadn't done a damn thing yet except sit there like you had all morning to play. Which, technically, you didn't, but here we are.
You leaned in, lips brushing, just letting that maddeningly soft contact tease the head. A ghost of a kiss, a suggestion. He made a sound that sounded like a plea, and looked down at you, the pain in his eyes obvious.
"Don't tease," he hissed. You know he'd meant to threaten, but the words were anything but. The way his cock twitched in your hand told you everything you needed.
You tilted your head, lips brushing again, much softer than before. Then softer still, like touching the wing of a butterfly, before you gave the faintest kiss. His whole body jerked like you'd shocked him.
"Fuck," he muttered, throwing his head back.
You pretended as if this didn’t affect you. Like this sight alone, didn’t make you drench your panties.
Then, you gave one slow kitten lick along the underside of him. Your tongue traced the vein there, like you were running the tip of your finger through the sharp edge of a blade. You didn't even give him the satisfaction of pressure. Just that delicate glide that left his hips twitching.
"You're-," he started, but you cut him off with another lick, as you hummed over the head. The vibration sends shockwaves over him, and he moaned, a beautiful sound you relish.
Your mouth wasn't even fully on him yet. Just tiny licks that had his cock throbbing against your lips, leaking already. He tasted like salt, and something so him, and you lapped up the bead of pre-cum like you were savoring it.
"Shit," he hissed, his hand fisting, but having nothing to hold for support.
You gave him another kitten lick, right across the slit.
His breath stuttered, and his hips lifted just slightly, involuntary. But you immediately pulled back. Just to watch him collapse again, muttering something under his breath that you couldn't quite catch.
"You're not gonna last," you teased lightly, dragging the words against the underside of his cock.
He couldn't even get a word out, before your lips pressed featherlight kisses down the shaft, breathing him in. The musky, dizzying scent of him filled your nose, making you wetter by the second. But this wasn't about you. This was about breaking him apart, one featherlight kiss at a time.
You planted another kiss on the tip and sat back on your knees. He looked at you like you'd betrayed him, also with confusion and hunger painting his face. In a quick motion, you removed the white blouse you were wearing, and now stared back at him with only your bra on.
"What're you doing?" His voice came out strangled.
Ignoring his struggles completely, you unclasp your bra, and throw it towards him. The soldier instincts must've kicked in because his fingers caught your bra effortlessly.
You arched in front, lifted his cock in your hand, and pressed the heavy weight of it against your chest. More like against your nipple.
“Are you—fuck,” he groaned as you tapped him lightly against your breast.
“Hmm?” you asked sweetly, doing it again. You guided his cock against it, tapping softly, watching his eyes widen and then narrow again as the reality hit him.
“Jesus, doll,” he muttered, voice raw. His hand twitched, but he didn’t stop you, suddenly very aware of your ‘not touching’ rule.
The head of his cock brushed your nipple, and you circled it lazily, dragging the tip across sensitive skin. You couldn’t help the small gasp that left your throat. It was filthy. Stupidly, sinfully filthy. The kind of thing that would make both of you blush if you tried to describe it later.
You had no thoughts behind your head, but one. You wanted to watch him fall apart.
You flicked him across your nipple again. A bit harder this time, watching your own body react as much as his. His cock left faint trails of wetness against your skin, smearing his pre-cum across your breast. And his gaze was locked onto the sight like it was rewiring him from the inside out.
His voice dropped, low and hoarse. “You’re killing me.” You don’t know how many times he’s said that already.
“You like it?,” you teased, guiding him again, letting the weight of him drag over the curve of your breast.
“Like it?” His laugh was broken. “I’m losing my fucking mind.” It was a miracle that he’d managed to get more than four words out of his mouth.
That was your cue. You licked your lips and leaned down. Finally—finally—you took him into your mouth. Not deep, but just the head, sucking softly like it was nothing. Just a taste.
His reaction was immediate. His whole body jerked, hips bucking up before he bit down a curse. His knuckles were white. His eyes squeezed shut for a beat, then snapped open, desperate to watch.
Your tongue flicked over the slit again, then down just an inch, taking more and stretching your mouth around him. You hollowed your cheeks, sucked, pulled off with a wet pop. His breath shuddered.
“Fuck me,” he growled, voice breaking.
You smiled, because that was the point, wasn’t it?
His hand finally gave in, and this time you didn’t push him away. He buried them in your hair, tugging just enough to ground himself. Like he was desperate.
You pulled back, kissed the tip again. “You taste so good.” God, you were being cruel.
“Stop—” His voice cracked. “Stop talking.”
Which only made you laugh, the vibration of it against the head of his cock pulling another strangled groan out of him.
You had him trembling, and that was a rare sight. Bucky Barnes being reduced to shaking writhing moaning mess under your mouth.
You sank lower, inch by inch, letting him fill your mouth until your jaw ached. Until your throat tightened and your gag reflex reminding you of just how big he was. His groan vibrated in his chest. You felt it more than you heard it. His whole body was arching up into you, like he couldn’t help himself anymore.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and then again, harsher, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”
You pulled back with a wet sound, and he just about cried in response. You licked him again, savoring the taste of salt and heat.
“Fuck,” he groaned, hips jerking. He was trying not to thrust. He was trying so hard to be good for you, but his body betrayed him. That primal instinct taking over when your lips were sealed tight around him.
His control broke like a glass shattering. His hand tightened in your hair, pulling just enough to ground himself and his entire body went rigid.
“Sweetheart—” It came out broken. He was already tipping over the edge. His hips snapped forward once, as he spilled into your mouth.
The heat of it hit your tongue in thick waves, and you swallowed without hesitation. Your throat worked around him, swallowing again and again until you were sure he had nothing left to give.
His head tipped back, chest heaving like he’d just gone ten rounds in a fight. His grip on your hair loosened, metal fingers slipping away like he didn’t have the strength to hold on anymore.
You pulled back slowly, letting his softened cock fall from your lips with a wet pop. Your mouth glistened with spit and his release, and you licked your lips, while his dazed eyes found you again.
The sight of you, with your mouth swollen, tongue flicking out to catch the last of his release, dragged a noise out of him that was both a groan and a laugh.
“You’re evil,” he rasped, still trying to catch his breath.
You lifted yourself off the ground, and landed on his lap. His arms circled you and he immediately angled his mouth towards yours, bringing you in for a kiss. So fucking messy that he tasted himself off your tongue. A breathy moan escaped your lips, and he broke off the kiss to whisper, “you’re not going to work today, sweetheart.”
my masterlist !
a/n2: i don’t even know what that was.
dividers by @cursed-carmine and @cafekitsune thank you!!
Dealing with his father’s latest mess, Eris Vanserra finds himself in need of some serious stress relief. Only problem is his typical coping method comes in the form of a deadly distraction: a female who is his mate and has no idea, either.
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: smut, p in v, oral(f), rough sex, secret mate bond, tiny bit of angst, Eris pov
A/N: So, when @garricktavisfanclub suggested I start an Eris fic with an Eris version of that one infamous Ruhn Danaan quote I was all over it. Honestly that’s just the entire basis for this fic. That and being feral for Eris. And that is how this fic was born. ✨
As per usual, an additional thanks go to @garricktavisfanclub for being my resident mood board help.
Eris Vanserra knew three things with absolute certainty:
He hated his father
He desperately needed stress relief—which was why there was a female currently on his face
He was completely and utterly fucked because that female just happened to be his mate
Her sweet whimpers nearly drove him wild as she wriggled on his face, one hand reaching down to thread into his hair.
Gods, she sounded incredible.
His tongue delved into her core, groaning at her taste with each and every plunge.
He could’ve feasted on her for hours. Days even.
He retreated, moving north as his tongue flattened against the sensitive bud.
“Shit,” she moaned, grinding against his face, fingers tugging at his hair.
Fuck, had he needed this.
Similar to the rest of his godsforsaken life, the last few weeks had been difficult, stressful and downright a pain in his ass. Sometimes a male needed a moment to regroup and think of a plan.
Or, you know, have some fun with a beautiful female.
He liked to think of it as resetting his brain. It was a wonder what a good orgasm could do for clearing his mind, helping him think clearly again.
Though his hand didn’t exactly aid in the sort of releases he needed to achieve such a state.
His father had always been difficult, that was a fact that Eris knew plain as day. But lately, Beron had seemed to be an overachiever in the field.
The bastard had become allies with mortal queen Briallyn, dozens of his soldiers had gone missing and now he found himself aiding the Night Court—Eris’s own secretive, tentative allies—by keeping them updated on his father’s movements.
It was an intricate game, playing dutiful son and heir to his father, only in hopes to foil any of his plans.
Cauldron knew what horrors the High Lord of Autumn wanted to subject Prythian to. But absolutely none of it could be or would be good.
There were so many variables, so many angles to consider, so many things to think through.
His head hurt.
Well, technically both of them did at the moment, but the one below his waist was for far more pleasant reasons.
The whole ordeal with Beron was a mess—one he needed to figure out what to do about and soon. It was certain to get even more complicated if he knew his father. But for now—
His thoughts were interrupted with a sharp cry of pleasure from above him.
He groaned against her cunt in response, his cock definitely responding to her enthusiasm.
He felt guilty for a moment, too in his head to not even be able to enjoy this, to be able to lavish her. But he quickly remedied that, his tongue licking another path from her entrance back to her clit.
Gods, she was always what he needed. Especially when dealing with the shit he currently was.
Her fingers tightened in his hair, bringing him back to reality and keeping him from lingering in his thoughts too long.
He really needed to get out of his head and focus on her.
His tongue flicked over her clit repeatedly as she mewled.
She was always so responsive to him—physically and vocally. Not that he knew of how she had been with any past lovers, though the thought made his blood want to boil.
Stop it. She’s here with you. Get out of your head and enjoy your fucking mate.
More like enjoy fucking her, truth be told.
Gods, the only thing he needed was just to pound into her, release some stress and he’d be fine, be able to think more clearly again.
A part of him felt horrible for keeping such a monumental thing a secret from her, but he knew it was for the best.
Ironically, this entire ordeal had started as just sex.
A chance meeting of a female that he’d never seen before, visiting the Forest House. A few calculated and deliberately sultry looks sent her way—eyes meeting, his lips curving upwards in a sly smirk—sealed the deal. Especially since he’d put a considerate amount of intent and interest in the looks.
She was an Autumn Court resident that he found he’d had no knowledge of. He mourned that fact for some time because if he had he'd have been appreciating her a whole lot sooner.
It was fast and rough—typically how he liked his lovers. Get the deal done and be on his way before the sheets even had time to cool—that is if he and the female ever made it to a bed.
Sometimes, they didn’t.
She was no exception. He’d taken her hard and fast in a linen closet and was a shade stunned when even something quick and cheap like that left him salivating for more.
He soon found out why when visits with each other became more frequent and the damn mating bond snapped into place.
Quite literally as he was snapping his pants button closed too.
The Mother sure had a sense of humor, that’s for sure.
They’d actually made it to a bed that time and he had just stood to dress and leave—her quite literally still heaving for breath, the evidence of their time together still warm on her thighs. His eyes had just focused on her face when he felt it. His spine instantly had gone ramrod straight, like he was a puppet with his string being pulled taut.
He didn’t even know how he knew other than it felt like his soul recognized hers.
A still, small voice in his heart, his mind, his being whispered the one word that he’d thought was just a thing of myths and tales.
Mate.
He’d just blinked—he wasn’t sure exactly how he looked, if he were honest—but he’d known he’d had enough practice in steeling his face to give nothing away.
She’d just looked confused.
“What?” she’d asked.
“Nothing,” he’d shook his head.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d had when he’d realized.
It was then that he almost unintentionally became loyal to her. Hell, he already had been for a while before the bond snapped for him. Their encounters had already been so mind blowing that no one else would’ve compared.
She’d been the only female he’d had interest in for quite some time, basically.
But with the reveal of the mating bond came the sickening sense.
She didn’t know.
Eris wasn’t about to tell her. Being mated to him was awful enough, but that wasn’t even the biggest problem.
His father was.
Eris wasn’t about to let the cruel male that he had the unfortunate luck of calling father catch even a whiff that they were mates—let alone tip him off that she was a female he cared for.
He knew what happened in this family to females one cared for.
As far as his father knew, she was just another average High Fae female. Just another Autumn Court female that he tended to tangle with—a tale as old as time for him.
Though Eris didn’t know if his father even paid enough attention to note who he had dalliances with anymore. If not, all the better.
Earlier—when he’d known he was going to need some decompressing that only she could provide him with—he’d sent a message to her.
Within the hour, she’d been at the door of his chambers.
His lips were practically on hers before he could even get the door shut behind them.
Foolish, that had been foolish. Anyone could’ve seen. Cauldron knew that even the servants of the Forest House would sell any information if the price was high enough.
His lips were already on her neck, hands working to pull the casual daytime dress from her body, eager to get to that glorious body.
“If you need to talk…” she’d started.
“Later,” he’d breathed.
And then he’d scooped her up and carried her to his bed where he’d stripped her naked and sat her on his face.
Back in the present, he heard her appreciative noises, displaying how much she was eager to help him—how much she enjoyed this.
“Eris,” she gasped, hips rocking faster.
The sound of his name on her lips always gave him chills. It was like syrup on her tongue. He lived for each and every time she said it—especially during these encounters.
She was close, he knew. He’d learned her body, her tells, her sounds well—had memorized them.
He pulled away enough to murmur against her heat.
“You drip this much for every male or is it just me?”
He lapped at some of that arousal he’d just mentioned, groaning, half in agony because his cock only ached further, he was so very ready for her.
There was something so incredibly sexy knowing that only he could get her this worked up—that this reaction was for him alone.
He knew the answer to his earlier question well, though his smug inquiry went without needing an answer.
She still gave it to him anyway.
He peered up, seeing her head thrown back, beautiful breasts on full display as her chest heaved from all he’d done to her already.
He could’ve come at the sight alone.
“Just you,” she moaned, pressing herself closer to his mouth, “Only you.”
He rewarded her with another lick, lips wrapping around her clit. It only took a few more sucks, providing just enough pressure to send her crashing towards her climax.
He had it down to a science truly—what maneuvers drove her wild, small things she enjoyed, made her arch and whimper.
No one could say he didn’t know his mate well.
His fingers dug into her thighs as she succumbed to her release, her moans like a symphony to his ears. He’d heard some of the finest music at hundreds of balls and functions, but nothing was as beautiful as when she fell apart for him.
His cock ached terribly, each sound shooting straight to it as she let her release sweep her away.
Cauldron, she was the only female he’d met that made him nearly come—before he’d even gotten inside her—from her sounds alone.
He didn’t let up on his movements, sucking and licking until she was pulling away from his mouth, indicating she’d had enough.
He smirked against her, placing a kiss against her clit, nipping at it just so.
“Cauldron,” she hissed, hips twitching away.
He just chuckled deeply, kissing her inner thigh.
“I hope you’re not too tired because I’ve yet to fuck you,” he grinned, peering up at her.
Her face was flushed and he had to bite back a groan, mentally considering which he wanted to do—lick that flush of color on her cheeks or kiss it.
“How do you want me?” she grinned, devilishly as she shuffled backwards away from his face.
Mother above, this female.
He was half tempted to say every way.
Not like that hadn’t practically covered that in all this time they’d been doing this.
He pulled her down enough to kiss her.
He’d never tire of the feeling of contentment that always came when his lips were on hers—like everything was right in the world.
His hands trailed up her sides, gentler than he intended to be with her, soon.
He broke the kiss, lips nipping her jaw.
“I want you…” he drew out the anticipation, pulling back so his fingertip could caress a line along her jawline.
He trailed that finger down towards her chin, down her throat and chest, stopping between her breasts where his thumb moved to brush a peaked nipple.
“On your knees for me, hands on the headboard, holding on tight.”
His voice came out more gravelly than intended, but his mouth had already dried at the thought of her clinging to the headboard as he fucked her from behind.
“Take what you need, Eris,” she whispered the seductive declaration.
She reached behind her blindly, smaller hand wrapping around his unattended cock. She gave it a few pumps and he groaned raggedly, just her mere touch alone enough to unravel him.
Hands gripping under her thighs, he lifted her enough so he could sit up. She maneuvered until she was straddling his lap, kneeling on knees placed on either side of his body. She towered over him a bit—due to her current position—her hair falling forward and framing her face.
She was so damn beautiful, it made his heart skip every time.
“You’re so good to me,” he murmured reverently, the truth slipping out quicker and sounding more vulnerable than he’d intended it to.
Her laugh was light and amused.
“You just had your tongue between my legs and I’m the one that’s good to you?” she asked, sounding baffled.
His hands traced up and down her back, lips dropping kisses across the expanse of her chest—shoulder to shoulder. A path of little butterfly kisses, soft and genuine.
He lifted his head, smirking up at her.
“Yes. You provide me with the gift of that sweet little cunt every time. Consider me truly grateful.”
His comment was lazy, arrogant and smug. She just rolled her eyes, shoving at his shoulder.
He still had plans to take her as roughly as he was craving, but first…
Sometimes he almost preferred these softer moments. Where he could be who he truly wished he could be—at least with her.
His hands settled on her hips, molding around the natural curve of her body. Whatever was on his face clearly confused her.
“What is it?” she asked.
There was so much he could say, but chose not to.
“Just admiring how you look before I have you falling apart on my cock—all whilst screaming my name.”
She mumbled something about arrogant bastards and he laughed heartily, the deep rumble coming from within his chest.
He gave her bare ass a playful slap, making her yelp and jerk. His lips were already at her ear, a smirk curving them upwards.
“You. Headboard. Now, sweetheart.”
He didn’t miss the delicious little whimper from her as she scrambled off his lap, heading to her destination.
Once positioned, hands gripping the headboard, she tilted her head over her shoulder at him, eyes dropping down his naked form, as if unimpressed.
“Well? What are you waiting for Eris?”
She gave a little wiggle of her ass as if taunting him.
His eyes fell to her glistening cunt—on full display for him and he had to bite back a groan. If the Mother were to take him now, he could fully admit at least he’d die a happy male.
He struck as fast as some of the beasts of Prythian could.
One moment he was still halfway across the bed, the next he was right behind her, hands gripping her body, pressed close to where she wanted him.
She was already panting and it made him near feral.
“So eager for me,” he taunted wickedly, rubbing his cock through her soaked folds.
“Eris,” she groaned.
“Hmm?”
His hand tenderly pushed her hair off her back, fingertips of one hand trailing teasingly down her spine. She made a soft noise, back arching, inevitably pressing herself closer to where his cock rested, just shy of being inside her.
“That’s it—arch your back for me, pretty thing,” he cooed.
She was gasping, head falling back, desperate and trembling.
He could easily fucked her into the next century—especially when she was like this.
Eris tried to grab a hold of the feeling flaring deep within him—the mating bond humming, craving that connection that was only partially and temporarily satisfied by what he gave it.
He leaned down over her back, red strands falling forward onto her and mixing with her own hue. His lips were hot on her ear, lips tracing the shell just enough to make her shudder. He spoke the four words against her ear before sitting back again.
“I expect screaming, sweetheart.”
And then he was slamming into her—one rough, harsh, brutal thrust into her.
Gods, scream did she ever.
The bliss filled cry met his ears and he became absolutely drunk on it. He growled at the sound as his hips kept up the tempo, pulling back and thrusting forward with a rapid, relentless rhythm.
His own eyes about damn near rolled back in his head as he moved in her.
She felt like velvet wrapped around his cock. Addicting, mind numbing, dangerous velvet—each stroke affecting him more and more.
His fingers dug into her hips as his own moved like they had a mind of their own—like he easily lost control of all sense every time he was buried in her. He drove into her with quick and hard strokes, hitting the same deep spot repeatedly.
She wasn’t exactly one who was quiet when you’d unlocked that little surprise about her—and Mother above he was grateful she wasn’t. Hearing her enthusiasm, knowing she enjoyed it as much as he did only egged him on.
She was a moaning mess now and he tried to suppress the pride he felt at that fact—that he excelled at pulling such sounds from her.
She moaned louder as her hips matched his rhythm, rocking back into him, as if she could drive his cock further into her.
If he were honest, he’d stay buried deep within her if he could.
With every sharp snap of his hips forward came some sort of vocal reply from her.
“I love those sounds you give me,” he praised, though his voice sounded ragged.
Their bodies rocked back and forth from the momentum of the pace. His hands grabbed anywhere and everywhere he could—hips, hands pressed against her stomach, grabbing her boobs—like he was desperate to touch and hold on to every single inch of her he possibly could.
He leaned forward again, chest pressed against her back. His cock still plunged into her with a bruising accuracy, reaching up to the headboard. One hand covered hers, squeezing it.
The other gripped her face, turning it towards him so he could cover her mouth with his in a heated, messy kiss.
He couldn’t get enough of her. He truly could not get his fill.
Teeth clashed, tongues tangling in anything but a decent kiss, but he moaned into it, feeling the way her cunt repeatedly fluttered around his cock.
All he could hear was the sounds coming from them—skin slapping as he pounded into her like he’d been dying to earlier—and the movements of the bed that their pace caused.
Her teeth scraped along his bottom lip and she groaned into the kiss as he continued giving her all he had.
After all, it wasn’t the worst way to destress. It was practically healthy.
When he broke from her mouth, his other hand covered her other, bracing himself as he retreated fully only to slam back into her, hips jutting forwards harshly.
“Gods, Eris,” she groaned loudly.
His hands squeezed hers again, head hovering right near hers.
He felt her press backwards even closer to his body.
His lips found hers again—he couldn’t help it.
This time though, he took her lower lip between his teeth, firmly enough to be a sharp bite as he tugged on it briefly, open mouth coming to close over hers. A rumble came from deep within his chest as her hips ground back into his every time their bodies met.
It was when he’d just broken the kiss that she caught him off guard, not expecting to hear such words from her.
“Fuck, I love your cock,” she moaned.
Her grip tightened on the headboard, something he could feel underneath his grasp on her hands.
Eris nearly growled at the words, instead providing her with another punishingly deep thrust.
She cried out, clenching around him so tightly that he was positive he was going to black out for a second.
“You were made to handle me,” he groaned out as he rolled his hips with devastating precision.
He leaned down, licking a line up the side of her neck.
“Just like that…just like that,” she panted, her body moving in sync with his.
His fingers laced through hers as he kept up his current pace, determined to send her over the edge.
“I can’t— oh gods— Eris— don’t stop—”
He nearly exploded from her blissed out babbling.
His own grunts and groans came without an ability to hold them back, feeling release rapidly approaching.
He doubled his efforts. He wanted to make her come before he’d allowed himself to—that was the least he could do.
So he gave her a challenge instead.
“Are you gonna make me come?” he rasped the deadly question.
“Yes, yes, I will.”
He was breathing hard now, sweat slicking both his body and hers—to the point it felt like they were permanently joined. Not just from the obvious, but the way her back felt glued to his chest.
“Gonna— come so hard— inside you,” he gritted out, struggling to form words, himself, right now.
She whimpered at the words, head dropping before he could finish the sentence.
“You’re gonna feel me for a week,” he hissed the last part of his sentence, a brutal thrust emphasizing his words.
“Yes!” she cried, “Yesyesyes, gods, please.”
He growled, her sounds making that release of his grow faster, a band desperate to snap.
But not yet.
Her hips seemed to have a mind of their own as they rocked with his. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.
One hand fell from the headboard and she reached between her legs to give herself the edge she needed to actually finish.
“I think the fuck not,” he growled, shoving her hand away and replacing it with his own.
Fingers flicked her clit, her audible response alerting him to the fact that was just what she needed to get there.
He wanted to come deep in her to the point it dripped down her thighs as he fucked her—again.
Then, she went instantly quiet. That was his sign.
When he said quiet, he didn’t mean completely quiet.
The closer she got to climax, the more she tended to take a turn in the opposite direction. Her normally loud volume would go from loud and unabashed to nearly silent, to just small whimpers and moans as her body tensed and prepared for the ecstasy to come.
The first time she’d done that, a part of him had wondered if she’d been faking her enjoyment—which was a wild claim since he was Eris Vanserra. He knew how to properly please a female.
But no, it was a trait unique to her, to her body and how it handled pleasure. It was a thing of wonder to him.
He’d been rough up to the point—the sex hot and fast—but now he was like a storm unleashed as he pounded harder, determined to bring her release. His maneuvers were timed perfectly with his fingers to keep that intensity building until she could take it no longer.
His lips were at her ear, ready to whisper a litany of filthy things.
Turns out, he didn’t need to get far. All it took was one sentence.
“You’re gonna come on my cock.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a statement.
It was a demand.
He felt her body react before she did audibly. Her cunt clamped around him and she exclaimed, the cry loud and sharp.
“Eris!”
He groaned, so close himself, the sound of her quite literally screaming his name driving him wild.
His praises—encouragements—came gravelly, broken as he worked himself into her over and over.
“That’s it— come on sweetheart— give it to me—”
Then she was falling over the edge, the scream erupting from her making his eyes screw shut, a deep growl leaving him.
It also triggered his own release instantly.
With one last thrust of his hips, he was filling her, his release spurting from him as he groaned, loud and long.
His arms instantly came around her middle, wrapping them tightly as their bodies rocked, riding out every bit of their highs. It was as if he couldn’t be close enough to her.
He was inside her, pressed against her and he still wanted to crawl inside her.
She was clutching to the headboard like her life depended on it when they finally stilled, their breaths sawing from them.
“Gods,” she whimpered.
He knew. He knew—knew exactly why it was so incredible each and every time.
His lips pressed against her shoulder, then against the side of her neck. Not exactly kisses, but a need to have every inch of himself touching her, if all possible. He stayed where he was, still inside her, reluctant to move yet.
She turned her head, peering back at him and his head bent, pressing his lips to hers. One of her hands came up, threading fingers through the tousled and tangled strands of hair at the back of his head as their tongues twined lazily.
He eventually pulled away, but not until after his lips met hers once, twice, three times in a series of soft, short presses of kisses.
Eris knew good and well by now that he was well and truly addicted to her. She gazed up at him dazedly from the strength of her release and he had to resist the urge to take her again and again.
Finally, he sat back, peering down to watch as he pulled out of her with a lot more ease than he’d just had her.
He groaned lowly seeing how completely soaked his cock was from the combination of her release and his.
Cauldron help him, the primal mating bond urges were intense and quite inconvenient. That sight alone made him want to flip her on her back and stay inside her the rest of the day.
But, he knew he couldn’t. Especially if he wanted to remain inconspicuous—to her and to the world.
She sat back on her heels, wincing as she did. His eyes quickly assessed her body, concern for her sluicing through him. He was nearly ready to open his mouth and ask if he’d been too rough when she shifted, turning so she could sit properly against the pillows and face him, too.
“Feel better?” she asked, eyes roving him, like she too, was assessing his state.
Despite it being fogged from release, he was amazed how quiet and clear his mind was. Perfect to think through the things he needed to.
But later, that could come later.
“Yeah. Yeah I do,” he murmured.
He took in her state—flushed, breathless, sweaty, pieces of her hair stuck to her forehead. She looked satisfied, sated and absolutely breathtaking.
Eris couldn’t help it, couldn’t resist.
He joined her at the head of the bed, bending down to connect their lips again. He told himself it was only for a minute.
Until he felt the way her leg lifted, hugging his hip, as their mouths moved in sync.
It was when his hand slid up her thigh as he kissed her that he actively felt the way she relaxed and melted under his touch. He knew then he was lying to himself.
Maybe one more time wouldn’t hurt.
He deepened the kiss, settling between her thighs once more, ready to have her all over again.
She thought this was just sex—was happy not to question him, apparently. At least, that’s what he figured, since she showed up time and time again when he needed her.
It might’ve had a good deal to do with the mindblowing sex they kept having.
But, alas, Eris was happy to let her believe it was just sex.
It was safer that way.
He couldn’t ignore the shiver that traveled his spine as she moaned into their kiss, mouth and body both opening to welcome him again.
You can tell immediately by the long dashes and AI‘s insistence on including groups of 3. Its ai dialect is so strong that reading it feels exhausting. You can feel how far removed from humanity it is. :(
I know yall wanna post more and grow your audience but this is a step in the wrong direction
It’s so easy to spot especially when people don’t even try to hide it. Where’s the life- the raw emotions- NATURAL HUMAN ERRORS!!
There’s ways we can learn to write and sound more fluid in our work without the use of AI. DM your favorite writers, Google, TikTok, ask a friend, anything BUT chat gpt.
When your mate propositions you with trying something new, you don’t hesitate to agree, quickly finding yourself at the Shadowsinger’s mercy.
Pairing: Azriel x f!reader
Word Count: 6.7k
Warnings: smut, p in v, oral(f), teasing, shadow play, slight bondage, tiny bit of knife play if you squint, slight choking, rough sex, dominant Az, this sort of got filthy
A/N: Requested by @garricktavisfanclub (also thank you for mood board help!) inspired by that Az and his blindfold bit in CC 😏 Pretty sure this is the most intense I’ve ever written Az, so buckle up.
Your mate sure had a way of surprising you.
“What if we tried something new tonight?” he murmured in your ear.
His arms had wrapped around your waist moments prior, face nuzzling into your neck, peppering kisses along the exposed skin there.
He’d barely just gotten back from a meeting with Rhys—having debriefed him on a latest spy mission. One that he’d only returned from a few hours previously.
“No hello? How are you? I missed you sweetheart?” you teased, “Just jump straight into that?”
“Well, something in my…arsenal gave me a few ideas. I’m not sure why I haven’t thought of it before.”
You cocked a brow, turning in his arms.
“Az, you’re not gonna torture me, are you?”
A smirk crossed the Illyrian’s mouth—brief and faint, but enough for you to pick up on. After all, you were quite familiar with the male.
“Not in any way you wouldn’t like,” he promised.
Cauldron knew what the hell had sparked an idea for him.
Then again you couldn’t say you knew every single tool in his possession, either. You were sure there were some surprises.
But that wicked gleam in his eyes persisted as he backed up, heading to the bathroom to bathe and change before you gave him a proper welcome home.
He didn’t even deign you a look backwards as he threw over his shoulder.
“Meet me in the bedroom in ten minutes.”
He paused at the doorway to the bathroom, giving you a devilish grin.
“Oh and sweet girl? Put on that little number I love so much, will you?”
You’d have been lying if you said that you hadn’t been trembling in anticipation as you slipped on the black satin nightgown—as black as his shadows. The neckline dipped in a low vee, lace covering the bodice of it, accompanying delicate lace on the hemline of it.
It was more of a simple piece—one of the rather plain items they had at the shop in Velaris that sold the delicate lacy little things.
But Az loved it—thus so did you.
Now, you perched on the bed, awaiting your mate, chewing on your lip. You instantly straightened when you heard the door open.
He’d forgone any other clothes after his bath but remained in a pair of undershorts, droplets of water still rivuleting down his toned chest. His wings fluttered behind him, still damp from the shower and you saw water droplets clinging to them like dew on spring flowers.
You felt your mouth dry at the sight—at just how beautiful your mate really was.
His shadows wreathed his wings at his back, rolling down along the backs of his legs to settle mostly along his feet.
“You’ve got that look on your face,” you commented wryly, brow raised as you watched him mill about the room.
A drawer of the dresser opened as he rifled through a mess of items. He was turned away from you so you couldn’t see exactly what he was doing.
Your eyes traveled along his back, watching the muscles shift, the way his wings rustled. You bit down on your lip harder, shifting slightly, feeling a deep throb and ache starting between your legs.
He wasn’t even doing anything but you could feel arousal twining with your anticipation, snaking together to form one intense sensation.
“Whatcha doing?” you asked, trying to remain casual.
Your legs shifted, trying to ease the ache—unsuccessfully, too.
He turned around, nothing in his hands. Whatever he may have retrieved—if anything—must’ve been whisked away by his shadows to keep you in suspense.
You watched him approach you, towering over you even more than he normally did due to you being seated on the edge of the bed. A lone finger tipped your face upwards, intense hazel eyes burning into you.
“You trust me?”
His voice was deep, raspier than usual. His eyes searched your face for your answer before you could even voice it.
“Yes.”
You and Azriel weren’t strangers to this—the two of you had experimented before. He’d tied you up with his shadows, you’d tied him up with them, you’d brought food into the act, even played around with extreme levels of teasing and orgasm denial—some of the former even being outside of the bedroom and in public.
But you truly had no idea what to expect from the male tonight.
It was always a priority in your relationship with your mate that one asked the other for permission. It was nonnegotiable. He always wanted to make sure you were safe and comfortable and you wanted to ensure him the same.
So, you made sure to reiterate your sentiment, to convince Azriel you were fully on board with whatever he was planning.
“I trust you, Az,” you whispered, breathlessly.
That lone finger caressed your jaw, his thumb joining his index so he could hold your chin in his grasp. He bent low, pressing his lips to yours.
You hummed lowly as your lips moved with his, your arms beginning to reach upwards to pull him closer to you. Before you could though, he scooped you up in his arms, hands on the undersides of your bare thighs as he climbed on the bed. He moved the two of you towards the head, laying you gingerly against the pillows—all while his mouth was still connected to yours.
Scarred hands pushed silky black fabric upwards, warm palms gliding over the tops of your thighs as your lips moved with his. You sighed into the kiss, arms coming around your mate’s neck, one hand sliding into the dark strands of his hair.
Your legs came up, bracketing his hips, lifting your own to press your body flush against his. You let out a satisfied giggle at his groan and you felt him harden further at the press of your clothed core against him—separated by a few thin layers of clothing.
You moaned lightly, breaking away from the kiss as you rubbed against his hardness.
“Someone’s acting up already,” he murmured, lips falling to your jawline, trailing kisses down to your neck.
“Ooh I’m shaking,” you taunted.
“You will be.”
His matter of fact tone, in that deep gravelly voice you loved, made your breath hitch.
He’d still yet tell you what he had in mind.
“Promises, promises,” you smirked.
He pulled back, looking down in your face. A hand lifted to your face, a thumb brushing over your lower lip.
You opened your mouth, closing your lips around it, sucking on it briefly before releasing it.
“You want me to suck your cock, Az?”
Hazel eyes darkened with desire, his lips parting as if contemplating his answer.
“Not tonight,” he said with finality, “I have something else in mind.”
You mock pouted, pushing your lower lip out a fraction. With a growl he leaned down, capturing your lips with his own, teeth sinking into that bottom lip you’d protruded out.
You gasped, mouth opening and welcoming the tongue that swept in, dancing with your own as they twined. The kiss quickly grew heated, building the fire that was building within you.
He pulled back leaving you whimpering, until you realized what he was doing.
“As much as I love this, sweet girl,” he murmured, thumb and forefinger closing around one of the thin straps, sliding it through his touch, “It needs to go.”
He leaned down, a kiss being left on your shoulder as one strap was pulled down. He nipped at the spot, teeth grazing against your skin. You gasped, hands coming to rest on his biceps as you arched into his mouth.
“It never tends to stay on long, does it?” you whispered, turning your head to peer sidelong at him.
“For good reason,” he rumbled.
You found his lips, kissing him as you pulled one arm then the other out of the straps. He didn’t even bother to part from your mouth as his hands pulled the neckline down, exposing your breasts.
Mouth dropping to your chest, you didn’t even care that the fabric was bunched at your middle—just as long as your mate kept his hands and mouth on you.
His lips ghosted over the swell of your breasts, stopping long enough to nip and drag his tongue in different areas.
You couldn’t help the small whimpered moan that left you, the moment you felt his tongue flick over one of your nipples.
But it was brief and fleeting, much to your disappointment.
Instead, Az sat back, hand reaching out to pull something out of the shadows. Your eyes instantly dropped to the item in his grasp. He held it taught between both of his hands and your brows furrowed, not understanding.
He twirled the piece of fabric in his hand, a smirk blooming on his lips.
A blindfold.
Subconsciously, your legs shifted further apart when the realization of what he held dawned on you.
His eyes flicked down, catching the movement and he chuckled lowly.
“Up for a challenge?” he taunted, those beautiful eyes raking down your disheveled form, ready and waiting for him.
“Depends. What did you have in mind?”
You brought your bottom lip between your teeth, breath deepening as you imagined all the possibilities.
“What if you were blindfolded while I had a little…fun?”
Fingertips just barely traced a path along your exposed stomach and you inhaled sharply, goosebumps breaking out along your skin.
If you were this sensitive to his touch now, you could only imagine what it would be like when you lost access to one of your valuable senses.
“Okay,” you whispered.
He said nothing as he leaned down, covering your eyes with the cloth.
Darkness set in as the light disappeared from your vision and you felt Az lean forward, tying it in a tight knot at the back of your head.
“Always knew you were such a good girl.”
The sharp gasp that left your lips made him chuckle a second time.
“Off,” he murmured, likely giving you a clue as to what he was doing before he moved.
Your arms came up so fast he actually laughed heartily.
“Does a male good to see his mate so eager for him,” he cooed.
“Az, you breathe and I practically get aroused from that.”
It was an odd sensation, not being able to see him—only being able to sense him, listen for his movements.
You heard the rustle and shuffle of sheets, felt him shift a bit before you felt his hands on your sides. You gasped again, arching into his touch.
“Easy,” he murmured.
You were utterly and completely open to him, vulnerable, ready to submit to him. It thrilled you.
The silk slid across your skin as he pulled it off your body, leaving you in nothing but the black lacy underwear. The cool air of the bedroom hit your bare skin, making your nipples harden—though that was likely half from arousal too.
You already ached for him deep inside of you.
You heard his deep growl of approval—likely at the sight—and you waited, anticipating his next move.
“Ah,” you gasped breathily, when you felt a set of warm lips just under your jaw.
“So beautiful,” he uttered, “All mine, aren’t you, sweet girl?”
His teeth scraped against your jawline, making you shudder. His hands slid up your sides slowly, staying just out of reach of your breasts, though you felt his thumbs brush the underside of them. Then, they retreated back down your sides again as his lips explored.
“Yes, Az,” you whispered.
You felt the grip on your sides tighten just the slightest. He kissed the spot just where your jaw met your ear.
“Azriel’s not here right now. The Shadowsinger of the Night Court is.”
Your jaw slackened, an uneven breathy exhale leaving you. The heat in your belly increased ten fold, your thighs slickening further as the drumbeat of your arousal made itself known. You were so incredibly aroused that your brain was already becoming foggy.
“And I’m gonna eat,” he paused, leaving a hot, open mouthed kiss against your collarbone.
“You,” he continued, leaving a similar kiss against your throat.
“Up.”
His tongue trailed a path between your breasts as he finished his statement and you whimpered, arching your chest to press closer to his mouth.
You couldn’t help the wanton moan that escaped your throat.
You felt the smirk against your skin as his tongue lavished one breast, his hand kneading the other.
All you could do was make tiny gasping sounds.
You knew your senses would be heightened, but this was taking it to a whole new level. You were so incredibly sensitive to every brush, every kiss, every movement in general.
You felt his touch brush the side of your neck—fingertips just barely skimming the skin. You turned your face blindly, following his touch, searching for his lips.
“Things feel a bit different now don’t they?” Az hummed.
You nodded, trying to use your remaining senses to figure out what he was doing—where he was.
Something occurred to you.
“What do I look like?” you asked, a tad more breathlessly than you’d meant to.
A pained groan came from your mate. You tilted your head at the sound, curious.
“Like mine,” he growled, “Like you’re ready for ravishing.”
“I always am,” you grinned teasingly, though the words were genuine.
The hand that’d been hovering on the side of your neck slid over, splaying out over your throat.
This was also something the two of you had experimented with before. You moaned, head tilting back as his grip tightened just the slightest, just showing you that you were completely at his mercy.
“Az,” you breathed.
He hummed, thumb brushing your jawline before his lips were on yours.
It was heated, brief, then he was moving on.
Hands slid further south, along the outside of your thighs as kisses were dropped down the expanse of your stomach. You squirmed, giving a whiny complaint at his teasing.
He placed a lone kiss against your clothed cunt, making you writhe and moan, hips lifting for more contact.
You hadn’t even realized he’d reached between your legs. You felt so off balance, not being able to see him.
Your chest heaved as you waited for what he’d do next.
Nothing came.
You felt nothing.
Heard nothing.
Had he left you here?
Maybe it was because you were so worked up, but you felt like crying at the thought, though you weren’t sure why.
You couldn’t even scent him.
“A-Az?” you croaked.
There was absolute silence.
Such silence that it felt like your ears hollowed out from the absence of sound.
You wriggled, patting the bed to see if you could feel him, but had no luck. You whimpered, your body needing stimulation, your body needing him.
“Azriel?” you whimpered.
You didn’t feel his touch, but you felt something different.
Instead, you felt an icy kiss that was abrupt and jarring, the bite of it brushing over your nipples, your breasts.
You moaned, squirming.
He’d used his shadows on you before, sure, but never in this scenario. It was even more heightened when you had no idea when they’d strike or where they’d go next.
“Fuck,” you groaned, hips bucking, when you felt the cold kiss between your legs, brushing your clit.
“Azriel,” you gritted out, though it sounded painfully whiny.
If he’d left you alone—even with just his shadows—you would actually cry in despair.
Your body was too alive, too aware, buzzing like it knew you were craving much more than you were currently getting. It set your teeth on edge.
The cool sensation came again, this time on the outside of one thigh, then a warm hand was on it.
You almost sobbed in relief when—not surprisingly—he soundlessly moved over you again. You felt his lips brush your cheek, then drop to your neck, nuzzling it with his lips. Tiny kisses were left across a small area of it before he kissed a line down it.
“Right here, sweet girl,” he murmured, deep voice smooth and honeyed.
“Where—” you panted.
You heard the smirk in his voice.
“Just wanted to observe for a moment. You make such a beautiful display.”
“Fucking tease,” you huffed, frustrated in more ways than one.
That deep rumble of amused laughter came from him again. You felt for him, your hands landing on his shoulders.
He bit down on the lobe of your ear gently. You made a startled noise, body reacting accordingly.
“Sweet girl, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Hands descended, fingers dipping into the waistband of your underwear at your hips. He pulled it down, tongue gliding over your lower abdomen.
As he pulled the fabric down your legs, you sensed him pausing and you gasped, quick and startled, when you felt his tongue travel the crease in your leg—right where the inner thigh met your pelvis. So close to where you wanted his touch, but so far away.
You shifted, hoping to move his mouth closer to where you were craving it, but once again, he didn’t indulge you, sitting back to pull your underwear from your legs.
With your eyes covered, you didn’t see the object he pulled from the shadows, but a moment later, you felt it.
A cool sensation—different from the touch of his shadows—pressed against your ankle, sliding up your leg, past your knee and caressed the skin of your inner thighs.
Your brow furrowed as you tried to identify what it could be.
Another brush as he moved it higher on your inner thigh had you thinking it felt like cold steel.
Like—
The edge of a blade.
You opened your mouth, but he beat you to the punch.
“Truth-Teller wanted to play, too.”
You felt the press of the blade’s smooth face, dangerously close to your throbbing core. Your pulse skittered, chest heaving, not knowing what to expect from him.
Az broke character for a second, whispering a surety to you.
“I won’t hurt you.”
“I know,” you whispered, “I’m okay, Az.”
Well, technically you were aching and dying from not having your mate yet, but in all other ways, you were perfectly fine.
He said nothing more but you felt a new sensation, no longer cold kissed metal, but warm leather—warm from where he’d just held it in his hand moments before.
Truth-Teller’s hilt was dragged slowly up your soaked folds and you moaned, especially when you felt it stop at the apex of your thighs, pressing down on the throbbing bundle of nerves there.
He didn’t stay there long though, dragging the handle of the dagger back down through your folds once more.
“Azriel,” you whimpered.
But the touch left you. You stilled, trying to even your breathing so you could hear better, to determine what he was doing.
A wet, slick sound filled your ears—one that didn’t come from you—and you heard him groan.
“You always taste so sweet,” he purred.
Heat curled even hotter in your belly as you pieced together that he had licked your taste off the handle of his beloved blade.
Your breath was sawing from you—you couldn’t help it. You were so incredibly aroused, the anticipation only succeeding in heightening it.
You weren’t sure if he’d let his shadows whisk it away or if he’d set it aside for later, but he leaned forward, pushing your arms over your head and grabbing your wrists in one hand. He held them against the mattress as he leaned down and met your lips.
You kissed him hungrily, eager to take whatever he had in store for you.
Az’s low groan mixed with your moan as he pressed his hips into yours, grinding his hard cock against your bare cunt. You felt the frustration of the single layer of the underwear still on him, even as your hips canted and you rubbed against his arousal.
You wanted him naked, now. Wanted him inside you, now.
You had every intention of pushing them off when he let your arms go—willing to attempt it even while blinded.
But he didn’t.
Just as he sat back, his hand leaving your wrists, you felt the icy touch of his shadows again.
As they wrapped around your wrists.
Your teeth dug into your lower lip and you whimpered, tugging against the restraints. But as always—as they had in past experiments with them—they held firm.
Just as Azriel commanded them to.
The fact you weren’t able to see or touch your mate had turned you into a whimpering mess. It was as if he was saying you were to take whatever he gave you.
You listened, hearing the creak of the bed.
Knowing that he knew just how to keep absolutely silent, you realized he’d made the noise to keep you aware of his movements—to let you know he was still nearby.
“Such a good girl for me,” he whispered the praise, dropping a kiss to one inner thigh.
You inhaled sharply, hips shifting.
“More,” you whimpered, “Az, I need—”
“What you need is to be quiet,” he growled lowly, “And only make those pretty noises when I need you to.”
Your whimper was pathetic, but you nodded.
Strong hands gripped your thighs, pushing them further apart. You felt his warm breath against you before anything else.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
Your cunt clenched around nothing at his tone, compliment and him being so close to where you needed him.
But he still didn’t give you what you were dying for.
The pad of his thumb traced a line down your folds, brushing lightly. He collected the wetness there, bringing it to your clit, rubbing ever so slightly. Your hips bucked, so desperate for his touch that you were practically trembling.
“I could stay here all day,” he murmured, sounding mesmerized as fingertips teasingly traced a line down your center.
Your breath came faster when you felt him push a finger into you and you nearly moaned in relief at finally having something inside of you.
“Mother above,” he breathed, likely feeling how ready for him you were.
“All your fault,” you wheezed, shimmying again, attempting to push yourself further on his finger.
“All for me,” he corrected.
You couldn’t see, but you knew there was likely a wicked smirk on Azriel’s face—you certainly could hear it in his tone.
Just when you thought you were getting some much needed relief, he pulled the finger from you and you nearly cried in desperation.
A thorough stroke of his tongue is all you felt next.
He licked a line from base to the apex of your thighs, moaning against you at your taste. His hands held your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh.
Your head dipped back against the pillow and you didn’t even care that the moan that escaped you was downright filthy.
He spent only a second where he left off, tongue giving your clit a gentle flick, then he was gone.
Fingers parted you, thumb brushing the wetness gently with a satisfied grunt.
Then his tongue was at your entrance—of course not giving you what you needed.
It circled, lapped, teased and you actually whined, tilting your hips—as if that would give you the relief you needed.
“I love when you get greedy for me,” Az mumbled against your cunt.
Your eyes squeezed shut behind the blindfold at the sensation, your breath becoming more labored. You tugged at the shadows restraining your wrists to no avail.
You realized that Az should’ve considered himself lucky you couldn’t move because you’d have been delving your fingers into that thick black hair and pushing his face down between your legs before he could blink.
But you just felt the vibration of his chuckle against your core, making you hiss.
You were strung tight, dripping for him and all he could do was laugh.
Yes, it was likely a good thing you were restrained or you would’ve been tackling your mate right about now.
Soft, barely there licks at your opening was all he was giving you, as if he was trying to memorize your taste—like he wouldn’t ever have another taste.
Which was laughable.
“Azriel,” you clenched your teeth.
He only answered by plunging his tongue into you when you least expected it.
“Gods,” you groaned aloud, unprepared.
You swore you felt a smirk against you.
You held nothing back, pushing yourself against his face, sending his tongue deeper into you.
“Az,” you gasped, “Fuck.”
You wished you could rip off the blindfold. You wanted to see him, wanting to watch him with his tongue between your legs.
Maybe that was what made it even more intense—that along with the fact you could picture it in your mind what he looked like currently.
Cradled between your legs, hands on your thighs, holding you open. His head would be bent and all you’d be able to see was dark hair with your hand buried in it, while he worshiped you with that talented mouth and skilled tongue.
Despite your hands being restrained, your fingers clutched at the sheets underneath them.
“Gods, I wish you could see yourself,” he breathed.
You pictured him, pulled back enough to peer up at you with those intense hazel eyes.
“What do I look like?” you breathed, curious to know.
“Breathtaking. Unraveled. Desperate. At my mercy.”
“Yeah, well, you would be too if you were desperate for a fucking orgasm,” you bit out.
“Such a bold mouth on you. One would think I should punish you for such demands—especially in your position.”
You felt a shift, his presence retreating from between your legs. You were about to question what he was doing, when you felt a sharp prick at the base of your throat—right at the hollow.
Cold steel once again.
The sharp tip—carefully, but insistantly—pressed against your skin.
At the same moment, the other type of coolness hit between your thighs, shadows brushing against your cunt.
“Cauldron,” you moaned, arching at the sneak attack of both sensations.
He traced the tip of the dagger gently down between your breasts, stopping at your sternum. Then the blade disappeared once again from your skin. He leaned down, taking one of your nipples between his teeth harshly and you squeaked, caught off guard.
You couldn’t deny this side of Azriel was such a turn on.
He moved on quickly, nipping down your stomach.
Even back in the position where he was between your legs, you heard his growled question.
“You gonna behave for your Shadowsinger?”
You could only nod frantically, eagerly.
You felt your face being gripped harshly, though the grip lessened, softened instantly—despite it staying firm in his grasp.
“Words, sweet girl.”
“Yes,” you trembled—but not from fear, “I’ll behave.”
You knew he could scent your arousal. You could detect his own, his normal night chilled mist and cedar scent deepening, muskier.
You were more than happy to submit to him tonight.
He gave no warning as he dove back in, tasting you like you were the finest meal he’d ever feasted on.
Your moans were inevitable and unstoppable. They fell from your lips one after another as he sucked on your clit, pulling back enough for his tongue to flick it.
He spent a moment changing up pressure, angles and speeds, keeping you on your toes. You were attuned to every move he made, despite you not being able to do anything but lie there and take it.
It sure didn’t stop you from squeezing his head with your thighs as he worked you beautifully.
Az groaned, pulling one of your legs over his shoulder and you ground shamelessly against his mouth.
He groaned against your cunt, shifted against the sheets, likely pressing his arousal into the bed even more.
You couldn’t wait for him to be inside you.
The further you pushed yourself against his face, the further your leg reached over his shoulder. You felt your toes brush the cool leather of one of his wings and he shuddered—an actual full body shudder.
“Stop that,” he rumbled, his words vibrating against you.
You couldn’t even answer. Release was building and you were aching for it.
“Az,” you panted, “I can’t— I’m not gonna—”
He doubled his efforts, steadying his pace as his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked with determination.
You only half registered the feel of one hand on your stomach—holding you down—as two fingers of his opposite hand dove into you, just as your orgasm crested.
He sucked once more, tongue flicking while he simultaneously curled his fingers inward as your release hit you.
“Gods, Az!” you cried out, back arching off the bed as your release swept through you, hot and intense.
Waves of pleasure crashed through you, bringing you under like the ocean tides of the Summer Court.
Your mate didn’t let up until he was sure he’d wrung every ounce from you as you writhed from the effects of the extreme euphoria.
You heard him hum in satisfaction, giving your clit one last little kitten lick making you inhale in surprise, flinching from the overstimulation.
“You did so well for me.”
His lips were on yours in a messy, heated kiss and you groaned, tasting yourself on him.
He pulled away, fingers brushing your temples as his fingers pulled the blindfold down.
You winced, the light of the room bright, despite it being filled with only dimmed fae light. You blinked, trying to come to your senses after being in darkness for so long.
“Well, hello there.”
Azriel’s lips curled up in a smirk.
You thought he was pulling the blindfold off, but he only pulled it down far enough to settle between your open lips—where they’d been parted as you tried to catch your breath.
Your eyes widened when you realized what the blindfold’s new job was now for.
Though the persona still stayed locked in place, he was utterly still, eyes roaming over your face, assessing.
To make sure you were okay, you felt safe, still wanted this.
You nodded eagerly.
After all, he still had yet to fuck you.
His tongue slid along his bottom lip as he took you in—wrists still bound by his shadows, the blindfold now gagging you, chest heaving from one orgasm, your body already buzzing for more.
Your eyes dipped to his mouth, following the action.
“If you can be quiet for me, I’ll let you come.”
His voice was gravelly, his hands finally pushing down his underwear.
Your eyes dipped to that and you whimpered when his cock came into view.
The amount of restraint your mate must’ve had throughout all your teasing was impressive.
Not as impressive as his cock, though.
A shade darker than his normal golden brown complexion, it was flushed a deeper hue towards the tip—the bead of pre-cum leaking from it making you wish he’d allowed you to lick him even just for a second, earlier.
“Hungry girl,” he purred.
You didn’t deny it. Not like you could anyway.
Fingers wrapped around your ankles and with one quick tug, you were sliding down the bed and toward him. You yelped around the fabric as your body slid down the sheets.
Wordlessly, he moved closer, propping your legs on those strong shoulders of his as he dragged his cock through your slickness.
Your eyes nearly rolled back at the feeling and you whimpered around your restraint.
“What did I say about being quiet?” he asked with a raised brow.
Then he was breaching your entrance, thick head pushing into you. You moaned, despite the gag.
You couldn’t keep quiet. There was no way you could.
“I recall you saying something about behaving, sweet girl,” he cooed, pushing in fully.
You groaned, unable to help yourself, the feeling of being so completely filled by him overtaking your senses. Your eyes slid closed and he tsked at you.
“Azh—” you tried to talk, muffled by the fabric.
“Eyes on me,” he ordered.
Your eyes slid to his face, though your gaze took in his strong, masculine body, kneeling before you. Eyes roamed the sculpted stomach, broad chest, bulging biceps, even the expansive wingspan at his back—those large black wings spread fully behind him. Your eyes then dropped to watch as his cock slowly slid in and out of you.
“Filthy little thing,” he smirked, watching where your gaze went, “Look at how well you take me, sweetheart.”
But it wasn’t nearly enough. It felt good obviously, but he was providing you with just enough to keep you on edge.
Hips pressing forward, he thrust shallowly, slowly, groaning at the drag of his cock against your walls, the tight heat of you.
Then, he switched it up, hips snapping forward as he thrust deeper.
Trying to comply with his order, you bit down on the gag, trying to remain quiet.
“Good girl,” he praised.
Your eyes rolled back again, wanting to please him, wanting to hear more praise fall from those beautiful lips of his.
“Always feel so good,” he continued his praises, head tilting enough to kiss your ankle as his hips developed a slow, steady rhythm once again.
He was back to the languid, shallow thrusts and you tried to move your hips to provide any sort of further friction.
You whimpered your complaint around the gag and something flickered in his eyes as he took you in.
“Enough,” he murmured, pulling out of you completely, dropping your legs back to the bed.
You watched him with wide eyes, ready to plead, but he leaned forward, ripping the blindfold from your mouth, letting it dangle around your neck. The shadow restraints disappeared from your wrists a second later.
Before you could even speak, he had you by the hips, flipping you on your stomach. He pulled your hips upwards, positioning you on all fours before bending over your back, mouth hovering near your ear.
“Now scream for me, sweet girl.”
You didn’t have time to process his words before he rose again behind you and entered you so roughly, your breath left you for a second.
Then you were moaning, crying out—likely sobbing.
Not only from the feeling of finally having what you’d been desperate for the entire time, but his brutal thrusts.
“Oh gods,” you gasped, trying to catch your breath between harsh movements of his hips.
He was so wonderfully deep, his ferocity making you a moaning mess as you gripped the sheets.
His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you back to fuck you on his cock. Your hair swayed alongside your body with each rocking thrust and you barely managed to push it out of your face as you looked over your shoulder at him.
His eyes snapped down to yours with a low snarl.
He was utterly gone for you—just as much as you were for him.
The sight of him was absolutely nothing short of glorious, his attention wholly on ruining you.
“Don’t stop.”
Your request came out around a half pleaded moan as another sharp snap of his hips had his cock hitting places inside you that only he’d ever been able to discover.
You let him use you as he desired, giving you pleasure beyond belief as your head dropped and another loud moan ripped from your throat.
His movements steadily came harder as he lost all control with you—not that you minded.
The sounds of skin slapping and the bed creaking filled the room—accompanied by yours and his shared sounds.
He sounded absolutely incredible, the way he unleashed himself in the thick of passionate moments like this, to the point that he was nothing but grunts and groans.
“Az— riel—”
His name couldn’t even come out in one full word, you were nothing but moans and broken words.
One hand snaked under you, gliding up your stomach, up between your breasts until his hand was at your throat.
You gasped in surprised when he tugged you up against him, by the throat.
Suddenly you found your back pressed to his chest as his hips drove forward repeatedly, fucking you thorougly.
“Good girls deserve a little reward,” he whispered huskily.
His other hand held your hip, keeping you firmly against his body. The hand at your throat didn’t squeeze, but was kept there for the dominance of the gesture.
Either way, it had your lashes fluttering and your cunt clenching around him.
“That’s it, my sweet girl,” he rasped as his hips pistoned.
His pounding was relentless as he brought you closer and closer to your high.
You lost all sanity because you reached back, gripping his hair, tilting your head and wrenching his lips down to yours. He captured your mouth in a rough kiss, groaning into it. It was unsteady and hot, tongues tangling to the point of making you moan into it as you tugged on his hair.
You felt the familiar band of tension building deep in your gut, signaling what was coming—what was within reach.
“No other cock’s made you feel this good, has it?” he gritted out, pounding into you, lips at your ear.
You shook your head, words not coming.
He let go of your throat, fingers instantly finding where you needed them, guiding you to your orgasm.
His other hand left your hip, coming up to your breast to grip, fingers pinching your nipple. His lips were pressed to the shell of your ear, breath warm against it as he uttered one last deadly line.
“Then come for your Shadowsinger.”
It might’ve been his words—the command in them—that sent you skyrocketing.
You were nearly blindsided by the intensity of your release as you shrieked his name, clamping down on his cock so tightly all you could hear was his loud groan in your ear.
“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods,” you babbled, halfway not understanding how you were still able to talk.
Pleasure shot through your body from your core, outwards, as he kept working himself in and out of you, chasing his release.
His head bent, teeth sinking into your shoulder and you moaned, head falling back against his shoulder as you felt warmth from inside out as he spilled into you.
You could feel his chest heaving at your back, the rapid rise and fall rhythmic against your skin. His lips kissed the spot he’d bitten, much gentler than his previous action.
His thrusts gradually slowed instead of coming to an abrupt stop, savoring the remnants of your shared orgasms. He groaned into your shoulder as his hips finally came to a rest, holding your body against his.
Spots were actually dancing behind your eyes from the way your vision had whited, your throat was raw from your screams, your body absolutely drained.
You wondered if he was trying to piece himself back together like you were.
Sex with your mate had always been amazing, but this?
This had been mind meltingly, out of this world amazing.
He eased out of you gently. You could barely move and you let him maneuver your body so you were facing him, sitting knee to knee to him.
“You okay?”
His voice was low, a tad raspy from his own volume, fingers coming to the back of your neck to unknot the blindfold that hung around it still.
You merely nodded.
His fingers paused their work, hands coming to cradle your face in his hands.
“Words, sweet girl,” he reminded you gently, a tired half smile on his lips.
“I’m alright,” you croaked, “More than, honestly.”
You didn’t miss the way that half smile morphed into a smirk as he returned to his task at hand.
If you weren’t so worn out, you’d have rolled your eyes. Male pride truly was a fascinating thing.
When it fell from your neck, he set it aside and pulled you to him, head dipping as he kissed you, slowly, gently. You crawled closer as you kissed him, settling in his lap.
When you parted, you breathed against his lips.
“I want the Shadowsinger in bed more often.”
He groaned and you giggled feeling him harden underneath you, once again.
“You just may get your wish sooner than you think, sweet girl.”
Your eyes glinted as you fell back on the bed, pulling him down on top of you, fully ready to submit to him for another round.
pairing. bestfriend!bucky x fem!reader word count. 2.8k summary. when your bestfriend has lost his touch with how to please a woman, you’re the only person he trusts enough to help him with it. warnings. smut, 18+, MDNI, pussy inspection, pussy pronouns, fingering, oral (f receiving), pwp. usage of nicknames (doll, sweetheart, baby), no use of y/n. notes. based on this ask. i wrote this after quite a break with quite a lot if things in my head. so sorry if i’m rusty. but i kinda like it…? lowk inspired by a pussy inspection fic by @slut4thebroken1 their account got deleted so i cannot link the fic im sorry!
you don’t know how you got into this position. actually, let’s not lie to ourselves. you do know.
when your best friend bucky asked you very nicely if he can eat you out, you should’ve said no. you should’ve swatted at his arm playfully and told him that, “buck, we are friends. friends don’t do that.”
but you did not do that.
remember what you did instead?
your breath hitched as his blue eyes raked upon yours, and you struggled to breathe normally. hello, who does that?
so, anyway, the words that came out of your mouth surprised you. well, they weren’t even words per se, it was a mix between a whimper and a whine, and he got the answer before it was even spoken.
but like the gentleman he is, he was waiting for your words. when they didn’t come, he tried to prod, because as you can see, what next came out of his mouth did nothing to ease your current state of dyspnea, “you gonna let me, sweetheart?”
he spoke in that raspy tone of his that usually has you clenching your thighs even on a normal day. and today is anything but normal.
when you just stared at him like you’d seen a ghost slap another ghost on its face, he started retreating, taking back his flesh arm that previously rested on your thigh.
as if the lack of contact burned you, you grab his hand and place it back in its original place, like that’s where you intended it to, like that’s where it belonged naturally.
cerulean blues bear into yours, searching for any answer, one bigger than what you just did.
he doesn’t want to misread the situation, even though it was pretty damn clear.
the flesh arm stayed on your thigh, even when it was taking everything in him not to climb up, up and up where he wanted to be.
you don’t know how the air in the room turned this thick, and you understand this is what the talk about when they say there’s sexual tension you could cut with a fucking knife.
actually, yes you do. it happened the second you nodded. a tiny, barely there nod from you and bucky’s whole face went slack with hunger, like someone just handed him the keys to heaven.
remember how gentle he was at first? how he slid his hands under your thighs and tugged you to the edge of the couch like you weighed nothing? how he pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, then the other, murmuring “thank you, sweetheart… thank you for lettin’ me” like you were doing him the favor instead of the other way around?
he was shaking. actually shaking. the winter soldier, trembling because he’s about to go down on his best friend. the irony is delicious.
when he said “just wanna learn, doll. been years. only trust you,” it wasn’t even a line. it was raw. he meant it. you could hear the nerves under all that gravel, the same guy who used to steal your fries and fall asleep on your shoulder during movie nights suddenly on his knees asking if he could put his mouth on you because porn never taught him the real thing.
how do you say no to that? you don’t. you spread your legs instead. shameless.
you spread your legs like it is the most natural thing in the world for your best friend to ask to study your pussy like it’s finals week and it’s the only textbook he’s got.
so anyway, that’s how your skirt ended up rucked high around your hips, how your favorite cotton panties got peeled down your legs so slowly you felt every inch of fabric drag over your skin before he tucked them in his back pocket like a trophy.
don’t ask if you’ll ever get them back. you won’t. he’s keeping them forever. they’re his now.
and can we talk about the way he just… stared at first? just looking, not even touching. and there he was, his chest heaving like he’d run ten miles.
his pupils were blown so wide the blue was only a thin ring, and his tongue kept darting out to wet his bottom lip like he was already tasting you in his head. “been thinkin’ about this for years,” he rasped. “every time we watched a movie on this couch i wondered what you looked like under all these clothes. wondered if you’d be this pretty. this wet.”
right now those eyes are still locked between your legs and you’re trying— failing —to keep your thighs from shaking. he’s got one big palm on each knee, pushing them apart slow, like he’s scared you’ll spook.
you’re shaking. you can’t help it. the metal hand is ice on your knee and the flesh one is fire and the contrast is making you throb so hard you’re scared he can see it.
when instinct begs you to close your legs, “nuh-uh,” he shakes his head. “you promised. lemme see her proper.”
so you let him spread you. wide. until the lamplight hit every slick fold and you felt yourself clench hard enough that a bead of wetness slipped free and rolled down toward your ass.
“fuck me,” he breathes, almost angry about how perfect you are. “look at her. look how excited she is to meet me.”
you whimper. it’s embarrassing how fast you’re soaked, how the air feels cold against all that wet heat he’s exposing inch by inch.
he leans closer, breath fanning over you, and you swear your clit pulses like it’s trying to say hi.
the heat of his exhale ghosts over your clit, making it twitch and swell even more.
the metal fingers spread your thigh wider, plates whirring softly, while his flesh thumb traces the outer lips so lightly it’s torture. the calloused pad catches on the slick skin. you feel every ridge of his fingerprint. every single one.
you’re going to combust. spontaneous human combustion is a real thing and it’s happening right now on this couch.
he parts you slow, peeling your folds back like petals, and the sudden rush of cooler air on all that wet heat makes you gasp sharp enough that your hips buck.
he pins you instantly with that vibranium forearm across your lower belly, and hums like he’s pleased with the way you flutter open for him.
he’s humming. humming. like he’s tasting wine and you’re a fine vintage. you should kick him in the face for putting you in this humiliating yet the most wonderful position you’ve ever been in. the wonderful is currently saving his ass.
“look at here, baby,” he almost coos like he’s looking at a puppy, not a pussy, “all flushed, shiny like satin. and this—” he taps your clit once, so damn feather-light any other body part wouldn’t be able to feel the touch — “this little pearl’s so hard she’s practically throbbin’. can feel her pulse against my thumb.”
he spreads you wider, thumbs pulling until the delicate skin at your entrance stretches taut and you feel yourself gape.
a thin string of arousal stretches between your folds before it breaks and clings to his finger. he stares at it like it’s liquid gold, then brings it to his mouth and sucks it clean with a filthy groan that vibrates through your thighs.
and there it is. the moment you realize you’re never recovering from this. ever.
his tongue darts out, tracing the seam where leg meets pussy, tasting the salt of your skin there before he drags it inward, not quite touching where you need him yet, just teasing the edges until you’re whining high in your throat.
he blows a cool stream of air directly over your clit and watches you clench hard enough that another bead of slick wells up and trickles down.
“there she goes again,” he says, almost like he’s awed by this whole thing.
he catches it on one metal finger and paints it over your entrance in slow curious circles. the metal is shock-cold against your heat and you squeal. “so responsive. every breath i take she kisses the air. greedy little thing.”
then he really opens you. both thumbs are hooked inside your lips, pulling you apart until you feel the burn of the stretch and the cool air kisses the wet inside. he just stares. like he’s got all the time in the world.
he rotates that finger slow, watching the way your slick coats the metal of his left hand when he steadies you, watching the way your clit jumps every time he brushes that sensitive spot just inside the entrance.
the wet sounds are louder now. there are soft squishes every time he twists, the slick glide of skin on skin.
you’re a mess of mewls and whimpers and he hasn’t even put his mouth on you yet. he just keeps looking, touching, learning like he’s mapping every vein, every ridge, every place that makes you shake. like he’s terrified he’ll forget a single detail if he doesn’t burn it into his brain right this second.
another pathetic sound crawls out of your throat. he smiles and spreads your lips apart with his flesh fingers. the stretch is gentle and you feel yourself clench on absolutely nothing.
“oh she’s greedy… keeps kissin’ at the air. missed bein’ touched this bad, huh?” he drags one finger— slow, so fucking slow —through your slick, collecting it, watching the string of wetness stretch between his skin and yours before it snaps. “porn never gets this part right. never shows how fucking shiny she gets when she’s happy.”
you’re burning alive. that’s the only explanation. your hips roll without permission and he pins you with the metal hand. “stay still, sweetheart. gotta learn every inch. been watchin’ videos for months like some perv and none of them look like you. none of them smell like you.” he inhales deep, and his eyes flutter in response. the growl that rumbles out of him makes your spine melt. “fuck, i could live off that scent.”
then— god —then he spreads you open with both thumbs, pulling your folds apart until you’re gaping for him, glistening and trembling and thoroughly wrecked.
“so small,” he marvels, tracing the rim of your hole with one careful fingertip. “how the hell does somethin’ this tiny take a cock? she’s gonna have to stretch so pretty for me. bet she’s gonna fight me when i finally get my cock in her. bet she’ll suck me in anyway, won’t you, pretty girl?”
you don’t know if he’s talking to you or your pussy — who he’s referring to as pretty girl. frankly, you don’t care, because suddenly words weren’t your best friend. you couldn’t get out a single word, not even if you try real hard.
a high and broken sound escapes you when you keen, and he rewards you by finally— finally —leaning in and licking one long stripe from your entrance to your clit.
the noise he makes is more animal than human. “tastes better than i dreamed. sweeter. fuck, i’m never comin’ up for air.”
his tongue starts slow, like he’s exploring. tracing every ridge, every dip, as though he’s memorizing the topography.
he circles your clit a couple times, then flattens his tongue and drags it over you. your back bows off the couch like you’re gonna levitate if not for his arm that’s grounding you.
he flattens his tongue against you again. and again. then seals his lips around your clit and sucks —soft pulses at first, then harder, hungrier, until your thighs clamp around his ears and you’re sobbing his name.
two metal fingers press at your entrance. never having metal at the most sensitive part of you, your body tenses automatically, like its sensed something new that it wants to figure out right this moment.
“relax, baby,” he murmurs against your clit, the vibration making you flutter. “let me in. wanna feel how hot she is inside.”
you bear down on instinct and he slides in to the knuckle in one slick glide, groaning so loud you feel it in your bones. “that’s it. fuck— suckin’ me in like she never wants me to leave.”
he curls them, and when he finds that spot you see stars, fuck. your whole body jerks. he grins against your pussy. “there it is. gonna make her squirt all over my face one day. but not today. today i just wanna drink you dry.”
he eats you like he’s starving— tongue lashing, lips sucking, fingers pumping in a rhythm that has you climbing so fast your ears ring.
when you come it’s brutal, sudden, a silent scream as your pussy clamps around his fingers and gushes into his waiting mouth. he moans through it, swallowing every pulse, tongue still flicking your clit until you’re crying from overstimulation.
he doesn’t stop.
he gentles, but he doesn’t stop. he licks you soft and slow through the aftershocks, then adds a third finger and starts all over again. “one more,” he rasps, lips slick and swollen. “she’s still flutterin’. still wants to feed me. c’mon, sweetheart, give me everything.”
you’ve never felt such an intense orgasm before. english doesn’t seem like a language you’re fluent in, sounds more foreign in your tongue. only whimpers and moans spill past your lips, not one word.
he doesn’t seem to stop though. the fact that you’re struggling to get even a word out doesn’t seem to faze him, as he crooks his fingers relentlessly. his tongue swirls just right on your clit, and it hits you.
it hits you so hard, your muscles go rigid under his touch. your vision whites out, a broken wail tearing from your throat as you flood his mouth again.
until you’re shaking and gasping and tears slip from the corners of your eyes.
only then does he pull back. the lower half of his face is drenched, eyes almost black, the blue disappearing completely.
he crawls up your body and kisses you deep, letting you taste how much of you he drank.
the taste of yourself on his tongue is filthy and intimate and you’re pretty sure you just moaned into his mouth like a porn star.
you’re boneless and ruined, but somehow your hand drifts down to cup the steel-hard bulge straining his jeans.
you do not know where this courage came from. probably from the two earth-shattering orgasms. liquid courage, but make it pussy.
words have finally returned to you after quite a struggle.
“bucky,” your thumb rubs over the wet spot at the tip. “you’re dripping through the denim.”
he shudders when his hips rocks into your palm. “been leakin’ since the second you let me spread you open, baby. gonna have blue balls for weeks thinkin’ about how sweet she came for me.”
and this is mutual destruction - best friend edition.
you squeeze gently and he buries his face in your neck, groaning your name into you. “let me return the favor,” you breathe against his stubbled jaw. “best friends help each other out, right?”
because if he gets to pocket your panties and drink you like fine wine, the least you can do is get your mouth on the super-soldier dick that’s been haunting your dreams since 2016.
he laughs. it’s a completely undone sound. “yeah, we really fuckin’ do.”
you can feel his pulse hammering against your palm where you’re still cupping him. he’s burning up through the denim, cock twitching every time your thumb sweeps over that soaked spot like it’s begging. you’ve never wanted anything in your mouth more in your entire life.
“you sure?” because even now— face shiny with your juices, looking like he’s been through a war —he’s still checking. still your bucky. the one who asks before he takes the last slice of pizza, who texts you at 3 am when he can’t sleep, who once carried you home barefoot after you lost a heel and refused to let you walk on the gross sidewalk.
you know, without a doubt, that nothing between you will ever be the same. and you know what? you’re a-okay with this development.
more than okay. you’re already addicted. congratulations, you’ve upgraded from platonic soulmates to whatever filthy, beautiful thing comes next. buckle up.
