As Election Day approached, the polls were clear: Aemond Targaryen was too cold, too untouchable and seemingly heartless. Juniper Greyson seems to be the exact opposite and might just be the perfect solution to his problems.
A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES
you still sound like a song (azriel x oc) AO3
He was older now, the angles of his face sharper, his body honed by centuries of battle and discipline. The boy she’d known had been lean with the promise of strength; the male before her now wore it like armor, every movement precise and purposeful. But his eyes—hazel and unyielding—were the same, pulling her in without permission, as if no time had passed at all.
fresh out the slammer (azriel x reader)
Fresh off of a breakup, you seek out Azriel, searching for the spark you've been missing so much.
but daddy i love him (azriel x reader) AO3
part one: dutiful daughter
In the glittering decadence of the Hewn City, you're expected to play your part—dutiful daughter, perfect noble, soon-to-be wife. But everything shatters the night you stumble into fate: a mating bond with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court.
but daddy i love him (part two, bedroom eyes like a remedy)
Summary: In the glittering decadence of the Hewn City, you're expected to play your part—dutiful daughter, perfect noble, soon-to-be wife. But everything shatters the night you stumble into fate: a mating bond with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court.
Warnings: angst!
Word Count: 1398
tag list: @bookandtealover @tele86 @sour-patxch @willowpains @ladyescapism @oldernotwiser26
The weeks passed, and the aching in your chest only worsened.
Gnawing, incessant, cruel. The bond pulled on every rib, every muscle, with every beat of your heart. Like a phantom touch you couldn’t escape.
You had heard the stories—rumors whispered between wine glasses and behind closed doors—of what happened to those who denied the mating bond. The slow descent into madness. The way it festered, like rot in the soul. You hadn’t believed it, not really.
But now, you knew.
Sleep had become a stranger. You tossed and turned, caught somewhere between longing and fury, your thoughts always returning to him. Azriel. His name a curse and a comfort in equal measure.
You spent your days looking into shadowed corners, your mind conjuring up hallucinations in your peripheral vision.
He had been so infuriatingly beautiful in the moonlight. Eyes unreadable, voice quiet, kind. Not soft, no, there was too much power in him for that. But steady. Steady in a way that felt like safety. Every word from his lips had been a promise. And worse, you believed him.
You couldn’t bring yourself to look at your fiancé without bile rising in your throat. Not that he noticed. He rarely looked at you at all, too busy indulging whatever courtesan had caught his eye this week.
You didn’t feel guilty. How could you, when there had never been anything real between you?
He sat across the table now, three glasses of fae wine in and wearing it clearly. His arm slung carelessly over the back of his chair, his attention fixed on the conversation—and the pretty serving girl lingering nearby.
Your father sat beside him, murmuring with another colleague, their words low and meaningless.
There was no love at this table. No connection. No trust.
Just obligation and performance. Masks and shadows.
You wondered what dinners would be like with Azriel. With his family.
Would they welcome you? Pull you close and call you theirs?
You didn’t know. You didn’t know him, not really, and certainly not your High Lord or the rest of his Inner Circle.
But that bond still pulsed in your chest, steady and sure as your heartbeat. Undeniable.
You pushed your chair back abruptly, fists clenched at your sides. You needed a moment to take a breath, still your mind. You needed to go anywhere but here.
“I—I need to go,” you stammered. “I don’t feel well. My apologies.”
Your face flushed, humiliated by your own lack of decorum, but no one stopped you.
With the most graceful nod you could muster, you slipped away from the table, your pace quickening down the hall and to your door.
Your heart thundered. Your chest ached.
And Azriel was waiting in your room.
Shadows clung to him like a second skin, and his eyes moved slowly over your shelves—your books, your things, your life. He turned at the sound of the door, shadows retreating just slightly, gaze raking over you like he hadn’t seen you in years.
“What are you doing here?” you whispered, breathless from more than the walk.
“I had to see you,” he said quietly.
His voice was rough, too rough for a casual visit. His eyes didn’t just look at you— they devoured.
“Why?” you asked, throat tight.
“I can feel you,” he murmured, voice hushed like he didn’t want to admit it—even to himself. “Through the bond. I can feel you, and I… I had to see you. Had to know if you were alright.”
The words struck something deep inside you, cracked it open. Like he’d peeled you back without permission, exposed something you hadn’t even realized was hidden.
The idea that he could feel you, your dread, your restlessness, your ache, was dizzying.
Violating. Comforting. A contradiction you didn’t know how to name.
“Oh,” you breathed.
It was all you could manage. Azriel didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just looked at you like you were a question he didn’t know how to answer.
Like he wanted to answer.
“I felt you leave the table,” he added softly. “It was like someone pulled a thread in my chest. And when you started to panic—”
He cut himself off, jaw flexing. “I didn’t know what they’d done to you. I just knew you needed to breathe.”
You swallowed hard, hands twisting in your skirts.
“I’m okay. I-It was just a dinner,” you managed to say.
Azriel took a step forward and your breath caught.
Another step, and you moved back, just slightly. Barely an inch, but it was enough. His eyes tracked the motion, dark and unreadable, catching the flicker of retreat. You wanted him closer—Gods, you ached for it—but the moment he moved, something in you flinched.
You were engaged. Your fiancé and your family were just down the hall.
This was dangerous. Reckless.
And yet, your body betrayed you—frozen between fight and surrender, between duty and desire.
“I’m not going to touch you,” he said gently, like he didn’t want to startle you. “Not unless you ask me to.”
That should have comforted you. It didn’t. It only made the space between you feel heavier. Charged.
He took another step.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice quieter now, more shadow than sound. “Why are you shaking?”
You didn’t know. Or maybe you did and couldn’t admit it.
Because he was here. Because he saw you. Because part of you had dreamed of this and hated yourself for it.
Because standing this close to him made the bond hum like a live wire beneath your skin.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” you whispered.
Azriel stilled. His shadows curled tighter around him, like they, too, were waiting.
“I don’t know what to do with this.”
His gaze dropped to your chest, where your hand had unconsciously drifted to where that invisible bond thrummed steady beneath your palm.
“I’ll leave if you want me to,” he said, voice rough with restraint. “Just say the word.”
“No,” you said, the words falling from your lips without a thought, “You don’t have to go.”
Azriel’s gaze stayed locked on yours, the air thick and heavy between you. His steps were slow, deliberate. Closer, until you could feel the brush of his breath, the quiet hum of his shadows like a pulse against your skin.
And still, he didn’t touch you. Didn’t dare.
But you did.
Your fingers moved before you could stop them, reaching out, curling around the worn leather of his gloved hand. The contact was slight, fleeting, but it lit through you like fire catching dry tinder. His breath hitched. His eyes—Mother above, those eyes—darkened to something almost unbearable.
The bond roared to life, uncoiling inside you with greedy satisfaction.
Like a held breath finally released.
Azriel’s throat bobbed, his jaw working as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His other hand rose slowly, so slowly, toward your cheek—hesitating just inches away, waiting for permission he didn’t need to ask for.
You wanted to lean into it. You almost did.
But your breath caught, sharp and strangled, and everything came crashing back.
The weight of your family. The ring on your finger. The man waiting down the hall.
You jerked back like you’d been burned, releasing his hand as though it had scalded you. Your chest heaved, panic crowding your throat.
“I—I can’t do this,” you choked. Your voice broke on the last word. You shook your head hard, backing away from him as if distance could muffle the bond clawing at your ribs. “I shouldn’t.”
Azriel’s expression shattered with raw, unguarded pain flashing across his face before his mask slammed back into place. His shadows curled tighter, as if to shield him from the blow you’d just dealt.
“I understand,” he rasped, voice rough. “I understand.”
A sharp, sudden knock cracked through the room. You both froze.
“Darling?” Your fiancé’s voice, slurred faintly from wine, slipped under the door. “You’ve been gone too long.” A pause. “Are you alright?”
Azriel didn’t move, but his shadows lifted slightly, ready to make a quick escape.
You swallowed hard, smoothing your skirts with shaking hands.
“I’m fine,” you called back, forcing steadiness into your tone. “I’ll be right there.”
By the time you turned back to Azriel—he was gone. Only a lingering curl of shadow remained, dissolving into nothing.
Summary: In the glittering decadence of the Hewn City, you're expected to play your part—dutiful daughter, perfect noble, soon-to-be wife. But everything shatters the night you stumble into fate: a mating bond with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court.
Warnings: none for this part!
Word Count: 1,768
Dutiful daughter, all my plans were laid
Tendrils tucked into a woven braid
Growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all
The Hewn City glittered like a jewel dipped in blood—opulent, cruel, and pulsing with secrets. The ballroom was no exception. Gilded chandeliers cast fractured light across marble floors, reflecting off crystal goblets and the sharpened eyes of courtiers who smiled with their teeth.
You had been trained to navigate this world, to glide through the shadows in silk and silence, chin high, mask fixed. Tonight was no different. Your family’s crest shimmered at your throat, a quiet reminder of the expectations draped over your shoulders like a velvet cloak.
Tonight, after all, was for you. Or rather, your engagement.
The celebration was as cruel and glittering as every other in the Hewn City. Every smile was barbed and every glance calculated. Each congratulations you received was hollow, an empty reminder of your future. You had been raised to thrive in this kind of setting—sharp-tongued and sharper-eyed, a perfect ornament to your family’s legacy. Tonight, you wore the colors of your house: midnight blue and silver, your gown stitched with starlight and menace. You were meant to be on display.
And yet, despite all your careful composure, your heart stuttered when you saw him.
The Shadowsinger.
Standing half in shadow near a stone pillar, his wings tucked close, hazel eyes burning beneath the flicker of candlelight. He did not belong here—did not want to belong here.
Something shifted in your chest. A thread tightening.
You hadn't expected to feel the bond snap into place like a snare tightening around your throat.
Not here. Not with him.
Across the room, Azriel stood like a shadow come to life—dark, unreadable, far too still for someone surrounded by such decadence and debauchery. His hazel eyes met yours, and the world tilted. The music dulled. The wine turned to ash. Everything inside you screamed his name, even as your spine remained straight, your lips still curled in a courtly smile.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
You were already promised to another—a match arranged by your father when you were scarcely past your sixteenth birthday. The heavy ring on your finger was a constant reminder, a symbol of duty wrapped in cold metal.
Somewhere in the room, your fiancé lingered. He hadn’t spared you more than a passing glance when you arrived, too busy trading pleasantries and power with the other noble families. No one pretended there was love between you. Certainly not the kind of bond now pulsing hot and insistent beneath your ribs.
You were going to be sick. You could feel it rising, a swell of panic and longing that didn’t belong here—not in this hall, not with him.
You pressed your nearly empty chalice into the hands of a waiting servant, turning on your heel with as much grace as you could manage. You just needed air. A moment to breathe. To think.
Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t felt it.
Maybe you could bury it deep, lock it away where no one, not even yourself, would find it again.
You let the thought anchor you, clinging to it like driftwood in a storm. It steadied your shaking breath, held you upright as you slipped through the gilded halls and out onto one of the upper-level terraces—one of the few places where the stars still dared to shine through the darkness of the Hewn City.
The air was cooler out here, the weight of the ballroom fading behind you. You exhaled slowly, hands gripping the stone railing as you tilted your head back to catch a glimpse of the stars.
You hadn’t heard footsteps. Hadn’t sensed his approach—until the bond thrummed like a struck chord.
“Running from me already?” Azriel’s voice was low, rough silk in the dark.
Your eyes fluttered shut. Of course he’d followed.
He stood just behind you, shadows curling lazily around his boots like they belonged there—like he belonged here, with you. The scent of him hit next: cedar and clean leather, sharp and unyielding against your senses.
You didn’t turn. “I needed air.”
“Or distance?” he asked, quiet, not accusatory—just knowing.
The bond sang in your chest, pulled tight enough to ache.
You didn’t look at him. Didn’t trust yourself to.
“This can’t happen,” you said, barely above a whisper. “You know it can’t.”
Azriel didn’t answer right away, but you could feel him behind you, his presence like gravity, pulling at something deep inside your chest.
“I’m engaged,” you said, harsher this time. “My father—he made the match years ago. It’s done.”
He stepped closer. “So that’s it?” he asked, voice low. “You’re just going to pretend you didn’t feel it?”
“I have to,” you bit out, arms wrapping around yourself. “You don’t understand—my family, my name, it’s all tied together. To the Court. To this… life I was born into.”
His silence cut deeper than any argument.
You finally turned to him, and the look on his face almost undid you—like he was watching the world slip through his fingers.
“You don’t get to ruin everything,” you whispered. “Not when I’ve spent years trying to be good. Trying to be what they want.”
““But what do you want?” Azriel asked, his voice a breath against your skin, so close now you could feel the heat of him. “When does that start to matter?”
Your fists clenched at your sides, like you could anchor yourself in the tension, in the pain—anything to keep from unraveling completely. Like you were grasping for the last thread of reason in a world that had never once let you choose.
“What I want doesn’t matter,” you whispered, the words catching on the sharp edge of your throat. “It never has.”
You hadn’t meant for your voice to crack like that, hadn’t meant to sound so fragile, but speaking the truth aloud made it real. Made the ache in your chest almost unbearable.
Azriel exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his tousled hair. “Do you know how rare this is?” he asked, his tone threaded with disbelief. “I— I didn’t think I’d ever have a mate. That the Mother would give me someone. That she would give me you.”
Your lips parted, but no words came. You feared that if you spoke, the dam would break—that you’d fall into him, fall into the truth of what you were feeling, and never find your footing again.
“If you don’t want this because of me,” he continued, more quietly now, “because of who I am, what I’ve done—I can live with that. But if it’s because of them—because you think you owe your life to duty, to a name, to a future someone else picked for you…”
His voice faltered, then steadied. “That I can’t accept. You deserve a choice. And with me, you will always have a choice.”
The word lodged itself in your chest like a thorn: choice.
You’d never been offered one before. You’d been bartered like silver in a ledger, groomed to play your part in a world that prized obedience over desire. And now here he was, bathed in starlight, giving you the one thing you’d always been denied—laying it at your feet like a prayer.
And for the first time, you let yourself wonder what it would feel like… to say yes.
You stepped back, not far, just enough to breathe. Just enough to remind yourself that you could.
“A choice?” you repeated, voice brittle as glass. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to give up?”
Azriel didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. But you saw something flicker in those shadowed eyes.
“You don’t know me,” you went on, sharp and trembling. “You say the Mother chose me for you, but that doesn’t make me yours. It doesn’t make this… anything.”
The bond pulsed in your chest—hot and insistent. You ignored it.
“My family expects obedience. My fiancé expects a wife. My court expects a lady,” you said, listing each word like a blade. “And you expect what? That I run away with a male I barely know because fate decided it?”
His jaw clenched, and his wings shifted behind him, but still, he said nothing.
Your throat burned. Your fists curled at your sides.
“I never asked for this,” you whispered, barely more than breath. “I’ve lived my whole life shackled to duty. And now the gods think they’re being kind by shoving another chain around my neck?”
You turned from him, toward mountains below. “You say I have a choice,” you murmured, “but I never have. Not once.”
Azriel’s voice was low, but it cut through the cool night air like a blade. “Being forced into marriage for power or alliance—it's barbaric.”
You didn’t turn. Couldn’t.
“You don’t owe your life to anyone,” he said, stepping closer, his tone softening. “Not your father. Not your fiancé. Not your court. You don’t have to accept the bond. I would never ask you to.”
A beat. A breath.
“But let me help you,” he continued, quieter now, coaxing. “If you want out—if you want anything other than what they’ve laid out for you—I can give you that. Not because of the bond. Not because you’re mine. But because no one should be trapped the way you are.”
You closed your eyes, jaw trembling with the effort it took to stay upright. The stars above blurred with the tears you refused to let fall.
“Let me get you out,” Azriel said. “Just that. Nothing more, unless you want it.”
The silence that followed was sharp, aching. You weren’t sure what hurt more, the ache in your chest, or the fact that for the first time, someone had offered you a door.
Not a chain. Not a cage. A way out.
Footsteps echoed in the distance. Slow, deliberate, drawing closer.
Your breath caught. “I have to go,” you whispered, voice tight with urgency.
Azriel didn’t move, didn’t try to stop you. He just looked at you like he already knew this moment was slipping through his fingers.
“I’m not saying yes,” you added quickly, like you needed to convince yourself.
“I know,” he murmured. “But you didn’t say no.”
And Mother help you, you didn’t.
You turned before he could see your face, before the war inside of you could spill out into the open. The stars blurred again as you fled back down the corridor—toward the life that waited for you, whether you wanted it or not.
But the bond still burned quietly in your chest, like a promise waiting to be answered.
do you remember, we were sitting there by the water? high tide came and brought you in. my waves meet your shore ever and evermore. i feel like i might sink and drown and die. pretend he doesn't know that he's the reason why. waves crash on the shore, i dash to the door, you don't knock anymore. promises oceans-deep, but never to keep. the only thing that's left is the manuscript, one last souvenir from my trip to your shores.
okay wanted to lay out my current WIPs for everyone!
im slowly writing and updating you still sound like a song on ao3! this is a dual timeline az fic that i really really love writing. im starting a set of chapters that are set entirely in the past that will reveal A LOT and set up the present timeline.
next, im continuing with my ttpd series <3 but daddy i love him will have three parts. we're talking forbidden romance, mating bonds and political intrigue! part three is written and im working on part two! ive written this one differently than anything else ive done, so im excited!
i can fix him (no really i can) is up next after bdilh, and will be some az x reader hurt/comfort and angst! dont want to reveal too much but ive been plotting it for a few days.
as always, requests are open!! let me know your thoughts, comments and deepest desires!
Summary: In the glittering decadence of the Hewn City, you're expected to play your part—dutiful daughter, perfect noble, soon-to-be wife. But everything shatters the night you stumble into fate: a mating bond with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court.
Warnings: none for this part!
Word Count: 1,768
Dutiful daughter, all my plans were laid
Tendrils tucked into a woven braid
Growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all
The Hewn City glittered like a jewel dipped in blood—opulent, cruel, and pulsing with secrets. The ballroom was no exception. Gilded chandeliers cast fractured light across marble floors, reflecting off crystal goblets and the sharpened eyes of courtiers who smiled with their teeth.
You had been trained to navigate this world, to glide through the shadows in silk and silence, chin high, mask fixed. Tonight was no different. Your family’s crest shimmered at your throat, a quiet reminder of the expectations draped over your shoulders like a velvet cloak.
Tonight, after all, was for you. Or rather, your engagement.
The celebration was as cruel and glittering as every other in the Hewn City. Every smile was barbed and every glance calculated. Each congratulations you received was hollow, an empty reminder of your future. You had been raised to thrive in this kind of setting—sharp-tongued and sharper-eyed, a perfect ornament to your family’s legacy. Tonight, you wore the colors of your house: midnight blue and silver, your gown stitched with starlight and menace. You were meant to be on display.
And yet, despite all your careful composure, your heart stuttered when you saw him.
The Shadowsinger.
Standing half in shadow near a stone pillar, his wings tucked close, hazel eyes burning beneath the flicker of candlelight. He did not belong here—did not want to belong here.
Something shifted in your chest. A thread tightening.
You hadn't expected to feel the bond snap into place like a snare tightening around your throat.
Not here. Not with him.
Across the room, Azriel stood like a shadow come to life—dark, unreadable, far too still for someone surrounded by such decadence and debauchery. His hazel eyes met yours, and the world tilted. The music dulled. The wine turned to ash. Everything inside you screamed his name, even as your spine remained straight, your lips still curled in a courtly smile.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
You were already promised to another—a match arranged by your father when you were scarcely past your sixteenth birthday. The heavy ring on your finger was a constant reminder, a symbol of duty wrapped in cold metal.
Somewhere in the room, your fiancé lingered. He hadn’t spared you more than a passing glance when you arrived, too busy trading pleasantries and power with the other noble families. No one pretended there was love between you. Certainly not the kind of bond now pulsing hot and insistent beneath your ribs.
You were going to be sick. You could feel it rising, a swell of panic and longing that didn’t belong here—not in this hall, not with him.
You pressed your nearly empty chalice into the hands of a waiting servant, turning on your heel with as much grace as you could manage. You just needed air. A moment to breathe. To think.
Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t felt it.
Maybe you could bury it deep, lock it away where no one, not even yourself, would find it again.
You let the thought anchor you, clinging to it like driftwood in a storm. It steadied your shaking breath, held you upright as you slipped through the gilded halls and out onto one of the upper-level terraces—one of the few places where the stars still dared to shine through the darkness of the Hewn City.
The air was cooler out here, the weight of the ballroom fading behind you. You exhaled slowly, hands gripping the stone railing as you tilted your head back to catch a glimpse of the stars.
You hadn’t heard footsteps. Hadn’t sensed his approach—until the bond thrummed like a struck chord.
“Running from me already?” Azriel’s voice was low, rough silk in the dark.
Your eyes fluttered shut. Of course he’d followed.
He stood just behind you, shadows curling lazily around his boots like they belonged there—like he belonged here, with you. The scent of him hit next: cedar and clean leather, sharp and unyielding against your senses.
You didn’t turn. “I needed air.”
“Or distance?” he asked, quiet, not accusatory—just knowing.
The bond sang in your chest, pulled tight enough to ache.
You didn’t look at him. Didn’t trust yourself to.
“This can’t happen,” you said, barely above a whisper. “You know it can’t.”
Azriel didn’t answer right away, but you could feel him behind you, his presence like gravity, pulling at something deep inside your chest.
“I’m engaged,” you said, harsher this time. “My father—he made the match years ago. It’s done.”
He stepped closer. “So that’s it?” he asked, voice low. “You’re just going to pretend you didn’t feel it?”
“I have to,” you bit out, arms wrapping around yourself. “You don’t understand—my family, my name, it’s all tied together. To the Court. To this… life I was born into.”
His silence cut deeper than any argument.
You finally turned to him, and the look on his face almost undid you—like he was watching the world slip through his fingers.
“You don’t get to ruin everything,” you whispered. “Not when I’ve spent years trying to be good. Trying to be what they want.”
““But what do you want?” Azriel asked, his voice a breath against your skin, so close now you could feel the heat of him. “When does that start to matter?”
Your fists clenched at your sides, like you could anchor yourself in the tension, in the pain—anything to keep from unraveling completely. Like you were grasping for the last thread of reason in a world that had never once let you choose.
“What I want doesn’t matter,” you whispered, the words catching on the sharp edge of your throat. “It never has.”
You hadn’t meant for your voice to crack like that, hadn’t meant to sound so fragile, but speaking the truth aloud made it real. Made the ache in your chest almost unbearable.
Azriel exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his tousled hair. “Do you know how rare this is?” he asked, his tone threaded with disbelief. “I— I didn’t think I’d ever have a mate. That the Mother would give me someone. That she would give me you.”
Your lips parted, but no words came. You feared that if you spoke, the dam would break—that you’d fall into him, fall into the truth of what you were feeling, and never find your footing again.
“If you don’t want this because of me,” he continued, more quietly now, “because of who I am, what I’ve done—I can live with that. But if it’s because of them—because you think you owe your life to duty, to a name, to a future someone else picked for you…”
His voice faltered, then steadied. “That I can’t accept. You deserve a choice. And with me, you will always have a choice.”
The word lodged itself in your chest like a thorn: choice.
You’d never been offered one before. You’d been bartered like silver in a ledger, groomed to play your part in a world that prized obedience over desire. And now here he was, bathed in starlight, giving you the one thing you’d always been denied—laying it at your feet like a prayer.
And for the first time, you let yourself wonder what it would feel like… to say yes.
You stepped back, not far, just enough to breathe. Just enough to remind yourself that you could.
“A choice?” you repeated, voice brittle as glass. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to give up?”
Azriel didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. But you saw something flicker in those shadowed eyes.
“You don’t know me,” you went on, sharp and trembling. “You say the Mother chose me for you, but that doesn’t make me yours. It doesn’t make this… anything.”
The bond pulsed in your chest—hot and insistent. You ignored it.
“My family expects obedience. My fiancé expects a wife. My court expects a lady,” you said, listing each word like a blade. “And you expect what? That I run away with a male I barely know because fate decided it?”
His jaw clenched, and his wings shifted behind him, but still, he said nothing.
Your throat burned. Your fists curled at your sides.
“I never asked for this,” you whispered, barely more than breath. “I’ve lived my whole life shackled to duty. And now the gods think they’re being kind by shoving another chain around my neck?”
You turned from him, toward mountains below. “You say I have a choice,” you murmured, “but I never have. Not once.”
Azriel’s voice was low, but it cut through the cool night air like a blade. “Being forced into marriage for power or alliance—it's barbaric.”
You didn’t turn. Couldn’t.
“You don’t owe your life to anyone,” he said, stepping closer, his tone softening. “Not your father. Not your fiancé. Not your court. You don’t have to accept the bond. I would never ask you to.”
A beat. A breath.
“But let me help you,” he continued, quieter now, coaxing. “If you want out—if you want anything other than what they’ve laid out for you—I can give you that. Not because of the bond. Not because you’re mine. But because no one should be trapped the way you are.”
You closed your eyes, jaw trembling with the effort it took to stay upright. The stars above blurred with the tears you refused to let fall.
“Let me get you out,” Azriel said. “Just that. Nothing more, unless you want it.”
The silence that followed was sharp, aching. You weren’t sure what hurt more, the ache in your chest, or the fact that for the first time, someone had offered you a door.
Not a chain. Not a cage. A way out.
Footsteps echoed in the distance. Slow, deliberate, drawing closer.
Your breath caught. “I have to go,” you whispered, voice tight with urgency.
Azriel didn’t move, didn’t try to stop you. He just looked at you like he already knew this moment was slipping through his fingers.
“I’m not saying yes,” you added quickly, like you needed to convince yourself.
“I know,” he murmured. “But you didn’t say no.”
And Mother help you, you didn’t.
You turned before he could see your face, before the war inside of you could spill out into the open. The stars blurred again as you fled back down the corridor—toward the life that waited for you, whether you wanted it or not.
But the bond still burned quietly in your chest, like a promise waiting to be answered.
As Election Day approached, the polls were clear: Aemond Targaryen was too cold, too untouchable and seemingly heartless. Juniper Greyson seems to be the exact opposite and might just be the perfect solution to his problems.
A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES
you still sound like a song (azriel x oc) AO3
He was older now, the angles of his face sharper, his body honed by centuries of battle and discipline. The boy she’d known had been lean with the promise of strength; the male before her now wore it like armor, every movement precise and purposeful. But his eyes—hazel and unyielding—were the same, pulling her in without permission, as if no time had passed at all.
fresh out the slammer (azriel x reader)
Fresh off of a breakup, you seek out Azriel, searching for the spark you've been missing so much.
but daddy i love him (azriel x reader) AO3
part one: dutiful daughter (coming to tumblr soon!)
In the glittering decadence of the Hewn City, you're expected to play your part—dutiful daughter, perfect noble, soon-to-be wife. But everything shatters the night you stumble into fate: a mating bond with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court.
Summary: Fresh off of a breakup, you seek out Azriel, searching for the spark you've been missing so much
Warnings: 18+, smut, light d/s dynamics, exes reuniting, cheating, no use of y/n
Word Count: 5,887
Author's Note: I've literally never written smut before. However, I have read a hell of a lot of it and I gave it my best shot! Thanks for reading <3
Another summer taking cover, rolling thunder
He don't understand me
Splintered back in winter, silent dinners, bitter
He was with her in dreams
Being in a boring relationship was one thing. You told yourself that you’d been together for too long to walk away—that leaving would mean unraveling everything you’d built. For what? A lack of excitement? A dwindling spark? People would kill for this kind of stability, for the comfort of a partner who always came home at the end of the day. He didn’t understand you—not really—but he pretended to well enough. And you were tired. Tired enough to pretend, too.
But being cheated on? That was something else entirely.
There was no more pretending after that. No justifying, no rationalizing. And it wasn’t even the betrayal that gutted you—it was the relief. As if he'd finally said out loud what neither of you had the courage to admit. You’d both been miserable. He just had the gall to do something about it first.
So you packed the boxes. Called in the moving winnows. Signed a lease on the other side of Velaris. It all happened quickly, almost too easily, like the city was glad to see you start over.
The sting faded as you hung new curtains. Unpacked old books. Rearranged your kitchen three times just because you could. You played music louder, cooked dinner later, took long walks in the dark with no one to check in with. You were free.
And yet…
Some nights, when the silence stretched too long and the wine bottle tipped past half, your mind wandered—to shadows, to secrets, to the one who had known you even when you didn’t want to be known.
To Azriel.
You hadn’t seen him in years. Not really. There were moments, of course, across the Sidra, passing glimpses during court events, or half-hearted waves exchanged in crowded rooms. But you’d kept your distance. He had too. There was history there. Not all of it good.
So you definitely weren’t thinking about him when you pulled on a tight black dress and called your friends to meet you at Rita’s. You told yourself you just wanted noise. Music. A room where nobody knew your name or your heartbreak. Somewhere you could pretend, just for a few hours, that you weren’t newly single, freshly humiliated, and painfully alone.
The bass was loud. The wine was stronger. And the heat of bodies pressed together on the dance floor made it easy to forget everything that had driven you here. You let yourself sway, sip, smile when someone’s hand lingered too long on your hip. You were fine. You were free.
You were halfway through another glass of wine, half laughing, half pretending to listen to whatever your friend was saying, when your body stilled.
You felt him before you saw him. Like a chill across your skin, a shift in the room’s gravity. The shadows curled, familiar and electric, the air pulling tighter around your lungs. And then, across the bar—there he was.
Azriel.
Leaning against the edge of the counter, dressed in black and shadowed like always. His scarred hands wrapped around a drink he didn’t seem to care about. His eyes, those godsdamned eyes, already on you.
You froze. So did he.
Something flickered between you at that moment. Unspoken, unfinished.
Your breath caught. Your wine glass tipped a little too far.
He didn’t move. Neither did you.
And suddenly, the noise of the club, the ache of the last few months, the entire city of Velaris—it all narrowed to him.
He was still just as handsome. All shadows and sharp edges, wings tucked behind him like they were made of something dangerous and divine. His hazel eyes landing on you like they always did—like they knew you. The years hadn’t softened him. If anything, they’d only carved him deeper: the hard line of his jaw, the broad set of his shoulders, the cool composure that barely masked the tension underneath. And those shadows, they still clung to him like smoke, like secrets, like they were alive and watching.
Gods, he looked good. Unfairly good. And worse, he looked exactly the way he used to, like no time had passed at all.
You hated how easily it all came back. The way his gaze could hold you still. The way your body still reacted like it belonged to him, your spine straightening and a familiar heat growing in your belly. You took another sip of wine to hide it, to calm the flush creeping up your neck, but gods, it didn’t help. Because he was still Azriel. He was still him. And apparently, you were still hopelessly, stupidly, tragically not over it.
You should’ve looked away. Should’ve turned back to your friends, finished your drink, left him standing there like a ghost from another life.
But the wine was warm in your veins, and you were tired of pretending you didn’t care. Tired of feeling trapped.
So you moved.
Now pretty baby, I'm running back home to you
Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to
(Fresh out the slammer, oh)
One step. Then another. The crowd seemed to part for you, the music a dull hum compared to the drumbeat in your chest. And he didn’t look away. He just watched. Steady. Still. Like he’d known you were coming the whole time.
By the time you reached him, you could smell the scent of him—leather, cedar, rain. Familiar enough to make your throat ache. You stopped in front of him, heart pounding in your throat.
“Azriel,” you said, his name already tasting like regret on your tongue.
He said yours in return, low and steady, and gods, he still made it sound like you belonged to him.
“I didn’t think I’d see you here.” The words were awkward on your tongue, rushed and quieter than you meant them to be.
Azriel’s eyes scanned your face. “You came looking.”
He had always been able to see right through you, understand you with a single glance.
You huffed a quiet, bitter laugh. “Maybe I did.”
There was a beat of silence. A flicker of something old and aching in his gaze.
“You look good,” he said finally. “Different.”
“Different like ‘miserable and freshly dumped,’ or different like ‘you moved on without me’?”
He didn’t smile, just kept those pretty eyes set on your face. “Both.”
You looked down at your wine glass, swirling what was left. “He was stable. Predictable. The kind of male who got home for dinner and never forgot to buy milk.”
“Sounds… thrilling.”
You met his eyes. “It wasn’t. Not really. But it felt safe. After you, I needed safe.”
His throat bobbed, brow arching with the question. “So that’s what I was? Unsafe?”
The words weren’t angry, just edged with curiosity.
You hesitated for a moment. “You were everything. And that was the problem. You were late nights and secrets and war meetings and silence when I needed you most. You were the dream I couldn’t wake up from.”
“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said, quietly.
“Don’t.” You stepped back, just a little. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
The wine burned in your blood. Your heart pounded, too loud in your chest.
“I do,” he said, voice low—almost a growl. “I meant it then. I mean it now.”
You let out a breath, shaky and uneven. “Why now, Azriel? Why tonight?”
“Because you’re here. Because the second I saw you, it felt like no time had passed. Because I never wanted to let you go, I just didn’t know how to hold on.”
The confession swept over you like a wave, sudden and relentless, leaving your cheeks flushed and your lips slightly parted, breathless from the force of it.
“Come home with me.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them, before you could unravel what they might mean in the morning, when the wine had left your system and your sense of self preservation returned.
The moment they left your lips, regret crashed over you like a wave. You almost pulled back, almost tried to take it back—but the look in Azriel’s eyes stopped you, holding you in place like he’d always done.
He stepped closer, his voice low, but there was an edge to it now.
“Lead the way.”
And so you did.
His hand found yours in the crowd, and you nearly choked on the way it felt—so right, his scarred skin slotting against yours like it had never been apart.
How had you ever let him go? Let go of that feeling—the one that consumed you, the one that whispered there was no one else who could ever compare?
The two of you had never been ones for small talk, so the short walk was quiet but not uncomfortable. His hand gave yours a gentle squeeze before you pulled apart to unlock your front door, deliberately ignoring the slight tremor of anticipation that ran through you.
He had you pinned against the lilac wallpaper of the hallway before you could blink. His kiss was slow, but there was an underlying desperation in it—one you knew all too well.
"Missed this. Missed you," he murmured against your lips, his hands firm on your waist. You could only nod in response, feeling the scrape of his stubble against your cheek as your other hand tightened around his jacket.
"I bet you missed me too," he said, his voice low and gravelly as his lips trailed from yours to your jaw. "Missed having me this close."
You had.
You had thought of him in those quiet, aching moments—after being left unsatisfied, wanting. Had touched yourself to the memory of him, no matter how much the shame of it burned. You had locked those thoughts away in a vault, only daring to open it in the dead of night.
"Say it," he growled against your neck, his teeth grazing your jugular for emphasis, then soothing it with the flick of his tongue.
You couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t deny him. Not anymore.
"I missed you, Azriel," you whispered, your back arching as he pressed into you, his hardness unmistakable against you. The warmth of him made you squirm, your breath catching.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath ragged, chest rising and falling with the effort to steady himself. His gaze searched yours, dark and conflicted.
"Are you sure?" he questioned, voice raw, barely above a whisper.
There was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something you recognized as the same uncertainty that had haunted both of you when you parted. "I won’t be able to stop if we—"
You didn’t let him finish. You couldn’t.
His hesitation only made the heat inside you burn brighter. You didn’t care about the past. You didn’t care about the reasons you’d walked away before. All that mattered was the feeling of his lips on your skin, the way he made your heart race with nothing but a look. You gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him back to you with a need that was desperate, primal almost.
"I don’t want to stop," you whispered against his lips, breathless. "I need this. I need you."
His eyes darkened, lips curling into something feral. Without another word, he kissed you again, hard, fierce, like he’d been starving for this, too. His hands were everywhere at once, sliding under your dress, running up your thighs with a haste that matched the pounding of your heart. His fingers were rough, but every touch made you feel more alive, more aware of every inch of him.
You moaned into the kiss as he slowly lifted you against the wall, pressing his body against yours in a way that made everything else fade away. There was no past, no doubt, just the sensation of him—his warmth, his strength, the way he fit against you like he was meant to be there.
"Azriel," you gasped, hands tangled in his hair, your body already trembling with desire.
His voice was low, almost growling, as he trailed kisses down your neck. "You don't know how long I've wanted this… wanted you." His words were laced with frustration, with longing, as if he was finally getting a taste of what he’d been denied for too long. "I won’t hold back this time."
“Don’t hold back,” you answered, shaking your head like a mad woman.
"Bedroom?" he asked, his voice low, pulling away just enough to look down at you with that hungry gaze of his, but not letting your feet touch the floor.
"Down the hall, to the left."
Without a word, he carried you, the movement effortless. He set you down gently—far gentler than you expected—his eyes never leaving yours. The two of you were still breathing heavily, faces flushed with desire as you found yourself perched on the edge of the bed, your legs bracketing his, the space between you charged with anticipation.
He ran a finger down your temple, his gaze lingering on every inch of you as if committing you to memory.
“What’s our word, doll?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with a knowing edge. You didn’t need to ask which word he meant.
Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, the weight of the question hanging thick between you. You hesitated for a breath, drunk on the intensity in his eyes, the way he made you feel both exposed and wanted.
“Mountain,” you breathed, your voice unsteady as you blinked up at him.
He was a vision above you, the soft light casting shadows across his disheveled hair and the fire in his hazel eyes that burned straight through you.
“Good girl,” he murmured, the words slipping out like a promise—and a command.
With a gentle push to your shoulders, he lowered you back onto the bed, the quilt soft beneath you, contrasting with the heat rising between you both. The space between you seemed to shrink with each passing second, the air thick with the unspoken. He hovered above you, his presence overwhelming.
He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, then lowering himself to his knees. He ran a gentle hand up your calf, over your knee, and to your thigh. Each inch of skin only served to drive you crazier, the desire for him to touch you only growing.
You fought the urge to squirm, to move closer— to do anything to get closer to him.
“This dress is pretty,” he observed, “I think we’ll keep it on for now, yeah?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, his scarred hands pushed the fabric up to your hips, exposing the black lace of your underwear. You felt his lips press against your inner thigh, leaving soft, reverent kisses.
You let out a broken mumble of his name, your hands in tight fists at your sides. He didn’t move any closer to where you needed him, only clicking his tongue once, then twice, before saying, “None of that, doll. Be patient.”
A frustrated whimper left your lips, but you knew it was of no use.
Azriel would take his time taking you apart— each touch, each word meant to drive you mad with desire.
His thumbs hooked into the sides of your underwear, caressing the skin underneath, but not removing them. Your hips hitched, searching for any sort of contact. He was going to be the death of you, you were sure of it. And Gods would this be the way to go.
“So impatient,” he mumbled against your thigh, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to sting, “You need this, don’t you?”
He removed his hands from your hip, opting to run a single knuckle over your covered core.
A whiny, mhm, was your only answer.
“Poor baby,” he cooed, “How long has it been? Since someone’s had you properly satisfied?”
“I— I don’t know,” you answered, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. How long had it been? Months? Years? Since the last time Azriel had you?
Azriel shook his head, removing his hands entirely, “Try again, doll.”
“Not since..” you took in a deep breath, trying to exhale the sting of embarrassment, “Not since you.”
You wish you could prop yourself up on your elbows and catch the surely satisfied look on his face, but you stayed still, knowing he’d only prolong your pleasure further if you moved without permission.
Azriel hummed, a low, satisfied sound, and leaned forward, pressing his lips firmly against your core. Despite the barrier of the black lace, it felt divine— like he was made to be right there, in between your legs.
He pressed a kiss against your clothed clit, then he leisurely ran his nose against the length of your slit, inhaling you. The pressure was just enough to send heat up your spine, your toes curling with anticipation.
“Gods, you smell fucking heavenly.” He growled, hooking the fabric in one finger and pulling it to the side, exposing you to his hungry gaze,
“And this is still the most beautiful cunt I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
His tongue darted out, pressing against your entrance, running up to your clit, sucking harshly before running his tongue over it soothingly. You felt him pull away for a moment, a mewl leaving your lips at the loss of contact, but relief flooded you as he pulled your panties down your legs.
Then he was on you again, his mouth on your cunt, hands gripping roughly at your hips.
This is what you had been longing for— the way he knew you like the back of his hand. How he knew you preferred languid, slow strokes over your slit, a bruising grip on your hips, your legs over his shoulders, ankles hooked behind his neck, heels just barely grazing the spot where his wings met his back.
The relief of it all had your hand drifting to his head—not to tug, but to comb your fingers gently through his disheveled curls. They were just as soft as you remembered, like dark silk slipping through your fingers, a feeling you'd memorized long ago in the quiet moments between love and loss. He leaned into the touch, wordless as he devoured you but knowing, as if he remembered too—how comfort had always lived in the space between your hands and his skin.
A string of breathy moans floated from your lips as his tongue traced over you again, light and barely there— he was pushing you, you realized. Seeing how long he could get away with teasing you, pushing you to the edge of delirium, just to bring you back to him.
You weren’t above begging. Not when it came to him.
“P-please, Az. Please.”
He hummed against you, the vibration only serving to drive you closer to madness.
“I need you,” you murmured, your grip on his hair tightening in warning, “I’ve always needed you.”
That seemed to satiate him as he cracked a small smile against you, humming again. You gasped as he returned to your cunt with vigor, licking and sucking— playing your body like an instrument and he was a world class artist.
You were soaked, your hole clenching around nothing, leaking onto the blanket beneath you.
It was debauched. It was reverence. It was everything.
His name left your lips once, then twice, then again as you felt a finger nudge at your entrance.
Azriel pushed his middle finger in slowly, lips still attached to your clit. You could do nothing but stretch around him, keening under him. You knew the pressure was nothing compared to the way his cock would split you open, but it was delicious and mind numbing all the same.
Once his finger was fully seated in you, prodding at that sweet, spongy spot inside of you, he added another. You were slick enough that you gave no resistance to the intrusion.
“That’s what you needed, baby?” He asked, picking up his pace, bullying his digits into you.
“Yes, yes.” You whined, your hips involuntarily bucking against him.
“And you still need more, hm?” He tutted, his voice taking on a sardonic quality, teasing you. He beckoned his fingers in a way that made stars explode across your vision— your face fuzzy and numb, legs twitching around his shoulders.
And Gods, was he right.
His free hand moved to your lower belly, pressing there. The pressure only added to the pleasure his fingers brought, coaxing you so close bliss. With a few mere strokes and passes over your clit, he had you on the edge of release.
But he still held back, knowing exactly where your limits were.
Your name fell from his lips, somewhere between a prayer and a command, “When you finish, it will be with my cock inside of you, understand?”
“I understand,” you whispered, not trusting your voice, your face twisted in pleasure and eyes shut tight. He gave you one last thrust of his fingers, holding them there for just a breath. The sound you made was nothing short of guttural, coming from somewhere deep inside you— somewhere primal and wanting.
A whine escaped you at the loss of his fingers. You wondered how you survived all these years without him, without the ache of his closeness, the gravity of his touch pulling you back to where you were always meant to be.
Azriel moved over you with quiet purpose, his body a shadowed silhouette in the dim light. He settled at your waist, wings flaring slightly behind him. His face was all sharp lines and focus, a quiet fire burning in his hazel eyes as his fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt—slow, deliberate, like he wanted you to memorize every second of it.
His face, covered in you, might have been the most beautiful thing you’d seen in your immortal life.
You could hardly breathe beneath the weight of him, not from pressure, but from the unbearable anticipation that built with each slow flick of his fingers. Every inch of newly exposed skin felt like a promise, like the echo of something you’d been starving for in silence. His shadows curled along his skin as the shirt slipped from his shoulders, revealing the familiar sprawl of tattoos inked across his chest—markings you'd traced once with your fingers, your lips, like a map you could never forget how to read.
You were panting just watching him, your body betraying you, chest rising and falling in time with the wild, reckless rhythm of your heartbeat.
“Tell me what you want.” Azriel commanded, voice rough and low, his gaze locked onto yours with molten intent.
“You,” you whispered, the word trembling from your lips.
He tilted his head, the movement slow and deliberate, as his arms caged you in.
“Be more specific, doll.” Azriel whispered, his voice a tender hush against your skin, all patient hunger and reverent touch, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you gently.
“You inside of me.” You answered.
He nodded once, sliding off of you and dragging his pants and underwear down. His cock sprang free, hard and heady against his stomach.
“What inside of you? Hm?” He prodded in that same teasing tone, stroking himself once, then twice.
You swallowed hard as you watched him, propped up on your elbows now, your mouth watering at the sight.
“Your cock.”
The yearning in your voice was so evident, so raw, it even surprised you.
He stepped forward, eyes never leaving yours as his fingers found the edge of your dress. With a practiced slowness, he hooked the fabric and drew it upward, the hem whispering over your skin before slipping it over your head and casting it aside.
You were left bare before him, need roiling in your gut like a storm, slightly trembling with anticipation. He took his cock in hand and pressed it against your folds, rubbing the blunt head of it against you.
“This is what you wanted?” he asked, voice like smoke and sin, low enough to curl heat through your core. He pressed forward just a bit, his tip catching against your entrance.
Even the small pressure earned a whine from your lips, which he tutted at in return.
“Look at you,” he growls, “So wet for me. Is this all for me?”
You answered with a tilt of your hips, and “It’s all for you.”
“Is that so?”
He emphasized his words with another short thrust, teasing you.
“Az.” You huffed indignantly.
With his feet still planted on the floor, he leaned forward, one hand guiding his cock and the other planted next to your head. With a nip at your jaw, he pushed in again, just enough to make your hands clench against the mattress
“Don’t be a brat,” he murmured against your ear, each short word a spark against your skin, setting every nerve alight.
You thought, for just a moment, that he would tease you like this forever. Keep you right there at the precipice of experiencing that divine pleasure you knew he could give so well. Perhaps as punishment, or for his own satisfaction of seeing you squirm and stutter beneath him
He finally pushed into you fully, your heat welcoming him effortlessly and without resistance, despite the size of him.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his lips parted in ecstasy.
You were foolish to think he would ever deny himself of this, of you. He stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust, like the gentleman he is. His hand, now free with his cock seated inside of you, came to your clit, his thumb rubbing deft circles.
“M-move, please,” you pleaded, voice breathless and aching, like wanting him was the only thing you’d ever known.
Azriel obliged you, setting a slow and languid pace with each press of his hips, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, the force of his hips meeting yours growing with each passing second.
“I bet you fucking missed this,” he growled against you, his voice barely restrained, “Missed having me inside of you— filling you up just how you like.”
His cock hit a sensitive, sweet spot inside of you, drawing out a pathetic whimper. “F-fuck, Az,” you yelp.
His scent was everywhere, invading your senses like smoke through a keyhole—heady and dark, all cedar and wind and something so purely him. It clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and curled low in your belly.
The warmth of his skin against you is a whole other sensation, covering you, comforting you through the brutal pace he’s set as he pounded into you without ceremony.
Tears gathered in your eyes, spilling onto your flushed cheeks. He kissed one, then the other, the softness in deep contrast to the way he fucked into you roughly.
“Crying for me already, baby?”
You don’t answer.
You can’t answer.
So overrun by the feeling of him inside of you, on top of you. With a sharp pinch to your nipple, he ordered, “Answer me, doll.”
“Mhm,” you nodded, “For you. All for you.”
The words are broken, pathetic ones, but he accepts them nonetheless and soothes the sting with his tongue.
“You can take it,” he reassured you, his voice muffled by the skin of your breast, “I know you can. You’re doing so good for me, doll. So fucking good.”
Your loneliness became a distant memory with each thrust of his hips, his groans and heavy breaths against your clavicle coaxing you closer and closer.
“You gonna finish on my cock, huh?” He breathed, his voice losing its edge, sweeter and coaxing now, “Gonna let me fill you up?”
His hand came to the nape of your neck, pulling to lift your head just enough to set your eyes on the sight of him fucking into you.
“I want you to watch. Watch me fuck you.”
You couldn’t respond, nearly hypnotized by the display of his cock pushing in and out of you in quick, hard thrusts.
“Watch. And know that I’m the only one who can make you feel like this— so fucking cock drunk you can’t even speak.”
Your toes curled instinctively, your legs tightening with the force of your oncoming orgasm. You knew he could tell you were close. He had memorized every tell, every twitch, years ago.
“That’s it,” he cooed, “You can come for me, baby. I know you want to.”
Between his words, his hand in your hair and the relentless drag of his cock inside of you, you were already hurdling over the edge with a cry.
“Just like that. Fuck, baby. That’s it.”
A high, keening sound filled your ears—like the rush of wind through a mountain pass. The world narrowed to white heat and the thundering rhythm of him inside of you, everything else drowned out in the crescendo of your climax.
His breath stuttered, body going rigid above yours as a growl tore from his throat. Deep, raw, unrestrained. Shadows coiled tight around you both like a snare, and then he was unraveling, coming apart with your name on his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.
His wings flared, trembling, as though even they couldn’t contain the force of it. And when he finally collapsed, it was with reverence, his forehead pressed to yours like he was anchoring himself back to the world through you. You reveled in the way you could feel his seed against your walls, warm and filling.
He dropped beside you with a low, wrecked sound, his arms coming around you like instinct, like worship. You were pulled into the cradle of his chest, his heartbeat thunderous beneath your cheek, as if his body couldn’t bear to be separate from yours a second longer. Like the tether between you had snapped taut—and drawn him home.
He held you for what felt like hours, tenderly. The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. Just full. The kind of silence that said everything neither of you had dared to say out loud.
Azriel shifted beside you, propping himself up on one elbow. “So…” he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion and something deeper, “was this a mistake?”
You turned your head, meeting his eyes in the dim light.
Gods, he looked tired. Beautiful. Real.
“No,” you said softly. “It was a beginning. Or maybe a return.”
His brow furrowed, just slightly. “What does that mean?”
You smiled faintly, reaching out to trace the scars on his hand with your fingertip. “It means I’m not running this time.”
He watched you for a long moment, like he was memorizing the shape of those words. Then he leaned in, brushing a kiss to your shoulder.
“I waited,” he whispered. “Even when I told myself not to.”
You took a deep breath, your fingers curling nervously around the edge of the blanket. The weight of everything that had passed hung between you—old wounds, choices made, silence that had stretched too long.
Azriel’s gaze softened, as though he’d already sensed what you were about to say.
“I… I owe you an apology,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. “For everything. For walking away when it was hard, for not telling you what I needed. For running into something… easy.” You swallowed, the lump in your throat tight. “I thought it would be easier to forget. But I never did.”
Azriel’s eyes darkened as he looked at you, a mixture of pain and understanding swirling in them. He stayed silent, but his expression was an answer, one that said so much more than words could.
“I wasn’t strong enough to face what I really wanted,” you continued, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. “And I let myself get comfortable with something safe, even though I knew deep down… it wasn’t you. It wasn’t us.”
He reached out then, his fingers brushing your cheek, not with anger, but something gentler, something understanding. His voice was low, a touch strained. “You don’t have to apologize. Not to me.”
“I do,” you said, your voice cracking. “I hurt you, Azriel. I shut you out when you—when you always saw me. And I was too afraid to even admit I still felt it.”
Azriel’s expression softened even further, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “We’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah. I just hope I haven’t ruined everything.”
“Some things… are too strong to ruin.” He kissed your forehead gently, and when he pulled back, his voice was soft, but resolute. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You brushed your fingers over the back of his hand, grounding yourself in the truth you’d denied for far too long.
You had left the man who never really saw you. Packed your things, crossed the city, stepped back into a shadowed memory that hadn’t dulled with time. And now, lying here with Azriel—his scent on your skin, his heartbeat echoing in your ears—you felt it deep in your bones:
You were free.
You were home.
And no matter what I've done, it wouldn't matter anyway
Ain't no way I'm gonna screw up now that I know what's at stake
Here, at the park where we used to sit on children's swings
Wearing imaginary rings
But it's gonna be alright, I did my time
Summary: Fresh off of a breakup, you seek out Azriel, searching for the spark you've been missing so much
Warnings: 18+, smut, light d/s dynamics, exes reuniting, cheating, no use of y/n
Word Count: 5,887
Author's Note: I've literally never written smut before. However, I have read a hell of a lot of it and I gave it my best shot! Thanks for reading <3
Another summer taking cover, rolling thunder
He don't understand me
Splintered back in winter, silent dinners, bitter
He was with her in dreams
Being in a boring relationship was one thing. You told yourself that you’d been together for too long to walk away—that leaving would mean unraveling everything you’d built. For what? A lack of excitement? A dwindling spark? People would kill for this kind of stability, for the comfort of a partner who always came home at the end of the day. He didn’t understand you—not really—but he pretended to well enough. And you were tired. Tired enough to pretend, too.
But being cheated on? That was something else entirely.
There was no more pretending after that. No justifying, no rationalizing. And it wasn’t even the betrayal that gutted you—it was the relief. As if he'd finally said out loud what neither of you had the courage to admit. You’d both been miserable. He just had the gall to do something about it first.
So you packed the boxes. Called in the moving winnows. Signed a lease on the other side of Velaris. It all happened quickly, almost too easily, like the city was glad to see you start over.
The sting faded as you hung new curtains. Unpacked old books. Rearranged your kitchen three times just because you could. You played music louder, cooked dinner later, took long walks in the dark with no one to check in with. You were free.
And yet…
Some nights, when the silence stretched too long and the wine bottle tipped past half, your mind wandered—to shadows, to secrets, to the one who had known you even when you didn’t want to be known.
To Azriel.
You hadn’t seen him in years. Not really. There were moments, of course, across the Sidra, passing glimpses during court events, or half-hearted waves exchanged in crowded rooms. But you’d kept your distance. He had too. There was history there. Not all of it good.
So you definitely weren’t thinking about him when you pulled on a tight black dress and called your friends to meet you at Rita’s. You told yourself you just wanted noise. Music. A room where nobody knew your name or your heartbreak. Somewhere you could pretend, just for a few hours, that you weren’t newly single, freshly humiliated, and painfully alone.
The bass was loud. The wine was stronger. And the heat of bodies pressed together on the dance floor made it easy to forget everything that had driven you here. You let yourself sway, sip, smile when someone’s hand lingered too long on your hip. You were fine. You were free.
You were halfway through another glass of wine, half laughing, half pretending to listen to whatever your friend was saying, when your body stilled.
You felt him before you saw him. Like a chill across your skin, a shift in the room’s gravity. The shadows curled, familiar and electric, the air pulling tighter around your lungs. And then, across the bar—there he was.
Azriel.
Leaning against the edge of the counter, dressed in black and shadowed like always. His scarred hands wrapped around a drink he didn’t seem to care about. His eyes, those godsdamned eyes, already on you.
You froze. So did he.
Something flickered between you at that moment. Unspoken, unfinished.
Your breath caught. Your wine glass tipped a little too far.
He didn’t move. Neither did you.
And suddenly, the noise of the club, the ache of the last few months, the entire city of Velaris—it all narrowed to him.
He was still just as handsome. All shadows and sharp edges, wings tucked behind him like they were made of something dangerous and divine. His hazel eyes landing on you like they always did—like they knew you. The years hadn’t softened him. If anything, they’d only carved him deeper: the hard line of his jaw, the broad set of his shoulders, the cool composure that barely masked the tension underneath. And those shadows, they still clung to him like smoke, like secrets, like they were alive and watching.
Gods, he looked good. Unfairly good. And worse, he looked exactly the way he used to, like no time had passed at all.
You hated how easily it all came back. The way his gaze could hold you still. The way your body still reacted like it belonged to him, your spine straightening and a familiar heat growing in your belly. You took another sip of wine to hide it, to calm the flush creeping up your neck, but gods, it didn’t help. Because he was still Azriel. He was still him. And apparently, you were still hopelessly, stupidly, tragically not over it.
You should’ve looked away. Should’ve turned back to your friends, finished your drink, left him standing there like a ghost from another life.
But the wine was warm in your veins, and you were tired of pretending you didn’t care. Tired of feeling trapped.
So you moved.
Now pretty baby, I'm running back home to you
Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to
(Fresh out the slammer, oh)
One step. Then another. The crowd seemed to part for you, the music a dull hum compared to the drumbeat in your chest. And he didn’t look away. He just watched. Steady. Still. Like he’d known you were coming the whole time.
By the time you reached him, you could smell the scent of him—leather, cedar, rain. Familiar enough to make your throat ache. You stopped in front of him, heart pounding in your throat.
“Azriel,” you said, his name already tasting like regret on your tongue.
He said yours in return, low and steady, and gods, he still made it sound like you belonged to him.
“I didn’t think I’d see you here.” The words were awkward on your tongue, rushed and quieter than you meant them to be.
Azriel’s eyes scanned your face. “You came looking.”
He had always been able to see right through you, understand you with a single glance.
You huffed a quiet, bitter laugh. “Maybe I did.”
There was a beat of silence. A flicker of something old and aching in his gaze.
“You look good,” he said finally. “Different.”
“Different like ‘miserable and freshly dumped,’ or different like ‘you moved on without me’?”
He didn’t smile, just kept those pretty eyes set on your face. “Both.”
You looked down at your wine glass, swirling what was left. “He was stable. Predictable. The kind of male who got home for dinner and never forgot to buy milk.”
“Sounds… thrilling.”
You met his eyes. “It wasn’t. Not really. But it felt safe. After you, I needed safe.”
His throat bobbed, brow arching with the question. “So that’s what I was? Unsafe?”
The words weren’t angry, just edged with curiosity.
You hesitated for a moment. “You were everything. And that was the problem. You were late nights and secrets and war meetings and silence when I needed you most. You were the dream I couldn’t wake up from.”
“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said, quietly.
“Don’t.” You stepped back, just a little. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
The wine burned in your blood. Your heart pounded, too loud in your chest.
“I do,” he said, voice low—almost a growl. “I meant it then. I mean it now.”
You let out a breath, shaky and uneven. “Why now, Azriel? Why tonight?”
“Because you’re here. Because the second I saw you, it felt like no time had passed. Because I never wanted to let you go, I just didn’t know how to hold on.”
The confession swept over you like a wave, sudden and relentless, leaving your cheeks flushed and your lips slightly parted, breathless from the force of it.
“Come home with me.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them, before you could unravel what they might mean in the morning, when the wine had left your system and your sense of self preservation returned.
The moment they left your lips, regret crashed over you like a wave. You almost pulled back, almost tried to take it back—but the look in Azriel’s eyes stopped you, holding you in place like he’d always done.
He stepped closer, his voice low, but there was an edge to it now.
“Lead the way.”
And so you did.
His hand found yours in the crowd, and you nearly choked on the way it felt—so right, his scarred skin slotting against yours like it had never been apart.
How had you ever let him go? Let go of that feeling—the one that consumed you, the one that whispered there was no one else who could ever compare?
The two of you had never been ones for small talk, so the short walk was quiet but not uncomfortable. His hand gave yours a gentle squeeze before you pulled apart to unlock your front door, deliberately ignoring the slight tremor of anticipation that ran through you.
He had you pinned against the lilac wallpaper of the hallway before you could blink. His kiss was slow, but there was an underlying desperation in it—one you knew all too well.
"Missed this. Missed you," he murmured against your lips, his hands firm on your waist. You could only nod in response, feeling the scrape of his stubble against your cheek as your other hand tightened around his jacket.
"I bet you missed me too," he said, his voice low and gravelly as his lips trailed from yours to your jaw. "Missed having me this close."
You had.
You had thought of him in those quiet, aching moments—after being left unsatisfied, wanting. Had touched yourself to the memory of him, no matter how much the shame of it burned. You had locked those thoughts away in a vault, only daring to open it in the dead of night.
"Say it," he growled against your neck, his teeth grazing your jugular for emphasis, then soothing it with the flick of his tongue.
You couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t deny him. Not anymore.
"I missed you, Azriel," you whispered, your back arching as he pressed into you, his hardness unmistakable against you. The warmth of him made you squirm, your breath catching.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath ragged, chest rising and falling with the effort to steady himself. His gaze searched yours, dark and conflicted.
"Are you sure?" he questioned, voice raw, barely above a whisper.
There was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something you recognized as the same uncertainty that had haunted both of you when you parted. "I won’t be able to stop if we—"
You didn’t let him finish. You couldn’t.
His hesitation only made the heat inside you burn brighter. You didn’t care about the past. You didn’t care about the reasons you’d walked away before. All that mattered was the feeling of his lips on your skin, the way he made your heart race with nothing but a look. You gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him back to you with a need that was desperate, primal almost.
"I don’t want to stop," you whispered against his lips, breathless. "I need this. I need you."
His eyes darkened, lips curling into something feral. Without another word, he kissed you again, hard, fierce, like he’d been starving for this, too. His hands were everywhere at once, sliding under your dress, running up your thighs with a haste that matched the pounding of your heart. His fingers were rough, but every touch made you feel more alive, more aware of every inch of him.
You moaned into the kiss as he slowly lifted you against the wall, pressing his body against yours in a way that made everything else fade away. There was no past, no doubt, just the sensation of him—his warmth, his strength, the way he fit against you like he was meant to be there.
"Azriel," you gasped, hands tangled in his hair, your body already trembling with desire.
His voice was low, almost growling, as he trailed kisses down your neck. "You don't know how long I've wanted this… wanted you." His words were laced with frustration, with longing, as if he was finally getting a taste of what he’d been denied for too long. "I won’t hold back this time."
“Don’t hold back,” you answered, shaking your head like a mad woman.
"Bedroom?" he asked, his voice low, pulling away just enough to look down at you with that hungry gaze of his, but not letting your feet touch the floor.
"Down the hall, to the left."
Without a word, he carried you, the movement effortless. He set you down gently—far gentler than you expected—his eyes never leaving yours. The two of you were still breathing heavily, faces flushed with desire as you found yourself perched on the edge of the bed, your legs bracketing his, the space between you charged with anticipation.
He ran a finger down your temple, his gaze lingering on every inch of you as if committing you to memory.
“What’s our word, doll?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with a knowing edge. You didn’t need to ask which word he meant.
Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, the weight of the question hanging thick between you. You hesitated for a breath, drunk on the intensity in his eyes, the way he made you feel both exposed and wanted.
“Mountain,” you breathed, your voice unsteady as you blinked up at him.
He was a vision above you, the soft light casting shadows across his disheveled hair and the fire in his hazel eyes that burned straight through you.
“Good girl,” he murmured, the words slipping out like a promise—and a command.
With a gentle push to your shoulders, he lowered you back onto the bed, the quilt soft beneath you, contrasting with the heat rising between you both. The space between you seemed to shrink with each passing second, the air thick with the unspoken. He hovered above you, his presence overwhelming.
He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, then lowering himself to his knees. He ran a gentle hand up your calf, over your knee, and to your thigh. Each inch of skin only served to drive you crazier, the desire for him to touch you only growing.
You fought the urge to squirm, to move closer— to do anything to get closer to him.
“This dress is pretty,” he observed, “I think we’ll keep it on for now, yeah?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, his scarred hands pushed the fabric up to your hips, exposing the black lace of your underwear. You felt his lips press against your inner thigh, leaving soft, reverent kisses.
You let out a broken mumble of his name, your hands in tight fists at your sides. He didn’t move any closer to where you needed him, only clicking his tongue once, then twice, before saying, “None of that, doll. Be patient.”
A frustrated whimper left your lips, but you knew it was of no use.
Azriel would take his time taking you apart— each touch, each word meant to drive you mad with desire.
His thumbs hooked into the sides of your underwear, caressing the skin underneath, but not removing them. Your hips hitched, searching for any sort of contact. He was going to be the death of you, you were sure of it. And Gods would this be the way to go.
“So impatient,” he mumbled against your thigh, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to sting, “You need this, don’t you?”
He removed his hands from your hip, opting to run a single knuckle over your covered core.
A whiny, mhm, was your only answer.
“Poor baby,” he cooed, “How long has it been? Since someone’s had you properly satisfied?”
“I— I don’t know,” you answered, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. How long had it been? Months? Years? Since the last time Azriel had you?
Azriel shook his head, removing his hands entirely, “Try again, doll.”
“Not since..” you took in a deep breath, trying to exhale the sting of embarrassment, “Not since you.”
You wish you could prop yourself up on your elbows and catch the surely satisfied look on his face, but you stayed still, knowing he’d only prolong your pleasure further if you moved without permission.
Azriel hummed, a low, satisfied sound, and leaned forward, pressing his lips firmly against your core. Despite the barrier of the black lace, it felt divine— like he was made to be right there, in between your legs.
He pressed a kiss against your clothed clit, then he leisurely ran his nose against the length of your slit, inhaling you. The pressure was just enough to send heat up your spine, your toes curling with anticipation.
“Gods, you smell fucking heavenly.” He growled, hooking the fabric in one finger and pulling it to the side, exposing you to his hungry gaze,
“And this is still the most beautiful cunt I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
His tongue darted out, pressing against your entrance, running up to your clit, sucking harshly before running his tongue over it soothingly. You felt him pull away for a moment, a mewl leaving your lips at the loss of contact, but relief flooded you as he pulled your panties down your legs.
Then he was on you again, his mouth on your cunt, hands gripping roughly at your hips.
This is what you had been longing for— the way he knew you like the back of his hand. How he knew you preferred languid, slow strokes over your slit, a bruising grip on your hips, your legs over his shoulders, ankles hooked behind his neck, heels just barely grazing the spot where his wings met his back.
The relief of it all had your hand drifting to his head—not to tug, but to comb your fingers gently through his disheveled curls. They were just as soft as you remembered, like dark silk slipping through your fingers, a feeling you'd memorized long ago in the quiet moments between love and loss. He leaned into the touch, wordless as he devoured you but knowing, as if he remembered too—how comfort had always lived in the space between your hands and his skin.
A string of breathy moans floated from your lips as his tongue traced over you again, light and barely there— he was pushing you, you realized. Seeing how long he could get away with teasing you, pushing you to the edge of delirium, just to bring you back to him.
You weren’t above begging. Not when it came to him.
“P-please, Az. Please.”
He hummed against you, the vibration only serving to drive you closer to madness.
“I need you,” you murmured, your grip on his hair tightening in warning, “I’ve always needed you.”
That seemed to satiate him as he cracked a small smile against you, humming again. You gasped as he returned to your cunt with vigor, licking and sucking— playing your body like an instrument and he was a world class artist.
You were soaked, your hole clenching around nothing, leaking onto the blanket beneath you.
It was debauched. It was reverence. It was everything.
His name left your lips once, then twice, then again as you felt a finger nudge at your entrance.
Azriel pushed his middle finger in slowly, lips still attached to your clit. You could do nothing but stretch around him, keening under him. You knew the pressure was nothing compared to the way his cock would split you open, but it was delicious and mind numbing all the same.
Once his finger was fully seated in you, prodding at that sweet, spongy spot inside of you, he added another. You were slick enough that you gave no resistance to the intrusion.
“That’s what you needed, baby?” He asked, picking up his pace, bullying his digits into you.
“Yes, yes.” You whined, your hips involuntarily bucking against him.
“And you still need more, hm?” He tutted, his voice taking on a sardonic quality, teasing you. He beckoned his fingers in a way that made stars explode across your vision— your face fuzzy and numb, legs twitching around his shoulders.
And Gods, was he right.
His free hand moved to your lower belly, pressing there. The pressure only added to the pleasure his fingers brought, coaxing you so close bliss. With a few mere strokes and passes over your clit, he had you on the edge of release.
But he still held back, knowing exactly where your limits were.
Your name fell from his lips, somewhere between a prayer and a command, “When you finish, it will be with my cock inside of you, understand?”
“I understand,” you whispered, not trusting your voice, your face twisted in pleasure and eyes shut tight. He gave you one last thrust of his fingers, holding them there for just a breath. The sound you made was nothing short of guttural, coming from somewhere deep inside you— somewhere primal and wanting.
A whine escaped you at the loss of his fingers. You wondered how you survived all these years without him, without the ache of his closeness, the gravity of his touch pulling you back to where you were always meant to be.
Azriel moved over you with quiet purpose, his body a shadowed silhouette in the dim light. He settled at your waist, wings flaring slightly behind him. His face was all sharp lines and focus, a quiet fire burning in his hazel eyes as his fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt—slow, deliberate, like he wanted you to memorize every second of it.
His face, covered in you, might have been the most beautiful thing you’d seen in your immortal life.
You could hardly breathe beneath the weight of him, not from pressure, but from the unbearable anticipation that built with each slow flick of his fingers. Every inch of newly exposed skin felt like a promise, like the echo of something you’d been starving for in silence. His shadows curled along his skin as the shirt slipped from his shoulders, revealing the familiar sprawl of tattoos inked across his chest—markings you'd traced once with your fingers, your lips, like a map you could never forget how to read.
You were panting just watching him, your body betraying you, chest rising and falling in time with the wild, reckless rhythm of your heartbeat.
“Tell me what you want.” Azriel commanded, voice rough and low, his gaze locked onto yours with molten intent.
“You,” you whispered, the word trembling from your lips.
He tilted his head, the movement slow and deliberate, as his arms caged you in.
“Be more specific, doll.” Azriel whispered, his voice a tender hush against your skin, all patient hunger and reverent touch, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you gently.
“You inside of me.” You answered.
He nodded once, sliding off of you and dragging his pants and underwear down. His cock sprang free, hard and heady against his stomach.
“What inside of you? Hm?” He prodded in that same teasing tone, stroking himself once, then twice.
You swallowed hard as you watched him, propped up on your elbows now, your mouth watering at the sight.
“Your cock.”
The yearning in your voice was so evident, so raw, it even surprised you.
He stepped forward, eyes never leaving yours as his fingers found the edge of your dress. With a practiced slowness, he hooked the fabric and drew it upward, the hem whispering over your skin before slipping it over your head and casting it aside.
You were left bare before him, need roiling in your gut like a storm, slightly trembling with anticipation. He took his cock in hand and pressed it against your folds, rubbing the blunt head of it against you.
“This is what you wanted?” he asked, voice like smoke and sin, low enough to curl heat through your core. He pressed forward just a bit, his tip catching against your entrance.
Even the small pressure earned a whine from your lips, which he tutted at in return.
“Look at you,” he growls, “So wet for me. Is this all for me?”
You answered with a tilt of your hips, and “It’s all for you.”
“Is that so?”
He emphasized his words with another short thrust, teasing you.
“Az.” You huffed indignantly.
With his feet still planted on the floor, he leaned forward, one hand guiding his cock and the other planted next to your head. With a nip at your jaw, he pushed in again, just enough to make your hands clench against the mattress
“Don’t be a brat,” he murmured against your ear, each short word a spark against your skin, setting every nerve alight.
You thought, for just a moment, that he would tease you like this forever. Keep you right there at the precipice of experiencing that divine pleasure you knew he could give so well. Perhaps as punishment, or for his own satisfaction of seeing you squirm and stutter beneath him
He finally pushed into you fully, your heat welcoming him effortlessly and without resistance, despite the size of him.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his lips parted in ecstasy.
You were foolish to think he would ever deny himself of this, of you. He stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust, like the gentleman he is. His hand, now free with his cock seated inside of you, came to your clit, his thumb rubbing deft circles.
“M-move, please,” you pleaded, voice breathless and aching, like wanting him was the only thing you’d ever known.
Azriel obliged you, setting a slow and languid pace with each press of his hips, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, the force of his hips meeting yours growing with each passing second.
“I bet you fucking missed this,” he growled against you, his voice barely restrained, “Missed having me inside of you— filling you up just how you like.”
His cock hit a sensitive, sweet spot inside of you, drawing out a pathetic whimper. “F-fuck, Az,” you yelp.
His scent was everywhere, invading your senses like smoke through a keyhole—heady and dark, all cedar and wind and something so purely him. It clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and curled low in your belly.
The warmth of his skin against you is a whole other sensation, covering you, comforting you through the brutal pace he’s set as he pounded into you without ceremony.
Tears gathered in your eyes, spilling onto your flushed cheeks. He kissed one, then the other, the softness in deep contrast to the way he fucked into you roughly.
“Crying for me already, baby?”
You don’t answer.
You can’t answer.
So overrun by the feeling of him inside of you, on top of you. With a sharp pinch to your nipple, he ordered, “Answer me, doll.”
“Mhm,” you nodded, “For you. All for you.”
The words are broken, pathetic ones, but he accepts them nonetheless and soothes the sting with his tongue.
“You can take it,” he reassured you, his voice muffled by the skin of your breast, “I know you can. You’re doing so good for me, doll. So fucking good.”
Your loneliness became a distant memory with each thrust of his hips, his groans and heavy breaths against your clavicle coaxing you closer and closer.
“You gonna finish on my cock, huh?” He breathed, his voice losing its edge, sweeter and coaxing now, “Gonna let me fill you up?”
His hand came to the nape of your neck, pulling to lift your head just enough to set your eyes on the sight of him fucking into you.
“I want you to watch. Watch me fuck you.”
You couldn’t respond, nearly hypnotized by the display of his cock pushing in and out of you in quick, hard thrusts.
“Watch. And know that I’m the only one who can make you feel like this— so fucking cock drunk you can’t even speak.”
Your toes curled instinctively, your legs tightening with the force of your oncoming orgasm. You knew he could tell you were close. He had memorized every tell, every twitch, years ago.
“That’s it,” he cooed, “You can come for me, baby. I know you want to.”
Between his words, his hand in your hair and the relentless drag of his cock inside of you, you were already hurdling over the edge with a cry.
“Just like that. Fuck, baby. That’s it.”
A high, keening sound filled your ears—like the rush of wind through a mountain pass. The world narrowed to white heat and the thundering rhythm of him inside of you, everything else drowned out in the crescendo of your climax.
His breath stuttered, body going rigid above yours as a growl tore from his throat. Deep, raw, unrestrained. Shadows coiled tight around you both like a snare, and then he was unraveling, coming apart with your name on his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.
His wings flared, trembling, as though even they couldn’t contain the force of it. And when he finally collapsed, it was with reverence, his forehead pressed to yours like he was anchoring himself back to the world through you. You reveled in the way you could feel his seed against your walls, warm and filling.
He dropped beside you with a low, wrecked sound, his arms coming around you like instinct, like worship. You were pulled into the cradle of his chest, his heartbeat thunderous beneath your cheek, as if his body couldn’t bear to be separate from yours a second longer. Like the tether between you had snapped taut—and drawn him home.
He held you for what felt like hours, tenderly. The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. Just full. The kind of silence that said everything neither of you had dared to say out loud.
Azriel shifted beside you, propping himself up on one elbow. “So…” he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion and something deeper, “was this a mistake?”
You turned your head, meeting his eyes in the dim light.
Gods, he looked tired. Beautiful. Real.
“No,” you said softly. “It was a beginning. Or maybe a return.”
His brow furrowed, just slightly. “What does that mean?”
You smiled faintly, reaching out to trace the scars on his hand with your fingertip. “It means I’m not running this time.”
He watched you for a long moment, like he was memorizing the shape of those words. Then he leaned in, brushing a kiss to your shoulder.
“I waited,” he whispered. “Even when I told myself not to.”
You took a deep breath, your fingers curling nervously around the edge of the blanket. The weight of everything that had passed hung between you—old wounds, choices made, silence that had stretched too long.
Azriel’s gaze softened, as though he’d already sensed what you were about to say.
“I… I owe you an apology,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. “For everything. For walking away when it was hard, for not telling you what I needed. For running into something… easy.” You swallowed, the lump in your throat tight. “I thought it would be easier to forget. But I never did.”
Azriel’s eyes darkened as he looked at you, a mixture of pain and understanding swirling in them. He stayed silent, but his expression was an answer, one that said so much more than words could.
“I wasn’t strong enough to face what I really wanted,” you continued, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. “And I let myself get comfortable with something safe, even though I knew deep down… it wasn’t you. It wasn’t us.”
He reached out then, his fingers brushing your cheek, not with anger, but something gentler, something understanding. His voice was low, a touch strained. “You don’t have to apologize. Not to me.”
“I do,” you said, your voice cracking. “I hurt you, Azriel. I shut you out when you—when you always saw me. And I was too afraid to even admit I still felt it.”
Azriel’s expression softened even further, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “We’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah. I just hope I haven’t ruined everything.”
“Some things… are too strong to ruin.” He kissed your forehead gently, and when he pulled back, his voice was soft, but resolute. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You brushed your fingers over the back of his hand, grounding yourself in the truth you’d denied for far too long.
You had left the man who never really saw you. Packed your things, crossed the city, stepped back into a shadowed memory that hadn’t dulled with time. And now, lying here with Azriel—his scent on your skin, his heartbeat echoing in your ears—you felt it deep in your bones:
You were free.
You were home.
And no matter what I've done, it wouldn't matter anyway
Ain't no way I'm gonna screw up now that I know what's at stake
Here, at the park where we used to sit on children's swings
Wearing imaginary rings
But it's gonna be alright, I did my time
