#Demon!Azriel smut

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 9[***]

A/N: idk even know what to say about this one. I think I traumatise myself a little more with every chapter (in a good way…?)

Warnings: blood—like a lot of blood, obviously unsanitary but ✨magic✨, biting, blood play, smut, 5.7k words

-Part 8- -Part 10-

He’d breathed power into you. Power that your human body is not meant to carry. And while you can feel the tips of your fingers, the nails pressing onto your toes, and every tooth in your mouth, you know it won’t last. The sun is setting within you, and when the last ember of his magic dies in your womb, you’ll go with it.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask, padding quietly over that stone floors of the dormitories, hidden deep within the temple’s nest. Crypt is more like it.

He’s still wreathed in shadow, appearing no clearer than a reflection in muddied waters. His form ripples as he moves, keeping his gaze ahead—knowing you’re following on his heel. He’s keeping an eye out for something—someone.

That someone is waiting for you at the steps that lead out from beneath the holy building.

Robed in white and pale blue, silver circlet perched on her brow, Elain watches you with hard eyes. No—she’s staring at Azriel. He stops a little way from her, just out of reach of the carved, wooden thyrsus. Slender, pale fingers tighten around the staff, knuckles pressing out beneath the constraint of skin. “You have made your choice, then.”

It’s no question, but you nod. Cold, hollow eyes flick to you, “remember what I told you,” she says quietly, that strange glow appearing about her again. Brown melts to cocoa, mouth softening from its hard line. “You will always have a place here, remember that,” she says to you, “no matter what form you take. Do not forget yourself. Do not forget the human woman inside of you.”

————

Elain’s words are little more than a low buzz in the back of your skull as Azriel brings you to an outcropping on a weathered mountain ledge.

There’s no light in the sky tonight, the stars seemingly taking shelter within the darkness. The air is still, humid, but you’re on the wrong side of tepid. Your temperature has been rising gradually, in almost unnoticeable increments, but sweat is dampening your hair, trickling down the notches of your spine.

Azriel prowls forward to the flat rock face, canines slipping out as you hear a distinct ripping sound. He presses his taloned hand to the hewn stone, and lightening crackles in the air, fizzling in your ears, sizzling your skin. The mountain rumbles in response—Ramiel, Elain had called it—and strange symbols glow on the stone, as if lit by the light of a forge. A mix of runes and sigils that are too old to be recognised by any of your kind—perhaps even by his.

Then the wall gives way. Simply disappears. Revealing a looming passageway, sinking downward.

He turns toward you, eyes the colour of the descent that’s patiently awaiting. Why would it be eager? It know you’re going into its mouth one way or another, there’s no need for hurry.

A warm breeze licks up your spine, reminding you how your night robe is sticking uncomfortably to your skin, suctioned on by sweat. A shiver wracks your stomach, muscles seizing and spasming in the night. You take a shaky step toward him, toward the cave mouth, waiting to step foot on its cold tongue, but he stops you.

Instead, he takes you by the jaw, a razor-sharp claw presses in your mouth, a metallic liquid flowing across your tongue followed by a dull warmth. His canines press into his thumb before he pushes its pad to the incision on your wet muscle, blood mixing in your mouth. Your senses go dim, the cold biting into your feet little more than a slight pressure, the sweat on your skin little more than a light brush of misty fog, the night a little more than varying inky splotches.

A deep shadow towers over you, leaning down as you’re lifted from your feet. “Hold your breath,” he orders, softly. You follow the command, rasping in a ragged huff of night-warmed air. He steps into the rock’s mouth, and the mountain seals.

Cocooned within the damp passages, you curl into yourself, keeping air tight in your lungs. The walls press in, smelling of mildew and tilled soil. You keep tucked into him, instinctually recoiling from the passage way, the darkest grabbing at your ankles; tugging at your hair. Shadowy nails rake down the bloody chambers of your heart, eyes squeezing shut as Azriel pulls you tighter to himself.

“Release it.”

You exhale softly, feeling dizzy with the strain, like your torso will collapse with the slightest breeze. Like your ribs are full of cobwebs and dust. You head pounds the deeper he takes you, the temperate dropping steadily until you’re shivering. “Azriel…” you whisper weakly. He shushes you, fingers gently squeezing your skin, “a little longer.”

You swallow down the whimper, nestling closer, delving into his warmth as silky shadows encase your bare legs, wrapping over your arms; flowing over your chest like a thin blanket. Elain had warned you of this, had told you what to expect; how to prepare yourself for the crushing intensity of Ramiel’s stomach. How to cope with the insane pressure that’s strangling your bones of life.

Taking in a breath, you cast your mind back to the conversation, recounting the description she’d given you of her own Ritual.

————

“What happens in the Ritual?”

The tea is piping hot, almost scalding your throat as you swallow your first gulp. You gasp for air to cool your mouth, and Elain smiles softly, offering a glass of water which you take gratefully.

She sighs, leaning back in her chair, eyes going a little cloudy with memory. “It wasn’t…I struggle to speak about it,” she begins, hands cupping her mug as she peers into the milky tea. The edges of her mouth droop, shoulders sloping, “even with Lucien, it’s difficult.” She raises her head a little, meeting your gaze, something sad and remorseful flitting through her cocoa eyes.

“I thought I loved him at the time. Azriel, I mean. And I think he thought he loved me, too.” Her brow wrinkles, lips pursing as she tightens her hold on the cup. “They have a sacred mountain. It’s the only place the Ritual will work, though I never learned why. Something about a build-up of power, every Ritual performed requires a small sacrifice which infuses the mountain with magic. I don’t— I don’t know much about it, nor do I have an interest in learning.

“Even under his thrall, I knew there was something wrong with it. Like Ramiel was rejecting the very essence of my humanity. It was a discomfort deep in my bones, like something ancient and unseen was pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.” She sucks in a deep breath, straightening, taking a sip of her tea. You don’t miss the shake to her delicate hand.

“I have no time frame to offer you; everything was so distorted I have no hope of untangling it. I’m not sure what happened, just that my mind was scrambled the second he took me inside. I can recall vague impressions: some runes on the passage walls, pathways leading away—deeper into the mountain, fractals spinning in the damp rock. What I’m trying to express, is it’s unlike anything created by man. Entirely other. As if fashioned with darkness in mind; forged for the occult.

“After the descent, the narrow passage opened into a vast cave that smelled damp. Musty and unused. I can’t remember the cave in great detail—it was very dark, you see. So dark only a creature like him would be able to navigate the chamber.

“I do, however, recall being set on a raised, stone platform. It was circular, and had no end I could feel within my immediate reach. That being said, I didn’t have much control left in my body at that point so my area of mobility was severely limited.” Her eyes are milky white.

You don’t dare speak, in case it washes away the last scraps of memory she’s dredging up.

“The Ritual… As I said before, it’s not something I care for. I have no interest in understanding how it works—I’m not entirely sure any of them know what happens, or how it was set up. I remember my younger sister telling me what she knew, but it was all rumour and myth passed on tongue, predating written language.

“He warned me it would be unpleasant. He gave me a choice of how it could happen, just two options.”

You hold your breath, tea forgotten.

“I could endure it as I was, experience the change on my own. Or I could…” she stammers, features becoming a little paler. A hint of colour dusts the crests of her cheek, though she refuses to lower her head. “Or he could relieve the intensity by taking it with me.”

Your brow furrows, “what do you mean, taking it with you? I thought the Ritual…” you trail off. You don’t really know what you thought. “You said something about becoming stronger? I thought that meant being changed into one of them,” you say, swallowing. “One of you.”

She nods. “The Ritual will make you immortal, so you can live like them; exist in the Underworld and the Holy Lands.”

“What’s…? That sounds…good.” You say, slowly, considering your words. “What’s the… I mean, I can’t see an obvious reason why not to take it?” Her brow narrows slightly, and you worry you’ve said something wrong. “Living forever is not as wondrous as you might think. Watching those you love grow old while you remain young? Watching their bones crumble with the weight of the world while yours stay strong? It is not a pleasant experience.” Her voice is sharper, terser than before, and you realise this might still be an open wound for her.

You open your mouth, “exactly how old are—”

“You’re getting off topic.”

You snap your mouth shut.

She releases her grip on her teacup to take a sip, drinking daintily. “He will most likely offer you a similar choice. It is up to you which path you take. I most certainly will not fault you for either.”

You wait, fingers fidgeting in your lap, but she doesn’t continue. You shift, “is there anything else?”

Milky eyes begin to darken, returning to their colourful state of warmth. Elain shakes her head, “as I said: I remember very little. Though I would advise you to take his offer, when he gives it to you.” She shivers, but there’s no breeze. “I imagine it would be quite unpleasant without the distraction.”

————

He takes you down further, runes decorating the rock wall.

He carries you by winding passages that seem to have breezes blowing inward, as if trying to suck in wanderers. He remains steady. Fractals spin at the edges of your vision, disappearing when you try to look directly at them.

Stairs wind down, going deeper into the mountain, until you’re surely below ground level. And still you go deeper.

He carries you down until the passage opens up, revealing a vast cave, a flat stone altar at its centre. The place Elain spoke about.

You’re here.

Azriel takes a step forward, then halts. Even with your poor eyesight, you can feel the weight of his gaze. Goosebumps prickle over your skin, and you nestle into him, greedily sucking in the warmth and power that’s humming around his person.

“Isn’t this it?” You croak, feeling like death. Sweat beads on your brow, perspiration slicking your already damp skin. His eyes narrow on you, judgement weighing heavily in your stomach.

Then he turns from the altar, grip tightening on you, lips pursing.

Desperation trickles down your spine, fingers trembling as you hold him tighter. “Azriel…” you rasp, “what…? Where are you…?” Breath catches in your throat and you manage a weak cough. Shadows swirl over your torso, wrapping tighter, as if keeping you together.

“You’re weaker than the others,” he says quietly, a soft growl dragging form his throat. Shame tightens in your gut at the reminder, and you look away from him. “You’re going deeper. Where it will be more concentrated.”

Darkness writhes at his back, building over his wings as they flare, magic crackling in the air. The rock trembles, then gives way, revealing another passageway. Leading down.

You whimper, pushing into him, away from the opening. “Azriel…” you pant, “please…I can’t—” Another round of wet coughs bubble from your throat, barely enough force to dislodge whatever’s getting stuck there.

His dark eyes flick down to you, then he shifts you in his arms, lifting and moving you so your legs are tucked around his waist, arms guided gently over his shoulders. If you had the energy, you could purr. Nestle closer into him, feeling the firm press of his chest against your own, the strong muscle lining his body, the soft, silky locks at the nape of his neck.

“Hold on,” he murmurs to you, one arm beneath you to keep you up, the other around your back, pressing between your shoulder blades then trailing down to grip your waist. Your spine arches, dipping as his forearm brushes the bone, holding just above your hip.

“I just want it to be over,” you whisper onto his skin, head resting on his shoulder, tears blurring your vision. “It will be,” he replies quietly. “Just a little longer.”

Tremors skitter over your skin, limbs going limp in his arms as you weigh onto him, relaxing into his strength. Feeling each smooth step as he takes you deeper. Darker still.

The air grows thicker; more stagnant. As if previously untouched.

You shiver in his arms, only focusing on where you’re connected, the shadows soothing your skin. “How much did she tell you about this?” He asks into the darkness. You know who he means.

“A little,” you rasp, feeling weakness sink into your muscles, turning them to mud.

He nods, probably for your benefit. “This is going to be different,” he murmurs, and his hands might have tightened on you just there. You have no energy to inquire, so you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t.

“You’re going to be fine.”

It doesn’t reassure you like you had hoped.

Silence swallows your senses, and you’re pretty sure you pass out for a little, because when your eyes next open, things have changed.

No longer in the passageway, but within the mountain’s stomach—wide and cavernous. A quiet splash sounds as Azriel moves, a faint metallic smell wafting about, a suggestion of iron. Light flickers on the walls, dimly registering in your eyes as he continues forward. Carrying you to your end point.

“You’re doing this with me, right,” you whisper. Your voice breaks at the end, betraying your quiet terror. Muscle stiffens beneath you, but he continues moving.

“Yes,” he says at last, equally softly, coming to a stop. His hold lessens on you, giving you the chance to pull away. You try and sit a little straighter, weary and tired. A fatigue that’s settled into your very bones. Even sleeping forever wouldn’t get rid of it.

You peer at him through the darkness, his arms supporting you as you do so. “What’s going to happen to me?” You whisper again, tongue trembling in your mouth, feeling at once dry and like lead. Your lower lip wobbles, but you bite down, keeping it stiff. Eyes flick across his features, searching for a hint.

Something passes through his gaze, but it’s gone too quickly for you to read. Instead, one of his hands cup your cheek, pushing away the damp hair that’s plastered itself to your skin. “I’ll make sure it feels good,” he says.

Then his mouth slants delicately over yours, and you recognise the feeling it brings in.

It’s like that first time with him all over again.

Heat sings in your blood, making it boil and bubble. Scorching your skin. His name whispers through your mind, lips forming shapes of letters you’ve forgotten.

The cave is vast, a dark liquid coating the floor, and he’s taking you deeper. Red washes the stone, fire burning in tall stacks at five different points within the chamber. Humid air washes down your throat, filling your lungs, smelling faintly metallic but everything’s so dim and dark it’s impossible to tell. How bright is the flame for your eyes to pick it out?

Heart pounds in your chest, and you curl into him, needing to feel his skin. Need to feel his touch, the soft dust of fur grazing your thighs and stomach, the scratch of claws through your hair. A small sound drags from your lips, sweat beading on your brow, head twisting to bury into him.

His hands tighten around your legs, pressing your shoulders closer, tucking you into his heat, his scent wrapping around you. If you had the energy, how wonderful it would be to have him. Taste, lick, swallow, gulp. Take, need, have, own.

“Azriel…” Letters rasp from your tongue and he’s doing something—moving you. “Azriel…I need you.”

Sweat slicks your robes, dampening further as he sets you down, breasts dragging over his chest, body dragging against his own, until your feet touch that wetness. Up to your ankles. Up to your calves. Metal and iron.

Blacked out eyes find yours and breath whooshes away at the raw sight of him. Some kind of veil has been ripped off, fire and shadow burning in his pitch black gaze, an intensity thrumming beneath his skin like a heart beat, loud and clear to your ears.

The flames burn hotter, glowing brighter, pale bones holding the massive fire bowls. Blood bubbles around your feet, the cave floor flooded with the dark liquid, the vastness of some past slaughter vaguely dawning in your mind. How much life is contained within the dark lagoon, the immense strain of power that’s glittering just beneath it.

“This isn’t…?” You look at him weakly, his hands on your hips, keeping your pressed to his front. “…where am I?” He blinks, and you catch the thin layer of film that slides across his eyes just before his eyelids snap shut, and open. “Undress.”

You stare at him, too sickly to muster up a reply. You just stare. “Where am I?”

When he leans down, fingers hooking in your robe, making to pull it off, you don’t have the will to protest. The scrape of his talons up the backs of your thighs setting the liquid heat in the pit of your belly bubbling. A reminder of his touch, how it feels to have his hands on you. How it feel to have him on you. It’s what you’re craving.

So you melt.

Eyes roll to the back of your skull and you stagger, shadows winding up your legs, sliding up your spine, bracing your torso as the arousal slams your mind into a stone wall. Hands grip onto him, nails stabbing at his tough skin as you cling for stability. “Azriel…” you pant, panic twining with your plead.

His eyes gleam in the ruby light, orange and gold flickering across his skin, “yes?” Fangs glint under the flame, catching the sparks on the white enamel. Grinning.

Your vision tilts, and your grip tightens, skin pressing onto him, arms winding around him, fingers dragging over him as you begin to push yourself into his body. You nose at him, taking in his scent and you can feel him shifting beneath your finger tips. Liquid arousal gathers between your thighs as leather dissolves to soft fur, the constraint of clothing turning to nothing. Warm, sturdy muscle surfacing. Should you look up you would be met with a beast. Fangs to slice into your throat, talons to dig into your flesh, eyes to pierce into your soul.

A moan spills from your lips, breaths becoming shallow as that incessant itch becomes deeper and deeper and you need him, need him, need him.

He laughs, deep and dark, tipping you upward by a hand to the throat. Feels you swallow. “Want me?” He asks. The ghostly brush of his lips over your own. Your brows curve upward at the cruel question.

Of course you want him. Can barely think of anything else.

Eyes flutter shut, tilting toward him. Elongated fangs graze your lips. Press closer, and they slice.

You tip over the edge.

Hands slide up over his shoulders, hooked talons wrap around your waist, trapping you against him. Mouth opens up, teeth slicing at your lips but blood tastes good. Thick and rich. Aches blossom on your tongue, stinging dulling and healing then reopening as his saliva heals and his canines create those delicious incisions as you kiss him. Tongue flicks out, pressing up the razor-sharp canine, hot, spiced liquid bursting between you, dripping down your chin.

You moan loudly into his mouth, his name playing on repeat in your head as you plead for him, arousal thrumming and humming and buzzing across your sin, zapping the sensitive space between your legs.

Nails drag through his hair, pressing up onto your tiptoes to be closer. His hands slide down over your rear and you moan into his mouth, blood and pleasure mixing and his claws rip through the white robe. Skin is bare and wonderfully free. Fur soft and silky and you could cry at the sweet sensation.

Azriel snarls into your mouth and you want to give him more, want him to bite into your flesh and take you apart in the most appetising way possible. With great control, you pull away, only in favour of moving his hot lips to the soft expanse of your throat. Urging him to bite, to drink, to feed.

The wet muscle laps out, pleasure and pain singing down your spine seconds later as he buries himself in you, hot, thick blood spilling down your shoulder, saturating the remains of your dress. Head tips back, lips parting in silent euphoria. He growls at the taste, pushing deeper, drinking more and more, until you’re swaying on your feet.

Hands release you, blood swallows you.

Falling back into the sanguine pool.

You moan as the rich liquid warms your skin, coating you, bathing you in power. Darkens your hair with wetness. Spine arches at the sheer immorality of the scene. The darkest depravity as you bathe yourself in blood. Gleams on your teeth, colouring your lips as you smile, tongue flicking out as you stare up at him.

His grin is like none other he’s given you. Pure beast, pure animal. Too wide, and too eager to be anything remotely human. You don’t care.

He steps forward, and you move back, pushing away from him slowly—teasingly. It’s never a good idea to taunt a wolf, but here you are, a lamb wandering into the butcher’s hands, trotting up and pleading for the carving knife. Bowing her neck for the severing slice.

The rock shifts beneath you, blood growing shallower, beast drawing closer. Herding you to the butchering block. You follow his guide, moving to be atop the hewn stone, where the hot liquid laps at your sides instead of swallowing you whole.

Dark lines pulse beneath his skin, veins of blackness thrumming beneath the fur lining his stomach, mapping a pathway down his abdomen. He reaches the foot of the slope, and begins prowling upward, slowly closing in on you. There’s not a single part of you that’s afraid of him, every inch of skin craving to be adored and devoured. Absolutely massacred.

His clawed hand encases your ankle roughly, pulling your leg toward him, blood dripping from your calves down into the pool. Teeth open over your flesh, bitting and kissing his way up as your spine arches at his own form of worship.

When you have fangs like his, you’ll return the favour.

Dark eyes pierce into you, your legs bend at the knees, flickering with interest. Your grin doesn’t belong to a lamb. He know that, too.

Starving hunger blazes in his gaze, a quiet moan exhaling from your lips as you open wider for him. Lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl, and he pounces. One hand slams down on your shoulder, rock biting into your back as he snarls, low and viciously. Blood drips off your chest, nipples peeking beneath his ravenous attention. Teeth bite into your neck, and you know he’s hitting that first scar mark, setting it deeper, making sure it sticks.

Rough stone slices into your skin, but you don’t care. The blood from the cave seeps into your skin, but you don’t care. Something powerful and wicked, ancient and entirely malevolent claws at your insides, rendering you anew, and you just. Don’t. Care.

You moan louder when you feel the weight of his length over your slick heat, a growl rumbling through his chest, and you could swear deep whispers fill the vast cave. Chanting, speaking in tongues. He pays them no mind, so neither do you. Not even as the blood really does begin to bubble, or as the fire drips from the golden bowls, beginning to form a ring.

Nails dig into his back, wings flaring in a display of dominance and ownership as the tip of his cock presses against your entrance. Your hips wind against him, begging for him to push in, to fill you so full there’s no room for anything else. Until everything is out of you, and you’re left empty and gloriously silent.

Azriel’s fingers thread through your hair, thumb smearing the blood across your cheek, and you catch the tip of his talon on your tongue. He groans at the action, pressing the plushness of your lower lip, angling the digit so his claw can slide inside. The wet muscle flicks over the pad of him thumb, eyes latched onto his as you slice and carve yourself upon him.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your eyes roll back with pleasure, knowing what’s coming. So caught up in his web of sin you don’t notice as the sickness burrows deeper, curling within you, painting you in his self.

“Azriel…” you pant, “deeper.”

His eyes gleam with satisfaction and something far more sinister but you have no care to examine it in detail. All you care about is how big he is, how he’s filling you up as he presses in, keeping you pinned to the bloody floor of the dim chamber. His lips twist into a hellish smile, teeth slicked in red as they gleam with golden firelight. Fire that’s still spilling from the bowls, tightening the ring until it’s trapping you both inside.

Slowly, they begin to carve a five-pointed star through the pool.

The two of you at its epicentre.

His hips press tight against your own, and whimpers ebb from your lips, flowing to his ears as your iron-tinged scent wraps around him, keeping him locked in a haze of pleasure. He basks in the wet heat of your cunt, the soft press of your thighs tightening around his hips, urging him to move. He dips down once more, mouth opening over your own in a messy kiss—messy from the razor-like teeth. A mouth filled with tiny blades.

The world spins a little as his hips drawn back, then push in.

The dark cave pool heats, steam rising from its surface as the fire blazes brighter, finally completing its symbol. Trapping you within. No matter this is nothing like what Elain described. This is so much better.

He slams in to the hilt, and fire crackles in your heart. Lightening sizzling your bones, scorching your skin. Cooking you from the inside out. Pain blares in your marrow, inner lips stinging as your gums ache from tiny lacerations, splitting.

Splitting as fangs force their way through your flesh, ripping at tissue as teeth grow. Teeth matching his. Two canines protruding from your upper lip. You can hear his hearts beat, tripping in a triple rhythm of three.

You open your mouth over his shoulder, still pounding into you, and you bite.

He howls, the roar sending ripples through the bubbling blood, making the flames flicker. He coats your tongue, spilling into your mouth, filling your stomach as your bones and muscle shift. Tighten over one another, bonding to become stronger. Other.

The cave becomes lighter, snapping from blinding colour to pitch black, until they finally settle. The smell you’d be veiled from finally hits you, and you gag. The metallic stink shoves itself up your nostrils but magic crackles in the air and it’s gone. His magic.

Azriel pulls away, and pleasure tightens in your belly as you mark the puncture wounds stamped onto his shoulder. His hips slam up against yours and claws rake down his back.

His pupils dilate, and he’s shoving you down into the pool, one massive paw splaying across your chest, talons hooking you in place. A scream rips from your lips as the transformation passes over your lower body, unimaginable pleasure crashing into you, bludgeoning your brain as it’s sizzled and scorched. Vision blurs as euphoria rips at your skin, head tipping back, saturating your hair in the liquid magic.

There’s hardly time for breath before your muscles are acting for you, guiding you to what you need.

Claws dig into him, sinking into flesh as he’s flipped onto his back, allowing you to straddle his hips. You snarl down at him, revelling in the pulse of power that’s gliding through you, filling you with life and energy and anger.

So much fury that had the cave not been cast in red before, it would become bloodied to your eyes. All the repressed rage that had been slowly building, every snap of jealousy, every burn of envy. Everything gloriously sinful, awakens.

The mountain trembles as ire glitters in your blood, keeping Azriel trapped beneath you as you finally take. You take, and steal, and rob, just as he had done to you.

He snarls in fury but there’s so much power within you now, binding and raging at the sight of freedom he remains floored.

Your hips wind over his, cock buried deep inside of you, and the snarl cuts to a blissed out moan. Hands grip your hips, talons unable to slice your leathery skin as he helps lift you up to his tip, then slam you down. He bucks upward simultaneously, spurred on by the sharp jerk of your hips as you grind onto him. Pleasure sings and your head falls back, allowing him to use you—to give you the world.

Snarls and growls rumble in your chest, tongue flicking over your blood-coated teeth. His blood. And you smile.

Wild. Feral. Unhinged.

You look down at him, the red, toothy grin on your lips as claws slash out from your fingertips. Moans flow as you bring them down upon him, slicing into his skin, crimson droplets beading in their wake before the lacerations heal.

His eyes gleam with pride as you raise your nails to your mouth, tongue flicking out to taste him, pleasure buzzing in your head, fluttering between your legs. His satisfaction curls deep in your chest, sharpening the edge you’re riding.

Your hips swirl over his and it’ll only take a few more…

A few more and then—

You scream.

An otherworldly, beastly howl.

His eyes widen with hunger and awe as your head tips back, and you come on his cock, nails stabbing into the muscle of his stomach, burying in the soft fur that trails to his abdomen.

Words once again rip from your mind, leaving only feeling and wonder as he continues slamming up into you. Overstimulation wracks your body, but you can’t summon the will to order him to stop. Spasms tense your muscles, everything going taut then supple, Flashing so quickly between the two that it’s absolute heaven for him. Pounding up into your heat as you flutter and tighten around his cock, urging him to spill into you.

Your hips move of their own accord, as if able to sense how much he wants to fill you up, how desperately he needs to pump you full of is cum until you’re unable to move or breathe without some spilling.

You urge him on as you squeeze him, hips winding and bucking even as your mind goes blank, world spinning and tripping with the overload.

The pentagram flares with power, zapping your skin until you’re tingling all over and he roars. Hot, thick cum spurts into you and you moan. Vision blurs with pleasure, fangs biting into your lower lip until blood trickles down, dripping from your chin onto your breasts, splattering across his stomach.

The muscles flex as his hand slides into your hair, dragging your mouth to his as your fangs collide, carving up one another in the frenzy. You groan as his cock shifts inside of you from the movement, body answering as you grow, fur dusting the soft skin between your legs in luscious, thick swirls.

His lip pulls back from his teeth with pleasure, matching your shift, cock widening beneath the base as you continue roughly winding over him.

You’re still so dizzy and so dumbed out—tunnel vision leading you to the next high.

You grip him back, hands brutally gripping his silky, blood-slicked hair as you eagerly devour him, breasts dragging over his chest. Nipples grazing his skin, bodies pressed so tight against one another you could pass for one single, hellish creature.

Soft snarls bounce off the cave walls that had been previously untouched for centuries, smelling slightly damp but now filled with arousal.

Claws click together as you grip and grab.

Teeth and talons snap, biting and scraping over skin.

Humanity shredded to pieces.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

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[theostrophywife]

the prince of hell.

my love is a mindless flight risk, never on time but god he's timeless he's a villain, he's a saint, he's a hero—he's a fucking renegade author's note: i've scoured high and low for demon!azriel fics and couldn't find any, so i thought why not write it myself? there will definitely be multiple parts of this. as always, thank @writingsbychlo for listening and participating in my rants about dark daddy az.

song inspiration: masterpiece by sam short.

The church bells tolled in the packed cathedral as you walked through the crowded pews. Each ring that reverberated against the stone walls mimicked the beat of your heart. 

One. Your father clutched your arm, his ironclad grip preventing you from bolting. The false smile he wore held no warmth. Only greed for what he stood to earn by pawning off his only daughter like a prized mare. 

Two. Your mother looked up from her seat at the front of the altar, and the words she had spoken to you before the ceremony echoed through your mind like a death sentence. You’ll learn to love him, she said. As I learned how to love your father. 

Three. Your betrothed leered at you, hunger dancing behind his cold, dead eyes. I will break you, his wicked smile seemed to say. Then I will mold you into a perfect, obedient wife. 

With each step, you came closer and closer to sealing your fate. The shaky breath you released fluttered through your lace veil like a ripple in the ocean. As the hem of your wedding dress kissed the marble mosaic floor, you screwed your eyes shut and prayed. 

Please, you pleaded. Please, save me.

Thunder rumbled through the church. Screams erupted from all sides. The ground beneath you shook as the earth cracked open to release mist and fog from the bowels of hell. 

In the midst of chaos, a winged figure emerged from the shadows. Your heart skipped a beat as you caught sight of the beautiful male. Cloaked in darkness, a pair of familiar glowing golden eyes locked onto yours from across the room. 

The Prince of Hell smiled. “Hello, my heart.”

He had a face like heaven and a voice like sin. A small voice in the back of your head warned you to be afraid, but your heart warred against logic. While everyone else in the room screamed in terror at the sight of the devil, you only saw salvation.

“Azriel,” you breathed. His name sounded like a prayer on your lips. 

You had never seen him before, at least not while you were awake. But you knew that face. You dreamt of him every night. 

Azriel was your favorite fantasy. The beautiful male that took you away from your monotonous life. A figment of your imagination that symbolized all the things that awaited in the world beyond, should you ever be afforded the chance to escape becoming someone’s simpering, obedient little wife. 

He wasn’t supposed to be real, but yet here he was in the flesh. 

“You’re here,” you said, hardly believing the words yourself. “You came.” 

The Prince of Hell pierced you with his gaze. “I will always come for you.”

From behind him, your groom-to-be flicked dust and ash from his doublet before glancing at Azriel with contempt. “Who the hell are you?”

The male was either exceptionally brave or extremely stupid. 

The Prince of Hell regarded Alaric as one would a cockroach—with thinly veiled disgust and the desire to crush the pesky little insect beneath his boot. 

“I am death.” Azriel purred, his voice laced with the promise of violence. “I am shadow and darkness, the monster that haunts your nightmares. I am the Prince of Hell and I have come to collect my bride.”

He held out a scarred hand towards you, barely sparing a glance at Alaric. The male bristled with pride and stepped between you and Azriel. 

Something dark and dangerous flashed in the Prince of Hell’s eyes as he came face to face with Alaric. The side by side contrast emphasized how otherworldly Azriel was. Though he took on a mortal form, there was nothing human about him. 

His ethereal features were slashed with fury, dark hair rippling in waves to frame his flawless face. Flecks of amber burned like embers within his eyes and the contrast against his golden-brown skin further illuminated his strange and cruel beauty. 

“You must be mistaken,” Alaric declared, puffing his chest. “She is my betrothed. We are to be wed this very day.”

Azriel glanced around the room, taking in the stained glass windows and rosewood pews of the crowded cathedral. The people that hadn’t managed to escape trembled in fear under his watchful eyes. The corners of Azriel’s full lips sloped into a frown as he dragged his gaze towards you, examining your white dress and wild expression.

“Your betrothed does not wish to marry you, mortal. ” Azriel declared, his voice barely above a whisper yet full of lethal cold. 

“She is promised to me,” Alaric replied. “I have paid the bride price.”

The humorless laugh that slipped past Azriel’s lips was devoid of emotion. His gaze cut to your father, who cowered behind the marble altar. With one glance, shadows wreathed through his limbs and yanked him towards the Prince of Hell. 

“Tell this male that he is mistaken,” Azriel commanded. 

Your father paled, fear and trepidation evident on his face. “P-p-please, my Prince,” his voice was high and desperate. “I assumed you had forgotten. Years had passed since our bargain, and you hadn’t returned so I—“

“Thought to deceive the Prince of Hell?” Azriel seethed and his shadows whipped violently, tightening their grip on your sniveling father. “Did you not think that this day of reckoning would come?” Shadows brought him to his knees before the dark prince. “A bargain is a bargain, mortal. I want what was promised,” his eyes were feverish as they landed on you. “I want her.”

Your mother blanched in horror as she looked up at her husband. “What have you done?”

“I was only doing what I thought was best!” your father cried. “When famine ravaged the countryside, I grew desperate. I prayed to the old gods, but none of them answered. The Prince—he offered fertile lands and a bountiful harvest in exchange for a bride.” 

“Then what?” you said bitterly. “The reward Azriel offered was not enough for your selfish, greedy heart, was it father? You weren’t satisfied, so you thought to sell me off once again?”

“I did it for our family. We have land! We have gold! We have riches beyond imagination! I have secured a match above your station so you may live comfortably for the rest of your life. I did this for you.”

Tears welled in your eyes. The realization that your father had traded you like some bargaining chip, not once but twice made your stomach roil. You’ve always known that he was a greedy bastard, but you didn’t think he’d go this far. 

“No, father,” you said with mirthless laughter. “You did this for yourself.”

Your father struggled against his restraints as he turned towards his wife. “Tell her,” he coaxed, his words full of despair. “Tell her that I only wanted what was best for her.”

“You promised our daughter to the devil!” your mother screamed, her voice echoing against the stone walls. 

You wanted to tell her that Azriel wasn’t a monster. That he’d held you in your dreams, comforted you when you cried, listened to every wish and whim that you whispered into the night, but she wouldn’t have understood. None of them would. 

“It’s okay, mother,” you said, attempting to appease her agony. “Azriel won’t hurt me.”

As his expression softened, you knew that you’d spoken true. Azriel nodded in agreement. “I would never hurt you,” he declared. His attention cut back to your father. “Him, on the other hand, I have no qualms about inflicting pain upon.”

Your father squirmed in place, shooting a pleading look in your direction. The shadows tightened around his neck like a noose. “Please,” he begged with wide eyes. “Please, have mercy.”

He sounded frantic and desperate, exactly how you had been days ago when you pleaded with him not to wed you to Alaric. Your father hadn’t listened to you then. With your roles reversed, it was tempting to let his pleas fall upon deaf ears, but you decided to be the bigger person.

Azriel waited for your cue. You shook your head and watched as his shadows receded. 

“Thank you,” your father said. “Thank you, daughter.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” you snapped. “I did it for me. From this day forth, I want nothing to do with you. I wish to be free. I am no longer your daughter.”

Hurt and anger flashed through your father’s eyes, but you didn’t care. This was your chance. You could finally rid yourself of this dreary existence. Feeling lighter than you had in years, you turned your attention back to the Prince of Hell. He smiled as you took a step forward.

“Not so fast,” Alaric hissed. “What about what I am owed? I paid for you. I own you.” You shot him a cutting glare as his fingers curled around your wrist. 

Anger bubbled up within you as you bared your teeth at the horrid male. “I am not a piece of cattle to be traded for gold.” Alaric glared as you shoved him away. 

His hateful beady eyes focused on you as he closed the gap between you. “And yet your father sold you like a fattened calf.” His grip on your arm tightened. “You should be flattered. I purchased you for a considerable amount of gold and I expect a return on my investment.” A blade shimmered in Alaric’s hand as he held it up to your throat. “Either from your father or your beloved demon.”

The Prince of Hell was rage and wrath personified. “You want payment, mortal?” Azriel asked, his eyes cold and hard and full of malice. “Very well, then. I will trade you my heart for yours.”

Alaric barely had time to react before Azriel was upon him. Shadows sheltered you from harm while the Prince of Hell slammed the foolish male to the ground. The floor shuddered from the impact as Azriel’s dark wings flared behind his powerful back. You watched in stunned silence as he plunged his scarred fingers into Alaric’s chest, tearing through flesh and bone with brutal efficiency. 

The scream that tore through Alaric’s throat was horrific. Cries of terror echoed through the cathedral once more and those who were able to flee did so with haste. But Azriel was deathly silent as he wrapped a fist around Alaric’s heart. Blood trickled through his wrists and pooled at his feet like crimson tears as he yanked the still beating heart out of the male’s chest. 

The carnage and gore incited a chorus of desperate pleas. Some retched, some clawed at their eyes.

But you simply locked gazes with the Prince of Hell.

As the male beneath him took his last pathetic breath, Azriel tossed his heart on the marble altar. It was sacrilege at its finest. A dark offering. A blasphemous statement to the gods above of the lengths he would go to for you.

“A promise,” he declared, addressing the petrified crowd. Azriel glanced down at the dead male crumpled beneath his feet. “This is what will become of anyone who presumes to come between me and my bride.”

You watched with bated breath as he walked towards you. With bloodstained hands, Azriel caressed your cheek with surprising gentleness. His touch was warm and soft, just as it had always been in your dreams. You closed your eyes, relishing the feel of him. 

“Are you hurt?” Azriel asked softly. His thumb stroked against your cheek, painting a streak of scarlet against your skin. Azriel frowned at the sight of blood and made a move to draw his hand back, but you only laced your fingers through his. 

You looked up to find him studying you. Searching for fear. Waiting for you to scream in terror and run in the opposite direction. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him and sobbed. Azriel was stunned for a second, but he recovered quickly and scooped you up into his arms. He seemed to understand that in this moment, all you needed was to be held.

“I’m fine,” you said through your tears. “I’m fine now that you’re here.”

The Prince of Hell placed a tender kiss on your temple as his wings wrapped around you like a blanket. “Come, my heart,” he murmured in a soothing voice. “Let me take you home.”

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria @navyblue-eternity @margssstuff

#demon azriel is going to be a ride #which is great cause i would like to ride him #azriel #azriel fic #azriel smut #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel spymaster #azriel/reader

[shadowsxgwynriel]

What The Shadows Hide

Synopsis: When Gwyn goes out on the night of Calanmai to search for a missing priestess, she’ll soon find out that something lurks in the shadows . . .

Word Count: 4,100

Read on AO3

Warning: Dubcon, Tail play, Shadow play, NSFW, Brief mentions of murder

This is a spin-off/loosely connected to @separatist-apologist demon series. A big thanks to her for allowing me to play around in her world for a little. 🤗

Also, thanks bestie @sunshinebingo for helping me settle on a name 😘

Snippet:

“You mustn’t go out right now, Gwyn,” Roslin cautioned.

The sound of drums beat faintly in the distance, like they were calling to someone. It was an ominous sound, but Gwyn wasn’t deterred. Several young women, some of them priestesses, had gone missing in the weeks leading up to Calanmai. There had been whispers of monsters, demons, stealing them away to feast on their flesh. Others had suggested that they had taken them in preparation for the yearly celebration.

Calanmai was a night that the demons supposedly roamed the lands freely. Apparently their magic was at its highest and replenished the earth every year. Gwyn had never really believed the stories about flesh eating demons or the ones that said the demons were sex starved beasts. It was all just an old wives tale as far as she was concerned.

“She’s right,” Deirdre agreed. “Come to the service with us.”

In conjunction with Calanmai, the priestesses held a service. A sort of celebration of their own, where they sang hymns and prayed all night. It was to ward off any evil and to bring forth good omens for the rest of the year.

#gwynriel #gwyn and azriel #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel smut #demon azriel

[utterlyotterlyx]

Constellations

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - Azriel can't allow himself to stand on the side lines anymore and watch as yet another male tries to take you away from him.

Warnings - oblivious reader and Az, angst, pining, Az and Nes being cuties, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), lots of fluff, flirting

There were constellations in your eyes.

That was what everyone had said when they'd first met you, alluding to the clear fact that you were a deep daydreamer whenever you sprang to topic, which was more often than you'd think.

Prythian bowed to you, everyone in every nook and cranny in any court knew who you were. A shining star in a court of nightmares.

Every one of the High Lords held a special affection toward you, often asking you to leave Rhysand and the inner circle and join them instead. Helion had made a point of his fondness by making a comment about how other-worldly you looked in Day Court gold, and then later on teasing Rhys about how he would one day succeed in his desire.

Everyone could beg and plead for you as much as they wished, but none of their affection could rival how Azriel felt about you.

Azriel was your shadow. Wherever you went meant that the Shadowsinger stalked not too far behind. He would sit with you and hum whilst you ran your fingers through his hair, each touch sending lightening soaring through his soul. He would walk around Velaris with you endlessly if it meant that he could see that almost childlike wonder in your eyes when you looked at the same restaurant or bookshop that had surely seen a thousand times before. He would soothe away your nightmares, allowing his shadows to pepper your skin in sweet pecks as he held you, and he would let you get close enough to soothe him when his own demons plagued him.

That's why, when he stood to the side of the room with a whisky in hand, did he want to tear apart the male who dared to speak to you. Helion was no regular male. But, as you giggled at one of his flirtatious jokes and rested your hand on his chest, Azriel became sure that he could make him scream like one.

Helion was visiting from the Day Court and it was the last night of his stint, so Rhys had suggested that you all go to Rita's, to relax from the toll of the week. The High Lord in question needed access to a couple of special tomes in one of Velaris' archives, you and Rhys had agreed that the tomes were too valuable to allow outside of the city, so Helion had to come to you. Like all he wanted was another excuse to be around you.

Azriel couldn't blame Helion for it.

Azriel believed that you were the most precious thing on the planet. 500 years of friendship and you stunned him more and more each day with your anecdotes and the innocent chatter that always filled the room.

"He's really trying this again?" Nesta asked, appearing beside him at the railing, wanting to take a moment away from the family madness before Cassian dragged her to dance for the fifth time that night.

"Can you blame him?"

The top three buttons of his shirt were left untethered, exposing that rock hard muscle beneath that was ink kissed and shimmering. Azriel couldn't stop looking at you, you were wearing that dress that you loved so much, sheer white and glittered in fine crystals, a low scooped back that fell perfectly on your figure. It was the only thing that could truly take his breath away.

"When are you going to tell her that you love her?" Nesta gazed at you, she'd never admit it but you were definitely her favourite, she held a special spot for you in her heart, just how everyone did really. "You need to tell her," she turned to him and he peered down on her with a sincerity she'd never seen, "She's incredible, Az. She's not the kind of girl you let get away. Go and love her before someone else does."

"She deserves better than me, Nes," his sad gaze lifted to you, you were starlight and he was shadow, you were pure and he was horribly tainted, and he couldn't have his darkness snuffing out your light.

Nesta gently pulled his sight from the dancefloor, making him focus on her by keeping her palm grazing against his cheek, "You're not a very good spymaster if you can't see how she looks at you."

Azriel didn't know what to say, he just knew that he had to get to you. He rounded Nesta and descended onto the dancefloor, barging past the grinding bodies with you in his sight, sipping your drink and smiling brightly at Helion who was stood far too close to you. You always felt Azriel looming, his shadows curling around your ankles always being a tell-tale sign that he was close.

Your eyes followed the trails of his shadows until you found their owner, your brows furrowed at the urgency he wore whilst he kept glancing at Helion with a tight jaw. It was unsettling.

"I need to speak to you," he pleaded, taking a step closer to you and you had no choice but to look up at him, to let those rippling pools of hazel drown you.

"Az, is every-"

"Please," he cut you off, reaching for you but not quite touching, like he was waiting for your agreement so that he could whisk you away.

You had never seen Azriel look so pained, so pleading and desperate. Without a word to Helion, you nodded and Azriel's fingers slid around your wrists, pulling you into a whirl of colour until you stood on a floor that you recognised and Rita's faded away.

The cabin was warm, everything was in place and tidy, that scent burning wood and orange that clung to the cabin flooded your lungs and made you shiver with delight. You had always loved the place, how perfectly small it was for a lone escape, where you could watch the snow fall from the bay window with a hot chocolate in hand and blanket wrapped tightly around your legs.

It took you a moment to centre yourself, and when you turned, you saw Azriel stood there, head hung low and wings drooped but relishing in the comfortable warmth of where you both were, "What's wrong, Az?"

The only light illuminating the cabin was from the fire, that crackling beast that sent gold and orange light roaring across the space, it welcomed in the faint glow of the moon that spilled onto the floor like an old friend.

"You can't go with Helion," he told you, well, more blurted at you.

"Go with Helion?" You asked and he nodded, anger bubbled in your chest, "Why would I ever do that?"

"He's wanted to take you from us for so long," 200 years to be exact, "Who could blame him, you're the most incredible thing that Prythian has ever made. I thank the Mother every day for you."

"What?"

"Please let me finish," he hated cutting you off, he hated being the reason that you were silenced, "If you speak now, I'll never be able to say what I have to say, what I need to say."

Azriel watched your face soften, the anger that threatened to boil over now evaporated, he watched you move to the sofa and sit down, patting the empty space beside you. He didn't know how you did it, how you could make someone feel so comfortable and heard, he thought about it as he took the seat beside you and heaved in a deep breath, curling one of his wings around you as if he was scared that you'd bolt.

"I love you, Y/N. I love your kindness, how you've never been scared of me. I love the way your eyes sparkle when you're talking about something you're passionate about. I love how you scrunch your nose when you're deep in thought. I love the way you bolt through the streets of Velaris before solstice to make sure everyone is as spoilt as possible. I love you, Y/N. I love everything that you are and everything that we can be, I can't lose you, I don't know who or what I'd be without you."

"There is no one who knows you like I do. I know that you sneak an extra spoonful of sugar into your hot chocolate before Nesta can catch you and tell you off," you smiled softly, "I know that you secretly hate shopping with Mor but would much rather suffer than tell her and take some of her spark away. I know that you can never tell Cassian that Nesta is your favourite unless you wanted to see him sulk for weeks," a soft laugh flew from your lips, "I know you're the reason that Rhys, Cass and I turned out so well, you're the only person we couldn't bear to disappoint."

Not once did you stop looking at him as he spoke. He loved you. Azriel really loved you.

"You love me?" Azriel nodded gently, "But, what about Elain? I thought..."

"Me and Elain?" Azriel's eyes were frantic, "No, Y/N. Gods no. You're the only one I've ever wanted, I tried to love someone else, I tried to love Mor, and maybe on some level I tried to find that with Elain. But no one could ever compare to you, anyone who isn't you aren't worth it."

Silence filled the air, that warm, golden hued air. Azriel was trying to read your mind, to figure out what you were thinking when you started laughing, tears pooled at your bottom lids and one blink sent them flowing down your cheeks. Azriel shuffled closer to you, taking his thumb and wiping away your tears before they dripped from your chin.

"We're so stupid, Az," you sniffled, letting him cradle your face in his hands and continue to wipe away any tears that fell from your eyes, "How could we be so blind?"

"What do you mean?"

Tilting your head to the side, your eyes sparkled, just how they did when you looked at or spoke about something you loved, then you felt it, that tension that had always tugged at your soul snapping into place, clouds of grey became clear sunny skies, and a golden thread soared across it and thrummed with yearning delight.

"I mean," you tugged on that thread, you watched his eyes widen and fill with disbelief, "That I love you too. So much."

"You're my mate," he confessed in a whisper, the bond sprouting into full bloom around you, like you could both see the tendrils of thread sewing your souls together.

Azriel's breath fanned across your face, hot and laced with the scent of whisky, the tip of his nose ran down the slope of your own, and you felt his lips lie millimetres away from yours, you watched his eyes search your soul before flickering downward to the place he craved to touch. Anticipation pulled at your chest and swelled in your stomach, and every bit of doubt vanished when he closed the gap and pressed his lips to yours.

It was like everything fell into place, like the world only began to make sense in that moment. Azriel's lips moved against yours hungrily, the sweep of his tongue into your mouth once you had granted him permission to taste you was enough to make your knees go weak. Heat pooled between your legs and you scrambled to be on top of him, the hem of your dress hitched around your thighs as you rested into his lap.

"Please, Az," you breathed between starving kisses, "I need you."

Azriel's hands moved from the back of your neck and the small of your back, reaching around to grip underneath your thighs, so dangerously close to where you needed him to be. He lifted you, not once breaking the connection of your lips, locking your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom.

"I'm not making you mine on a couch," he lay you on the bed and climbed on top of you, running his fingers down the sides of your thighs, making your back arch as he peppered kisses down your neck, sucking and nibbling on the skin he found there.

You squirmed beneath him, itching to rip his clothes off and allow him to take every part of you, "Please," you whined into his hair, his hand palming your breasts and lips attached to your earlobe, making soft moans fall through your stumbling mouth.

"Tell me what you want," his voice was so deep that it made goosebumps rise across your skin, it was sultry and dark, it matched the shade of his eyes when he pulled away to look down on you with swollen lips and tousled hair. "I'll give you everything."

"I want you."

It was all he needed to hear in order to tear your dress in two and take your hardened nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting on them gently, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nubs of nerves that had you gasping and eyes rolling to the back of your head. You felt like your body was on fire as he kept moving downward, littering kisses down your stomach before resting between your thighs.

The cold air against your core made you gasp again, he ran a finger down your soaked folds and moaned, "You're so wet for me," his voice vibrated against the inside of your thighs, "So perfect," he mumbled before his tongue dragged a line up you, and then again, and again until you were a blubbering mess fisting your fingers through his hair.

Azriel flicked his tongue against that familiar bundle of nerves, curling his tongue around it and sucking on it gently so that he didn't overstimulate you. Stars crept in to the sides of your vision, that hot white heat building in the pit of your stomach, "Don't stop," they were barely coherent words but he heard you and kept his pace, teasing a finger around your entrance before slowly pushing it in an curling it upward.

It sent you toppling off the edge. That white heat burst from you, loud cries of his name flew from your lips and your hands gripped his wrists, stars poured into your eyes and Azriel pushed you through your high.

Too lost in the mind shattering orgasm he had just given you, you didn't feel his hands ran up your back and lock around the back of your neck, you didn't realise that your torso and head were propped up in his arms or see his wings flex above you, "Angel," he cooed, he clenched his hands into your hair and pressed his lips along your jaw, "Let me take care of you."

Azriel was bare before you, his length solid and resting against your thigh, "Make me yours, Az."

Azriel growled, his eyes darkened with possession, "Tell me if it's too much and we can stop," you nodded breathlessly and he kissed you again, harder this time as he pushed himself inside of you, your walls still quivering and pulsating around him.

Once he was pushed to the hilt inside of you, he groaned, it was deep and guttural, the most incredible sound you'd ever heard. Azriel gave you a moment, and you tapped his shoulder lightly to get him to move, you were needing him to move, it was getting too much. Your soul was burning with desire and you needed him to satisfy it before it completely ignited you.

Your mate thrusted into you, the roll of his hips reaching angles you didn't know existed, he took your nipple in his mouth again, growling as his pace quickened and the sound of slapping flesh and declarations of love filled the air.

"You're so beautiful, Angel," his lips found yours again and his movements became sloppy, "I'm so close," he felt your warmth tighten around him, ready to milk his cock as high pitched mewls exploded from your lips, "There she is, my perfect mate."

Azriel's fingers wound in your hair, pressing your forehead to his as he slammed into you, riding you both through those searing hot highs and continuing the long strokes as you both fell down, "I'm yours, Az. I'm all yours."

Authors Note

😌

#fanfiction #imagine #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #azriel x reader #cassian #maasverse #mor acotar #rhysand #nesta #nesta x cassian #nesta x azriel #fluff #angst #elain archeron #helion acotar #helion x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Bonus Part — Fin x Reader.

Summary: A reimagining of how things would have gone if Reader had decided she wanted Fin — despite him being her friend’s father.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Heavy on the smut. 18+, minors dni. Some jealous and possessiveness. Mentions of forbidden relationships/affairs. If the choices Reader makes in this are something you’re against, I urge you not to read! 🫶🏻

Rita’s is like no other place you’ve been — or seen — before.

Is this what you’ve missed out on, trapped within the frozen maw of Windhaven? There is no place like this there, of such vibrancy and euphoria. The music, the coloured faelights, the energy — it all makes you feel…on top of the world.

Like there’s life outside the misery you’ve known.

Mor knocks a shot back, grimacing as she slams the empty glass onto the bar. A sudden burst of giggles leaves her as she says, “My father would have my head if he could see me right now. Literally.”

You don’t doubt that for a second, because Mor looks resplendent, not just in her natural beauty, but her joy. She has danced and drank and kissed and danced some more. And seeing her like this…it makes you glad that she convinced you to come out with her tonight.

“My father would have my head, too,” you tell her over the music. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

At that, she rolls her eyes, and she reaches for two more shots. “Here’s to saying fuck the males,” she knocks her glass against yours. “May they all perish.”

You’ll happily drink to that. With the alcohol that has you in its grip, you’re buzzed on thoughts of storming back to Windhaven and confronting all your demons. Confronting anyone and everyone who has ever hurt you and made you feel less than you are. Your father. Lord Devlon. Azriel—

You banish that thought as the liquid slides down your throat with a satisfying burn. You are in Velaris, not Windhaven. A new place with new people, where anything feels possible. The thought is heady and dizzying.

Someone calls Mor’s name, and she glances over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes lighting up again. You truly don’t know how often she’s able to escape the Hewn City and get away to Velaris, but judging by the amount of friends she’s introduced you to tonight, she’s certainly made her mark here.

“Let’s go dance with them!” Mor yells over the music, grabbing your hand.

You think that dancing might be the answer to everything you’ve never known, and so you gladly follow; gladly throw yourself into the thrall of the busy floor.

But that’s when you see him.

Something…some deep power…compels you to look up. Coaxes your eyes to that area a level above, where the city’s VIP guests spend copious amounts of money on copious amounts of alcohol and drink it from their cushy velvet booths. They’re reserved for associates of the High Lord, a not-so-formal place to meet to discuss not-so-casual things.

But none of that matters. There could be an entire circus up there right now, and still all you would notice is — him.

He notices you, too.

The High Lord’s eyes zero in on you from up above. You watch, rooted to the spot, as he takes in the sight of you, from your braided back hair, to your painted face, your dress and the legs exposed by them. He looks like…like he’s finally setting his sights upon an image that was merely fantasy up until now.

He braces his arms on the balustrade. And he just stares.

You want to know what he’s doing here. Whether he’s at Rita’s for business or…or for pleasure. You’ve heard that there are rooms upstairs for people willing to pay the price. Perhaps there’s a lover up there with him somewhere, waiting to explore every last inch of that glorious, sculpted body—

The bleating jealousy that makes your heart twist is…unexpected. And not ideal; not one bit.

He is Rhysand’s father. Things may have been fucked up royally with Azriel, and you may have been burned by the experience — but Fin is Rhysand’s father.

Your friend’s father.

Your friend’s father who has just so happened to help keep you feeling alive these past weeks. With his layers-deep allure, the sweet, sweet words that roll off his tongue. His hospitality, his generosity. His kindness. All of it, you’d attributed to him being a natural charmer, a High Lord who knows precisely what to say, what to do.

It strikes you in that moment — just how much it’s all sunk its way into your bones and made you feel…dangerous.

He watches you like a cat with a mouse. Watches as somebody grabs your hand and yanks you into the tightly knit dancing bodies. The music pulses through you from head to toe, a frenzied tune of strings and keys that somehow come together to create the feeling of being borne aloft. Being on top of the world.

As you become lost to the sensation of dance, you’re glad to forget all your thoughts about Fin. You don’t want to wonder what he’s doing here. You don’t want to imagine what those strong, rough hands might get up to, where they might venture.

You become sandwiched between two males who dance with you in a way that makes you forget your wings were ever stolen. They touch you and touch each other, and you welcome it all, happy to be someone, somewhere, else. At least for a while.

But there’s suddenly a foreign touch to your shoulder. That of a cold, meaty hand that stills your movements and draws your attention. The two males happily slink away and begin grinding on each other, and you spin on the spot to find a tall, stocky male who looks like he punches people in the face for the hell of it.

“Y/N?” He checks, and you nod. “The High Lord wishes to speak with you. Upstairs.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes searching for Mor and finding her just as she’s following a male and female to a cloaked-off area at the back. That’ll be her occupied for the remainder of the night. You’re officially going solo.

But not for long. Not as the bouncer juts his chin in the direction of the staircase and begins to lead you there. Perhaps it makes you a fool, but you follow without a word.

He pulls back a rope and gestures for you to go on up, and then he’s refastening it behind you and turning back to train a keen eye on the dance floor. It’s purely the alcohol that hits you with enough of an ego to climb those stairs like you belong amongst the chandeliers and velvet booths.

But you look good — amazing, even. You know you do. And looking like this, things like scars and other insecurities seem so trivial. You’ve taken back the right to feel as beautiful as you are. You wear your Illyrian features proudly, and you’re pretty and lithe and graceful—

And your heel catches on the top step of the staircase, almost sending you sprawling to the floor — if not for the warm hand that catches your elbow.

“Easy.” Fin rasps into your ear, setting you steady on your feet.

Your numbed, inebriated senses are not immune to the effect of his voice, it would seem. The deep baritone, rough as jagged rock, pushes its way into your skin, your veins, and spreads far faster than any alcohol could.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” you answer, and you’re unable to shove down the hysterical giggle that claws up your throat. “Fuck, you’re the High Lord.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “And you are drunk.”

“The whiskey they serve here is immense.”

“I’ll be sure to extend your compliments to Rita herself.”

Is that, you wonder, who he’s up here meeting? Perhaps the elusive Rita is a close associate of his. Perhaps they do deals in both business and pleasure.

And taking in your fill of the High Lord right now, in a dark button-up shirt and fitted breeches of a slate grey, you would not blame Rita one little bit.

Gods, he’s exquisite. Rhysand may resemble Roza more than he does Fin, but…with two parents of such stunning beauty, it’s no wonder your friend is as handsome as he is.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you make no secret of the way your eyes linger on him. Tonight is dangerous, and you’re enjoying it.

“Nor I, you,” he narrows his gaze down at you. “Imagine my surprise, considering that when I left the palace earlier this evening, you were curled up in the library with a book. And yet, here you are. Wearing…” mahogany eyes take in the short cut of your dress, “…that.”

“Mor surprised me with a visit.”

“My niece ought to be more careful not to press her father’s buttons too much,” a muscle in his chiselled jaw ticks. “And I think you ought to be more careful not to push mine.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Bold. So foolishly bold of you. You’ll regret it once sober, you’re sure. “Was there a particular reason you summoned me up here, my Lord? I was rather enjoying dancing.”

“I noticed. And I’m taking you home.”

“What—”

Before you can even finish the word, Fin’s gripping your elbow again, and darkness sweeps you away.

Being winnowed while drunk is not a fun experience.

You feel the cosmic, air-light step from one place to another. Your stomach lurches, your head spinning. You can barely get a hold of yourself as you cling to Fin and prepare your feet to touch solid ground.

And then the darkness is gone, and you’re back in the toasty, warm glow of the palace’s library. Your knees buckle, trying to drag you to the floor, but Fin keeps you upright.

“What the…” you gawp up at him. “Why did you bring me home?”

He ensures you’re able to stand on your feet before pushing away from you. Doesn’t even look at you as he commands, “Get to bed.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Just as those males were enjoying you, too. You’re drunk and you need to sleep it off. Get to bed.”

He strides towards the door, his knuckles white from how hard he grips the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. But sword or no, you refuse to give up so easily.

“No,” you say simply. “I will not.”

Fin stops. Goes still. And then he turns back to you.

His temper is clear on his face, but he doesn’t storm back over like you’re half expecting him to. Instead, his eyes shutter, and he seems to take a deep, soothing breath. When he’s looking at you once more, he flicks his wrist in your direction.

And immediately, gone is the haze of the alcohol.

Immediately, you’re completely lucid, completely steady on your feet. Not a lick of inebriation remains, as if you had, indeed, slept it off.

“Did you just sober me up?” you’re outraged by the mere idea.

“Yes.” Fin admits shamelessly. “Now you won’t fall victim to a hangover in the morning — a favour from me, to you, and I ask you in return to get to bed. And don’t even think about trying to venture back out. I’ll know.”

Your blood boils. And the anger isn’t simply because of your ruined fun, but because…because it stings, the way Fin is treating you with such contempt. Scolding you like you’re little more than a petulant child. He’s been nothing but wonderful since you came to Velaris, and yet now, he speaks to you like…like most of the males back in Windhaven do.

It makes you see red.

“What right have you to dictate how I spend my evening?” you snap. “I was under the impression that my free time is my own, and if I wish to go and get drunk and dance like a fool, that is up to me.”

Cold, beautiful anger hardens Fin’s face. He stalks closer, squeezing the hilt of that sword so, so tightly. “What right have I? This is my home. My city. My court. I am your High Lord, and you choose to behave in such a way when I’ve opened my home to you and offered you refuge? When I’ve given you a place to run to and left my resources at your disposal?”

You rock back on the heels of your feet, staring at him. Every word lands a hit — as good as if he’d nocked them in a bow and fired them right at your heart. It stings. Gods, it stings. You want the careless oblivion of the alcohol back.

Because you grapple daily with the pain, the anxiety, of feeling unwanted. And you…you had begun to think that Fin actually cared for you. Actually enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.

You’d begun to care about his thoughts and feelings where you were concerned. And begun to believe that it wasn’t just the hospitality and courtesy that he would dole out to any runt on the street.

His eyes seem to track the way your expression changes, your shoulders slump. You swallow. The anger is replaced, simply, by hurt.

“If I am a burden, my Lord, I apologise,” you rasp. “I don’t intend to be one. I appreciate your generosity, and I…I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

You hope you can keep your tears at bay long enough to escape to your room. You’re pelted with shame, embarrassment, hurt. You step forward and hurry past the High Lord, desperate to book it out of there, to get to bed.

But his hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to a stop. And he says, quietly, “wait.”

That hand on your wrist holds the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

You pin your gaze to the ground, unable to look at Fin. You hear him swallow.

“That isn’t—” his voice is gravelly. “I didn’t mean that.”

You don’t think you can speak. You remain a statue beneath his touch.

But so gently — such a contrast to the whirlwind of his actions before — he’s walking you backwards. Slow and careful. You feel your back hit the wall, and he lets go of your wrist and seems to curl his fists at his sides. There’s a desperation to the action that only then coaxes you to look up at him.

His expression is…pleading. For what, you’re not sure.

“You are the furthest thing from a burden,” he says, quietly, on an exhale. “Your presence here is very much welcomed, I assure you.”

You don’t dare breathe a word. Every last bit of your very sober courage is being thrown into maintaining eye contact. There’s none to spare for speaking.

But your lack of response seems to trouble Fin. His eyes rake over your face, searching for something. He swallows again.

And then his eyes shutter, and he whispers, “Mother above, what are you doing to me?”

You don’t know how to answer him — whether he’s even talking to you at all. He takes in a very slow, very deep breath, as though it’s the only thing that’s stopping him from…doing something. What, you’re not sure.

But you can feel it, sense it — the ferocity with which he’s swallowing down words and holding himself back. Like he wants so badly to say something, but can’t.

His eyes open, clearer than they were seconds before, and he says in a far gentler tone, “Get to bed, Y/N,” he inclines his head. “Sleep well.”

With tense, squared shoulders, he turns — and it’s you, this time, that stops him. You halt him with a hand on his arm, and you could swear you feel the muscles flex under his touch.

“Wait,” you say, not ready to let him go, not prepared to leave things between you like this. “Stay and talk with me for a while.”

His jaw clenches like he’s gritting his teeth. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why? We talk all the time, you and I. And there are clearly things you’re holding back from saying—”

Your words are cut short as he suddenly meets your gaze with the intensity of a blazing fire. You think it might burn you. You hope it will.

“It’s a bad idea,” he grounds out, gutturally, “not because of what I want to say. But because of what I want to do.”

“What—”

“You are my son’s close friend. You are Roza’s guest,” he tugs his arm out from under your hand. “You are far younger than I am. I am trying my hardest — I have been trying my hardest — to be a good male. And right now, a good male would take his leave and go to bed, so I bid you goodnight, Y/N.”

“Fin—”

“I hope you sleep well.”

“Fin,” you grab for him again. “What if I don’t want you to be a good male?”

Beneath your touch, he stops. Goes preternaturally still.

Words punch out of you with terrifying gall — and truth. “What if I want you to do those things—”

Quick as a flash, he’s pivoting, and he has the upper hand. Has you pressed so tightly up against the wall, his body boxing you in.

And gods, the feel of it might set you on fire. A brush of your hands, a kiss on the backs of your fingers — they’re nothing compared to the weight and press of his muscles against your body. You want your clothes to melt away, and his, too. You want your hands on his bare, hot skin.

“I don’t think you realise what you’re saying,” he growls.

“I do,” you breathe. “I am completely sober. Completely clear of mind. And I am telling you, Fin, I want you—”

A strangled noise is the only warning you get before the High Lord’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is pure power. It passes from him, into you, roils through your veins and makes you feel like somebody remarkable. It’s the cloak of darkness and the kiss of sin. Of somebody capable of very, very bad things.

And it’s immediately addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to get enough.

You claw at his shirt, tugging him closer, closer, and his broad hands cup your face as his mouth devours yours.

This kiss…it’s been building. The need for it has been working its way beneath your skin for a while. All the heated glances, the late-night conversations. All the thoughts, in the dead of night, of what Fin might be doing in his own bed. Wondering whether he was thinking of you.

It’s so, so forbidden. So wrong. But it feels so godsdamn right.

And the way Fin’s tongue slides between your lips and strokes into your mouth — it tells you that he feels it, too.

Your hands glide from his waist, round to his back, and you yank him harder against you. So desperate are you to feel him. Feel what you think you do to him.

He makes another low noise. And then he’s tearing his mouth from yours. But he lingers close, your foreheads touching.

“Better than I’ve been imagining,” he pants, his hands still clutching your face. “Much better.”

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” You know he has.

“I have imagined,” his thumbs sweep your cheeks, “doing all sorts of things with you, Y/N. Things that would make even the most salacious of a person blush.”

Such a relief — to know that it’s not all just some wild fantasy you’ve cooked up in your mind. That you’re not just some wayward, longing young female who craves the affections of an older male to patch her deep wounds.

No, it’s not that. It’s desire. It’s need. And it burns inside your veins until you think you might erupt into flames.

“I’ve imagined them, too,” you say, without a lick of shame.

Once again, his eyes are shuttering. Once again, he takes that slow, steadying breath. And as you watch him do so, you can’t bear the thought of him still grappling with right and wrong. You can’t bear the thought of him squaring his shoulders and walking out of here, leaving your lips bruised, your body aching, your heart hurting. You can’t bear it—

“I want you to do those things,” you lift your chin, gaze unflinching. “I want you to touch me.”

Fin’s eyes reopen.

He stares at you.

His throat bobs.

You have never seen somebody look so wild, so ravenous. There is heat everywhere, in his stare and in his taut body. His eyes flick down to your lips.

That mere glance at them is the deciding factor, it would seem.

He growls, the sound not at all one you’ve ever heard from a person, and he yanks you up into his arms and kisses you again.

So naturally, your arms twine around his neck, your legs locking around his waist. You can feel the strength of him against you, in the way he holds you. You can taste his crackling power.

He doesn’t falter in the kiss nor his steps as he carries you away from the wall, and you’re suddenly being placed down on the library’s desk, sending books and parchment and pens and ink pots flying. They all clatter loudly to the floor, and neither of you care.

But Fin does pull away to look at you, and there’s wicked, boyish charm in his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitch up. He merely says, “Oops.”

You surge up and kiss him again.

He sighs into it, like your mouth is the answer to all his questions. And when heated hands land on your thighs, you part them, allow him to slot his body in between. The mere feel of it has you pushing up against him, finding him hard—

But again, he pulls away. He scans your face and rasps, “Tell me you’re sure.”

You do not balk from his intensity. From the fact that this is the fucking High Lord of your court, who was changing this world and building a reputation long before you were a mere thought in your parents’ minds. You do not balk from the fact that there are a million different reasons that this is wrong.

You think only about the fact that it feels right.

And that translates into your voice as you say, firmly, “I’m sure.”

You think you see the words course through his body. They change something — forever.

“This isn’t about Roza,” he breathes — breathes heavily, like it’s taking everything to tamp down on the desire to devour you then and there. To say what needs to be said.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Nor is it about Rhysand.”

“No.”

“It’s about me and you.” He destroys what little gap exists between your bodies, his hardness pushing through his breeches, right up against your centre. His hands brace on the desk, either side of you. “And gods, I want you, Y/N. I want you so much, I can scarcely bear it.”

“Have me,” is all you manage — before he strikes.

You think, hope, that his mouth might find yours again — but he’s barely brushing it before his lips settle on your jaw. His hands travel up your legs, fingers biting into the flesh. They find your hips, thumbs delivering explorative sweeps. They tug your dress up as they climb, exposing more of you to the warmth of the room. Exposing more skin that you know he wants to lay claim to.

And when the hem of your dress is ruched around your waist, you smile — at your little wildcard exposed. That he finds no underwear hiding what sits between your legs.

Your choice to forgo a pair seems almost foretelling, now — like some part of you knew the night would end like this, and you wanted to be ready.

Fin’s eyes dip to your slick, exposed cunt. The hunger in them is almost intimidating. You open your legs just a little wider—

But his rough hand is gripping your chin, almost hard enough to hurt. And he snarls deeply, “It drove me to madness — seeing those two males dancing with you. Touching you.”

Pleasure bolts down your spine, and from the way his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your arousal is consuming him.

“Did it?” you stare back at him, welcoming the discomfort of his brutal grip.

“I wanted them dead. I wanted to draw my sword and gut them for even looking your way. For touching what I want to be mine.”

That pleasure again — skittering over your skin. His words do something to you. You bite down on a moan.

“It is yours,” you tilt your chin up to him, smiling when he immediately glances to your lips. “Take it.”

“I warn you,” he lowers his face to yours, “I don’t like to share.”

“And I warn you, High Lord,” you watch as your words land, drawing a deep, raw scent from him. “Neither do I.”

With a growl, he snaps. The kiss he gives you is not slow or sweet. His hand continues to grip your face, and his mouth attacks yours, his tongue sliding between your lips. You can’t help your moan, this time, as his taste overpowers you — a taste that you can only describe as pure thunder.

But it ends too soon, as he begins to leave a trail of heated kisses and bites and sucks along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbones. Your head falls back, and the touches are like little zips of lightning — lightning cleaving through the night sky.

“Pretty dress,” he hums against your skin — and that’s all the warning you get before that dress is ripped apart. Torn to ribbons.

No part of you is left to Fin’s imagination.

He tears his mouth from you and steps back to drink you in.

Instinct roars at you to curl in on yourself and hide. To remember that you are scarred, and flawed, and not to the liking of many — including yourself, a lot of the time.

But something about Fin’s weighty, scorching stare stops you from moving a muscle.

You lift your chin and hide nothing as he takes his fill. His eyes travel a journey from the top of your head and down — down your face, your neck, your breasts. Down your stomach, your waist, your hips. Down to that fine dusting of hair on your pelvis that tracks a thin path to—

Fin drops to his knees with a low noise. His hands wrap around your legs and prise them further apart.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he levels his face with the very centre of you, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight.

The sight of the High Lord on his knees before you — on his knees for you.

As though he senses the direction of your thoughts, his eyes flick up, and he smiles.

And then he dives in.

His tongue wastes no time in sinking between your folds, licking a broad stripe right up the centre of you. At the first stroke, your head falls back, your arms wobbling where they’re braced on the desk.

“Look at me,” Fin growls. “Only me.”

His voice of pure High Lord power drags your eyes back to him. And thank the fucking Mother it does.

You see everything in the way he feasts on you. His tongue laps at your wetness, and it coats his lips, his chin, coats him in you. The damp heat of his tongue is liquid fire. It promises to scorch you, end you, and rise you anew like a phoenix from the ashes.

Your fingers sink into the strands of Fin’s hair and tug. Judging by the noise he makes, the way his pace picks up, you think he likes it.

He utterly fucking devours you, like he’s fought a centuries-long wait to do so. And whatever magic commands his mouth — you know you cannot possibly last against it.

“Oh, gods,” your moan breaks from you, hips bucking up. You think your voice might be loud, but you don’t care. “Fuck—Fin.”

It all happens at once — his name falling from your lips, the growl rumbling in his throat, the flicking of his tongue against your clit and the finger he plunges into you, curls inside you. Every part of it is lightning strikes to your veins, and you come apart, utterly break.

Your climax slams into you and steals your breath. You’re nothing but a gasping, panting, trembling shell. Your mind is somewhere else entirely.

With your head falling back, eyes pinned to the ceiling, chest heaving, you don’t catch the swiftness with which Fin stands, licking your wetness from his lips. With which his clothes are gone in a blink of an eye.

But then he commands, “Look at me.”

It’s the second time he’s said it. Your head lolls forward once more.

You swallow the breaths you’re still trying to get down. Try to stop your body fucking shaking.

But it’s no wonder it does, as you look at him.

Your High Lord is nothing short of exquisite. He is art. Your fantasies have done him no justice.

That golden skin of his seems to attract the glowing light of the room. It bathes him, but it does not steal the attention. It outlines every fine plane of his body, the sculpted muscles on show, the nicks of injuries that have scarred and silvered over time.

There is not a single part of him that isn’t pure, refined power. And when your gaze drops to below his waist…a shudder wracks through you.

His cock stands hard and leaking at the head. You watch, your mouth watering, as he wraps a hand around its length and gives a long stroke.

“Fin—”

“When you look at me like that,” he prowls closer, “there is no way I can consider this forbidden.”

He’s within reach. Your fingers inch towards him. You want to touch him, taste him—

But he curls a hand around yours and stops you in your tracks.

“Not tonight,” he says. Pure promise is laced within the words. “No playing tonight.”

As if he hadn’t just played with you. You want to protest, to get your fucking mouth around that considerable length, but his hand tightens around yours.

And then he’s flipping you over, so fast that you don’t have time to even register it. You land on your front, your belly and breasts pressed against the desk. Fin lays his palm against your back and drags it slowly down. And in the wake of his touch, he leaves kisses. Kisses to your shoulder, your back. They’re…soft. Tender.

“Have I disappointed you?” he murmurs against your shoulder, folding his body over yours. You don’t think it’s an accident that the head of his cock nudges that sweet area between your legs.

It’s all you can do to breathe, “I wanted to taste you.”

“And you will,” he drops the brush of a kiss to your skin. “But now is not time for that.”

You don’t need him to tell you what now is the time for. Not as his hands find the flesh of your hips, and he yanks you to the very edge of the desk, moving with you. The feel of him so close to where you want him is downright cruel.

“Have you thought about me fucking you?” he asks, those hands travelling to rove your ass.

Your nails bite into the desk as you answer, “Yes.”

“Did I make you scream?”

You bite down on your lip at the feeling of him spreading you apart, opening you up to him. “Yes.”

You feel it — his cock sliding between your folds. Not pushing in, but dragging torturously against your sex. From your entrance, up to your clit. The head of his cock pushes against it.

And the moan that rips from you is downright filth, as he rolls his hips and allows your wetness to slicken his length. It feels so fucking good. To you, and to him.

A breath shudders out of him, and he purrs, “Are you going to scream for me now?”

“Fuck yes,” the words tumble from your lips. “I want you, Fin.”

Just like that, his restraint snaps. The High Lord strikes.

He drags his length through your folds and enters you with a single, powerful thrust.

A shout leaves you, and you’re clawing at the desk, trying to keep your grip against the pleasure that courses through you. Fin fills you and stretches you. He pulls out and slams back in to the hilt.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he growls, his hands sinking back into your hips. He begins a steady thrusting, sliding in and out of you with a drag that makes you feel every glorious inch of him. “Gods.”

“So good,” you pant. “Want you harder.”

The plea seems to make him groan, and he wastes no time in picking up the pace. His hands bite into your skin as he fucks you faster, harder, your moans and pleas and curses falling from your lips without any nudging from you. The pleasure is all-consuming. In seconds, it’s buried within your veins.

“You like that?” The grit in his voice has you clenching around him. He’s so fucking filthy, so fucking sultry, as he snarls, “you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

Gods, yes, you are. Already, release is coiling tightly within you, and it’s a force entirely of its own right, inching closer and cresting the hill, ready to sink its claws into you. Fin’s cock hits deep, and out of nowhere, his palm is flying through the air and making contact with your ass cheek. That is all it takes.

The pleasure of it all is too much — the sting of the slap, the depth and thrall of his thrusts, the way he growls and grunts as he lays claim to your body, your pleasure.

You cry out, your orgasm blasting through you with unstoppable force. The long strokes of Fin’s cock fuck you through it, through earth-shattering pleasure, through what feels like a mind-altering experience.

“My filthy girl,” he pulls out of you suddenly, and though your cunt still clenches and twitches, desperate for more, more, more, he flips your trembling body onto its back once more and tugs you up, slipping back between your legs. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how relentlessly I’ve thought about making you scream for me like that.”

Past words, you can only reach up and pull his head down to yours to capture him in a kiss. Your taste still coats the tongue that he slides between your lips. It spurs you on to deepen it, luxuriate in the feel of it. And you become so lost in it that you tug hard at the strands of his hair when he enters you again in one great, sweeping thrust.

His arm folds around your back, hand grasping at your shoulder, and it seems to afford him perfect purchase to pound into you. Sounds fill the air of his skin slapping against yours, of the breaths and moans you huff into each other’s mouths. You think the two of you, together, might be loud enough, forceful enough, to bring the City of Starlight to rubble around you.

Fin’s lips tear away from yours, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts are growing quicker, sloppier, reaching a feverous pinnacle that will surely break.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come, Y/N,” his sweat-slick brow presses against your neck. “Taking me so well like this. Squeezing me like this. You’re going to make me fucking blow.”

You want that — more than anything. To feel the power of him spilling into you.

You squeeze your thighs against his, dragging your free hand — the one not sunken in his hair — down the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his waist — to his ass, where you dig your nails into the tight, toned flesh and encourage him to pump into you harder, faster. The feel of it makes Fin shout.

“Come for me,” you choke around your pleasure. “Please, Fin…want you to come.”

An animalistic growl rips from him, and he slams into you one, two, three more times, and then stills, throwing his head back with a roar that shakes the library. Hot, thick ropes of his seed seem endless as they’re unleashed inside you.

The force of it shatters you both, you think. With his trembling as thorough as yours, your nails are still raking over his skin as his brow presses to the crook of your neck. Strands of hair stick to the back of his. Your fingertips smooth over them tenderly.

It feels like eons that you stay there like that, holding each other up from collapsing under the weight of your mutual release. You want to hold him like this, always. You don’t care what others may have to say about it, what they may deem to be wrong about it. You want him.

He pulls back, as though sensing the thought. Meets your eyes. For a beat or two, he simply studies your face, something like clarity on his own.

And then he dips down and drops a kiss to your brow. Such a tender act, in the wake of such passion.

 No words are needed. Not as he scoops you up into his arms, leaving behind the mess the two of you have created. There’s a flash, and he’s winnowed you to your bedroom. A fire roars to life immediately. Fin places you down on the bed.

You watch through hooded eyes as he makes his way into the bathroom. Moments later, he’s returning with a warm, damp washcloth, and he perches beside you.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispers, and you do.

The High Lord of the Night Court is gentle as air as he takes care of you, wiping between your thighs and delivering soft, soothing strokes to your skin. A pleasant soreness sits in your lower belly. He leans down and presses a kiss there like he knows just that.

And then he’s sitting up, and it frightens you — the thought of him walking away, of this ending here and now.

So you lay a hand on his arm, breathing, “Stay with me.”

He pauses, eyes roaming your face like he’s assuring himself you mean it. And then he dips his chin.

“I would be honoured,” he rasps.

And thus, the affair begins.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The need you and Fin have for each other is…insatiable.

Every moment he’s away, you’re thinking of him, longing for the moment he’ll appear in your room and rip your clothes off. If anyone else in the palace — staff, servants, associates — are aware of what’s going on, they don’t give it away. And that suits you just fine.

You can’t get enough. You’re giddy with it. Giddy from the multiple, interesting circumstances you’ve landed yourself in.

Like when you lured him out of a meeting and dropped to your knees in a fucking broom closet, taking his cock into your mouth until he was canting his hips forward and spilling down your throat. Or when he fucked you on the balcony of his personal quarters, your body pressed up against the balustrade, the two of you open to the elements and your moans loud enough to reach the stars above you and the city below you. Or when he took you to watch the ballet, and up in the cushy surrounds of your private viewing box, you watched the performance with him deep inside you, his fingers indolently playing with your clit, his low voice in your ear reminding you to keep quiet.

It’s…exciting. Enthralling. It changes everything.

And as he pulls out of you now, sweaty and panting, and collapses beside you in his bed, you’re not sure you could ever tire of this feeling.

He wants you. He wants you so ferociously, like nobody has ever wanted you before.

As you catch your breaths, he props his head up with his hand and stares at you through hooded eyes, glazed with lust. He leans down and grazes a kiss to your mouth.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he ponders as he pulls back, moving a hand to brush his fingers over your breast. “All this need — wanting you constantly.”

You lean up on your elbows, tilting your head, “Do you want it to stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never.”

Never. Never is a very long time. It makes your stomach flip — the enormity of it.

Fin circles the tip of his forefinger around your pebbled nipple, watching with predatory fascination as he adds, “But this will, inevitably, blow up in our faces at some point. We haven’t exactly been secretive — not that I want to be. But people will talk.”

You lean up to brush your mouth over his. “Let them talk,” you say, and kiss him.

Immediately, he melts into the kiss. Your mouth seems to have an effect on him that you never thought yourself capable of. Always draws a long, pleasured sigh from him as he sinks into it, welcomes it.

He kisses you and kisses you, so greedily, so desperately. His hand snakes up to cup your cheek. He’s already hardening against your leg.

But he pulls away, dropping his forehead against yours. And he breathes, “Make a bargain with me.”

You trace a thumb over his bottom lip. You’ve never made a Night Court bargain before; never had reason to. “What bargain?”

“When this blows up in our faces,” he grips your hand, folding his own over it, “we face it together. You and I.”

“You and I?”

“You and I” he kisses your hand. “I don’t claim to be perfect. I don’t try to be. I can be brutal and callous, and I can lie and play games,” another kiss. “But not with you. Never with you. I will look after you. Take care of you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

Words that you’ve always longed for someone to say to you. Words that should not be taken lightly, should not be said without meaning.

But you know he means them. You can tell he does.

You watch closely as your fingers interlace with his. And you whisper, “Together?”

Fin’s thumb sweeps over yours. “Together. We’ll face it together.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

A flash of splintering pain zips around your midriff. You glance down to find the tattoo now inked there. The black line that draws a perfect circle around your waist, like a trail of night-kissed lightning.

You look up at Fin to find a roguish smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I like that,” he hums.

And then he’s leaning down and pressing kisses to that circlet signifying your promise to one another. Kisses the entirety of it, flipping you on your front in the process.

And kisses lower, until you’re screaming for him again.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

#practice on me #pom #daddy fin #acourtofwhatthefuck #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar au #azriel #acotar fic #rhysand’s father #high lord of the night court #high lord #acotar x reader #fin x reader

[aldbooks]

ACOTAR Masterlist

AO3 ALDBooks

ACOTAR 🥀

Like After Images - Valkyrie Week prompt 'Blood Rite' *TW*

Several weeks after the Blood Rite, once the excitement of Nesta's mating ceremony and the birth of Nyx subside, the Valkyrie wade through the aftermath of what they faced in the Blood Rite

The Temporary Roommate - T - 3/3 - 13,951words

ACOTAR Secret Santa 2022 gift Mor's meddling family sends her and Emerie away to her estate for two weeks. It's either the best, or the worst thing that ever happened. She hadn't yet decided.

A Strange Melody - M - 12/12 - 19,752

ACOTAR Secret Santa 2023 gift for @sunshinebingo - a Gwynriel Little Mermaid AU

ACOTAR Writing Circle 3

A Friendly Wager - M - 1/1 - 2,205 words

Gwynriel oneshot fluffy fun - Alternate storyline A Fresh Spark

“Because of you I didn’t sleep at all last night” prompt Gwynriel

“I’m guessing you stole them?” Prompt Gwynriel

Azriel and his mother headcanons

Gwynriel/Kanthony headcanon

The necklace - Angsty Gwynriel

Snap me baby one more time - Nessian 2,175 words

Inspired by all the gym bro thirst traps that keep crossing my FYP that remind me of Cassian. Here's a silly little Nessian one shot with a side Gwynriel and Emorie plot (naturally)

Bodyshop - E - 4/4 - 19,441 words

Inspired by the song Unholy by Sam Smith & Kim Petra Mor and Cassian drag Azriel to Rita's the strip club the partially own with their friend Rhysand to see a new troop of dancers. A trio of women who go by the name Valkyrie.

Don’t you wanna be more than friends? - M - 3,839 words

Azriel and Gwyn have been growing steadily closer thanks to their midnight meetings in the training ring but, tonight, something is different... TW: mentions of SA

“Who says I want to reject it?” - Elucien

Drunk confessions - Elucien

Elucien angsty Drabble & Part 2

More angsty Elucien 

The haircut - Lucien cuts his hair and Elain has feelings about it

Gwynriel/Elucien drabble

Should've Stayed Dead - M - 4,437 words

Nessian (sort of) Lucien receives a message requesting a meeting with the Night Court. Specifically, the Archeron sisters. Cassian's POV

Angsty prompts requests:

Elucien [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11]

Gwynriel [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Lucien/Feyre [1]

Her tears like diamonds on the floor - 1,610words

Angsty Gwynriel Starfall drabble

Embrace - E - 14/? :

Collection of Smut prompt requests including the following ships:

Amren x Varian

Gwynriel

Helion x LoA

Feysand

Elucien

Viviane x Kallias

Jassa

Nessian

Gwynriel week prompts:

Solstice Night

“You’re the new ribbon Az”

To Win a Prince - Cinderella AU

Future Elucien story inspired by Persuasion - The Remembrance of Regret

Rosaline inspired Gwynriel scene

Gwynriel sparring

My Jolly Sailor Bold - Gwynriel mermay

I thought my demons were almost defeated but you took their side and you pulled them to freedom - Gwynriel based on @acourtdelaluna head canon

Moth to Flame - Gwynriel Summer Solstice

Frost and Flame - Pure angst from Lucien's POV, no happy ending

A Court of Light and Shadows series - Elucien/Gwynriel

This series consists of an Elucien prequel then a Gwynriel and Elucien story that run tandem to each other - the directions for the tandem read are in the notes of each respective chapter for those interested

A Breaking - M - 1/1 - 2,899 words

After witnessing the almost kiss on Winter Solstice, Lucien makes a decision.

A Court of Shadows - E - 37/37 - 94,718 words

Azriel has begun to notice that his thoughts regarding a certain priestess have begun to shift. Before he can fully set aside his more inappropriate musings, Gwyn makes a proposal he can't resist

A Court of Light - M - 31/31 - 88,258 words

A year after the events of A Breaking, Elain feels a tug on the bond and realizes her estranged mate is in danger. Lucien, now returned to the Night Court, wonders if he might have been too hasty in his decision to leave, and if there might still be a chance for him with his mate

#acotar fanfiction #masterlist #gwynriel #elucien #emorie #helion x loa #nessian #amren and varian #feysand #kallias x viviane #jassa

[fieldofdaisiies]

Azriel x demon!Reader | The Dungeon

type: smut (fluff at the end) warning(s): explicit descriptions, rough sex, shadowplay, vulgar language word count: 2.3k words

request: sure, my wicked mind won't leave me alone. Could you write (if you want), one where the reader is part demon maybe? but there is a "beast" form that she is afraid of being scary and that Azriel don't like her anymore, but one night Az asks them to have an intimate night with reader in her real form ? something certainly lewd and fluff. English is not my first language so forgive the mistakes 😅 and thank you 🌺❤️‍🔥

- all rights reserved - 

Azriel’s eyes are trained on your sweat slicked skin, how your hands are bound together, chained to the ceiling. Teeth bared, you growl lowly, eyes aglow. Once a full moon this would happen and Azriel wanted to finally see it. He wants to be with you, wants to be there for you.

You have been mate’s for a while now, but not once did you reveal your real —your beast— form to the shadowsinger. But Azriel wants to change that—your are his mate, he wants to truly know all of you.

Icy cold power stretches out like dark cloud, crawling under the spymaster’s skin when you growl again, your eyes trained on him. They glow vividly, burning flames dancing in them.

Azriel feels everything but cold. His blood is running hot, his skin prickling, grazed in a thin film of sweat. He wants to feel your icy skin on his warm membrane. He wants to feel your touch all over his body. He needs to feel you touch all over his body.

You have been afraid that it would scare Azriel, that he would no longer like you after seeing you in this form, but gods, it did the exact opposite to our shadowsinger.

Some primal, animalistic part of him gets him quite aroused at the sight of you, the danger, the lethality glowing in your eyes. He knows what, in this form, you could be capable of. And he wants all of it. He wanted to experience it all. The danger, the rawness, the power. He wants to have a taste of it all, he wants to become subject of it.

One hand moving over his crotch, his skin feeling so tight, his cock throbs at the sight of your disheveled figure. He knows that every rational part of his mind has left, finding that sight so terribly arousing. But he also knows of the so called heat, the desire and arousal you emit during that phase. Maybe it is your lust that reaches him through the bond and gets him so worked up.

You want him just as much as he wants you, but could he truly let this happen? Could you let this happen? Could you allow this? 

An escapee of the prison. A demon locked away centuries ago. Caught by no other than the shadowsinger himself. That is what you are. So could the restraints really be removed from you?

Over the months that you were living in his dungeon in the Hewn City you and Azriel got to know each other, grew closer, found yourself yearning for the other until one day the bond snapped in place. Neither of you could believe it. It seemed like an atrocity–everyone apart from you two had been shocked. 

Azriel is the High Lord’s spymaster. You are a creature with no other purpose than bringing pain and violence to this world. You thought there would never be a life in freedom for you and if Azriel would allow his deepest desires to reach the surface, if he would allow himself to claim you, he would not only betray his own morals but also his dear friend, his brother, the High Lord. Rhysand ordered that you either would be locked up again in the Prison or that you would otherwise be taken care of—killed in other words. Someone like you could not be trusted, you were thought to be cruel, vicious, lethal. It that is what people say about you. You were never given a chance in life. From the moment on that you were born your fate was doomed. Azriel, once there was no denying that the two of you were mates, convinced his brother to allow you freedom, to let him be with you. And he allowed it, you became a citizen of the Night Court, living amongst the others. You were finally given a chance. Rhysand gave you a chance. And most importantly Azriel did. 

Only once a month you would go back to a prison, a different kind of prison. Azriel’s dungeon for the really, really bad kind of fae. His torture chamber was the only room that could hold your power in, that could hold you in. 

Where shackles of magic bound you, you had found a place to let your true self show. 

In the past you were always alone in here until Azriel said he wanted this to end. He wants to be with you during this phase, knowing how agonising and exhausting it is for you. He is you mate, he needs to be there for you every step of your love. For better, for worse. 

Azriel leans back in his chair and crosses his ankle over his knee. “It is midnight,” he breathes. You rattle on the chain, groaning, your toes curling on the ground. His voice, the deep tenor reverberating through your whole body, is your undoing. It fuels some primal need inside of you, that makes wet heat flood your body.

During a full moon you are so sensitive, so full of need for your mate. Also the days around full moon, like the previous night where Azriel has taken you five times and you still felt a throbbing need between your thighs in the morning. 

You rub your thighs together, the memories flooding you, making your skin feel tight and hot. But gods, your body is actually icy cold, the demon inside of you reaching the surface. Black has replaced your eye colour, damp strands of hair clutch to your face, the same with your thin night gown that is drenched in sweat. But for Azriel you still are the most beautiful female in this world. Breathtaking and stunning.

You rattle the restraints once again, growling and snapping your gaze into his direction. He looks delicious–stunning, cruel beauty. 

The shadowsinger's pupils are dilated when he looks at you with a heavy-lidded gaze, long lashes drawing shadows to his flushed cheeks. Azriel must have felt hot as well, you thought, as a thin film of sweat has built up on his forehead, his nose, his neck. Gods, his neck! You want to taste his neck, lick over it, bit into it while he moves inside of you. While his proud cock stretches you out, ruts into you, makes you come. It is torture having to look at him without being able to touch him. Without him touching you.

“Need you,” you groan through gritted teeth and squeeze your eyes shut. “Need you in me. On me. Please touch me.” Azriel breathes a laugh, a smirk appearing on his face. His hand moves over his crotch when his shadows slowly scattered towards you. Almost like a cat’s tail they curl around your calves, slowly gliding up and leaving heat in every place they touch.

You eyes closed, your head falls back when two of his shadows brushed up your torso, smoothing over the pebbled hardness. The slip, damp with sweat, clutches to your skin and leaves absolutely nothing to imagination. Azriel groans low in his throat, his shadows at the ready but waiting for their command. 

“Say please,” Azriel coos.

“Please,” you breathe through gritted tears. His shadows shove your night gown down, curling around your nipples, rolling, teasing and tugging just like their owner likes to do. Two other shadows slide inside your undergarments and part your hot and damp flesh, moving inside, making your growl in pure bliss. 

The stimulation was perfect, intense and overwhelming.

Azriel loves the sight that is presented to him, your hands chained to the ceiling, his shadows bringing you pleasure, your hips rocking, lips parted. A lewd sound leaves your

Gods, it truly was a sight for sore eyes. Azriel adjusted himself in his pants, his cock throbbing and aching behind his tight pants. The shadows move in and out of you, just like your mate’s scarred fingers. Azriel is not touching you, but then he is. HIs hand toys with the laces of his pants, his head tipped back slightly, lips parted, eyelids heavy. He was not going to make you come with his shadows, just play with you, tease you, prepare you for him. 

Azriel shoves his pants down his legs, sitting now fully nude and in a sprawl in front of. It…does things to you and fuels your need even more.

A feeling of amusement, almost arrogance, fills the shadowsinger at the sight of you. He knows how much you need him and he loves it. He loves the feeling of lust that reaches him through the bond. 

And then….it was enough of the teasing. The shadowsinger decides to take matters into his own hands. He stands, moving over to you in a fluid movement. His shadows depart, skittering away from you and leaving you aching for some more touching. 

Azriel’s hands fall to your hips, mouth mere inches form your face. Desire stretches out. But Azriel turns you around so your back his to his front. He is hard and ready, pressing against your back.

“Want me to take care of that throbbing need?” Azriel groans against your ear, his hands sliding to your front.

You grit your teeth, arching your back so your ass rubs against your mate's front. A shudder courses through the shadowsinger, his hips thrusting forward. “Yes,” you say when he fists your slip and rips it into two halves, your undergarment following immediately. “Better.”

Still chained to the ceiling, Azriel adjust you so you are flush to his body, his hard length pressing against your core.

Your bodies come together when he pushes forward, holding you at your hips, one hand moving up to curl around your throat. You moan, your head leaning against his shoulder, his sculptured, solid chest pressing against your back. It is the raw and primal lust that fills this moment–not once had either of you felt such want, such desire, such need. 

A loud growl leaves you, followed by a lewd scream when your mate thrusts his hips against yours and slides in to the hilt. His fingers curl tighter around your throat, squeezing. 

“That‘s what you wanted, huh?“ Azriel pants against the back of your neck, his proud length stretching you out, making your walls clench around him. The two of you move against the wall, the shadowsinger steadying himself on you. The cool brick wall presses against your front, your cheek, while Azriel ruts into you, his pace soon turning fast, relentless almost. And then he fucks. Just like you wanted him to. 

A feeling of light-headedness overcomes you when flecks of black and white spark in your vision. His fingers press into the sides of your throat, hips thrusting against your ass. He has never taken you so hard and you know this even thought you have half-entered a state of oblivion already. But it is exactly what you needed, how you needed to be taken care of in that state. Azriel knew this, understood it and now takes care of you in just the right way. 

Rocking against him, deep, primal groans leave the shadowsinger, accompanied by growls of pleasure that have your toes curling and your walls clenching tighter. 

When the heat finally cools and after having been pressed against the wall for quite some time you breathlessly fall into bed–you don't remember much, it has all become a blur or need, of desire, of pleasure, of damp skin moving against damp skin, of feeling Azriel's cock so deep inside of you, of the press of his body against yours. 

Azriel wraps you in his arms, in his wings, cradling you tightly to his chest. His scarred hand brushes over your damp hair when you curl your leg over his waist. “It did not scare you?” you silently ask, voice barely above a whisper. You cannot meet his gaze, afraid that his eyes might say more than his mouth does. Azriel gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze, inhaling deeply. "There was not one moment where I was scared. It was definitely something new, something different. But there was not a single moment where I felt intimated or in the slightest bit scared. It is who you are and I know that you would never hurt me." Azriel kisses the top of your head. "And I couldn't be more thankful that you showed me this side of you. That you showed me this vulnerable part of your life.”

Your heart swells at his words, at the lush feeling reaching your through the bond. He meant what he said. He truly loves you no matter your dark side. He is not afraid either. A single tear falls to his skin and you kiss his peck. 

“I love you, Azriel,” you mumble into his soft and in a thin film of sweat covered skin. “More than anything in this world.” “I love you with my whole heart, Y/N. And you have to know one thing for sure—“ Azriel grabs the  back of your head, tilting it back so that you look straight into his eyes, “you will never have to spend a full moon alone. From now on until the very last day of our immortal lives will I be with you on a full moon. We will always be down here and I will take care of you, my love.”

You move a hand over your mouth, a silent sob leaving you when tears brim your eyes. You want to scream it from the rooftop how much you love this male, how important he is, how much he values you, how much you value him. 

“You are so perfect. The way you are. And I couldn’t love you anymore. I will never be scared of you. I will always be in complete and utter admiration of you, my love.”

A tear rolls out of your eye, your heart swelling, heart beating rapidly against your ribs.

“And before you say you don't deserve this,” Azriel says, the corner of his mouth tipping up, “you do. You deserve all of it. All the love you can get. You had to live without it for so long. So I will spend the rest of my life worshipping and loving you as much as you deserve to be loved and worshipped."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbitxh @cityofidek @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeriedarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger #acotar x reader #acotar #acosf

[redr0sewrites]

What would you all want to see me write first?

Heres just a simple poll to see what yall would like me to write next, i really want to write no nut november hcs lmaooo

Sorry if this is a lot, i just. want some feedback!!! feel free to rb/comment/send in reqs ab anything you want to see!!

#acotar #acotar x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #the dragon prince #tdp x reader #aaravos #aaravos x reader #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #kny x y/n #no nut november #polls #poll #tumblr polls #demon slayer enmu #enmu #sanemi #giyuu #eris vanserra #acotar azriel #azriel #sampo #sampo hsr

[c-e-d-dreamer]

And They Were Roommates, OMG, They Were Roommates: Part Eleven

A/N: Look! I wrote the smut! I only made everyone wait for (checks notes) eleven chapters. Also, I wish everyone could see the faces I made while reading this back to edit. I don't know what demon possessed me when I wrote this, but I do know I probably need to bathe in holy water now. Anyways! Hope everyone enjoys this very NFSW chapter. Be a good girl and tell me what you think after ;)

Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian blinks up at the ceiling, counting his breaths in time with the pounding in his head. The morning light spilling in from his bedroom windows prickles and gnaws at his eyes, but the pain is nothing compared to the tightness of his chest. Icy, stinging hands twist at his heart, squeeze at his lungs, until it's hard to breathe. Until he feels like he's going to be sick.

How could he be so stupid? How could he just blurt out his feelings for Nesta like that? Gods, what was he thinking? Nesta and Eris had only broken up a week ago. She told him he was her best friend, for Cauldron’s sake. And what did Cassian do? Take his idiocy levels to the stratosphere.

Cassian groans, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. He turns his head and finds a glass of water set on his bedside table, a bottle of painkillers sitting beside it. He hadn’t even heard Nesta come into his room. The sight has the ache in his chest growing, his heart stuttering even as it cracks and shatters, and he buries his face in his pillow, letting out another groan.

A clatter from the kitchen draws Cassian’s attention, and he realizes Nesta must already be awake. He wonders if he can spend the rest of the day hiding in his room, if he can somehow avoid the inevitable conversation, the disaster he’ll be walking head first into once he steps outside the safety of his bedroom door. The way his stomach growls loudly seems to protest the idea, and he can’t help but agree.

Time to face the music.

Cassian pulls himself up into a sitting position, quickly downing the glass of water. He scrapes his hair back and away from his face and stands up. Just like ripping off a bandaid. That’s the best approach here. He’ll face Nesta, deal with whatever awkwardness, probably with Nesta chewing him out deservedly, and he’ll just try and hope that they can still remain friends, beg that she doesn’t up and move out.

One last deep breath for courage, and Cassian pulls open his bedroom door, stepping out into the hallway. He can clearly hear the sounds of kitchen cabinets opening and closing, hear the shuffle of Nesta’s feet against the hardwood floors. He can already so clearly picture her, wearing soft comfortable clothes, strands of her braid loose from sleep, maybe a few pillow creases still smudged across her skin. He squeezes his eyes shut at the mental image, his heart lodging so hard and so suddenly into his throat, he swears he’s going to choke on it. He tries to breathe through it, clenches his hands into fists and tries to will his feet to step forward, but he can’t do it.

He can’t do this.

Cassian spins on his heel and retreats to the bathroom, practically slamming the door behind him in his haste. He knows Nesta probably heard it. Most definitely heard it. But it’s hard to focus on anything other than the way his heartbeat pounds hard enough he can hear the thrumming beat echoing in his ears, the way his chest heaves with every shaky inhale. He grips the edges of the sink, meeting his own gaze in the mirror.

“You were drunk. You didn’t know what you were saying. You didn’t mean it,” Cassian practices, hoping the stern quality of his voice somehow convinces himself and his reflection alike.

It’s easier said than done. Cassian knows that if his reflection could talk back to him, he’d tell him what an idiot he is. Probably slap him upside the head the way Azriel always does. Gods, he can practically hear the muttered chiding of his brother, can perfectly picture the way Azriel would shake his head in that unimpressed, disappointed way of his.

“Nesta is your friend. We’re not going to ruin this,” Cassian tries to continue but the words press against his windpipe, and he swallows hard, dropping his head between his shoulders. “We’re not going to lose her.”

Cassian lets out a soft exhale and straightens, sharing one last determined nod with his reflection. He turns back around and yanks open the bathroom door, coming face to face with a pair of wide, stormy blue eyes. Even with the anxiety still roiling his stomach and ratcheting up his nerve endings, his heart still skips a beat in his chest at the sight of her. Traitor.

“Nesta,” Cassian breathes, reaching a hand up to push through his hair before wincing when he remembers he pulled it back.

“Did you just puke?” Nesta asks, her lips tugging down in a frown. “I knew I should have cut you off after the second round of shots.”

“I’m fine,” Cassian assures her, even if his voice sounds hoarse.

Nesta opens her mouth like she wants to say something more before thinking better of it, turning on her heel instead and heading back toward the kitchen. “I made breakfast.”

“I thought one of the terms of our deal was that I did all the cooking?”

Cassian tries to keep his tone light, his words teasing, but it falls short even to his own ears, and he's glad Nesta's back is to him, that she won't see him grimace. He follows Nesta into the kitchen, the greasy scent of eggs and sausage flooding his senses and making his mouth water. Nesta grabs a fresh glass and fills it with water, sliding it across the kitchen island to him before grabbing two plates.

“That may have been the deal, but it didn’t exactly seem like you were in any state for cooking,” Nesta comments idly, piling a healthy amount of scrambled eggs onto each plate.

Cassian lets out a quiet huff, certainly not disagreeing with her assessment. Nesta passes him a plate, and Cassian accepts it with a quiet thanks, happy to fill his stomach with greasy food to help soak up any remnants of last night’s alcohol and to heal the last tendrils of his hangover. He settles into one of the kitchen island stools and digs in, already a few bites in before he realizes that Nesta hasn’t joined him, opting instead to stay on the other side of the island.

Cassian raises an eyebrow, a silent question in his expression, but Nesta doesn’t even meet his gaze. She keeps her eyes firmly on her own plate, her fork moving around the scrambled eggs aimlessly. Even from this angle, Cassian can see the way her mouth is slightly pinched, that little crease that forms between her brows when she furrows them.

Oh.

So much for them at least waiting until after breakfast. So much for that tiny flicker of a flame of hope that Cassian held on to that maybe Nesta had forgotten the previous night and they could pretend it never happened and go back to normal. With a soft sigh, he sets his fork down, the clatter finally drawing Nesta’s attention to him.

“Can we just get it over with?” Cassian requests, crossing his arms to give his hands something to do, his appetite suddenly vanishing.

Nesta’s frown deepens, and she tilts her head slightly. “Get what over with?”

“Come on, Nes. I know you. I’m sure you stayed up all night rehearsing exactly what you’re going to say, so have it. I can take it.”

Nesta pushes her plate to the side, folding her hands neatly in front of her, her spine straight as steel. She’s clearly readying for whatever words are about to spill past her lips, and Cassian can do nothing but swallow hard and wait. His heart twists and writhes between his ribs, ticking up and up until it pounds a thunderous beat through his veins. He tries desperately to keep his face neutral, to keep to his words that he can take it, even as his mind cycles through the different potential scenarios awaiting him, each worse than the next.

“I lied to you,” Nesta finally says, her voice quiet.

It’s Cassian’s turn to frown, and he blinks a few times while he tries to process her words, to determine if he heard her correctly. “You… lied?”

“When I told you about Eris and I breaking up, I told you that it was because he thought we were too close and it made him uncomfortable, but that was only half true,” Nesta explains, nibbling on her bottom lip before seeming to steel her nerves again and letting out a soft sigh. “What actually happened was that he could tell how you felt toward me, could see it. He actually said it was quite obvious…”

Cassian can’t stop his scoff, his anxiety from before quickly morphing into annoyance, burning like embers and threatening to grow into full blown flames that lick at his veins. “So, what? You knew and just didn’t want to say anything? Wanted to watch me embarrass myself rather than put me out of my misery?”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Nesta snaps, her own eyes blazing like storm clouds.

“Fine. Go on then,” Cassian mutters, shrugging his shoulders in what he hopes is a casual manner.

“He also said it was obvious that the feelings were mutual. Something he’s not exactly the first person to tell me… and every time before that, I would deny it or argue that there was nothing there because you’re Cassian, you’re my best friend, but I don’t know, something that day, when Eris was saying all that he was saying, something clicked, and I started really thinking about it and imagining it, but then, of course, I started second guessing myself and I—”

Cassian is moving before Nesta is even halfway done speaking, stepping around the kitchen island and into her space. Nesta continues to speak even as her eyes follow him, as her eyebrows start to dip in confusion, but when Cassian is close enough, he lifts his hands to slide his palms across her cheeks, to cradle her jaw, and the gesture effectively cuts her off. In the echoing silence, Cassian can hear the way her breath hitches in her lungs.

“So, is it mutual then?” Cassian asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

He needs to know, needs to hear her properly confirm it. Hope blooms so surely in his chest, roots digging in between his ribs, and it’s terrifying, even as Cassian grasps and holds onto it with all his might. Nesta continues to stare up at him, but she doesn’t pull away, so Cassian dares to lean in closer still, until their noses brush together, until he can feel Nesta’s breath skating across his lips.

“Nes?”

“Yes.”

Cassian’s thumb traces the curve of Nesta’s cheek, entranced by the way her eyes flutter closed. “So, we’re really doing this?”

Rather than answer, Nesta surges up onto her toes, pressing her lips firmly against his. Cassian doesn’t wait a second before kissing her back, dropping a hand around her waist and tugging her flush against him. Nesta has one hand fisted in his tee, her other hand pulling his hair free so she can bury her fingers there, and when she pulls at the strands, Cassian groans into her mouth.

Kissing Nesta is better than he could have ever imagined. It’s a breath of fresh air that leaves Cassian’s entire body feeling electric, even as something entwined with his soul unlocks, some beast deep within himself finally settling. The slide of Nesta’s lips against his, the feel of her in his arms, of her pressed against him, it’s as familiar as it sends a thrill running up his spine.

Cassian deepens the kiss, and he can taste the sweet creamer that Nesta loves to add to her coffee and something that is so distinctly Nesta. He wants to memorize it, memorize this moment, memorize her. His hands slip further down until he can grasp at Nesta's thighs, hoisting her up. He settles her on the kitchen island, staying pressed between her spread thighs.

The sound of shattering porcelain breaks the moment and has Cassian and Nesta pulling away from each other. They turn to find Nesta's plate now on the floor, broken shards and bits of scrambled eggs littered across the hardwood.

“That was definitely your fault,” Nesta tells him, her nose scrunching slightly in disgust as she eyes the mess. "I'm not cleaning that up."

“That's a problem for later,” Cassian assures her, using a finger under her chin to guide her attention back to him and kissing her again.

“Cassian,” Nesta mumbles against his lips, but Cassian only allows her to pull far enough away that he can focus his lips’ attention on her neck, delighted that he can feel as much as hear the way Nesta gasps when he drags his teeth over her pulse point. “Bedroom. Bedroom now.”

Cassian pulls Nesta back into his arms, her thighs snug around his hips. He kneads his hands into her ass until Nesta is moaning into his mouth and carefully avoids the broken pieces of porcelain on the floor to walk them out of the kitchen. It takes all his focus to get them down the hallway, to avoid them careening into the walls or crashing to the floor, especially when Nesta keeps tugging at his hair like she can't pull him close enough.

Somehow, miraculously, Cassian gets them through the doorway to his bedroom, depositing Nesta onto his blankets. He reaches a hand back, fisting it in the fabric of his tee and yanking it up and off. He can feel Nesta's eyes raking down his chest like phantom nails scraping across his skin, and he swallows hard to suppress a shudder as he kneels onto the mattress.

“Enjoying the view, Nes?” Cassian teases, settling between her splayed legs, sliding his hands up and up until he reaches the hem of where her sleep shorts sit.

“Just getting my ogling in now that I can,” Nesta shoots back, but the breathy tone of her voice gives away how affected she is.

“You could've ogled before. I wouldn't have complained.”

“What? Like you did? That's right. You weren't subtle.”

“If you're expecting an apology, you won't get one," Cassian promises, leaning down to nose along her jawline. "It's not my fault you're so gorgeous.”

Cassian’s hands slide up over Nesta’s hips, tangling in the hem of her oversized tee and tugging it up over her ribcage. He pulls back just enough to slip it off her, tossing it to his bedroom floor. He kisses a line from Nesta’s shoulder all the way up her neck, biting a mark behind her ear until Nesta is keening and shuddering beneath him. She bucks her hips up against him, desperately chasing friction, but Cassian merely presses his hands against them, pinning her against the mattress.

He changes paths, kissing down along Nesta’s collarbones and biting teasingly at her breast over the comfortable bralette she has on. It’s the next item that Cassian tugs off and discards, finally able to lavish Nesta’s breasts with the proper attention they deserve. He swirls his tongue and groans against her skin, taking his sweet time. Nesta continues to writhe against him, so Cassian tightens his grip on her hip, moving his other hand to palm at her other breast. Every moan, every breathy whine goes straight to Cassian’s cock, and when his name falls past her lips, Cassian has to press his own hips down against the mattress to get some relief.

Cassian sits back on his haunches, admiring the flush that’s painted across Nesta’s chest and high on her cheeks, her hair cascaded across his pillows. Her eyes are blown out and such a bright color of blue that suddenly beautiful doesn’t seem a strong enough word. He slips his fingers beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts and panties, pulling both down slowly, teasingly.

“Now be a good girl and lie still,” Cassian tells her, slipping them the rest of the way off.

Nesta tosses her head back, and the loud moan that tears its way out of her throat, her hips bucking up against the air, has Cassian stilling. Nesta’s eyes snap back open as though she’s just realized what’s happened, that blush on her cheeks deepening, and try as he might, Cassian can’t bite back the smirk pulling across his face.

“Does that do it for you?” he teases lightly, his smirk only growing at Nesta’s responding scowl.

“Fuck off.”

“Now now, Nes. That doesn’t sound very good to me,” Cassian chastises, gripping Nesta’s calves and tugging her even closer to him. “And good girls get their pussies eaten.”

Nesta tips her head back against the pillow, letting out a pained groan. “I cannot believe you just said that.”

“I’m trying to be sexy.”

“I feel like I now know why you’ve been single so long.”

“We both know why I’ve been single so long,” Cassian tells her, skating his fingers up Nesta’s calves, over her knees and to her thighs. He says it teasingly, but he means it too, the words genuine in a way that his chest aches for just a moment. It may have taken him longer than it should to realize it, but it’s always been and always would be Nesta for him.

“Sorry I made you wait so long,” Nesta offers quietly.

“I’m not,” Cassian dismisses, leaning down again to kiss her, this kiss a soft and sweet press of their lips together. “As long as it led us to this moment.”

“I think I preferred sexy Cassian over sappy Cassian,” Nesta teases, rolling her eyes fondly.

Cassian chuckles, but he kisses her again, deeper this time. He traces a path with his lips down her neck, her chest, her stomach. He skips over where Nesta really wants him, pressing a smirk against the skin of her calf at Nesta’s whine before he kisses back up her leg. He pauses as he gets to Nesta’s thigh, needing a moment to really take it all in, to recognize that Nesta is really here, in his bed, in his arms.

“Cassian,” Nesta whines, bucking her hips up again. “Come on, already.”

“Sorry. Just making sure I’m not dreaming and this is actually happening.”

“I’d be more than happy to smack you in the head to prove you’re not dreaming.”

“Definitely not a dream then,” Cassian shoots back, nipping at Nesta’s inner thigh in retaliation. “Dream Nesta is much nicer to me.”

Nesta rolls her eyes, and Cassian can already see the retort poised and ready on the tip of her tongue, so he does the one thing he knows will shut her up. He leans in and licks a thick stripe up to her clit. Any words Nesta was going to speak choke off into a moan, and he knows he’s won.

“Cat got your tongue?” Cassian remarks, squeezing at the flesh of Nesta’s thighs. “You’re already so wet for me and we’ve barely even started.”

Nesta lets out an annoyed huff, but she doesn’t protest or say anything more. Instead, she buries her hand in Cassian’s hand, shoving his head down and where she wants him. Cassian chuckles softly, but he’s more than happy to give her what she wants, alternating between long licks and fucking her with his tongue, unable to hold back his own groans. He turns his attention to her clit, sucking it between his lips and relishing in the sound it pulls from Nesta’s lips.

He keeps his eyes on Nesta the whole time, memorizing the way her mouth parts in pleasure, the way her chest heaves, calculating what she likes, what gets the loudest response from her. She has one hand twisting in the sheets, the other still buried in his hair and holding him just how she wants while she cants her hips against his face.

Cassian pulls back to catch his breath, but he doesn't relent, pressing a finger into her, the welcoming heat squeezing the digit. He pumps his finger in and out, curling it until he finds that spot that has Nesta keening, has her back arching up.

“You're so gorgeous,” Cassian breathes, biting another mark into Nesta's hip bone.

“Cassian, fuck. More. Please,” Nesta gets out between moans, pressing down against his finger.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” He slips a second finger in beside the first, picking up the pace as he fucks her with them. “You take my fingers so well. Are you going to take my cock like this too?”

“Yes! Gods, yes.”

“Are you going to come for me, baby? Going to be my good girl and come all over my fingers and face?”

Nesta lets out a half choked off moan in response, and Cassian knows she's close. Can feel it in the way her walls flutter and squeeze around his fingers, in the way her hips seem to be moving against him like they have a mind of their own. He dips his head to return his mouth's attention to her clit, licking and sucking with a renewed fervor while his fingers continue to work her.

It doesn't take long after that for Nesta to shatter, her back arching off the bed while she practically shouts his name. Cassian works her through it until she comes back down, slipping his fingers free and sliding up her body. Nesta has her arm thrown over her eyes so he presses a gentle kiss to the center of her chest instead.

“You good, Nes?” Cassian asks, unable to keep the smugness from his tone.

Nesta lets her arm fall back against the mattress with a quiet thump. "I don't care that you've never had a woman over the entire time I've lived here, you better have condoms in this room."

“Ready to go again already? Clearly, I'll have to try harder next time to make sure you're really boneless.”

“Why don't you try harder right now?” Nesta challenges, settling Cassian with a look that has his entire body alighting.

Cassian is quick to scramble up onto his knees, reaching toward his bedside table. He fumbles around in the drawer until he finds what he's looking for. The small, foil packet poised between his fingers, he leans back in and kisses Nesta, wasting no time in pressing his tongue into her mouth and deepening the kiss.

The moan Nesta lets out against his lips is electricity straight to his cock, and he dips his hips, rocking them down against her. Nesta's hands push at the waistband of his sweats, clearly growing impatient when her hand merely reaches inside and grasps him. Cassian would be embarrassed by the loud groan he lets out if Nesta's fingers curled around him didn't feel so heavenly. She pumps her hand slowly, twisting her wrist just right, and he knows he won't last much longer if she keeps this up.

“There'll be time for you to play another time,” Cassian tells her, catching her wrist and pinning her hand back against the mattress instead. “But right now I want to be inside you.”

“Then take your pants off already.”

“Has anyone ever told you you're bossy in bed?”

“You like it.”

Cassian hums consideringly, but he doesn't disagree. He shifts up enough that he can slip his sweats off the rest of the way, tossing them into the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. He tears open the condom and slides it on, Nesta spreading her legs wider so he can settle between them.

“Lift your hips for me, baby,” Cassian requests, quickly grabbing a pillow and sliding it under Nesta's hips when she does as he's asked.

He takes his cock in his hand, teasing it through Nesta's folds and the wetness gathered there. He can't stop staring, still can't quite wrap his mind around the fact this is truly happening. He's really about to sleep with the woman he loves, with Nesta.

“Cassian, please,” Nesta whines, wrapping her legs more tightly around him and trying to nudge him forward.

Cassian notches himself more firmly against her, but then he merely smirks up at her. “Ask nicely like a good girl.”

“Please fuck me. Please.”

Cassian leans in and slots their mouths together at the same moment he presses his hips forward. Nesta lets out a shuddering breath against his lips and Cassian isn't even sure he's breathing as he slides in inch by inch. It takes all his willpower to hold himself still, but he can feel the way Nesta clenches around him, so he shifts his head to press soothing kisses along her neck.

“Okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” Nesta assures him, shifting her hips until they're both moaning. “Now, fucking move.”

“Still so bossy,” Cassian chastises, punctuating his words with a hard thrust.

He sets a brutal and hard pace, snapping his hips against her own until Nesta is a keening and writhing mess beneath him. His eyes skitter down, entranced by the way they're joined, addicted to her fluttering around him.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Cassian breathes hotly in Nesta's ear. “Take me so well. Like you were made for me. So perfect for me.”

“Cassian,” Nesta practically shouts, tossing her head back as she moans loudly.

“That’s it, baby. Let me hear you. Let this whole apartment building hear how good I fuck you.”

Cassian shifts his hand to grasp Nesta's thigh, hoisting it higher on his hip and holding it there. It allows him to sink in deeper, to hit at a new angle that has him groaning right along Nesta's moans as their bodies move together.

“Gods, don't stop,” Nesta chants, tugging at Cassian's hair like it will keep him there. As if he'd ever be anywhere else. “Right there. Fuck, right there.”

Cassian chuckles softly, but he reaches his hand between them, rubbing her clit in tantalizing circles. “Come on, Nes. Want to feel you come around my cock. Want to watch you come again.”

It seems to be the only coaxing she needs. Nesta clamps down tight around him, her whole body practically shaking as she shatters, a half choked off moan of his name tumbling past her lips.

“That's my good girl,” Cassian praises, still stroking his hips to work her through it. “So fucking gorgeous like this.”

Cassian tries to keep steady, but his thrusts start to stutter as he feels his own orgasm looming. A few more snaps of his hips, and he buries his face in the crook of Nesta's neck, moaning as he crashes over the edge. For a second, he swears his vision blacks out, his mind going blank and fuzzy. When he comes back to himself, Nesta's fingers are carding softly through his hair, their bodies still pressed together and her legs still snug around his hips.

“Fuck me,” Cassian mutters against her skin.

“I just did, you idiot.”

It's the most Nesta thing to say ever that Cassian can't help but laugh, her own melodious laughter joining in. Cassian pushes back up onto his forearms, but that’s as far as he goes. He shifts his weight enough that he can cradle Nesta’s jaw in his hand and kiss her. It’s slow and sensual, and it’s with reluctance that he finally does pull away from her.

They clamber off the bed to clean up, and watching Nesta swipe his shirt off the floor and pull it on leaves Cassian breathless and gaping after her as she walks out of the room and toward the bathroom. Already, his blood starts to heat again, and he has to swallow hard and shake his head to clear the thought before he follows behind her into the bathroom.

Even though it’s still fairly early in the day, once they’re done, Cassian wraps his arms around Nesta’s waist and carries her right back to his bedroom. He tosses her onto the mattress and quickly jumps on the bed as well, pulling the blankets up over them both and tugging Nesta back into his arms. She rolls her eyes at his antics, but the soft way she pushes his hair off his forehead and away from his face betrays her fondness.

“I know I probably should have said this before we fucked each other's brains out,” Cassian starts, shifting forward on the pillow so his nose bumps Nesta’s. “But I meant what I said even when I was drunk. About loving you. I am absolutely, stupidly in love with you.”

“Are you sure that’s not just the sex afterglow talking?” Nesta teases, her eyes alight with amusement.

“I’d be more than happy to prove it to you by reminding you in an hour. And tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. And the—”

Nesta covers Cassian’s mouth with her hand, effectively cutting him off. “You are the worst.”

Cassian curls his own fingers around Nesta’s hand, tugging it away enough that he can properly press a kiss to the center of her palm. He settles their joined hand over his heart, unable to bite back his wide, goofy grin as he repeats, “I love you.”

Nesta’s answering smile is soft in a way Cassian’s only seen a few times, but he’s sure he’ll never get tired of, mind already working on ways to pull it out again. It’s a smile he knows is only for him, and it sends his heart fluttering at what it means, the implication, even as Nesta’s whispered words echo the confirmation, “I love you too.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog​ @lifeisntafantasy​ @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl​ @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust​ @a-trifling-matter​ @blueunoias​ @kookskoocie​ @cassiansbigwingspan​ @unlikelypersonalknight1​ @blurredlamplight

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #omg roommates #my fic

[foxxfuxx]

hey! welcome to my masterlist. looks a little different than what you’re used to; this is a list of every single one of my characters i will write or have written smut content for. the links to their names attach to their online profiles; considering that i am their creator & sole fan, art and such of them can only be found on the toyhou.se profiles linked below (: if any of them catch your interest, search the bolded hashtag in their description on my page to find anything i’ve posted about them. if any of them catch your interest and they don’t have anything posted about them, feel free to send a request to my inbox; i’ll happily write content for someone if i know they have an audience waiting to see it (: happy scrolling!

ASRA, the troublesome siren that voluntarily agreed to a be a subject in a study on the half-fish humanoids. Silvertongued and a little too charming. Those teeth are a little too sharp for comfort…but that tongue… #XXASRA.

AZRIEL, the clumsy fallen god trying to keep his head above water on Earth. Slimy, cunning, and…not the brightest tool in the shed. #XXAZRIEL.

BELLA JO, the renowned she-bandit terrorizing the old west. Cold, ruthless, and sadistic; unless? #XXBELLAJO.

COBRA, the vocalist of bombshell rock band the Snake Eyes. Bold, brash, and not afraid to fuck someone up. Literally or…physically. #XXCOBRA.

DANTE, the eldest harpy brother. Legally protective to the point of being possessive over his things. Willing to kill for what he loves. Who he loves. Maybe. #XXDANTE.

EMMERSON, the steady host of the earth elixir. Trusty, grounded (literally) and loyal. Definitely doesn’t have a freaky streak. #XXEMMERSON.

ENZO, the eager-to-please wannabe racecar driver trying to ride on a wave of shallow fame. Again; eager to please. #XXENZO.

FIONA, the hot-tempered host of the fire elixir. Runs on lust, vengeance, and a strong desire to show off — in any way. #XXFIONA.

FOXX, the conniving canine demon that heavily enjoys messing with peoples’ heads. Will mess with your head. Heavy. #XXFOXX.

GRIFFIN, the naive host of the air elixir. Wants nothing more than to keep the peace and make his family proud. Or grow his family. Maybe. #XXGRIFFIN.

“HURRY!”

MALOKAI, the scheming devil of a siren haunting the west American coast. Has made a literal killing off of tentacle fetishes and drunks on cruise ships. #XXMALOKAI.

MAMBA, the heartthrob bassist of the Snake Eyes. Very good at her job; good with her hands in general. #XXMAMBA.

MOUSE, the sweet-natured host of the light elixir. Loyal to a fault and fiercely protective of the ones she loves. Fiercely protective of you, maybe? #XXMOUSE.

NICO, Griffin’s former shadow-caster turned Griffin’s shadow. Runs the show back home in France. #XXNICO.

PIXXIE, the solo bartender at the Vixxen. Perhaps slightly crooked morals, but easily one of the best people to have at your side. Or in your bed. Either or. #XXPIXXIE.

RIOT, the beefy brawler of the Falcon. The only thing bigger than her muscles is her heart. And maybe her appetite for love. #XXRIOT.

ROWAN, the youngest harpy brother. Used to getting mowed down by his brothers and not used to getting attention. Easily flushed. #XXROWAN.

SIMEON, the rough host of the storm elixir. Has seen a lot of shit and has a lot of feelings he keeps very deep inside of himself. Or deep inside of you. #XXSIMEON.

SIN, the dauntless captain of the Falcon. Unshakeable and fiercely independent. She’ll prove it to you, too. #XXSIN.

SLADE, the runaway ex-hitwoman trying to stay afloat in a sea of crimes and bad desires. Needs someone to anchor to. You? #XXSLADE.

VIPER, the rockstar guitarist of the Snake Eyes. High on life and loving adoration. #XXVIPER.

VITTORIA, the revered daughter of the 1920s New York mob. Born to spoil someone’s sweet girl and enthralled with doing so. #XXVITTORIA.

WINTER DI GRAY, the lead biologist on the siren study expedition. Top of her graduating class. Cold-cut and calculated. Whips her employees into shape. Literally. #XXWINTERDIGRAY.

XAN, one half of the Gemini running EXO’s wasteland. Mean-spirited and reckless. Assassin, hit for hire; whatever you pay her for. Whatever. #XXXAN.

FOXXTHOUGHTS

XIN, the other half of the Gemini bringing vengeance or justice to the wastelands of exile. Has a mean tongue and gnashing teeth. Another hit for hire. #XXXIN.

FOXXTHOUGHTS

ZEN, the dead-eyed tattooist working right outside of NEO. Wickedly talented with his hands. Shame he’ll only do tattoos. Right? #XXZEN.

ZEPHYR, the quiet host of the air elixir. Knows a lot; never says so. Knows a lot. A lot. More than you’d think they do. #XXZEPHYR.

#18+ content #spicy content #smut #oc smut #wattpad #foxxfuxx

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 6[*]

A/N: demon!Azriel just rubs me right. Also I’ve had this idea for this chapter for a little under a month by now so I decided to finally put pen to paper!

Warnings: handjob, a bit of oral (m receiving), smut, fingering, mosterfucking, kind of exhibitionism?, blood-drinking

-Part 5- -Part 7-

Azriel nearly groans when he opens his eyes.

He was gifted a few precious hours of sleep, having found the drop itself quite difficult. To a level that even his meticulous breathing cycles found it tiresome to deal with. And now he’s awake again, and his trouble is right before him.

You’re lying neatly on your stomach, blankets pooled around your waist while your arms hug the plump pillow beneath you. Your eyelids are slightly puffy from sleep, your lips smooth and—

The need thrums beneath his skin, instincts roaring at him to flip you on your back and slam inside, rut into you to relieve the incessant itch beneath his skin. You’re the bane of his existence in that moment. The perfect image of taunting purity, robed in white—he’d found it humorous at the time of giving them to you, knowing how quickly you’d be defiled—features peaceful, breathing even and deep.

He has to steady himself when you shift, sending a wave of your scent over to him. He wonders for a moment what you’re dreaming about; you seem like someone who dreams.

He hadn’t shifted last night. Had worried the need would be too unbearable—his instincts becoming a screaming tangle of curses and pleas inside his head, far too loud for him to manage sleep. Even if he knows you like it when he does. Which is vaguely amusing.

You act so prim and proper in almost every way. Even when he’s been inside of you, drawing those unholy sounds from your throat… And yet you seem to enjoy him the more dæmonic he is. He’ll often wake to find you curled against his side, back pressing into him with a pillow clutched to your front, between your thighs. It’s possibly the most unguarded you’ve been around him.

It’s as if his thoughts summon you awake, eyes peeking open, almost instantly latching onto his own. As if sensing that silent bond between you—even if, as a human, there’s no way for you to know.

“Hungry, Azriel?”

He growls low in his throat as he snaps his talons back in—having protruded while he was thinking about you, about your heat: being inside it, lapping over it, coming on it. He wants your mouth on him.

He needs to feel that pleasure.

You watch him quietly. On edge.

His eyes are fully black, which isn’t usually a good sign. And you would never admit it to him, but the dream you’d had was one of your more…lewd ones. That may or may not have involved him in some manner. Maybe concerning your shared trip to that river about a week ago. How he’d…

His nostrils flare, body stiffening, canines twitching, as if debating sliding out further but being kept in. You force yourself to swallow; calm yourself. “I am. What’s for breakfast today?”

Azriel’s blacked-out eyes stay locked on you as he rolls onto his front with beastly grace, muscles rippling with the smooth movement. This time, it’s you who tenses up. He prowls forward, and you have enough sense to keep still. You feel like any sort of movement will send him into fluid motion—whatever that motion is.

You stiffen, heart rate spiking, as his hand lands on your shoulder, ordering you to roll over. You silently debate disobeying him, pushing to keep still—you shouldn’t allow him to push you around like this. But when he gives another gentle wave of pressure, that’s firm enough you don’t think it wise, you follow him.

His hand goes with you as you’re turned onto your back; you suddenly feel cold on your front.

“Azriel?” You murmur, attempting to keep your voice level.

It’s as if his eyes have somehow become darker. They’re piercing into you, moving to be atop your body and traitorous heat starts gathering in your lower belly. He’s moving with that lethal grace of his, caging you in as he lowers himself to your neck and you’re certain he can hear your heart pounding.

Your breath hitches as he noses at your throat, scenting you. You wring your fingers together across your waist nervously as he takes you in, his heat practically melting into you.

His grip tightens on you, and you inhale sharply as his tongue presses against the side of your neck, dragging upwards slowly—so slowly. It’s lazy—leisurely. He’s taking his time…

No.

He’s savouring you.

When his canines scrape over your throat, your hands twitch, considering the merits of pushing him away. But he nudges your legs apart, and you flush, heart pounding wildly in your chest. “Azriel…” Something like a rough purr sounds, reverberating into you—deep and raw.

“Azriel…” you repeat, setting your hands on his upper arms. “Azriel, stop.” He growls slowly, barely raising his head as he opens his mouth over your neck, canines beginning to press in against the soft skin.

You try to squirm away, hands now pushing against his chest but he doesn’t budge. You begin to panic. You don’t know how dæmons work, whether they truly thrive off sin—maybe he needs this from you? Your teeth find your lower lip and you turn it over in your mind. Maybe if you give him a bit, it’ll help relieve some of the strain. You don’t think the gods will be angry if it’s done out of a will to help.

So you relax, arms snaking over his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair and he groans, his hips rolling into your own.

“Just a little,” you murmur. “You can have a little…just to help.”

He snarls at the permission, arms wrapping beneath your waist, forcing you to arch into him, head falling back on the bed as you bare your throat—eyes wide at the abrupt movement. Then he’s biting, marking you with the print of his teeth, nipping and sucking. His hips buck against you, and you can feel him pawing at your night robe, shoving it out of the way and—

You gasp as you feel him against your bare heat, the hard length of him rubbing against your slick.

You shove away from him, trying to scramble back, but he snarls, lips curling back from his fangs. “Azriel,” you plead, “stop it. I don’t want this. Please, stop…” He doesn’t.

Instead he pulls back, forcing your legs apart as he slots himself between them, the tip of his cock pressing into the soft dip between your thighs. Fear pours through your blood as he prepares to push in.

You don’t let him, shoving your hand between your bodies, gripping him tightly.

He gasps, eyes widening as he stares at you. You’ve never taken him so tremendously by surprise before. He’s off kilter.

You shuffle away, shoving at his shoulder but keeping your hand wrapped around him, until you’re both on your knees before one another. He growls, beginning to reach for you but you shift your hand and he inhales deeply, gaze remaining on yours.

And suddenly you have power. Suddenly, you’re in control. And it feels good. Is this what he feels like? This heady, crackling undercurrent of untapped energy?

“Show me,” you stammer. “Show me what to do.”

His skin is buzzing with lightening. Thrumming with an incessant pull.

You’ve got your hand around him. You’re touching him. You’re doing the initiating. He wonders if this is what it’s felt like for you whenever he’s started. But you’re still human, so maybe those senses are blocked off.

“I’ve never…”

You’re saying something, but he’s finding it difficult to focus.

“I’ve never really…helped, before. Not like this…”

Your heart is thumping in your chest, arousal coalescing between your thighs. He can scent how wet you are, how easy it would be to slide home. Settle into his nest.

“So tell me what you like,” he hears you stammer, “and I’ll do my best.”

A low growl sounds, and he realises it’s come from him. He hastily tucks his claws away, sealing them beneath the knuckles of his skin as he settles his hand over your smaller one. Much smaller. You struggle to grasp him.

His mind is going blank—relaying over and over that your hand is atop him.

He’s struggling to keep his composure beneath the humming pleasure.

“Azriel?” You manage, nervously.

He might be furious with you for taking such liberties. Maybe you should release him… But then you’d be giving up the power you’ve suddenly found over him.

Hesitantly, you squeeze him tighter, dragging your hand up until you’re grasping below his tip. Something milky looking has beaded at his slit, and you swipe the pad of your thumb over it. The creamy coloured liquid smears, and he hisses, trembling. You repeat the action, lowering your hand before raising up to his head again.

His eyes are still black as pitch, but colour is flushing his cheeks, breathing deeply as he begins guiding you. His gaze remains latched on yours the entire time. Up and down, down and up. Over and over. He squeezes, encouraging you to hold him brutally…what you would have thought was painfully. But he keeps going, and you’re too nervous—enraptured to stop. The twist of his wrist, how his hand fits around the length of him perfectly, the milky sheen at his tip. You wonder what it tastes like.

A heady flush warms your body, a kick of desire so strong that, for a second, you want to push him on the mattress and take him in your mouth. Like he’s done for you. Maybe it’s his own way of showing affection… Making you feel good in a way he knows will satisfy you. The thought hadn’t occurred to you before. You’ll ask about that, later. Maybe.

Azriel growls low in his throat, twitching beneath your soft palm. He’s panting, blood heating steadily as he gets closer and closer. Quicker than he would have liked, quicker than usual, but you feel so good. And you initiated. You wanted him. It would be enough to catalyse any male’s release.

He’s so close now. Just a bit more…

You know he’s near. You don’t know how, but you can sense it. Sense that edge rising up to greet him. His eyes are closed in pleasure, having fluttered shut moments ago. So he can’t see you. The thoughts flashing through your mind as you again peer at that slit in his head, licking your lips. Maybe just a bit. If it really is how he shows affections, then possibly… You don’t let yourself doubt. You lean downward, continuing with the movements.

Parting your lips ever so slightly, you press them just beneath the head of his cock. A strangled sound comes from his throat, and you can feel his eyes on you. But he twitches again, which must mean he likes it. When your tongue flicks out over his slit, he releases a snarl in warning. One that—were you his kind—you would have understood. But you’re painfully human before him, and don’t understand, delivering tentative laps to his head as he releases.

You squeeze your eyes shut, features heating with embarrassment and… You shiver, aching between your legs. You can feel exactly where the creamy liquid has landed, spurting onto you, dripping slowly over the crest of your cheeks. You bite your lip against the urge to moan, tucking the desire deep inside of you.

Pulling away, you manage to slip your hand out from beneath his. He’s still panting. Staring at you. The whites of his eyes visible. You probably look…You won’t finish that thought for him. But as you meet his gaze, you see the familiar hunger, the need to have you, and something flutters deep in your belly.

Your hand raises gingerly to where his come is dampening your cheek, finger catching it on their pads as you pull away to look at it. Slightly shimmery, milky in its colour, still hot. Your eyes flick to his as he watches you keenly, strain evident in his jaw as he hold himself back from…whatever wicked intentions he has. You don’t think about much else, only his release on the pads of your fingertips as you peer at him with stark curiosity.

“Is it��can I eat it?”

His head goes quiet, arousal thrumming like a war drum in his blood, singing at your words. He manages nothing more than a nod. He’s not one to pray to the gods, he knows they don’t listen to creatures like him, but if he were any other being, he thinks he may have fallen to his knees at the nearest temple.

You raise your fingers to your mouth. Tasting him.

He can do nothing besides watch. Totally bewitched. Enraptured and enchanted so thoroughly he questions your mortality. You hesitate, then scoop more from your cheeks, steadily cleansing yourself as you deposit each drop in your mouth, eyes closing shut in concentration, trying to mark his flavour.

It’s only when you lean forward, making to wrap your mouth around him that he’s spurred into action, gripping you gently by the shoulders as you peer up at him nervously. “Can I not…Do you not want me to?”

Gods damn him he wants you to. Wants it badly. So badly, but—

“Rest.” The word is rough, and surprises even him. “Go have breakfast. We’re going out.”

————

Had you done something wrong?

You would have expected him to want more…unless he didn’t enjoy it. For some reason, the thought doesn’t sit well with you. You should ask him, but how would one even go about prying like that…?

You sigh, and instead focus on your surroundings. It would be a waste not to seize the moment, especially when he seems to have actually attempted to do something for you. Something nice.

A cool summer breeze swishes through your hair, playing with the wisps that have escaped their binds, floating on the slow wind. The sun beats down on the rolling grassland, earth warm beneath your thin soled shoes, tempting you to remove them—as unkempt and errant as it would be. Despite your time with him, the experiences he’s served to you whether aware of it or not, you still have a modicum of womanly restraint within, and will not yield to the hedonistic ways of those religious zealots who claim the god’s favour. As much as you wish to run bare-footed, unbind your hair, frolic in the summer’s sun. Even if you’re burning with desire to leap and soar. Even if you know he would have no complaints. It’s not like he’s ever shown appreciation for human customs—quite the opposite. They seem to be nothing more than puerile hindrance.

A surge of wind crests through the knee-high grass, making your light cotton skirts billow in the breeze, whipping at your hair again, tugging more of it free.

In the near-distance you can make out a forrest, trees bedecked with luscious green leaves, ranging from the lightest sea-foam green, to the deepest tyrian purple, to the reddest of burnt paprika. Carried on the breeze is the twittering of bird-song, the tweeting and whistling of those melodic voices that coast along the feathery clouds. Near the tops of the trees you can make out how some of the green leaves are already fading to raw sienna, readily yielding to the crisp touches of autumn.

From the crest of the hillock you peer down the side that’s bathed in buttery sunlight, lush moss coating the outcroppings of rock that would normally be dangerous to bare-footed folk. At the base of the small hill you can spot a splattering of colour—wild blues that border on indigo, blossoms that are too smooth a blend of orange and red, like bursts of vermillion, small buttercups dotting between shoots of pale yellow and purest magenta.

The breath steals from your lungs as you take in the sheer beauty of the scape, noticing the brook that winds its way down the hillside, babbling with the breeze in a flurry of words your human ears can’t yet decipher. The sun has long since seeped into the very marrow of your bones, warming you as if you’re bathing in a heated pool of gilded water.

“This is…” How would you even begin? You’ve never seen a sight like this, too accustomed to the burning sting of dust and the drying-out crust of sand as it whips and nicks at exposed skin. A landscape like this…it makes you breathless. Deprives you of words and thought. Just the billowing clouds dancing over the grassland, temperate and perfectly lovely.

“I couldn’t in my wildest dreams create a place like this…” you manage hoarsely. You turn to look up at him, “are we even in the human realm, or is this place blessed with divinity?” His eyes narrow at you, “if you’re asking whether or not we’re permitted to be here…” Your throat closes up. “I was not asking that. I did not think even one of you would dare set foot on holy grounds.” He rolls his eyes, and you stiffen. “Would you…?”

This time he snorts, descending the slope of the hill, moving toward its base.

“Azriel?” You ask, but he keeps to his fluid movement. “Azriel!” You repeat shakily, stumbling after him until you reach his side and step in front of him—not your wisest choice. But all he gives you is a rueful little smile, and vanishes—to appear behind you. He continues walking even as you twirl on your feet. You’re rooted to the spot. You can’t be here. You’re mortal, and if these truly are the holy grounds, then…

“Take me back.”

He smiles to himself internally before turning, features neutral as he takes in your stand of defiance. “Take me back right now.” Again, he offers that smarmy, little grin, “I didn’t say we were in your so-called holy lands.”

“Azriel,” you murmur, eyes wide with sincere fear, voice lowering, “tell me you would not.”

You sound desperate, as if it would be such an awful thing for a mortal to enter the ‘blessed lands’ of the gods, he thinks. “Your soul will not be forsaken, despite what your tampered-with scriptures proclaim,” he replies smoothly, watching keenly. You pause, then “that’s not what I asked.” He bites back a smile at your misplaced terror. Oh, how he would delight in taunting you further! How many ways could he deceive you with your limited and mostly incorrect knowledge of the gods? How he will laugh when you begin to discover their truths.

Instead he speaks calmly, if a bit coldly, “you are indeed in the mortal-labeled holy lands. But as I have already said, your soul will not be forsaken nor damned, nor will you rot alongside the Underking. As much as your liar- priests and priestess’ love to profess it as truth.” Your eyes widen at his bold claims, the brazen statements he’s making. “You understand the severity of heathenism, don’t you? To make claims such as yours…to make assertions like that will damn you to hell.”

He doesn’t remind you of your belief that he’s forced you to reside with him in hell. That would cause too many questions, and he quite likes knowing you won’t try to escape, if only for fear of what lies beyond the castle floor which he holds you in.

So he simply laughs at your fear-spurred actions. How many joys have you refused because of your misplaced faith? Never mind that, you’ll have plenty of time to live out whatever joys you wish to indulge in. You have a long life with him. He doesn’t dare consider potential complications with the Ritual.

“Your false scriptures claim that should a mortal man set foot on sacred lands, he will be struck down where he stands.” His eyes flick to the clear skies, not a thunder cloud in sight, “I see you’re still standing. By logic, they must be untruths.”

Your lips purse, but you remain rooted to the ground, refusing to take another step. Good.

His lips lift in a feral grin as he stalks toward you until you’re cast in shadow, wings flaring, “you refuse to move forward?” He asks, eyes gleaming with sinister promise. Just aching to rip into you, you think. But he is his own kind, and has been designed to lure humans like you to break the laws of your religion, to seduce you into failure and destruction, brought about by the hubristic nature of mankind. The kind you refuse to bow to. Even if he can shred you apart, you will trust in your gods—they have never failed you.

They’d never failed you until that night you’d been dumped in the forrest, bound and left for the beasts to fight over.

Then again when you’d been stolen.

Then again when you’d been dumped in that frozen wasteland, a new side of Hell.

Maybe they have abandoned you. Maybe you were supposed to die that night, yet he’d come swiftly in their place to fill the void the holy creatures had left when they deemed your time to be up.

But those are sweeping assumptions you’re jumping to. Maybe this is their way of testing you, to see if you’re worthy of those Elysian Fields, where only the bravest and noblest of souls may rest. A step above Heaven.

There must be a step below Hell, too.

The thought doesn’t sit well with you.

“I will not be coerced into failing my gods,” you reply firmly, planting yourself stably into the grassland, “I trust in their power, and their words. If they told me to leave my homeland and travel, I would follow obediently, without question or hesitation.”

“And what if one told you to obey me?” He asks mildly, teeth flashing in an animalistic grin that sets your hairs raising. He’s pleased when you falter on your self-righteous proclamations. “They wouldn’t do that.”

“Humour me.”

Your brows narrow as you peer up at him, arms folding over the front of your creamy coloured dress. What trick is he up to now? “I don’t think you know the meaning of the word,” you shoot back instead. Unsettlingly, you think his lips twitch in a smile. Unsettling indeed.

He looks down on you in that judgemental way of his—like he knows every thought that passes through your mind. It doesn’t make you laugh as you had expected. Instead, a strange sense of unease floats across your chest. You wouldn’t like if he could just peer inside of you. But you know so little about his kind’s powers.

“So you would disobey your oh-so-dear gods if their requests did not align with your own sense of right and wrong?” He asks, amusement dancing in his charcoal gaze. Charcoal—not hazel. “They wouldn’t do that,” you repeat again.

He merely shakes his head, “you are blinded by your misguided faith.”

“That misguided faith as you so brazenly call it is what will separate us in the afterlife, Azriel.”

He laughs. It’s cold and heartless. “And what have I done to make you believe I deserve those silver flames? What makes you believe death will claim me—or any of my kind?” He questions, something honed and merciless glittering in his eyes. “You are what you are. Death will claim all of us. Only the Mother is beyond its cold clutches. Even gods yield before that carver’s scythe.”

Darkness writhes around him, a stain marring the beautiful landscape. A smudge of evil amongst this sacred nest of divinity. A wolf in a children’s nursery.

“Careful,” he warns, smiling vaguely, “you’re starting to sound like one of those heathens you so despise.”

“My words are not an affront to the deities. I recite what is written in our holy books,” you defend, even if a shiver spider walks down your spine at his accusation. Men had been turned to candle-wicks for less. “You speak of the death of a god. Such a thing is not taken lightly.”

“Is that a drop of reverence I detect? I thought you had a particular distain for those divine beings,” you reply, staring up a him with half-wild eyes. You will not be pushed from your faith. You will not waiver or tremble.

“I find myself quite close with one of those divine beings,” he drawls, watching as you flinch, trying to sort whether he’s telling a truth or attempting to deceive you, “and I do not think he would be pleased to hear someone—a mortal, no less—discussing his eventual ending.”

Your blood runs cold beneath the blazing sun, leaving a sense of nothingness in the absence of your life’s heat. “I don’t believe you.” But even to your ears it lacks the bite it needs. The unyielding conviction you had spoken with before.

But instead of pouncing on the obvious soft spot, he takes a different approach, returning to the conversation that had started the heated debate. “Your belief aside, you think I would put you in a position of danger? You seem to be in possession of a somewhat sound mind. You should understand I do not wish to have a corpse for a bride. Or a wife. Even I could not reach you once you passed over. I believe you would make a rather dull accomplice.”

The chill deepens, but you raise your chin, staring him down. “I will not take another step. These are sacred lands not yet meant for me.”

It seems to be the answer he was waiting for.

He grins, an animalistic flash of teeth and fangs and then he—vanishes.

You feel the shift deep within your bones. Somehow the veil between your beings has thinned—maybe the holy grounds play a hand in it. Either way, you’re caught off guard as his snout shoves beneath your legs, making them buckle as you’re tossed high into the summer’s air, enough to make you breathless.

And then you’re plummeting back down, landing atop a powerful back, corded with beastly muscle that shifts and ripples with languid grace as his wings snap open, flaring as he moves to shoot high into the heavens, you still seated atop him.

“Azriel!” You gasp, enough sense about you to dig your hands into the thick fur at the meeting point of the tip of his spine with the slope of his nape with the broad width of his shoulders. And the very breath whooshes from your lungs as you’re launched high into the blue as those great wings snap downward, capturing the wind beneath them as you soar to the clouds.

You grip tight, hauling your body flat against him as the wind beats at you, accompanied by the thunderous booming of his wings as they propel him higher and higher—

Those are clouds he’s coasting. Clouds he’s surfing up and over and around. He reaches the base of one, spiralling upward in a tight circle, cutting at its edge as he flies, soars further and further and then he’s at its peak. A wide expanse of pale blue lies before you and your stomach lurches as he begins the deadly plummet.

“Azriel!” You scream, words snatched away by the wind as his wings tuck in. Your heart rate spikes, thundering like an echo of the leathery beat that had pulled you so far from the safety of land and earth. Blood rushes in your ears, pounding through your body with wild intent and he plunges.

The earth is so small beneath you, and you’re unable to pick out the hill you came from as he dives—mostly because you refuse to look. Your eyes would probably tear up anyway. Then you become aware of the weakness of the wind, how the cold is no longer biting at the skin of your calves, catching in the pools of your dress. But he’s dropping—you can feel it in the spasming of your thighs as the end rushes up to greet you.

You clutch tighter to him, nestling into the heat of his silky fur and you pray. Pray to every god you know. To the Mother, to your parents, to the king, to every force you have comprehension of that he’ll pull up.

Blood pounds and you feel yourself losing grip. Silver lines your eyes as you’re dragged down through the atmosphere—a millstone dropped into the ocean of skies, plummeting, sinking, dragging you to its depths. You’ll splatter. Faced with your own mortality.

“Pull up,” you mutter under your breath, not even a whisper. Your stomach spasms with the plunge, the effort of keeping yourself intact. “Pull up,” you beg quietly, hands trembling as you fall, the hill coming into sight—the mossy outcroppings, the splatter of wildflowers, the babble of the brook. “PULL UP!” You scream at him, tugging at his fur because one more second and it’ll be too late.

His wings snap open, catching the wind beneath them, leathery skin going taut but holding. You’re jerked on his back, grip being shaken free, and you lurch, as if about to be sent careening from his back to plummet the rest of the way. But shadows snake over your thighs, hug your waist, fastening you to him as he evens out, shooting across the grassy flatlands as he coasts the green sea.

He’s so close to the ground; you’re certain should he wish it, his talons could till the earth. He’s going so fast, hurtling through the open fields, moving with lethal motion, propelled forward by the powerful, beating muscle that binds his wings. Colour blurs by as you pass over dotted patches of wildflowers, leaving only gusts of wind in your wake, crystal-like water spraying to a fine mist as he shoots across a stream.

A laugh—young and wild and reckless—bursts from your throat. His shadows wrap slightly tighter as your grip loosens on him, allowing you to sit upright—that shield that he’s put in place blocking you from the air that would surely knock you clean from his back.

The caged woman inside of you breaks free, tasting the wind and the air and seeing the vivid whirls of colour, smelling the freshness of green grass, the crispness to the summer breeze, edged with the floral sweetness of wildflowers and the earthy tones of the forrest. Everything around you is alive, humming with unspoken life, moving to that unheard melody that keeps the harmony in nature.

You want to bathe in it. To unbind your hair, tear your shoes from your feet and throw your arms to the wind. You want to dance through the clouds as he does, want to shred the dress from your body if only so the essence of the world can fill you up, to shower your senses in the force of nature. Feel the heated grass between your toes, rinse your skin in the crisp and clear water from the spring, roll down the grassy slopes and sleep in the wildflowers.

You sit upright, and raise your hands from his fur, letting the weightless spiralling feeling grip your soul, feeling the billowing air breezing by. Joyous laughter spills from your lips, bright and sun-filled as you allow yourself to forget—just for a moment—about the world you come from. Forget about being a proper woman, forget about duties of piety, of obligations to honour your household. Instead, you exist. You are. You be. It’s wondrous.

More, more, more—

His wings flare, pulling him to a glide downwards, flapping as he lands smoothly on the grassland, not too far from your take-off point.

What?

“What are you doing?” You ask breathlessly. “Why are you stopping? Go again,” you push, but he remains grounded. “Azriel?” You question pleadingly. You want to go again. To soar higher and higher until the air is stolen from your lungs. To make the drop again and again. To feel the lurch of the world beneath you. To have the earth ripped from your feet.

But he shakes his shoulders in a gesture you take to mean get off.

“Just once more,” you breathe, fingers tightening in his fur as you lean closer to him, “one more ride. Please.” His head cocks, tilting to the side, eye curving round to see you on his back. What will you do for me?

Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline thumping in your blood. So many bargains, so many deals. Always one thing in return for another. But you need that high again. He’s given you a taste of the summer winds, how pure the air can be, how the world can tip as you dive and you need it again. Need to feel that insignificance—the unity with something greater.

So you make a reckless decision.

Your lips pull back from your teeth in a feral smile—one he’s given you before—then you’re swinging your leg over his shoulder, sliding down his silky fur as you drop to the mossy grass: spongey and soft. You turn to look at him, almost trembling with energy, sparking at the seems with inherent need and vivacious life.

As soon as your feet touch the ground he’s shifted, and you don’t allow yourself to fear him—only think of the skies and the clouds and that drop. You grab him by the hand, grin still splitting your lips as the sun shimmers in your eyes. You turn, tugging him along, moving as quick as you can as you drag him over to one of those patches of splattered colour, a section of wildflowers.

“You want me, don’t you?” You breathe, peering up into his dark eyes, writhing with darkness and malevolence and—hunger.

No second guessing, no room for doubt, you turn and step into him, hands snaking up his chest as you press against his body. He leans into you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you tight against him, taking in your scent as he growls—half beast. “You’ll let me bed you in a field?” He asks, a taunting undertone to his low drawl.

You don’t let his words summon that flicker of shame as you shake your head. You look him in the eyes, peering up at him as his heat seeps into you—warm despite the chilly upper airs. “Lie down.”

His pulse stumbles at your words. Your command. The feral wildness reflected in your gaze. He can hear the thrumming of your heart against your ribs, how it’s pounding in your chest with a need to be free. “Lie down, Azriel,” you repeat, hands tightening on him with need. Barely hiding his reluctance, he settles in the grass, watching you silently for your next move.

That melody is still living inside of you, strumming your heartstrings; playing on your ribs, but it’s fading. You need to hear its symphony again, that cluster of chords that will make you feel the fire of life. You straddle his thighs, fingers working deftly on his ties to set him free and you hear his breath catch at your intent. Then a rough laugh sounds in the back of his throat, wetness gathering between your thighs in response. “You want to have it here?” He growls lowly, eyes piercing into you.

“Yes,” you breathe, gripping him in your hands.

He doesn’t get much warning as your mouth descends on him, tongue lapping over his head as you had wanted to do this morning, wet heat encasing him. He hisses an inhale at the sudden sensation, taloned hands fisting at his side as he feels blood drain from his head with such dizzying speed.

You’re tempted to keep licking at him, but you’re aching, and want to feel the wind on your skin as you ride him. It feels good, like there’s a greater current tugging you toward him, urging you on in your movements. It feels right.

So you scramble up his body, mouth opening over his own as you slant your lips against him. A sound rumbles in his chest as his hands grip your hips brutally. Your own hands drop to the hem of his leathers, pushing and pawing in attempts to remove his top as you moan against him, letting your heart-beat guide you to what you want.

“Azriel,” you pant between the flashes of teeth and the flicker of his tongue. You again grope at his shirt, pushing it up and he finally follows, removing it and you take him in, mouth practically watering as you actually take him in. Every scar, every swirl of ink, whorls of shadow decorating his skin with ancient marks that beckon and call to be licked and inspected.

“You’re look at me as if you haven’t eaten in days,” he purrs darkly and you can feel him against your thigh. Something fractures inside of you, splitting down your spine and lashing at the inside of your skin, flaying you raw with need so great it threatens to obliterate you.

He senses it, the war drums inside, sitting upright as he grabs you roughly, your arms snaking over his shoulders. You moan when he kisses you, a deep, wanton sound. Your hips roll, pressing against him and he groans at your desperation—for him. Thoughts begin to eddy from his mind as primal need slowly seeps through him, weakening his restraint.

To his surprise, you lift your dress, pushing aside your underwear as your fingers find your pleasure-centre. The loudest moan yet spills into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, hand tangling in your hair as the wind whips around you, sun still high in the sky. Two fingers press inside, and you curl them. You know you need to prepare yourself for him. He was gentle before—or you were ready for him. But this time you’re taking him of your own accord, and you need to be fully equipped to deal with him.

Your breath catches when one of his hands slides possessively down the curve of your back, squeezing your ass before slipping beneath your dress. Talons scrape menacingly against the soft skin of your inner thighs and you whimper with pleasure. His claws retract and the air is pushed from your lungs as you feel one of his fingers join your own. “Azriel…”

He growls over your mouth, tongue flicking your roof as his grip tightens in your hair, drawing more pleasing sounds from you for him to devour. “Is this why you prefer your dresses? For ease of access?” He manages between breaths. “Yes,” you pant, his fingers curling inside of you. He doesn’t believe for a second you’re actually paying attention to what he’s saying, but it sends an overpowering wave of fire lighting his spine regardless.

“Yeah?” He chuckles as you roll your hips against him, getting wetter by the second—he can feel it. Feel you. “You want me to start taking you whenever I want?” He growls, mouth leaving yours as his teeth graze your neck. Your breath catches, one hand tangling in his hair as you tilt your head to the side with primal need, “bite me.”

He snarls, pupils dilating at the whispered command. He follows obediently, fangs scraping over the scars, before sinking down. You whimper, gripping him tighter as he laps at your life that spills on his tongue, drinking down every damned drop he can before his saliva seals you away again. He’s tempted to take another bite.

But you’re tugging at him, and your mouth opens over his, the metallic flavour coating your tongue as you taste him. Then you’re pulling back, taking your fingers from between your legs, too—more room for his own that he presses inside. A groan drags from his throat as you push your fingers between his lips, whimpering as his tongue laps at your flavour, heat raising to his skin as he stares you down, the wet muscle in his mouth flicking and twining over and between your digits as he sucks that taste from them.

“Do it,” he growls, retracting his hand from between your thighs, guiding his tip to your entrance. You pant breathlessly, settling your weight over his head and you know you can just sink down and have him inside of you filling you up making you spill—

“Azriel,” you cry, burying your face in his neck, teeth pushing at his skin desperately, “Azriel…” You repeat his name again and again, chanting it as if it were an ancient spell to relieve you of pain and bless you with unending joy and life. Over and over you say his name as a scared mantra, whimpering and whispering it against his skin with aching reverence. Lower and lower, inch by inch, until you’re sat in his lap and the world spins.

You remain still, basking in the fullness, bursting with energy. Your hips wind softly over his, and you hiss at the pleasure, white spots dancing in your vision like feathers or blossoms on the breeze. Your nails press again his tough skin, raking at his back as you lift, then slide down.

More. You need more. You need that symphony to sing to your bones, need to melt into him, break under him, yield and reforge into molten pleasure until your screams turn to song.

Your hands find the hem of your cotton dress as you pull away. Then you’re tugging it up over your hips, over your stomach, over your breasts, throwing it to the grassy floor. Press against him, bare skin on skin, heat and life and beauty flowing freely between you but you need more.

You guide his hands to your hips, hooking his fingers beneath the cream fabric. His talons slice without you having to ask, and you pull it away, kicking off your shoes and toeing off your socks until you’re completely bare.

Tears brim at your lashes at the feeling, of being utterly naked to the world. You can feel the heated grass beneath your shins, the wildflowers caressing your skin, the sun beating down on your form, the summer air—crisp and clean—filling your lungs. And him. Him filling you from within, filling you until you’re about to burst, laying upon you gift after gift of experiences. So many you would never have touched had he not stolen you away.

You manage to raise yourself from his lap—then sink down, settling yourself on his cock. You moan, loud and unrestrained. One hand raises from your hip to cup your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your lashes, pushing away the dampness. You’re not sure if you’re anymore capable of movement. Of breath, of thought, of anything other than being entirely with him. Of being entirely his. With every bone, every breath, every thought. If it’s all his, will it ever be enough?

His hips buck and a silent moan spills from your lips, cock touching a sensitive spot that has you finally spurring into action because you want more and more and more and it isn’t enough. You raise up, and drop down, pushing him deeper inside of you, so deep you’re winded from the fullness.

“Azriel,” you whisper over his lips, tipping your head upward as you wind over him, finding your pleasure in his body, “Azriel, please.” You need him in that way of his, need him to obliterate you. Your nails claw at him, grazing the base of his wings and he hisses. Repeat it, gentler. He groans. More pleasure.

“Azriel,” you beg again.

He pulls back to look at you, something raw in his eyes, “what?”

“Shift.”

His head goes quiet, almost silent, and there’s nothing left in him to resist your request. His features sharpen, fangs protruding beneath his lips, eyes slitting to slivers of darkness then his iris’ turn black, swallowing the whites. Talons push from his knuckles, thick fur dusting his abdomen and then—

Your back arches, curving up into him as you cling on desperately. His cock shifts, expanding below the head to rub against that spot inside of you, to drag against it whenever he—yeah. That’s it. Your eyes have gone wide and glazed, winding over him with fluid ease, as if you’re following some innate rhythm inside of you that’s perfectly synchronised with his roar of harmonies.

“A little more,” you breathe, staring up at him, “just a bit more, Azriel.” He shifts further, fur raising to his stomach, finger merging to form three-toed paws, accented with razor sharp claws. His cock grows inside of you, swelling, and you think you could die. Right there. You could be peaceful. So happy and content.

He grips your hips, urging you to move, to find your pleasure. To give him his own, too. But you can hardly move with the sheer size of him, one shift of your body will likely send you— He lifts you up and slams you down. You scream, gripping onto him as your hips buck wildly, and he’s pounding into you, canines scraping and nipping to deliver that edge of pain that has stars and moons colliding in sprays of silver and gold inside of you.

He keeps going, raising your hips and slamming you down and the breath is knocked from your body as you free-fall through ecstasy.

And you shatter.

He feels you fluttering around him, clamping down and he can’t help himself—his teeth sink again into your skin. Bursts of lightening buzz beneath your skin as pleasure sings to your blood, sparking and fracturing and welding and reforming. Heaven spills on his tongue, finest ambrosia put to shame as he’s swallowed by his senses. Indulging in your divine decadence until he’s lost what he is.

It takes minutes for the both of you to come back down from the highs you’d flown to. To glide back down and fully settle takes longer, and when you’re finally able to crack your eyes open, and push up from his body to meet his gaze, you’re not quite sure what to do.

Something changed. You’d been working in tandem, flowing from the same beginning to the same end, blending at some point as you blurred and melted.

You barely manage the energy to pull back a little, to put some space between your bodies so you can peer down. You’re startled by the sight of the bump in your lower abdomen. He just watches quietly as you lower your palm to it and press curiously. Both of you hiss as you press his cock against you through your skin. He’s so big. So big you can see his mark from the outside. How full did he make you?

“I…” You rasp, but don’t know what to say. Instead his eyes gleam, though there’s still something raw in those dark hazel depths, “still want that ride?”

Both of suck in a sharp breath as you tighten around him at the kick of need in response to his double-edged question.

It takes a while before you’re able to ease off him, and you feel empty once you’ve slid out of his lap. Empty enough you’re tempted to scrap the ride through the skies and instead hop back on top of him.

He probably wouldn’t mind.

But instead you manage to make it to a stream, both of you bathing in the waters. You dry off quickly in the sun—even if small blades of grass litter your body. With a little reluctance, you re-adorn yourself in your crumpled cotton dress, though your underwear is done for. You attempt to tie the sliced pieces together over your hips, but Azriel only re-slices them once you’ve managed. You can’t tell whether it was accidental or intentional on his part.

The ride isn’t as intense as the first, both of you seemingly in need of something soothing and calming to replenish yourselves with after the frenzied coupling.

The winds are still pleasant, the weather delightfully temperate, and he flies until your stomach growls in protest. You would have asked him to fly more, if you hadn’t thought maybe he might be in need of food as well.

So you spend the afternoon lazing in dappled shade, gorging on berries and weaving wildflowers—you haven’t done so since you were a child, and take great joy in seeking out the colours and stems you want.

Azriel lazes at your back, shifted into a four-pawed form to settle at the base of a towering oak. He keeps his eyes shut, but you get the feeling he’s watching silently as he always seems to do for you.

It’s only when you approach him gingerly from the front that he cracks his eyes open. His large head raises from the sun-warmed earth, peering down at you with a blacked-out gaze. His attention runs over you, going from the crown of your head—where a corona of flowers sits woven into your hair—to your still-bare feet.

Hesitantly, you hold up the circlet of wildflowers, beginning to approach. He growls lowly when you set it on his snout—unable to reach his brow. With a heavy huff of air, he blows the small crown up high, letting his shadows guide it lower to rest atop your own wreathed head.

You blink, touching the crown inquisitively. He waits for you to kick up a fuss, to start crying or to stomp away, but you stay where you are for a moment, watching him warily—as you should. Then walk away.

His eyes close, settling his large maw down atop his paws until he feels a small weight press into his side. Shadows swirl to find you dosing against him, the sinking sun bathing you in orange light as you press into his side with a yawn. The second crown tilts slightly as your eyes close, head tipping to the side. You continue slumping until you’re laying flat against the ground, still nestled to his side as you usually do when sleeping.

It’s somehow good to know that behaviour isn’t limited to when you think he’s unaware. It’s good to know you’re settling into some more animalistic habits. Hopefully when the Ceremony comes, it won’t be too demanding of a change.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel smut #azriel fluff #shadowsinger #teeth and talons #demon!azriel #demon!Azriel smut #demon!azriel x reader

[theostrophywife]

the prince of hell | part two.

we might just get away with it, the altar is my hips even if it's a false god, we'd still worship this love

author's note: i have chosen violence today and i won't apologize for it. anyways, enjoy this soft fluff.

song inspiration: false god by taylor swift.

The underworld was nothing like you expected it to be. 

It was a land of perpetual night, but it wasn’t the frightening unending darkness of nightmares, instead it was moonlight and constellations, twinkling stars and violet skies. Never in a million years would you have predicted hell to be dreamy. 

But it was. Everything about the place was an absolute dream. None more so than the winged male carrying you in his arms. 

The Prince of Hell smiled softly as he cut through the cumulus clouds, flying towards an enormous castle perched atop an obsidian mountain. The peaks glittered like dark diamonds, the gothic spires and turrets spearing through the endless night as you floated through the sea of stars. The moon shimmered overhead as Azriel landed on the open balcony. 

Though his feet hit the chequerboard floor, Azriel made no move to release you from his grip. He merely continued carrying you through his home, past the moonstone walls and marble pillars, through countless rooms full of lavish furniture and extravagant paintings, and underneath a crystal chandelier that projected starlight onto the polished onyx floors. 

You gaped in wonder as he slipped past mahogany doors and into a bedchamber with a four poster bed. The sheets felt like silk to the touch as he carefully set you down. Across the room, you stared at your bewildered expression through a gilded mirror, your hair wild and unbound, your wedding dress smeared with blood and ash. 

Azriel’s brows furrowed in concern as he wiped a streak of dried blood from your cheek. “Are you sure you’re alright, my heart?” His fingers skirted over your hairline, brushing a stray strand behind your ear with surprising gentleness. “You’re shaking.” 

You gave him a watery smile. “I’m fine. Just a little rattled, that’s all.”

“I won’t apologize for what I did to that mortal, but I am sorry if it frightened you. The way he spoke about you, the way he grabbed you—” he released a shaky breath as if the memory still stoked his anger. “I wanted to do more than just rip out his wretched heart.”

You grabbed his hand and squeezed in reassurance. “You saved me.” Honey eyes dawned on you like sunset, disbelief dancing in Azriel’s gaze as though no one has ever said such a thing to him. “You saved me and I owe you my life.” 

“You owe me nothing,” Azriel declared with determination. “You will never owe anyone anything ever again.”

Those words released another floodgate of tears. As the Prince of Hell cradled you in his arms, his soft voice a soothing lullaby in your ears, the realization that you were free—truly free slammed into you. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but what you did know was that Azriel was a refuge in the storm.

As he had been in your dreams for far longer than you could remember. 

“I thought I’d dreamt you up,” you said, looking up at this stranger who really wasn’t a stranger at all. “How are you real?” 

There was something about the way those golden eyes softened that made your heart leap in your chest. Azriel brushed a tear away and took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a raven with a broken wing. It searched high and wide for shelter, but because of its injuries, the raven couldn’t fly very far. One day it landed in the countryside, half-frozen and half-starved, where a girl found it buried amongst the snowbanks. The girl took pity on the raven and brought the bird home, offering it shelter and mending its broken wing. As she nursed the raven back to health, he did something very foolish. He fell in love with the girl. The raven knew it was a mistake. She was beautiful and gentle and kind and he was a creature of nightmares. Eventually, he healed and she set him free. That should have been the end of the story, but the raven was a selfish bastard. It kept coming back—watching over her, leaving her gifts, and visiting her dreams.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you listened, realization slowly washing over you as Azriel spoke. “Then one day, the raven heard the girl’s father praying to the old gods. Heaven ignored his pleas, but Hell listened. The raven listened because he had never forgotten the girl’s kindness. What the girl didn’t know was that the raven wasn’t a raven at all. He was the Prince of Hell. The day she found him, he had been attacked by his step brothers who sought his throne for themselves. They held him down and drove a spear through his wing, nearly severing it.” 

His right wing flared out and you saw a large scar running through the underside of the red and gold membrane. “Before they could kill him, the Prince of Hell shifted into his raven form and fate took him to the small village where the kind girl rescued him. The raven would have died if it weren’t for her. When she set him free, he knew it killed her to do so. But the girl understood what it was like to be in a cage and she didn’t want him to have the same fate as her, so she let him go. As the girl watched the raven fly away with a heavy heart, he promised that one day, he’d set her free too.”

The room was silent as Azriel’s fingers raked through your scalp. “So the raven bided his time. Bargained with the girl’s father. Slaughtered his greedy step brothers. Reclaimed his throne. Then finally, the raven fulfilled his promise. The girl thought that he had set her free, that he had saved her, but what she didn’t know was that she saved him first. Before he met her, everyone always said that the raven had no heart and they were right because his heart was tucked away in that small, snowy village.”

The Prince of Hell brushed his lips over your temple. “That’s what you are to me,” Azriel said softly. “My heart.”

“Why me?” you asked. The memories flashed through your mind. Finding him in that snowbank. Bandaging up his wing. Your father had scolded you for it. Called you soft hearted. Always bringing in the strays of this world. The girl who desperately clung onto magic and fairy tales to escape the harsh reality of her own life. “I’m just a girl who has a weakness for the wild things.”

“Being kind is not a weakness,” Azriel said firmly. “I used to think it was. My father taught me as much and so did his father before him. But they were wrong. It was the kindness of a stranger that brought me back to life. A girl who gave me everything when I had nothing to give in return. That is true strength.”

Tears fell from your eyes like raindrops. It felt good to be seen. To have the whole of you reflected so clearly in someone else’s eyes. “You’re my freedom. You’re my salvation,” you stroked his cheek almost reverently. “I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

“As have I, my heart,” Azriel whispered softly, pressing his forehead against yours. “As have I.”

“You saved me,” you said once again.

“We saved each other.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as he traced the outline of your jaw, his thumb brushing against your lips. His touch was featherlight, but it set your entire body on fire. Azriel’s gaze marked you, burned you. It felt like he was embedding himself upon your soul.

“Azriel?” Your voice came out in a whisper, low and breathless. 

“Yes, my heart?” 

“Kiss me. Please.”

The Prince of Hell shuddered a breath. Then his hand slid into your hair, tilting you back. There was nothing but tenderness in his eyes as he closed the gap between you. Lips brushed against lips, tasting, testing—it was excruciating agony, it was sweet release. The kiss sparked a fire in you and you burned for Azriel, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling through his silky locks like you were trying to get lost in the dark paradise that was him with no desire to ever escape. 

Azriel pulled you into his lap, his lips never leaving yours. The way your bodies moved in perfect synchrony, melding together, melting together seamlessly made you think that maybe you were created just for this purpose. He was intoxicating; there was nothing more divine, nothing more sacred than the feel of his mouth against yours. Kissing him was an act of worship. 

You had the vague sense that you’ve never felt true hunger until Azriel’s tongue slipped past your parted lips and filled you with lust and desire so strong it made you feel like a depraved hedonist. There was Azriel and only Azriel. 

Desire was a lit match catching fire on a field soaked with gasoline. The need for Azriel was endless, like staring into an empty abyss and realizing for the first time in your life that you were finally seeing what lay inside this whole time. You were hungry. 

Azriel groaned as you rolled your hips against him. His hands found your waist, gripping you like his life depended on it. The gold dancing in his irises flickered to black. His eyes fluttered close as he nuzzled his nose against yours, reeling himself back to reality. 

Then, in a voice full of care and restraint, Azriel said, “We don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready to do. It’s your choice, my heart.” The words cracked your heart open, letting sunlight into the shadowy crevices. “From this point forward, it will always be your choice.”

You cupped his cheek, marveling at all that he was. “My entire life, every decision has been made for me. Other people have always told me how to dress, how to speak, how to act. Tonight is the first time that I actually get to choose something for myself. I want my first choice to be you, Azriel.” 

The words seemed to unleash something within the Prince of Hell. Azriel surged forward and kissed you, his mouth full of passion and heat. You arched into him and he took the opportunity to graze his teeth against the column of your throat before flicking his tongue over the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

“I choose you, too,” he said softly. 

You smiled, tugging him down until you both tumbled against the mattress. Azriel pinned you underneath him, taking his time to stroke your curves, his featherlight touch awakening goosebumps along your arms. He peeled the dress off of you gently, kissing your collarbones, your breasts, your stomach, and your thighs. You helped him out of his clothes, peeling layer after layer until the two of you were bare to one another. 

You had no idea where to look first. Azriel was a work of art, a sculpture carved out of marble, every inch of him perfectly crafted by the gods themselves. The forbidden fruit seducing you to taste, to bite, to savor. He shuddered as you pressed your palm against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart as if it were your own. 

“You will be my undoing,” the Prince of Hell declared. “I would worship at your altar tonight. You are my own little piece of heaven.”

“I don’t want to be your heaven,” you said, voice stern and unwavering. “I want to be your hell, because their god is the only one who has ever answered my prayers.”

Azriel looked down at you as though you were a god yourself. A treasure that he would give his life to guard and cherish. With your legs wrapped around his trim waist, Azriel hovered above you. His gaze was contemplative, searching for any sign of hesitation. 

When he found none, Azriel kissed you gently while easing his way in. You were wet, soaking with arousal, and the length of him stretching your walls was a welcomed sting. He kept his eyes on you as his cock filled you deliciously. You moaned into his mouth and the sound seemed to completely unravel him. 

It was ruin and restoration, life and death, pain and pleasure combined in one single act. Azriel twined your fingers together, holding your arms above your head as he made love to you. His wings flared behind his back just as his shadows swirled above his head, encircling him like a crown of smoke. The Prince of Hell was a dark god. He was night and mist and shadow. The space between the stars. 

You would pray to him a thousand times over. 

“Gods,” you moaned, the word falling from your lips like a solemn prayer. “It feels too good. You are too good, Azriel.”

He kissed you deeply, fusing your very souls together. A white hot heat seized your body and suddenly you were careening towards the cliffs, falling hand in hand with Azriel. The Prince of Hell growled into your mouth, his forehead pressed against yours as you both surrendered to release. 

For a moment, nothing else in the realm existed besides the two of you. 

Azriel opened his eyes and it was like staring directly into the sun after centuries of darkness. With a soft smile, he pulled you into his arms and kissed your temple. Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, your limbs locked and something within you just clicked. 

This was right. 

He was right.

You nestled against Azriel like you belonged there all along. “You never told me.”

“Told you what, my heart?”

“How the story of the girl and her raven ends.”

Azriel smiled, pulling you into his arms. “It doesn’t. They just find a new beginning instead.”

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria

#i am so emo over this #prince of hell az is such an angel but the demon will come out in the bedroom soon hehe #azriel #azriel smut #azriel fic #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel x you

[lilcutieana]

Masterlist

~ OneShots ~

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~ Fluff ~

Forget Me Not || Park Jimin x Reader | Fluff

Bittersweet Memories || Jeon Jungkook x Reader | Fluff and Angst

Just One Wish || Kim Namjoon x Reader | Fluff

Pure As Snow || Taegi | Fluff

Inked Yours || Jeon Jungkook x Reader | Tattoo AU | Fluff

The New Package || Psrk Jimin x Reader | Fluff

~ Smut ~

You belong with me || Jeon Jungkook x Reader | Friends to lovers | Werewolf AU | Fluff | Smut

Lethal || Min Yoongi x Reader | Demigod AU | Smut | Filth

Passion || Kim Namjoon x Reader | Smut

Dark Desires || Jeon Jungkook x Reader | Demon AU | Smut

~ Angst ~

Nobody Compares || Park Jimin x Reader | Angst

Waiting For You || Jikook | Angst

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════

~ Series ~

PANACEA (Angel / Fae/ Demon AU) (Completed) (M)

Kim Taehyung is a very loved and adored by many, ten-year-old boy who has big dreams and a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts.

One chance encounter with the angel of death herself, Azriel, seems to be more than just a chance encounter.

PANACEA / 1 || PANCEA - 2 || PANACEA -3 || PANACEA ~ 4 || PANACEA  ~ 5 || PANACEA~ 6 || PANACEA~ 7 || PANACEA~ 8 || PANACEA~ 9 || PANACEA~ 10 || PANACEA~ 11 || PANACEA~ 12 || PANACEA ~ Epilogue

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OBLIVION (Hybrid Min Yoongi )  { Completed} (M)

Min Yoongi, a beautiful and rare snow leopard hybrid, struggling to survive under the care of a ruthless owner who sells him for underground fights and sex. In a world where mistreating hybrids is a natural and where hybrids have been seen as worse than animals and treated beneath humans, would he make it out alive?

Oblivion ( Hybrid Min Yoongi) - Part 1

Oblivion ( Hybrid Min Yoongi) - Part 2

Oblivion ( Hybrid Min Yoongi) - Part 3

Oblivion ( Hybrid Min Yoongi) - Part 4

Oblivion ( Hybrid Min Yoongi) - Part 5

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SAFE HAVEN ( Hybrid Baby Bangtan/ ot7 ) ( PG)

Abandoned as kids, they finally find a safe haven in your home. How long would it last? As they grow up, will jealousy, territoriality, and love come in between, or would it make you stronger as a family?

Safe Haven 1 || Safe Haven 2 || SAFE HAVEN 3 || SAFE HAVEN 4 || SAFE HAVEN 5 || Safe Haven 6 || Safe Haven ~ 7 || Safe Haven ~ 8 || Safe Haven ~9 || Safe Haven ~10

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Summer Love ~ Kim Taehyung (mermaid AU)  (M) {Completed}

It was Summer when he lost his whole world, his family and his identity. And it’s summer again when he comes across the girl he swore was his enemy. 

Join Taehyung, as he tries to find his true identity– as a human and as a merman, along with the mystery of his parent’s demise.

Summer Love || Summer Love 2 || Summer Love 3

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ALIVE ( Robot Kim Seokjin )   (M)

A world where hybrids are no longer seen as pets and have been replaced by robots instead. Where robots have feelings, emotions and adapt just the way you need them to. 

So… Which robot would you like to order?

Alive ~ (Robot Kim Seokjin) || Alive 2 ~ (Robot Kim Seokjin) || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter Six

Chapter seven || Chapter eight || Chapter nine || Finale 

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#masterlist #mobile masterlist

[narcissisticmf]

masterlist | multifandom

¡ will be updated regularly !

works with an * are written for mature audience only. do not read if you are under the age of 18.

requests are always open.

none of the gifs i use are mine. credit to owners.

acotar

azriel

practice or fun? | fluff | platonic (kinda) |

atla

zuko

heal him | action | mutual crush |

liberty | angst |

the chronicles of narnia

peter

training | fluff |

come back, please | angst | fluff | romance |

oh, shut up | angst | romance | smut | *

flirtation | fluff | romance |

welcome back | fluff | mutual crush |

sound of war | fluff | romance |

just take a break | smut | romance | fluff | *

celebratory | fluff | mutual crush |

the golden witch | action | adventure | mutual crush |

bridgerton

benedict

draw me | smut | romance | fluff | *

swim | implied smut | fluff | romance | *

lord of the rings

aragorn

say don't go | angst | mutual crush |

mbav

benny

déjà vu | angst | fluff |

mcu

avengers

valorous | fluff | angst |

phoenix | adventure | angst |

birthday | fluff |

remember me | angst | fluff |

injured | action | fluff |

loki

winter festival | fluff | mutual crush | romance |

battle training | romance | fluff |

late nights | fluff | romance |

defiance | angst | romance |

snowfall | romance | fluff |

you | angst | romance |

cozy christmas | fluff | mutual crush |

apprentice | fluff |

mistress | mutual crush | angst |

cramps | fluff | romance |

grief | angst | romance |

vulnerability | angst | romance |

tavern dance | fluff | mutual crush | romance |

arrangement | angst | fluff | romance |

bucky

nightmares | fluff | angst | romance |

lonesome | angst | mutual crush |

i love you | angst | romance |

come on | mutual crush | romance |

like a virgin | smut | romance | *

hurt | fluff | mutual crush |

it's okay | fluff | angst | mutual crush |

gone | angst | mutual crush |

broken | angst | fluff |

sick day | fluff | mutual crush |

training session | fluff | action |

give in | smut | enemies to lovers | *

stranger things

billy

discourse | angst | romance |

make love with me | romance | smut | *

heated | angst | mutual crush | fluff |

confession | mutual crush | angst | romance |

eddie

monthly | fluff | mutual crush |

sturniolo triplets

triplets

daylight | angst | fluff |

snapchat | fluff |

the beach | fluff |

matt

instagram | fluff | romance |

don't fret | romance | angst | fluff |

chris

instagram | fluff | romance |

tender | mutual crush | fluff | angst |

embrace | angst | fluff |

supernatural

dean

1998 | angst | fluff | mutual crush |

1998 - part ii | fluff | mutual crush |

dance with me | fluff | romance |

affray | mutual crush |

this love | angst | romance | smut | *

i couldn't be more in love | fluff | romance |

lament | angst | mutual crush |

insomnia | angst | fluff | mutual crush |

protection | mutual crush |

demons | smut | romance | mutual crush | *

supply run | fluff | mutual crush |

perturbation | angst | romance |

torture | angst | mutual crush | action |

yellow ribbon | angst |

i'm fine | angst | mutual crush |

bedroom antics | smut | fluff | romance | *

us | implied smut | mutual crush | *

time to come | angst | mutual crush |

it's over | angst | mutual crush | fluff |

stomach bug | fluff | mutual crush |

a very supernatural christmas | fluff | angst | mutual crush |

unsaid | angst | smut | enemies to lovers | *

sam

anguish | fluff | angst | mutual crush |

i love you | angst | mutual crush |

winchesters

mjolnir | fluff | comedy | angst |

roadtrip | fluff |

car sick | fluff |

the 100

bellamy

persistence | fluff |

fight | action | fluff |

#smut #imagine #writing #masterlist #multifandom #narnia #supernatural #dean winchester #peter pevensie #x reader #reader #mcu #mbav #harry styles #the chronicles of narnia #loki #bucky barnes #steve rodgers #sam winchester #benny weir #edit #marvel #castiel #marvel imagine #mcu x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #supernatural imagine #marvel x reader #spn

[hlizr50]

Leathers (NSFW)

I wanted to have this ready for Gwynriel week, but I haven't written smut in probably 10 years so I was on the struggle bus for a bit.

Read on AO3

Gwyneth Berdara was a devious creature. A true menace.

Everyone thought she was sweet and innocent. But Azriel knew better.

She was cruel and secretive and conniving.

He’d realized her scheme as soon as she entered the High Lord’s study with the other two Valkyrie leaders, all clad in the leathers that marked them as such. And he knew, he knew, that this had been her plan all along.

As he gritted his teeth and worked desperately to quell the heat churning in his gut, his own tightening leathers, and the scent of arousal, he saw her soft pink lips spread into a knowing, satisfied smirk.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

He had seen the leathers before. He remembered the day in the house when Nesta emerged into the dining room with them on, squealing to her mate. The shadowsinger recalled that he always thought white was a terrible color for fighting garments, but even he could admit that the Valkyrie leathers were exquisitely designed and painstakingly constructed. They weren’t so different than the Illyrian leathers, overlapping scales over most of the torso, but the gold accents over the trim and feather-stamped panels over the shoulders made them look less like warriors and more like angels. Angels of death and light.

Azriel had wondered in that instant what Gwyn would look like in hers. He’d fantasized about it, seeing her standing tall and confident, a warrior in all areas of life. But she had never let him see them. She never talked about them, barely acknowledged their existence. She didn’t even keep them in the bedroom they now shared. He’d never mentioned it, never pushed. Perhaps it had been a bit odd, but the female never did anything without a reason.

And now, with his jaw practically on the floor, the musky scent of his arousal filling his nose (luckily he could tell he wasn’t the only one), and shadows twisting and writhing around him, he knew exactly what that reason had been.

Gwyneth Berdara – cruel and calculating and tantalizing Gwyneth Berdara – had waited for this moment, so she could see the practiced calm of the spymaster unravel before her eyes. One of the most powerful males in all of Prythian, absolutely undone, for all the powers of the Night Court to see. Cobalt siphons flickered.

This challenge would not go unanswered.

Luckily for the shadowsinger, this meeting was nothing deeply serious and more of a discussion about expectations for the three as leaders and members of the High Lord and Lady’s inner circle. As if anyone there had any doubts about their capability or dedication. And it was a good thing that his attention wasn’t particularly important, because he could not remove his gaze from the former priestess standing with hands on her hips as she listened intently to Rhys.

He’d always admired her body in leathers, though in the beginning he’d found it a source of shame rather than pride. Gwyn had been through too much for him to be casting lustful glances in her direction. But things had changed quite dramatically since then, in regards to her body and their relationship. Where once stood a relatively scrawny girl, now was a strong woman. The leathers – Azriel thanked the Cauldron for how tailored they were to her – showed off the definition in her arms, the muscled thighs and powerful calves, and the swell of that perfect ass. Every inch of her was sculpted from hours upon hours of training, then extra training, then training to escape nightmares or to work through feelings.

And that process was how their relationship had developed as well. The more time they had spent together, the more the spymaster had craved it. It was always easy with her. She always made him smile and laugh, things he didn’t often let others see. His shadows had been quite taken with her, and she had never shied away from them.

Nor from his hands.

He couldn’t be sure when it had happened, but she had firmly planted herself in his heart. She was beautiful and kind, irreverent, bold, and relentless. He respected the hell out of her, and that only made him want her more. But he hadn’t wanted to make the move, concerned about his own demons, concerned about her comfort and choice.

The Blood Rite had changed everything.

He had been as confident as he could have been, under the circumstances. He’d had to lean into that, keeping Cassian from falling into a pit of despair or, even worse, from doing something incredibly reckless that would’ve resulted in a death warrant on both his and Nesta’s heads. But the storm had raged inside Azriel then, a stark reality settling heavily in his stomach that he may never have another minute with Gwyneth Berdara. And since then he’d never made it a secret what she meant to him.

So he didn’t care that his hazel eyes slowly roamed her body, clad in white leather painted with gold, over and over. Memorizing every rise and fall and curve of her. He didn’t care that it was obvious to everyone in the room that he was immensely distracted. He didn’t care that his eyes had nearly popped out of his head when she walked into the study on swaying hips. He didn’t hear the amused chuckles or see the raised eyebrows when he’d nearly dragged her out through the double doors when their meeting had concluded.

The only thing on his mind now was that she would pay for her scheming.

“You seemed a bit distracted, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn giggled breathlessly, trailing behind him, tethered by his hand on her wrist. He rounded on her, releasing her wrist only long enough to cradle the back of her head as he pushed her against the wall. His body pressed into her, they breathed the same breath, her eyes bore into him with intensity and desire.

“Seems I fell right into your trap,” he whispered gruffly, sliding his cheek down roughly against hers and letting his tongue dart out against her jaw. He felt her inhale against him and he smiled wickedly against her skin. “You’re a menace, Berdara.”

“I won’t forget that look on your face for a long while,” she breathed, her fingers crawling up his chest, around his neck, and planting in the thick dark locks at his nape. It wasn’t a full confession, but it wasn’t a denial. And it sure as hell wasn’t a damned apology.

“You don’t know what you’ve started, lovely Valkyrie. I think you need to be taught a thing or two about decorum.”

Her giggle was more like a shaky rasp. Azriel could feel her heart beating as he dragged his lips down the column of her throat, feel her chest heave as her breathing quickened at his touch. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe I was not the one gawking and distracted while the High Lord was speaking.”

A growl rumbled through his chest, and he knew she could feel it reverberate through her, as well. He let his hands slide down the leather scales over her sides and traced them around to her back, fingers trailing ever downward until they cupped the muscled swell of her ass. After a rough squeeze he reached just a little further down to lift her thighs. Gwyn didn’t require much prodding, crossing her ankles behind him and effectively holding herself up against him. The shadowsinger lifted his head from her neck, turning his attention to the roses blooming under those freckles. One might think they made her look innocent, but he was no fool. Those cheeks were flushed with desire and satisfaction, teal pools darkened lustfully. He captured her lips in a demanding kiss as he pulled her from the wall, their grip on each other firm and unyielding. He stalked toward the door, anxious to get outside the wards of the estate so he could winnow them home.

So he could show her exactly what she did to him.

“You’re going to pay for that, Berdara,” he whispered huskily, voice coated in want. He could barely see, barely focus on getting them out into the cobbled street. The only thing in the world was her, the maddening heat of her skin and her warm breath hitching against the shell of his ear. And then he stepped into the darkness, emerging just a few paces outside the door to their seaside home with the conniving Valkyrie and heavy shadows still wrapped around him. The locks and hinges on the door took care of themselves as he stalked into the foyer, finally in the privacy of their home.

And that was all he needed.

Azriel set her down – not as gently as he probably should have – on top of the cabinet in the foyer and crushed his mouth over her soft full lips, long fingers immediately working at the ties of her leather pants. He felt her laugh against his mouth and took the chance to push his tongue between her lips. Gwyn’s fingers curled into his hair, grasping at him desperately. He grinned against her mouth as he loosened her leathers enough to reach a hand down over the lower part of her toned stomach. His Valkyrie’s hands drifted down around his neck and over the front of him. But he knew that her aim was to loosen his now very tight breeches, and there would be none of that. He pulled away for just a moment, grabbing her hands and then forcing them above her head. He covered both of her alabaster, freckle-speckled hands with one of his, holding them against the wall as he looked straight into her eyes and traced his other scarred hand down her front.

“Did you enjoy the sight of me coming undone before your eyes, Gwyneth?” She moaned as his knuckles disappeared beneath the leather, into the heat between her legs. He pushed a finger into her, relishing the wetness that had already built there. Azriel chuckled darkly, leaning in so his lips brushed her jaw. “It appears that you did. Very much.” He dipped a second finger in, his palm rubbing against her clit and eliciting a gasp.

“Az!” Gwyn breathed. His tongue darted out right under her ear before nibbling on her soft skin. “Oh Gods, Azriel.” Her voice, usually strong, was breathy and labored.

“Yes, Love?” His mouth continued to move over her neck, nipping and sucking and licking, as he plunged his fingers into her core. Satisfaction rumbled through his chest as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over that bundle of nerves. Her hips bucked against him. “Tell me, Gwyneth, was it your intention to drive me mad with arousal? In front of the entirety of the High Lord and High Lady’s inner circle?” Her head tipped back, mouth open and gasping, giving him even greater access to that elegant neck of hers. His thumb kept rubbing, fingers pumping, her body writhing under the mastery of his powerful hands.

“Did you want them to scent my need? Even as they could see it plainly on my face? In my fucking pants, stretching and struggling to contain what the sight of you did to me?” He pushed his thumb down and she cried out.

“Gods, Az, please!”

“That’s not an answer, Love,” the shadowsinger crooned against her throat as she bucked and rolled against him. “Tell me, Gwyneth. Yes or no? Ride my fingers and tell me.” He curled the two fingers inside her and pulled them nearly out of her before plunging them back in, pressure ever present on her clit. Her moaning and keening were music to his ears. He loved that he was the one she trusted to give her pleasure, that she would let go for him.

“Y-y-yes! Yes, Azriel!” She was almost there. He could feel it, feel her clenching around his fingers and hear her impending release in the cracking of her voice.

“I’m going to unravel you, lovely Valkyrie. I will undo you with my touch, just as you undo me. Just as you unraveled me in that study. I told you that you had no idea what you started.” He lifted his head and grew impossibly harder as he studied Gwyn’s beautiful face, flushed with pleasure, expressive eyes lidded, strangled cries escaping through parted lips. “Look at me, Gwyn. Look at me when you cum for me.” The wicked smile that curved his lips could not be stopped, not when those clouded teal eyes found his. They were deep as the sea, dark as the night with ecstasy. He curled his fingers inside her again and ground his thumb into that sensitive bud, driving her over the edge. She howled her release, tense muscles firing through her legs and core, making her twitch and buck. His touch was relentless, extending her orgasm as her wetness soaked his hand.

“That’s it, Love,” he praised as he leaned in to press his lips to hers and pulled his hand out from between her legs. He pulled her hands away from the wall above her head and draped her arms over his shoulders. “Hold onto me,” he whispered, kissing her again. He grabbed her thighs, encouraging her to wrap her legs around him. Then he pulled her off the cabinet and carried her down the hall, navigating the corridors to their room. Her breathing had only just begun to calm as he stepped into the bedchamber. He released her legs and she allowed them to straighten as he lowered her toes to the ground.

When she looked up at him, arms still around his shoulders, her smile was languid and content. Azriel flashed a crooked grin. “How do you feel?”

“Hmmm,” she murmured. “I feel… very good.” She giggled at her lacking vocabulary. The shadowsinger let his hands slide over her, finding their way to her back – to the buckles of her leathers.

“I think we need to get these off.” He started fingering the buckles, pulling straps with an impatience that wasn’t typically his style. But when it came to Gwyneth Berdara he could never get enough, soon enough. “I am not nearly finished with you yet.”

#gwynriel #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel supremacy #gwyn is a bit of a tease #azriel won't let her get away with it #but he's also a big fan

[redr0sewrites]

Hi there any imagines on the way?

yea! i have a bunch of aaravos angst hcs on the way, along with soren and kimdael stuff thats still rotting in my drafts.💀

i also have some acotar things like eris vanserra hcs and a smut, along with an azriel imagine i never finished lmao

finally, im hoping to write for demon slayer!!! i have some demon slayer period hcs that im working on since im on my period rn and SUFFERING ajsjjd- but yea, thats all i have for rn! feel free to request anything that u want!

#aavaros #eris vanserra #acotar #tdp #demon slayer