disillusioned-phantasma

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Out of Order

Hockey!Azriel x Figure Skater!Reader

Summary: You're running late from practice and the women's showers are out of order. In your haste to make it to class, you utilize the men's locker room while they're on the ice, only to find out that their practice has been cut short as well...

Warnings: Smut (oral, m receiving). Steamy (haha, get it?).

Word Count: 3003

Notes: This would prob never happen but it’s my world and you’re all living in it 😏

Belongs to the Shut Out & Penance world

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“Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter, staring at the sign hanging over the showers in the women’s locker room. It reads Closed for Maintenance. You’ve completely forgotten that the showers weren’t going to be in working order this week. You hadn’t been paying too close attention when your figure skating coach told you about it before the weekend hit, still too stunned thinking about Azriel when you’d run into him on your way to where all the coaches’ offices are housed. 

It hasn’t been a great start to the week. Your alarm went off late, you spilled the horrible coffee you’d managed to make whilst brushing your teeth—no harm there—and you split your leggings after a tumble on the ice. Now, you’re going to be doubly late for class because Coach Vanserra had wanted to talk to you about your routine after practice.

And now this.

Clicking your phone on, you check the time. Yup. You only have fifteen minutes to make your way across campus to class, and you’ve only just stopped sweating from the vigorous run-throughs of the jump you fell on during practice this morning. Anything to get the routine perfect, even if it did mean receiving a few cutting glares from the hockey players who were loitering around for their own practice. The chain reaction of you being late meant that the Zamboni flooded the ice late which meant that hockey practice started late.

Late, late, late.

You would totally skip class too, if it weren’t the one that you were struggling the most in. The Teaching Assistant even allowed you to meet with her before class today to go over the outline of your mid-term, and you really need to do well on it.

“What do I do, what do I do?” you wonder aloud, staring at the bright neon sign. You don’t have enough time to make it home, but—you groan as the idea pops into your head. 

The men’s locker room.

There are showers in there. Ones that probably work, too. 

Fuck, you really don’t want to do this. 

But you have no choice, you’re not spending the day walking around classes a filthy mess or smelling like sweat.

You duck out the door with your things, your bag slung over your shoulder, towel draped over your arm. Your shoes are clutched in your free hand as you duck your head, walking faster. Passing the rink just to make sure the hockey team is still out on the ice, you exhale softly, only allowing yourself a fleeting look at sex on skates.

Azriel is fast. Probably one of the fastest forwards on the team. He slides across the arena with a grace that rivals your own, and you’re impressed. Maybe he’s taken a few figure skating classes of his own. If only you could ask.

Quickly, you make sure that the coast is clear before ducking into the men’s locker room. It doesn’t look much different from the women’s locker rooms, with added urinals. It’s muggy even though it’s early, from the male figure skaters taking showers of their own. There’s a lingering scent of stale sweat in the air that makes your nose wrinkle, but you can push through that if it means you get the shower you so desperately need.

You halt, listening for any noise. Nothing. The locker room is perfectly empty.

You hustle to the back of the room where the showers are located, claiming the one furthest from the door. If someone does come inside, they likely won’t take up the empty shower next to you. Something about bro code and urinals, Cassian once mentioned. You pray that it applies to showers, too.

The walls separating each shower come up to your shoulders, and there’s a pair of swinging doors that keep the area enclosed. The water pressure is incredible, much better than in the women’s showers, and you groan as you step under the hot spray. Your towel is hung on the rack, your bag the furthest from the water as you can manage without getting it wet or being seen by anyone that might come your way.

You scrub your hair quickly, and when you turn around to wash the shampoo out, your eyes connect with a very familiar—and very heated—pair of hazel ones.

Azriel.

Holy fuck, this can’t be happening right now. His dark hair is damp with sweat, clinging to his perfectly tan skin. He’s sans shirt, and when your gaze quickly flicks to below the door, notice that he’s not wearing any pants, either.

Your heart pounds in your chest. He’s not supposed to be in here. You’re not supposed to be in here.

“What are you doing in here?” You exclaim, voice pitching high with your nerves. You slap your arms across your chest, even though you know he’s gotten an eyeful of your breasts from his vantage point, way taller than where the doors end.

“What are you doing in here?” He bites back, and the roughness of his voice makes the warmth pounding against your back converge between your legs. Fuck, he’s so attractive. His throat works around a harsh swallow, and you have to clamp your legs together stifle the throbbing.

Azriel watches you shift on your feet uneasily. Tracks you with his dark gaze like you’re a trapped animal and he’s about to pounce.

You kind of like this look on him.

“The women’s showers are out of order and I’m late for class,” you hastily reply, cheeks burning bright. You don’t know why he’s in here or if the rest of the team is seconds from following, but you need to get the fuck out of here right now, go bury your head in your pillow and potentially never return to the ice rink ever again.

This is utterly humiliating.

Azriel opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, raucous laughter and crude jokes fill the space as the rest of the team enter the locker room. Your heart falls to the floor, swirling around with the soap that’s still running from your hair, and slipping down the drain.

Before you can protest, Azriel’s shoving himself inside of the stall with you, uncaring that you’re completely naked and shouldn’t be here. He presses himself up against you and you slip, but he’s righting you, pulling you into his chest where you can feel how very interested he is in this debacle.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You exclaim, and it’s hard to keep your voice from shouting frantically like you want to.

The air becomes a thousand times hotter. You can barely breathe with him pressed up against you like this, turning the both of you and hiding you from the view of his teammates. Your heart still races in your chest, both because your fucking crush is pressing his naked torso up against yours and with the fear that one of his teammates will take notice.

“It’s either I see you naked, or the entire team does,” he whispers, huskily. “And no way in hell am I letting that fucking happen.” He growls and something like pleasure skitters down your spine.

You swallow roughly, “Good call.”

“Practice ended early,” He tacks on, answering your previous question.

“I gathered,” you breathe, but it holds none of the heat that it normally does when you talk to any of the hockey players. Especially Cassian. “You were out there for like, five minutes,” you whisper-shout. You can feel how red your cheeks are, and while this may be mortifying, Azriel’s hard cock pressed into your stomach only adds to your already heightened emotions.

You wonder what he’d do if you got down on your knees right now.

“It’s been an hour,” he responds, and you hold your breath when the water of another shower turns on. Azriel drags you under the spray with him, making it look to his teammates that he’s showering instead of hiding the figure skater they’ve been arguing with for ice time all semester. “Coach wanted to keep us loose for the weekend. We’re supposed to change and watch film.”

Fuck, maybe you were staring for longer than you thought.

You can’t focus. Your entire mind needs rewiring because all you can think about right now is how Azriel’s bare skin is touching yours. How he towers over you, how he’s staring down at you with a heat that rivals a thousand wildfires. Actually, he’s staring a little south of your eyes, right at your—

“Hey,” you snap softly. Your arms are still tucked tightly over your chest, and you hope you’re not experiencing a nip-slip right now. “Eyes up here, asshole.”

Azriel’s smile nearly makes you slip.

“Can’t help myself,” he defends, and this is the most animated you’ve ever seen him. Out on the ice he’s all broody and serious, head strictly in the game. It’s hot, but this side of him, cheeky and smug, might even be hotter. “You’re fucking gorgeous. Can you feel how hard you make me, baby?”

Gods, if he doesn’t shut up right now, you’re probably going to do something you’ll regret later, like grab his hand and slide it right between your—

“Dude,” Cassian’s voice bellows and you duck closer into Azriel’s chest. Each ridge of his impressive muscles contract as he freezes up and despite your heart feeling like it’s about to pound out of your chest, you can admit that this is thrilling. The thought of being caught in here, surrounded by built hockey players, naked with Azriel, makes your core twist with pleasure. “Since when do you have a pink towel?”

You wince. Of course, he can see where the towel is hung on the rack, the dude is massive.

 Azriel lies easily, “Yeah, some chick left it over at my place and I brough it to return to her later.” It sounds like something he’s done before. A bite of jealousy hits you hot and harsh at the thought of him doing this with anyone else.

You clench your jaw, but as if he can feel the way you tense, his large hands come to rest on your hips, soothing across your skin. Fucking fuck.

“Used? Nice one, Azzy,” Cassian laughs and nothing more is said while he returns to his own shower.

Azriel eases slightly, the motion making his abs relax. You want to lean forward and lick over them, but now is nor the time nor the place.

You really need to get the fuck out of here.

There’s no way in hell that you’re going to make it to class, dammit.

You hear more showers turn on, and Azriel removes his hands from your hips to reach behind you for the soap you have on the shelf. You watch him as he squeezes some of the shampoo into his hands before scrubbing them through his black hair. He’s like a fucking dream come true, and his cock still hasn’t gone down from where it’s pinned between the both of you, only the thin fabric of his boxers keeping you and it from meeting.

A droplet of soap falls onto your face, and you flinch, but don’t move. You’re not sure if you can, because your limbs are seized up with nerves. You’re not sure you want to.

Azriel rinses his hands off, slowly bringing them to your face. He wipes the droplet away with his knuckle and the feeling goes straight to your core.

“Azriel,” you breathe, but are promptly interrupted for a second time.

“Hey, man.” It’s Rhys. “You ready to kick the Sea Lion’s asses this weekend?” The water turns on in the shower directly next to you and in your haste to shuffle closer to Azriel, your arm brushes up against his cock and his hands fly out, gripping you firmly to keep you from squirming.

Oh. He’s enjoying being in this shower with you as much as you are.

A smirk makes its way onto your face that makes Azriel’s glorious hazel eyes narrow in distrust.

Reaching carefully behind you, you snag the bottle of conditioner from the rack and press it softly into his hand. His brows furrow in confusion as he answers his team captain. “Yeah, dude, Tarquin and his team don’t stand a fucking chance.” He almost chokes when you slide down to your knees in front of him.

“Damn straight,” Rhys says, while Azriel pleads you with his eyes. You’re not sure if he wants you to stop or keep going, but you hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tug anyway.

His cock springs from its confines and the bottle in Azriel’s hand drops, ringing loudly against the floor.

“Shit,” he says, but it’s tight in his throat, like he can’t even get the words out. If someone catches on, he’s screwed.

He leans down to pick up the conditioner bottle and you frown as his cock is pulled from eye-level.

“What do you think you’re doing, pretty girl?”

You lean in close, sliding your hands up his muscular arms, enjoying the way his thick, dark eyelashes flutter under your touch. “Just enjoy, Azriel,” you whisper, your breath casting over his lips. He could grab you by the back of your head and tug you into the kiss he’s been wanting to since the first day you showed up at the rink, snarking at the team for going over their time. His cock jumps at the thought of those pursed lips wrapped around his cock. “And wash my hair while you’re at it.”

“Fuck,” he groans softly, but you pull away before he can rock into you and claim your mouth. He’s been crouched down for too long, anyway, so he rips himself from you, pushing to his feet.

“What do you think about Tarquin?” you hear Rhys ask, but you’re already reaching forward, taking Azriel in your hand. He jerks immediately and when you look up at him, he’s already shooting you an apologetic look, and then another that tells you he isn’t going to last very long.

You like the idea of that. Having this power over him.

He’s hard and smooth in your hand. You watch eagerly as a bead of precum drips from the tip, but it’s washed away by the water still cascading down his body, to your disappointment. If you’re going to be waterboarded, you’re thankful that this is how it’s going to go.

Azriel’s response is choked when you finally wrap your lips around the head of his cock, teasing his slit with the tip of your tongue. The flavor of him bursts on your tongue as another drop of precum follows, and you almost moan before remembering where you are. To keep the noise from coming out, you sink further onto his cock, cutting off your airflow.

“He’s good, but he’s no match for Bloodshed over there,” Azriel answers, and his hand falls to your head, fingers burying into your hair. You can feel the cold of the conditioner and if you weren’t enjoying yourself too much by bobbing your mouth up and down his cock, you’d be worried about the amount he’s using.

“Yeah,” Rhys says. “Their goalie is decent, but our offense is better.”

Azriel hums in response and his other hand finds your face, cupping it and guiding you just the way that he likes.

You take advantage of his help, lathing your tongue across any skin that you can find, reveling in the feeling of it all. Your legs are clenched so tightly together, your clit aching for release. You’re on edge, but you’re terrified of making any noise. You really can’t be found in the men’s locker room like this.  

“Dude…” Rhys trails off, and the suspicion in his voice makes you falter, but Azriel’s still guiding your head, trying not to fully say fuck it and jerk his cock as deep as he can go. “Are you fucking jacking off right now?”

“Yeah,” Az answers, because he doesn’t give a fuck anymore. He’s still going to protect you, but his hips are moving, his tip hitting the back of your throat but not pushing any further, so you don’t choke. “So, if you’d kindly fuck off, that’d be ace. We’ll talk at film. Tell coach I’ll be late.”

Rhysand’s answering chuckle rings throughout the stalls when he cuts the water from his shower. “Enough said, Az. You’re fucking sick, but I’m out.”

As soon as Rhysand’s out the door, Azriel’s picking up his pace, gasping out that he’s going to release and trying to pry you off his cock like the gentleman he is.

Too bad you want his cum in your mouth.

You curl your fingers into the meat of his thighs, urging him to stay inside.

“Fuck, baby, you’re fucking perfect,” he groans before he releases himself. He’s all heady and musky, and you swallow him greedily, not letting a single drop escape. Gods, you need to stop acting like this, but around Azriel, you can’t help yourself.

He helps you to your feet and ducks down to capture your lips in a heated, desperate kiss. Your hands find his hair, clutching to him as his tongue traces the seam of your lips, silently asking for permission. You grant it to him, and the kiss turns hot and needy, like he’s been wanting this for a long as you have.

You’re breathless when he pulls away, chest heaving, but your gaze stays locked on his, especially when he sinks to his own knees.

“What are you doing?” you pant, planting your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging deliciously into his skin.

“Returning the favor,” he says, like it’s the simplest answer in the world. He taps the inside of your tingling thighs. “Why do you think I told Rhys to tell coach that I’m going to be late? C’mon, pretty girl, open these legs for me.”

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Hockey!AU Tag (will be tagged for any hockey fic, no matter paring):

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks

[disillusioned-phantasma]

You Know My Desires

Kinktober Day 1: Azriel x Reader [Wingplay]

Summary: Azriel is a jealous male, and you know just how to calm him down.

Warnings: Smut, wingplay, jealousy, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics.

Word Count: 2,892

Notes: Alrighty, let’s do this!

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He’s trapped.

Boots rooted to the unusually pristine floors of the Court of Nightmares ballroom. Body rigid and frozen, nearly vibrating with rage. His wings ache from being held taut, and his teeth are on the verge of cracking from how tightly set his jaw is.

If he moves, this entire sub-court will perish.

A patron indulging on the gluts of the party—rich, fae wine and hor d'oeuvres paired with teasing touches and lew moans—stumbles nearby, her steps faltering as she passes through the bubble of his anger. Azriel watches her from his peripherals as she locks up, shivering as if his shadows are raking their way down her spine. His hazel glare stays locked somewhere across the dance floor.

Right to where you’re dancing with him.

Not even the fire that had scorched his hands when he was young hurt as badly as watching this bastard twirl you around the ballroom.

Rasor’s grin is a wicked one. It’s twinged with secrets and chaos that Azriel doesn’t like; pale, gray eyes alight with mischief and lust. He hates the male leading you in this less than formal dance. Of course he does—he knows every single creature lurking at this unnecessary party. Rasor is a suck up, a male who gets off on trying to be like his High Lord, snarky and silver-tongued. 

He is a failure at even that.

Azriel fantasizes about killing him for the way that his hands are on you. One, settled so low on your hip it’s nearly on your ass, the other clutching yours tightly as he guides you gracefully across the floor.

Everyone’s attention is on the two of you and it stings. If he knew anything other than hundreds of ways to torture a male for touching what is his, he might have asked you to dance. The shadowy corner of the room provides the darkness he requires to seethe like the fucking pathetic male he is.

You need to calm down, Rhysand says gently within his mind. Azriel desperately wants to roll his eyes at the High Lords warning, to cut a glare to where he’s lounging on his throne, but his mind doesn’t allow him to let his gaze stray from you for even a moment. Or everyone’s going to wonder why the ballroom is pitched in darkness. And I can only cover for so long.

Immediately, Azriel reels his shadows back. He watches the way your brows furrow and cast over Rasor’s shoulder when he pulls you against his chest in a move that makes even the fae fucking in the corner gape in awe. You’re seeking him out, wondering if he’s reigned his shadows back because he’s left.

No. He would never leave you.

I hate this, is all Azriel replies, but he means much more than that.

I need her for a bit longer, Rhysand says, and Azriel can feel that violet gaze on him, even if he’s shrouded in darkness. Do I need to have Cassian remove you?

Azriel wants to fight. He wants to launch himself across the ballroom and land a killing blow to your dance partner. No—he wants to paralyze the male and then take you to the floor and fuck you, claim you, mark you with his hands, his teeth, his cum, until every last patron knows who you belong to.

He takes a breath but it’s a struggle.

No.

But you laugh at something Rasor says and Azriel sees red.

His shadows consume him, moving him from his spot in the corner of the room to the middle of the dance floor.

A female shrieks at his sudden appearance but he doesn’t care, baring his teeth when her partner runs into his side. He’s behind you, catching you around the waist mid-twirl. Your dress is still the silky smooth it was when he caressed your thighs and had taken you before you left, his cum leaking down the insides of your thighs masked by the dark fabric. He had wanted to lap the mixture of both of your orgasms from your legs like the Godly ichor it was, but instead he’d asked you to let it dry, a warning to any male who’d try to make their move on what’s his.

Rasor either hadn’t taken the hint or he’d ignored it completely, a dangerous act, and one Azriel will kill over.  

The shadowsinger swears he can feel the other male’s fingerprints on your hips, and he doesn’t like it.

Not. One. Bit.

Your gasp is soft as Azriel’s hands gently but possessively wrap around you. It makes his cock twitch in his leathers. The way that your hands find his, clutching them tightly as he moves you makes him preen on the inside, his face a solid mask of steel.

Rasor looks less than pleased to have his dancing partner taken from him. His eerie gray eyes flicker over to where the High Lord has sat up in his throne. Azriel doesn’t like that, fighting the urge to strike. Rhysand pounds on the solid walls of shadow in his mind but Azriel doesn’t answer the demand. He doesn’t care if he’s not invited to the next ball, he’ll kill Rasor before then so there’s no chance of him getting his hands on you again.

As badly as he wants to growl ‘mine’ to the still-staring male, Azriel allows his shadows to twine around the both of you in an intricate manner that has some of the patrons flushing. His pets put on an extravagant show as they twist and turn around you, swallowing you to take you from this plain to the next, and Azriel grins like a feral beast, meeting the eyes of the wretched male who had taken you from him tonight, before the darkness consumes you both.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“What was that?” you ask, annoyance lacing your tone. You hadn’t finished your mission—hadn’t schmoozed Rasor enough to slip you the information your High Lord desired. No, Azriel had appeared—though you hadn’t been surprised, you could feel his anger writhing through the room like a beast stalking its prey—before he had stolen you away from the party, depositing you back in your shared chambers.

Azriel stares. His demeanor is calm, but his hazel eyes are brimming with fury. You cross your arms, looking right back. A challenge.

“You laughed at something he said.” It sounds silly now that he says it aloud, but it irks him, your eyes lighting and that sweet sound falling from your gorgeous lips because of another male. A more disgusting male. A more untrustworthy male.

“I didn’t mean to,” you reply, a touch softer. You tug on the bond tethering your souls together, but Azriel does not react.

“It was no accident.”

“You know my desires,” is your simple answer. And with it, you tug on the bond again, harder this time, watching how Azriel sways slightly towards you, the way that his throat bobs. A teasing smile threatens to stretch your lips, but instead you bite at your lip, a taunt. “Do you want me to show you?”

There is no waiting for his answer. You slide the shoulders of your dress off, heat pooling between your legs from his heated stare alone. Your nipples tighten as Azriel follows the movements of your manicured nails, the salacious way your body writhes as the buttery fabric slips down your body. Your eyes flutter shut and your lips part in a gasp as the dress slides across your sensitive breasts.

Azriel closes the distance in one step but your hand flies out, planting right over his pounding heart to stop him in his tracks. 

“No,” you whisper as his brows pull tight. “I want to show you.” Punish him, you mean, for ruining your mission.

He grunts roughly, shaking his wings out to dispel some of the frenetic energy rushing through his veins. Your eyes catch on them, and it gives you an idea. Your heart beats with desire, right in time with your mates. 

Stepping forward, you help him out of his leathers. Your movements are slow, a tease of your fingertips across his chest as you reach around him to undo the buttons of his shirt. Azriel growls low as you intentionally brush across the ridges of his wings, and his large hands come to plant themselves on your hips, steadying you so that you don’t touch them again. 

You look up at him through lowered lashes, licking over your lips seductively. Your mate tracks the motion, and his arms tremble with the effort to keep his hands still instead of dipping down between your thighs where your arousal calls to him.

“Sorry,” you whisper against his lips, and when he closes the distance you pull away, kneeling in front of him. 

Gods, do you look fucking delicious on your knees for him like that. Staring up at him with wide eyes and a sinful smile on your lips. You look like you're two seconds away from taking out his length to lick down his shaft and shove him down your throat, and he can’t wait.

He stays silent, patient as you lean forward to mouth at the fabric keeping his throbbing cock contained. Every breath is a shudder, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, empty by his sides. He wants to bury them into your hair and guide your head down his cock, but you’ve said that you want to touch him, and until you say otherwise, he will obey.

Azriel’s cock springs free as you pull the leathers from his legs. His glorious, thick thighs on display, packed deep with muscle. You’re soaked, and the urge to grind yourself against him hits full force. Azriel steps out of his trousers and you almost whimper at the sight of his cock pulling away from you, but you remind yourself that you have ulterior motives here.

Your mate helps you to your feet upon your request, and then you’re throwing your arms around his shoulders and kissing him deeply. Distracting him is what you’re doing. Azriel’s hands find your waist and hold you tight, lifting you into his arms with an ease that makes your heart skip. He’s thoroughly occupied with touching your exposed skin and dipping his tongue into your mouth, and then you strike, trailing your fingers across the tips of his wings again.

Instead of ripping his mouth from yours in irritation, Azriel presses further into you, tasting you deep with a noise that you take as approval. Again, you gently finger over the rugged skin of his wings, dipping lower as he raises them for you to touch. 

They’re silky and soft, raised in places where they’d been wounded, but even the silvery scars make him shudder with pleasure. He bites your lower lip, grunting and bucking his hips into yours when you breeze over one of the more sensitive parts of him.

“Bed,” you gasp against his mouth, and he has no complaints.

You seem more than eager, tugging on him with both hands and bond, so Azriel lays himself on the bed, keeping you flush to his chest while he settles. 

It’s perfect for what you want to do.

Azriel bucks but you pull your hips away from his. He groans your name, hands sliding down your sides to curl around your waist and tug you back into his body, but you’re not having it, no matter how much your body craves to be against his.

You chide, “I want to touch, Az, remember?” 

He sighs in frustration. He loves when your hands are all over him, needy and desperate, stroking his cock and leaving marks across his chest, but right now, still annoyed with Rasor and Rhysand and the entirety of the Court of Nightmares, all Azriel wants to do is fill you with his seed until he owns you and you’re screaming his name.

You peck him on the mouth once, twice, pressing your chest flat against his. You shiver at the touch of your hardened nipples against the warmth of his body, but you keep your hips high, hovering above his cock. You can feel the heat it’s giving off, the throbbing uncomfortableness that’s shared down the bond with you, like you might take pity on him and sink down on it.

You won’t.

Instead, you spread his arms wide, tracing the dips and curves of his musculature until your fingers slip off and onto his wings, spread flat against the bed. 

Azriel jumps. Your name is a low warning from his mouth but he doesn’t have the time to say anything else because you’re scratching lightly down the softness of his wings and his words break off into a breathy moan. 

“Fuck, baby.”

And you know he likes it, no matter how much he warns you to stay away. You can feel the heat blooming in your own gut, mirror to his emotions that are drifting down the bond. It feels good, albeit dulled because you’re not him, but it makes your cunt wetter, dripping onto his cock below.

“You feel so good,” you murmur, kissing along his neck. It’s exposed from the way that his head is thrown back at the sensations wracking his body from your touch, and you take full advantage, marking him in the way that he wants to claim you.

“I’d feel even better inside of you,” he curses when you swirl your fingers around the base of his talons, followed by spreading your palms wide and dragging them across the velvety body of his wings again.

“We’ll get there, Az. Soon,” you respond, peeling your torso from his. His hands steel themselves to your hips. He’s afraid that you’re pulling away completely when actually, you’re leaning over one of his wings and brushing your mouth against it.

Your lips on his wings feel like your mouth on his cock—wet, warm, and sensitive. Your touch is gentle, a soft scrape of your nails against the thin skin has him pressing his head further into the pillows, biting through his lip to keep himself from cumming.

The taste of his blood only adds to his arousal.

His body shakes, hands planted so firmly on your hips as you hover above his aching cock that you know he’s leaving bruises. You don’t care, not because he ruined your assignment from the High Lord, but because he is yours just as much as you are his, and you were made to be marked by him.

“If I could make your cum stain my skin, I would,” you whisper against the flesh of his wing. You know he’s heard you because his hips buck higher, seeking out yours, and the debauched moan that slips from his mouth is a song to your soul. “So everyone knows that I am yours, Azriel.”

He cums with a noise that he’s not all too proud of, but his mind is muddled and he’s seeing stars. He spurts hot and white, coating the inside of your thighs and you quake when it splatters on your opening, legs nearly giving out from the feeling alone.

You work him through it, though it feels even more tortuous now, because his wings are sensitive. Your fingers trace pretty lines across the expanse of the leathery skin, tongue lapping across raised scars and dips that have never been touched, so sensitive that he chokes back a whimper, cock twitching, trying to rise again.

It’s as if you’re on top of the world, making your mate cum without touching his raging cock. It’s neglected, red at the tip and weeping still as you slowly retract your touch from his wings. His hands are slack against your waist but his body is taut, rock solid, and there’s a full body blush creeping from his chest and up his neck, embarrassed that he’s cum from your mouth on his wings alone, even if they are the most sensitive part of an Illyrian male. 

But you’re beaming, gaze heavy and hot, aroused at the sight of him undone beneath you. Your cunt clenches with need. Your thighs are soaked and for a fleeting second you regret letting him cum because you need his cock filling you up right this very second or else.

Azriel senses it, as a good mate does. His fingers dig into your hips again before one releases you. He takes his cock in hand, giving it a few rough tugs before guiding you lower. Your head falls back on your shoulders at the feeling of his cum-coated cock nestled against your entrance. Your entire body shudders, but you force yourself to look at your mate, a questioning look in your eyes.

“I need you again,” his voice is rough, strained. Azriel’s cock is sensitive but it’s already filling up again at the touch of your cunt alone. It will be a bit painful until he’s fully erect again, but it won’t be long because you are the most beautiful female he’s ever seen, and your cunt is otherworldly. He’s going to keep you here all night, he decides, and he will take you until the both of you are cum drunk and unable to move. His hazel eyes grow a shade darker at the thought. “Now be a good girl and ride it.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Kinktober Taglist: @bunnymallowo

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Round and Round

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Surprise! I literally busted this out so fast because I was obsessed with the idea of Feyre asking the drunk Inner Circle about who's slept with who.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,605

Notes: Yes, this idea came from Friends, I'm not ashamed to admit it.

_________________________________________

Cassian dumps the last of the wine into your cup, setting the empty bottle amongst the others on the low table between the two couches you and the rest of the Inner Circle are lounging on.

“We’re going to need more wine,” he sighs, slumping back into the couch with his own glass clutched tightly to his chest.

It’s a relaxing night in with all of your friends, a fancy dinner in which you didn’t talk about battles or what was going on in the other courts, just easy chatter and poking fun at one another as the drinks flowed until one of you made way for the large cozy sofas in the other room.

Now you and your friends were five bottles of Rhys’ best wine deep and feeling pretty good.

Each glass you had had you melting even further into your mates side. Even Azriel was letting loose tonight, eyes slightly glassy as he nipped at the shell of your ear suggestively.

Relaxing, until Feyre speaks, head lulling onto Rhys’ chest.

“So, I want to know who in this Inner Circle has slept with who.”

She puffs a laugh as everyone averts their gazes immediately, the lot of you looking guilty as fuck.

“What do you mean?” Azriel’s the most sober so he tries to deflect, “I can speak for everyone when I say that no one has slept with each other.”

“You know, Azriel, I would believe you, but with the way Cassian’s cheeks are redder than his siphons right now, I think we all know that’s not true.”

Indeed, Cassian is failing to hide his shit eating grin behind his glass, trying his best to choke back his laughter but fails miserably when he sees the warning look Rhys sends his way.

“So, who is it?” Feyre asks, leaning forward out of Rhys’ arms, completely intrigued with the dynamics between her friends. “I know about Cassian and Mor, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” the warlord winks at Rhys’ cousin, who was nearly half asleep in her spot next to the High Lord and Lady. She seems to have perked up now that the conversation has turned to something more interesting.

“Come on,” Feyre whines, “I know somethings gone on here and I won’t let anyone rest until I find out! Amren? Have you done anything with anyone here?”

“No.”

You want to snort at your High Lady questioning Amren of all people. You’re about to say so but Mor’s mouth drops open in shock when she catches the way Azriel’s hazel eyes dart to Amrens, then back to his cup, swirling the liquid casually around.

“You and Azriel?” she shouts, sitting stock straight in her seat. The grin on her red painted lips is wolfish as she turns to the culprit who is glaring at her through her sharp bob, “Spill, now!”

It seems that everyone is just as surprised and just as interested as she is, waiting eagerly for one of them to confess.

Rhys’ second in command shrugs a little, staring you all in the eyes before she answers, warning each of you not to ask further questions. She relents, “It was only a kiss.”

“What?” Rhy’s is clearly offended, brows furrowed as he stares at Amren, “You rejected me but you kissed him?!”

Her answering grin sends shivers up your spine. 

“I wanted to taste his blood.”

Your mouth drops open in complete shock at the admission, turning towards your mate to whisper, “Did you let her?” Are you into that?

Azriel’s cheeks tinge the pink and he presses his forehead and nose against the side of your head in a nuzzle, trying to hide himself from the curious eyes of his friends, “Please don’t make me answer that.”

“You totally did,” Mor exclaims, failing to bite back her smile.

You could imagine Azriel doing something like that, but you fail to imagine the way it had come about, the events that had led up to that. By the stare Amren gives to anyone that looks at her, she won’t be answering any questions about it.

“Wait,” Cassian cuts in, pointing between the two females on the couch across from him. His forest green eyes are filled with a lethal amount of amusement. “Didn’t Mor and Amren have sex?”

You nearly spit out your wine, choking on it at his accusation. Azriel takes your glass from you, patting your back gently like the loving male he is.

It won’t stop you from prying for more information about his kiss with the tiny creature later.

“No.”

“There was no time in which that happened, Cassian,” the two females answer simultaneously.

He lets out a hearty laugh, sipping on his drink as he leans back, arms crossed comfortably over his chest as he kicks his feet up on the table.

“Well, let’s say there was. How might that go?”

You slap him playfully on the arm, grinning along with your friend’s antics.

“You want to laugh (Y/N)?” Mor asks and the smile slides from your face. You shoot her a glare but she ignores it, continuing on with an evil smirk. “What about you and Rhys, huh? Who’s laughing now?”

“Oh my Gods,” you breathe, shrinking down in your seat.

Azriel stiffens in his, even though he had known about the time you and Rhysand had slept together. It was a long time before you and Azriel had even thought about each other as more than friends and something you’d beat yourself up over for years afterwards. Feyre can’t stop looking between you and her mate, mouth parted with a shocked smile.

You really hate this game.

Thankfully, Cassian comes to your rescue before Feyre can ask any more burning questions. He nudges your shoulder and winks down at you when you meet his gaze, “Want to make that three out of three, (Y/N)? I can show you a good time, I promise.”

You don’t even have to reply because the low growl Azriel emits is answer enough. His wings twitch behind him in warning, the urge to protect what’s his, even from his cheeky brother. Nostrils flaring with irritation the shadowsinger nearly chokes on the sweet smell wafting off of you as you picture it for a fleeting moment. He knows that scent all too well, eyes darkening.

“Thank you for that, Mor,” you reply flatly.

She licks her bright white teeth, “Oh come on (Y/N), you know we have fun together.”

Azriel’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head as the entire Inner Circle falls silent.

You can feel his questioning stare burning into the side of your head but you can’t stop glaring at the blonde on the couch opposite from you.

“That was supposed to be a secret,” you grit, but you can’t be too terribly angry because you know Mor, and this particular story was never going to stay a secret.

“What, what,” Cassian whines, bouncing his feet up and down on the floor like an eager child. He’s positively giddy to hear of this. “What was supposed to stay a secret?!”

Mor raises an eyebrow at you and you wave at her dismissively. You know she’ll add all of the pazazz to the tale.

“We might’ve…” she trails off, slowly looking you up and down as she reminisces about that night. You shift in your spot as she pins you with her rich brown eyes. “Fooled around a bit. With Helion.”

Azriel curses so softly you don’t even hear him, but the caress to the back of your neck from a lingering shadow tells you all you need to know.

“Care to reenact?” Cassian asks, not so subtly pulling a pillow into his lap. He licks his parted lips, glossy eyes staring between you and Rhys’ cousin.

You groan, head falling backwards onto Azriel’s shoulder. You take his full wine glass and gulp down the hearty liquid.

“Getting a little bothered there, Cass?” Mor grins, “Going to have to take a trip down to the brothel after this?”

Her joke breaks the tension a little, everyone laughing at Cassian’s expense now. He pouts and you feel bad for the warlord as something akin to loneliness flashes in his bright eyes.

Unless we invite him to bed, you mind supplies.

You cock your head a little, admiring the male’s stature. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before, inviting him into your and Azriel’s bed.

Speaking of, Azriel notes the way your fingers tighten slightly on his and the two of you exchange a heated look.

“At least then I’d be getting some,” Cassian bites back at Mor, sneering a little.

She only laughs, “Who says I’m not getting any?”

You know that she definitely is.

“Whatever,” Cassian mutters, toeing at the carpet.

“Yeah, you’re not calling again on Azriel tonight?” her blood red lips curve up into an absolutely devious smile as you sit stock straight, staring open-mouthed at your mate.

Az is quick to intervene, nearly jumping out of his seat to defend himself.

“It was one kiss, no tongue, and we were drunk!”

“So that means you didn’t enjoy it, then?” Cassian scoffs, utterly shocked. Azriel’s fingers clench into a fist, shaking his hand in the air and biting his lip as he releases a practiced breath, unable to find the words to respond.

Well that settles that, then.

Feyre is the definition of amused, grinning wildly at the chaos she’s created. Her gray eyes are glowing and her cheeks ache from smiling so hard.

“I want to know what actually goes on in that birchin every year.”

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Dirty Work

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: ok, but my mind is exploding thinking of Az and reader in a sauna with obscenity. if you have time and in order to do it (of course), I would LOVE to read it 🤍🤍🤍🫂 thanks in advance ♡

Warnings: SMUT.

Word Count: 1,175

Notes: In the mood because I designed a bat boys in the birchin postcard 😂🥵

_________________________________________

I’m sending in your prize. Enjoy yourself, brother.

His brows furrow with confusion. Azriel thought that Cassian and Rhysand had left to retrieve more coals for the birchin. He should’ve known those two had ulterior motives as soon as they suggested going together with matching grins slashing across their faces.

But all skepticism of what they could be sending in is lost when you slink into the steaming room, a light robe covering your otherwise nude body.

The silk leaves little to the imagination, not that he’d have to imagine your curves, he’s seen you naked more times than he’s seen you clothed.

“Hello, Champion,” you greet with a sultry smile. It shouldn’t have any effect on him but his head doops back at the name and he groans softly as his cock twitches at the low taunt clear in your voice.

“(Y/N), what are you doing here, Love?” he asks, not that he’s complaining, he’s just a curious bat.

You waste no time in disrobing, letting the soft cloth fall to the damp ground at your feet. Azriel is more alert now, sitting up straighter as you prowl closer, straddling the winged male, a teasing grin aimed up at him as your already wet cunt brushes against his interested cock.

“Rhys told me you were a bit lonely,” you answer, winding your arms around his neck to play with the wet hair at the nape of his neck. He’s already panting and you smile amusedly, thinking of how out of breath he’ll be soon if this is him now. His own hands settle on your hips, smoothing over the soft skin with his thumb. “And that you won the snowball fight.”

“I did,” he hums, golden eyes bright under his slightly dropped eyelids. “Kicked their asses, actually.” Azriel pinches one of your cheeks playfully as he says the word but hisses when you squeal and jerk, rubbing against his hard length.

“Sorry,” you reply breathily, but swirl your hips again, chasing the feeling of his smooth cock rubbing through your slick folds.

“Fuck,” he mutters, snaking a hand around the back of your head to pull you down to meet him in a passionate kiss.

It’s all tongue and teeth, hotter due to the steamy room. You’re already dewey with sweat, and your body slides against his easily as you press your breasts up into his chest, arching into him as his hand trails lightly down your spine and back up again.

You release a breathy moan as he moves down your neck, brushing the dampened hair away as he goes, latching onto your breast and running his tongue around and over your pert nipple like a chase. 

“Az,” you sigh as his other hand snakes around your front to play with the other one. It’s all so good and you snake your hand down to tug at his silky smooth cock, earning a choked groan and teeth to your nipple in response.

Gasping, Azriel’s head falls from your breast and he’s staring up at you with a lust fuelled look that makes you shiver, cunt clenching around nothing. You’re so wet, you can feel your slick dripping onto his thick thighs below you and you whine, causing the shadowsinger’s smirk to quirk even higher.

His smile falters as he watches the cruel, wicked grin contouring your mouth. It’s taken you a moment to realize, but you’re fully in charge right now, sitting atop his lap with his cock in your hand, the other tangled in his hair. Something hot twists in your gut at the realization and you waste no time lining up his cock with your cunt before you settle down onto it, hips meeting his.

The both of your moans twining around each other like his shadows, camouflaged by the thick mist.

His hands grip your waist, guiding you up and down on his thick length while he watches you having the ride of your life. Enjoying your prize? A voice purrs into his mind and he snaps his shields up tight. His wings flare wide at the fleeting thought of one of his brothers walking in on the two of you and a primitive growl threatens to escape his throat, but Azriel holds you tighter and grits his teeth, pushing the thought from his mind.

“That’s it, (Y/N). Just like that,” he exhales harshly as you bob on top of him, head thrown back on your shoulders wildly, the creamy skin of your throat and bare breasts exposed for him. 

Azriel seizes the moment, leaning forward to lick a fat stripe up the center of your body, wherever he can reach. Your skin is salty and the scent that is purely you is nearly overwhelming, he can’t help himself but to plant his feet and buck up into you with abandon.

The feeling has you melting into him, falling forward to crash your lips together, giving in and going plaint in his grip as he jackknifes into you. He doesn’t break the kiss nor does he pull out as he gently moves you around, lying you on the damp wood as he continues to fuck into you.

“Az,” you cry out against his mouth, clawing down his sides when he pushes in at a new angle. The hard wood is rough against your skin and the combination of Azriel rutting into you mixed with the heat of the birchin is making it hard to breathe in the best way. 

You let your eyes roll into the back of your head, urging him on with your keens and begs he helps you topple over into the oblivion that is your orgasm, skilled fingers flicking against your cunt as you clench tightly around him, stars appearing in your eyes as you gasp for breath. 

“Gods, (Y/N),” he comes with a guttural groan of his own, working the both of you through your orgasms, each jerk of his hips has you sliding up the wood uncomfortably now that your head has cleared a bit, accidentally letting that feeling leak across the bond.

He lifts you immediately into his arms, nuzzling into your neck. You can feel his rapid heartbeat from where his chest is pressed up against yours, and you wrap your arms around his hips and rest your head against his, sighing in thanks.

“That was new,” he comments after a few minutes and you hum in agreement as he slips from your cunt. He captures your whine with his mouth and you return the sensual and soft kiss. Your bodies are slick with sweat, sliding against each other and the feel of his taut muscles against your skin makes you shiver with pleasure as you imagine rubbing yourself across each ripple of muscle.

“What?” he asks, amused, but he’s wondering how you’re already so worked up for a second round when he’s done nothing but hug you close. Whatever it is, it’s definitely boosting his ego.

Winning the annual snowball fight and having his pretty mate wrapped around him in the same night? He couldn’t get any luckier.

Well, maybe by the way your arousal is intoxicating him, he might just be even more blessed.

“Nothing,” you purr, pushing back the wet hair from his gleaming eyes.

“Whatever you say, Love,” he responds cheekily, knowingly.

You laugh with him before leaning down to whisper to him an offer he can’t refuse, “If you take me home, I’ll show you another new trick.”

He doesn’t waste any time, and all that’s left to show that you two were in the birchin is your robe crumpled on the floor, soaked.

[disillusioned-phantasma]

The One with the Best She's Ever Had

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Hiii,could you maybe write something short for Az x reader,where he and reader are together but haven't told IC yet and one night reader tells Mor that the guy she is seeing right now is the the best s*x she has ever had.Few days later Mor teases reader infront IC when are they going to meet "the best s*ex ever" guy and Az just stands there smirking about it and reader tries to find her way out of it 🤣🤣😁 (and yes this is scene from Friends 🤣)

🖤Thank you so much for giving us this much concent about Az and Eris,and if it isn't obvious you are THE BEST AT IT!!! 🔥🔥🔥❤️❤️❤️🥰💯💯🖤

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,065

Notes: I love Friends so this was an amazing prompt. 💙

_________________________________________

“What I want to know is where you’ve been (Y/N). I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” Mor comments, bringing her glass of wine to her full, red lips. It does nothing to hide her cutting grin. 

You shrug, trying not to let the heat show on your face as you stare down at your own glass, swirling the drink around, trying your best to look casual and not up at the silent shadowsinger in the corner of the room that’s definitely interested in the conversation now. “I’ve uh, started seeing someone.”

She chokes, spluttering her wine onto Cassian’s shirt, the poor thing.

“Hey,” he exclaims, jumping up from his spot on the sofa. He examines his shirt with wide eyes, then glares up at Rhys’ cousin.

“I’m sorry! I just wasn’t expecting that answer!” She wipes her mouth on his shirt since it’s already ruined and Cassian grumbles, pulling it over his head and tossing it in her face, settling back onto the couch shirtless, looking much happier now that the constricting fabric is gone.

You catch Azriel rolling his eyes from the corner of your vision.

Mor shoots daggers at the Illyrian next to her as she rips the dampened fabric from her face. She bares her teeth at the male and you hope that they’ll start bickering so that you don’t have to talk about this anymore but she perks up like she’s thinking the exact same thing, turning towards you with a bright smile.

“You have to tell us everything,” she squeals, shoving up from the couch to the empty space on the identical couch you and Rhys had been lounging on. Amren mutters something under her breath and heads for the door, her due diligence of showing up for the Inner Circle’s dinner done.

Azriel creeps closer, taking one of the free seats beside Cassian, amusement swimming in his golden gaze.

You and he were a new thing, dating but only for a short amount of time. The both of you had agreed to keep it a secret from your nosy friends, wanting to revel in the feeling just a little bit longer before you told them.

Everything was going perfectly, no one had suspected a thing and you and Azriel were having the most fun either of you had had in a long time, so utterly in love that he could hardly rip himself away from you to do as Rhysand requests.

You shove her in the shoulder, “Later, Mor.”

She huffs, reaching for the win bottle to refill her glass, “No, now. Because you’re always off with this mystery guy and I want to know more about the person you claim is the best sex you’ve ever had.”

You can’t ignore the glinting stare fixed on you. You sneak a peek at Azriel while the attention is on the blonde, yelling for Cassian to go and get a fresh bottle because it’s about to get juicy, and immediately blush when you see that gorgeous smirk on his mouth, strong arms crossed over his chest and feet kicked up on the table, as at ease as you’ve ever seen him.

You even catch his wings shifting as he secretly preens under the compliment.

Mother, does he look kissable.

Cassian returns quickly, bottle already half open as he breathes, “I brought the most expensive one I could find,” and settles back into his spot on the sofa, raising his hands in defense at Rhys’ look of disapproval. “What? This calls for celebration!”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything, violet eyes meeting yours, an eyebrow quirking. You groan, not him too.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you mutter, holding your glass out because you’re in desperate need of a refill.

“Everything! What’s his name? What does he look like? What does he do? How big is it?” Mor urges, rapid-firing questions about the male you’re sleeping with.

“Yeah, (Y/N),” Azriel says and you send him a look, pleading him not to join in. Of course, the sneaky spymaster doesn’t listen, “Tell us more about how he’s the best you’ve ever had.”

You fully shoot daggers at him, and when Mor swats your arm you jump, turning towards her. Her eyes are wide, an impatient look in her eyes as she waits for you to spill.

“He’s…kind of quiet,” you start, and so far everyone except for Azriel looks unimpressed, “But not in the bedroom, if you know what I mean.”

“Gods, this is too good,” Mor kicks her feet excitedly, giddy as she continues on, “Where did you meet?”

“We have mutual friends apparently,” you take a sip of your drink, eyes sweeping past Azriel’s in a playful manner, “Though I don’t know why I’m even friends with them, they’re such busybodies.”

He can’t help but to hide his knowing grin behind the rim of his own glass, winking at you when no one else is looking.

“Oh, they sound dreadful,” Cassian says, sprawling out on the large couch. His head falls into Azriel’s lap and the shadowsingers smile instantly drops, making a face down at his brother that has you stifling a laugh.

He shakes his head, letting it slide, Cassian asking instead, “So how big is it?”

Azriel coughs and Rhys’ eyes widen, looking between the two of you as he puts the pieces together. “Oh!”

“Rhys, can I speak to you for a moment,” Azriel says hurriedly, jumping up from his spot, not caring that Cassian’s head falls onto the plush cushion below with a sharp complaint. He wants to know what his brother’s are talking about and as Rhys speaks into his mind he’s grinning wolfishly, grasping onto Rhys’ outstretched hand as the three winnow away.

“Wonder what that was all about,” you finger the rim of your glass, trying to play everything off, but the blush on your cheeks is permanent. This is not how you were expecting your night to go.

“It’s Az, isn’t it?” Mor asks and you snap your gaze to hers, jaw slackened.

“How do you know?”

“Oh come on (Y/N). I am the busybody,” she laughs, taking a swig of her wine.

You join her, chuckling as you think about how the brothers are probably teasing Azriel right now.

“So,” Mor starts, eyes glossy with mischief, “How big is it?”

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Sharing is Caring

Cassian x Reader

Summary: Request from @reliablyhann : from chapter 3 of ACOSF – "He and his brothers had put a good deal of distance between the stupid youths they'd been – fucking any female who showed interest, often in the same room as each other – and the males they were now."

Warnings: Smut!

Word Count: 2,092

Notes: Mhm...yes yes yes...here's Cassian's part 🥵

[Azriel] [Rhysand]

_________________________________________

If your father knew you were here, riding the bastard born Illyrian who’d put anyone on their ass for saying so, you would surely be dead.

You couldn’t help yourself. With the cocky smirks he tossed your way each and every time he caught you staring when you were supposed to be doing your chores, brushing the long strands of his hair from his face, dampened with sweat.

You had made it your mission to walk past the training pits when you could, clothes basket tucked to your hip as you tiptoed by, watching the way his broad shoulders flexed as he sliced clean through the air with the fat head of his sword. Such precision, such power, such grace for someone so large. 

You could only assume that his cock was nearly as big.

And finally, finally, you’d gotten what you wanted. You had the warrior splayed out beneath you as you bounced up and down on his cock, swirling your hips with a fervor that would put a whore to shame. It is much larger than you had even imagined.

He lets out a hiss of arousal as you jerk your hips in a particularly pleasurable manner, hands clamping to your hips in a bruising grip before curving over the round of your ass, feeling the way your body moves up and down on his slicked length.

You brace yourself against his chest, large pectorals flexed beneath your fingers. He’s sculpted like a God and you trace the muscles you’d fantasized about touching so many times. He is a rock solid force beneath you, pistoning his hips up to meet yours.

You shoot the warrior a confused glance when the door creaks open but Cassian’s enjoying you entirely too much to care, eyes rolled back into his head, bucking up into you when you slow, your attention drawn to the entry.

He’d said that he had the house to himself tonight, that the High Lord’s wife wasn’t staying in the camp currently, and as her son slips into the room with a female attached to his lips, you can’t help but to stare.

Cassian growls, vying for your attention as he tweaks one of your nipples between his fingers, causing you to release a lewd moan. It draws the attention of Rhys, who parts from the female, only to lick at his bruised mouth as he surveys you riding his friend.

“Don’t stop on my account,” the future High Lord grins wickedly, head cocked to the side to allow the female in his own arms to suckle at his neck, those glowing violet eyes dragging down your naked body curiously, sending a bolt of lightning up your spine in response. You let your head fall back on your shoulders, keening at the attention.

“Wasn’t going to,” Cassian bites back at his friend, gripping your hips tighter in his large grasp, hazel eyes glinting with primal challenge.

You dip down to kiss him as you continue your ride, enjoying every second of his large body pinned beneath your own. You know he can easily flip you, manhandle you into any position he wants and you’d be putty in his hands as he takes you apart.

He distracts you from the soft gasps of the other female as Rhys kisses down her body, the sound of fabric falling to the ground as your lips meet Cassians, fingers finding his long hair and twisting the strands in your grip. His arms snake around your waist in response, pinning you against him. He runs one hand up the curve of your back and over the crown of your wings, swallowing the unabashed noise you let slip at the feeling.

The girl beneath Rhys lets out a filthy moan and if it’s because of obscene sounds of you and your partner or because the future High Lord is as skilled with his tongue as they say you haven’t any idea.

But hearing what they’re doing on the bed across from you ignites something else within you and you find yourself reacting to their noises with your own, timing your pace with theirs, skin slapping against skin as you clutch onto Cassian because it feels so fucking good.

You’re nearly there, nearly coming from the large cock stuffed inside of you, the amplified noises spurring you on. The male beneath you is looking up at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen, clenching around his prick and bobbing up and down like you’re meant for it.

“Fuck, (Y/N).” He’s trembling beneath you but he’s not ready to come. His head lolls to the side as you nip at the strong column of his throat and his eyes meet Rhys’ twinkling ones. He smirks, splaying a hand at the base of your skull so you keep at it while he watches his brother take apart the female beneath him.

The room goes dark and for a second you think you’ve blacked out. It wouldn’t surprise you, Cassian's massive cock had pushed all the breath from your lungs upon entering it nearly did feel like you fainted.

But it’s the other Illyrian, the shadowsinger, appearing out of the darkness with his own female from the corner of the room. She’s squealing excitedly in his arms and her shrill voice has you tensing, cunt clenching around Cassian’s prick and he squeezes his eyes shut, grasping your hips to still your movements, his orgasm ebbing slightly.

The female quiets when Azriel kisses her, setting her on his bed and climbing over her, pinning her down with his large, muscular body.

“Is that getting you off baby?” Cassian grunts and you moan loudly in response as his thumb snakes down to rub your clit. He’s not going fast enough, you want more, need more. “You can turn around on my cock and watch them if you want, I won’t mind.”

Your eyes roll back into your skull at his words. It sounds amazing, watching the other two warriors as they take the females in their own beds, wanting to see their strong bodies writhing in the sheets only feet away from you.

You whimper as Cassian stops you, pulling your hips tight against his as he grinds up into you. You’re so wet, dripping on his cock as he gently helps you turn around, letting out a shuddering breath when he inserts his cock back into you.

His large palms cup your ass as you begin moving again. This new angle is bliss, his cock curving up into you has you nearly seeing stars – or maybe it's the future High Lord, emitting those orbs with his powers, casting them throughout the room.

Your gaze flickers back and forth between Azriel and Rhysand. You don’t know who to look at because they’re both as gorgeous as the male beneath you, who’s thumb ghosts across your pucker and you nearly shout, right on the edge of your orgasm.

The shadowsinger’s got a female wrapped around his head as she rides his face. She’s starkly opposite of him in nearly every way, blond hair and louder than hell but her pleasured noises only spur him on, flicking his tongue faster as he holds her to his face with a scarred hand to her thigh, the other tugging himself in time with her movements.

And Rhys…the heir to the Night Court has his female pinned beneath him, her head hanging over the foot of the bed with his hand to her throat, cutting off the desperate noises she’s trying to make as he pounds into her. The way he’s looking at her sends fire up your spine and when his gleaming violet eyes catch yours you brace your hands on Cassian’s shins, nearly melting beneath his lust filled gaze.

Maybe Cassian is being selfish. He wants to watch too, wants his brothers to see exactly what he can do to you. So he slinks an arm around your waist and pushes himself up. You squeak, startled, but he stays sheathed inside of you as he moves, resting you on all fours as he resumes thrusting into you.

“Cassian,” you exhale in bliss, arms giving out because he’s hitting that spot inside of you with every jerk of his hips. Your face melts into the sheets, hands clawing at the soft fabric before he’s bunching your hair in a fist and pulling on it to lift your head.

He wants you to watch.

The thought of this dirty male behind you wanting you to watch his brothers fucking while he takes you from behind has you climaxing with a shout of his name. The other two females seem to react to your filthy moan, matching cries of pleasure spilling from their lips.

Cassian comes shortly after and you’re thankful. You need a second to recuperate after your mind blowing orgasm, and the Illyrian settles against you to catch his own breath.

His weight is a welcome warmth against your back, hot and slick and covering every inch of you is pure bliss as you come down from your high. You can feel his cock pulsing inside of you but he doesn’t pull out, not yet.

“Who do you think is going to come first?” Cassian’s voice is rough and breathy in your ear, caressing the shell with his filthy question before he follows it with a flick of his tongue.

You hum languidly as you assess. Azriel’s shoving that enormously large cock of his into the female beneath him. Shadows writhe around them like they’re ready to strike, to wrap around her pretty throat and choke off the noises she’s making. His mouth glints with her slick and his hazel eyes are nearly black as he pounds into her, jaw set like he just wants her to finish and be quiet.

Rhysand has let up on his partner’s throat, finally allowing her salacious moans to be heard by all. Cassian’s cock twitches inside of you and you clench around him in reflex, the warrior groaning low in his throat.

“Rhys,” you whisper your response to Cassian but the heir’s head perks up having heard you. He has to bite his lip at the sight of you, well–fucked and pinned beneath his brother.

He had done well for himself tonight.

Azriel’s smirk is a shadow across his face. Surely he’ll be the last to come, ever the male of patience and poise. They’ve done this before, each bringing a female of their choosing – sometimes each other’s choosing – to bed. He knows what Rhys sounds like when he’s close to coming, his words getting filthier, hips snapping faster, slapping louder as he tumbles over the edge into oblivion.

The shadowsinger wears a full grin now, unleashing himself on the loud female beneath him.

You watch, intrigued and aroused as he works. The muscles of his tanned back ripple although his wings stay tucked in close. Cassian’s are draped over your own, dwarfing them with the sheer size of his, a blissful comfort where they rest.

The warrior licks a hot stripe up your neck while he pulls out gently and you whimper in time with the last female, her orgasm ripping through her as she clutches onto the spymaster who follows her soon after.

Cassian presses apology kisses following the path he’d just licked, shifting into a more comfortable position, letting you rest your head on his arm.

Your full attention is on him, staring into his ruddy hazel eyes as you tuck a strand of hair that had fallen across his brow behind his ear. 

“I should be going soon,” you sigh softly. Your father will have your head if you arrive home any later. 

Cassian catches your retreating hand, kissing your palm. His eyes say stay but he knows you can’t. He can’t let the beautiful girl before him get in trouble because of him. Well…more in trouble than you’ll already be with his scent all over you.

And he knows he’s going to get shit for this tomorrow from his brothers but he says it anyway, “Can I walk you home?”

Rhys’ prowling laughter echoes in his head and he’s pretty sure he hears Azriel snort but it’s too soft to make out. He doesn’t care though, solely focused on you.

The blush dusting your cheeks is adorable and you think for a moment that you don’t care what happens if someone sees you with the Illyrian before you because you’ve just had the best sex of your entire life.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Sharing is Caring

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Request from @reliablyhann : from chapter 3 of ACOSF – "He and his brothers had put a good deal of distance between the stupid youths they'd been – fucking any female who showed interest, often in the same room as each other – and the males they were now."

Warnings: Smut!

Word Count: 2,213

Notes: Mhm...yes yes yes...High Lord take me to bed 😮‍💨

[Cassian] [Azriel]

_________________________________________

There were very few females who could say no to the future High Lord of the Night Court.

You were not one of them.

When he’d waltzed past with that cocky arrogance that had every female in the camp looking, his features feline with a grin to match. Those violet eyes you swore held the stars of the night sky, winking at blushing girls and ignoring their glaring boyfriends or brothers or fathers. Rhysand didn’t care, he could settle any discrepancy they had in the ring, where he’d humiliate them and then show the female a good time.

You didn’t have a boyfriend, nor a brother, hell, you barely even had a father figure. The man you were supposed to call father had left long ago, chosen to aid the High Lord. You hadn’t seen him in years but you supposed he looked much like every other male here, bored and brooding and itching for a fight.

But Rhys was different and you found yourself staring at him more often than not. 

Something about his presence drew you in, like a moth to a flame, the air between you hot and wild and electrifying. But you had yet to catch him alone…until now, that is.

He pushes you up against the door to his bedroom and you gasp into his mouth, fingers buried in his ink black hair. You ached to touch him, feel him, see how he could take you apart with that silver tongue and skilled hands.

Rhys pulls back and you release an unconscious whine, cheeks going hot with embarrassment as it rings in your ears. You’d just gotten your first taste and you’re already hooked, how pathetic.

But he doesn’t think so, if the amused smirk is anything to go by. The lordling brushes a strand of hair from your face, thumbing over the warmth of your pink tinted cheeks, admiring how fucked out you already look, desperate for him.

His cock throbs in his trousers.

You can feel it through the thin fabric, its considerable length rock solid and pressed against your front. It makes your cunt clench just at the thought of seeing it.

“I have to warn you,” he murmurs softly. His voice is so silky in your ear that you are hardly listening to his words, reveling in his tone instead, the purr sounding like music. “My brothers are on the other side of this door and it seems that they have companions of their own.”

Your brow twitches in thought. If they his brothers were in there then where are the two of you going to–

Your smile is a slash of lust across your lips and the admission from the future High Lord makes your pussy ache. You use the arms you have wrapped around his neck to tug him down to you, an aroused, feverish kiss shared between the two of you.

He takes this as answer enough, twisting the knob. The door flies open behind you and you squeal as the frame supporting you disappears.

Rhys is quick to catch you, arms around your waist before his large hands slip further down to cup your ass, lifting you with ease as he strides confidently towards his bed.

His mouth is hot against your neck, sucking bruises into the creamy skin as you crane your head to peer around the room, wanting to identify exactly which Illyrian male is making each delicious noise.

In the bed behind the door that had swung open in the darkest corner of the room there is the shadowsinger. His glowing golden gaze follows you as you watch, like he’d known you’d been here the entire time and couldn’t wait to set his sights on you, eyes slowly licking down the column of your neck to where the straps of your dress have fallen down, his brother's head nestled between your breasts.

You think you see the corner of his mouth twitch upwards but it could be a trick of the light, the shadows seem to shroud him in darkness again, and when the female on all fours in front of him keens for his attention, he indulges her.

Her back is arched like a crescent moon, her pleasured-filled gasps the falsetto twin to his baritone grunts as he slows his pace, watching his long cock slide out of her tight cunt before he’s teasing it back in.

You hum in approval as Rhysand’s hand slides beneath your skirts, dragging up the smooth skin of your thigh and fingering at the waistband of your panties. The one supporting you readjusts and you groan in pleasure, his fingers pressing into your clothed cunt. Head falling back on your shoulders you catch sight of the destined warlord.

The glistening muscles in his back ripple with each movement he makes, snapping his hips methodically against the female before him. Her head is thrown back in ecstasy, fingers clamping onto the headboard that’s rocking loudly against the wall, so tightly you think she’ll leave impressions in the cherry wood.

You swear at the sight, cunt convulsing around nothing, hoping that you’ll be as blissed out as she when the lordling finally sheaths himself inside of you.

Is that what you want, Darling? His sultry voice thurms through your mind, the sexy hum shaking you down to your bones, reverberating in your cunt as he lies you down before him on the free bed. Not my tongue but my cock?

“All,” you gasp as he rips your dress open, buttons scattering across the wood floor, “I want it all.”

“Greedy,” he murmurs amusedly, pawing at your exposed breasts.

“I’m just a female who knows what she wants,” you pant, as he makes his way down your body, first with his fingers, then with his tongue, mapping out exactly what makes you squirm. 

And you let yourself explore his skin even though he’s moving further out of your reach, the dips and curves of the broad shoulders, biceps bulging from how he’s pressed up on them, lowering himself between your thighs, his calloused hands, tangling your fingers with his when he nips at the thin fabric covering your sex.

His free hand tugs away the cloth with ease and you arch when his panting breath breezes across your dripping cunt. He groans at the sight, the sweet smell of you, brushing his index finger through your folds like a curious cat.

Your mouth slackens with pleasure.

A tentative taste has your mind reeling, Rhys groans approvingly and then his tongue returns with feral delight, your core aching as he works you up to your first orgasm.

Rhys’ hand snakes up to your throat with primal urge to feel the way your breath hitches when he twists his tongue and the way the muscles jump beneath the pads of his fingers when you cry out in pleasure, coming all over his face.

He continues his reverent attack, ignoring the way your hands futilely try to push him away. Your body zips with pleasure and each kitten lick to your clit has your body twitching, jerking on the sheets, all too much.

The lordling pulls away when he’s licked you clean, your orgasm glistening across his mouth, that salacious tongue poking out, swiping across his lips. The simpered smile on his face is gorgeous between your half closed eyes.

Rising, hand still placed firmly around your throat he growls lowly, “Say my name.”

“Rhysand…”

“That’s right Darling, let ‘em hear what I do to you.” He presses his forehead against yours, noses brushing as your mouths crash together desperately. You taste yourself on his tongue as he settles between your legs again, his cock brushing up against your sensitive cunt. You beg into his mouth, fingers scrambling for purchase against his warm skin. “I want them to hear every noise you make.”

You nod vigorously, eyes rolled into the back of your head but his violet eyes go dark and he grinds harshly against you once more before guiding his cock in.

“That’s it darling,” he encourages the noises you make, your beautiful body writhing beneath him as he pushes in slowly, all the way until his hips settle against yours and the lordling releases a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

You’ve melted into the bed, so blissed out on the feeling of him nestled all of the way inside of you, pushing the breath from your lungs and the thoughts from your head. A cry of pleasure from the other side of the room snaps you back into reality, gaze pulled from the future High Lord to Cassian, who’s slipped his hand around the female he’s with, fingering her furiously as his own orgasm grows.

His pace picks up and you’re sure you can hear the wood splintering beneath her iron grip but you release a whine of your own when Rhys pulls out and pushes back in quickly, drawing your attention back to him.

He smirks down at you but he isn’t moving and it’s driving you insane. You want to feel as good as the other females in the room, their pleasured noises only adding to your own arousal. Your cunt clenches around Rhys’ cock, responding to their moans and keens.

You wrap your legs around his waist, arms sneaking up behind his neck as you pull him down to you for a kiss. You roll your hips and he chokes against your mouth but he finally starts moving, bucking his hips into yours in a primitive response, hands wandering over your dewy skin.

It’s a clash of teeth and tongues, his cock feels otherworldly inside of you and you can hear him chuckling softly in your mind. You don’t need to part your mouth from his for the things you want to say, dirty pleasured moans and filthy suggestions motivating you to your orgasm.

Rhys gives you reprieve when he moves to your neck, sucking deep marks wherever his lips can reach, rocking into you with abandon. 

Your back arches into his body, your skin sticking to his as he moves. You feel so good, climax rising with each thrust that he makes. One of the other females orgasms with a noise that has you exhaling harshly, clenching around Rhys who grunts into the juncture of your shoulder.

“Please, Rhys,” you moan and it’s so loud in the room without the sound of the wooden headboard smashing against the wall but you can’t find it in you to care as the heir presses two fingers to your lips. Your mouth falls open without question, taking those skilled fingers and sucking on them like you would his cock should you ever get the chance.

“Fuck,” he pants, voice shaky as he watches you work. He can’t drag his eyes away, your hollowed cheeks, humming exaggeratedly as you suckle on his fingers, eyes closed in bliss.

He removes his fingers, smearing the wet digits across your already swollen lips. He watches with amazement, the way you react to everything he does, as he trails them down your body, tweaking your pert nipple and blowing cold over it, your keen is music to his ears.

He circles your clit softly, earning a delicious sound in response and he begins rubbing it with an intensity that has you seeing stars, fingers raking down his perfectly tan skin. Rhys is on the edge himself, breathing ragged as his hips stutter and shift, hitting that spot inside of you that has you grasping onto him, nails biting into his skin.

“Rhys,” you beg, cry as he continues his efforts. You repeat his name like a prayer, the onslaught of his hips spurring you on, pleads carrying throughout the room and bouncing off of every wall, every eardrum in the vicinity.

You come with a final shout, body vibrating euphorically as Rhys’ grip on your hips tightens, pistoning into you, chasing his own release. 

You hear the shadowsinger groan low in his throat as he comes, shrouding the room in darkness.

Rhysand releases moments later, when the shadows pull back to reveal your beautifully blissed out face. He collapses on top of you and your fingers find his hair, playing with the damp strands as he calms down, feeling his chest rise and fall against your own.

He stays nestled inside of you and it’s nice, intimate, like neither of you want this night to end.

And you don’t.

But you’d never tell him that. He’s the High Lord’s son and as soon as he finishes the Blood Rite he’ll be gone and you’ll be stuck here, settling for some brooding asshole Illyrian who will never make you feel the way that he does.

Rhys drags his gaze up to yours like he’s been reading your thoughts and your movements falter for a moment. A lazy smile makes its way to his face and you know he hasn’t been digging inside of your head, too elated and pliant from the orgasm he’s just had.

The thoughts melt away at the look on his face and you give him a soft smile of your own, not wanting your thoughts to ruin a great night with the cheeky heir.

And a great night it was indeed.

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Sharing is Caring

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Request from @reliablyhann : from chapter 3 of ACOSF – "He and his brothers had put a good deal of distance between the stupid youths they'd been – fucking any female who showed interest, often in the same room as each other – and the males they were now."

Warnings: Smut!

Word Count: 2,232

Notes: And last but certainly not least...daddy Azzy's POV 🥵

[Cassian] [Rhysand]

_________________________________________

You rouse from your slumber with a drowsy hum but your eyes shoot open when you hear a debauched moan coming from somewhere behind you. You startle, hand reaching out for the male in bed beside you. Azriel is covering your exposed ear with one hand, trying to muffle the sounds that have woken you anyways.

He has his eyes squeezed shut, and you’d think Azriel was asleep if it weren’t for him biting his lip and teasing his own stiff cock beneath the sheets.

Your mouth goes dry as you watch the gorgeous male next to you, his mouth falling open as he releases a shaky breath and you have to clench your legs together as you’re reminded of earlier in the night when he’d made that exact face, though he’d been a little more vocal at the time.

You’re sure you know exactly what’s happening due to the lewd sounds of muffled moans and skin slapping against skin sounds through the room.

You watch him for a few moments longer, how his half exposed chest heaves with a particularly swift twist of his wrist, his disheveled hair falling across his brow. How generous he was to try and let you sleep while his brothers have all the fun.

Your hand finds his under the sheets and he startles slightly, hazel eyes wide as he turns to look at you. It’s too dark to see but you know he has a light dusting of pink tinting the apples of his cheeks.

Batting his hand away you take over and he chokes on his words, pressing his head harshly into the pillow. The hand still covering your ear slides down, brushing across your cheek before he wraps it around the nape of your neck, pulling you into him for a feverish kiss.

“What’s going on?” you murmur against his lips. The hand that he had on himself caresses your thigh and you spread your legs for him as he rolls up onto his side for a better angle. He trails his fingers across your cunt, smirking at the wetness he finds there – whether it’s from his own seed earlier or your current arousal he doesn’t care – dipping a few fingers inside of you that makes your grip on his cock squeeze and falter.

He groans at the feeling, can’t help himself but to kiss you before he responds, “Take a guess.”

You haven’t gotten a good look at what’s happening behind you and a surge of jealousy shoots through the shadowsinger as you turn to see, his hand gripping your chin in a firm yet gentle hold, forcing you to meet his gaze. You see a flicker of something in those glowing hazel eyes, insecurity maybe, but why should he be? He is the most gorgeous male you’ve ever laid eyes on. Surely he doesn’t think that you’d see his friends and hop into bed with one of them instead?

“Don’t worry,” you speak softly, reassuringly, the sensual lilt to your voice and your fingers trailing down his spine nearly have him trembling over you, “You’re the only brooding Illyrian for me.”

He puffs out a breath of laughter that has your heart jumping in your chest. That smile is like a reward and you need to taste it, stretching up to meet his mouth as Azriel settles over you, moving his fingers inside of you with a bit more intention now.

You hum against his lips, body arching off of the bed into his. It’s hot, every rippling muscle of his pressed up against your skin, his scent consuming your every gasp for air as he circles your clit with precision for the second time tonight.

“Look then,” he rasps when he pulls away in favor of kissing the swallow of your throat. You muse his hair between your fingers, craning your neck back in bliss. “But for every second you’re looking at them is one second longer that you won’t be getting my cock.”

You whine as his lips trail down your body. This male…Gods does he know how to make your body thrum with need.

You don’t even stifle your cry as his tongue dives straight into your cunt, the sound mixing with two other moans in a crescendo of lust. His golden eyes stay locked on yours and it’s nearly too much for a minute; him eating you out like he’d been starved of it for years while his hazel eyes captivate you.

He smirks as he removes his mouth, trailing kisses across your thigh when your eyes shift across the room.

Your lock gazes with Cassian’s powerful form from where he’s kneeling behind the most petite Illyrian female you’ve ever seen. You try to mask your horror at the sight of her taking his enormous cock and Azriel helps because he’s licking a stripe up your cunt, causing your head to melt back into the pillow below you.

“Azriel…please,” you whine, writhing when he parts from you again, trying to urge him forward by tugging lightly on that silky, ink black hair of his. He tuts but doesn’t budge, tracing patterns into the soft skin of your thigh with his tongue.

It’s fucking terrible, being baited like this when you’re so aroused. You feel as though you’re already on edge, with the moans, grunts, and pleasured noises filling the room, the smell of feral lust is overwhelming in itself. 

His hand snakes around your throat, tenderly, but there’s a slight firmness to it that has your eyes rolling back into your head as he rises from his between your legs. Azriel hums disapprovingly as he settles against you, grinding his hips against yours, his prick rubbing against your soaked core teasingly.

“You heard what I said, right (Y/N)? I don’t think I need to repeat myself.” His voice is low, reverberating through your bones and you groan weakly, letting the twitch of his fingers around your throat cut off the sound.

You can feel eyes on you as you stare up at the shadowsinger and he can see you weighing your options, a shadow alerting him to the male watching. Check to see who is looking at you only for him to pull away from where he’s still grinding against you, or keep looking up at this beautiful male and have his cock inside of you for the second time tonight.

You don’t dare look away.

“Good girl,” he praises, rewarding you with a kiss that leaves you dizzy for more.

He still takes his time, even though your hands are clawing at his skin, his hips, desperately, and he loves seeing you like this, mewling and begging for his cock.

And maybe it’s because his brothers are in the room, that he feels the need to show you off, what he can do to you. Azriel’s powerful wings spread wide, drawing the attention of the two Illyrians in the beds flanking the other walls as he removes his hand from around your throat and sheaths himself fully inside of you.

The shameless noise you release as he does so coils in his brothers’ guts, hips stuttering to a stop as they watch you take his cock like it’s your lifeline.

Even the females that they’re with react to your sounds. The one Cassian is with clenches around him and he chokes, didn’t think her taut little cunt could get any tighter. And Rhysand’s partner for the night, hand slipping down to rub feverous circles around her own clit, eyes glued to the male that looks like an angel of death.

You don’t give a damn if they’re watching or listening or whatever–all you care about is Azriel as he pounds into you like he was bred for it, the male’s shadows swirling around his wings. It should terrify you, but they only add to your arousal as he uses them to snake across your body, trailing the path his warm hands are making, the cold whisps soothing, goosebumps forming in their wake.

And he could just let his shadows veil the two of you in darkness, he’d done it before, but he likes the game the two of you are playing. How you test him by disobeying and in return he tests you by pausing his antics. It’s hard to force himself to stop but its so fucking fun watching you beg for him.

Hooking his hand beneath your knee, he folds your leg up into your chest so that he can piston into you at a different angle.

You curse with pleasure and Azriel’s there to taste it rolling off of your tongue, mouth hot against yours before he places a rough kiss to your cheek, lips dragging across your jaw to suck a mark there.

You grasp onto him, taking the chance while he’s occupied to sneak a glance at Rhys. He’s so close to his climax already but seeing the look on your face pushes him over the edge. Your fucked out face, lips swollen and glistening with sweat and spit as his brother marrs your neck with his teeth, the squeaks and gasps spilling from your lips so easily for Azriel has the heir coming with a gutteral moan.

Meeting his eyes was a mistake. How could you think that the infamous spymaster wouldn’t notice? His shadows slithering up and curling around his ear, whispering what a naughty little thing you are. His hips halt, fully pressed into you and tears burn your eyes as you release a frustrated cry as the orgasm you’ve been chasing ebbs away.

He pins your squirming body beneath his own when you try to get any sort of friction, his large hands clasped firmly around your own.

Azriel’s eyes are dark as he growls, “I’m beginning to think that you want them to see you, hear you. You’re getting off on it, aren’t you sweetheart?”

And all you can do is whimper, your pleading words escaping from your mouth with ease. You don’t even know what you’re saying, begging for as he watches with intrigue, gaze alight with fire.

“For Mother’s sake just give it to her Az,” Cassian grunts. He’s trying to focus on the female beneath him but your keening pleas are distracting him in the best way.

Azriel only smirks down at you.

His teeth graze over your nipple, soothing it with the flat of his tongue as he takes his time. He’s enjoying the way you’re raking your nails down the tanned skin of his back.

In a desperate attempt to get the male to start moving your fingers slip across the bridge of his extended wings. He shudders beneath your touch and you can feel the muscles of his strong body pull taut. He bucks into you in reaction.

He growls, ripping your hands away from his wings and pinning them up above your head with ease. They tuck up close to his back as Azriel growls low in your ear, a rumble that alerts the other two Illyrians in the room, raising the hair at the napes of their necks. They’re taught not to let anyone touch their wings, one of the most vulnerable parts of their bodies. But why did it feel so good?

He bites at your earlobe as he hums disapprovingly, a warning not to do that again. It’s paired with a shift of his hips that drags a moan from deep in your throat, a silent message to you that you’ll be exploring that more the second you’re alone. 

Your hands slip from his, winding around his waist as he begins moving again, finally. He sucks the tear that has slipped from your eye, his own fingers burying in your soft, knotted hair, holding your face so he can kiss you feverishly as he bucks into you with fervor, the phantom feeling of your fingers on his wings spurring him on.

You try to slip a hand between the two of you but he shoves it away, instead his rough hands finding your neglected clit. You gasp into his mouth as he begins working you, the feeling of his cock inside of you and his fingers working you is euphoric.

Cassian groans erotically as he spills into the femle beneath him who comes with a shout of her own. Your body reacts to their noises, squirming with pleasure and you're so close to a climax of your own that you pray Azriel gives it to you.

And he does with a well planned flick of his fingers that has you careening over the edge into pure bliss. Your cunt clenches around his cock, nails biting into his tanned flesh as you release a sound that settles deep into his bones, spilling into you.

He peppers your face with soft pecks as he comes down, finally meeting your lips in a lazy yet passionate kiss, holding you close.

You love it when he’s like this, domineering and demanding in bed, but afterwards he’s as sweet and docile as ever.

“Fuck Az,” Cassian pants, his own chest heaving as he lies back in his bed, female tucked close to his side. “Is it weird that I want some of that action now?”

The room erupts into laughter, Azriel’s hazel eyes glowing as he gazes down at you, body vibrating with amusement.

No, this is only for you.

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Not the Same, But Closer Than You Think

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You meet Azriel at Windhaven when you are young.

Warnings: Kind of sad ngl

Word Count: 1,496

Notes: 5 days later...

_________________________________________

News in Windhaven travels fast on a normal day, but when a young boy arrives with two armed Illyrian soldiers and shadows, well, the whole camp knows about it within minutes.

He's around your age, ten or so, eyes downcast towards the ground and arms crossed tightly against his chest. His shoulders are sunken, back hunched as if he caves inwards enough he might be invisible to all of the prying eyes on him. He seaks a glance up at one of the males flanking his sides, pleading them to take him anywhere else, but this is a war camp and no soldier cared for a child that wasn’t their own. The two abandon the child after telling him that the Lord of Windhaven will meet with him soon and instruct him on what to do and where to go.

He’s utterly alone once again, like he had been down in the dungeons of his fathers house. His heart picked up pace as he silently panicked, but you could see it in his frantic eyes. At least he can see the sun, could imagine its heat beating down on him as he tries to calm his racing heart. His hands are hidden underneath the sleeves of his long shirt, hazel eyes wide and scared. He’d learn to hide his emotions quickly, you knew, as you watched him with your head tilted in interest.

What you didn’t understand was where he came from and why exactly he was here, alone. Had he come from a different camp perhaps? Is he lost and his parents are worried sick looking for him?

Some of the older children run by, laughing and calling him names. How they’d come up with such foul comments so quickly was gutting, and they shove the little boy to the ground as they pass, spitting and sneering at him.

Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight, fingers curling into fists at your rude peers.

He catches himself with his hands and the camp takes a collective gasp and then falls silent. Your mouth opens in shock at the sight of them, scared beyond belief. Living in the camps you had seen gruesome injuries before, an ear bit off, deep lacerations to delicate flesh, broken bones, but this was your first exposure to something like this.

You hear the whispers start, some mothers even ushering their children away from the youngling, from the shadows that snaked around him angrily, ready to strike.

But you are in utter awe. Just like you’d never seen scars like this, you also had never seen lively shadows before. It was a story you’d been taught during your education, the ability to wield and control the dark tendrils of night, you could hardly remember the name off of the top of your head because your teacher told you it was so rare. A shadowslinger? Shadowtamer? Shadowsinger! They twirl in the air like a shield of protection around him and you wonder what else they were capable of.

He watches you wearily as you approach, shadows curling over his shoulders in warning. If they could make noise you’d bet they’d be hissing at you to stay away.

Instead they bring him whispers of calming words, letting him know that you don’t mean him any harm.

“Hello,” you greet, forcing your lips up into a crooked smile. You had a few friends, but none that you truly liked. You merely tolerated the other females because that’s what your kind did, while the males could push, tease, and speak to you however they liked with no repercussions.

You’re young, but you’re old enough to decide that you hate it here.

You don’t want to be some poor female who is stuck taking care of her husband's needs. You want, no, need to get out of here. Away from the horrific traditions set forth that the High Lord wouldn’t change, away from the frigid camp and the laws that kept you here.

The boy doesn’t respond, he doesn’t do much of anything except stare up at you. You take notice of the darkness that curls around his ear and your brows furrow as his eyes flicker with emotion, like the twirl of midnight is speaking to him.

You offer a hand to the boy but he ignores it, climbing to his feet. The sleeves of his coat are damp with melted snow but he doesn’t seem to mind all that much as he tugs them down over his fists.

“What happened to your hands?” You ask. The question is blunt and he wouldn’t know how to respond even if he could muster up the courage to talk about it. You were an intriguing female indeed.

“Can you talk?” The boy nods at your follow up question, still as silent as ever. 

“My name is (Y/N),” you offer softly, taking a different approach.

“Azriel,” he responds so quietly you nearly miss it.

“Azriel,” You whisper to yourself, finding you like the way it sounds on your tongue. From the slight lopsided smile on the boy's face in front of you, you can tell he thinks the same.

You want to know more about him, know everything about this little male who’d been dragged here. Why is he alone? Who hurt his hands like that?

“(Y/N), let’s go,” your mother calls and you cringe. She’s loud enough for the whole camp to hear and the group of girls snicker at you as you pass by, throwing a fleeting wave to the onyx haired boy still standing in his spot.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Azriel,” you declare. Your heart skips a beat when the sleeve of his shirt slips down a bit as he returns your wave before he blushes and shoves it back down with a fleeting glance your way.

He shouldn’t be embarrassed, you think as you follow your mother home, there is nothing wrong with his hands. In fact, you find them beautiful. An array of pink and red scars covering his skin. You know he is an Illyrian, that much is obvious, but what could have made his hands look like that with your kind’s naturally enhanced healing abilities?

Either way, it’s clear that he’s ashamed of them. As soon as you get home you beg your mother to use some of the extra fabric scraps and thread she has left over from sewing Illyrian leathers. Reluctantly, she agrees and you set off to work, scrounging through the material to find a chunk of cloth large enough for what you were going to make.

It takes you all night and you’re threatened with multiple punishments by your tired parents, but it was worth it when you present Azriel with your gift the next day.

“I made you something,” you grin excitedly at the wide-eyed boy. He’s convinced himself that you didn’t mean it when you said you’d see him tomorrow. He is half convinced that even the two Illyrian boys who have taken him under their wings want anything to do with him. He doesn’t deserve kindness.

He shakes his head but you only shove the gloves closer to him. The smile on your face is so genuine that he can’t help but to take them, making sure that most of his hands are completely covered. You don’t even look, too busy studying every expression that crosses his features as he examines your handiwork.

They’re horrible, holes and missing stitches, probably too large for his little hands, but it’s one of the nicest gestures someone’s done for him in his few years of existence. 

He looks up at you with sparkling eyes as you explain, “You don’t have to cover your hands up because they’re different.” You shrug and his throat bobs. “I like them.”

Azriel opens his mouth to respond but nothing can pass the thick lump in his throat that had formed from your kind words.

So you continue, “My wings don’t work,” you admit, and he noticed it the first time he met you, how one of your wings was tucked tightly behind your back. It didn’t move like the other one did, and you flex your working wing as wide as you can, wincing as it pulls on the marred muscle of the limp one. It hadn’t developed correctly in the womb and you’d never had use of it, were ridiculed by your own father and patrons of the war camp until you’d learned to block it out.

At least they wouldn’t clip you because of it.

“I understand what it’s like to be different,” you blush, looking down at your feet. It had been difficult for a long time and there were still days where insults got to you, but it was slowly getting better and you dreamed of a place where you wouldn’t be looked at differently.

“If you even need anyone to talk to Azriel,” you smile at him warmly, “You’ve always got me.”

_________________________________________

Taglist: @violet-shadows

[disillusioned-phantasma]

The whole camp must know you’re in heat. An Illyrian omega was hard to come by, and females were looked down upon but omegas were worse off, treated like property when they should be praised. The women loathed you and all the alphas wanted to do was breed you, but you had presented later than most, and immediately you were in danger.

Your mother was close with Rhysand’s mother, whom she had brought you to as soon as you found out. Being the High Lord’s wife, she knew you would be safe in the most protected house in the camp. It was hard to leave your mother, your family, but Rhys’ mother had taken you in without a second thought and taught you how to make it through your first heat on your own.

You hadn’t even known about the three boys she was already looking after, all alphas and all having presented early, sniffing and huffing outside of your door throughout the entirety of it. They couldn’t help it, instinct was a bitch and that bitch was in heat.

After a good scolding from Rhys’ mother and being sent away until your heat was over, you found yourself as the honorary fourth member of their little pack. You’d learned that they’d literally fought their instincts, beating each other bloody in the training rings, the scent of you caught in the back of their throats. Not even the blood could get rid of it.

They’d protected you for years, and you’d always been a silent admirer of Azriel, who, even at the ripe age of 25, still covered his hands behind his back, ashamed of what had been done to him. 

He was gorgeous, they all were, but you found yourself pining after the shadowsinger, with his deep hazel eyes, cunning smiles, and witty remarks. The wingspan wasn’t something to overlook, either.

And it had been the happiest day of your life, when you’d gone into heat, finally working up the courage of being friends for so long if he would help you through it. In your haze you had confessed your feelings for him and while he thought that it was just your natural reaction – that you’d be saying this to any one of them in this position, he couldn’t help the stutter in his heart at your words.

Azriel had been crushing on you since your mother had brought you to them. He never quite got your scent out of his mind, and he’d fought harder that week than Rhys or Cassian had ever seen, baring his teeth and growling primally like his instincts had taken over him completely.

He could barely stay away when you went into your heats. He often lied to his brothers, telling them that he’d been sent on a mission from the High Lord, when in honesty he couldn’t stand to be that close to you and not be inside of you.

But the course of your friendship was changed forever after he’d helped you through that first one. He’d waited ten long years for you to ask him to help you, and after that first taste he knew that he was done and there was no getting rid of him.

And that was perfectly okay with you.

It’s Cassian who’s pacing outside of your door, worry wracking through his body. He’s chewing on his fingernails, hoping that Azriel gets back in time. The shadowsinger had made them both make a promise – when the High Lord had recruited him as his personal spy – that one of them take his place should you ever go into heat and need someone.

Azriel was a jealous male, growling and glaring at everyone who looked at you, holding you just a little bit tighter when you walked around together. He had gotten in more fights over you than he had when he was training in the camps, and he’d never lost a single one of them. Finally, he had someone who was his, who supported him and loved him, flaws and all.

When he told Rhys and Cassian that he trusted them enough with you in a fragile state, it took more than he was willing to admit. Long conversations with himself and with you, you had both agreed on this outcome. And although the thought of you with another male infuriated him to his very core, he would be less regretful if it were someone he trusted than a random alpha male.

The red siphoned warrior lets out a breath of relief when he sees Azriel, even though his pants are straining and sweat beads his forehead. A reaction any alpha would be having right now, one to mount the omega in heat. The shadowsinger snarls on instinct and the taller Illyrian steps away, falling back towards the front of the house to leave with Rhys.

Your scent hits him full force when he enters the room and it nearly brings him to his knees.

“Alpha,” you groan, because you’re in such a need for release that your mind is all fuzzy, but as soon as the musky smell of an alpha is near you become desperate with the need to be filled.

And your plea would hurt him if he didn’t understand the uncomfort you felt, burning in his own body, the feelings brushing up his spine from the bond.

“I should clean up,” he says but he doesn’t mean it. He’s sweaty, covered in grime and blood from the mission the High Lord had sent him on. Azriel had been exhausted from the long trip, half flying as fast as he could and winnowing the rest, all to make it to you before it was too late and one of his brothers had taken over.

The shadowsinger is nearly in a trance, eyes glued to the way you’re writhing desperately on the bed, fingers furiously fucking yourself, the smell of your slick overpowering and oh-so sweet.

He licks his lips as you whine, “No…don’t care. Need you, Az.”

And that settles it. His hands already fumbling for the ties on his leathers as he strides towards the bed. His breathing turns to pants the closer he gets, the scent of your pheromones has his cock straining against the tight material.

“Have you come yet?” he asks, kneeling at the foot of the bed, admiring every single inch of your naked body, gleaming and dewey with sweat in the setting sun peeking through the curtains. Gods, you were something else, all splayed out before him and desperate for his knot.

“Can’t.” You’d tried it all: your fingers, your toys, but nothing had been able to relieve even the slightest bit of the pain you were experiencing. “It hurts.”

“I know baby,” he soothes, taking your hand gently in his own and slowly pulling it out of you, ignoring your mewl from the loss. Azriel moves it up to his mouth, wrapping his lips around your wet fingers for his first taste of your slick and hums with delight.

“I thought your heat wasn’t until next week,” he comments, rubbing soothing circles into your thighs, admiring the dampness he finds there. You are so wet, dripping and ready for him, your cunt throbbing with need.

“Was thinking about you too much,” you groan, fingers twisting in the sheets, “Must’ve triggered it early.”

His pupils dilate and his eyes go wild with fervor. He knows how much you need it, your body quivering before him, and he can feel you through the bond, the bite he’s marked you with at the juncture of your throat, cock jumping with his own need as you bare your neck, showing off the brand.

He’s been away so long it looks less fresh than when he had left, when it had been completely mottled and red, the taste of it had his mouth numb with pleasure for hours.

His thumb circles your clit and you keen as he slips two fingers into you. They slide in with ease and you moan. You love his hands, the texture of the scarred flesh only adding to your satisfaction, but you need more than this, you want his knot.

“Please, Az,” you beg, writhing in the dampened sheets and whining like a pup, “It hurts.”

“I know,” he hushes, shushing you like a babe. His eyes don’t leave your dripping cunt, adding a third finger and picking up pace. “Give me one, just to take some of the edge off, Love.”

It comes quick, with a flick of his thumb and twist of his fingers you're falling over the edge, orgasming with a cry. Your mind is a haze between wanting more and enjoying the feeling, but it’s not his knot and your body knows it.

You lift your head to complain only for your response to catch in your throat as Azriel lowers his head, nose brushing against your clit as his tongue dips into your soaking heat, lapping your slick straight from the source.

His moan is broken as he licks you with fervor, the taste and noises spilling from your mouth only spurring him on.

And he loves it, your thighs shaking, gasps and pleas falling from your lips as your toes curl with every flick of his tongue. It’s his favorite thing, making you feel good, teasing you and testing how far he can take you while you’re in heat.

Your hips rise into his mouth and he presses a hand to your abdomen, pushing you back into the bed. Your back arches as he slurps, moving to your neglected clit and swirling his tongue around the nub before he’s sucking at it harshly, ripping another orgasm from your body.

He drinks every drop before resting his head on your thigh. He kisses the soft skin on each one before pushing them further apart and licking a long stripe up over your hole, clit, and climbs up your body, sloppy kisses pressed to flushed, dewey skin.

You groan as he tweaks your nipple with his fingers, then soothes it over with his tongue before continuing on his path to your lips. 

He noses over the faint outline of his teeth on your neck and you both shiver at the feeling. Your hands bury in his hair and he presses his forehead against yours, body pushing flat as you both shut your eyes, reveling in each other’s scent.

A sweet kiss is pressed to your lips and Azriel’s murmuring, “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you hum, bucking up into him, his thick length rubbing deliciously against your pussy, “But by the mother if you don’t get inside of me–”

“I love it when you get like this, all submissive and loud. Gods, it makes me want to breed you.”

You moan loudly at his words, rutting your hips harsher against his, “Breed me then, alpha. I’m yours.”

You moan into his mouth when he slides into you, easily filling you completely. He doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath, he’s pulling out and pushing in just as fast and you keen at the sensation. Yes, this is what you were craving, waiting for all this time while he was on his way back, your alpha stuffing you full.

Azriel sets the pace, jackknifing into you like his life depends on it, like seeing your face as you fall over the edge into bliss is his one saving grace.

You lock your ankles around his waist, urging him on with pleas and kisses.

His hands clench your hips tighter as he tries and fails to hold back the string of curse words falling from his lips. He’s thrusting two, three, four more times before his knot is large enough to lock the two of you together. He collapses on top of you and he’s heavy but it’s surprisingly pleasing, his cock pulsing and body shaking with his orgasm. 

The sensation of him firmly attached to you and the pure euphoria as he spills his hot seed into you pushes you over the edge into your own climax, fingernails dragging down his slick back, avoiding the large wings spread wide around you.

The room goes quiet, only your breathing and his filling your ears. You feel so good, that need satiated for the time being, now that Azriel has knotted you. You know it’s just the start of your heat and your stomach flutters and cheeks redden at the thought of getting to do this all over again with your mate.

Sure, you and Azriel have sex often, and he’s amazing every single time, but it’s a whole different experience when you’re in heat. His words become filthier, more instinctual, and Godsdamn do you love it. The normally quiet shadowsinger loud and unabashed as those filthy words spill from his mouth.

Your pussy throbs at the thought, already ready for another round.

__________

You jolt awake from your light slumber, your heat never letting you fall into a deeper sleep, the uncomfortable feeling warm and buzzing beneath your skin. You need him again, desperately. 

Rolling over in Azriel’s arms, you rut against him and whimper, trying to wake him. He’s still snoozing, but your movements and cries pull him out of his own sleep, body on alert immediately due to the sounds you’re making.

“Love?” he slurs, arm tightening around you as he blinks the drowsiness from his eyes. 

“Please Az,” you mewl, “Please let me…need you so much.”

“Come on baby,” his cock is already hard and throbbing, his body's natural reaction to yours. “You’re dripping for me, aren’t you?” He says as you rut up against him again, whining in response. He helps you sit up, swinging a leg over his hips as he grips his prick in his hand, guiding it to your slick cunt, hissing when you sit down, taking him fully.

It’s messy and rough and you can’t even speak when Azriel takes over, gripping your hips harshly as he fucks up into you. Your head falls back on your shoulders and you feel so good, so full, you can hardly even breathe with how amazing it is, the warm coiling in your gut as he lets out a low guttural moan when his knot expands.

You collapse against his chest and he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight. You’re panting, heart beating rapidly against his, sated with his cock pulsing inside of you, but now that he’s awake, eyes filled with lust, drunk off of your scent, and he’s not ready to stop.

You gasp as he moves, his knot sinking deeper into you, “Az!”

“Need you to come again love,” he grunts, jerking his hips again and licking hot across your bond mark.

“Wha–” you slur, shuddering out a breath at his movements. It’s all too much, his knot thick and throbbing against your tight walls as you squirm. Every nerve in your body is on fire and you didn’t know how good it could be. This is something you and he had never done before but you’re thankful he did, even if you are so sensitive right now, intense and satisfying in the best of ways.

“Fuck (Y/N)...you feel so good,” he whispers, nipping and nuzzling into the column of your throat. “You can do it.”

“Az,” you whimper, “I don’t think–”

He cuts you off with a desperate, bruising kiss against your lips. “You can baby, trust me. If you really can’t I’ll stop but I know you can. Be good for me.”

You clutch at him, fingernails scraping down his muscled torso and he hisses as you scratch over his pert nipple.

It’s driving you insane and then he’s sliding a hand between the two of you, pressing it against your abdomen like he’s trying to feel himself inside of you and that’s what does it, has you orgasming again with a cry of pleasure, eyes rolling back in your head, slick dripping down your thighs and over his.

You’re shaking to the bone as you chant his name over and over again until it stops. And it doesn’t stop for a long long time.

“See?” Azriel whispers, brushing back the hair on your forehead, matted with sweat. “I knew you could do it.”

You sigh at the praise, humming lazily in response, already halfway to sleep. He lets you stay, holding you close and breathing in your scent as you drift off, whimpering every so often as his cock pulses and his seed spills into you.

__________

The next few days are filled with nothing more than raw, frantic, passionate sex. You can’t get enough of each other and just when he thinks you’ll pass out with exhaustion, the lust ignites and you’re begging the other for more.

He gets you to drink and eat when he can, when you’re sated from release and before you fall into sleep. He admires you when you do, thumb stroking over your cheek as he thinks about you. Everything that he loves about you, so entirely happy that he’s found his mate so young, and even though he’s been through a lot, the Mother has finally given him a break in life when she pushed him into you that cold morning.

Your heat breaks five days later and you wake up no longer burning with need. You lie side by side under the blanket, talking, voices teasing, enjoying each other’s presence and finally getting to chat about something more than dirty talk and lust fuelled words.

You spend the day like this, lazy and pressed skin to skin, sleeping most of the day away when you’re not talking, hands roaming each other’s skin languidly, until the hunger hits and you both opt for cleaning up.

Azriel helps you to the washroom, settling in behind you to scrub your back. You love when he gets like this, after your heat or his rut he’s so caring, so in love with you, never more than a few steps away, sweeter than ever.

Rhys and Cassian are waiting for you when you emerge from the bedroom, cheeky grins plastered across their faces as they fill their plates with food. You roll your eyes, sliding into your seat across from Cassian, an easy smile of your own across your lips.

Azriel takes the empty spot next to you, wrapping a hand around the back of your chair and tugging you closer to his side, a warning glare aimed at his brothers.

You bite your lip, stomach fluttering at his territorial instincts, to protect what’s his. You secretly love it, your big, possessive alpha.

And Cassian, having no boundaries at all, is the one to comment first, his smile a slash from ear to ear, “So, how was it? Did Az get the job done, (Y/N)?”

Your mate growls primitively next to you and you silence him with a gentle hand rested upon his knee.

“More than,” you hum, eyes sparkling as you look over at the shadowsinger beside you. He gives you a small smirk in return before you’re moving your gaze back to the cheeky alphas in front of you, “Now pass the roast, Cassian.”

Alpha Save Me

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Request from anon: Hello beautiful creature! I so so adore your writing it is very good! I don’t know if you take requests but can you write an Azriel Alpha and Omega Reader please? I hope that makes sense english isn’t my first language!

Warnings: Smut, you’re in heat and Az sees you through it. Like all smut. Like 3.3k worth of in-depth smut.

Word Count: 3,349

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The ground shakes when he lands and he’s growling at the dirtbag Illyrian alphas who gaze a little too long at the door to Rhys’ mother’s house. She’s away, having just met up with the High Lord before Azriel had been dismissed by her with a nod.

Rhys stands on the porch, arms crossed over his chest and leaning against the column so casually, like the horny bastards in front of his home aren’t bothering him in the slightest. Azriel is grateful, thinks he’ll become a great High Lord one day, when he grows up a little and stops baiting the older males at the war camps like the young princling he is.

The violet eyed male nods to him as he shoves his way up to the door, ignoring the muttered insults and assholes spitting at him, focused only on getting to you. 

Keep reading

[disillusioned-phantasma]

One of Azriel’s shadows slinks away from the fight, headed straight towards you. It wraps itself up your ankle, around your waist and through your hair as a way of greeting and acknowledgement that you’ve arrived. You laugh, waving the shadow away back to your mate, sending a warm feeling across the bond in response.

The shadowsinger doesn’t falter, your presence seems to make him fight harder against his brothers, neatly disarming Rhys with a flick of his sword like he’d been waiting for you to arrive so he could show off. The weapon skids a few feet away and Azriel’s blade dips in again, forcing the High Lord to jump back if he doesn’t want to be beheaded. 

Cassian blocks the next swing, siphons burning bright red. 

“Unfair,” you mutter under your breath and Feyre shakes her head in amusement. You didn’t get it when you first arrived, how they’d decide when to switch from one-on-one-on-one to two-against-one and you still don’t understand it now. 

It’s one of your favorite sights, admiring your mate as he spars. The concentration, the respect for both the weapons he’s using and his opponents. He’s absolutely mesmerizing to watch, every move seeming almost calculated with how easy it looks for him. Your legs clench together with arousal, trying to tamp down the feeling before it reaches him, only to fail. His blade stuttering proves your thoughts have been noticed.

If he’s caught wind – literally – of the emotions you’re displaying, that means all of your friends probably have as well.

The three Illyrians dance around each other, hungry for more. Cassian kicks out at Rhys, aiming a powerful thigh for his chest. You know that if he had met his target, the High Lord would have been knocked on his ass.

But Rhy’s doesn’t let the kick land, instead grabbing the Warlords ankle and twisting him off of his feet to a wrestling match on the ground. Sand sprays from the impact, clinging to their drenched bodies. 

The Spymaster doesn’t hesitate, dropping his own weapon in favor of joining the tussle. It’s all slick skin and naked chests and it couldn't be more arousing. 

They have to be doing it on purpose.

You’re nearly ready to jump from your spot and join in, only to have their writing bodies pressed up against yours. From the smell of the air around you, you don’t seem to be the only one thinking this way.

You lick your lips. “Do you ever think about–”

“Yep.”

“Fuck yes,” Nesta answers breathily.

You nod to yourself, humming. At least you weren’t the only one. 

A particularly swift move from Cassian has Azriel in a headlock. Rhys uses this to his own advantage, jumping onto the warlord's back and wrapping his own arms around his brother's neck, but Cassian is as solid as a wall, unmoving. Their sculpted chests shining in the sun is something you’ll think about for days to come.

Your mates hazel eyes meet yours and you can read him as easily as your favorite book. His smirk tells you that he knows exactly what he’s doing and you bite back your own smile, eyes gleaming with pride.

His shadows twirl into action, slithering up the rippling muscles of Cassian’s arms before pulling tight, constricting. His elbow comes up, connecting with the Illyrians gut, and slips easily out of his grasp, turning on his knees and kicking out the taller brutes legs from under him, taking both brothers out easily. Your mouth goes dry at the sight and all you want to do is take your mate and return to your room for the rest of the day.

“Damn,” Nesta whispers, impressed. 

“I think I need a drink,” you croak, making your way to stand. You need a moment to calm down, the thoughts of last night, body against body creeping back into your mind.

“Good idea,” Feyre replies, a hand over your knee to stop you. You glance at her, watching as she pulls a bottle of wine and three glasses from the fabric of space, as you’d seen Rhys do so many times. She hands you and her sister a glass, filling them nearly to the brim. You take a large sip, returning your gaze to the fight.

You sigh dreamily, two glasses of wine down, words becoming less filtered. Head resting on Feyre’s shoulder, you reach around her with your empty glass, seeking a refill from Nesta.

“I mean, look at him,” you nearly whine, taking a sip from your glass. The Illyrians are still at it. How, you don’t know, but it’s still as interesting as it was an hour ago. “Gods, I want to have his babies.”

Nesta chokes on her drink, spluttering and cackling. Feyre shakes with laughter beneath you. Maybe you weren’t as quiet as you thought, Azriel going wide eyed and Cassian's grin turning lethal. 

“Az, I think you better give the lady what she wants,” the biggest Illyrian taunts, dodging a fist.

The spymaster bares his teeth, sneaking away easily from the fight. Ignoring the whistles his brothers send his way and the shrieks of encouragement from their counterparts, he takes a seat and you immediately cling to his sweaty side, his scent intoxicating.

“Hi Az,” you smile sweetly, laughing as his shadows greet you happily, like little pecks all across your face, “Nice fighting out there.”

He snags the glass from your hands, draining it and kissing the pout from your lips, “Thanks darling.”

“That wasn’t very nice,” you huff but twine your fingers through his anyway. The two sisters move away into the training ring to speak with their own mates.

His eyes shine with mirth, “I think you’ve had enough for now.”

“For now huh?” Quirking your eyebrows, “Why, do you have something planned?” You trail your fingers up his muscular arm. 

“No, but I think you do,” he winks and there’s that smile that you love. You nod eagerly as he reaches across you, grabbing the unfinished bottle of wine. He pulls you to stand, arm snaking around your waist and winnows the both of you back to your bedroom, the cheering from your friends fading into the shadows.

Ringside

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You, Feyre, and Nesta watching your mates spar.

Warnings: Illyrians fighting.

Word Count: 1309

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“Ah, there you are.” You should’ve known this is where everyone would be. 

It was a late start to the day for you, sleeping in longer than normal due to the intimate night you had shared with your mate. Your legs were still wobbly as you made your way up the stairs to the training ring. 

You were shushed by the oldest Archeron sister, waving dismissively towards you, eyes glued to the event, Feyre seated next to her. The High Lady greeted you, but her gaze also remained on the match happening in front of you.

Taking the open spot next to the High Lady, you understood why they were unable to remove their eyes from the sight before them. 

You realize now why you hadn’t been able to convince your mate to stay in bed with you, as he was sparring with his brothers.

It was astonishing of course, the way the three men complimented each other even while fighting. From the looks of it, this fight had been going on for some time, their chests stripped bare and glistening with sweat, the bright sun shining down on them, causing them to look otherworldly. 

The way Cassian’s broad shoulders flexed as he swung his sword down from over his head, narrowly missing his target. Azriel’s lean body, his shadows wrapping around his taut muscles, and Rhys’ cunning mind, almost always a step ahead, dodging and throwing a swift punch in return, biceps bulging. 

You swallow thickly, unable to remove your eyes from the show they were surely putting on now that their mates were all watching. 

Now they really had something to prove.

Keep reading

[disillusioned-phantasma]

He finally looked up, and staring now into those beautiful hazel eyes you knew you had a choice to make. And it would be the easiest one you’ve ever made.

Standing slowly from your seat at the table, you cross the tiny kitchen to the counter, a covered box sitting out and ready for you to bring to the House of Wind later tonight.

Inside was a birthday cake for Cassian. You had insisted on making it, as you were fond of baking, enjoying the sweet aromas that filtered in the air as you did so. 

Eyeing the nearly perfect icing – red to match the commander's siphons – you didn’t think he’d mind.

Smirking to yourself, you pulled a knife from your drawer and sliced directly into the middle, cutting a large chunk from the dessert and plating it. 

You licked your fingers as you made your way back to the table, the sugary icing sweet on your tongue.

You placed the plate down in front of Azriel and watched as he looked at you with big brown eyes before leaning forward and looking at what you’d served him.

He chuckled faintly at the cake sitting in front of him, the piece crooked and icing messy, but the ‘ass’ written in script was as visible as day.

“Really?” He asked, an amused smile and loving glimmer in his eyes as he looked back up at you.

“What?” You respond, trying to feign innocence, but you knew the Shadowsinger could see right through you, “it was the closest part to your name.”

“You could’ve just given it to me with one ‘s,’” he mused, shadows tickling your ankles.

“Where’s the fun in that?” you asked cheekily, picking up a wedge of cake with your fingers. You offer it to him, speaking gently, “It may not make sense to me fully, but it’s tradition to you so…” you trailed off, nearly touching the sweet to his lips as his caramel eyes bore into yours, “Az, will you be my mate?”

“Yes,” he breaths, parting his lips and taking the piece of cake from your fingers, his tongue swirling sensually around the tips, leaving no trace of frosting. You bite your lip at the sensation. 

He releases your fingers from his mouth, hungry eyes locked on your own. Your fingers tingling with the sensation, 

“So,” you swallow hard, “Is that it?”

“No,” he gives a slight shake of his head, “Now I take you on this fucking table.”

A smirk teases his mouth and he pushes up from the chair. You meet him halfway and your bodies collide, lips crushing in a searing kiss. His hands grip your hips, lifting, and you bury your hands in his dark hair, legs automatically winding around his waist like his shadows. He sets you on the table, the cake falling in the process, the plate shattering. He feels so good and you find yourself breathing heavily from your nose as you exchange open-mouthed kisses. It’s hungry and hard, your lips throbbing from it, but it’s exactly what you need.

“Off,” he mutters against your lips, his fingers playing lightly with the hem of your shirt before fisting the material and tugging it up swiftly, “This needs to come off.”

As soon as the cloth is over your head he’s back against your lips, holding your chin between both of his hands, his shadows twisting in your hair. His scarred touch sets you ablaze. 

It’s your turn to rid him of his shirt, whining softly against his lips when he refuses to move an inch from your mouth so you can slip the garment off. You shove the material harder up under his armpits, Azriel growling softly before he breaks the kiss and finally pulls it over his head. 

You smile into the kiss, fumbling with his pants. He’s got his knives strapped to his thighs as always, so you’ll need to undo those. But your mate doesn’t make it easy. It’s nearly a four-step process to get those holsters both on and off and it requires most of your attention. The pants are their own hassle.

Damn those Illyrian leathers.

Impatient, Azriel decides that if this is going to go any further, the both of you need to be naked. And he’d like this to keep going, fast. He steps back, hazel eyes dark with lust. His movements don’t falter, having done it everyday for hundreds of years, it’s all instinct by now. The swift movement of his fingers unstrapping his weapons with such grace has you pulsing with excitement.

You bite your lip when his cock springs up, the restricting cloth no longer pressing it against his own leg. 

When he notices you haven’t stripped yourself bare he smiles wickedly, practically ripping open your pants and you lie back, pulling at the legs and peeling them away from your beautiful body. 

His touch is featherlight as he traces up your legs, brushing over your crotch. They continue their path upwards, his shadows following, grazing your body, over the curve of your breast and the plane of your chest has you shuddering with excitement. 

The Spymaster can’t resist, kneading one of your breasts in his hand while his tongue flicks over the nipple on the other. You gasp, back arching off of the table as he catches the nub between his teeth, giving it a gentle tug. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, “Az,” you beg, raking your fingers desperately through his hair.

The Shadowsinger rolls his hips, making you moan and then he draws back, only to lean his head back in, tongue first as you meet again. You return the kiss with vigor, clutching him tightly at his hips, hopelessly trying to get him to grind down on you for any sort of relief but he’s too strong, keeping his hips from meeting yours.

As if his brute strength wasn’t enough to keep you in place, his shadows dance across your skin, wrapping around your legs and holding them firmly to the table, restraining you further.

But your hands aren’t bound, so you snake them down his back, across your mate's delicate wings. He shakes, legs giving out just like you were hoping, his hips canting into yours.

It’s ecstasy, his dick thick and hot against your wet pussy. He rubs against you furiously, and you jerk up from the hard table beneath you while he tries to push you deeper into it. It’s not enough though, you need more, need him to split you open with his huge dripping cock.

“C’mon Az,” you whisper, his breath hot against your lips, panting before he moves across your cheek and down your neck, sucking and licking as he goes.

“Patience darling,” he purrs, and you’re surprised how well he’s holding himself together because you are a puddle beneath his palms. He presses a finger to your lips and you obey immediately, licking the digit all over until it’s wet and Azriel’s eyes don’t leave yours as you work, he doesn’t even blink. It makes everything so much hotter and his cock jumps with desperate need.

His wet hand drags down, across the column of your neck, circling around your nipple. He’s taking too long, you haven’t got the time, but selfishly you hope that this would last forever. 

Now that you’ve accepted the bond, it will.

You gasp as the wet finger trails further south, a teasing touch against your clit. Your fingers claw at his shoulders, leaving crescents in its wake. 

“Please, Azriel, my mate…” You don’t even realize what you’ve said until he’s growling and baring his teeth, ready to tear the words out of your throat and swallow them. He ruts against you harshly, your eyes rolling back into your head as his finger presses harder into the bud. 

“Say it again,” his hazel eyes blazing, pressing your foreheads together harshly, “Say it.”

His breath trembles when you repeat your words, sending warmth down the bond, “My mate.”

He sweeps his tongue over yours, a solid weight in your mouth. “And you are mine.”

You’d heard him say it before, but now, with the bone officially accepted, it feels so much more. You feel as though you should apologize for taunting him about his traditions, but instead the words catch in your throat as he lines himself up to your cunt, the head of his cock resting for a moment, before he finally pushes inside.

It seems like it’s never ending, the drag of his dick as he pushes in, in, in. You can’t breathe, so full but somehow he’s still going, going, going.

“You okay love?” His voice is strained, like he can barely restrain himself any further, the feeling of you wrapped tight around him. It’s ethereal, you are, and his shadows are a frenzied mess above the two of you. 

Your only response is a whine high in your throat, legs jerking, trying to get free of the shadows that have kept their firm hold up until now. They fall away easily and you clamp your legs around your mate, never wanting to let go. 

The tender kiss to your lips has you ripping open your eyes, blinking back the lust to admire the man on top of you. It’s maddening, how beautiful Azriel is, especially in moments like this, when he thinks he’s being too rough on you, pressing the softest of kisses to your face to show you he’s still there, the Az you know and love. 

So you roll with it, the moment and your hips, swirling softly, urging him into action. He groans, pulling out slightly only to ram back inside of you, gliding in smoothly due to your soaking cunt.

You hum with pleasure, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as he stands to his full height. Your hands caress down the rigid muscles of his chest and abs, before falling flat on the table on either side of you, no longer able to reach. 

Gods, does he take your breath away. The setting sun casts an orange glow through the room, caressing his glistening skin and illuminating his wings. You can see every vein, every scar from battle when the light hits them like this. He looks angelic and he’s all yours.

He squeezes at your thighs and you release his waist from the clutches of your legs. The Shadowsinger kisses the inside of your calf, then your ankle before settling your legs over his shoulders.

Azriel is merciless, pounding into you so hard you see stars. The movement has you slipping up the table, back arched in ecstasy, only for him to pause when you are on the brink of release, to pull you back down the table to him. 

He quickly picks back up the pace he had a moment ago. It’s deeper this time and he hits a spot inside of you that has your vision blurring and your thighs quaking, making you claw at the table, nothing else to grab onto. 

As if sensing this, he lowers himself onto his elbows, caging your head between them. You grasp onto any part of him, moaning beautifully beneath him. He gives you it all, sensing what you want through the connection shared. 

He can’t help but kiss you, needing to taste the sounds that fall past your lips like he’s been dehydrated for centuries and you’re his first sip of water. It’s sloppy, all tongue and barely lips because you both need to breathe.

“Azriel,” you pant, “pleasepleaseplease.” And he knows what you need, can feel it too, the heat in his gut tightening. His fingers snake between your bodies, and he’s nearly as skilled with making you come as he is with any weapon, pressing into your clit just how you like. 

His shadows breeze over your breast, teasing your sensitive nipples as he watches with hungry eyes. Maybe someday he’ll let his shadows alone take care of you, though he doesn’t think he could stand to watch you fall apart without his hands on you.

“So perfect,” he breathes, one last flick has you coming apart at the seams. He continues on, rubbing as you ride out your orgasm, clenching tight around his cock. The sounds you make are a symphony to his ears and he wonders for a moment, why he’s the one called the Shadowsinger when they respond so beautifully to your moans. 

Your skin is still on fire when he spills into you, his limbs going heavy, falling, but it’s okay because you’ve got him, hands winding into his hair as he buries his face deep into your neck, sucking one last mark to your skin while his body trembles with pleasure. 

It’s flawless, everything about this moment is perfect when he pulls back, the both of you trying to catch your breath, staring at each other with glazed eyes. Your hand moves from his damp hair to his cheek instead, fingertips tracing the structure of his face. Azriel leans into your touch. 

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone, then your lips. His dick has gone soft but he makes no moves to pull away from you, not until you say it back.

And you do, of course you do. You love him with every part of your being, your soul. Your souls are the same, tangled together for eternity. 

“I love you too, Azriel.”

Intertwine

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Accepting the mating bond.

Warnings: SMUT! 

Word Count: 2474

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“A mating bond?” You’re beyond flabbergasted. Not once in the nearly three hundred years you’d been alive had you heard something so dumb. “And it’s accepted when I offer you food?”

“Well generally you have to cook the food and then offer it to me but, yeah, pretty much,” the shadowsinger who is sitting at your table admits quietly. If it wasn’t for the sun shining through the window and casting over him, you wouldn’t have seen that adorable blush dusting his cheeks.

You suck your teeth, brows furrowing, “That doesn’t really seem fair, does it?”

You could tell that you were making him uncomfortable, the feigned nonchalance in your voice. On the inside, your mind was racing, having the question answered of what you felt the other night, like a rubber band snapping against your soul. You had flinched at the feeling.

His gaze moves from you to the sodden table, finger tracing the crack from where you had nearly sliced Cassian’s hand off your first time meeting. A shadow of a smile pulls at his lips from the memory.

You hadn’t been so trusting back then.

“I suppose not,” he finally responds, his voice so quiet you barely managed to hear.

In all of your years spent with Azriel, you hadn’t quite seen him like this before: refusing to make eye contact while he played nervously with his fingers.

It was kind of fun.

Keep reading

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Brains and Bravado

Kinktober Day 12: Dorian x Reader [Hate-Fucking]

Summary: Anon Req: For kinktober I would like to see either Rowan or Dorian! Maybe reader doesn’t get along with him but they have hate sex a lot and secretly like each other, however, they’re too stubborn (their pride) to admit it. Thank you for writing so many amazing fics for us, I’m excited for kinktober!👻

Based off of the previous ask of Dark Academia!Dorian

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 3,944

Notes: You'll know the part I yearn for when you read it 😏 the rest is sort of meh

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You dislike Dorian Havilliard very much.

It doesn’t matter that he’s the son to the king or that his best friend is a lord-turned-captain-of-the-royal-guard. Here, he’s just Dorian, an annoying pain-in-the-ass know-it-all that you’ve sworn to demolish with your good grades.

Unfortunately, Dorian is as smart with his head as he is with that tongue.

It’s said tongue of his that always gets him out of trouble. The professors love him, eat up any excuse to fall into his good graces, whether it’s passing him with flying colors or allowing him extra special office hours whenever he should come calling. 

It’s not only the teachers who fall for the boy who makes the ugly, pristinely-pressed uniform look way too good. Everyone laughs at his jokes, flounders over his words even when they have no meaning at all. Girls and boys alike fall to his feet at the charming ways he speaks to them, looks at them, flirtatious to the bone.

You aren’t like that. Intelligent, yes, but your lips don’t curve around your words like Dorian’s do. They are his long-time lover, held near and dear and are cared for. He speaks like an age-old poem, like he’d been an esteemed author in a past life, the way they flow so easily for him. 

No, you can write beautiful sentences, transform letters into works of art, ones that bring tears to the eyes of the beholder, but it’s speaking eloquently that always trips you up. You lack the emotion, the confidence, to really make your words ring true.

The laughter and easiness of the hall seems to dwindle into a silence that only Dorian himself can evoke, and you turn from gathering the textbooks you’ll need for the afternoon to watch. You don’t want to, but for some reason you’re as drawn to him as the rest of the crowd is.

Dorian’s sapphire eyes stir something in your chest, even more so when they flicker down your body and that little smirk appears, the one he knows pisses you off to no end. Your stare turns into a molten glare at that look, and the feeling coursing through your veins must be a hot hatred for the boy striding down the damned halls like he owns the place.

Chaol trails Dorian down the hall like an esteemed purebred, waiting for a treat. He had the glare of a bloodhound too, but it doesn’t do much to ward off the flirtatious glares the prince is receiving. There hasn’t been a single time all year that you’ve seen them apart. They’re even in all of the same classes for Mother’s sake.

That look makes you want to squirm, to claw his eyes out. What a privilege it must be, to be the king’s son, you think, slamming your locker shut with a loud clang and spinning on your heel, stalking down the hall to your next class.

One of the ones that Dorian’s in.

Thankfully, he stops to ogle some girls who’ve hiked their uniform skirts up to their eyes at the appearance of the prince. Chaol, ever the mindful guard, stops with them.

You can feel those gemstone eyes following you down the hall. Of course, everything that Dorian sees in you is only surface level. He doesn’t know your background or the fact that you’d been kept at school over the summer because your parents couldn’t afford for you to come home, all while he was living it up in the lavish palace he calls home.

He doesn’t know that late at night you sneak out of your rooms and into the library. There’s a hidden door in there, tucked away within the vast stacks of a history so ancient, that it makes you shudder to even glance at. You haven’t found the courage to step foot down that particular aisle of books because the raw power in the air makes the hair on your arms stand tall. You had made it your mission to muster the confidence to see what’s behind that door before you graduate, and plan on spending any of your free time searching for other hidden passageways within this centuries old school.

Whilst lost in the thoughts of the door in the library, you almost miss out on the entire lecture. Your professor doesn’t seem to notice because Dorian is answering all the questions she asks, and she’s wooed by his boring responses that even the dunces of the class could explain with flying colors.

By the time you’re released from class, you’ve decided to explore more of the library for hidden doors or books that give off a harrowing aura, when you slam into a wall. Not a wall, but the chest of your rival, Dorian Havilliard.

“Where are you going?” He asks, blocking you from stepping out into the hall.

You haven’t realized that the class had cleared out so quickly, and you shuffle a step backwards, trying to ignore the heat of his body and the way it had felt pressed against yours for a fleeting moment. In a burst of betrayal, that warmth converges between your thighs, and your muscles jump as you try to clench them together without his notice.

“To the library.” You don’t know why you answer, maybe because you’re thrown off by his sudden presence and lack thereof his best friend. Where is Chaol, you wonder, swallowing harshly when Dorian leans against his arm in the doorframe. He’s tall, muscular, and the shape he’s in draws your gaze down his perfect frame.

Something in those sapphire eyes flash, his mouth flattening from his smirk. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” you argue. Who is he to tell you what you can and can’t do in your own free time? “I want to get started on the paper Professor Erawan assigned us,” you lie, thankfully remembering that tidbit from class while your mind strayed.

“Then I’ll come with you.” It’s not a suggestion.

You scoff, narrowing your eyes at him, wondering what he could possibly want from you when there are plenty of people willing to give him the attention he’s craving. Dorian straightens and waves you out of the room with a flourish of his hand.

You stare for a long moment, brows furrowed as you try to figure him out. You’re not friends, and you don’t want to be. All you really want is to beat him at his game of wits, be the first in class, and solve the mystery of what’s behind the dark door in the library. None of which needs any involvement from him.

“Please,” you roll your eyes, giving him a wide berth as you step around him into the hall. He immediately steps into line with you, and you try to ignore the way that he’s slowing his gait to stride alongside you. “You’re only coming to flirt with the librarian.”

Dorian’s grin is wolfish, “Why would I flirt with the librarian, when you’re right next to me?”

You trip over your feet at his words. Dorian catches you with a hand around your arm, steadying you. His touch is hot on your skin, and the look in his eyes is hot.

Your heart races in your chest.

Of course, Dorian has an ethereal beauty to him that anyone would consider themselves lucky to be with, but the fact that he’s flirting with you of all people, when all you’ve done all year is argue and bicker like an old married couple confuses you almost as much as the idea of the hidden door in the library.

“I don’t know why you’d flirt with me at all, actually,” you reply when you can finally find your voice. You’re being snippy, but you want the irritatingly handsome boy beside you to go away. He can find a place to stuff his cock elsewhere—you’re nowhere near as easy as the rest of the students in this school. “We don’t like each other.”

“Awe,” Dorian croons. When you glance over at him, he’s wearing a taunting smile, one that fills you with as much warmth as a cup of tea. “Who said I didn’t like you?”

Turning down the corridor to the library, it’s surely unlikely that Dorian will leave your side. You make a show of glancing around as if you’re looking for something, ignoring the way that your heart stammers in your chest at the mention that there’s a possibility he might actually enjoy your presence.

“Where is your little lap dog?”

Dorian barks out a startling laugh. He looks shocked himself, placing a hand to his chest, his cheeks pinkening as his chuckle echoes through the halls. It being the weekend, students and professors alike have fled the school buildings, more than ready to start the fun of the weekend.

You’re pretty sure that you and Dorian are the only ones left in the school.

“Chaol is on errand,” he tells you, sapphire eyes sparkling with interest. “Would you rather have him join?”

He says it like it’s a proposition, like you’d be pressed tightly between both of their bodies, like you’re not walking in through the doors into the expansive library that has more secrets than books.

You shoot Dorian a sidelong glance, your brows furrowed in confusion. He’s acting nothing like the Dorian you’re used to. Well, sure, he’s still the cocky prince you know, but the flirting is new. He’s staring ahead, like what he’s said hasn’t just thrown you completely off axis.

“Here looks good,” you mutter, sliding your books onto one of the large wooden tables lining the walls. Anything to fill the silence. It’s eerie in a building like this, stacks upon stacks of books filled with puzzles you’ve yet to piece together.

“You’re actually studying?” Dorian sounds affronted, like he can’t believe that studying is something done in a library at all. Like it’s some sort of secret brothel or a place for his conquests.

You wouldn’t put it past him.

“I told you I was going to study,” you bite, “What did you think I was going to do?”

You regret the words almost as quickly as they leave your lips.

“I thought you invited me so that you could sneak your hands down my trousers. Wear my tie around your neck while I take you over the table, perhaps?”

“I didn’t invite you at all,” you fight, but your voice is as weak as the knees you’re pressing tightly together, trying to ignore the sudden interest your cunt has in his words.

You gasp when you’re suddenly turned around, Dorian pressing in close. He’s staring down at you like you’re his favorite treat, sapphire eyes dark with interest, want, and a tinge of…hate? Annoyance, maybe, because you’re putting up much more of a fight than he’s used to.

His cock twitches at that.

“Do you want me to leave?” He asks, and the tenor of his voice rumbles deliciously against your chest. His scent is intoxicating, and you’re sure that his calloused fingers would feel just as good pressed against your skin as they are pinning your hips to the edge of the table.

Your brain must be on the fritz. Maybe you’ve stepped through that scary, looming, ancient door into another world because this cannot be happening. This isn’t Dorian.

“Why me?” you voice is quiet, a minute tremble to it that makes Dorian’s lashes flutter. He shifts on his feet, and you bite back the groan that crawls up your throat at the feeling of his hardening cock in his pants against your front. “Why now?”

He leans down to whisper in your ear, his long fingers tucking your hair tenderly behind your ear. The motion has your thighs clenching. His breath is a warm caress as he says, “Because I love it when you fight me. And I’ve had enough of keeping myself at bay. Hate me, if you must, but please let me fuck you.”

 “Yes,” you sigh, and the word is barely out of your mouth before Dorian’s lips are against yours, hot and unyielding, ravaging you completely like a predator does it prey.

His fingers clutch at your clothes, curling into the fabric in a feral sort of need that has you gasping, has your cunt weeping and lightning zipping through your veins. You chase the feeling, rolling your hips against Dorian’s.

You don’t know what’s come over you. The taste of his lips is exquisite and much sweeter than the vitriol the both of you are usually spitting at each other. His scent invades your senses—ice, ocean, magic, and musk. It consumes you as much as his presence is right now, overwhelmed by not just the primal need for you in his life but because of the strange events that have led you from loathing the boy lying you back onto the wooden table.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he pants when you arch into his body. His breath is hot, mingling with your own as you gasp for air. Dorian’s cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, matching the color of his swollen lips that he darts his tongue across, chasing your taste. His sapphire eyes are all pupil, dark and consuming and hungry for more. “Spread those pretty legs for me.”

You follow his instruction like a person cursed, thighs spreading wide for Dorian as he stands to his full height. His eyes burn a thousand fires down your body as he takes his time drinking you in, the gentle caress of his hands following the same torturous path has shivers awakening across every inch of your body.

“Dorian,” you plead, but he’s too engrossed with taking his time. His fingers curl around the waistband of your pants, flicking the button open with ease and guiding them down your legs.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he admits, utterly distracted by the sight of your creamy thighs on display for him. He bites back the smirk that’s threatening to appear on his lips when you impatiently start kicking your pants down your legs with a frustrated and desperate keen. It makes his cock twitch, a bead of precum leak from the tip into the fabric of his underwear.

At the sight of your soaked panties calling to him like a siren, Dorian has to press his palm firmly against his aching cock, trying to keep himself from orgasming right now.

“How long?” you ask. Your fingers curl into the wood of the table because you need something to hold onto, and Dorian’s just out of reach. Your cheeks heat with arousal as those sapphire eyes zero in on your nipples where they’re tight and straining against your shirt. You don’t know why you feel the sudden urge to know how long he’s been thinking of you like this, why now is the time he’s finally decided to make his move, but you need to know his answer. “How long have you wanted me lying out for you like this, Dorian?”

His name sounds like heaven on your tongue, and he groans, releasing himself, his resolve snapping as he bends to take your mouth again.

You moan loudly, languidly. Dorian’s tongue brushes against yours and the feeling zips to your cunt as you imagine the feeling of his mouth sucking your clit, his tongue plunging inside of your dripping cunt like a starved male.

He hastily shoves up the fabric of your shirt, sneaking beneath the material of your bra to palm your breasts. You bury your fingers deeply into his hair, tugging on it when he tries to part from you. You didn’t know how desperately you’ve needed this—needed him—but now that his admission is out in the open and has you rethinking your dislike for the prince, you don’t want him to part from you.

“Since the first day we met,” Dorian breathes against your mouth. Your body goes slack with shock at the thought, fingers falling from his locks. Dorian doesn’t seem to notice, taking advantage of finally being free from you to mouth his way down your throat, burying his head beneath your shirt for a taste of your flesh.

You’d met Dorian years ago, on the first day of your time at school here. He was just as popular then as he is now, and just as cheeky, too. All you can recall from that day is the way how all of the other students were falling over their feet for a chance to befriend the prince. You’d wanted nothing to do with that, even when he’d stopped at your locker and tried to use his charm to get you to switch with him.

He had made a joke in poor taste, one that annoyed you enough to rebuttal with words not polite for someone of your status to say to a member of royalty, ever.

That was when you started to dislike Dorian Havilliard.

That sentiment is beginning to change, especially when he rolls one of your nipples gently between his teeth.

You cry out in pleasure, trying to grind your hips against his as you writhe beneath him on the table. Your arch, pressing your breasts into his mouth and he hums encouragingly, even more so when he hears the sound you make in response.

Dorian brushes his knuckles across your clothed cunt, reveling in how responsive you are for him when he’s barely done a thing. After this, he hopes that you won’t go back to hating him because he doesn’t think he can bear it, now that he has the taste of your engraved on his tongue.

He abandons post between your breasts, sliding his way down your body, kissing, licking, teasing every inch of skin that he can before he arrives at his desired destination. He settles himself between your legs, jerking your closer to him, your legs over his shoulders and ass leaning precariously on the edge of the table.

“Sweetheart?” he questions, and it takes effort for you to lift your head to look at him. Your body is burning with need, thighs trembling with anticipation. Your gaze is cloudy with lust and it takes you a few blinks to dispel it, giving Dorian your attention.

You scowl at the smirk gracing his lips. “What?”

“Do you still dislike me?”

Your heart thunders in your chest as you watch Dorian pull your panties to the side with long fingers that you know could hit every neglected spot inside of you. The cool air from the library breezes across your wetness along with the heat of his breath and it sends your mind into a dizziness of desire that forces you to take a moment to catch your breath.

“If I say yes?” you ask, biting your lip. Will he stop? Pretend that this was all some sort of game? A bet that he and Chaol had going on? Will he pop out from between bookshelves to laugh?

Before your mind can grasp onto one of those thoughts and overthink it, Dorian says with a twinkle to his sapphire eyes, “I’d say that you’re not going to after this.”

And then the prince feasts.

You fall back to the table with a cry of satisfaction. The thud of your head smacking the wood echoes throughout the library but you hardly feel a thing as Dorian licks a fat stripe up your clit. He doesn’t hesitate to bury himself in your cunt, fucking his tongue into you with fervor. Your thighs are already threatening to clamp shut around his head but his strong hold keeps them splayed wide as he devours you.

“Princeling,” you whine when you feel the tidal wave of orgasm building. You don’t know where the nickname comes from, somewhere buried as deeply inside of you as Dorain’s tongue is, but it has him growling against your cunt, trapping your clit between his teeth and flicking his tongue across it faster.

There’s nowhere for you to go, nowhere to squirm with the feeling that crashes over you because Dorian’s strength is pinning you to the table. Your fingers find his scalp, biting in, and Dorian welcomes the feeling, using that wicked tongue on you even when the wave crashes and you’re trying to shove him weakly away from your aching clit.

The reprieve of Dorian pulling away doesn’t last long. He straightens to his full height, keeping your legs hooked over his shoulders. It causes your body to slide even closer to him, your wet cunt butting right up against his cock that’s straining so hard in his pants that it’s painful.

“You’ll never call me anything else. Promise me,” he says, and with that harsh look in his eyes and the way that his lips glisten with your orgasm, you could never say no.

Dorian unsheathes himself, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down just enough that his cock springs free from its confines. He takes himself in hand, eyes wild with desire as he slides himself through your slickness.

Your breath is choked when you respond, “I promise.”

It’s pressed from your lungs completely with each inch his cock plunges into you. Your nails scrape against the wood of the table, the finishing catching beneath your nails. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the feeling of him stretching you wide, Dorian’s low groan reflecting the one that your body is desperate to release but is unable to.

His curse is sinful when his hips finally meet yours. He’s staring down at you like you’re everything to him. Like you’re his queen.

“Dorian,” you gasp.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Move.”

Move he does. Dorian’s hands meet your hips and your fingers clamp down on his forearms as he thrusts his hips. He loves the marks you’re leaving on his skin, the way you’re branding him with your hot, wet cunt wrapped tightly around him. There’s a sheen to his eyes that shifts something in your soul. You can feel it splintering out of your chest, winding through your veins and into Dorian’s where you’re connected.

He seems to feel it too, with the way that he leans over you again to capture your mouth against his.

“You will be my ending,” Dorian breathes when he’s able to pull himself away from you. He doesn’t go far, his lips brushing yours with his confession. “I would give you my last breath if it meant keeping you alive, but I’m selfish enough to admit that I’d waste it because I cannot imagine a plane of existence where I am without you.”

“Dorian!” You shudder with his words, hiss because how can one male be so good with words? So good with his fingers, his tongue, his cock? The way that he’s hitting that spot again and again and again is driving you over the edge into an oblivion that he follows you into because he meant what he just said.

You revel in the weight of his body collapsing against yours while he paints the walls of your cunt with his cum. You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him tucked deeply inside of you. Your hearts beat loudly against each other, a heady drum of confessions and more.

You peck Dorian once, twice when your mind clears, trying to pull him from the stupor your cunt has put him in. He’s never felt like this before, never had sex this good. Even when you’re spewing fire at him, he’s wanted this, wanted you from the moment he set those sapphire eyes on you.

And now he has you.

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Little Bird

Kinktober Day 24: Lorcan x Reader [Size Kink]

Summary: You're tired of sword-fighting with Lorcan. You want to practice endurance with him instead.

Warnings: Smut, size kink, choking, fingering.

Word Count: 2,452

Notes: Sorry these are taking so long...

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You don’t know if you should be more worried about the sword millimeters away from your neck, or the looming body that pins you to the ground. If he decides to rest his weight down on you, if you even think about trying to squirm away from him, he will fucking crush you.

It shouldn’t make you as hot as it does. Lorcan’s hot breath fanning across your face as he bends over you. Your torso, pinned between the thick of his thighs, large as mountains. Onyx eyes peer down at you, and there’s no distinction between the color and pupil. His equally dark hair is pulled from his face, but there’s a strand fallen free and brushing the skin of your hot cheek, clinging to the dew. 

“What are you going to do now?” he asks you, his voice is low and cold, but his breath across your lips is hot. Draws your focus. That’s what he wants.

Your own weapon is just out of reach from where he’d hit it from your hand. You’d tried to defend yourself with your fists, but Lorcan is easily thrice your size and acts like it too. He doesn’t hold back with you, because you’ll never learn how to defend yourself against someone his size, even though you’re not sure there could ever be another person his size, because he’s fucking huge.

You could try to jut up your knee between his legs, but your attempt wouldn’t do much damage because the part you’re aiming for sits thick and heavy on your stomach. Your arms are pinned in one of his large hands with nowhere to go. You’re out of options. Or, almost out of options.

There’s one thing left in your arsenal that you can use. One that will have Lorcan growling at you for not taking any of this training seriously, but only for a moment.

You arch your body under his, pressing your breasts from the ground to rub against his chest. Lorcan blinks, nostrils flaring at the sweet scent that suddenly invades his senses, and he grits his teeth as he catches on immediately to your plans.

“I’m going to let you fuck me, Lorcan.”

“No, little bird, we’re going to train.” He demands it of you, even though you feel his cock twitch in his pants. You squirm and he pulls his blade slightly, not wanting you to accidentally injure yourself, and you swallow back your triumphant grin. The way that he’s keeping you pinned, looking out for your safety, makes you hot. 

“Let’s work on endurance, then,” you challenge. “I know you can use come work.” 

With that, you know you have him. Lorcan bares his teeth, sharp canines gleaming in the sun’s lowering light. The growl that accompanies it rattles your bones, reverberates deliciously against your clit and your breath hitches harshly.

Lorcan chases the sight, your chest flaring a little at your gasp. The sweat that beads between your breasts. Your lips part with the inhale and he wants to bite, tear the perfect pink skin of your mouth until they’re swollen and panting and in a perfect circle for him to stick his cock into. That would teach you, he’s sure, to taunt him like that, when his cock is shoved so fucking far down your throat that it nearly tears around his girth.

“Little bird,” he says, deathly calm. “You do not want to fuck with me.” 

You roll your eyes, “Of course not, Lorcan. I want to you to fuck me.”

You whimper as he tosses his sword away and flattens his body against yours. You loose your breath with his weight, but he’s heavy and hot against you, smothering you with that large frame of his. 

“You won’t be able to train for days,” he murmurs against your skin. His teeth scrape your cheek and you shiver. Your arms strain beneath his grip with the intent to cling to him, but he’s too strong, easily keeping them tightly pinned to the ground above your head. You whine a little, and his grip only gets harsher. “Oh no, little bird. If you don’t want to work, you don’t get to touch. I’ll fuck you as long and hard as I please for your insolence.”

His words shouldn’t make you shiver with pleasure but they do. Your nipples tighten with interest and Lorcan’s pupils dilate at the feeling, his chest pressed to yours.

“Hands,” you pant, because he’s rubbing himself tauntingly against you and you no longer know words. He’s thick and full in his pants, hot against your thigh. You think you’re pleasing for him to release your hands, or touch you with his, but you can’t be sure. Either works, though.

Lorcan hums, pulling away from the dark mark he’s sucked into your neck. There are two little indents, not quite his fangs breaking skin, but they look incredible on your flushed skin like this.

“Hands,” he hums thoughtfully, pulling back to meet your gaze. “Want me to let you go, bird? Want my hands all over this tight little body? Or perhaps around your neck? You know how pretty you look with my hand around your throat, don’t you?” 

You nod frantically, more than ready for him to force the air from your body while he impales you on his cock. With his hand wrapped around your throat, breathing will be a struggle until the male above you allows it. Just like he’s allowing you to taunt him, to land a swipe at him with your sword. Nothing happens that Lorcan doesn’t want to happen. He is always in charge, leading the bull.

Lorcan’s free hand has released your arms but you keep them high above your head even if the urge to rip out the tie in his hair and bury your fingers into it is so great it makes your arms shake. A grunt of approval leaves his lips and it sends heat right down to your core, pooling between your thighs.

“Open your mouth for me bird,” he commands, brushing his thick fingers across your lips. They part automatically, and your skin is bussing with his touch as he dips two fingers in. “Yes. Good girl, just like that.” Lorcan’s praises, and presses those long fingers of his further down your throat. You choke, a squelching sound coming from your mouth that sets his charcoal eyes alight, his cock twitching between your bodies as he struggles not to grind. “Look at you, taking me so well. Should we find out what else we can fill?”

You moan, sucking them in bliss. You’re harsh with it, just the way that he likes. He likes it so much that Lorcan starts thrusting his fingers even faster, saliva pooling in your mouth as he moves, but he likes it messy, loves the way your lips swell and the way that you drool for him. Maybe he’ll even stick his fat cock down your throat if you’re good. 

Your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your throat is tight around his fingers and you’ve forgotten just how big he is all around. Not just his cock that he’s hastily tugging from his trousers and tugging roughly before he’s removing his fingers from your throat.

You whimper at the loss but gasp as he kicks your thighs open, not wasting any time to reach down and tear a hole right through your own fighting leathers. The sound of the fabric ripping echoes through the thicket of trees and you’re thankful he made you hike so far out today, though with the way that his cock is standing straight and leaking at the tip, red and ready for your perfect, tight cunt, you know your cries of pleasure will be heard for miles and miles.

“Please,” you beg, and you relent. You don’t care how he’ll punish you, you need to feel his flesh embedded beneath your nails, need to feel the dips and valleys of the muscle stacking his body. You need to see the way that his hands smother yours, how he doesn’t even have to strain a muscle folding you into the positions he likes. “Please, Lorcan. I need your cock.” 

He grunts in response, a disapproving sound as he stares at your tiny cunt, shining and wet for him. As much as he’d love to lean over and fuck right down to the hilt, you’ll only break. So, he needs to take this slow.

“Fingers first, little bird.”

The moan you release as his first finger dips into your wetness turns pinched when Lorcan adds a second, then third on the next plunge in. You scream around his fingers, at the feeling of him stretching you. Loran hushes you softly but keeps moving, his other hand coming to caress your face, trailing down your neck to grab a fistfull of your breast through your shirt. Your fingers scratch at his skin, begging him not to stop, working your cunt ready for his cock.

He towers over you, covering every inch of your body with his. The ground is hard beneath your back but he’s even harder above you. His onyx eyes are all you can focus on as the fire builds in your gut and then it’s only darkness and sparks of light that surround you when your eyes roll into the back of your head while you orgasm. 

Before you can even catch your breath, before you can even force your eyes open again, Lorcan is nudging the head of his cock into your entrance. It stings, because no amount of prep from him can compare to the girth of his cock as it stretches your channel wider and wider. 

Your soft fingers turn to snake bites against his shoulders as he wedges himself inward. Your body is coiled with tension, with the intrusion of his large cock, and he leans down to take your mouth against his as he works to distract you. 

You whimper painfully against his mouth, and Lorcan growls. “Take it bird. Take all of me.”

And you have no choice but to. Your body is made for him, slick and hot and greedily accepting every inch that he’s giving you. He groans like a pained man when you constrict around his cock, not following his direction. Slipping a finger between your bodies, he rolls your clit between his rough fingers and slowly you begin to relax.

Your pained sounds turn to pleasured moans, your back arching with need and your stomach bulging with the tip of his cock. His hips meet yours and it’s always a surprising feat that he can fit that far inside of you, pressing into your organs with his head.

“Too deep,” you gasp when he pulls his hips out and thrusts them back in. Lorcan doesn’t falter in his movements, only hooks his hands under your knees and presses them to your chest, forcing himself further. “You’re too deep, Lorcan.”

“You’re okay, bird,” he grunts low. He bends over and licks a tear that’s escaped the corner of your eye, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin afterward. “You can take it. Arch your back for me. Gods,” he pants when you follow his command. “Just like that.”

Lorcan adjusts his hips and slides into you at an angle that makes every pinch and twist of pain worth it. The head of his cock brushes up against your walls, hot and leaking, and it feels so good. 

“Please, kiss me,” you beg and Lorcan doesn’t hesitate. He lets you lead the kiss, taking everything that you need from him and giving you even more. His tongue brushes across yours at the same time he hits that bundle of nerves inside of you again and you moan deeply into his mouth. He swallows it like the greedy fucking male he is, smothering you, taking you, because you are his and for no one else.

Lorcan thrusts harder and you tighten your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck as your body vibrates with pleasure. You know that he’s close, and you can feel the building of your own orgasm threatening to crash over you as well. But you want to wait, you want to cum with him, feel your juices mix together as he fucks them deep into your womb.

“Don’t close your eyes, little bird. Look at me when you cum,” Lorcan says, and it almost feels wrong, the way he’s so gently smoothing back the hair clinging to your damp cheeks. You cum with the feeling of his calloused fingers so tender on your skin. He may not let anyone else see this side of him, showing you how much you mean to him, but here and now, even after you’ve all but taunted his skills, he continues this kindness, and it makes your heart swell with joy.

Lorcan’s name is a desperate cry on your lips as you cum for the second time. His chest vibrates with a growl that only has your cunt constricting tighter around him, so tightly that he has to put more effort into jerking in and out of you. The feeling of your warmth choking his cock is more than enough to shove him over the edge as well, spurting rivulets of cum into your cunt with a growl that shakes your core.

“Such a good little bird, aren’t you?” he asks when he comes down from his own high, enjoying the feeling of himself dripping out of your cunt around his cock that’s still shoved deeply into you. If you weren’t on the tonic you’d be worried about how easily Lorcan would be able to impregnate you, but as you lie beneath him in bliss, the both of your chests sticking together with sweat, you might not mind baring his children someday.

“So good,” you swallow roughly, caressing his sides. You squeal when Lorcan grabs your hips and rolls you so that you’re lying across his chest, and your cunt pulses at the feeling of his cock grinding with the mauver. Lorcan groans softly, his large hands pinning your hips in place so that you don’t get any ideas about rolling your hips while he’s still coming down from his previous orgasm. 

“Give me a few minutes, bird,” he huffs, closing his eyes. His eyebrows are strained but you can feel his cock twitch in your cunt. 

You hum, clenching around him on purpose. Lorcan growls and bares his teeth again, but you only stroke the pad of your finger down the length of his sharp tooth. “But Lorcan, I thought we were working on your endurance.”

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Good for Me

Rowan x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Dom rowan and his good girl🤭🫠

Warnings: Smut, fingering, oral (69).

Word Count: 2,591

Notes: This year I'm thankful for Rowan Whitethorn.

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“Come here, heart,” Rowan demands from where he’s sitting against the headboard of the bed. His muscular chest is on display, the moonlight casting through the open window and clashing with the soft faelights littered around the room.

Taking a step forward, you drink him in. His long torso is half covered by swirling tattoos that trail down into where his tight hips dip into his trousers. You know the ink continues down, just as your gaze does, halting on the strain of his cock pressing against the fabric.

Your mouth goes dry.

Continuing forward, you come to a halt as he speaks again, green eyes pinning you to the floor. “Crawl to me.”

Your brows furrow as your throat works around a swallow. Heat flushes from your cheeks to your cunt, your clit awakening with his words. “Crawl?”

“Crawl,” Rowan agrees, nodding. The corner of his mouth lifts in a mischievous smirk that makes the apex of your thighs ache. “Naked.”

Your gaze flickers to the floor beneath your feet. It’s worn, floorboards curved with time and you almost shudder at the thought of what’s been done here, what else is embedded between splinters of wood. Head still turned towards the floor, you raise only your eyes to Rowan’s, a slightly desperate plea to change his mind.

But he only raises a brow, answering your unspoken question. “You know I love that face, but that’s not what I’m looking for right now, heart. You want to be my good girl, don’t you? Want to be rewarded for crawling to me?”

Fuck him. He knows just how to get you to give. Your knees nearly collapse from his words alone, warmth pooling between your legs as your cunt cries out for him. 

You want to be good for him. So good that he never thinks of ever needing another mouth but yours, another hand around his cock nor another cunt for him to cum in. You want to kiss him, lick him, suck him, and ride him, want to hear those pleasure-fueled noises rolling off his tongue.

Slowly, almost teasingly, you work yourself free from your dress. Rowan watches with hungry eyes. His hand twitches from where it’s settled on the bed, like he might just grab his cock and start stroking himself to the sight of your dress sliding down your body. Your nipples tighten near painfully as the night air breezes through the open window. If anyone walks past the inn, they’re sure to get an earful.

Next, you shimmy yourself free from your underwear, kicking it in his direction, the only sort of protest you’ll show. Rowan snatches them out of the air as quick as a whip, and the rolling green of his eyes flare, sharpening as he brings them to his face, inhaling your scent as deeply as he can.

The need to touch yourself is incessant, but you keep your hands at your sides as Rowan’s tongue pokes out, lapping the taste of your wetness from the fabric.

“All nice and wet for me and I didn’t even have to ask.” He sounds pleased, and you like that. You like that a lot. Rowan flings your underwear to the side and you watch every muscle of his body flex as he attempts to keep himself from pouncing on you. “I much prefer the real thing, heart. Will you let me taste you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, chest already heaving. Dropping to your hands and knees, you make slow, sensual movements with your body, even though your cheeks burn. But Rowan can’t seem to take his eyes off of you, even as he unzips his pants and shoves them roughly down his legs, unable to wait any longer.

Your mouth waters as his cock springs free from its confines, resting against his stomach. It’s glistening at the tip, pink and needy. There’s a vein that runs down the non-tattooed side of his cock and you’re particularly interested in tracing the line of it with your mouth.

“That’s it, heart, come here.” You obey, only because you want to hear more words like that. Your knees are aching already and surely there’s a splinter in your hand, but you know Rowan will pick it out for you afterwards.

When you’re close enough, Rowan scoops you from the floor and settles you against his chest. You whine a little, squirming against the warmth of his body because you want to face him, watch his reaction as you sink down on his throbbing cock.

“Rowan, please,” you cry, trying to unwind yourself from his grip. “I want to look at you.”

“Patience, heart,” he hisses as you brush against his sensitive cock, locking his arms around your body. “Be good for me and I’ll let you, I promise.” His words are pressed into your neck, sending shivers up your spine.

Forcing your body to relax against his, you await further demand. Shifting his knees inside yours, he spreads your legs wide. Rowan keeps one arm locked across your waist, the other sliding down between your legs to tease at your pulsing clit.

You throw your head back against his shoulder with a moan, fingers clawing into the meat of his thighs as he circles the nub slowly but with sure motions. 

“More,” you groan, trying with all of your strength to buck into his touch. You whisper as he pulls his hand away, sweeping it across your folds to gather more of your slick before he’s rubbing at you again, with more intention this time. “Faster, Ro, please, please! Need you!” 

His voice is low, and you can feel each word rumbling against your spine. His breath is hot, words even more so, “Do you want my fingers? Or my face?”

Gods, do you want to cum right on his fucking hand. Your body melts into his with a languid noise, and Rowan has to nip at your ear with his sharp teeth to gain your attention again.

“Face,” you garble, “Please.”

Rowan pulls his fingers away from you completely and you feel like you could cry. Your clit is throbbing painfully, body uncomfortably hot as the feeling of your orgasm wanes away.

You’re about to protest when Rowan brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking the taste of you off with a hum. You can’t help but watch the way his tongue circles his fingers, head craned over your shoulder to watch. Your body yearns for those same motions against your cunt, and you can’t help but writhe against his heavy cock settled against your backside. 

“Fuck, heart,” he coos, licking the remnants of you from his lips. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is. “You taste so good.”

You want to taste him too, you need to. Stretching up, you know Rowan understands exactly what you want, and he delivers, pressing his mouth hot against yours, tongue slipping inside as his hand rests against the swell of your throat, heavy and reassuring.

Gently, Rowan shifts your body, lying flat on the bed. He presses you forward with a guiding hand on your back, so you’re staring straight at his heavy cock. You lick your lips, squeaking as he readjusts you so easily with the muscle cording his body, so your cunt is settled over his face. He hums happily and you jerk as his tongue brushes through your folds.

Your hips sink down, unable to hold yourself back. You take his cock in hand, jerking him once, twice, before you’re suckling the pearl of precum off of the tip before swallowing his cock down. You can feel that vein that has occupied your mind, tracing down it with your tongue. Rowan’s hips buck and you choke, the wet sound of it echoing through the room.

Rowan is unrelenting against your cunt, fucking his tongue into you, switching up his pace, his strokes, when you do something different as well. You’re whimpering on his cock, the silkiness slick against the flat of your tongue. You need to use your hand as well, his cock too big to fit into your mouth without a little force.

“So soft and pretty, heart. You can take more, can’t you?” He nearly begs when he pulls away from your cunt for a moment before he’s lapping up the wetness that’s spread to your thighs.

Squeezing your eyes shut you relax your jaw as much as you can, taking Rowan deeper. He’s past the point of hitting the back of your throat now, he’s cutting off your airflow completely, thick cock buried deep down your throat. 

He groans at the noises you make, the feeling of your tight throat constricting his cock. His mouth falters against your cunt but he’s reaching a hand down, wrapping your hair around his fist and pressing you further onto his cock as he lifts his hips, fucking into your throat with a hiss and a harsh nip at your clit that makes pleasurable tears burn your eyes.

Gods, he doesn’t know if he can stop himself. You feel too good wrapped around him like this, your wetness dripping from your cunt, smeared across his chin. He wants to submit to the feeling coiling his gut, let loose his cum and fuck it down your throat while you choke on it, but he also wants to stuff you full of it and watch it drip from you for hours. 

“Good girl-that’s a good fucking girl,” he groans and your pussy clenches. 

Rowan slows his movements and you gasp for air. You cry out when he focuses his attention back on your clit, sucking and licking with fervor. He does it like he was made for exactly this, and your body shakes as he continues on, not letting up when you cry that you’re about to cum. 

“Be a good girl and cum for me, heart. Give it to me and I’ll let you have my cock.”

So you do. Loudly. 

“Rowan!”

Your cries fill the night air, echoing down the streets. Fire blinds you, searing through your body down between your thighs. Rowan drinks it all in, your orgasm, the noises you’re making, the feeling of your nails clawing into his skin, your torturous breaths hot against his cock as you pant through the euphoria. 

“Fucking hell, heart,” Rowan breathes, pressing soft kisses to your cunt. “You did so well for me.”

You whimper and your thighs shake. Your body is already spent from your orgasms but you want his cock in your cunt. “Need to feel you, Ro. Please.”

“Alright, heart, come here,” Rowan says gently, helping you maneuver around. You collapse against his chest, reveling in his warmth. Rowan’s fingers stroke long lines up your spine and it makes you want to melt into him further, until he starts rubbing his cock against your soaked cunt. You whine, arching against him. “My girl did so well, you deserve it.”

“Take me,” you say desperately, fingers digging into his broad shoulders. Rowan doesn’t hesitate, pressing the head of his cock into your wetness at a torturously slow speed. Your breath catches in your throat at the stretch and your eyes roll into the back of your head as he curses at the tightness of your cunt.

Each press into you pushes more and more breath from your lungs. You’re greedy with it, already rolling your hips, encouraging Rowan for more. You’d tried to push yourself upright so you could sink down on him fully when his slow movements started to drive you a little insane, but he’d wrapped his arms around your body and crushed you to his chest. Rowan wasn’t allowing you to take this from him, he’s reveling in your reactions, your whimpers and keens against the skin of his chest.

“That’s it, take it,” he soothes, pressing kisses to your exposed skin. They’re meant to be distracting but how could you pull your attention away from his cock filling you to the brim? You shudder against him as he kisses down your neck to your shoulder, nipping softly. You’re clinging to him like a kitten, nails scraping red welts into his tan skin.

You want his cum painting the walls of your cunt, want him fucking into you so hard that it leaks out of you because there’s not enough room. 

The tip of his cock brushes your womb and you arch, seeing white.

“Again,” you beg, and Rowan listens, pulling out and fucking back in, right into the same spot that has you crying out like that. 

He considers tattooing this moment into his skin, your lips red from where you’ve bitten them, trying to contain your pleas. The pink of your cheeks, how you can hardly keep your eyes open even when he tilts your chin and growls for you to keep them open. The way that your body writhes on top of him as much as you can with his iron arms keeping you pinned to him for the taking.

The room is filled with noise, creeping out into the night through the open window. The wet sounds of your cunt, the soft slapping as his hips meet yours, his low grunts and your loud cries. It’s a symphony of euphoria, and you hope your neighbors don’t file a complaint with the inn. The breeze does nothing to cool your burning skin, the coiling in your gut with that familiar rush each brush of his cock guides you towards.

“Your body was made for me, heart,” Rowan moans, hips bucking faster the closer he comes to his peak as well. Your body is slack against his, his thick girth making you boneless. His hands stoke down your sides, settling in a harsh grip around your hips as he plants his feet into the mattress and fucks into you even harder. You cry out, skin sticking to his, allowing the warmth in your abdomen to crest in one of the most earth-shattering orgasms you’ve experienced in your life.

The room goes black. You’re aware that Rowan is still holding you tightly and bucking his hips into yours, keeping you grounded to this plain. You feel like this is your purpose, loving Rowan, and your liquid mind finally catches up, fighting through the pleasure that melted it, right as your mate cums with a sound that makes the inn groan on its hinges. It roils through your bones, his hot cum spurting into you as he hugs you so tightly you can hardly breathe. 

It’s everything, though, with him here like this, coming together under the moon. It doesn’t matter where you go or who either of you pretend to be, as long as you’re together and can feel like this. 

Rowan’s body slowly begins to relax under yours. He hasn’t removed his cock from you, keeping his cum trapped inside your tight cunt. The feeling makes you shudder a little, and he presses you closer, his lips finding yours to reward you with a sensual kiss. 

“So good for me,” he whispers against your lips. Rowan shifts his hips a little, cock grazing your insides, and you whimper because you’re not all that sure you can go for another round right now, no matter how badly you want to. Your mate shushes you softly, brushing your hair from your face so he can stroke soothing patterns against your cheek. 

“I love you, Ro.”

“I love you too, heart,” Rowan presses those words into your skin like a promise. “I love you too.”

[disillusioned-phantasma]

Again and Again and Again

Kinktober Day 3: Chaol x Reader [Overstimulation]

Summary: Chaol just wants you to cum. One more time.

Warnings: Smut, overstimulation, dom/sub dynamics.

Word Count: 1,280

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“I can’t,” you whine, trying to shove Chaol back by his hips. He’s stronger, his cock heavy with need as he continues to slide it through your wetness. It’s creeping up your thighs, dripping down your hind, glistening in the low light shading his sharp jaw. He’s made you orgasm multiple times already and you don’t know what’s happened tonight, why he’s worshiping you like this, why he won’t let himself cum, and as much as you enjoy it, it’s becoming too much. You’re worried about him.

“Shhh,” he coos, tone taking on a softer edge when your legs try to clamp shut. He presses his thumbs into the meat of your wet thighs and pries them open, settling his hips against your weeping cunt as he bends, elbows caging your face. Chaol kisses at the tears that have escaped your eyes. He knows you want this, that you get off on how he uses your body. His kiss is rough and he pins you to the bed when you start to writhe as his cock meets your entrance. “Take it. Take it like the good girl you are.”

He smothers your cry with his mouth as he presses in. Your body tries to fight him, back bowing off of the bed but Chaol’s solid body keeps you pinned firmly beneath him. His cock is heavy with need, hot and plunging into you slowly, each inch he presses himself into your sensitive cunt has you locking up more and more, clutching his hands desperately in yours as hot tears stream down your face. 

“Chaol.” You sound weak, like a woman pleading for her life. It makes his cock twitch, and his breath is a hot shudder across your face when his hips finally settle against yours. You blink up at him, trying to clear your vision. His mouth is set in a firm line but there’s a concerned slant to his eyebrows and his chocolate gaze is no longer molten, but soft. He’s checking in with you, fingers squeezing yours in reassurance and in question.

He’d spent a good amount of time pleasuring you with his mouth, then his hands, and even made you touch yourself in front of him, while he went to light a new candle, since it had burned out during your activities. 

The moon is starting its aescent into the morning, and Chaol has kept you up for hours, bursting into your room with such a frantic energy it had spooked you to your core. Instead of answering your questions, his shoulders had fallen in relief and he’d begun stripping himself bare, pulling you to the edge of the bed and getting to his knees to bury his head between your legs.

He looks better now, more settled and reassured that you’re here with him. You realize that whatever this is, whatever happened outside of these walls, Chaol needs this. You know the word that will make him stop everything, will make him pull out and gather you into his arms, whisper soft words into your hair while he calls for a bath, but you don’t want to say it, even if you’re bone tired and your cunt is feeling a bit used and your clit aches. 

You brush the brown hair hanging over his face, staring up at him. “I love you.” 

Maybe that’s what he needed to hear all along, because his body melts against yours, no longer rigid with worry. His mouth is soft, taking his time to show you how much those very words mean to him, caressing your tongue with his and squeezing your hands tightly in his.

“I love you too,” he breathes between kisses. 

“Then fuck me, Chaol. Fuck me and fill me and show me just how much you love me.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice, shifting slightly so he can use his powerful thighs to fuck into you like the perfect woman you are. He holds you tightly, clutching to you and muttering words that you don’t quite catch because you’re reveling in the feeling of his cock filling you to the brim and stretching you wide.

Your chest heaves for breath. It’s like you can’t take enough air in with the way he’s pressed flush against you, the mass of him a solid weight against your front. It makes blackness dot your vision, white sparks joining it as he finds the sensitive bundle of nerves and fucks into it, spurring you towards your umpteenth orgasm. 

“Yes, baby, just like that. You’re taking me so good,” he praises and you claw down his back, welts appearing like lashings down his muscular spine. “Doesn’t hurt too much, right? You can take me, I’m almost there.” 

It hurts, it really does. Your pussy is used and abused but your love for Chaol outweighs the way your cunt feels raw, each stroke of his dragging against your insides. The slickness does little to help ease his way.

“Chaol, Chaol, Chaol!” Your screams are absorbed by the thick walls of your chamber. You’re thankful for it, but Chaol’s not. He wants the house staff lingering in the halls to hear how he takes you, for the guards usually stationed outside of your doors to hear how good you are for him, how well he gives you what you need. 

Your name is a low groan of pleasure slipping from his lips. His eyes blaze as he stares down at you, all open-mouthed and hair strewn about the pillow case. Your forehead is beaded with sweat, hair damp and cheeks flushed like the prettiest flowers in the castle’s garden. The way you cling to him, beg for him has him on edge, and when you open your eyes and look up at him, he’s done for.

Chaol cums, a string of soft moans that makes his throat bob and his head thrown back. You clench around him and he curses, jerking into you unevenly as he rides through his orgasm. 

Yours is beginning to ease, and you’re fine with not cumming again, truly. But Chaol’s sneaking his hand between the both of you and he pulls out, letting some of his cum leak onto his fingertips before he’s shoving his spent cock back into you with a groan and running his cum covered fingers across your clit.

Fuck. It’s so hot. You can feel the heat of his cum as he rubs it into your clit. It’s a different kind of slickness than the wet on your thighs, and his calloused fingers glide over your sensitive nub with ease, faster and faster and faster until you’re crying out and pulling him down to meet your lips in a final, desperate kiss.

“You did so good for me, baby,” Chaol murmurs, pulling you into his side. He’ll get up and call you a bath soon, sit with you and wash you until you’re clean while the maidens change the sheets, but for now, he lets you settle into his side, your body spent and trembling with the number of orgasms he’s given you. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Chaol,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut at the calming rhythm of his heartbeat. You can feel his cum leaking out of your cunt, warming your thighs and mixing with your own mess of orgasms, but you don’t care right now, way too tired to do anything about it. 

You’ll find out what had him so spooked tomorrow, when you’re fully rested and can think past the muddled thoughts post-orgasm. For now, you’re completely content with letting him manhandle you into a bath and getting you cleaned up and ready for bed.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

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[disillusioned-phantasma]

Mind Games

Chaol x Reader

Summary: Anon Request:  I want to pose seductively on his work desk while he frets about the important papers I’m lying on and annoy him until he doubts his sanity because he doesn’t understand why he’s into that

Warnings: Smut!

Word Count: 2,710

Notes: I'm not even sorry. I love him. 🤭

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“Move.” Is the first thing Chaol says when he enters his room and sees you lying across his desk like a cat stretched out in its favorite spot.

There’s nothing sweet about the way he says it. His brown eyes are sharp and his jaw twitches where it’s set in a harsh line. A direct order from the captain of the guard, from your Lord that you should obey, but don’t want to. There are important papers strewn beneath your body, organized in importance of when they needed to be read and responded to, and if you so much as shift or crumple one–

“Chaol,” you tsk, more than ready to play this little game of his. He can deny you left and right, until the sun's fires die out or the clocktower falls down, but he’s no match for your stubbornness. “I thought I might deliver you a message myself.”

Perhaps that’s why you keep coming around, why he gives into you more often than not. It’s a challenge that you both yearn for. You see each other for what you truly are.

“I said move,” he responds roughly. His strides are long as he makes his way closer, rounding the corner of his desk to stare down at you. His hand rests lazily on the hilt of his sword, though you know he’d never use the weapon against you, especially not when you’re splayed across the dark oak desk with hardly anything covering the parts he’s trying so hard not to peer down at. “And it’s Lord Chaol to you.”

“Lord,” you hum, liking the way it tastes on your tongue. You enjoy even more the way that those brown eyes spark, but his gaze doesn’t falter, not even as you drag a hand over your thigh, leering up at the man towering over you. “That sounds good, doesn’t it?” you ask, licking your lips as you watch Chaol work to swallow.

The hand on the hilt of his sword tightens, his teeth nearly cracking as he grinds them. “I have work to do,” he grits, but you’re eye level with his trousers, and his cock tells you otherwise.

“You work too much,” you pout, wanting to reach out and press your fingers against the softness of his shirt. The body beneath is packed with muscle, hours upon hours of honing his body to become Captain of the Guard. You’re well familiar with it.

“I have to,” a muscle in Chaol’s jaw twitches, his brown eyes flickering as he watches you.

“Well,” you smirk, spreading your legs wider for him, a languid smile curling at the corners of your mouth. “If you have to work, I can think of a few things you can help me with.”

Chaol doesn’t falter.

Gods, does he play this game well, but so do you, holding that simmering gaze as you trail your fingers up your body, watching for that moment like a hawk. 

Up and up and up your fingers graze across your pert nipples but Chaol offers you nothing more than a bored look. His stare is unwavering as you play with yourself. There’s no flicker of muscle in his jaw that means he’s grinding his teeth, trying to hold himself back. No twitch of the deeply calloused fingers trying to curl into fists before they find your body.

But you’re just as good at playing with him, stretching out long across his desk. Papers shift beneath you and you nearly knock off the quill still dipped into the pot of ink where he’d left it after receiving a hasty report you’d made up so you could sneak into his room clad in a sparse silk nightgown that leaves little to the imagination. 

He is understandably annoyed.

Slowly, you trace your way back down, fingers curling into the smooth fabric before you’re tugging it up just enough to show off the lace undergarment you’d recently purchased on your way back from rounds of the city, already wet with excitement for the Lord.

Your mouth parts in a slight gasp as you brush across your cunt and there. You spot the shift in his eyes, the flicker of chocolate gone molten.

You grin like a wolf.

It takes all of three seconds for Chaol to remove the scabbard from his hip, placing it down perfectly before he’s gripping your hips in strong hands and twisting you to face him as he gets to his knees.

You bite your lip but it doesn’t keep the smile off of your face. Chaol growls low at that look, the smugness in your eyes, and your cunt flares with fire at the pointed stare he’s giving you, letting you know that you’re about to get it.

He nips at the soft skin of your thighs with sharp teeth, eliciting a sharp yelp from you that does nothing to deter him from hooking your legs over his shoulders. 

Gods, does he look perfect like that. Silken hair dark and sticking up in places you know he’s run his own frustrated fingers through it, blazing eyes the color of smoldering coal as he looks down at you, still towering over you even when he’s on his knees for you. The width of his shoulders are a feat of their own, and his hands span across each of your thighs, fingertips pressing into the meat there to keep you still as you shift closer.

“The message,” he grumbles, but his eyes are on you no longer, instead watching with an intensenes that rushes through your body as he pulls the cloth covering your cunt to the side. 

You can feel his breath so close to the place you want it most. “What?” you blink, hardly able to focus as he inches closer and closer.

“You said you were to deliver me a message,” he answers, grip slackening as he tentatively licks at your glistening heat. Your hands find his hair immediately, urging him to continue with a whimper but the veins in his neck pop as he holds himself back. “I want you to read me the message while I taste you.”

His breath is hot against your core and your fingers shake as you remove them from his hair, searching blindly for the first piece of paper on his desk. There’s no message, it had been another ruse to get underneath his skin. Your fingers grasp desperately and you nearly tear the letter in half as he finally presses forward, devouring your sweet cunt like a drowning soldier.

The paper shakes in your grip as you hold it above you but with the way he’s licking at your clit and fucking into you with his tongue you’re unable to read, mind swirling and eyes rolling into your skull with pleasure. 

Your toes curl against his back and you arch as he sucks your sensitive bud, flickering his tongue against it in brutal, fervent motions. 

That familiar feeling is already coiling your gut, hot strokes of flames threatening to burst from your body as he works, your fingers tightening in his hair while your nails punch holes into the paper crumpled in your grip.

Just as you’re about to crest he halts and you curse, a whimper slipping from your lips that gives him the higher ground in this game for two.

“Well?” he asks, and you lift your head from the desk, staring down at him over your heaving chest. His lips are glistening with your wetness, eyes bright and the challenge there has you jerking your hand that’s buried in his hair.

The asshole doesn’t yield an inch.

Instead, a dark brow cocks, “Are you going to read it then?”

You swallow roughly but Chaol is unaffected by your glare, rubbing his thumbs in encouragement. The higher you raise the letter to read, the closer he moves back to your cunt.

But you’re a stubborn soldier, placing the paper between you and him so you don’t have to look at that smirk, those taunting brown eyes as he holds your ability to cum. 

You swallow roughly, breath hitching in your throat as his tongue dips between your legs as you speak. “This one is from Dorian,” you choke, and it’s desperate. Desperate because you need him to let you finish badly but also because you ache to gain the better hand in this game you’re both masters at.

“It says,” you answer his knowing pause of movement. “‘Lord Westfall, you should treat your companion with more respect, or I shall show you how a woman should truly be worshiped.’” It doesn’t say anything close to that, but his mouth feels so amazing against your heat that you can’t even make out the sprawling ink across the page. This one isn’t even from the King.

You yelp as Chaol nips your clit. Punishment for your lies. His calloused fingers dig into the meat of your thighs in warning but all it does is make you moan, make you writhe on his desk and grind your cunt against his tongue.

But it’s the wrong thing to say because he’s pulling away, tossing your legs from his shoulders as he stands. His body is tight with tension as he stares down at you, eyes gone dark. 

You open your mouth to say something, say anything, but there’s a light slap to your throbbing cunt that has you crying out and staying silent. Chaol’s gaze keeps you pinned and unmoving to the desk but instead of leaving you with less than an orgasm, he begins peeling off his clothes.

“You think Dorian can do better?” He grunts the question, revealing his glistening chest in the buttery light casting through the large windows. It makes your mouth dry and you ache to lean up and lap the beads from the corded muscle of his abdomen.

You stutter, still reeling from the lack of orgasm his deliciously soft tongue and calloused fingers had nearly pulled from you. Your body is vibrating with need, even more so when he strips you of your clothes and shoves his own pants over his cut hips as he fists his beading cock.

“No answer for that, huh, soldier?” Chaol snarls, guiding your thighs to wrap around his taut waist. He grimaces when he sees the papers beneath where you were lying as he adjusts you with ease, cock lining up to your cunt. They’re crumpled, stained, and the ink is spreading with the wetness that coats them. Ruined. Just like you’re about to be.

He takes his cock in hand, rubbing it through your slickness and the motion drives you mad. Close, he’s so fucking close to being inside of you, pressing you so hard into the desk that you leave an indentation in the wood. You need him, now.

Chaol seems to know that, too, the look in his eyes says so. And then he does.

“This is how this is going to work, soldier,” he growls, pressing into you in one long stroke. It makes your breath falter and your mind go dumb. Chaol rips your hands from where they’re trying to claw marks into the wood and guides them up over your breasts to squeeze. He then moves on up to your throat to cut off your air while the other glides down to your clit, his fingers pressing yours into the swollen bud. It makes you gasp and your legs shake.

“Please,” you beg. You need him to move his hips, pull that hot cock from inside you only to press in further. You need him to dominate you, press against you until you can’t even breathe, paint the walls of your cunt white with his cum.

“You’ll do as I say,” he only answers your plea, a shift of his hips has him moving but not enough.

“Chaol,” you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut. The way he’s working you with your own fingers is incredible, a leader through and through. The feeling is almost otherworldly, but you need him pumping into you like he needs order. “Please!”

He leans over you and you can feel the cording of his muscle as his body presses flush to yours. His breath is hot in your ear as he nips the shell, hand trapped between the both of you but still working you in slow circles. “You hear me, soldier?”

“Yes, captain,” you respond desperately. Your nimble hands slip from his grasp before he has a chance to tighten his grip further. He growls but it wavers as you wrap your arms around his neck, sliding down his shoulders so your nails can dig into his back, a desperate attempt to urge him on. A harsh thrust has him moving but it’s a warning that has you correcting your mistake. “Lord,” you gasp, “Yes, Lord Westfall.”

He hums appreciatively, rewarding you with his lips the same time as he drags his hips from yours only to shove back in with unwavering certainly.

Your moan is lewd and he swallows it whole. You let him take control, no longer wanting to play this game now that you have him. He’s deep inside of you, broad body up against yours as he takes you on his desk, work forgotten.

His tongue dances with your own and his elbows brace either side of your head, biceps bulging as he digs his fingers into your hair, keeping you from being shoved up too far up his desk.

Chaol’s movements don’t falter. Each thrust of his hips is a godsend, a weapon all of its own, and you’ll gladly take it. It’s as if he knows your cunt is sparking with the beginnings of an orgasm because he’s pulling away from your soft lips and staring down at you through lust-lined eyes. “You want more, soldier?”

“Yes, Lord,” you answer immediately, moaning as he pistons his hips faster. He leans his weight onto one propped arm and you oogle the packed on muscle. His free hand snakes down your body, hooking beneath your knee to prop your leg up, effectively sinking into you further. It causes you to keen, scratching for purchase along the planes of his back.

“You want to cum, soldier?” His voice is as rough, a captain giving orders.

“Please, Chaol.” 

He dips down to taste his name on your lips with a domineering growl of his own. It makes your cunt clench around his hot cock, driving you nearer and nearer to your edge.

Chaol pulls away. His arm shakes like he physically has to use effort to pull himself from you. At his full height he takes you in, hair sprawled across his desk, fingers urgently trying to latch onto any of his skin that you can find. Your eyes drink him in just as he does you, the long lines of his hips cutting into abdominals that could put any man to shame. His rugged handsomeness that had you panting after him like some love-sick girl. And to be looked at the way he’s looking down at you, despite this thing between the both of you that neither of you will confront, you love it.

“Then cum,” he grunts his final order, one large hand coming to rest on your hip, the other…those calloused fingers find your clit and work you with the skill of a man trained for war. “Like the obedient soldier you are.”

You heed his command, stars blooming behind tightly shut eyes as he drags your orgasm from you. It wracks your body like a wave and Chaol’s fingers find your own, letting you hold on tight as he continues to thrust into you. 

He groans, the sight of you swallowed by your pleasure is everything he swore he’d never let himself have. You, the woman that threatens to turn him into some simpering man, panting for your love, you’re it for him. 

Chaol cums inside of you, a sound breaking from his throat that would embarrass him if he cared. But buried deep into your heat as he unleashes into you, he doesn’t give a single damn. 

He’d let you win this game any day, everyday, if it means that he can have you here like this instead.