safetypinxtales

[safetypinxtales]

drunk — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: spencer is drunk and is spilling things about your relationship content warnings: established relationship, drunk spencer, the team mocking them a/n: i've never had a sip of alcohol so if i made any mistake i'm very sorry honestly i just went of what i've seen in tv shows, movies and books

The neon glow of the bar cast a warm haze over the room as you sat nestled in the corner booth, sipping your soda.

The ice clinked softly against the glass as you absentmindedly swirled the straw, half-listening to Garcia and Emily’s gossip.

Their conversation faded into the background, however, as your attention drifted elsewhere—specifically, to the two men across the room. 

Spencer Reid, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, was talking at a rapid pace, gesturing wildly with his hands as Derek Morgan grinned at him, clearly entertained. Your brows furrowed as Derek slid another drink into Spencer’s hands. 

You sighed, not bothering to hide your disapproval. 

“What’s up with you?” Emily asked, her head tilting slightly as she sipped from her drink. 

“That.” You nodded toward the scene unfolding across the room. 

Emily followed your gaze just in time to see Spencer take another eager gulp of whatever Derek had handed him. A second later, Derek’s mouth dropped open before he burst into laughter, clapping Spencer on the back like a proud older brother. 

“Yeah… Morgan’s having way too much fun with drunk Spencer,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes at them. 

Spencer, completely unaware of your scrutiny, continued rambling, his hands moving faster than his words. Meanwhile, Derek's smile just grew bigger and bigger.

Garcia snorted. “Oh, come on, it’s adorable.” 

You weren’t sure if you’d call it adorable. More like mildly concerning. Because if history had taught you anything, drunk Spencer Reid was unpredictable—and God help anyone who had to deal with him when the alcohol finally hit its peak. 

And from the looks of it, the moment was about to happen or based on Derek's grin , has happened already.

“What is he doing?” you mumbled, eyes narrowing as you watched the two of them. You had a bad feeling about this. 

Garcia glanced at you with a smirk. “Sweetheart, we are at a bar. That’s what people do. You know… drink?” She gestured pointedly at your own glass. 

You scoffed, lifting your soda in mock acknowledgment. “Yeah, well, some of us have to drive,” you muttered before taking another sip. 

Before Garcia could quip back, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. Derek had turned toward you, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face.

Oh no. 

Your stomach dropped. “Oh god,” you muttered. 

Oblivious to what was happening around him, Spencer continued rambling, hands flailing dramatically.

You watched, unamused, as Derek made his way over to you, his smirk growing wider with every step.

Trailing beside him, Spencer was entirely oblivious. He barely paid attention to where he was walking, nearly stumbling into Derek at one point, but that didn’t stop him. 

When they finally reached your booth, Derek didn’t even bother with pleasantries. Instead, he kept his gaze locked on you, his grin downright devious. 

“You don’t say?” he mused, clearly continuing whatever conversation Spencer had been having—though it was obvious his real focus was on you. 

Spencer finally seemed to register where he was, his hazy eyes flickering to you. He blinked, as if surprised to see you there. 

“Hi,” he said, his voice slightly softer than before. 

Before you could respond, he slid into the booth beside you—well, more like half on top of you. He scooted in so close that his thigh was practically draped over yours. 

You stared at him. “Hi.” 

He grinned, leaning in ever so slightly, the scent of alcohol and something distinctly Spencer clinging to him. His eyes, glassy but bright, studied your face with open admiration, like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. 

His curls were a mess, strands falling over his face, making him look even more disheveled than usual. You reached up instinctively, tucking a stray lock behind his ear, but he barely seemed to notice. 

“Seems like you’re having fun,” you murmured, shifting your gaze to Derek, who was watching the interaction with barely contained amusement. 

Derek simply shrugged. “Guess so.” 

You turned back to Spencer, who was still staring at you—completely dazed, his hazel eyes glassy and unfocused, like you were the most fascinating thing in the room. 

With a chuckle, Derek turned his attention to Garcia and Emily, leaving you to deal with your very drunk boyfriend. 

“You okay?” you asked softly, tilting your head as you brushed more of his hair out of his face. 

Spencer hummed in response, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before he blinked them open again. “Mhm.” 

You let your fingers linger in his curls, absentmindedly threading through them, and Spencer melted under your touch. 

“What were you telling Derek back there?” you asked, keeping your voice gentle, watching as his eyelids drooped slightly. 

He mumbled something incoherent before finally managing, “M’don’t remember.” 

Before you could press further, he sighed contently and let his head drop onto your shoulder, his body going slack against yours. 

Your hand was still tangled in his hair and you felt his breath fan against your neck as he let out another sleepy hum. 

Now Garcia and Emily were both staring at you, matching grins on their faces. You frowned. 

“What?” you asked warily. 

Emily’s smile widened. “Oh, nothing. It’s just… Spencer had a lot to say about you.” 

On cue, Spencer lifted his head from your shoulder at the sound of his name, his movements slow and a little clumsy. You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. 

His brows furrowed in concentration, as if trying to grasp onto a fleeting thought. “I remember now,” he said, dragging out the words, squeezing his eyes shut like that might help jog his memory. “I think.” 

You waited, not sure if you wanted to hear whatever was about to come out of his mouth. 

“I told them… about how much you like touching my hair,” he finally said, his voice a little too loud, like he was completely unaware of the fact that everyone was now hanging onto his every word. 

Your mouth fell open. “What?” 

You whipped your head toward Emily, Garcia, and Derek—who were all watching you with knowing smirks, looking way too amused for your liking. 

“Oh, and I told them about how you—” he paused, blinking a few times, “—always trace patterns on my back when you think I’m asleep.” 

Your face burned. 

Spencer, oblivious to your horror, continued, his voice dreamy and soft. “And how you always steal my cardigans, even though you claim they drown you and make you look ridiculous. But I know you secretly love wearing them.”

Derek let out a full laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, this is gold.” 

Garcia sighed dramatically, clutching her chest. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Spencer, why—” 

He leaned in even closer, his lips nearly brushing your ear as he whispered—though it wasn’t much of a whisper at all, given his current state—“And I told them that you—” 

You slapped a hand over his mouth before he could say anything else. 

Spencer blinked at you, wide-eyed, and you felt his lips curl into a grin against your palm. 

“Okay, Spence, I need you to stop talking now,” you said firmly, your hand still covering his mouth. 

Spencer blinked at you, his hazel eyes glassy with amusement. Slowly , hesitantly , you removed your hand, watching him like he was a ticking time bomb. 

Then you turned to your friends. 

“Don’t,” you warned, narrowing your eyes as Derek parted his lips, no doubt ready to deliver some smart remark. 

Derek smirked. “But—” 

“Don’t say anything,” you groaned, already exhausted, cutting him off with a pointed look. 

Emily took a slow, deliberate sip of her drink, her expression entirely unreadable as she observed the chaos unfolding in front of her. 

Penelope, however, was a different story. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, placing a hand over her heart as she looked between you and Spencer like you were her new favorite romance novel come to life. “This is adorable. I mean, we knew you were soft for our resident genius, but this?” She gestured at Spencer, who was still pressed against you, his head once again finding its way to your shoulder. “This is next-level domesticity.” 

You sighed, “I am never letting him drink around you guys again.” 

Spencer hummed sleepily against your shoulder. “M’not even that drunk.” 

Derek let out a loud laugh. “Oh, you so are.” 

Spencer attempted to lift his head in protest but gave up halfway and settled deeper into your side. “M’just happy,” he mumbled, and if your heart didn’t squeeze at that, you’d be lying. 

Emily set down her drink, eyes glinting with mischief. “So, what else does our drunk genius have to say about you?” 

You shot her a glare. “Emily.” 

Spencer, on the other hand, perked up slightly, as if the question had unlocked another memory. 

“Oh!” he said suddenly, lifting his head, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. “I also told Derek about how you always fall asleep on my chest when we watch movies, even though you swear you never fall asleep during movies.” 

Derek actually clapped at that one. “Man, you are so whipped.” 

You buried your face in your hands as Garcia gasped dramatically, reaching for Emily’s arm like she might faint. “They’re so disgustingly cute! .” 

Spencer, now clearly on a roll, turned his dopey, love-struck gaze back to you. “And I told them—” 

You groaned. “Spencer!” 

He grinned, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Love you,” he mumbled sleepily. 

You patted Spencer’s thigh three times—a silent I love you, too, acting as if you weren't melting completely on the inside. You weren’t about to give your friends any more teasing material. 

“We’re going home,” you announced, realizing how sleepy Spencer was getting. 

Derek groaned dramatically. “Oh, come on. We wanna hear more.” His grin was absolutely wicked. 

At that, Spencer lifted his head slightly, as if he was about to continue his drunken confessions. 

You shot him a look—a playful but very clear don’t even think about it kind of look. “Spence.” 

His lips parted like he was going to argue, but instead, he let out a soft hum and dropped his head back onto your shoulder, completely surrendering. 

Derek laughed. "Man, he's totally wrapped around your finger."

You ignored him, instead rubbing soothing circles into Spencer’s back. His eyes fluttered closed, and he was half-asleep, his weight pressing into you completely. 

“One word about this at work,” you warned, shifting your gaze between the three of them, “and I’m never talking to you guys again.” 

Emily smirked over the rim of her glass. “Oh, sure. No words at work. Can’t promise about the PowerPoint presentation Garcia is definitely going to make, though.” 

Garcia gasped, scandalized. “Emily, you know me so well.” 

You groaned. “I hate all of you.” Derek chuckled, waving you off. “Nah, you love us.” 

Spencer hummed sleepily. “Mhm. Love them.” 

You sighed, adjusting him slightly. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get you home, Dr. Love-Confessions.” 

“Okay, come on,” you sighed, scooting Spencer out of the booth. He stood—well, wobbled—barely managing to keep himself upright. 

You steadied him with a hand on his arm as he instinctively laced his fingers through yours, clearly unwilling to let go. His drunken state had made him extra clingy, but you weren’t exactly complaining. 

Turning back to your friends, you gave them a pointed look. “I’ll see you all at work,” you said, voice laced with warning. “Where we’re only going to have professional conversations. Got it?” 

Emily smirked, raising her glass in mock agreement. “Oh, sure. Definitely professional.” 

Garcia let out a dramatic sigh. “No gossip whatsoever,” she said, not even trying to sound convincing. 

Derek just grinned, shaking his head. “Yeah, good luck with that.” 

Meanwhile, Spencer was barely paying attention to any of this. His eyes had glazed over, staring blankly into the distance as if lost in thought—or maybe just lost in general. 

You exhaled, already exhausted and thinking of calling in sick. 

“You,” you said, pointing a finger at Derek, “you get to pay for both our drinks.” 

Derek’s eyebrows shot up, realization dawning on him. “Whoa, hold up—” 

“Nope,” you cut him off immediately, shaking your head. “Not happening. You let him get like this, you pay for it.” 

Derek let out a laugh, looking at Spencer, who was still in his own little world. “Man, I didn’t force him to drink.” 

You shrugged. “Don’t care. Enjoy the bill.” You tugged Spencer’s hand, leading him toward the exit. 

“Bye,” he mumbled sleepily, barely loud enough to be heard. His steps were slow, and his body felt heavier against yours.

You pushed open the door with your free hand, the cool night air rushing past you. Spencer let out a quiet sigh at the change in temperature, his grip on your hand tightening just a little.

Without thinking, you started tracing slow, comforting circles with your thumb over his skin. 

Spencer hummed softly, leaning into you as you walked toward the car. “Feels nice,” he mumbled. 

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” he nodded lazily, his curls falling into his face again. “You always do that.” 

“I guess I do,” you smiled softly at your boyfriend, your heart warm as he squeezed your hand tighter. 

Spencer didn’t seem to notice how tightly he was holding onto you as you arrived next to your car. But when you tried to pull your hand out of his grasp, he made a small noise of protest, a soft whimper that almost made you stop in your tracks. 

“Spence,” you said gently, “I need to look for my keys.” 

His hand reluctantly loosened, but his gaze never left you. You opened your bag, rummaging through the contents, your eyes scanning for the keys. 

“You usually keep them in your front pocket,” Spencer mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You froze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, right.” 

Without missing a beat, you reached into your front pocket, feeling the familiar jingle of your keys. “Thanks, Spence,” you murmured, more to yourself than him, as you unlocked the car. 

You quickly moved to open the passenger door, holding it wide. “Okay, come on. Sit down.” 

Spencer gave you a sleepy, lazy look but you gently tugged him towards the car, your touch soft yet insistent. His steps were slow, and as he started to get into the car, you reached up to guide his head down so he wouldn’t hit it on the top of the doorframe. 

“Head down,” you instructed, your voice a little more authoritative than usual, though the affection in your tone made it clear you were only looking out for him. 

Spencer let out a soft, obedient hum as he finally slumped into the passenger seat. His body collapsed back into the seat like a ragdoll, eyes heavy. 

“Good,” you said, closing the door behind him, watching as he settled into the seat, already half-asleep. 

As you slid into the driver's seat and closed the door behind you, you glanced over at Spencer. His head was resting against the seat, eyes shut, his expression soft and peaceful. You couldn’t help but feel a little bad for disturbing his rest. 

“Do you want to go to your apartment?” you asked quietly, glancing at him as you started the car. 

Spencer’s voice was barely above a whisper when he replied, “I wanna stay with you.” 

You paused, looking at him—his face relaxed, eyes still closed as if he were half in a dream. Your fingers itched to reach out, and you gently brushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. He hummed contentedly at the contact, leaning into your touch without even realizing it. 

You smiled softly, your heart melting at how utterly endearing he was. “Okay. We’ll go to my apartment, then.” 

You drove in silence for a few minutes, just listening to the soft hum of the engine and Spencer’s breathing. It wasn’t long before you arrived, and as you parked in your spot, you glanced over at him.

He hadn’t moved, still in the same sleepy position, his head leaning against the seat. 

“Spence,” you said gently, turning off the car. “We’re here.” 

All he did was hum in response, barely acknowledging you. 

You sighed softly, knowing this was going to take a little effort. Stepping out of the car, you closed your door quietly before making your way to the passenger side. 

When you opened the door, Spencer was practically asleep, his head resting against the seat, lips slightly parted. He looked so peaceful, you almost felt bad for waking him. 

“Spence,” you muttered, reaching out to touch his shoulder lightly. He didn’t budge. 

You frowned, leaning in slightly—careful not to hit your head on the car frame—as you gave his shoulder a firmer shake. Still nothing. 

“Spencer,” you said a little louder, this time with a touch of amusement in your voice. 

Finally, he stirred, cracking one eye open lazily. 

“Hi,” you greeted with a soft smile, watching as he blinked sluggishly. 

He let out a slow breath, rubbing his face with one hand. “We’re here?” he mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion. 

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” 

Spencer groaned lightly, shifting in his seat as if even the thought of moving was too much effort. 

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’ll help you, but you have to stand up, Spence.” 

With a deep sigh, he finally nodded and let you pull him to his feet. He swayed slightly, and you immediately steadied him, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“Whoa there, genius,” you murmured, adjusting your grip. “Let’s not face-plant in the parking lot.” 

Spencer huffed out a sleepy chuckle, leaning into you more than he probably realized. “You’re warm,” he muttered. 

You rolled your eyes, but your smile never faded. “Yeah, well, let’s get you inside where it’s actually warm, okay?” 

“Okay,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper as you guided him inside the building. He leaned into you slightly, his steps slow and heavy. 

As you waited in front of the elevator, the only sound was the distant hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional ding from the floors above. You tapped your foot lightly against the tile, watching the numbers slowly descend. 

Then, out of nowhere, Spencer spoke again, his voice soft but certain. 

“I like you a lot, you know that?” 

You turned to look at him, surprised by the sudden confession, but the sincerity in his hazel eyes made your heart melt. His gaze was a little unfocused, heavy with sleep and alcohol, but the emotion behind his words was crystal clear. 

“I know, Spence,” you said, smiling warmly as you reached up and brushed his curls away from his face again. It was something so simple, yet something you always found yourself doing.

He leaned into your touch instinctively, his body seeking out your warmth. 

The elevator doors finally slid open with a ding, and you gently tugged his hand to lead him inside. As soon as the doors shut, Spencer sighed and rested his head on your shoulder, his body completely relaxed against yours. 

“You smell nice,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your jacket. 

You let out a soft laugh, wrapping an arm around him for support. “Thanks, Spence. You smell like alcohol and bad decisions.” 

He chuckled sleepily, barely lifting his head. “Bad decisions? No, no. Liking you is the best decision.” 

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you just stared at him, warmth spreading through your chest. Even drunk and barely coherent, Spencer Reid somehow managed to be the sweetest person alive. 

The elevator doors opened, and you shook your head fondly, guiding him toward your apartment. “Come on, Casanova. Let’s get you to bed before you pass out in the hallway.” 

Spencer let out a hum of agreement, still clinging onto your hand like he never wanted to let go. 

You let go of him just long enough to unlock the door, pushing it open before guiding him inside. As soon as you shut it behind you, Spencer immediately reached for you again, clinging onto you like he had no intention of letting go. 

You sighed fondly, helping him shrug off his jacket while he clumsily toed off his shoes.

“Okay, Spencer, just a couple more steps,” you encouraged, wrapping an arm around his waist as you led him toward your bedroom. 

When you reached the bed, he sat down heavily, sighing as his body sunk into the mattress. His eyes scanned the room, though they were hazy with sleep. “I like your room,” he mumbled, as if just realizing where he was. 

You smiled softly, watching as he flopped back against the pillows, his head sinking into the plush fabric. 

“Me too,” you murmured, standing by the edge of the bed as you watched him. 

Spencer’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, but then, with a small, sleepy smile, he peeked up at you again. 

“You know… I think my favorite thing about your room is that you live in it,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion but filled with sincerity. 

Your heart swelled at the unexpected sweetness of his words. 

You shook your head with a soft laugh, brushing his curls out of his face once more. “You’re such a sap when you’re drunk, Spence.” 

His smile grew just a little. “M’not drunk,” he mumbled, already halfway to sleep. “Just in love.” 

You felt warmth spread through your chest as you pulled the blanket over him, watching as he relaxed further into the bed. 

“Go to sleep, Spencer,” you whispered, but the smile on your lips never faded. 

[safetypinxtales]

ai does not belong in creative spaces. period.

[safetypinxtales]

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[safetypinxtales]

Oh, you're working out to look better??? That's some beta shit.

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[safetypinxtales]

Blush

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: language, suggestive content, fluff? that's it really

word count: 9.4k

synopsis: You really like making Azriel blush.

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

You wanted to swim in the honeyed pools of amber that hovered over you, watching you intently with a twinkle of mischief that made your stomach flutter. You could get lost in Azriel’s eyes. You often did get lost in his eyes, which then often led to you fumbling and blushing when someone caught you. It was embarrassing, really, how enamored you were with the quiet shadowsinger. You didn’t know how to not melt under his warm gaze.

And now here he was, leaning over you as his legs bracketed your body, pinning you to the floor of the training ring, his soft lips moving as he quietly provided critiques on your technique. You couldn’t focus on anything he was saying, though. All you could think about was how beautiful his eyes were and the torrent of butterflies that had been unleashed in your stomach.

“Your eyes are pretty.”

Azriel froze, his eyes going wide. Your own eyes widened slightly as you realized what you said, the private thought escaping from your lips. Your cheeks started to warm as his incredulous gaze met yours. “What?” he rasped.

You quickly decided you were too far gone at that point, so you steeled your nerves and repeated your words. “Your eyes,” you said again. “They’re really pretty.”

Azriel’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the color spreading up his neck to the tips of his ears, and you couldn’t believe your eyes. Azriel was blushing. This male that always left you a fumbling blushing mess was now knelt over you with wide eyes and red cheeks, his mouth opening and closing slightly. His wings fluttered slightly as he leaned back, clearing his throat as he stood up from his position.

He didn’t meet your eyes as he held a hand out to help you up, and you felt a little guilty for making him uncomfortable, knowing all too well it’s not always fun to feel such nervous embarrassment. You accepted his hand after a moment, his skin warm and rough against your own. You were about to apologize once he pulled you up, but Azriel dropped your hand, glancing at you briefly before moving away, and you lost the nerve to even acknowledge your foolish lapse in judgment.

You bit your lip, looking down at your boots as you wished the mountain would just fissure open and swallow you whole. “Y/N,” Azriel’s soft voice snapped you from your simmering mortification. His cheeks were still red when you met his eyes, but there was a faint, bashful smile on his face that made your stomach flip. “Thank you.”

You had to fight the grin that immediately wanted to bloom on your face, and simply nodded your acknowledgement as Azriel turned away, unwrapping his hands, your training apparently done for today. Your previous embarrassment morphed into pride, as you replayed the interaction over and over in your head. Nesta glanced at you curiously as you sat next to her to stretch, but you ignored her gaze as you glanced back at Azriel, who was now speaking with Cassian as if nothing had happened. His gaze suddenly met yours, his cheeks still tinged pink, and you smiled softly, shaking your head as you looked away again. You had made Azriel blush, and you had every intention of doing it again.

~ ~ ~

“Have you eaten yet?”

Azriel stood in the entryway to the sitting room you had wandered off to with Nyx, a plate of food in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. You smiled softly, shaking your head before looking back at Nyx, who was starting to get fussy. His eyes were tired and heavy, and you knew it was only a matter of time before he either passed out in your lap or started wailing as he fought off sleep. “I told Feyre I would watch him while she ate,” you said softly, fingers tickling at Nyx’s stomach, making him giggle.

Azriel moved closer, sitting the food and wine on the table next to you. “Let me take him,” he offered softly. “Go ahead and eat.” The food smelled amazing, and you were starving, but you hated to just pass Nyx off to him. 

Azriel sat next to you on the couch, the cushions jostling beneath you. He held his hands out to Nyx, a soft smile on lips. “Do you want to come sit with me?” he cooed, and your heart nearly exploded as Nyx happily launched himself from your lap and into Azriel’s arms.

Azriel laughed softly, catching Nyx easily, and bouncing him in his lap. He glanced at you, nodding toward the plate. “It’s going to get cold.”

You bit your lip, fighting back the stupid smile that wanted to engulf your face, and instead took a sip of the wine before picking up the plate. You ate quietly while Azriel sat beside you with Nyx, his happy giggles slowly dying down as exhaustion crept up on him. At some point, Azriel had coaxed Nyx to lay on his chest, and the little babe had quickly fallen asleep. When you looked over after setting your empty plate down, Nyx’s cheek was squished against the shoulder of Azriel’s sweater, his wings drooping around him to rest on Azriel’s chest.

It was possibly the most wholesome thing you had ever seen, and a million rogue butterflies were swarming your stomach as you watched them. Azriel was too engrossed with Nyx to notice your attention, his fingers rubbing gentle circles on his back. Azriel’s face was softer than you had ever seen, his usual stoicism long gone while he held his nephew.

“You’re really good with him,” you said softly, your awe seeping into your voice.

He startled a bit, his hand pressing into Nyx’s back as his eyes jumped to yours. A pink hue slowly crept across his cheeks, and your heart fluttered at the sight. He didn’t really respond, though. He just gave you a tiny tight-lipped smile before looking back down at Nyx.

“I mean it, Az,” you whispered, shuffling a little closer. “That boy adores you. Clearly.”

The color on his cheeks only darkened, but his shadows pulsed excitedly before one ventured out to snake around your wrist. Azriel’s eyes went wide when he saw it, and the shadow promptly left you. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“I don’t mind them,” you answered honestly. His shadows were now circling over Nyx, and you couldn’t understand why he would think they would ever scare you when they could be so gentle—when they were a part of him.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit, watching Nyx snooze peacefully on top of Azriel, the air in the room warm and calm. Eventually, you reached for your empty plate and glass, and stood up from the couch. Azriel tracked your movements, and when you turned to face him, he was already looking at you.

His cheeks were still a faint pink, the color making your mind wander back to training last week. His eyes were soft as he beheld you, and you had to fight your own blush from creeping up your cheeks. You lingered longer than you should have, standing there awkwardly with your hands full, but you didn’t want to leave Azriel. He was so stunning, so calm, and you knew it would be a long time before you saw him so unreserved again.

Your friends’ laughter from the living room faintly reached your ears, and you reluctantly took a step back from Azriel. “I should probably go socialize a little bit,” you said with a sigh and a teasing smile. “If you don’t mind?” you then asked, gesturing toward Nyx.

“Not at all,” he said softly.

You nodded, looking down at your hands. You held up the empty plate, then said, “Thank you for bringing me dinner.”

He simply smiled, and it was a small one at that, but it still made your stomach flip. You returned it, and then moved to the hallway, reluctantly leaving the beautiful shadowsinger with a babe sleeping on his shoulder.

~ ~ ~

You loved Velaris.

Truly, you thanked the Mother every day for leading you here, for Rhysand taking you in as a refuge when Cesere was attacked. You weren’t even a priestess, you were simply an Autumn Court female that had taken sanctuary at the temple, but that didn’t matter to Rhysand. You were just as much of a victim, and Clotho had let you reside with the other priestesses in the library once you arrived in Velaris.

You never felt entirely content, though, living in a mountain with only books to occupy your time. You also didn’t have the courage to leave said mountain—not until you befriended Gwyn, who befriended Nesta, and then pulled you along with her to training. Your life changed for the better that first day of training. You felt whole. For the first time in your life, you felt settled. 

The shadowsinger across the street from you had more to do with that feeling than anyone. You couldn’t explain why you were so enamored by him, so drawn in by his presence. You didn’t even like to acknowledge it, really. It only left you flustered and anxious about possibly losing the person who had quickly become a pillar in your life. You were positive that if that pillar came crashing down because you weren’t careful, you wouldn’t survive it. You clutched the piece of cloth you kept stuffed in your pockets, the familiar fabric soothing your anxious thoughts.

Your fears didn’t stop you from wanting him, though. It didn’t stop you from admiring him from afar, or even occasionally letting those admirations slip through your lips. He deserved to hear them, anyway.

He was just so kind. You had never witnessed a kindness quite like his, never been privy to such gentle care and respect. You had to ignore the warmth that bloomed in your chest every time his kindness was directed toward you, because he was kind to everyone. 

For fuck’s sake, you were currently watching him help a meek and embarrassed female fix her booth that had toppled over in the market square. His shadows collected stray jewels and baubles that had scattered on the ground, pushing them into a neat pile next to the female. You could tell Azriel was making every effort to appear smaller, less intimidating somehow, despite the leathers and siphons adorning his body. His wings were tucked in tight, and his shoulders were relaxed, his posture slightly slouched as he handed her things.

You saw his lips move softly as he said something that made the female smile slightly, her shoulders relaxing. Your heart clenched at the sight, an irrational jealousy igniting in your core as you watched her cheeks turn red, and Azriel smiled at her. You averted your gaze back to the jewelry in your hand, the owner of the booth you stood at clearly growing impatient with your dallying. 

You smiled sheepishly at the older male, setting the necklace back down on the velvet tablecloth. You glanced back at the booth across the street, a confusing mix of relief and disappointment twisting inside you when you saw the female sitting alone, and Azriel long gone.

 “Were you really not going to say hello?”

You spun toward the familiar voice, your heart racing as you met Azriel’s eyes, who was now standing only inches away from you. You swallowed hard, unsure how to answer. Were you going to say hello? Likely not, but you were too embarrassed that you had been watching him for the last five minutes without any true reason.

He didn’t wait for you to answer before he handed you a paper box. You frowned at the familiar blue container that came from the very bakery you were planning on visiting today. 

Azriel reached forward and opened it after watching you stare at it for far too long. “Had I known you were coming to the market today,” he said as he revealed the chocolate croissant, “I would have suggested we come together.”

Your lips parted as you looked at the fresh and luscious pastry, your mouth instantly watering. You picked it up and took a bite, the chocolate like heaven on your tongue. You hummed in appreciation as you ate the treat, muttering your thanks between bites.

Azriel laughed as he guided you into the busy street, his hand between your shoulder blades as the two of you meandered through the bustling market. When you reached a less populated area, his hand fell away, and he asked, “What are you doing out today?”

You held up the now empty box, swallowing the last bite of your pastry. “I was going to get one of these,” you answered. “So thank you for that. I guess now my mission is moot.”

Azriel laughed, his shoulder briefly brushing yours. “We can always go get another.”

You grinned. “You’re full of good ideas today.” You thought back to earlier, then said, “I saw you help that female.”

“Yeah,” was his simple response, and you could tell he was a bit bashful about it.

“That was kind of you, Az.”

He shrugged, not really accepting your compliment. “She needed help.” A passing faerie bumped into you, sending you stumbling into Azriel. They murmured a rushed apology when you glared at them, and Azriel steadied you by your waist. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you huffed, straightening your shirt. You tossed the empty box in a garbage bin as you kept walking. “What was she selling?” you asked, desperately trying to forget about the juvenile jealousy you felt when you watched him smile at her.

“Handmade jewelry. She said she just opened a storefront a few weeks ago, and was hoping a booth would garner some attention. I told her I would have to bring you by,” he said, completely nonchalant.

Your brain stuttered. “Me?”

He glanced at you, his brow furrowed. “Yeah?” he said slowly. “Why not? I thought you liked handmade things.”

You shook your head. “No—I mean, I do—” You paused, and Azriel’s expectant and confused expression made you falter. “That would be nice,” you said instead. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” he said lightly, his confusion still clear. 

You felt even more ridiculous for your earlier jealousy, and you didn’t feel like having him prod you anymore, so you diverted the conversation to an entirely different topic, albeit not very smoothly. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your tattoos.”

Azriel raised his brows. “My tattoos?”

You nodded, eyes roving over the swirls of ink that you did genuinely find fascinating. You lifted a hand to run your finger over one of the lines, his skin warm from the afternoon sun. You swallowed hard as you pulled your hand away, realizing you needed to actually ask him a question about them. “What do they mean?” you asked. 

He looked a bit reluctant to tell you, but before you could assure him he didn’t have to share, he said roughly, “They’re Illyrian.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he huffed out. “The only reason I don’t hate them is because I got them with Rhys and Cass. They’re supposed to stand for luck and glory. I only got them because we had just survived the Blood Rite, and they insisted we mark ourselves with their symbols just to spite them.” A small smile had creeped onto his face. “Which was convincing.”

You smiled hesitantly. “Well, I’ve always liked them.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, then traced the ink again. “They’re beautiful. Intricate. And it doesn’t matter if they have Illyrian origins, they’re yours. You got them with your brothers to celebrate your survival. That’s what they mean to you.”

His cheeks were dusted a faint pink, and pride surged in your chest. Your fingers trace the ink all the way down to the scars wrapped around his forearms, and you glance at him before following them down to his wrist, and then his palm. You thread your fingers through his, squeezing tightly. “Every mark on our skin tells a story. Our story. That’s never something to be ashamed of.” You brushed your thumb over the back of his hand, and his cheeks were now red, his eyes wide with awe. “It’s beauty in its rawest form.”

You tugged on his hand, knowing he wouldn’t have a response to that, urging him to keep walking with you. “And by the way,” you hummed, making Azrial turn toward you again, “I happen to quite like the story yours tells.”

His blush crept up to his ears, and you smiled to yourself triumphantly, loving every second that you got to see Azriel flustered. Every second that you saw him faced with compliments that he should always hear, that you wished he would learn to accept. You were worried he might drop your hand when he just stared at you for a moment, the silence charged and heavy around you. Instead, he squeezed your hand, and kept walking side-by-side with you, eventually murmuring the softest, “Thank you.”

~ ~ ~

“Can I ask you something?” you hummed, leaning forward on the counter, your head propped up in your hand.

Azriel smiled softly, amusement dancing in his eyes. He was across the counter from you, his back leaning against the granite that was faintly illuminated by the moonlight spilling into the kitchen. “What’s that?” he asked.

You hesitated, but your earlier conversation with Nesta was playing on a loop in your head, and your curiosity was eating at you. Your whole body was warm just thinking about it again. The wine running through your veins probably didn’t help, though it certainly gave you the courage to finally ask, “Is it true you can orgasm from someone touching your wings?”

Azriel choked on the tea he was sipping on, setting the mug down a bit harshly on the counter, the liquid sloshing over the rim. He coughed for a minute, his shadows fluttering around him in concern, but eventually he met your eyes. His own were wide as he asked you with a rasp, “Who told you that?”

You shrugged sheepishly, admitting, “Nesta might have mentioned it.”

He muttered something that sounded like “Mother help me” as he looked up at the ceiling, running a hand over the back of his neck. 

The movement made his leathers stretch over the muscles of his arm, and the heat that bloomed in your gut pushed you to ask, “Have you ever…?”

Azriel’s cheeks were pink as he looked back at you, the moonlight making the color across his skin even more pronounced. He gaped at you for a moment, but he eventually admitted, “Yes.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. A small part of you withered up at the admission, something acidic swirling inside you. You selfishly wanted him to say no, that he had never shared that part of himself with another. Which was insane, given he was over five centuries old. Of course, he had explored that with a lover.

He stepped closer to the island you sat at, his face softening. “Not often, though,” he added quietly, shocking you by elaborating. “I haven’t in a very long time. I was young, and curious, and—” He paused, shaking his head. His cheeks were still an adorable red, but his voice had regained its steadiness as he said, “It’s very vulnerable, to let another person touch your wings.”

You smiled softly, the wine finally making you a bit sleepy. Azriel had brought you home from Rita’s awhile ago. First you had insisted on tea before bed, and now you were pestering the poor male about his sex life of all things. You blamed Nesta for planting the seeds of curiosity in your mind, and Mor for plying you with far too much wine. At least you got to see him blush again, even if that wasn’t your outright goal tonight.

“I should probably go to bed,” you murmured quietly, pushing your mug away from you. You had barely drank your tea, and Azriel definitely noticed, but he was polite enough not to say anything. You met his eyes, his hazel irises unnervingly alluring as they simmered with something new, something you had never seen in Azriel’s gaze. You swallowed hard, and stood up from your stool. “Goodnight, Az.”

His throat bobbed, his jaw clenching briefly as he looked you over, then bid you a quiet goodnight. You didn’t linger, and you most definitely did not think about his lips, his eyes, or his wings as you laid in bed, waiting for sleep to claim you.

~ ~ ~

“Well you two are a sight for sore eyes,” Nesta drawled from beside you, her gaze sweeping up and down the two Illyrian warriors that had just appeared in the living room. 

They were caked in mud, covered from head to toe. Even their wings were covered in it, their normally elegant and translucent membranes now an opaque brown. Cassian undid the tie holding his hair back, shaking out the strands and sending a mixture of wet and crumbling mud flying all over. You ducked your head as Nesta scolded him, but he simply grinned at the two of you.

His eyes glinted as they locked on his scowling mate. “Won’t you come help clean up?” he asked innocently.

She scoffed, but stood up nonetheless, leaving her book on the table. “Only because if I don’t we’ll be finding remnants of your filth for days.” Cassian’s grin widened as he reached for his mate, but she quickly side-stepped him. “Don’t even think about it,” she growled, walking down the hall. Cassian quickly followed after her, disappearing from sight.

You swallowed hard, then looked back at Azriel. He smiled sheepishly at you, turning his palms outward. “I probably reek right now,” he said with a bit of a huff.

You smiled softly, shaking your head. “Not really—” Your words got caught in your throat when you did catch a scent of something far more alarming than dirt. “Are you bleeding?” you asked worriedly, sitting up straight.

Azriel winced. “I might be. Whatever the hell was in the bog scraped my back when we—”

“Your back?” you cut him off in alarm. You stood up, moving toward him. “Are your wings—”

“They’re fine,” he assured, his eyes watching you with a softness you had never seen before. You swallowed hard, feeling a bit embarrassed for your reaction. You stopped a few feet away from him, not sure what to do now.

His lips tipped up slightly before he nodded toward the hall. “I should probably clean myself up.”

“Do you need help?” you rushed out before he could move far.

Azriel froze, his eyes going wide. Mortification crawled up your spine, realizing that was an absurd offer. Azriel had been doing this for five centuries. He surely knew how to clean his back and wings himself. Cassian had asked Nesta for help, sure, but she was his mate—

“Yes,” he said softly, and your mind stalled for a minute. He had mud smeared all over his cheeks, but you were fairly certain you could see a flush creeping up his neck and to his face as he cleared his throat, then said again, “Yes. Please. I—It would be helpful to have someone else clean my back. If I’m still bleeding, it’s probably because the wounds are caked with mud—but I could call Madja if—”

“No,” you cut off his rambling. You had never seen Azriel stumble so much over his words before. It was endearing, but you also didn’t want him to second-guess asking you for help. Your offer was genuine, and you wanted him to know that. “I want to help.”

His throat bobbed as he studied you for a moment. His shadows were peeking out from behind him, as if they were being held back from exploring. “Thank you,” he said softly. Not for the first time, you wished it wasn’t so difficult for him to accept help, but you were honored that he was taking yours.

You followed behind him quietly as he led you to his room, pushing open the door for you before shutting it gently behind him. You tried not to ogle too much at his room, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little bit giddy that Azriel was letting you see more of his life.

He was so private and reserved. You weren’t oblivious. You knew that him letting you into his room meant something, but you also weren’t delusional, and you weren’t going to let this warp your mind into thinking this was more than it was. This was Azriel, trusting you as his friend, to help him with something personal, vulnerable, and you would be damned if you screwed that up.

“What do you need me to do?” you asked softly, slowly dragging your gaze from Azriel’s oversized bed to meet his eyes.

He stared at you for a moment, and you shifted a bit under his gaze. “Az?” you asked again softly.

He blinked, then shook his head a bit. “Sorry, I—” He paused, closing his mouth, then said instead, “Let me clean up a bit first, okay?”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. Azriel’s eyes stayed glued to yours as he gestured toward the bed. “You can sit down,” he said softly. He finally peeled his eyes from yours, and you had to blink a bit to regain your bearings. 

You stayed put until he disappeared into the bathing room, noting that he left the door open. Your chest felt a little tight as you sank slowly onto the edge of his bed, which was somehow infinitely more comfortable than yours. You dragged your fingers over the black duvet, the fabric soft to the touch. You had to repress the urge to wrap yourself in the downy cover, to fully immerse yourself in Azriel’s scent. You pulled your hand back to your lap, feeling a bit insane. 

Despite his dark bedding, his room was….comfortable. It wasn’t bright by any means, but it was cozy. He had soft faelights scattered throughout the room that cast the room in a calming glow, and he had plush blankets thrown over the back of the chair sat in the corner. The case of books next to the chair called to you, and you nearly gave in to snooping through his collection when his voice startled you from your thoughts.

 You walked tentatively to the threshold of the bathing room, but you didn’t look inside. “Do you want me to come in?” you asked nervously. You closed your eyes, clenching a hand around those nerves and pushing them down. You were going to help Azriel without making a fool of yourself. It was fine. You were fine. You wanted to help him.

You could hear the amusement in his voice as he answered, “If you still want to help.”

You swallowed hard, steeling your nerves as you stepped inside, but they quickly melted to goo when you saw him still in the bath. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in his wet and bare skin, the Illyrian tattoos you were always so fascinated by winding around his arms. The bath was filled with bubbles and steam that concealed anything…intimate, but you still felt like you were on the precipice of doing or saying something very stupid as you neared him.

He smiled slightly at you, the mud cleared from his face to reveal his pink tinted cheeks. You would like to think that your presence caused the flush of his skin, but it was likely the heat of the bath. You folded your hands in front of you, awkwardly standing a few feet away from him. “What do you want me to do?”

He pointed to a bottle and cloth on the stool beside you, water falling from the arm he raised. “Just make sure it's clean, please. Then rinse it with that tonic from Madja. It should heal fine on its own.”

You nodded, mind steadying now that you had a clear task. You picked up the cloth and sat the bottle on the ground, dragging the stool so you could sit behind Azriel. “Just the one scrape then,” you asked absentmindedly as you inspected the rest of his back. There were a few scratches and bruises littered across his skin, but there was only one wound still bleeding.

“Yeah,” he said softly, then huffed a low laugh that didn’t sound all that amused. “It’s embarrassing, really.”

You frowned, dipping the cloth in the somehow clean water—likely thanks to the House. You rang it out before pressing the cloth against his skin. “It’s not embarrassing,” you said softly. Your ministrations were gentle over his wound, wiping away at invisible dirt, because really he had cleaned it well on his own. He didn’t say anything back, and when you switched the cloth for the tonic, you asked, “Why would a wound be embarrassing?”

“It’s not just that,” he said, voice low. “I—I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. I don’t need your help.”

You stilled, the cap to the bottle clutched tight in one hand while the other was about to pour it over his wound. You tried not to let the words sting, tried to put yourself in Azriel’s place. You lowered the bottle to your lap, then asked softly, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he answered, though it sounded strangled. “I don’t.”

You sat with that for a minute, then moved so you could face him, kneeling at the side of the tub. Azriel’s eyes were conflicted as he met yours, and you noticed that his shadows had been sequestered away somewhere. “It’s okay to want someone to help you,” you started gently. 

He looked so vulnerable in front of you, naked and wounded in a tub of water, giving you free access to his back, trusting you enough to let you so close to his wings. It made your heart clench. “Even if you can do something yourself, that doesn’t mean you always have to.”

He stared at you silently, and you started to feel a bit silly, doubting that those were his true worries. He nodded, though, a small acknowledgement of your words that you knew meant a lot from him right now. You smiled softly, and his eyes brightened a bit, even if he didn’t return the gesture. “Can I finish what I started?” you asked, standing up from your position to reclaim your seat on the stool.

Azriel hummed his agreement, and you didn’t waste any more time before you poured the inky liquid over his wound, trusting Madja’s creations even if it looked disgusting. Azriel tensed as the liquid seeped in, and you mumbled an apology as you recapped the bottle. Eventually, he relaxed, and you watched the liquid run down his back and into the water. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Anytime,” you hummed, setting the bottle on the counter next to you, hoping your nonchalance would keep him from freaking out again.

Your eyes snagged on some brown smudges still scattered across one of his wings, and you bit your lip before saying, “There’s still some mud on the back of your wings.”

Before he could even respond, you asked, “Do you want me to clean them?”

That was apparently the wrong question to ask because Azriel visibly tensed, and you noticed his shadows start to creep out from the corners. Your mind flashed back to your drunken conversation with him last week, and your face immediately went hot. “Or not,” you rushed out, fumbling to rectify your mistake. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about—nevermind. I mean, not nevermind, because I will gladly clean them if you want me to—but if—”

“Y/N,” Azriel’s quiet voice cut you off, and your lips immediately clamped shut. He turned his body so he could meet your eyes, and you realized he had relaxed again. You wished you could say the same about yourself. “I would appreciate that,” he said quietly.

Your lips parted as you processed his words, and you realized this was him asking for the help he wanted, not necessarily needed, just like you told him to do moments ago. You swallowed hard before nodding, then picked up the wet cloth you had dropped. “Will it hurt?” you asked, feeling stupid and out of your depth. And nervous. You were incredibly nervous again.

“No,” he said, flaring his wings out a bit more for you to reach. “Just be gentle.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you, and you clutched the cloth tight in your hand, struggling to lift it toward his delicate membrane. Azriel must have sensed your hesitance, because he turned his head slightly, a small frown on his face. “Y/N,” he said quietly, “You don’t have to.”

You bit your lip, while your heart was trying to fly straight out of your chest. “It’s not that,” you whispered. “It’s just—I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. After our conversation last week—”

Azriel blanched and then swore under his breath. He shifted more so he could better face you, some water sloshing over the edge of the tub. “That’s not—touching my wings—” He shook his head. “It’s not always sexual. I wasn’t trying to take advantage—I swear to the Mother—”

It was your turn to blanch, and you cut him off hastily, “I never thought that.” Azriel’s mouth snapped shut as he stared at you with wide and frazzled eyes, and you were sure your expression mirrored his. “That never even crossed my mind, Azriel,” you said more softly. “It’s just…it’s intimate, right? You’re trusting me, and I don’t want to fuck up.”

Azriel’s shoulders relaxed, his face softening. “It is intimate,” he agreed quietly. “And you don’t have to wash my wings for me. I can do it.” You started to protest but he cut you off with a pointed look. “But if you want to, there’s nothing to fuck up—unless you stab me in the back,” he hummed and you rolled your eyes.

He smiled softly, and you couldn’t help but return it. Your nerves had abated, now just a slight undercurrent thrumming in your veins in anticipation of touching Azriel again. It was silly, to be excited to touch him. He was trusting you to help him, as his friend, and you needed to focus.

You motioned for him to turn around, and said, “Okay, Shadowsinger.” He raised his brows and you grinned, but he did turn his back to you, flaring his wings out again.

You dunked the cloth in the water again, and asked softly, “Ready?”

He nodded, and you didn’t waste any more time hesitating or second-guessing if this was okay. He told you it was, and there was no sense in prolonging this. You brought the cloth to the delicate membrane, gently dragging it over the smudge of mud he missed. Azriel’s muscles rippled across his back at the contact, and you paused. “It’s okay,” he assured, though his voice was rough.

You didn’t question him. You kept cleaning his wings, moving slowly from one spot to the next, meticulously cleaning the thin but powerful membrane. Your fingertips sometimes brushed against the soft skin, but you didn’t dare outright touch him, no matter how much you wanted to.

“I’ve always thought your wings were beautiful,” you murmured, moving to the last smudge of dirt near the base of his wing. Azriel’s breath caught in his throat, but you kept speaking, “I mean, Illyrian wings in general are, but when I met you—” You dragged the cloth slowly over him, the dirt long gone, but you weren’t ready to pull away. “I was just in awe. Of a lot of things, really, but your wings are just stunning. They were practically glowing in the sun when we first met. And they shimmer in the moonlight—”

“Y/N,” Azriel rasped, and you pulled your hand away to move in front of him. He didn’t meet your eyes, but his face was flushed crimson, and for a brief moment you relished in putting that blush there. There was no doubt it was because of you, because of your words, and you were glad. Azriel deserved to hear these things, to hear such reverent compliments.

“I think you should leave.”

Just like that, your heart fell, and you scrambled to catch it, but it was no use. It slammed into the pits deep in your soul, and any warmth that was slowly seeping through you immediately iced over. You didn’t hesitate to drop the cloth in the water and stand up, to back away from Azriel and remove yourself from this mortifying situation.

“I’m sorry,” you rasped, and Azriel’s head did snap up to face you then. His lips parted as he looked at you, but you shook your head, taking another step back. “I’m sorry,” you said again. “That was—it was inappropriate.” Who were you to think it was your place to tell him such things? To so blatantly awe over him while he allowed you to help him with something so vulnerable? You felt sick.

You had enjoyed pushing him and prodding him over the last few weeks, delighting in the blush that seemed to arise more and more often in your presence. Now you questioned if it was because you made him uncomfortable, and not because he was flattered or flustered. You didn’t stay a second longer. You bolted out of the bathing room, out his bedroom, ignoring the tendrils of shadows licking at your heels as you moved aimlessly through the halls, until you shut yourself away in your room, begging the ground to swallow you whole.

~ ~ ~

It had been a week since you saw Azriel. Since you royally embarrassed yourself in front of him. It made your skin itch every time you thought about it, wishing you could claw the memory right out of you.

Today was his birthday. You stared at the little pile of gifts you had collected for him sitting on your desk, wishing you hadn’t fucked everything up and could just give them to him. You were fairly certain that you were the last person Azriel would want to see tonight, but you also knew you couldn’t skip out on his birthday dinner without facing an interrogation from the rest of your friends. Cassian would be here any minute to take you to the River House, so you shoved aside your humiliation and aching heart to slip on your shoes, and sighed before opening your bedroom door.

You nearly screamed when you saw a figure leaning against the wall across from your room, your heart rate only calming when you realized it was Azriel. Then it started racing for an entirely different reason.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice sounding gravelly.

He pushed off the wall to move closer to you, and your grip tightened on the door. “Picking you up,” he replied, his voice calm and cool, like nothing had changed.

Your mouth went dry as he stopped only a foot in front of you, his shadows sneaking out to curl around your ankles. He didn’t pull them back. “Why?”

He frowned a bit. “It’s my birthday.”

“I know,” you said hurriedly, not wanting him to think you forgot his damned birthday. “I know that. I meant—Cassian said he—”

“I told him I would pick you up,” Azriel said simply.

You blinked at him. “Why?”

Azriel finally showed some hesitation, his throat bobbing before he answered, “We need to talk.”

Now? He wanted to talk now, before you had to sit through a dinner with his entire family for his birthday. They were your friends, of course, but they were his family, and you were still so unsettled after last week. You were still so mortified by giving into your emotions, letting your impulses take over you when you were with him last time. You had tried telling yourself that it really wasn’t that big of a deal. Sure, you might have gushed over his beauty, but it’s not like you kissed him. 

Your heart was not convinced by that logic, though.

Azriel placed a gentle on your waist, and your eyes dragged from his touch up to his eyes. There was something hesitant in his gaze, an uncertainty you had never really seen in him. He nodded behind you. “Can I come in for a minute?”

It took you a second to process his request, but eventually you nodded, stepping back to allow him in.

He smiled softly, but you couldn’t return it. You were too anxious, watching the male you had grown embarrassingly infatuated with move around your room with curious eyes. His gaze snagged on the pile of wrapped gifts on your desk, and your face immediately heated when he looked at you.

He seemed to debate saying something, then decided against it, much to your relief. 

“What did you want to talk about?” you asked softly.

He took you in quietly, his observant gaze making you even more self-conscious. You rubbed at your arm, shifting on your feet, and his face softened. He took a step closer, and you held your breath, ignoring the surge of emotion that rose in your chest.

“No one has ever made me feel the way you do,” he said quietly. His words rattled through your core, stealing your breath and knocking all sense from your mind. “And last week, what you did for me? I’ve never felt so comfortable with someone, never trusted someone so implicitly, and it terrified me.” He took in a ragged breath, running a hand through his hair. “I was scared, and I pushed you away, and I’m sorry. To just ask you to leave after you helped was–” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable,” you whispered, failing to really comprehend what he was telling you.

Azriel immediately moved closer to you, stopping only inches away. “You have never made me uncomfortable, Y/N,” he said, picking up your hand. “Since the day I met you, I’ve been drawn to you. I would catch myself wondering about you, asking about you, before you ever even came to training. Then when I actually got to know you, when you became my friend, it took everything in me not to cling to you.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, his skin rough against yours. His touch was so gentle, so comforting, and you wanted to drown in it. You wanted to fall into him, to beg him to hold you and let you melt against him. “I thought you needed a friend, more than anything, and I wanted to give that to you, but these last few weeks have felt different. I could have been reading things wrong, but—”

“You haven’t,” you cut him off, meeting his surprised eyes shyly.

“I haven’t?”

“No,” you said sheepishly. “I—I’ve always been drawn to you too,” you admitted quietly. “But last month, at training, when I told you your eyes were pretty?”

Azriel nodded, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “I remember.”

“Of course you do,” you muttered, feeling embarrassed now. “Well, you blushed when I told you that, and I loved it. You always made me feel flustered. I felt like I was always the one blushing and floundering for words around you, and it just felt good to know that I had the same effect on you.”

Azriel’s smile widened a bit, but he let you keep rambling, “So I kind of started pushing you a bit more. I wanted to make you blush, but I also thought you deserved to have someone tell you nice things. It became more about that, really. I just, I’ve always thought those things, I just started to let myself say them. Last week I was a bit more overbearing, I guess—”

“You weren’t,” Azriel said softly. His eyes were bright as they looked at you, and you wanted to swim in his irises. His beautiful irises that had fully captivated you, and were the reason you were even in this current situation. His cheeks were tinted pink, and it made your stomach flip.

“You’re blushing now,” you whispered, a bit breathless.

He somehow moved even closer, making your breath hitch. He picked up your other hand, squeezing them both tight. “I know,” he murmured, his eyes glued to yours. You had to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “You seem to have that effect on me.” One of his hands moved up to cradle your jaw, and electricity shot up your spine. “Is it too late to ask for a gift for my birthday?” he asked, voice low and warm and intoxicating.

You swallowed hard, staring up at him with wide eyes. Your lips parted as your gaze flicked down to his, then back to his eyes. “Depends what it is,” you breathed out.

He moved his face even closer, his lips so close to yours, his breath warm against your skin. “A kiss?”

Vulnerability laced his voice, and it made your heart clench. You easily closed the little remaining distance between the two of you, his lips against yours utterly electrifying. You never wanted it to end. He kissed you like you were a gift, like you were precious, and he wanted to savor every second with you. His lips were just as soft as you thought they would be, and you wanted more.

You tugged at his sweater, loving the feel of the soft fabric in your hands in lieu of his usual leathers. His hand squeezed your hip, tugging you closer. His tongue brushed against your mouth, and when you gasped, opening your lips for him, he pulled away. You whined slightly, the sound escaping your lips as his thumb brushed your cheek. His voice was breathless as he said, “We’re going to be late.”

You pressed your lips to his again, and he indulged you for a moment, before pulling away again with a soft chuckle. “We can continue later,” he murmured, his lips barely brushing yours. Your forehead fell to his chest, his sweater still clutched in your hands.

“Is this real?” you asked, voice muffled by his chest.

Azriel’s arms wrapped around you, pressing you even closer to him. “It’s real,”  he hummed quietly, squeezing you as you nuzzled into him. His shadows brushed your cheek, and you smiled softly, certain you were glowing from the inside out.

~ ~ ~

You knew Azriel deserved to spend his birthday with his family, surrounded by love and laughter, but you selfishly wished the two of you could have hid away for the night. You didn’t think it was entirely fair that you spent the entire day thinking you had ruined your friendship, only for him to show up and kiss you, and then drag you to family dinner. It was fine. Truly, it was. It was his birthday, and he deserved to celebrate.

You were just feeling very discombobulated and flustered as you watched him from afar, your sole company the cookies piled on a platter on the kitchen island. You chewed on one absentmindedly as Azriel smiled at Nyx, laughing as the little boy wiggled and giggled in his grasp. He passed the boy to Feyre, and Cassian swooped in to place another drink in his hand.

He was happy, and it was beautiful to see. He seemed more relaxed than you had ever seen him, and it made your heart glow to see him grin and laugh with his brothers. You could deal with this moment of limbo for a bit if it meant he got to have this.

“Az seems chipper,” Nesta hummed as she walked into the kitchen.

You sat your cookie down, spinning on your stool to follow her around the island. “He does,” you said lightly, glancing back at him. When you looked back at Nesta she had a smirk on her face. “What?” you asked.

“I have never seen him so…free. Happy,” she told you.

“It’s his birthday.”

She rolled her eyes. “It is,” she agreed. “But you can’t tell me that Azriel cares that much about his birthday. He’s had over five centuries of them.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You turned to look over your shoulder again, watching Azriel laugh as Cassian tells some story, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “That,” Nesta said, “is pure joy.”

“Yeah,” you agreed softly. “It is.”

“Why exactly are you hiding in here with the cookies?” she asks.

Nerves quickly turned in your stomach. “I just—” You what? How the hell could you possibly explain what you were feeling right now? “I don’t want to suffocate him.”

Nesta looked you up and down, her lips turning into a small frown. “Everyone knows there is something between you two.” Your eyes widened, your lips parting, but she didn’t let you speak before she said, “And I promise you, that male wants you in there with him more than anyone else. You wouldn’t be intruding or overstepping, or whatever lies you’ve been telling yourself all night.”

You swallowed hard, once again turning to watch him. He was just…captivating. Everything about him just left you awestruck, his presence alone making you feel warm and giddy. “I think I love him, Nesta,” you admitted softly, your words barely more than a breathy whisper.

She came around to place a hand on your shoulder. “I know,” she said, her voice equally quiet. “I’m fairly certain that love is requited.”

Before tonight you would have denied it. You would have scoffed and told her to fuck right off with planting cruel and fruitless hope in your heart. Azriel had kissed you, though. He came to you, and opened up a little sliver of himself just for you. It could have just been lust, you supposed, but you didn’t think it was. There was too much between the two of you for it to just be…superficial. Even thinking about it made your stomach sour.

“Go on,” Nesta urged. “Go celebrate with him.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hesitation and nerves still anchoring you to your seat. You nearly sprung right out of it when something brushed against your neck, though, and relief flooded you when you saw a tendril of shadow. Nesta laughed as she walked away to sit back down with her mate. The shadow fled back to Azriel, circling his ear slowly. Azriel turned to face you, his eyes locking with yours from across the house.

You smiled softly, your nerves immediately melting away when he matched your smile. His gaze lingered for a moment, before he slowly dragged his attention back to his conversation with Cassian. Nesta’s words swam around in your head, and with one last deep breath, you pushed yourself from your stool to join the rest of your friends in the living room.

Your approach was slow, and you debated where to go, but you knew you wanted to be near Azriel. You actually wanted to steal him away for yourself, even if just for a moment. You rounded his side, and leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek, his skin soft beneath your lips. His head immediately snapped to you when you pulled away, and you grinned when you watched his face go red.

You sat on the arm of his chair, your frame so small compared to his that you could rest your head on his shoulder if you wanted. You leaned in close again, and his hand rested on your thigh as if to balance you on the chair. “Happy birthday, Az,” you whispered in his ear. “Can you come with me for just a second?”

His hand squeezed your thigh as he looked at you with wide eyes, his nod almost immediate.

“You look a little flushed, Az,” Rhys drawled from the chair across the room.

Cassian’s laugh was near booming as he exclaimed, “Look at him blushing!”

Azriel’s gaze instantly hardened, but there was no hiding the red coating his cheeks and ears. He pulled you up with him as he stood, his hand resting on the small of your back, the weight settling and electrifying all at once. 

“You should see him at training, Rhys,” Cassian went on. “Y/N is my hero. I’ve never seen Az come undone with just a look until she came along.”

You actually had no idea what he was talking about. Sure, you had started making him blush with your little compliments and touches, but…had there been more than that? “Fuck off, Cassian,” Azriel growled as he steered you away from your friends’ prying eyes and ears. He led you outside to the gardens, the moonlight casting a faint glow on everything.

The light made his eyes shimmer, and you smiled softly at the sight. “I’m sorry about them,” Azriel muttered, but you could tell there was some reluctant amusement behind his words.

You grinned softly, placing a light hand on his chest. “It’s fine,” you said. “I’m sorry for pulling you away from them.”

Azriel’s eyes softened, and he brought a hand up to brush your cheek. “I’ve been plotting my escape with you for the last hour.”

You laughed, leaning into his touch. “You can’t be serious.”

“Very.” He grinned, then slowly leaned down to press his lips to yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your body melted into him, his hold the only thing keeping you upright as he kissed you desperately. Lovingly.

You reluctantly broke away, laughing when he tried to follow after you. “I did actually have something to give you,” you told him.

He leaned back in for another peck, and then another, the two of you smiling against each other. “You are more than enough,” he hummed happily.

Your body flushed at his words, your heart doing somersaults in your chest. It all felt so surreal, but after Nesta’s little talk, after you admitted you loved him, you had decided you needed to show him this. 

You pushed away slightly to reach into your pocket, then paused. “Your real gifts are at the House, but—”

“So that pile of presents was for me,” he said, his grin teasing.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes,” you admitted with a huff, then continued more softly, “But I wanted to show you this.”

Azriel immediately turned more serious at your tone, watching as you pulled the tiny square of fabric from your pocket. You unfolded it for him to reveal the jagged edges, the true size no bigger than your palm. The fabric was as dark as the night sky, the shade blending seamlessly with the shadow that passed over your open palm.

His eyes were wide as they moved from your hand to your face. “What—”

“It’s from your cloak,” you rasped, unexpected emotion clawing at your throat as you looked at it. “From the night you saved us at Cesere.” You bit your lip, hesitating a moment before telling him, “I watched it get caught on a broken column, and I grabbed the strip left behind before Mor winnowed us to Velaris. I don’t know what compelled me to do so, but I’ve carried it with me since.” 

You squeezed the fabric in your palm, your eyes drifting back to Azriel’s, his eyes now shining in the moonlight. “It became my reminder that there is good in this world. That there is always hope, even amid terror and destruction.”

Azriel kissed you, both of his hands coming up to grip your face. It was so brief, but so passionate—so reverent—it left you dazed. His forehead rested against yours, his hands still cradling your face, as he rasped, “I love you.”

Your lip wobbled as his words washed over you. “I love you, too,” you replied, voice watery.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then pulled you into his chest, his arms tucking you in against him. His wings wrapped around you, cocooning the two of you in a bubble of darkness, and you nearly sobbed as a glowing thread unfurled between you.

[safetypinxtales]

I just wrote a one week long exam in under 24h someone please have me admitted to the psych ward I am not doing well right now

[safetypinxtales]

In like the best way, holy schmoly

Something Sweet [Azriel]

SUMMARY: Enjoying their mating frenzy, Azriel wants a taste of something sweet and Y/N wants to savour the moment. (2.1k)

WARNINGS: smut; kissing, teasing, swearing, dirty talk, food play (?), oral (female receiving), recording sexual acts (sex tape)

A/N: first fic of 2025 and this is a rewrite of an old fic. Found it in my drafts and knew I wanted to turn it into an Az mating fic hehe, enjoy!!

She's got the recording device on him the second he walks in with the platter of sliced watermelons. It's their third day in their vacation home on the outskirts of Day Court and they're yet to actually leave the beach house.

Azriel's got a cheeky kick to his step and Y/N watches him get closer through the screen, jaw moving as he chews on a slice of watermelon. She's in bed still, completely bare beneath the silky white sheets and Azriel's got a mixed array of clothing on that he grabbed quickly after announcing his craving for something sweet. 

Both sure they're still a little drunk from last night, Azriel sways over as Y/N lets out a giddy giggle and kicks the thin sheet off her heated body. Azriel doesn't try to act coy, and neither do his shadows as they skitter across her supple flesh. Az tilts his head to get a better view of her and her thighs knock together in a rush of arousal. 

"Not sure I want the watermelon now," he teases. 

She's too fucked to have a blush on her lips or seem bashful. The camera––a birthday gift from many years ago when Azriel had ventured to another realm––is still aimed at his face and he knows she's caught what he just said on tape. What he doesn't know is that before he came back to their room, she was catching something else on camera, too. 

Azriel sets the plate on the nightstand and lays beside her, knees by her head and face by her hips. He's leaning back on one elbow, naughty grin on his pink lips as he takes a bite out of the sliced fruit. They both know he's putting on a show for the camera and they love it. 

He's humming softly, eyes closed and head rolling. Y/N has to bite back the urge to clench her thighs together and she knows she's fucking soaked between her folds – she can feel it threatening to spill through her swollen lips and dribble down her thighs. 

Azriel's still got a mouthful of food in his mouth and when Y/N zooms in through the old camera, she’s in complete awe of the male she calls her mate. Y/N chooses to watch him through the lense instead, basking in the glow and sheer beauty he radiates from the musty filter and Azriel thinks he can smell her arousal simmering.

The doors and windows of the summer house are open, leading down to the sandy beach and the gentle gusts of wind are smoothly breezing through the sheer net curtains. They can hear the laughter and sounds of the waves crashing just a few meters away and maybe that's what makes it all the more exciting. 

It's when Azriel takes another bite that a bit of juice dribbles from his chin and splatters across her rounded hip. The coolness of it causes Y/N to flinch slightly and he doesn't miss the way his love’s thighs clench shut in eager desperation. 

It only encourages his filthy grin and he's leaning down to lick a broad swipe across the sticky skin. His tongue is cold on her flesh and his nose meets the dip between the apex of her thighs. He can't help but take a heavy inhale and his eyes flutter closed in pure ecstasy. 

The camera has migrated with his movement and Azriel rests the half eaten slice of watermelon upon her pussy, wicked grin tugging on the corners of his lips. Y/N's shuddering as she tries to keep the shot steady but she knows her camerawork is atrocious. But it's only for them to see.

Azriel waves his shadows away, wanting nothing more than to see her body whiter beneath him. He shuffles as he spreads her thighs until he's laying between them and the watermelon slice has slipped just perfectly to cover her sweetest spot. 

"Let's make a dirty movie," he mumbles. 

He's nosing across the smooth skin of her inner thighs and Y/N's trying to keep her eyes open, trying not to combust and drop the camera. She's nodding breathlessly as he shuffles closer, smearing open-mouthed kisses until he reaches her core. 

He lets his tongue flick across the fruit in quick successions and he knows she can see it from where she sits up on her elbows. "Azzy, come on," she breathlessly pleads; tries to roll her hips up to meet his face but he keeps them in place with two arms wrapping around her thighs and keeping her still. 

"I just want a little taste," he hums under his breath, biting a calculated chunk from the fruit and its juices mix with the pool that dribbles from her cunt. His eyes are fluttered closed again, head rolling at the faint taste of her on his tongue. The fruit is too overpowering and Azriel decides he doesn't like the watered-down taste of her. He wants it right from the source. 

"Need something sweeter," he drawls in a low sing-song murmur, nosing at the fruit slice until it's out of his way and all he can see is Y/N's perfect cunt. She's letting out breathless giggles and he's smirking against her cunt as he swipes a long swipe through her swollen lips. 

His tongue is immediately flooded with arousal, practically scooping it up and into his mouth and the filthy hum of approval sends shockwaves through her body. "So fucking sweet," he grunts out in appreciation. "Favourite fucking cunt I’ve ever taste." His face is drenched as he forces himself closer to her. 

Azriel's mouth is smearing across her entire pussy, licking and sucking at every inch he can. She's keening into it. She doesn't have to be looking down at him to know it's sloppy and messy – it always is with Azriel. It's always done right. 

"So good, baby, oh Gods," she's praising him, keeping the shaking camera trembling on him. From the side screen, she can see just how eager and desperate he is. His face is close-up and his chin and cheeks are glistening in her arousal. His eyes are fucked, like he's on a massive high and can't quite come down. 

She thinks it's the most orgasmic thing she's ever seen. "Baby, you’re dripping down your thighs." His muffled acknowledgement sends a rush of heat to her cheeks but it's not from embarrasment, never could be when he's eating her so fucking good. 

Azriel's trying to lap up everything she has to offer, completely emerging himself in her and he's staring up and past the camera. His eyes are focused on Y/N's face, like he's waiting for her to look at him and he won't falter his gaze until she does.

She knows the deal. How he loves to keep eye contact especially in these filthy moments. She feels his burning gaze on her warm face and raises to her elbow again to get a good look. 

His hazel irises are glazed over with lust and need – his lips swollen and red and his entire face from his nose down is shining in precum and arousal. She hears the sheets ruffling before she really catches on and then she feels a warm finger probe at her tight hole. 

He teases a little, swirling and coating it in her wetness before he gently pushes forward and coaxes her with filthy praises of encouragement. "Tight little cunt, baby. Gods, look at you... dirty fucking girl. My dirty girl." Her back is arching in complete bliss but he doesn't let his finger stay long before he's pulling out and raises the hand to reach for her face.

She opens her mouth straight away, tongue flaccid against her bottom lip and she welcomes his digit with a watering mouth as her lips close around it. She hums at the sweet taste of herself and Azriel groans at the sheer filth of her actions. He lets her keep his finger in her mouth while he suckles eagerly on her clit. 

He can feel her start to tremble around him but he knows she needs more. As much as her clit is throbbing and her thighs are shaking, he knows she needs a little push to really get her to that edge. With his spare hand, he unhooks his arm from around her thigh and brings it between her spread legs. 

The lack of strength pinning her to the mattress allows her to thrash and squirm when he presses two thick fingers in her weeping cunt and begins to curl them. Azriel's humming and grunting into her sloppy pussy, fingers scissoring and curling in quick succession and Y/N loses control over the camera. 

It topples to the bed until her thighs jerk and her knee knocks it to the floor. "Fuck, I'm cumming, Azriel! Fuck, oh Gods, just like that!" Her begs are muffled around his fingers, desperate to cum all over his mouth and he grants her wishes. 

"Cum for me, baby," he coaxes against her swollen little nub and she shudders, letting go as she feels the coil tighten before it snaps and she's cuming hard and fast. 

Y/N can't tell left from right, night from day. She's reduced to a blubbering mess as her cunt grips tight on his fingers and he moves his hand away from her mouth to hold her thighs. She's trying to thrash away from him with loud cries and pornographic whines but Azriel doesn't move. She's begging him to stop, crying that it's too much but he's fucking infatuated with the sweetness of her little cunt. 

"Az, please. I can't," she sobs out, fingers yanking on his hair until she manages to pull his face away from her oversensitive cunt. He's grinning wickedly at her, refusing to remove his thick fingers and his chin is fucking dripping with clear strings of thick arousal. 

It's a sight that only fucks her more, one that sends her body into shock and somehow has another wave of pleasure roll through her soul. She's too fucked to notice Azriel pick up the camera from the floor and this time, direct it to her. 

He's staring through the lense as the musty filter is painted over her blissful body. Her full breasts are flatter as she lays on her back and he introduces the camera to her core. Azriel gets as close as he can, fingers still in her cunt as he pulls them out and spreads them open.

There's thick strings of cum that connect the two digits as he pulls them apart and with a painfully hard cock in his pants, he leans over to his love and lets her lick a stripe between the two parted fingers, breaking the string as she licks it into her mouth. 

Nothing is said as he hands her the camera and she faces it back to him. He's stuffing his fingers between his swollen lips as he licks them clean, grinning around his digits while he stares down the camera. Y/N's letting off giddy, post-orgasmic giggles that go right to his cock and he crawls closer to her until she's forced to move her arm to extend the camera so they're both in view.

His nose is pressing against hers, tongue licking a stripe from the bottom of her bottom lip to the tip of her nose and her own tongue tries to chase his. "My favourite taste in the whole fucking world," he gushes, parted lips smearing against hers and she licks into his mouth. 

With as much strength as she can, she shuffles their positions so Y/N's straddling his middle and Azriel is fucked out beneath her, stong wings flared. The camera is still in his face as she lets him take it from her hands again and he flips it to get the best fucking view he's ever seen. 

He records her shimmying down his body with sex-crazed eyes and her bottom lip taut between her teeth. When she settles between his thighs, her hands unbutton his brown pants and she finally lets her eyes meet his blown ones. 

"Now let me get a taste of mine."

Thank you for reading!! If you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a reblog and leaving some feedback!! <3

[safetypinxtales]

This one killed me

Something Sweet [Azriel]

SUMMARY: Enjoying their mating frenzy, Azriel wants a taste of something sweet and Y/N wants to savour the moment. (2.1k)

WARNINGS: smut; kissing, teasing, swearing, dirty talk, food play (?), oral (female receiving), recording sexual acts (sex tape)

A/N: first fic of 2025 and this is a rewrite of an old fic. Found it in my drafts and knew I wanted to turn it into an Az mating fic hehe, enjoy!!

She's got the recording device on him the second he walks in with the platter of sliced watermelons. It's their third day in their vacation home on the outskirts of Day Court and they're yet to actually leave the beach house.

Azriel's got a cheeky kick to his step and Y/N watches him get closer through the screen, jaw moving as he chews on a slice of watermelon. She's in bed still, completely bare beneath the silky white sheets and Azriel's got a mixed array of clothing on that he grabbed quickly after announcing his craving for something sweet. 

Both sure they're still a little drunk from last night, Azriel sways over as Y/N lets out a giddy giggle and kicks the thin sheet off her heated body. Azriel doesn't try to act coy, and neither do his shadows as they skitter across her supple flesh. Az tilts his head to get a better view of her and her thighs knock together in a rush of arousal. 

"Not sure I want the watermelon now," he teases. 

She's too fucked to have a blush on her lips or seem bashful. The camera––a birthday gift from many years ago when Azriel had ventured to another realm––is still aimed at his face and he knows she's caught what he just said on tape. What he doesn't know is that before he came back to their room, she was catching something else on camera, too. 

Azriel sets the plate on the nightstand and lays beside her, knees by her head and face by her hips. He's leaning back on one elbow, naughty grin on his pink lips as he takes a bite out of the sliced fruit. They both know he's putting on a show for the camera and they love it. 

He's humming softly, eyes closed and head rolling. Y/N has to bite back the urge to clench her thighs together and she knows she's fucking soaked between her folds – she can feel it threatening to spill through her swollen lips and dribble down her thighs. 

Azriel's still got a mouthful of food in his mouth and when Y/N zooms in through the old camera, she’s in complete awe of the male she calls her mate. Y/N chooses to watch him through the lense instead, basking in the glow and sheer beauty he radiates from the musty filter and Azriel thinks he can smell her arousal simmering.

The doors and windows of the summer house are open, leading down to the sandy beach and the gentle gusts of wind are smoothly breezing through the sheer net curtains. They can hear the laughter and sounds of the waves crashing just a few meters away and maybe that's what makes it all the more exciting. 

It's when Azriel takes another bite that a bit of juice dribbles from his chin and splatters across her rounded hip. The coolness of it causes Y/N to flinch slightly and he doesn't miss the way his love’s thighs clench shut in eager desperation. 

It only encourages his filthy grin and he's leaning down to lick a broad swipe across the sticky skin. His tongue is cold on her flesh and his nose meets the dip between the apex of her thighs. He can't help but take a heavy inhale and his eyes flutter closed in pure ecstasy. 

The camera has migrated with his movement and Azriel rests the half eaten slice of watermelon upon her pussy, wicked grin tugging on the corners of his lips. Y/N's shuddering as she tries to keep the shot steady but she knows her camerawork is atrocious. But it's only for them to see.

Azriel waves his shadows away, wanting nothing more than to see her body whiter beneath him. He shuffles as he spreads her thighs until he's laying between them and the watermelon slice has slipped just perfectly to cover her sweetest spot. 

"Let's make a dirty movie," he mumbles. 

He's nosing across the smooth skin of her inner thighs and Y/N's trying to keep her eyes open, trying not to combust and drop the camera. She's nodding breathlessly as he shuffles closer, smearing open-mouthed kisses until he reaches her core. 

He lets his tongue flick across the fruit in quick successions and he knows she can see it from where she sits up on her elbows. "Azzy, come on," she breathlessly pleads; tries to roll her hips up to meet his face but he keeps them in place with two arms wrapping around her thighs and keeping her still. 

"I just want a little taste," he hums under his breath, biting a calculated chunk from the fruit and its juices mix with the pool that dribbles from her cunt. His eyes are fluttered closed again, head rolling at the faint taste of her on his tongue. The fruit is too overpowering and Azriel decides he doesn't like the watered-down taste of her. He wants it right from the source. 

"Need something sweeter," he drawls in a low sing-song murmur, nosing at the fruit slice until it's out of his way and all he can see is Y/N's perfect cunt. She's letting out breathless giggles and he's smirking against her cunt as he swipes a long swipe through her swollen lips. 

His tongue is immediately flooded with arousal, practically scooping it up and into his mouth and the filthy hum of approval sends shockwaves through her body. "So fucking sweet," he grunts out in appreciation. "Favourite fucking cunt I’ve ever taste." His face is drenched as he forces himself closer to her. 

Azriel's mouth is smearing across her entire pussy, licking and sucking at every inch he can. She's keening into it. She doesn't have to be looking down at him to know it's sloppy and messy – it always is with Azriel. It's always done right. 

"So good, baby, oh Gods," she's praising him, keeping the shaking camera trembling on him. From the side screen, she can see just how eager and desperate he is. His face is close-up and his chin and cheeks are glistening in her arousal. His eyes are fucked, like he's on a massive high and can't quite come down. 

She thinks it's the most orgasmic thing she's ever seen. "Baby, you’re dripping down your thighs." His muffled acknowledgement sends a rush of heat to her cheeks but it's not from embarrasment, never could be when he's eating her so fucking good. 

Azriel's trying to lap up everything she has to offer, completely emerging himself in her and he's staring up and past the camera. His eyes are focused on Y/N's face, like he's waiting for her to look at him and he won't falter his gaze until she does.

She knows the deal. How he loves to keep eye contact especially in these filthy moments. She feels his burning gaze on her warm face and raises to her elbow again to get a good look. 

His hazel irises are glazed over with lust and need – his lips swollen and red and his entire face from his nose down is shining in precum and arousal. She hears the sheets ruffling before she really catches on and then she feels a warm finger probe at her tight hole. 

He teases a little, swirling and coating it in her wetness before he gently pushes forward and coaxes her with filthy praises of encouragement. "Tight little cunt, baby. Gods, look at you... dirty fucking girl. My dirty girl." Her back is arching in complete bliss but he doesn't let his finger stay long before he's pulling out and raises the hand to reach for her face.

She opens her mouth straight away, tongue flaccid against her bottom lip and she welcomes his digit with a watering mouth as her lips close around it. She hums at the sweet taste of herself and Azriel groans at the sheer filth of her actions. He lets her keep his finger in her mouth while he suckles eagerly on her clit. 

He can feel her start to tremble around him but he knows she needs more. As much as her clit is throbbing and her thighs are shaking, he knows she needs a little push to really get her to that edge. With his spare hand, he unhooks his arm from around her thigh and brings it between her spread legs. 

The lack of strength pinning her to the mattress allows her to thrash and squirm when he presses two thick fingers in her weeping cunt and begins to curl them. Azriel's humming and grunting into her sloppy pussy, fingers scissoring and curling in quick succession and Y/N loses control over the camera. 

It topples to the bed until her thighs jerk and her knee knocks it to the floor. "Fuck, I'm cumming, Azriel! Fuck, oh Gods, just like that!" Her begs are muffled around his fingers, desperate to cum all over his mouth and he grants her wishes. 

"Cum for me, baby," he coaxes against her swollen little nub and she shudders, letting go as she feels the coil tighten before it snaps and she's cuming hard and fast. 

Y/N can't tell left from right, night from day. She's reduced to a blubbering mess as her cunt grips tight on his fingers and he moves his hand away from her mouth to hold her thighs. She's trying to thrash away from him with loud cries and pornographic whines but Azriel doesn't move. She's begging him to stop, crying that it's too much but he's fucking infatuated with the sweetness of her little cunt. 

"Az, please. I can't," she sobs out, fingers yanking on his hair until she manages to pull his face away from her oversensitive cunt. He's grinning wickedly at her, refusing to remove his thick fingers and his chin is fucking dripping with clear strings of thick arousal. 

It's a sight that only fucks her more, one that sends her body into shock and somehow has another wave of pleasure roll through her soul. She's too fucked to notice Azriel pick up the camera from the floor and this time, direct it to her. 

He's staring through the lense as the musty filter is painted over her blissful body. Her full breasts are flatter as she lays on her back and he introduces the camera to her core. Azriel gets as close as he can, fingers still in her cunt as he pulls them out and spreads them open.

There's thick strings of cum that connect the two digits as he pulls them apart and with a painfully hard cock in his pants, he leans over to his love and lets her lick a stripe between the two parted fingers, breaking the string as she licks it into her mouth. 

Nothing is said as he hands her the camera and she faces it back to him. He's stuffing his fingers between his swollen lips as he licks them clean, grinning around his digits while he stares down the camera. Y/N's letting off giddy, post-orgasmic giggles that go right to his cock and he crawls closer to her until she's forced to move her arm to extend the camera so they're both in view.

His nose is pressing against hers, tongue licking a stripe from the bottom of her bottom lip to the tip of her nose and her own tongue tries to chase his. "My favourite taste in the whole fucking world," he gushes, parted lips smearing against hers and she licks into his mouth. 

With as much strength as she can, she shuffles their positions so Y/N's straddling his middle and Azriel is fucked out beneath her, stong wings flared. The camera is still in his face as she lets him take it from her hands again and he flips it to get the best fucking view he's ever seen. 

He records her shimmying down his body with sex-crazed eyes and her bottom lip taut between her teeth. When she settles between his thighs, her hands unbutton his brown pants and she finally lets her eyes meet his blown ones. 

"Now let me get a taste of mine."

Thank you for reading!! If you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a reblog and leaving some feedback!! <3

[safetypinxtales]

a/n just a little drabble between working on my longer fics. wrote this in about half an hour and it resembles a think piece with my own interpretations on elain's perspective.

Elain Archeron hated Lucien Vansera. 

She hated his manners. So attuned as to not cross her boundaries, to the point that he called her “my lady”. A title which made her thoughts wander into places no lady should go. 

She hated how catching just a glimpse of his face a handful of times throughout the year made her ache for him to stay longer. She made sure that she shut her lips tight, partly afraid that she might blurt out an invite like she did before. 

She hated how his clothes draped across his body, tailored and styled impeccably to his slim waist and across thick thighs, inciting a hunger unlike any she’d felt before. A need that sunk deep into her bones rather than crept across her skin. 

She hated how easy it seemed for him to talk to everyone else but her. Happily taking the time to laugh with Rhysand and Cassian about sports games or catch up on life with Feyre, but resorting to nothing more than cordial conversation with ber. 

She hated how her soul itself seemed to come alive when Lucien was near. As if that string on her ribs pulled more taut as the distance between them shrunk. A string that made her aware of every breath he took, the emotions he felt, his joy, his pain, even his longing. 

She hated the way the sunlight would reflect from his golden eye, lighting up the room with a warm luminosity. In those moments, when their eyes locked, it felt like he saw her, but worse, that she saw him. Not just his physical appearance, but the very depths of his soul, their bond glowing brighter than ever. 

She hated how he never masked his emotions. No, instead his expressions were clear as day on his handsome face.The crumble of his face when she would shed away from him. How his lips pursed together when he decided against asking her another polite question. And possibly worst, his acceptance as he turned away, just like he did when he left on his quest. 

She hated how much she craved that honesty. For so long her vision had been clouded in delusions of a false reality, where her family was whole, she was engaged to a knight in shining armour, and the troubles in her human life were far behind her. Looking at Lucien was like breaching the rays of the sun after an endless night and that was the most terrifying feeling of all. 

So yes, Elain Archeron hated Lucien Vanserra. Or at least that’s what she told herself. 

[safetypinxtales]

Just Giving In

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, truth curses (with a silly twist!), light fluff, angst, smut (fingering, p in v sex, creampie, light sub/dom but like so light), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You're under a very annoying truth curse. The kind of truth curse that will kill you if one very specific, Dean-related truth isn't told. But apparently no one's allowed to just die in peace anymore.

Author's Note: It's amazing how I'm able to delude myself into truly believing that I'll actually write something short and only horny. No. We must write 3k of story and 5k of emotional smut. Enjoy!

Title from Never Let Me Go by Florence + the Machine

Word Count: 8.6k

It’s past midnight when you get back to the bunker. 

You were supposed to be back that afternoon, but certain complications arose, and you’re back now. You’ll have a long, sleepless night to come up with an excuse for why exactly you were five hours late, didn’t text Sam and Dean that you were going to be five hours late, where exactly you were in the first place, and why the car looks like that. Scraped and dented and wrecked, like it had been put through a meat grinder and spat out in a hunk of metal that somehow didn’t explode when you drove it. 

You’re glad you didn’t take the Impala. If Dean yelled at you right now, you might start crying on the spot. Thankfully—in what should be a rare stroke of luck, but feels like a dagger right into your stomach—Sam and Dean seem to have given up on trying to wait for you to come home, so you’re free to retreat to your room and cry in private, like any reasonable adult who’s probably going to die within the week would-

“You’re back.” 

A light behind you flicks on as Dean snaps from across the room, and you grimace as everything inverts. Dean did wait up for you, and that’s tiny and electric high that goes right up your spine. You’re also not lucky, but that just feels like a given at this point. 

You will not cry in front of Dean. You have spent the whole night repeating to yourself that, no matter what happens here, you will not cry in front of Dean. He either think nothing of this week, and it will fade into the distance as you figure this out yourself and he never knows, or he’ll look back on it with nothing but simple grief and anger, remember you fondly and furiously instead of as a weak, emotional, manipulative bitch. Remembers you as the person you’ve spent so long proving yourself to be, instead of the feral girl they’d found you as. 

It doesn’t make turning around to face him any easier. He’s sitting in his usual chair, glaring at you with his arms crossed, and there are bags under his eyes that you put there. A tight line to his lips that’s your responsibility, because you’d fucked up and he knows it. He always knows it. 

Because you fuck up a lot.

“Hey, Dean, what’s up-“

“What’s up?” He snaps, and you have to force your body not to flinch. “You’re crawling back here at one in the goddamn morning without ever, I don’t know, thinking to fucking call when you realized you’d be late, and you’re saying what’s up?”

You swallow. “I lost my phone.”

“You, fuck-“ Dean rubs his jaw with a hand, giving you a look of pure disbelief. “You could’ve borrow someone’s, or prayed to Cas, or just, goddamnit-“ he mutters your name, looking at you with an exhaustion that makes your gut flail. “Where the hell even were you?”

“Um,” you glance down at your hands. “Hunt?”

“Hunt.” His voice is flat, and you wince. “That’s all you’re going to say.”

You nod. “Rowena called me. Needed help with something.”

“And you just fucking went with her, without telling anyone-“

“I didn’t just go with her, I brought a gun. I was careful.” you try to stand a little taller, looking back up to Dean, because you need to sell your half-truth of a story and get out of here. Out of where Dean’s just right there, and it’s making your skin crawl and your blood cold and your eyes push out of your skull the longer you lie to him. “And I did tell Cas-“

“Son of a bitch, that’s not enough.” Dean groans, pushing out of the chair to glower down at you. It’s an intimidation tactic you’ve seen him use before, where he makes himself large and furious, almost beast like. Sometimes it makes him look bigger than Sam, and he only pulls it out when he’s furious, and demanding answers. You don’t think he knows that, when he uses it on you, it does not have the intended effect.  

“Dean-“

“Cas didn’t tell us.” Dean hisses your name, stalking across the room and getting far too close for your brain to function properly. “You need to tell us, because we were, I was-“ Dean cuts himself off with a grunt, his whole body rigid as he scans over your face. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, and it’s the truth, so it’s like clear, fresh water over your head and down your throat. “I didn’t mean to freak you guys out. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.”

“You didn’t-” Dean’s jaw is clenched, and his words seem pushed through his teeth. “Just go to bed,” he mutters your name, and you feel something in your chest snap. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

You nod weakly, and almost run away from him. But not to bed. You’ve already blown this up way too much to just go to bed. 

You go right to Sam’s room and bang on the door, keeping a careful eye over your shoulder for Dean to walk into the hall.

It takes a very long, tense minute, but eventually you hear a groan from the other side of the door, tired words muffled through the wood.

“Dean, she’ll be back, and you’re not helping anything-“ The door swings open to reveal a messy haired, bleary-eyed Sam, and he blinks at you with a frown. “Oh, you’re back. You should go tell Dean-“

“He knows.”

“Cool, that’s good.” Sam scans over you—bouncing slightly on your feet, every movement and breath feeling frantic and borrowed—and frowns. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

“Oh, uh, you need to talk about it-“

You don’t bother to answer, pushing past Sam into his room and dropping on the end of his mattress, watching him blink at you, his frown deepening every second.

“Yeah, you can come in-“

“Can you please close the door?” You whisper, like Dean might somehow hear from wherever he’d gone after your fight. 

Sam nods slowly, and the movement you hear the click of the doorknob, the words start to fall out of you like vomit. 

“I fucked up, Sam. I really, really fucked up, it’s bad, I’m fucking fucked-“

“Woah, slow down.” Sam moves across the room, running a hand through his hair. “Just, start from the top. Where were you-“

“Rowena called me for help. Some sort of coven drama, she said she needed some backup because her magic was weakened.” You take a long, shaky breath, unable to look anywhere but the corner of Sam’s carpet. “I told Cas, just in case it was a trap, and left. I owed her a favor-“

“Wait, since when did you owe Rowena a favor-“

“Mark of Cain.” You mumble. “I told her I’d owe her if she helped Dean. One favor, cashable on anything.”

Sam says your name slowly. “You didn’t need to do that, we would have figured it out. I mean, Dean wouldn’t want you to-“

“I know, I don’t need you to-“ You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can we focus on one stupid choice at a time, please?”

“Yeah, sorry, keep going. Why are you fucked.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, and decide to skip most of the details. Sam did not need to know about how the case was indeed at trap, or how you’d known it was a trap, but the favor had been a blood oath, so you weren’t able to run or call them. He didn’t need to know how you’d mowed down about five witches with the car—the sickening crunch still rattling around your skull—or how it wasn’t just blood and sweat on your brow, but something from an animal you’d really hoped you’d mistranslated from Latin. 

He just needs to know the reason you hadn’t killed Rowena when you’d escaped and taken out the rest of the coven. 

He just needs to know about the problem.

“It went to shit. Really big shit, Sam. I’m kind of… cursed.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and when you finally gather the confidence to look at Sam, he’s gaping at you, frozen in place.

“What do you mean,” his voice is low, every word slow and deliberate. “Kind of cursed.”

“I mean very cursed.” You mumble. “Really fucking cursed.”

“Shit.” He mutters, shaking his head. “I said you were probably fine, Dean’s gonna kill me-“

“No!” You stand up frantically, your voice almost a squeak. “Don’t tell Dean!”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I tell Dean?!” Sam snaps, looking at you like you’ve gone insane. “If you’re really cursed, we need all hands, and Dean-“

“He can’t know, Sam, please.” You might start crying, every word choked in your throat. “Don’t tell him.”

“I…” Sam trials off, his face dropping into a deep frown that seems to be mostly made of worry as he says your name. “What, exactly, is the curse?”

You sigh, hugging yourself as you speak. “If I don’t resolve my deepest secret, I’ll die.”

Sam blinks. “Like, die die? Death die?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” His eyes widen as the situation fully sinks in, his whole body going slack as he pulls the pieces together. “Fuck.”

You hum a soft agreement. “Fuck.”

“And why can’t I tell Dean? I mean, he’ll want to help-“

“You know why.” You whisper. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“Fuck.” Sam groans. “And you’d rather die than-“

“Yes.” You lower yourself down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you stare ahead at nothing. “I’m sorry, Sam, I just. I can’t. I don’t-“ You taste the sting of metal as you bite through your cheek. “I don’t know what to do. I’m going to d-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound, and hear the bed shift as Sam drops at your side and pulls you into a gentle hug.

“We’ll figure it out.” He mutters your name, and you make another weak, strangled noise. “I promise. You’re going to be okay.”

Over your first, weak sob, you don’t hear the door open. You only know it opens because Dean clears his throat, and your blood turns white-hot in your body, caught between embarrassment and nerves and a deep, soft and starved piece of your heart that’s trying to climb into your limbs and rip your body away from Sam’s to fly to Dean’s.

“Sammy, she-“ He cuts himself off as he sees you, and you die a little at how he says your name. Like he hates it. “You’re in here.”

You nod, keeping your face angled down, and you hear Dean shift slightly in the doorway. 

“Why are you in Sam’s room.”

There’s no good answer for that, and Sam doesn’t seem to have one either. There’s no plausible lie for why you’re on the floor on Sam’s room, why you’re sniffling, and why he’s hugging you that doesn’t sound insane. Even the truth wouldn’t exactly be an easy sell.

And it hurts. When Dean just sighs and grunts that he doesn’t want to know—that you and Sam can go back to fucking braiding each other’s hair or whatever—and stomps out of the room, it’s like a knife to your gut. But you can’t tell him. Not the truth. Not any of it.

So this will only be the first knife. And you’d worry about what you would be telling him when this was over—how you could possibly explain yourself—if you had any faith you were going to get out of this. 

But you don’t. The week crawls on, and it all only gets so much worse. Vague illness starts to feel like you’re being mauled from inside, and Dean’s anger turns to bullets.

You spend most of your days in the library with Sam, combing through book after book, looking for anything about how you can fix this, and every time Dean walks in, he looks like he wants to punch someone. Like he’s disgusted by your very presence where he can see you, like you’re a spider that’s crawled into his house and he can’t even stand the sight of you. 

“I’m getting dinner.” He snaps on the third night, and when you look up from your book—Sam standing behind you, having hunched over your body to read the passage you’d been pointing to—Dean’s jaw is clenched, his fists curled at his side. “Neither of you got groceries, so I’m ordering. What do you want.”

His voice is flat. It makes your chest feel like it’s being run over by a train.

“I’ll take whatever you get.” You offer him a small smile, because you can’t help yourself, and it just makes him glare more. “But can I please have a milkshake as well?”

Dean narrows his eyes at you. “You don’t know where the hell I’m going.”

“You’re going to the diner, Dean.” You shrug. “You always go to the diner.”

He grunts, something hot flashing over his face that you don’t understand. “Fine. Milkshake.”

He doesn’t bother to ask any follow-up questions. He doesn’t bother to wait for Sam to say what he wants. Dean just marches up to the garage, vanishes for an hour—the diner is ten minutes away, and you start to feel your stomach and heart twist the longer he’s gone—and returns with a slam of the door, throwing a salad at Sam and placing a burger and milkshake in front of you before stomping out of the library.

Dean got your favorite flavor. You hadn’t told him to, but he had.

It tastes like chalk. And you’ve never hated yourself more.

After that, he barely speaks to you. Just low grunts and glowers at you whenever you cross paths, his presence in the bunked suddenly scares. He’d usually sit with you and Sam while you read, cracking unhelpful jokes that make Sam roll his eyes and you giggle, but he’s just gone. Locked in the Dean Cave or the garage, shuffling around the kitchen with a sullen expression, swallowing his dinner whole and refusing to really even look at you.

It hurts more than any anger could. It’s lonely and cancerous the longer it goes on, because you’re still talking to and hanging out with Sam, but he doesn’t count. Your whole heart isn’t orbiting around Sam. The curse is completely indifferent to Sam. The curse doesn’t care when Sam grumbles or frowns at you. It cares when Dean hates you. You think it can feel that this won’t be resolved—because it won’t be, you grow more and more certain with every passing day that this is how you will die—and takes the opportunity to root deeper into your body. Every sneer or glare Dean gives you sits under your nails to claw at your skin. It covers you in sweat in the dead of night, and chokes you when you’re in the shower and the water’s burning your skin.

Sam keeps trying to convince you to just do it, just say the thing to Dean because the worst that can happen is that you’re heartbroken but alive.

“And I really don’t think it would even come to that.” He tells you from across the table at 2am, because you’re running out of time and sleep isn’t something you can even remember how to do anymore. “I mean, it’s Dean-“

“That’s the problem, Samuel.” You hiss. The curse has started to make you mean, and if you make it out alive, you’ll have to buy Sam a million bottles of hair gel to make up for what you’re putting him through. “It’s Dean. He already doesn’t like me-“

Sam frowns. “Why would you think that-“

“Because I’m a responsibility.” You’re spitting, and it tastes like venom. “I’m your kid shadow, I’m Dean’s kid shadow, I’m a burden-“

“You’re not a burden,” Sam says your name slowly. “To either of us. I mean, if what you said about Rowena is true, you saved Dean from the Mark-“

“That doesn’t count. That was just a deal I made-“

“A deal you made for Dean.” Sam’s pushing back. You wish he’d stop. “Most people in our lives wouldn’t have done that for us. And Dean doesn’t think you’re his kid shadow, by the way. I mean, I’ve only ever-“

“Sam.” Your voice is flat. A little broken. “Please don’t. Even if he doesn’t hate me, I- I just can’t-“

“But Dean-“

“Please.” You’re going to cry again. “You won’t convince me.”

Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Well, we need to try something. I’m not just going to let you die.”

You don’t think that’s up to Sam. You don’t think it’s up to anyone anymore. You won’t tell Dean, because you’ve scanned over book after book about spell phrasing, and decided that telling Dean wouldn’t even help. You had to resolve your deepest secret. Rejection that burns your heart to ash, that clouds your lungs and makes you cower and falter won’t be resolving anything, and then you’ll just die in more pain.

You let Sam convince you to try something. More for him than for you. You lock yourself in the bathroom and stare at your hideous reflection in the mirror—your skin a little sunken, your eyes lined with red, your lips raw from being chewed until they bled—and start speaking a whisper, because you can’t stand the sound of your own voice.

“I love Dean Winchester.” You tell yourself, as if you’re not so deeply aware of how your love is tattooed onto your every breath and heartbeat. “I love him. I am going to die, and I love him, and I am very-“ You choke slightly, your eyes stinging as the world blurs. “I am very, very sorry. Not for loving him, but for forcing him to be loved by me. I’m sorry I don’t know how to stop loving him. I’m sorry I’m leaving him. But I am not sorry for loving him. I… I spent a lifetime surrounded by cruel animals who called themselves angels, and he’s the only person I’ve ever- I could believe- I just-“ You drop your head, turning up the faucet to drown out every weak sob and apology. “I love him. And he… he’s too good be obligated to love me. So I think I’ll just…”

You trail off, and crumble onto the tile floor. When you dry your tears and yank yourself back together, Sam’s waiting for you a little down the hall. You shake your head, his shoulders slump, and that’s it. For Sam it’s not—he turns around and marches right back to the library—but for you, it is. You’re done. 

You’ll hole up in your room and die alone. Like how’d you’d been meant to all along, lent only a little bit of extra time by Dean saving you to begin with.

And that time had run out. So you’ll just go die alone.

lay flat on your bed as your vision starts to dance with spots, and spend your time trying to image what a heaven you’re not allowed into will look like. Cas has told you every person gets their own, but you don’t really want that. It sounds like more of your life, and it’s pointless to worry about because you’re headed nowhere but down, but you’d still rather spend eternity with someone.

One person. You’d like to spend eternity with one person. 

The same person who had somehow gotten into your locked room, and is snapping your name as he stands at the foot of your bed. You’d be angrier he’d just barged in if you could remember how to be anything but in pain. You’d snap back if your mouth knew how to be anything but numb. 

“Dean-“

“What the fuck are you doing.” Dean hisses, and you close your eyes, the light suddenly painfully bright. “What the hell is wrong with you.”

“Nothing.” You whisper, and he scoffs. 

“Nice shot, sweetheart. I’m not an idiot.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot, Dean, I just don’t feel well.”

“That’s fucking bullshit-“

You sigh. “It’s not. I’m sick.” 

There’s a moment of silence, then, “how sick.”

“Fever.” You mumble. “Stomach bug. Maybe the flu. You should probably leave-“

“No,” he grunts, and you hear his steps. He’s coming closer, and your skin might be boiling off your body. “I’m not leaving you-“

“It’s not leaving if I ask you to go.” You mumble, and you can feel the heat of his body off to the side, can hear his breathing—maybe even his heartbeat—and it’s making everything worse-

“I’m not going.”

“Dean, just, please-“

“No, I’m sick of you fucking ignoring me, and I- I don’t even care what’s going on with you and Sam-“

You frown. “Nothing’s going on with me and Sam-“

“I have eyes,” Dean sneers your name, and there’s a tone in his voice that’s almost wounded. “You were hugging in his room, you’re always fucking whispering and hanging out-“

“That’s not-“ You swallow, dragging your eyes open to find him glaring down at you. He looks wounded too. “It’s for a case.”

“What case? A case that I’m not allowed to know about? Because that’s not a case, sweetheart, that’s a secret-“

You almost throw up, just from that word. “It’s- I’m not keep any secrets, Dean, just please go-“

“No!” He’s almost shouting, and the sound is like a cannon into your gut. “I don’t know what the hell is up with you, but you’re suddenly putting yourself in danger, and stuck to my brother, and you’re not talking to me anymore-“

“You’re not talking to me, Dean.” You whisper, his gaze burning you right down to the cavity of your chest. “I’m always in the library-“

“Yeah, I know, with Sam.” Dean scowls, and you’re too tired to think almost anything, but that’s strange. Dean never says Sam like that. Like it’s a horrible word. 

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, watching Dean carefully. “He’s helping me with something-“

“Something I can’t help you with?”

You blink, ready to lie and say no, but your mush of a brain doesn’t appear to be up to that task. “No.”

Dean’s brow furrows slightly. “So I could help you.”

“I-“ You feel a stab in your intestine, and your voice grows hoarse. “Please don’t ask me that.”

“Why-“

“Because I- Just go away, Dean-“

He shakes his head, saying your name in a stern, unwavering voice. “Could I help you-“

“N-“ You swallow a groan as your lungs contract, and this is dangerous. You’re too far gone to lie anymore, and that’s the only chance you have. If Dean keeps poking at you, you’ll tell the truth. You can’t tell the truth. “Please just leave me alone-“

“I’m not leaving you alone.” He snaps, dropping onto the side of your bed to prove his point. “You never left me alone, with the Mark-“

“That’s not-“ You can’t swallow your next sound of pain, or the whine that leaves your throat when Dean’s hand grabs your thigh. “Dean, please go-“

“Do you want me to go.”

“No.” You say it before you can think, and hate that the pain over your muscles lessens when Dean stays, and when his hand starts to rub slow circles. “But you- you have to-“

“I said I’m staying.” He grunts. “And you’re not changing my mind, sweetheart. Tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“I did.” You whisper, closing your eyes again. Looking at his handsome, annoyingly determined face isn’t helping anyone. “I’m sick.”

“Fine. What’s making you sick.”

“Curse.”

Fuck.

Dean’s silent for a long moment, then-

“What the fuck do you mean, curse.”

“Me.” You mumble. “Curse on me.”

“And how did a curse get on you-“

“Rowena.”

“That fucking bitch.” He mutters, and you feel his grip on you tighten slightly. Almost protectively. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me-“

That was probably a rhetorical question. Your sudden truth-telling streak doesn’t seem to care at all. “I was worried you’d hate me.”

“I- what?”

“I was worried-“

“I heard you,” he grunts. “I just, why the hell would you ever think I’d hate you-“

“Because I suck.” You whisper. “And I can’t- I don’t deserve you.”

Dean’s silent again. You wish he’d stop doing that. “You think you don’t deserve me?”

You nod, barely a movement at all, and Dean groans. You’re still not strong enough to look at him.

“Sweetheart, you- I’m not-“ He cuts himself off, his hand resuming his circles, you’re not sure he knows he’s doing it. “I’m going to ask you something, and you need to tell me the truth. Got it?”

You hum. Like you’d even have a choice.

“What will cure the curse.”

“I need to,” you try to fight down the words, but you’re light-headed and faint and Dean’s hand is really warm, so you fail. “I need to resolve my deepest secret.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “What’s your deepest secret?”

You’re going to bite off your tongue. And when Dean says your name again, his voice a little rougher, it drags your eyes open to stare at him. Watching you with a focus you can feel in your bones, that’s prying the truth out of you, and he’s just looking at you and you can’t do this-

“Dean, I-“ You digs your nails into your skin, something flashes in his eyes, and you can’t look away. But you can’t stop yourself either, and if you have to watch Dean’s disgust, that might kill you right here. “Please turn around.”

He frowns. “What?”

“I need you to turn around.” You whisper. “Please.”

He nods slowly, twisting away from you, and it’s like a green light to your stupid, traitorous mouth. The words fall out of you like vomit, and if this is the end, at least it might be fast. 

“I love you. I’ve loved you for years, and I’m sorry, but I can’t stop, and I don’t want to stop, and I love you. Only you. Just you. Can’t remember how to love anyone else, because I love you. I love your jokes and your grumpiness and how protective you are because you make me feel safe, and I love that you’re kind of a dork and a loser but you’re also so hot, I love your voice and your face and your hands, and I and I want you in a, um-“ You squeeze your thighs together, staring at the suddenly rapid rise and fall of Dean’s back. “A way that I shouldn’t talk about-“

“How do you want me.” He grunts, his voice low and a little gruff, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks.

“On me.” You whisper. “In me. I want you on my face and in my hands and fuck, I want your inside of me. But I also want to wake up next to you and hold your hand and fall asleep in your lap, and fuck-“

You cut yourself off with a whine as something sharp hits your right in the heart, and Dean’s silent. He’s not turning around, or leaving, or doing anything but sitting and breathing for so long, for too long-

“You-“ He shakes his head slightly, and you could swear he’s leaning slightly backward. “You want me.”

“Yeah, I- yes.”

“You love me.”

“Yes.” Too late to go back now. “I love you, Dean.”

“Why- why didn’t you tell me?”

He sounds broken. He sounds sad.

You’re so confused. It’s almost enough to distract from the pain racking your whole body.

“I- I didn’t think you’d-“ Not care. Dean couldn’t not care. He cares too much. “I wasn’t sure what-“

“What I’d say?”

“What you’d do.”

“What would you-“ He’s definitely leaning back. He’s closer, too. “What would you want me to do?”

“What would I want?” 

Dean nods.

“I- it doesn’t matter-“

“Yes it-“ He sighs, twisting around to face you. You can’t read the expression on his face. It’s lost and it’s afraid and it’s… hopeful. There’s this small light that’s so deep in his eyes that seems like real, true hope. “Please,” he mutters your name, and you might be melting. “Just, entertain me. What would you want me to do?”

“I’d want to tell me you love me.” You whisper, and if this curse is going to kill you, you hope it does it now, right before you lose all your dignity forever. “Like I love you.”

Dean shakes his head slightly, and your heart might be splitting in half. “But I- I tried to kill you-“

“The demon tried to kill me. That wasn’t really you-“

“Yes, it was-“

“No.” Your voice gains a little strength, and you push up on your elbows. “You saved me, Dean. You rescued me from the angels-“

“Anyone would’ve done that-“

“But they didn’t.” You snap. “You did. And I don’t love anyone, I love you.”

“That’s-“ He groans, his voice growing hoarse. “You- why?”

“What do you mean, why-“

“Why would you love me? I mean, unless this is some sick, fucked up prank-“

“It’s not a prank-“

“Well why?” He shouts your name, and he looks distressed. Like this is shredding him apart. “Why the hell would you love me-“

“Because I like loving you.” You grab his hand, his own panic starting to set into your own body, making this all the worse. “It feels right. And I- I know you don’t love me-“

You’re not sure what’s happening. Dean’s hands are cupping your face, and his mouth is on yours, and he tastes like whiskey and coffee and pecan, and you feel okay. You really feel okay. All the pain and sickness is dissolving from your body, and Dean is kissing you. Kissing you with an unforgiving, demanding desperation, his tongue down your throat and his body lowering down over yours, pinning you to the bed as he groans against your lips.

The sound jumpstarts something in you. Your arms wrap around Dean’s neck right before he can pull away or hesitate, and you throw everything he’s silently offering you back to him. Biting on his lower lip and wrapping your legs around his torso, grinding up into him as he makes a deep, satisfied noise and moves one hand to wrap around you waist, holding you steady against him as he rises up, moving you to stay in his lap.

“You’re, shit.” Dean lets out a low chuckle, pressing a small, gentler kiss to the tip of your nose as you breathe in ragged time. “You’re such a fucking idiot, sweetheart.”

You lean back to frown at him. “No I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are. But I am too.” He sighs, dropping his head to the crook of your neck and speaking against your skin. “Seems like we’re made for each other, huh.”

“Dean, I-“

“Wait, just-“ Dean kisses up the column of your throat, ending right behind your ear, and his voice a low sound that falls right down into your core. “Gimme a second.”

“Dean-“

“Please,” he mutters, and when you pull back he looks nervous. It’s strange, but adorable, and you nod. He needs a second, you’ll give him a million. Anything to keep him here a little longer, to keep the ebb of the sickness going. 

“Okay.” You whisper, and—taking the biggest gamble of your life—lean forward to kiss him again. Just a light, almost innocent press of your lips to his. He tenses, his arms around you tightening, and you’d have panicked if it didn’t seem like he was clinging to you. Like he was afraid you were going to vanish. 

“I- uh,” Dean says your name slowly, and it’s odd. You’ve heard him say it exactly like that a million, but this feels deeper. Like a prayer. “I lo-“ He cuts himself off, his brow drawing tightly together, and you can feel your heart in your throat. Set to either explode or move into Dean as you hold your breath. “You. I- you- it’s- fuck.” He scowls, and you offer him your gentler smile, running a hand over the soft stubble on his jaw, even as you feel your blood start to go cold again.

“Dean, you don’t have to-“

“Yeah. I do, I-“ He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and speaking against them as if he’s trying to tell your body more than your mind. “I love you. A lot. So stop being cursed.”

You stare at him, your voice barely a breath. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Did it work?”

It did. The curse seemed to vanish the moment Dean kissed you—like it knew that what he was trying to tell you before he even said it—but now the world is just color and light and Dean. It’s enchanting. He’s enchanting. He’s all genuine and powerful focus on you, and. worry that makes you feel warm, and love you can suddenly see everywhere on him. You don’t know how you missed it before, because it’s in his eyes and coating his lips and in every flex of his body around you. It would knock you down if he wasn’t holding you. 

“Yeah.” You smile at Dean, and his own mouth tugs up slightly. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He shrugs. “Any time. I, uh, sorry about getting pissed about you and Sam.“

“It’s fine, I-“ You paused, frowning at him. “Were you jealous?”

He scowls, his cheeks turning a little red. “Obviously.”

“Of Sam-“

“You were really close with him all the time.” Dean snaps. “And I- you seemed pissed at me, and super stressed, and usually you’d come to me for that stuff, but you were hugging Sam and talking to him instead of me-“

“Because I don’t love Sam. I love you, that’s why I told you-”

“I didn’t fucking know that.” He grumbles. “I- Sam doesn’t know everything about how I feel about you, but he knew enough, and I- I thought you were choosing him- And I- You’re not my girl but you felt like my girl and I didn’t-“

“Your girl?” Your face splits into a wide smile, and some of the tension seems to leave Dean as he nods. 

“Yeah. If you want.”

“Yes.” You squeak, and Dean’s hand starts to run slowly down your thigh. “Yes, please.”

“You sure?” He raises his brows, and it’s really hard to think when he’s so close, and this is suddenly overwhelmingly real. He’s really broad and warm against you, and he’s really touching you, and he said the thing but that doesn’t mean-

“Yeah, but are, are you sure-“

“Baby, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He drawls, and you swallow as he leans in closer, his nose bumping yours. “And I’d be very happy to prove that.”

“Prove it?” You whisper, your eyes trapped onto his glimmering, darkened ones. “I, um, that, how-“

“However you’d like,” he says your name with a smirk, and it’s amazing how any all insecurity he had only a minute ago seems to have vanished. “You wanna tell me how’d you want me to prove it? Or do you need some suggestions?”

You might be drooling. “Suggestions, please.”

Dean hums, holding you carefully as he rises on his knees, bends you down onto the mattress, and starts to trace slow, taunting hands over your body.

“We could start slow,” he mutters, playing with the hem of your shorts, broad fingers brushing over your skin. “I could take my time with you, sweetheart. Do the proper thing, take you out to dinner and movie, wait until the third date to give you everything-“

“No!” You yelp. “Not slow-“

Dean’s hand slides under your shorts, his palm resting right over your already sore pussy, and he chuckles at your high gasp. 

“Alright, baby, not slow.” He leans down to pull you into a long, slow kiss, smirking against your lips as you start to grind into his hand. “But we’re going on a date. I’ve had years to plan it, wouldn’t want all my hard work to go to waste.”

You nod a little stupidly, your nails digging into his arm braced near your head. “How- what do you mean years-“

“You’re not the only one who had that at first sight thing.” Dean mutters, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve lost sleep over you, baby girl. We’re going to do this right, no witches involved, but,” he drops his head to kiss right behind your ear, humming as a high moan escapes your lips. “I’ve got a million things I want to do you, and fuck me if I’m going waste time not doing them.”

“Yeah, good, do that-“ You gasp as Dean’s thumb finds your clothed clit, starting to draw firm, fast circles around it. “Shit, Dean-“

“That’s my name.” He growls in your ear, flicking against you and smirking at your high whine. “C’mon, sweetheart gotta get you ready for me-“

“I, I’m ready-“

He chuckles. “No, you’re not. Wanna make you feel good, not break you.”

“What if, fuck-“ You feel a brief, sharp moment of cold air as Dean pulls your shorts and panties down, shoving two fingers into your cunt. He’s watching you so carefully, like he’s studying your every hitched breath and blurred gaze, smirking as he begins to slowly move inside of you, scissoring and crooking and pushing in deeper every time-

“What if what, pretty girl?” He teases, his pace increasing slightly. “Use your words.”

Your back arches off the bed as Dean re-angles his hand, pressing his palm to your clit and starting to rub strong, sharp circles as his fingers reach a blissful, almost painfully good pace, but remain too shallow to hit that sensitive spot deep your cunt and send you over the edge. “What if I want you to break me?” You gasp, your arm wrapping around his neck as he groans, dropping his brow against yours. “Please, Dean-“

“You, fuck-“ He grunts your name, and you feel something prodding at your inner thigh. “Not now, baby, need to be gentle-“

“No you don’t-“

“Yeah, I do.” Dean’s movements still as he rises on his knees over you, and you’re pretty certain the authoritative thing is supposed to be stern and intimidating, but it’s mostly just making you grind on his hand and reach up for him pathetically.

“Dean-“

“Listen to me.” He snaps, grabbing your wrist and pinning it to the mattress, sighing as you moan again, squeezing around his fingers, still in your cunt. “Fuck, you nearly just died-“

“I’m okay now.” You whisper. “I feel great. I feel, fuck Dean, I feel so good-“

He hisses as you spread your legs, writhing on the bed for anything, at this point you’ll take anything Dean offers you-

“Fuck yeah, you do.” He mutters, his fingers starting to pump slowly again, scanning over your body with an almost awestruck expression. “Bet you feel like heaven, baby girl, but we need to go slow. I promise I can wreck you later, but today-“

“Slow.” You sigh, and he nods.

“Slow. But,” Dean’s free hand starts to trail under your shirt, palming at your breasts, rolling your nipples between calloused, strong fingers. “Doesn’t mean we can’t take care of you, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck this tight little pussy, still going to get you fucking cockdrunk. Okay?”

You nod, your eyes slightly glazed over, and Dean bends his fingers deep inside you, right one that spot, letting out a low gasp as you whine.

“Say okay, sweetheart.” He grunts, his hand moving from your breast, over your neck, to your mouth, pressing his thumb on your lower lip until it parts. You moan against him, your eyes fluttering slightly, and you’re already too high, too needy, to do anything but listen.

“Okay.”

“Good girl.” He coos, slowly pushing his thumb between your lips, his nostrils flaring when you start to suck on him with an abandon. “Fuck, so good, I can’t wait to ruin you, baby, you’re never gonna even think about another cock-“

You haven’t thought about another cock in years, and you haven’t even seen it yet. But Dean’s thumb is bumping the back of your throat, so all you can do is moan, give him your best pleading look, and let your head fall back as Dean’s fingers finally move inside of you, pushing and playing on the spot until your orgasm washes over you in bright waves of good. So good. Just, fuck, he’s good-

Dean’s thumb pulls out of your mouth with a pop, and he wipes a little bit of spit off on your upper lip before lowering his mouth to yours, this kiss far too soft and gentle for how you think you might die if he doesn’t fuck you now.

“Look so pretty, cumming on my hand.” Dean moves to the shell of your ear, his growling promise sending a shiver up your spine. “Bet you’ll look prettier fucking squeezing my cock.”

You barely have time to whimper when Dean yanks his fingers out of your cunt, rolls you over so you’re straddling his torso, and raises you up by your hips before pushing you right down onto his dick. You don’t even remember when he took off his pants, or where your shirt went, but those are worries for someone who isn’t being split open on Dean’s cock. Who doesn’t have him drawing small circles on their inner thigh, or isn’t being held up by his hand on their waist.

But you do. You have Dean everywhere, real and warm under your hands as you grip his shoulders, bumping deep against your cervix as he lets you adjust to the size of him, one broad finger reaching down to press—light and taunting—on your clit, and groaning as you squeeze around him.

“Shit,” Dean grunts your name, looking up at you under hooded eyes in a way you don’t think anyone’s ever looked at you before. As if you’re somewhere they’d always expected to be, and they’re still in awe that you’re there. “Gotta be careful, want this to-“

Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you grind on him experientially, clenching again as he hits that electric spot deep inside you. He grabs you firm by your hips, stilling your every movement as he gives you a stern glower. 

“You need to listen.” His voice is gravely and lower than you’ve ever heard it, and you’d do whatever he told you to, but that doesn’t mean you can’t whine and scratch lightly at his chest. 

“Dean, move-“

“You gonna listen?”

“Yes, just, fuck-“ You gasp as he pulls you up with barely a grunt, slamming your right back down with a roll of your hips. 

“Want you to feel good, baby girl, but you need to be careful,” Dean drags one had down to squeeze your ass, his hand still on your waist drawing light circles around your clit. “Or next time might be more than wrecking.”

Your moan is vulgar and shameless, and you’re more than ready to devote sleep to figuring out what more than wrecking will look like, but right now you just fucking need this. 

“Need more, Dean,” you whisper. “Need it so bad-“

“I know, sweetheart.” He mutters, trailing his hand up your stomach to squeeze your breast, groaning when you squirm around him. “Think you’re ready to ride this cock? Think you can handle, shit-“

You’d stared to move the movement he’d said ride, rolling your body and arching your back, dragging every bit of confidence you have to grind down onto Dean’s cock, your nails sinking into his abdomen.

“Fuck, yeah.” Dean’s voice is a breath under you, and when you scan over him, he lookslike he’sa little wrecked himself.His eyes on yours are hooded and low, his voice dripping with that same dominating confidence, but something more delicate in the way he’s touching you. Not as if he’s afraid to break you, but afraid you’ll shatter him. 

And you did that. You wrecked Dean. And that lights a wildfire in your gut, running through your nerves until they’re sensitive and bare, and into your brain until it’s all just Dean.

You start to move. Slowly at first to test the waters, but—when Dean just groans and ruts up into you—quickly picking up pace until you’re bouncing on Dean’s cock, your thighs squeezing his torso and your clit rubbing on his abdomen, his ever grunt and hiss and bruising grip just making your need grow bigger as you slam him onto that deep spot-

“Shit, I’m- Slow down-“ 

Dean’s hiss is low, and you immediately obey, changing to long, slow movements as Dean hums. 

“There you go baby, such a good girl.” His hand moves from your ass to your lower back, rubbing soothing patterns as he praises you. “You’re so hot baby, fucking ruined on my cock-“

You make a high, breathless sound you don’t recognize, moving your hips in a circle to try and chase more friction, and Dean chuckles.

“You alright up there-“

“Good,” you moan, your eyes fluttering shut to try and focus your all on Dean beneath you. “So good, Dean, feels so good-“

“Need a little more?”

“Yes-“

“More descriptive than that, sweet girl.” He teases, and when this is done, you’re going to kill him. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to-“

“You,” the word falls out without thought, because most of you belongs to Dean. “Just you, only need you-“

“You love me?” Dean’s voice is low, and when you open your eyes to look at him, there’s a small chink in his armor. You don’t know if you pried it open, or if you’ve just never noticed, but you can see right into him, and he still doesn’t really believe that you love him.

And that’s the only thing you’ve ever really know. You loving Dean has been the only truly certain thing in your life, because Dean’s a given and loving him feels like breathing.

So you smile at him, reaching forward to cup his face, and tell him with everything you have, hoping he can hear how the words are in time with your heart.

“I love you,” you whisper. “And I’m yours.”

He blinks at you, shaking his head slightly even as his dick twitches inside you. “You don’t need to be, it’s- you know, dirty talk-“

“I know.” You shrug. “I’m still yours.”

Dean’s nostrils flare, and you know you’re not getting control back from him for the rest of the night.

You’re fine with that. Dean starts to rock you back and forth around him, letting you just fall into and around him, and your lost to any world that isn’t Dean. Isn’t his hand splayed on your lower back or his fingers digging into the skin of your hips and ass. Anything that isn’t his cock hitting part of you that you didn’t know existed and filling you up so much you’re not sure how you’re ever going to manage being empty again.

You don’t think you will have to manage. Dean’s holding you like he’s trying to brand himself on your body, like he needs you feel him for the rest of your life. And you will. You’ll feel the bliss Dean’s drawing from your body that’s better than any heaven you could have imagined, rising slowing below the surface, ready to burst at any moment.

You’ll hear him too. Hear every deep noise of his own pleasure, hear the slapping of his skin on yours, hear his low praise echo around your head and ribs for the rest of your life.

“You’re mine, baby girl.” He growls, the sound rumbling in his chest and rolling right into your pussy, making you throw your head back with a breathy whimper. “Fuck, you’re so hot riding me, feel so good around me, tight and warm-“

Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you reach behind your body, your hand finding his balls to squeeze lightly. 

“Goddamnit, sweetheart-“ He groans, jerking slightly inside of you. “Fuck, keep doing that, so fucking needy for me, fucking soaking this cock-“

You grind around him, and his pace starts to lose rhythm. Even after he swats your hand away you know he’s lost his own self-control, and fuck he looks hot without it. Starting to rut up into you in uncontrolled movements, pulling you to pieces with a lustful, ardorous gaze and brutal pace and strong hands, moving back to your clit and rolling it between his fingers-

Your mouth falls open in a silent, needy cry of pleasure as your orgasm bursts over you. It’s not sudden, but you couldn’t never anticipated the power of it—like someone had doused you in gasoline that smells like whiskey and fruit, lit a match, and turned to into a star—or how it rides on and on, never seeming to crest or crash as Dean slams home inside of you, warmth coating your pussy and running down your thighs as he moans your name. 

Dean helps you float down to earth, leaving careful, deliberate touches on your skin and humming as his knees rising up to support you. You watch his gaze rakes down your body, lingering on where he can see himself spill out of your pussy, and moves to slowly drag through the mess, gathering some on two fingers before rising them up to your mouth. You open without hesitation and his throat bobs, his cock twitching inside you as you lick his release off his hand, your eyes never leaving his wide, reverent one.

“Son of a bitch.” He mutters. “How the hell did I get so lucky?”

You let out a soft laugh. “You stole my line.”

“Nah.” He shrugs, tracing a hand over your cheek. “You could have anyone you want, baby, but you’re here, with an asshole like me-“

“You’re not an asshole.”

“Yeah, I am.” He shrugs, like you can’t see how his own words pierce him through that chink. “Shit, I just accused you of sleeping with Sam-“

“And I’ve been lying to you for years.” You lean down, resting your chin on his chest, giving him your widest smile. “Neither of us are saints, Dean. And I happen to be the right kind of fucked up to let possessiveness hot.” You pause, giving him your best stern glare. “To a degree. I will slap you the next time you accuse me of fucking Sam.” 

Dean laughs, his around wrapped—gentle and relaxed—around you. “Yes, ma’am.”

You hum, resting your head to the side, and you might be here for a hundred years. Time blurs and slows until it’s just Dean’s heartbeat near your ear, his thumb tracing a pattern on your arm, and his face buried in your hair. The end of the world might have already come to pass when his hand moves to your chin and he angles your gaze to his, and you wouldn’t really care. You’re still where you need to be.

“Would you,” he lets out a slow breath, all his cocky arrogance gone, his eyes on yours nervous. The hope is back, but it’s wrapped in soft fear. “I’m not good at- shit-“

He’s going to hurt himself, and you take pity on him. You lean does to press a sweet kiss to his mouth, letting your tongue trail over his lips, and rising back up with a small smile.

“Can we go on a date, Dean?” 

He chuckles, nodding. “Yeah. Whatever you want, baby girl.”

Your smile strains at your cheeks, because you only want Dean. 

And you’ll have to write Rowena a thank you note, because you finally have him.

End Note: Me make a story with no prior lore challenge: impossible

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

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@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

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@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007

[safetypinxtales]

you're allowed to say "sex" on the internet. See? I just did it. Sex. Sex sex sex. You don't have to say s*x or smex or Adult Fun Times or s3x or "spice" any other variation of self-censorship on tumblr dot com you can just spell out the word SEX i am going to scream until the heat death of the universe

[safetypinxtales]

“Fatherless behavior” stop giving my DAD credit for all the work my MOM put into making me a terrible person!! Stop erasing women in history!!

[safetypinxtales]

stop normalizing ai use in fandom 👎

[safetypinxtales]

Happy new years!!!! I’m in a sauna and it’s killing me

Literally

I have low blood pressure someone save me

I’m about to pass out

But I just rolled in the snow so maybe nvm

Happy new year <3333

[safetypinxtales]

By The Warmth Of The Oven

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You are baking cookies for the Avengers holiday party when a certain super solider comes into the kitchen tipsy for the first time...

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff. tipsy bucky.

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> is it those cookies that smell delicious or is it you?

a/n: This fluffy drabble is my holiday gift to you my dear Bella @nickfowlerrr ♡ In honor of Can You Feel It? being the first of many beautiful fics I read of yours 🥹🩷 Thank you everyone for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

bucky masterlist ♡ || fluffy winter drabbles masterlist ❆

“Smells good…” Bucky’s voice comes out of nowhere from behind you as you grab another tray of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. You glance over your shoulder to find him sauntering into the kitchen, making his way over to you. 

“Freshly baked cookies always do,” you reply with a gratified grin, placing the tray on top of the stove so the cookies have some time to cool off before you plate them. Your friends had already gone through three batches of them and they practically begged you to make more. It was a nice feeling, almost rewarding in a way, knowing something you made was so loved by your friends. 

“‘m not talking about the cookies, doll,” there’s a bit of a slur in his cadence that catches your attention at the same time that your heart skips a beat at his words. You turn to him to see he’s staring at you with a dreamy smile and a twinkle in his eyes, propped up against the counter by his elbow. You frown at his unusual nonchalant demeanor. You’ve never seen him act this way before. 

Your head tilts slightly as you examine him a little closer. There’s a bit of a sway to his stance and his cheeks are tinted pink. “Bucky, are you drunk?” Almost immediately he shakes his head at your question, “No. I can't get drunk,” he replies with an obvious tone, and yet the pouty frown on his face tells a different story. 

“Right, you can’t…” you affirm, mulling it over for a moment,“Unless…did Thor give you some of his special Asgardian liquor?” You ask, stepping slightly closer to him, the apples of his cheeks getting rosier in response. 

“I took a shot. I started feeling funny and came here—felt safe,” he mutters that last part reluctantly, sharing something with you he wouldn’t if it weren’t for the alcohol in his system.

“In the kitchen?”

“With you.” 

Your amusement is replaced with a soft expression at his response. He most likely hasn’t felt the effects of alcohol in decades and a part of him doesn’t know how to cope with the resurfaced inhibitions. The fact that while feeling unwell his first instinct was to come looking for you—it made a warmth spread throughout you that could easily rival the heat of the oven.

You reach out to cup his cheek, soothing the flushed skin with your thumb. He instinctively leans into your touch, his eyes shining with a gentle vulnerability that causes your heart to squeeze in your chest. You and Bucky have always had a flirtatious friendship for as long as you can remember, but it's never gone past that. Seeing him so openly affectionate with you stirs emotions deep within you that you aren’t sure you’re ready to bring to the surface.

“I don’t think the alcohol is going to stay in your system for long, Buck. How about we do this…you wait for me here while I go out and serve the cookies I baked,” his eyes widen slightly and you can tell he wants to protest until you add, “I’ll bring back some hot chocolate for us to share and we can enjoy it along with some cookies while we wait for that liquor in your system to wear off. How does that sound?” You suggest softly and you can see the way he thinks it through before he agrees with a nod.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as you plate a few dozen cookies on decorative plates, leaving a handful behind for you and Bucky to share. You make sure to quickly take them out to your friends and serve up two piping hot mugs of hot chocolate before making it back to the kitchen in no time. 

When you meet back with Bucky you find him sitting on the counter where he watches his legs as he swings them lazily to and fro. You observe him fondly for a moment longer than necessary. Trying to commit to memory how carefree and unguarded he is at this moment. When he notices you his face lights up in a way that makes you feel like the most precious person on earth. 

“Here, as promised,” you hand him a mug of hot chocolate which he takes eagerly—too eagerly—as he immediately goes for a sip of it. Before he can, however, you stop him, placing your hand as a barrier between his lips and the mug. His mouth ends up pressed into your palm, and you ignore the heat that finds its way to your face at the softness of his lips brushing against your skin.

“Bucky, it's scalding hot! You’ll burn yourself! Wait until it cools down a bit, please.”

“It’s not gonna burn me, doll. I’m a super soldier. Watch—”

“Bucky!” 

You use the cookies as leverage to coax Bucky into waiting for the hot chocolate to cool down before he drinks any of it. For the next hour or so, you enjoy each other's company. Between the sweet treats and the lighthearted conversations, time flies by in a heartbeat. 

Then, while in the middle of a discussion over your last mission, Bucky does something that completely takes you by surprise in the best way possible—he kisses you. It’s short, but profound in the way he pours everything into it. Every flirtation you ever questioned could mean something more was proven here with this kiss, that it had meant so much more for more than just you. 

You’re speechless when he pulls away beaming as if his heart might burst.

“Looks like I was right.” 

“Huh?”

“I asked myself what was sweeter. You or the cookies. I knew it'd be you,” he states as a matter of fact, drinking up the way his words affect you as much as the kiss had. There’s a part of you that doesn’t believe him, but it's not because of him, but more so because you think you must be dreaming. 

“That's the liquor talking.”

“I've sobered up a while ago, doll.”

You search his eyes for the truth of it all and you find it. This is real. This isn’t a dream. And the yearning that burns bright in his eyes is one you know all too well. It’s the same one reflecting in your eyes as your gazes lock on one another.

“I still think the cookies are sweeter,” you whisper, your eyes shining with a playful challenge despite the way your heart races in your chest with anticipation. He catches on, licking his lips as his flesh hand snakes its way to the back of your head to cradle it gently.

“‘m gonna prove you wrong, doll,” he declares in a huskier tone as he pulls you in for another kiss. And that night, by the warmth of the oven, Bucky continues to kiss you until he successfully proves you wrong. 

[safetypinxtales]

It’s been a year since I posted this??

That’s crazy? Like I remember VIVIDLY how nauseous I felt when I posted this. I was so nervous, I was acting like my life depended on it (over-achieving little sibling syndrome). I sat in my childhood bedroom for hours after everyone had gone to sleep refreshing my notifs feeling absolutely mind boggled that people were actually interacting with it

So really very grateful for everyone’s love, you mean the world

Aaaanyways, I’ve been thinking a little extra about everyone’s favourite lonely couple lately and I just wanted to let y’all know Az still brings her flowers, like, pathetically often

He also hates middle-of-the-night or early morning little spy missions because it means leaving her alone in bed. It absolutely tears him apart. He kisses her goodbye and then stands in the doorway watching her for as long as possible, looking like a kicked puppy (you know the face)

that’s all!

Happy anniversary to feeling lonely as fuck lmao🤍

Lonely with you | Azriel

summary: it seems like everyone's found their mates, except you. On a sleepless night you turn to your friend, in hopes that being alone, together, will feel slightly less lonely.

words: 1.5k

warnings: fluff, feelings of loneliness, thirsting over our boy az and his thighs, kind of just a drawn out drabble, some angst, generally just softness, Azriel with a book needs a warning in and of itself, very slight jealousy, neutrally described reader/no reader description, no use of y/n, PINING

notes: haven't written in years, and never befor for Azriel, or anyone from acotar, so bare with me. Not sure what I think of this, nor what the future might hold, but I had some time off uni and this idea that I just couldn't seem to get out of my head. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

part 2

You knew what picture was waiting for you in the living room of the House before you even rounded that corner. The distinct sound of pages turning, the hint of whiskey in the air, and him. 

That scent that was just so distinctly Azriel it almost made you forget that echoing emptiness in your chest. 

The sight that greeted you as you entered the room belonged in a museum, or at the very least at the front of some Day Court scribe’s lecture hall, being studied by the brightest minds in Prythian. You wanted to commission Feyre to paint it from your memories so it could be immortalized, even if just for your eyes. Because by the Gods, it was mesmerizing. 

Azriel sat – no, sprawled across one of the couches, those thick, muscled, sweatpant-clad thighs so deliciously, invitingly, teasingly spread apart. The book in his hand was not one you recognized, but then his taste in literature was slightly more… sophisticated than yours. But that just made it all so much more enticing didn’t it? The thought of this gorgeously dark, winged male consuming deep, meaningful art? It would make any sane person fall to their knees. 

The hazel of his eyes didn’t show any sign of surprise as his gaze met yours. He knew you were coming, most likely courtesy of the shadows leisurely curling around his shoulders. Cauldron, was he a sight…

… And your friend. Unfortunately.

“Are you just going to stand there all night or will you eventually move?” Right, right. How long had your feet been rooted to the floor? Judging by the humorous tone of his voice and that boyish sparkle in his eyes, probably a tad too long. 

Forcing your body to take a step, and another, you tried to think of something – anything to say. 

“Sorry, I–... I just didn’t expect you to be here is all,” liar, “I guess you caught me by surprise”. It wasn’t the best excuse in the world, but with the situation at hand it could have been a lot worse. Like, a lot. Besides, it’s not like you could have told him the truth.

Sorry Azriel, it’s just that I have been desperately yearning for you for the last couple of years and seeing you like this, looking all boyfriend-y, has me nearly swallowing my own tongue because of how perfect you look. I am just humiliatingly obsessed with every single little thing you do, as well as horrifyingly lonely to a default. In a non creepy way, of course. 

… You would rather free-dive off the dining room balcony before ever admitting that to him. 

His brows furrowed as he observed you, like he could see the lie written across your face, before humming lightly, almost as to himself. He reached a hand out to the glass resting on the coffee table and brought it to his lips, taking a sip of the amber liquid inside. Your eyes were trained on his mouth as he lowered the glass. Trained on the candlelight reflected in the alcohol wetting his lips. Those shiny, pouty, full–

His tongue slipped out and delicately swiped across his lower lip, licking off the remnants of the whiskey from the glass in his hand, and it took everything in you to not whimper at the sight. 

Cauldron boil you.

Needing something to ground yourself, you made your way over to pour yourself a glass of whatever Azriel was drinking and collapsed beside him on the couch, trying to roll that stubborn stiffness out of your shoulders.

”Can’t sleep either?” He asked you on a slight chuckle. 

“No, not with them going at it like bunnies,” you sighed, “how is it even possible for Cassian to… you know? I mean, not only is it day after day, but all night, non-stop? You need– I mean not you specifically, I don’t know anything about your sexual habits, just– just males in general,” oh Gods, “you– you need to rest, at some point – right?”

Azriel took in your flustered state, and pursed his lips as if to keep from laughing. His amusement did not help your case at all, only making the heat crawl further up your neck, your ears positively aflame. 

“I guess the mating bond has its perks,” he surmised, and you couldn’t escape the huff that exited your nose. 

That damned mating bond. The very one the Mother seemed to be handing out left to right lately, to everyone except you. And Azriel. But unlike you, he was a damn catch and could have anyone he’d like. 

“Am I an absolute wench for being jealous of Nesta? And Elain? And Feyre?” You whined as you threw your head back on the couch.

“Not at all,” Azriel’s raspy voice comforted you, easing the tightness in your stomach. You still felt like one though; Nesta was your best friend and you were happy for her, but still–

“It’s just so unfair! They were born like, yesterday! I have been suffering through a mostly miserable existence for over five centuries now and I have never even come close to a connection like they have,” you rolled your neck, “I am over the moon for them, don’t get me wrong, and I hate to make their happiness about me–“

“But being alone around people who… aren’t, can be very lonely,” Azriel finished and your heart clenched as you looked at him. Beautiful, kind, caring Azriel. One of your best friends, and the male you were hopelessly, devastatingly in love with. 

Knowing he, too, was hurting was painful in itself, but also slightly comforting. Knowing you weren’t alone in your loneliness. 

“You’re in pain,” he mumbled, and you opened your mouth to answer, but you couldn’t. Because it wasn’t really a question was it? “Your shoulders,” he noted, “they’re tense.”

“Oh, it’s fine, really. Nothing to worry about, just a small kink,” you tried to brush it off, but he looked at you with such intensity it made your whole body tingle.

“No it’s not,” it was like he could see right through you, “No, you have been worrying your neck ever since you sat down.” He pondered a moment before he sat up a little straighter beckoning for you to move closer. “Come on, let me help you with that.”

Your mouth fell open. 

Was he insinuating he wanted to rub your back? Your half naked, barely-nightgown-clad back. With his hands. Those magical, beautiful hands. Oh Gods.

Your attempt of a protest died in your throat at the slight raise of his eyebrows. He was not to argue with.

He marked the page he was on and placed his book down on the table in front of you, his eyes not straying from you once. Like he was afraid you would bolt if he looked away, even just for a second. 

In his defense, you very well might have.

A shaky breath released from your lungs as you put your glass down and readjusted your position on the couch until you were situated between his legs. With your back facing him, you carefully pulled your hair over one shoulder to give him better access, trying to block out the thoughts of how incredibly warm those bite-able thighs of his were.

The warm calluses of his hands on your skin set you ablaze, and as he carefully started to massage out the knots in your upper back you swore you could have melted, then and there. 

You couldn’t help leaning in to his skillful touch. You also couldn’t help the breathy groan that escaped you as he started to work on a particularly tense area. 

Or how your heart rate picked up as you heard what you swore was Azriel’s breath hitching in response. 

You basked in the intimacy of the moment, fully enjoying all of his undivided attention. 

The gesture, the moment, it all felt so domestic and comforting that the constant emptiness in your chest started to close over. Even if just for now. Even if it was all borrowed; a lovely, elusive fantasy – you let yourself feel whole. 

You barely registered his hands slowing to a stop, or the new found looseness in your shoulders. Barely registered as his hands slid down your arms and slowly tugged you back towards his chest. 

Not until you were engulfed in his warmth, his arms wrapped around you did you realize how well you fit together.

Like two pieces of a puzzle.

“Be lonely with me tonight,” his breath tickled your ear, “please.”

You knew it probably wasn’t wise. That tomorrow, when all of this would be gone, the hurt would resurface. The loneliness even heavier than before. But you couldn’t get yourself to care. To tell him no. Tell yourself no.

Instead you burrowed deeper in his embrace, closed your eyes, and even if just for tonight, you let his warmth fill the void in your chest. 

Until that void had been replaced by a vibrating, golden, glow.

[safetypinxtales]

Santa baby | Azriel

summary: it's nearing solstice and you have an extensive list for your mate Santa.

words: 1.5k

warnings: fluff, a bit of seduction, Azriel is stupid in love, like absolutely whipped, reader sits in Azriel's lap, feminine reader (lipgloss, hair below shoulder-length), otherwise neutrally described reader, no use of y/n, it's an AU where everything is the same except Santa is a thing.

notes: well, it's been a while but it's Christmas and I have free time for once so why not write? I whipped this one up in like an hour whilst waiting for our guests to arrive today, and it has minimal editing, but it's something light and sweet for the holidays. Hope you enjoy and merry Christmas! 🤍

masterlist

The glass is cold in your hand as you waltz into the living room. The winter sun had already set on the quaint seaside cottage you shared with Azriel. He had surprised you with it after your mating ceremony last solstice, and as you took in the shadows dancing around on the walls, cast by dim candle light, a feeling of contentedness enveloped you. The amber liquid in the glass sloshed with each step you took, but never quite enough to spill over the rim. It was a practiced routine, bringing him a drink whenever you found your mate a little too stuck in his work.

His head lifted from the paperwork he had been going over as he sensed your presence entering the living room, the hand that had been carefully turning a leaf falling slack on the armrest.

His eyes dropped down to your hips, watching them sway with every step you took, gaze fixed as if in a trance.

You let out a low hum as you reached him, extending the glass. His eyes met yours as he put the paperwork aside and accepted your offering.

Slowly – gracefully and practiced – you slid into his lap, one arm snaking its way around his shoulder. The warmth of his hands on your waist spread all the way into your chest, making your heart beat just that little bit faster.

Grabbing his face, feeling the slight stubble of his cheek under your palm, you planted your lips on his. 

The kiss was soft and warm, and perfectly matched the feeling blooming in your chest has he murmured a low:

“Hello, my love.”

“Hello,” you hummed back and felt that slow tug in your chest that you had come to love so. 

You gave a loving tug back and felt Azriel shudder beneath you.

Letting you gaze flit over his face, you marveled at his features. 

The dark lashes framing those mesmerizing hazel eyes of his. The colour of the finest of honey, all swirling and golden. 

The constellations of freckles adorning his cheeks, like a map only you were privy to read.

His lips, currently smeared in your lipgloss and stretched into a dopey smile making him look just as lovesick as you felt inside.

“Hey, Az?” You broke the warm silence that had enveloped you.

“Yes, my love?” He murmured, his eyes flicking down to your lips briefly before finding their way back to yours.

You leaned in to give him another soft peck, only pulling away to rest your forehead against his.

“I have.. I’ve been thinking about something,” you whispered, feeling the breath from his curious yes? on your lips. “About what I want from Santa this year.”

He pulled back slightly at your words, eyebrows raised and that dopey smile still plastered on that pretty mouth of his. He knew as well as you that Santa meant Azriel himself.

“Oh, really? Please, do tell,” his curious hum sent you heart fluttering as you settled in further in his lap.

“Well, do you remember that dagger I liked so much when we visited summer? The gold one?” You purred and ran your fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered as your nails lightly scratched his scalp.

“The one with the eye-sized ruby in the pommel?” You nodded. “My love, that blade is useless. You couldn’t even cut an apple with it, much less cause any real damage,” he scoffed, ”you’d be better off fighting someone with a cotton ball. That you could at least shove down their throat – hope they choke to death.”

His eyes gleamed at the gasp you let out. The soft swat you landed on his chest drawing out a quiet chuckle.

“I know it’s useless in combat, but it’s so pretty isn’t it? Besides, why would I need to fight when I have you to defend me?” You chirped with a flutter of lashes. 

You just managed to catch his eyes darkening before he pulled you into yet another kiss, this time firmer. Purposeful. 

Claiming.

When he pulled away his breath was heavier and his voice rougher as he swore, “I will always protect you, always defend you.”

“Even if I’m in the wrong?”

“No such thing.”

Your toes curled at his admission, and the hand that was tangled in his hair tightened its grip.

“Good answer,” you mused, and his thumbs swiped at your waist – up and down. 

“What else should Santa put on his list?”

You pretended to think for a moment, pursing your lips into a glossy pout, knowing just how crazy the act drove your mate.

And just as you could have predicted, his eyes dropped down to your mouth, his smile fading slightly, his eyelids growing heavier.

“Well you know that necklace that Feyre has? That she wore on our mating ceremony?” You asked.

He nodded in response, eyes still focused on your lips.

You let your cheeks pull into a broad smile, “well I saw that the jewellery shop by the Palace of Thread and Jewels has its twin in gold.”

“The diamond necklace you kept sighing about for weeks after the ceremony? The one that had me questioning if it was the mating bond that was making you so blue?” He questioned, his voice laced with disbelief.

“That’s the one,” you replied. Removing your hand from where it was nestled against his head, you moved to push your hair over your shoulder, exposing your décolletage.

”Wouldn’t it fit me so well?” You asked, letting your hands graze the bottom of your throat, following the curve down to the top of your chest, watching his eyes track the movement with a predatory focus.

Azriel’s throat bobbed, “It would.”

Your hand fell to his arm, giving the muscle hiding under his sweater a light squeeze. 

“Yeah, you really think so?” You gave him your best hopeful look, batting your eyelashes for added effect.

He simply nodded, too much of a lovestruck, mess of a male in your presence to form any actual words. 

“That’s good,” you hum, “now I only have one last thing on my wish list.”

Your mate didn’t verbally respond, but you took the squeeze of his hands on your hips as a sign to keep going.

“An apartment in the city.”

That seemed to bring Azriel back to life.

“An apartment? Is the cottage I got for us not enough?” He asked with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Well, no, I love the cottage – you know that. But sometimes it would be nice to have somewhere closer to go to after having spent the evening with the others, don’t you think?”

“It takes half a second to winnow from there to here,” he deadpanned, causing you to roll your eyes.

“But I think it would be nice to stay in the city sometimes. To be able to walk home, a stroll along the Sidra,” you gave him your sweetest, most innocent smile and added, “just you and me?”

You could see his resolve melting, and felt the largeness of his hand leave your waist in favour of gently stroking your thigh. 

“An apartment, huh?” His soft voice still had some reluctance hanging on to it, but you could tell he was warming up to the idea pretty quickly.

Your head bobbed up and down in confirmation, and an amused sigh left his lips.

“You must think mighty highly of yourself, dear, to think Santa would give you such special treatment,” he mused as he pulled you closer. 

“Well, I just have it on a hunch that Santa might know that my wonderful, loving mate, who – if I haven’t already mentioned – loves me so,” Azriel’s eyes crinkled at the corners as you continued, “works for the high lord.”

Amusement danced in his eyes, and a soft red glow started making its way up his cheeks.

“So maybe someone like that, like me. Like the mate of the Night court spymaster, deserves to be a little spoiled.” You leaned in to kiss his jaw, and stopped to whisper in his ear, “it sure would make her happy.”

He hummed in agreement, his thumb stroking across your thigh at a slow but steady pace.

“Besides,” you continued, leaning back to look him in the eyes, “I have been such a good girl this year.” 

Azriel’s administrations on you leg stopped, his large hand instead coming up to cup your face. 

He hummed lowly, eyes locked on your lips, eyebrows drawn together in a pensive look.

“You really have,” he murmured.

Again, he pulled you into a kiss, molding his lips to yours. You let yourself melt into him – your wonderful, loving spymaster – into the warmth radiating from his large body. Into the secure grip of his hands and the gentle softness of his lips. You let yourself melt into your mate, with no care in the world, besides kissing him back.

When you finally pulled away you leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “if Santa is very kind to me, I promise I will be just as good next year.”

“Yeah?” His voice was thick with emotion.

“Yes, maybe even better.” You promised, and leaned back to look at him. 

You cupped his jaw, the slight stubble adorning the skin scratching your hand in the most comforting way.

He shook his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Not possible.”

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