unwrittenlibrary

[unwrittenlibrary]

A Lesson in Lust

Inspired by a request!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Reader fakes an orgasm Azriel has no choice but to teach her not to lie to him, but not with words.

Warnings: smut | 18+ | pwp | dom!Az / Brat!Reader | Brat tamer/taming | cunnilingus | slight impact | slight breathplay | creampie | p in v | overstim | controlled orgasm | clit sucking | slut shaming | slight dollification | there’s so many ts freaky

Word count: 6.5k

A.Note: Please read the warnings!!! This is nasty, literally all smut, mdni.

I should have known better.

Should have known that Azriel, with all his centuries of honed observation and razor-sharp instincts—his ability to read people down to the slightest flicker of emotion—would notice.

I thought I had hidden it well, that he had been too lost in his own pleasure to realize I hadn't unraveled beneath him the way I usually did. That the tremor in my voice, the sharp edge of my cries, hadn't quite matched the ones before. I told myself he wouldn't catch the fleeting moment where my body had tensed but never truly shattered, where my release had been nothing more than an illusion painted for his sake.

I don't even know why I did it. Azriel had always been so attuned to me, so devoted to my pleasure. Maybe it was the exhaustion weighing down my limbs, the ache of an endlessly long day pressing against my bones. Maybe it was the way he had looked at me tonight—so desperate to bring me over the edge with him. I hadn't wanted to bruise his pride.

But he knows.

He doesn't say anything. Not as he cleans me up with steady, reverent hands, the warm cloth dragging over my skin with the same care he always gives me. Not as he helps me into my nightgown, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary. But I feel it. Feel it in the way his hazel eyes darken, their golden flecks burning as they study me in that quiet, unreadable way.

Still, he says nothing. Not when he turns off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a cocoon of darkness. Not when I turn to him, pressing a soft kiss against his lips in an attempt to quell the unspoken weight between us.

He kisses me back, slow and deep, but his shadows betray him. They curl tighter around his frame, restless like they are whispering secrets meant only for him—secrets I cannot decipher.

He doesn't say anything for a long while. Holds onto the knowledge, lets it simmer beneath his quiet exterior, tucked away where I almost believe it will stay.

For a moment, I think I've gotten away with it.

But when morning comes, the silence finally fractures.

"Why did you fake it?"

The question lands like a stone in my chest, sending my heart into a frantic rhythm. His voice is steady—too steady. Like he's been awake all night just waiting to ask.

I blink at him tiredly, feigning confusion. "What?"

Azriel doesn't waver. "You didn't come. Why'd you fake it?"

Blunt. Direct. The weight of his stare alone is enough to pin me in place. He's clearly been sitting with this, turning it over in his mind, dissecting it in that way only he can. And now, he wants answers.

"I—I didn't—"

He tilts his head slowly, and my breath catches. Not a word passes his lips, but the movement alone is enough of a warning.

"Try again, love." His shadows swirl around us despite the morning light filtering through the curtains.

I stay silent.

Azriel exhales, his grip on my waist flexing. "I've been up all night trying to figure out why you'd feel the need to fake something like that. Especially with me." His voice is soft, but it cuts through me all the same. "And I can't. So tell me—why?"

"I didn't want you to feel bad," I murmur, barely above a whisper. "You treat me so well, all the time. I didn't want you getting hung up on this one night."

But here we were—doing exactly that.

His jaw tightens, tension carving sharp lines into his face. The early morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, but there is nothing soft about the way he's looking at me. Still, his hands find mine, fingers intertwining. The roughness of his scars against my skin is familiar. Comforting.

"Do you think so little of me?" The words are quiet, but no less devastating.

"No." I snap my gaze to his, panic flickering in my chest. "No, never, Az."

His thumb skims over my knuckles before he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss there. "Then why lie?" he asks, the warmth of his breath lingering. "Do you not trust me to take care of you? Do you not want me to?"

His voice dips lower, and my stomach clenches. He truly had to be thinking about this all night to draw up these conclusions.

"I do," I rush to reassure him. "Of course I do. I was just—I was tired, that's all." I lean closer, brushing my lips against his in a gentle kiss.

He doesn't pull away. Doesn't let go of my waist. But when he tilts his head, the look in his eyes shifts into something sharper. Something hungry.

"You tired now?"

His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time. Slow, deliberate, teasing.

I exhale softly. "No."

Azriel mirrors my smile, but there's something different about his. Something sharper. More feral.

"Good."

And before I can react, he's got me beneath him, arms pinned above my head, a wicked gleam in his hazel eyes.

A gasp catches in my throat as Azriel moves, fast and fluid, flipping me beneath him before I can so much as blink. My wrists are pinned above my head, his scarred fingers wrapped firmly around them, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress.

His wings flare slightly, blocking out the golden slant of morning light, leaving nothing but the two of us in the shadows. His shadows.

They curl around his frame like living threads of darkness, writhing in time with his slow, deliberate breaths. The way he looks at me now—hazel eyes molten, jaw tight, lips slightly parted—sends a shiver down my spine.

"You really thought I wouldn't notice, didn't you?" His voice is low, rough, but not angry. No, the way he says it—the way he watches me squirm beneath him—is something else entirely.

I swallow hard. "Azriel, I—"

"You were exhausted." He hums as if considering my excuse. "Didn't want to hurt my feelings." A soft scoff leaves him, his nose brushing the shell of my ear. "What a sweet little lie."

I shudder, my fingers flexing uselessly beneath his grip. "It wasn't—I just—"

"Didn't think I could handle the truth?" He trails a hand down my side, fingers whispering over the thin fabric of my nightgown, tracing every dip, every curve. "Or did you think I wouldn't take care of you properly?"

I shake my head quickly, but he catches my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look at him.

"You know I don't like being lied to, love," he murmurs, voice silken and dark. "Especially not about this, you forgot though."

His thumb drags over my bottom lip, and my breath hitches. He watches me, eyes burning, gaze sharp enough to cut.

"Let's fix that, yeah?"

His grip on my wrists tightens just as his free hand moves lower, skimming over my stomach, my thighs—slow, teasing, deliberate.

"You're going to be honest with me from now on." A soft kiss, barely there, pressed to my throat. "You're going to let me take care of you the way I always do." Another kiss, lower this time, lingering over my pulse.

"And you, love," he whispers, teeth grazing against my skin, "are going to learn exactly what happens when you try to keep something like that from me."

His shadows coil around my ankles, holding me in place, and then—

I lose the ability to think.

"Az," I breathe, my body arching instinctively beneath him, trying to chase the warmth of his touch. But he holds me still, his fingers barely skimming where I need him most, his shadows curling tighter around my wrists and ankles like they, too, are in on his cruel game.

Azriel hums, amused. "You sound a little desperate, love."

I glare at him, but it's hard to make it convincing when I'm squirming beneath him, my pulse racing, my breath coming too fast. "You're being cruel."

His lips curl at the accusation. "Am I?" His fingers dance along the edge of my nightgown, slipping just beneath it before retreating just as quickly, his touch featherlight. "Seems to me I'm just teaching a valuable lesson."

"You're insufferable."

Azriel chuckles, the sound low and sinful, sending a ripple of heat through me. "You weren't saying that last night."

Heat floods my face. "Maybe because last night, you weren't tormenting me."

His brows lift, feigning innocence. "And yet you didn't come. Seems to me you like the tormenting." He dips his head, kissing a slow, searing path along my collarbone. "But if you'd prefer, I could stop."

A smirk plays at his lips as he starts to pull away as if testing to see just how desperate I really am.

I scowl, tightening my legs around his waist, locking him in place. "Don't you dare."

His laughter is warm against my skin, and the next thing I know, his fingers are on my thighs, tracing slow, torturous circles. "That's more like it," he murmurs approvingly. "Now, tell me, love—" his lips ghost over the shell of my ear, his voice nothing but a delicious rasp, "—you going to fake it again?"

My brows furrow as I peer up at him through my lashes.

"No," Azriel grins, wicked and knowing. "I'm not going to stop until you're too wrecked to even think about faking it again."

A sharp inhale. A rush of heat.

His hands tighten, and his voice drops to a whisper, his words dripping with sinful promise.

His fingers move with calculated precision, unbuttoning my top one slow pop at a time. I help him shed it, my own hands sliding beneath his shirt, mapping the warm, golden skin stretched over taut muscle. The ink of his tattoos shifts under my touch as he pulls the fabric over his head and tosses it aside.

I lean in, capturing his lips, but he meets me halfway, claiming my mouth with a hunger that steals my breath. His tongue sweeps past my lips, exploring greedily, and I moan softly into him.

Then, suddenly, my wrists are pinned to the mattress, bound by the whisper-soft strength of his shadows. A gasp catches in my throat, my body instinctively tugging, but it's futile. Azriel merely smirks, his fingers skating down my sides, toying with the band of my panties, the heat of his touch sending sparks across my skin.

I lift my hips in a silent plea, urging him on, but he only chuckles, slow and deep. "Patience, love," he chastises, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric.

"Please," I whisper, desperate.

Azriel hums in approval but moves achingly slow, peeling the lace from my body like he has all the time in the world. His knuckles brush against my thighs as he drags them down, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

"I want you to feel everything," he murmurs, lips ghosting over my collarbone, where a faint mark from last night still lingers. A reminder. A promise.

"Az," I whine, shifting against the restraints, needing more, needing him.

He tsks, dark amusement glittering in his hazel eyes. "I know, I know," he coos, dragging his mouth along my skin, teasing me with every slow, lingering kiss. "But you can be patient can't you?"

I nod, breathless, eyes locked onto his as he trails lower.

"Good," he praises, but his voice dips into something more commanding. "And you understand I can't reward your bratty behavior?"

"Yes," I whisper.

His brows arch. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

Azriel's smirk is wicked, his satisfaction rolling off him in waves. "There's my girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my stomach before lowering himself further between my thighs. "Now stay still for me, yeah?"

I nod, back arching as I ready myself.

His breath is warm against my skin, teasing, taunting, and when his lips ghost over where I need him most, a helpless whimper spills from my lips. I tip my head back into the pillows, unable to watch, unable to handle the way he's taking his time, savoring the way I fall apart beneath him before he's even truly touched me.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "So needy. Just couldn't get off, could you?"

I shake my head pitifully. "No," I manage, my voice barely above a breath.

He clicks his tongue, pressing a featherlight kiss to my inner thigh. "It's okay, love," he murmurs, and then his grip tightens on my hips, holding me still as he finally, finally drags his tongue through my slick folds.

A choked moan tumbles from my lips, my back arching further off the bed, but his shadows keep me grounded. He hums in approval against me, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat coiling low in my stomach.

"Azriel," I moan, writhing, tugging uselessly at the darkness binding my wrists. "Please."

He smirks against me but doesn't answer, just hikes one of my legs over his shoulder, deepening his assault. His tongue flicks over my clit with precision, his mouth sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking just hard enough to have me keening.

I can't move. Can't grind against him, can't chase the pleasure building inside me—because he's making sure that my release comes entirely from him.

That realization has me spiraling even faster.

"Az—Azriel, please," I gasp, my thighs trembling as the coil tightens, winding impossibly tight.

His grip on my hips bruises, his scarred fingers pressing into my skin as his tongue circles my clit again and again.

"Go ahead, love," he rasps against me, his voice thick with satisfaction. The vibrations of his words against my swollen, aching cunt are all it takes to send me over the edge.

I shatter, a sharp cry tearing from my throat as my orgasm crashes through me, my body locking up before melting into the mattress. My vision whites out, pleasure consuming me in wave after relentless wave.

Azriel doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He guides me through it, slow and deliberate, savoring every aftershock.

"There it is," he murmurs, his lips pressing a final, lingering kiss to my sensitive folds before glancing up at me, utterly wrecked beneath him. "My girl looks so pretty when she comes."

The flat of his tongue gathers my arousal on his tongue, cleaning me. A soft, broken whimper is the only response I can manage.

But Azriel isn't done. Not yet. Not until I've learned my lesson.

I panted softly, still trembling as he kissed his way back up my body, his mouth hot and unrelenting against my flushed skin. Every inch of me is still humming from the waves of pleasure he's wrung out of me.

His lips trail over my breasts, pressing a kiss to one before he takes the stiff peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling in slow, torturous circles. The same tongue that had just shattered me now teases and soothes in equal measure, and I bow into his touch, a soft gasp spilling from my lips.

"Azriel," I rasp, tugging against my dark restraints.

His shadows hold firm, but he lifts his gaze to me through his lashes, those hazel eyes molten with desire. My breath catches, and I swear I feel the heat of his stare everywhere. His tongue flicks against my nipple, sharp and purposeful, and my thighs instinctively fall back open for him.

He smirks, releasing my breast with a wet pop before kissing his way up, up, until he finds my lips. He swallows my soft whimper as his tongue slides past my lips, letting me taste myself on him. The intimacy of it makes my head spin, and I kiss him back greedily, nipping at his lower lip when he pulls away.

His breath is warm against my mouth as he murmurs, "Inside?"

"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I need you inside me."

His lips quirk up in a lazy, knowing smile. "Yeah? You need it?"

"Please," I whimper, my desperation laid bare.

Azriel hums, kissing me again, slow and deep, before pulling away. The sound of his belt unbuckling, the rustle of fabric as he shoves his pants down—it sends a thrilling pulse of anticipation through me.

I was so attuned to him, his sounds, the feel of him. The heat of him between my thighs, the way he strokes himself once, twice, teasing me with the promise of what's to come.

Then he's there, pressing the thick head of his cock against my slick entrance, and I nearly sob with need.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dark with satisfaction as he teases me, sliding just the tip inside before pulling back. "So wet, so ready—"

"Az," I whine, my hips tilting, seeking him.

His hand presses down on my stomach, holding me still. "You take what I give you, love. Nothing more."

I moan at his words, at the sheer dominance in his tone, and then he pushes in, stretching me inch by inch until he's seated fully inside me. He takes his time, driving me wild in the process, each slow thrust pulling a desperate sound from my lips. My walls flutter around him, trying to draw him deeper, but he holds himself back, teasing, torturing.

By the time he finally sinks to the hilt, I'm panting, trembling beneath him, my body molded perfectly to his.

A low groan rumbles through his chest, his head dropping to the crook of my neck as he rolls his hips once, dragging a sharp gasp from me. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice wrecked. "So tight. Always so fucking perfect for me."

I whimper, my body adjusting to the delicious burn of being so completely filled, stretched to the limit around him.

Azriel pulls back slowly, almost entirely, before thrusting forward again, his pace agonizingly slow, like he's savoring the way I squeeze around him.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice dark, wicked. "How deep I am?"

"Yes," I pant, my wrists straining against my restraints, desperate to touch him, to claw at his back, to do anything other than lie there and take it.

But that's exactly what he wants.

He rolls his hips again, dragging himself against that spot inside me that has my toes curling, my back arching off the bed.

"You lied to me, love," he reminds me, his tone thick with amusement, with something darker, more possessive. "So now I get to decide how long you last."

A whimper slips from my lips, and he chuckles, low and satisfied.

"You'll take what I give you," he murmurs, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me still even as I writhe beneath him. "And you'll thank me for it."

Then he pulls back and thrusts into me hard, setting a punishing rhythm that steals the breath from my lungs.

He grips my thighs, spreading me wider, fucking into me so deep I swear I can feel him everywhere, in my bones, in my blood.

"So good, you're always so good for me," he groans, his voice rough, barely held together. His restraint is a fragile thing, and gods, knowing I could break him with a single plea makes me throb around him.

"So cruel of me," he muses, his thrusts slowing, dragging out my torture, "to come inside this pretty pussy last night without making sure my girl got her release, hm?"

All I can do is whimper, my head tipping back, body trembling as he fucks me slow, deep, each deliberate roll of his hips making me feel every inch of him.

The rhythmic sound of the bed slamming into the wall and his low, guttural grunts fill the room, the air thick with heat, with the wet, obscene sounds of him driving into me. I bite into my lower lip to stop myself from sounding so damned desperate, but we both know—Azriel knows—just how wrecked I am.

The proof of it is between my thighs, soaking his cock, dripping down onto the sheets.

His hand slides down my stomach, his fingertips ghosting over my clit, not quite touching, just enough to make me sob in frustration.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice full of wicked delight. "Fucking dripping for me." His thumb swipes through my slick folds, pressing teasingly just above where I need him most. "So messy, love. So needy."

I whimper, arching into his touch, desperate for relief.

Azriel tuts, shaking his head. "Oh no, sweetheart. You don't get to come yet."

I whine, a broken, desperate sound, and he just chuckles, pulling his hand away entirely.

"You wanted to lie to me," he reminds me, his lips brushing over my jaw as his cock twitches inside me. "Now you get to feel what it's like to be left aching, desperate, needing."

I sob, my head thrashing against the pillow, but he just keeps fucking me, slow and deep, making me take every inch of him without giving me a single ounce of relief.

I fucking love it.

Azriel smirks against my throat, dragging his lips down the column of my neck, his cock still buried deep inside me, thrusting slow, deep, controlled. My body is writhing beneath him, my nails digging uselessly into my palms as his shadows keep me bound.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, nipping at the spot just below my jaw, his tongue soothing over the sting. "You sound so fucking desperate."

I whimper in response, my thighs trembling, my cunt clenching down around him in a futile attempt to pull him deeper, to coax him into fucking me the way I need.

He chuckles, low and dark, dragging his cock out so slow before sinking back in, every inch stretching me open again, every movement meant to drive me insane.

"You said you'd be good for me," he muses, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Said you understood why I had to punish you."

I nod frantically, my breath hitching as he rolls his hips again, the angle perfectly devastating.

"Then why," he murmurs, his lips brushing over my ear, "are you whining like a slut, love?"

A full-body shudder rolls through me at his words, and he laughs—a wicked, pleased sound—because he knows exactly what that does to me.

"Oh?" His grin is evident in his tone. "You like that?"

"Azriel," I rasp, my voice ruined, my body burning.

"Sir," he corrects smoothly, his hand wrapping around my throat, applying just the lightest pressure.

"Sir," I breathe, and fuck—I shouldn't be this turned on, shouldn't be this gone just from the way he's talking to me.

He hums in approval, dragging his nose along my cheek before whispering, "That's my girl."

And then he stops moving.

I let out a cry, bucking my hips, desperate for anything, but his grip on my throat tightens just slightly as a warning.

"Ah, ah," he tuts, shaking his head. "You'll take what I give you, remember?"

"Yes, sir," I whimper, my head falling back.

His thumb brushes over my lower lip. "Such a good girl." He tilts his head, pretending to consider something. "Maybe I should make you beg for it properly."

"I—" My voice catches as he barely rolls his hips, just enough for me to feel him inside me without giving me any real relief.

"I think I will," he murmurs, his thumb pressing against my lips. "Go on, love. Beg."

"Please, sir," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He tuts, shaking his head. "Oh, sweetheart, you're not even trying. You know you can do better than that."

He pulls out entirely, making me sob in frustration, in unbearable, aching need.

"Again," he commands, his tone all silk and steel.

"Please," I gasp, my back arching, my legs trembling. "Please, sir, I need you so bad, I—fuck—I can't—"

He groans, his cock twitching against my entrance, and finally—finally—he slams back inside me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

"That's it," he praises, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that has my nails digging into my palms, my mouth falling open on a soundless moan. "That's my fucking girl."

I'm ruined beneath him, my body alight with pleasure, with torment, with the unbearable need to come. And he knows.

His hand drops between us, his fingers finding my clit, and I wail, my body bowing off the bed as he circles the swollen bud with just the right amount of pressure.

"You wanna come, love?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.

"Yes, sir," I sob. "Please, please, please—"

His pace falters, just for a second.

"Fuck," he rasps, his cock twitching inside me. "You sound so pretty when you beg for me."

"Then please," I cry, the pleasure coiling so tight I can't take it anymore.

He presses his forehead against mine, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

"Come for me, love," he breathes. "Now."

And fuck—I shatter.

My orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, my body seizing, my back arching, my walls fluttering wildly around him as I scream his name.

But Azriel—he doesn't stop.

Not even for a second.

"That's it," he growls, his fingers still working my clit, dragging my pleasure out, making my body shake, making me wail. "Give me another one, sweetheart. I know you can."

My body jerks, as my breath stutters and my thighs tremble violently from the sheer intensity of my release, he just keeps going.

"Too much," I gasp, my body writhing beneath him, every nerve ending alight with unbearable pleasure. "Sir—"

His hand tightens around my waist, his hips still slamming into me, his cock dragging against that spot inside me that makes my vision white out.

I sob, my body tensing as another wave of pleasure builds, impossibly fast, impossibly sharp.

"What's wrong, love?" he murmurs, his lips brushing over the shell of my ear. "You were so eager for it just a moment ago."

His fingers press against my clit, rubbing tight, devastating circles, making my body twitch beneath him.

"I—fuck, I can't—"

Azriel just grins, leaning down to kiss my temple, so mockingly sweet.

"You can," he purrs, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "You were just begging for it, I know you can."

I whimper, my head tossing to the side, my brain too fogged to even process anything beyond the ruthless way he's using me.

"Look at you," he muses, his tone full of wicked amusement. "Fucked so dumb you can't even think straight."

I moan at his words, my legs trembling around his waist.

He laughs, low and mean, his fingers still ruthlessly working my clit, even as my entire body shakes from the overstimulation.

"What was that, love?" His teeth graze my jaw, sending another shudder down my spine. "You like being used like this?"

I sob, my head tossing back, unable to form words, unable to do anything with my hands and ankles bound. I loved it, he knew I loved it.

"Fuck," he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, his grip on my wrists bruising. "You're so fucking perfect like this—just my little plaything to fuck as I please."

I wail, my body burning, pleasure suffocating me as another climax threatens to rip through me. The pleasure was wringing me out dry.

His fingers press against my clit, merciless, relentless.

"You gonna give me another one, sweetheart?" His voice is taunting, his lips brushing over my ear. "Gonna come on my cock again, even though it's too much?" He mocks.

I nod frantically, tears slipping down my temples, my body convulsing from the unbearable pleasure.

He smirks, so fucking smug.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs. "My perfect little slut."

I gripe, clenching around him tightly.

Azriel moans, his cock twitching inside me, his thrusts growing sloppier, more frantic.

"One more," he growls, his hand wrapping around my throat, squeezing just right. "Give me one more, love. Be good for me."

I don't even have the breath to scream. And then he snaps his hips forward, his fingers moving faster, and I fucking lose it, another orgasm ripping through me, dragging me under, drowning me in white-hot bliss.

I just shatter, my body breaking apart, my vision going dark at the edges as pleasure obliterates me.

And Azriel—he fucking laughs, still thrusting, still pushing me, ruining me.

"That's my girl," he purrs. "Always so good for me."

Azriel pulls out slowly, almost tenderly, and I slump against the mattress, my body wrecked, trembling with the aftershocks of everything he's done to me. My wrists ache from pulling against the shadows, my legs barely responding to me as I try to catch my breath.

I think—finally. He's done.

But then his hands are on me again, flipping me onto my stomach in one fluid, effortless motion, his strength overpowering.

"Didn't think I was done, did you sweet girl?" he murmurs, his voice like a dark promise as he hauls me up onto my knees.

I barely have a second to process before his hand presses against my back, forcing my chest down, stuffing my face into the pillows.

I gasp, my arms pinned uselessly beneath me, my body still twitching from overstimulation as I feel him behind me—feel the hard press of his cock sliding between my soaked folds, teasing, not yet giving me what I know he's about to.

"Azriel," I mumble, my voice muffled against the pillows, wrecked and pleading.

He tuts at me, his grip tight as he spreads my knees wider, forcing me open for him.

"You think you can take another round?" His voice is full of mockery, his hand running slowly over my hip before gripping me there, holding me in place. "You've been so good for me, taking everything I've given you—you wouldn't let me down now would you?"

"No sir," I moan softly, my body already shuddering with anticipation as he lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance.

I barely have time to pant out a desperate, "Sir," before he thrusts inside me, deep, the new angle making me see fucking stars.

I scream, my fingers clenching uselessly into the sheets as he fills me completely, pressing so deep it makes my entire body tremble.

"Fuck, that's better," he groans, his hands sliding up to grip my waist as he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back in, his pace instantly ruthless.

My mouth drops open in a silent moan, my mind blanking as he uses my body, fucking me like he owns me, like he's never going to stop.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he murmurs, his voice dark, smug. "To be bent over like this, my cock so deep inside you, you can't even think?"

I sob against the pillows, my body already climbing toward another release, my overstimulated nerves sparking with unbearable pleasure.

Azriel just laughs, his hands gripping my hips as he forces my legs to stay open, refusing to let me close them, refusing to let me hide from how utterly ruined I am.

"You're so fucking perfect like this," he breathes, leaning down so his chest presses against my back, his teeth grazing my ear. "Taking me so well, love. My perfect slut."

I keen, my walls clamping down around him, my entire body melting under his words, his touch, his fucking torment.

"That's it," he purrs, his fingers sliding down between my legs, finding my clit, rubbing it in cruel little circles. "Come for me again, sweetheart. I want to feel you break on my cock."

He keeps his pace brutal even as I flutter around him, his grip on my hips unrelenting as he fucks me into the mattress, each thrust shoving me deeper into the pillows, like he's trying to mold me to the shape of his cock.

And all I can do is take it. Take the way he ruins me, the way he stretches me open again and again, making me feel so fucking full I can't even think.

"You hear yourself, sweetheart?" he taunts, his voice dark, drenched in amusement as he listens to the wrecked little sobs spilling from my lips. "Crying for me while you drip all over my cock like a good whore."

I sob again, pleasure and overstimulation making my body shake, making my mind fog over with nothing but him.

"F-fuck, Az," I whimper, my fingers clawing uselessly at the sheets.

His hand cracks against my ass, making me jolt forward on a choked-out cry.

"Sir," he corrects again, his tone firm, his free hand sliding up my back, tracing the arch his thrusts are forcing me into.

My walls clench around him so tight it drags a deep, filthy groan from his chest.

"You like that?" he purrs, smug as sin, rolling his hips in slow, torturous circles, making sure I feel every inch of him. "Like knowing I could fill this pretty little cunt up—watch you swell with my seed?"

I whimper, my toes curling at the thought, at the absolute filth pouring from his lips.

And then his hand is sliding down, pressing to my lower stomach—right where he's buried deep inside of me.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest, his fingers flexing as he feels where he's stretching me open, where he'd fill me up if he let himself go.

"Fuck," he breathes, his grip tightening on my hip as he thrusts again, shoving deeper just to feel the bulge of himself inside me. "So fucking deep, love. You feel that?"

I nod weakly, my eyes rolling back, my body trembling as another broken sob leaves my lips.

He laughs, wicked and cruel.

"Already so fucked out, aren't you?" he taunts, dragging his palm over my stomach, pressing harder just to make me feel how deep he is. "Poor little thing—just a dumb, desperate mess on my cock."

I keen, my legs shaking, my body completely wrecked and at his mercy.

He twitches, my body arching as he presses into a spot that makes my vision go white, my mouth falling open in a pitiful pant. "Sir, feels, so good," I whimpered.

"Yeah? Greedy girl, going to come again?" He taunted, lips brushing against my shoulder, his sweat-slicked chest kissing my bowed back.

"Please—can I?" His pace didn't slow, even if I knew he was getting closer, he grew more and more sloppy but he did not slow.

"Wait f'me, I'm almost there," He whispered into my skin.

I clenched around him, unable to help myself, wanting to help him get there. My arms shook, near to giving out as I panted into the bed sheets, gripping the pristine white cloth in my fist to stop myself from moving up on the bed.

He twitched inside of me again, growing eager. "Inside," I breathe softly. "Fill me," I beg.

"Yeah? Want me to claim this cunt?" He whispered, lips grazing over the shell of my ear.

"Please, sir," I beg, bottom lip wobbling.

"Okay love, come—come f'me," He chokes slightly, consumed by his need for release. I doubted I could hold onto that edge for much longer, and the sound that left me during that final orgasm was louder than the rest, primal in a way. He twitched once more, and as I clenched tightly around him from the cresting of my orgasm, he came too, painting my walls white with his thick release.

He thrust slowly, gently, easing me down from the white-hot high that still had my body trembling. My whimper was soft, and breathless, as he finally pulled from me, his release spilling from me, warm and slick against my thighs. If not for his steady hands cradling me, guiding me down onto the mattress, I might've collapsed completely.

"Not too much?" His voice was hushed, rough around the edges, like he was just as wrecked as I was, despite that Illyrian stamina keeping him upright. A calloused hand brushed through my likely tangled hair, tucking it behind my ear so he could see me clearly.

I tried to form words, but all I could manage was a breathless, "No." A slow inhale, then, "Felt s'good." My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, and even that much effort felt like too much.

He hummed softly, pressing a lingering kiss to my temple. "You did so good," he murmured against my skin before slipping his arms beneath me. I barely had time to react before I was in his embrace again, lifted with ease. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I nodded weakly, my limbs boneless, and let him carry me into the bathroom. The cool marble of the counter met the flushed heat of my skin, soothing, grounding. I watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, admiring him in this quiet aftermath. The way his jaw clenched in focus as he wrung out a damp cloth. The tenderness in his touch as he wiped me down, extra careful between my thighs. The contrast of his rough, battle-worn hands moving with such exquisite care.

He combed through my hair next, untangling the knots his fingers had left earlier, his motions steady, unhurried. Every stroke, every pass of his hands over my body, was reverent. Devotional.

He kissed me softly then, tasting of cedar and salt, of something uniquely him. His hands skimmed my sides, his touch a whisper of heat against my skin.

"Six times." His voice was smug, but quiet, like he was half-talking to himself.

I blinked up at him, dazed. "Hm?"

"You came six times." His lips quirked into a knowing smirk, his fingers tracing idle patterns along my thigh.

Heat flooded my already flushed cheeks, my stomach twisting with something like mortification and pride all at once. If he knew so easily, then surely he knew immediately last night when it wasn't real.

"You were counting?"

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Had to make up for last night."

I huffed a small, breathy laugh. "You did."

His smirk softened as he kissed me again. Slow. Deep. A promise.

"How do you know?" I murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough for our noses to brush. "When I come?"

His gaze darkened, and something in his expression made my stomach flip. "You make this pretty face," he said, voice dropping, thumb tracing my bottom lip. "You couldn't fake it if you tried."

I swallowed hard, heat pooling low once more.

"And you always moan my name," he continued, pressing a slow kiss to my throat. "Every single time." His lips dragged over my pulse, felt the way it jumped. "Without fail, it's always my name on your lips."

I could feel my blush creeping lower, my skin burning everywhere he touched.

"You didn't last night," he murmured, voice a lazy drawl like he was enjoying my embarrassment. "Wasn't hard to figure out."

I groaned, dropping my forehead against his shoulder, but I couldn't help but laugh at myself. He chuckled too, the sound a warm rumble against my skin.

I pressed a kiss to his temple, letting my hands roam down his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath my touch.

"So," I mused, still breathless, still utterly spent. "Breakfast?"

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[unwrittenlibrary]

sam and celeana as “you’re the loss of my life.”

[unwrittenlibrary]

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny VI - Eris x Archeron!Reader

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny VI - Eris x Archeron!Reader

Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.

Warnings: smut (minors dni), fluff, angst, misogynistic language/beliefs, violence

A/n: I hope this part is good enough for you guys to forgive me for being a week late!

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Part VI

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To your disappointment, when you woke up the next morning, Eris was already gone—the sheets cold on his side. You let out a sigh and got up, blinking the sleep from your eyes. It was only then you realized Willow and Ivy were fretting around the bedroom, the wardrobe doors thrown open and piles of dresses on the floor.

“What on earth are you two doing?”

Your handmaidens jumped in shock at the sound of your voice before Ivy turned to face you. “Oh, Lady, you are awake! Lord Eris requested we pack an overnight bag for you.” 

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “For what?” 

They both shared a glance before shrugging but they couldn’t hide the smiles on their faces. “We can only guess, my Lady, but he did not tell us anything.” 

“Did he at least tell you where he’s taking me?” You sighed but they both shook their heads.

“No,” Willow grumbled, “Which is why we’re struggling to pack. We have no idea what you’ll need.”

But Ivy just smiled brightly. “We’ll just pack a bit of everything. That way you’ll be ready for whatever it is he wants.” 

The look in her eyes told you she knew exactly what Eris wanted and your cheeks turned red. You let out a huff of air before falling back down on your pillows. 

“Oh no, Lady, you mustn’t fall asleep again. We are to escort you to the stables in an hour's time. Willow will run you a bath.” 

You let Willow help you get ready, your mind on Eris and what he had in store for you. Willow dressed you in a long burgundy gown that had a corset styled bodice that clung to your frame and a flowy chiffon skirt. Tiny roses were embroidered along the lighter side panels of the skirt. 

Luckily, it wasn’t long before your handmaidens were presenting you to your mate who was waiting for you at the stables. 

Eris was staring at you with an intensity that had your face full of color. It wasn’t until the two of you were left alone that his infamous fox-like grin spread on his face. He was dressed finely in dark brown breeches with riding boots and a tunic embroidered with small leaves along the seams. 

“Would you like your own horse this time, bunny?”

Right, you did technically know how to ride a horse now. But you shook your head. “May I ride with you?”

“Who am I to deny a lady her request?” Eris purred, extending a hand out to you. Butterflies danced in your stomach as you took it, letting him pull you close so he could lift you onto Marigold, the horse. 

He strapped the overnight bag to the horse before he lifted himself up behind you, wrapping his arms around your body to take the reins in one hand and pulling you back against his chest with his other. Your cheeks turned pink and you let out a content sigh as the warmth from his body combatted the crisp morning air. 

Marigold started her trot into the woods and it was silent for a moment before you spoke. 

"Where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise," Eris teased.

"I don't like surprises," you pouted.

"No?" Eris's breath tickled the tip of your ear. He moved your hair to one shoulder, granting him access to your throat. He pressed a kiss against the sensitive skin there causing a shiver to run down your spine. "Well, that's too bad, bunny. You're getting one." 

You were smiling without realizing it, so honed into the places Eris's body met yours. The morning birds were chirping, the leaves rustling in the chill autumn wind. It was enchanting. The Autumn woods were quickly becoming a sanctuary for you and your mate. You hadn't felt this happy in a long time. 

You asked Eris an endless amount of questions about the Autumn Court, his brothers and family, and his life during the horse ride to wherever he was taking you. The sun began to set, sending streaks of golden light through the openings in the leaves. It wasn’t until you saw smoke curling around the tops of the tree, that you realized you were nearing your destination. 

Soon, a small cottage nestled between the tall trees appeared. Moss and ivy clung to the outer walls, blending it into the earthy flora surrounding it. A path made of fallen leaves led towards the front door, flanked by wildflowers in various colors. The babbling of a creek met your ears as you squinting to see through the sunlight filtering in through the canopy of trees above. 

“What is this place?” You twisted your head to look up at Eris. 

“One of my personal residences,” Eris answered, staring wistfully ahead. “One few know about.” 

As you drew closer to the cottage, Eris guided Marigold to a stop. He slid off the back, keeping one hand lingering on your waist.

“And you're sharing it with me?” Another secret Eris was willingly divulging to you. He had no idea how much it meant to you. He gave you a charming grin as he helped you down. 

“There is nothing I wouldn’t share with you, bunny. What is mine is yours,” he said. He kissed the top of your head before guiding you into the cottage with a hand on your back. 

As you stepped over the threshold of the hidden cottage, the scent of aged timber and a faint hint of herbs and spices greeted you. A snap of Eris’s fingers had the wood in the fireplace coming to life. Furniture made from weathered oak and mahogany filled the room, now illuminated by the warm glow of a crackling fire in the stone hearth. A plush armchair was nestled beside the hearth, a stack of books on top of it.

In a corner of the room, a spiral staircase wound its way upwards, disappearing into the shadows above. An opening straight ahead showed a peek of a kitchen. You spun as you walked forward, taking it all in before turning back to find Eris staring at you with a small smile. 

“I come here when I need a break from my father and duties,” Eris said, surprising you once again with his candidness. “And I needed to come here today so I didn’t murder my brother for slipping that breeding tonic into your drink last night.” 

Your eyes widened. “Reid?” 

Eris nodded, his jaw clenching. “He claims he did it only to embarrass you a bit at dinner but then my mother sent you away. He says he had no idea that you’d run into those guards.” 

You rubbed your arm, looking down at the floor as the memories of last night flooded your mind. “And you believe him?” 

“I unfortunately do. That doesn’t mean he didn’t face any…consequences for his little prank,” Eris said as he walked towards you. He slipped two fingers under your chin and made you look at him. “But I want you to know, bunny, that nothing like that will ever happen to you again. Do you hear me? I will not let anything happen to you. I don’t care who I have to kill to ensure that.”

“But Eris—”

He placed a finger against your lips, silencing you. “No. No buts. I was blessed with the gift of fire and I will burn down this whole world with no remorse if that's what it takes to keep you safe. Do you understand?” You opened your mouth to rebuke his words but Eris shook his head. “I don’t want to hear any objections. They will change nothing. Just a simple yes or no, bunny. Do you understand?” 

You searched his amber eyes for something, not even knowing what you were looking for. But you knew what you found. A heavy resolve, a promise, a need to protect. And you realized in that moment that you felt all those things as well. You swallowed, audibly. 

“Yes,” you whispered. “I understand.” 

Eris grinned. “Good.”

“So, why have you brought me here, my Lord?” You asked in a teasing tone, lightening the mood. 

“I brought you here to have a break from the suffocating nature of my court,” Eris answered, guiding you further into the charming cottage. 

“Well, I appreciate your consideration, my Lord.”

“Oh, back to formalities, little bunny?” That fox-line grin bloomed on Eris’s face. “I thought we moved past that last night.” He stepped closer to you, brushing some of the hair away from your face. Your cheeks turned red again causing Eris to chuckle, “Oh don't look so embarrassed, bunny. You seemed to quite enjoy having my affections.” 

Butterflies danced in your stomach. His scent was too enticing, the power that seemed to burn all around him all encompassing. Your face was on fire, your heart too. But he was right. You had enjoyed last night. You had wanted his lips on you, his hands on your skin. That hadn't changed. Even now that the breeding tonic had worn off. That craving for his touch was still there. 

"I believe you made me a promise last night, my Lord," you replied with a slight smile, toying with the laces of his tunic. 

“I did,” Eris growled and took your hands in his. “I intend to keep it.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest. The look in his eyes caused another wave of desire to crash into you. Unfortunately, your stomach decided that was the time to make itself known. A small rumble sounded and you nearly cursed at it. But Eris chuckled and stepped away, to your disappointment. 

“Come, bunny, I had the cook prepare us a light dinner,” he said, leading you to the kitchen.

Dinner consisted of an array of cheeses and breads, along with dried fruits and nuts. You were glad it was so light because you had more of an appetite for the male sitting in front of you than the food on the table. The sentiment seemed shared considering the lingering touches and heated looks Eris had been sending you. By the end of dinner, he looked quite pleased with himself for riling you up, sitting in his chair like it was his personal throne. Eris waved a hand and the dishes and plates disappeared in a blink of an eye. 

You sat frozen in your chair as he eyed you, drinking the last of his wine from his goblet. His gaze was enough to set you on edge, predatory but it didn't frighten you in the slightest. In fact, it made you come alive. He set his glass down before standing, making you hop out of your chair. If you had it your way, he'd toss you over his shoulder again like he did the first time you'd met and carry you straight to the bedroom. But instead, he leaned against the kitchen cabinets and beckoned you to him.

You'd never felt more like a bunny than in this moment. Like a hare about to be caught in a trap. 

As you stepped close to him, he brushed the hair out of your face, hooking it behind your ears before taking your cheeks in his hands. His touch was so warm, so comforting. Who cares if this was a trap? If this was the fox you were to be ensnared by, then so be it. 

“I need you to understand something before we continue down a path I know I will never be able to return from, bunny,” Eris began, his amber eyes glowing in the candlelight. “Whatever happens tonight is your choice. If you want to go back to the manor, I will take you. If you just wish to sleep, that is what we will do. Anything you don't like, just say the word and I will stop without question. Do you understand?”

A moment of silence passed as you processed his words, the care he was spelling out for you. Your hand fell on his chest, lingering over his beating heart. One you now knew was good—at least for you. And you realized it was never the fox that had ensnared the bunny but rather, the other way around. 

Because this Eris, the one standing before you now, was entirely reserved for you and you only. 

“Eris,” you whispered.

“Yes.”

“Kiss me,” you breathed out. “Please.”

“You'll never have to beg me, bunny,” Eris purred before finally pressing his lips against yours. 

The kiss became heated fast, leading the two of you to stumble around the cottage until he was pushing you up the stairs. You giggled, taking your skirt in your hands to rush up the steps. You barely made it through the threshold of the bedroom door before you were grabbing Eris by the lapels of his shirt and pulling him into a frenzied kiss. He groaned, eagerly kissing you back as he kicked the door shut behind him. 

Your hands slid down to the buttons of his shirt, feeling his muscles tensing under your touch. But Eris pulled your hands away from him before breaking the kiss. You whined at the loss of contact, lips swollen and breasts heaving with pants. 

“Not so fast, bunny,” Eris said with a wave of his hand that had every single candle lighting in the room. 

You gasped as the room came to life, as the light illuminated the large four-poster bed covered in dark red, velvet sheets and fluffy pillows in all shades of Autumn. A small hearth warmed the room and textured fabrics hung from the ceiling embedded with faelights that gave the room a hazy and comforting atmosphere. 

“Come here,” Eris rasped, holding out his arm. 

Your heart fluttered as you took it, letting him draw you close. He spun you around and moved your hair to one shoulder before his hands drifted down to the laces on the back of your corset. His nimble fingers began to expertly unlace your corset while he pressed a kiss to your exposed shoulder. You let out a breath at the feeling of his warm, soft lips against your skin. 

You reached back to help him with the ties, too eager to wait, but he ripped your hands away. “Relax, little bunny,” Eris purred. “Let me do all the work.” 

Your heart started beating faster.

“Okay,” you whispered. 

Eris smirked against your skin, satisfied with the response.

He finished unlacing the corset and your dress dropped to the floor, pooling around your feet and leaving you in just your underthings. You were nearly shaking with anticipation, your breathing heavy as he lightly brushed his knuckles down your spine, causing you to shiver. 

Eris leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Get on the bed.” 

“I thought you were doing all the work,” you teased.

“You’re right,” Eris smiled before he picked you up by the hips and tossed you onto the bed as you squealed, letting you fall on the soft cushions. 

He prowled towards you with a grin, unlacing his own tunic and tugging it off. Your gaze fell to his chest, his muscled abs. Your breath caught in your throat. Eris already looked like a God but he was built like one too. 

Eris’s eyes roamed your body, his hands fisting like he was restraining himself.

You held your breath as he slowly hovered over you, his eyes searching yours for a moment until he found the certainty he was looking for. And then he kissed you again and your body came to life once more. Sparks skittered down your skin, crackling with energy.

He kissed his way down your jaw, your throat, all the way down until he was scraping his teeth against your pebbled nipple still hidden under your bra. You gasped before slapping a hand over your mouth. 

Eris’s eyes shot to yours and he growled, “My one and only rule tonight is that you let me hear those noises, bunny. Do you understand?”

You gulped and pulled your hand away from your mouth, nodding your head though your cheeks turned pink. 

“Good girl,” he purred before continuing on, leaving a trail of kisses down your exposed stomach until he pressed a kiss to the dampened spot on your panties, right between your legs. You breathed out his name, so on edge. 

“Gods,” Eris groaned. “You smell absolutely divine.” 

You might be a virgin but you weren’t completely naive when it came to sex. You had certainly read enough romance novels to prepare you for this moment. But you hadn’t expected to feel like this—to feel so utterly captivated by Eris, aching for his touch. 

“I want to see all of you, bunny,” Eris murmured, his amber eyes drinking you in. He toyed with the straps of your bra as he gave you his famous grin that made him look all the more fox-like considering the absolute hunger in his gaze. “May I?” 

“Yes,” you said, breathless with butterflies ravaging your stomach. The desire for your mate ate away any embarrassment you might’ve felt otherwise. 

His grin grew, his elongated canines exposed. Eris slowly pulled the straps of your bra down your arm, the silky fabric moving softly against your tingling skin. And then his hands were beneath you, arching you up slightly so he could unhook your bra. 

He gently pulled the garment off of you, tossing it to the floor. 

“Beautiful,” Eris groaned, his hard cock pressing against your thigh told you just how true that statement was to him. 

Shyness started to creep in and you quickly covered yourself with your arms, blushing bright red. Eris tsked and moved your arms away. “Don’t be shy, bunny. It’s just me and you here.” 

Just you and Eris. Just you and your mate. His words eased you and you felt your body soften underneath him. His large hands caressed you as he kissed his way down your neck until he finally took one of your breasts in his mouth. 

You hissed, your hands flying to tangle themselves in his hair. He grinned against your skin as he continued his ministrations, making you feel hot with need. You whimpered as his cock rubbed against you.

“Please, Eris,” you begged, not even sure what you wanted or needed. 

Eris sat up, his hands sliding to your waist. “Is my bunny ready for something more?” 

You nodded, eagerly, squirming under him. He hooked his fingers around your underwear. “Lift your hips for me, babygirl.” 

Your heart swooned at the new nickname. 

“Gods,” Eris groaned as he finally peeled off your final piece of clothing, baring you fully. “Gods, you are so beautiful.”

You felt…vulnerable as he drank in the sight of your bare body laid before him. Your toes curled at the predatory look in his eyes. Something about the dominance, the control he held over you in this moment made every rational thought leave your mind—his scent of crackling embers and cinnamon was intoxicating.

Eris leaned over you again to run his hands over every soft curve of your body. His hand drifted back between your legs, gently caressing your throbbing core. You whimpered, bucking up into his touch. 

Eris smirked against your lips. “Is my little bunny ready for me?” 

You swallowed harshly while nodding your head. 

He pressed a kiss to your neck before whispering, “I need your words, bunny.” 

“I’m ready, Eris,” you whimpered. “Please, don’t stop.” 

“I already told you that you’d never have to beg for me,” he murmured. He kissed his way down your neck, his body sliding down yours. Your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“What are you doing?” You didn’t want to wait any longer, already going crazy with want. But he didn’t stop. 

“Relax,” he purred. “Let me take care of you.” 

He pressed a kiss to your stomach. 

“My little bunny,” he murmured against your skin. 

Another kiss to the spot between your hips. “My babygirl.” 

And then he was kneeling on the floor, hooking his arms around your thighs and yanking you to the edge of the bed. You gasped, raising on your elbows to look at him. He kissed the back of your knee, tickling you, before he moved his way up your thigh, leaving love bites along your skin. 

“I need to taste you.” His voice was full of hunger, lust, as he left marks all along your thigh—sucking and biting the soft skin. 

You gasped as he ran his tongue up your slit, grasping the bedsheets in your fists. The books you read always made this act seem hot but feeling it was something else. Desire flooded you, leaving you panting for air. 

And then Eris was devouring you…devouring you like you were the sweetest fruit he’d ever tasted. You tossed your head back against the pillows, crying out his name in pleasure. 

“Eris,” you mewled. “Gods.”

Eris’s own hand slipped down to rub himself through his pants at the sound of your cries. His other hand rose, replacing his mouth to rub circles on your clit.

“I’ve got to get you ready for me, bunny,” he whispered, his finger toying at your entrance making you squirm with need. You weren’t sure what he meant by that until a single finger slowly slipped inside of you. 

You moaned at the feeling, your back bowing off the bed. Eris slowly pulled his finger out before thrusting it back in you. You couldn’t help your hips from grinding down in rhythm with his thrusts. 

“That’s it, babygirl,” he praised. He gave you a few more thrusts before he slowly started to add another finger. You hissed at the feeling of being stretched, sucking your breath in. “Breath, bunny. You’re doing so good.”

Another thrust had you finally relaxing, the slight pressure replaced with hot pleasure. You moaned his name as Eris continued to fuck you with his fingers, his mouth sucking on your clit again. He didn’t stop. Not even as your moans came out as pleas, as his name fell out of your lips over and over again while he pushed you over the edge, your vision going black with all the pleasure as you orgasmed. 

Still, he continued to devour you, causing you to writhe, overstimulated with pleasure. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair, pulling slightly as you cried but Eris merely growled, “I’m not done yet, bunny.” 

You weren’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. You ultimately decided it was indeed a blessing as he brought you to your second orgasm with his tongue and fingers far more quickly than your first. You were gasping for air as he made his way back up the length of your body, smiling with satisfaction at how unraveled he had made you. You couldn’t help but grab Eris’s face in your hands, marveling at his striking and cruel beauty. 

“You’re never escaping me now, bunny,” he growled, running his nose up the column of your neck and groaning at your scent. “Now that I’ve got a taste of you, I’m never letting you go.”

“I don’t want you to,” you murmured, your heart beating in your chest. 

“Good,” he answered, kissing you and letting you taste yourself on his lips. His hand was back between your legs, stroking your still sensitive core. You moaned into his kiss, your hips thrusting up against him. 

He grinded his hips down, rubbing his hard cock against you and you gasped, breaking the kiss. The unbridled hunger in his gaze had your heart racing as he stared down at you. “Do you still want this, bunny?”

“Yes,” you whispered, quickly. You were sure you’d go insane if he didn’t fuck you at this point. He sat back on his haunches and began to unlace his pants. His hard cock sprung free from its constraints and your eyes widened as you glanced down at it.

Eris tossed his pants somewhere behind him, chuckling as he noticed you observing him. By feeling alone you’d known his dick was big but seeing it now, you felt slightly intimidated. You sat up a bit and reached a hand out, lightly stroking him with curiosity.

Eris groaned, his hips twitching into your touch. He gently pulled your hand away, resting over you with one arm next to your head. “You can explore later. I need you. I can’t wait any longer.” 

You nodded, swallowing with anticipation. He stared directly into your eyes as he guided himself towards your entrance, pausing one last time to allow you the chance to stop. But you placed a hand on his cheek and pulled him into a kiss instead. Eris kissed you, hungrily. His tongue parted your lips as he devoured you. He lined himself up before slowly starting to push into you. He wasn't even an inch in before he felt the resistance. He kept you locked in a kiss as he pushed farther in, stretching you out to the point of pain. 

You cringed slightly at the feeling, pulling away from his lips with a hiss. But the way Eris stared down at you with so much reverence and care comforted you. Still, you grimaced as the pain increased, as the stretching felt more like he was tearing you in half. 

You hissed again and Eris peppered kisses to your face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” 

You shook your head, unable to tell him to stop apologizing. He grunted as you dug your nails into his biceps while he continued to thrust in slowly. “Fuck, bunny, you’re taking me so well.” 

His praise caused your heart to flutter, making you relax more until he was seated all the way. He groaned, glancing down at where both of your bodies were now connected. Your grip on his biceps were still tight as the pain started to soothe into a warmth that began to spread throughout your body. 

“Breath for me, babygirl,” Eris whispered, kissing your jaw. You nodded, eyes squeezing shut. You hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in your breath. The exhale of air from your lungs made your body soften fully and soon the pain was overwhelmed by the pleasure of having him inside of you. You moaned out his name, trying to let him know you were ready for more. 

“That’s it,” Eris groaned, feeling the tension leave. He slid out only a fraction before pushing back in—just enough to make you whimper. He brushed some of the damp hair from your forehead with a tenderness that had the bond in your chest aching. 

You were desperate for him to start moving and you realized he was waiting on some cue from you—some sign that you were ready for him. But talking felt impossible right now, your brain empty of all thoughts except a need for your mate. You lifted your hips, your breath catching with the movement. Eris grunted at the feeling of you around him. 

You breathed out his name again and that seemed to finally snap his restraint. Yet he was still gentle as he pulled all the way out of you before slowly thrusting back in. Your back arched at the new feeling. You finally released your grip on his biceps, stringing your arms around his neck instead. 

Eris began to move faster, deeper. One of his hands slid down your thigh, guiding you to hook it around his hips. The new angle caused him to hit a spot inside of you that had moans spilling from your lips. Eris kissed any part of you he had access to—your cheeks, your lips, your ears, your neck. His lips were hot, warming your skin as if you were standing next to an open flame. 

“So beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful.” 

His thrusts into you had you sliding against the silk sheets, had your breasts bouncing and your core throbbing around him with pleasure.

And he was watching you the whole time with a devotion that had you breathless. His whiskey amber eyes so focused on you and your pleasure, like it was all that mattered to him in this moment. His rhythm quickened, his strokes faster and faster as you spiraled underneath him—coming undone completely. 

It was overwhelming in the best possible way. Your bodies together as one. The feeling of the mating bond singing in your chest. The bliss of finally sharing yourself with someone you were falling in love with. Someone who held you like you were his entire world. Someone who saw all the unseen parts of you—the parts no one else had cared to look at. 

The culmination of everything had fire licking its way down your body, warmth spreading through your veins. Each thrust had a new wave of pleasure crashing into you. Each kiss had your heart beating to the tune of his. You were his in this moment—heart, mind, body and soul. And he was yours. Your fox. Your mate. Your Eris. 

Your vision went white as you toppled over the edge for a third time, screaming his name as you were consumed by his fire. Eris cursed as he rode out your orgasm, his pace growing sloppy as he lost himself in the feeling of you. He pounded into you, over and over again. You were mindless as you lightly grasped his cheeks, staring into his beautiful face—your body still in its state of bliss. 

“Mine,” he grunted. “You are mine.” 

“Yours,” you agreed. “And you belong to me.”

Those words had more of an effect on him than you could ever imagine. He groaned your name, his jaw tensing before he cried out and gave one final thrust inside of you that had the entire bed shaking. His forehead fell against yours as he climaxed, shuddering and panting for air. 

You stayed like that, wrapped up in each other for who knows how long. Just you and him. You and Eris. Nothing else mattered right now. Not his father or his court. Not your sisters or your mysterious powers. No conflict, no war, no pain. Nothing but the two of you and the eternal flame that connected your souls. 

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

You should've known that the euphoria wouldn't last for long. The universe always had a way of making sure the highs were met with the lowest of lows. So when you returned to the Forest House with Eris the next day and were summoned immediately upon arrival to the throne room, you were not surprised. Still, a lead weight dropped in your stomach. Eris had staunchly tried to argue that you could remain within his chambers while he dealt with the matter but the guards had been adamant that the High lord had requested both of your presences. 

He held your hand tightly in his as you walked into the throne room together. Beron sat on his throne, Seraphina on her smaller chair to the side of him. Eris’s three brothers stood at the bottom of the dais—each of their faces unreadable. Reid’s face was covered in bruises and you winced, knowing it was your mate that was behind it. Still, you couldn’t find it in you to feel bad. Not after what he had done to you. 

Eris had glamoured your scents, not wanting to give his father any ammunition to use against you. The Gods knew how traditional the Autumn Court was. Beron would be displeased to know you had sex before your mating ceremony. Would likely use that as an excuse to do who knows what.

“Father,” Eris said, dipping his head in a faux show of respect. 

Beron glanced at his son before looking at you, expectantly. You dropped Eris’s hand and curtsied like you’d been taught. “High Lord.” It was enough to have him look away from you and back to his eldest son. 

“In the time you’ve been absent,” Beron started, holding his hands behind his back. “I’ve learned of a few…events that have transpired in this court. Namely the death of three of my best guards and the disfigurement of one of my sons.” 

Eris scoffed, straightening his cuffs. “Reid will heal.” 

You tensed, noting the anger in Beron’s eyes. 

“That may be so,” Beron replied. “But my guards will not.” 

“They deserved death for what they did,” Eris growled. “They attacked my mate.” 

“And by whose word is that?” Beron asked, his tone chilling. “Were there any witnesses of this alleged attack? Or did you simply take the word of a female over three trained, professional guards—guards who have protected you your entire life, son?” 

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Eris snarled, stepping forward. 

Beron merely tilted his head, staring down at his son. “Any other witnesses?”

“You don’t believe your own son?” Eris questioned, causing Beron’s eyes to narrow.

“Not when his actions seem far too…uncharacteristic,” Beron said. “You are not known to attack others, Eris. I expect far more restraint from my Heir. Now, answer my question. Are there any other witnesses?” 

Eris stood up straighter, unwilling to back down. You swallowed harshly, your eyes darting between Beron and your mate. “Her two handmaidens were witness as well.” 

Beron chuckled, mirthlessly. His dead eyes lacked any amusement. “Two lesser fae? As if they are known for speaking any truths. Please son, you humor me greatly.” 

“So you refuse to take me at my word,” Eris scowled. “Yet also refuse to hear from the two witnesses who saw the attack, as well. What is it you want?” 

Flames licked the shoulders of the High Lord, a show of his growing ire. “Watch your tone when talking to me, son. What I want is justice for the guards who have lost their life over something so…trivial.”

“Trivial?” Eris scoffed. “You think it’s trivial that they—”

Beron held up a hand, silencing his son. “I wasn’t finished. Do not interrupt me again or there will be far greater consequences.” 

Eris moved in front of you, blocking his father’s view. You were nearly shaking with dread, nausea swimming in your stomach. Where was Beron going with this?

“As I was saying,” Beron continued. “I seek justice for the guards who are now dead. Punishment for your mate’s lack of decorum that resulted in their actions which led to their deaths. For that, she shall receive ten lashes.” 

The room fell silent except for a small gasp that came from your lips. Ten lashes? Ten lashes all because his guards had attacked you? That was….that was insane! Your lip quivered. Eris glanced back at you for a second, his face pale before his expression hardened into rage. He turned back to his father, glaring.

“I am her mate,” Eris declared. “And according to Autumn law, allowed to take her punishment as mine.”

The fact that he wasn’t trying to argue with his father told you that it would probably be no use.  

“Is that what you want?” Beron looked pleased, as if he knew this would be the outcome to his sentencing. You felt ready to puke. How could a father be so eager to hurt his own son? Just how twisted was this male?

“Yes.” Eris’s voice didn’t waver or soften. 

“Eris,” you whispered in horror, stepping forward. You couldn’t let him do this—couldn’t let him get whipped on your behalf. Neither of you should be facing this punishment. It was both cruel and unjust. But if someone had to take it, it had to be you. 

Eris turned to look at you with a stern expression.

“Don’t speak,” he ordered, his voice so harsh you nearly flinched but you knew his anger was not directed at you. You knew he was just doing what he could to protect you. “Go to my chambers and stay there until either I or your handmaidens come to collect you.” 

“She is not going anywhere,” Beron spoke up. “You are allowed to take her punishment but she is ordered to stay and watch. She must understand what it means to be a part of this court. Must understand what her actions have caused.”

“Father,” Eris’s voice was slightly pleading for once but Beron held up his hand again.

“Another word and it will be fifteen lashes instead.” 

Eris’s shoulder fell and he quickly schooled himself, nodding. You took a sharp breath, your eyes welling with tears. You wanted to reach for him but two guards grabbed you by the upper arms and held you in place. You watched as Eris began to unbutton his shirt, tossing it to the ground before falling to his knees at the bottom of the dais. 

No.

This couldn’t be happening.

You were going to be sick. 

You choked in fear as Beron summoned a whip made of fire in his hands, coming to stand behind his son. You tried to break free from the guards’ hold but it was impossible. Tears slipped down your face.

“Don’t!” you cried out. “Please, don’t hurt him! I’ll take them. I’ll—”

“I said another word and it would be fifteen lashes instead of ten,” Beron growled, his cold eyes darting to you before they looked back down at his son. “Your mate just caused you another five lashes, Eris.” 

No. No. No.

Your eyes darted around the room, looking for someone who might put an end to this. Who might stop this. But it was Finn who caught your eyes and gave you a small shake of the head, his lips pressed in a fine line. You were heaving, horrified. You had made things so much worse already. So much worse. 

No one was coming to stop this. No one was coming to save Eris. No one ever had. 

You stood frozen as the first crack of the whip echoed through the big room, striking Eris’s back and ripping through his flesh. Your heart was pounding in your chest as the whip rose again, the flames dancing in a menacing way. Another strike had more tears blurring your vision. By the third strike, you had fallen to your knees, retching. 

You couldn’t even see Eris’s face, but you knew it was contorted in agony. You tried to send comfort down the mating bond, comfort and love and anything else, but it was met with a wall of flame that blocked you out. That only had more tears falling down your face. Even in his agonizing pain, Eris was still protecting you. 

Memories of last night flooded your mind. The joy, the elation, the love. The time spent together wrapped up in each other like nothing else mattered. The secrets the two of you had shared beneath the covers. How had you gone from that to this? 

Your heart shattered with each strike. Your soul was aching as you sat there, watching in horror as Eris’s blood began to pool on the tiled floor. You had caused this. This was all your fault. All Eris had done since the beginning was try to protect you. And this is how you had returned the favor. The worst part of it all was knowing he wouldn’t even blame you at all for this. Not even for the five extra lashes you had caused. 

By the seventh strike, your own pool of vomit lay around you. 

Eris didn’t even cry, barely moved at all. It was haunting and it made you realize that this was not the first time this had happened to him by a long shot. How many times had his father punished him like this in his lifetime? How many scars lingered underneath his skin—only hidden by the unnatural healing of the fae? By the fifteenth strike, you knew the answer to be far too many. 

The guards finally let you go once Beron had finished and left the throne room, taking his wife with him. You scrambled to your feet, darting towards Eris but Liam caught you by the arm with a grimace. “You won’t be able to carry him. Let us take him to his chambers.” 

You were forced to watch again as both Liam and Finn heaved Eris’s near unconscious form up between the two of them. You trailed behind them, tears soaking the collar of your dress. The walk to his chambers seemed to take an eternity. Eris groaned as they fumbled him through the door. 

“Get him to the bath,” Reid murmured, causing you to jump in shock. You hadn’t realized that even he had followed. 

You darted ahead of them, starting to fill the basin as they dragged your injured mate into the bathing chambers and slid him into the tub. Eris grunted in pain as the water splashed against his wounds, staining it red. You muffled your own cries with a hand. 

“Father won’t allow him to be seen by a healer,” Finn whispered to you. “Can you take care of him from here?” 

You nodded your head, speechless. 

“He has some cooling salve and bandages under the sink,” Finn said, nodding his head towards the sink. “Come find me if you need help.” 

The three brothers took their leave after that, leaving you alone with your mate. You pulled out all the supplies Finn had mentioned, falling to your knees next to the tub where Eris sat, his knees drawn to his chest and his head resting against them. 

“Eris,” you finally whispered, stroking his hair. “Eris, I am so, so sorry.” 

“S’not your fault,” he mumbled, tiredly. 

You wanted to scream. Wanted to cry and scream and rage. But it was more important to take care of him right now. So you slowly set to work, apologizing each time he flinched as you cleaned his wounds. Your heart ached as you helped him out of the bath once you were finished.

“Come on,” you murmured. “Let’s get you on the bed.”

You helped him strip off his wet pants and underwear before laying him down on the bed on his stomach. You pulled the sheets up to his waist, leaving his back untouched. You kneeled on the bed next to him, taking out the salve to start spreading it over the wounds. 

Eris let out a sigh as you started applying it and your heart cracked in your chest as he slowly drifted to sleep, his body finally giving out. You cried as you smeared the salve over the burns before bandaging them gently. Once you were done, your head dropped to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried to his sleeping form. “I’m so sorry.” 

You don’t know how long you sat there, crying over him. But at some point, you finally sat up and wiped your face dry. Beron might’ve forbade any healer from helping Eris, but you had learned a thing or two from Elain about some plants that might help. Plants that the two of you used to mash into a paste and give to Feyre for all the blisters and calluses she would return home with when you were living in that small cottage. Plants that you knew you had seen during your ride in the forest with Eris. 

With that in mind, you gathered yourself before setting out to collect some, leaving Eris asleep on the bed for now. 

Luckily, you were able to sneak from the Forest House without anyone seeing you. You hid amongst the trees, plucking the plants and bundling them in your skirt. When you were confident that you had gathered enough, you started making your way back to the Forest House but you didn’t make it very far before you were interrupted. 

Shadows seemed to grow between the trees until a very familiar face stepped from them. You gasped in shock as Azriel materialized right before you, his hazel eyes staring directly at you. 

“Y/n,” he greeted, cooly, looking over your form like he was looking for any injuries before meeting your gaze again. 

“Az…Azriel? What are you doing here?”

“We’ve figured out a way to get you out of this mess,” he said, taking a step towards you. “Come, Feyre will explain to you once we’re home.” 

You mirrored his step backwards, eyes going wide. You didn’t want to go home…in fact, you knew in your heart that Velaris was no longer home to you. Home was…Home was Eris. You shook your head at him, trying to form the words to tell him you weren’t coming. 

“N-no,” you finally stuttered out. “I-I can’t go back. I don’t want—”

“Like I said—it will all be explained once we get back,” Azriel cut you off, moving quicker than you and grabbing your arm causing you to drop your skirt. All the plants you had gathered for Eris fell to the ground. “Let’s go.” 

And then you were engulfed in shadows, the Autumn Court disappearing from view. And all that was left in your place was a pile of healing plants for your injured mate—for Eris who would go on to wake up alone. 

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

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[unwrittenlibrary]

Crawling Back to You

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You broke up with Bucky months ago, but you can't stop calling him. He always picks up. He always comes to get you.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Some angst, exes to lovers, umm terrible men

a/n: Obviously inspired by the Hozier cover of Do I Wanna Know so maybe listen to that while you read (do it actually I'm commanding). Thank you for reading ily!! <3

Masterlist

~~

The sound of tires rounded out the weak remainder of sobs wracking your chest. You wiped at your cheeks with the back of your hands as rubber crackled against the heated asphalt, but the action was pointless. The dampness only returned, tracking stickiness from your cheeks to your neck. 

The engine remained on as the car door opened and shut in quick succession. You kept your gaze downturned, catching the small rocks that probably got stuck in the soles of Bucky’s shoes as he crouched before you. The stairs you sat on whined in defiance as you shifted slightly, still too embarrassed to face him. 

“What happened?” he softly asked. 

A humorless laugh fell past your lips, tears salty on your tongue. “It’s so stupid.” 

“‘S not stupid,” Bucky refuted. He took your chin between two of his fingers and searched the planes of your face, his lips pulling back in short grimaces as he went. “Not when you’re crying like that.” 

You bit into your bottom lip as you faced him, tears continuing to fall even though the ache in your chest eased some. It shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have called Bucky. 

The sun was escaping from the horizon behind him, casting an orange-hued blaze reflected in the tall grass beyond decaying gas pumps. It was windy and so hot that the wind didn’t matter, dirt flying up and twirling by his puffing exhaust. 

“I shouldn’t have called,” you finally choked out, taking no action against the slide of his hand against your cheek. “You were busy. I know you were.” 

Bucky only glided his fingers along your skin in gentle shapes, tutted, and tried to catch the tears that met his skin. “Never too busy for you.” 

“This is crazy.” 

“It’s not.” 

“I’m the one who broke up with you.” 

“Aware of that. Unfortunately.” 

You let out a sort of disgruntled moan, mortification mingling with relief inside of you. You leaned into his palm and huffed a sigh, using the lone car traveling on the road as a distraction. With your hands in your lap, it was easy to pick at your cuticles and hide it, a habit Bucky had never gotten you to kick. 

“Tell me what happened,” Bucky tried again. “How’d you get out here?” 

The deteriorating gas station seemed to creak in response to his question, the old building minutes away from collapsing. You’d been surprised to find an older man actually working at the counter when you got dropped here. He’d let you use the phone, and, of course, you had Bucky’s number memorized. You’d had to hand the phone to the old man to get the coordinates of this place straight, and then Bucky had been on his way. 

At the memory of everything that had happened before that phone call, your mouth puckered in a fruitless attempt to keep tears at bay. You brushed Bucky’s hand away in favor of pressing your face into your palms and tucking forward. 

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” Bucky urged, moving his touch to the back of your head. “Couldn’t be that bad.” 

He spoke with a gentleness that you didn’t need—one that would only make you cry harder. 

There was a long pause, and then, “Someone hurt you?” 

You shot your head up at that, the several octaves his voice had lowered warning you of nothing good. “No,” you hurried. “No. Not… physically. Do you remember Josh?” 

Bucky’s hand ran back over your hair and landed on the juncture of your neck. His jaw flexed, and his eyebrow jumped, obviously unimpressed. “Idiot with the bike? The one with the tiny shorts?”

Your lips curled softly despite yourself. “Yeah, that one.” 

“How could I forget?” he smiled back, tucking his hands away from you and clasping them between his bent knees. You tried not to care about the loss. 

“Right, well, we were supposed to go on a road trip. We were going to visit his parents. But… well, he got a text while we were driving, and…” You stared up at the cloudless sky, the sun beating down on your misery. “And he’s been cheating on me. For a few weeks, maybe longer. When I brought it up—started getting angry—he pulled over and just… told me to get out.” 

“Bastard,” Bucky breathed out. “Leaving you here like this? I’ll kill him.” 

“You won’t,” you chastised, wiping your tears once more, sounding congested and sad and over it all. “It doesn’t matter, really. It never matters.” 

“S’that supposed to mean?” 

Another sigh. You edged forward on the stairs, slotting both legs between his crouched ones, creating space where there hadn’t been. More dirt kicked up behind him, and the old man inside was screaming at the TV, banging plastic against old batteries, or something of the sort. 

It hurt to look at him. His eyes were asking so many questions, so much concern etched into the blues, but you never had the answers. Never had the right ones. 

“It was stupid to call you,” you reaffirmed, face inches from his. 

“It wasn’t—” 

“I always call you. It’s always you.” 

Bucky wet his drying lips. 

“And you always come,” you continued. “Do you remember when we broke up?” 

His brows came together, his eyes never leaving yours. “Of course I do.” 

“What’d I say?” 

“That I can’t put you first. That I try, but I need to heal first.” 

“Right,” you whispered, dirt whisking the word from the air. “Then—” you blinked as more tears coated your throat “—why can’t I stop thinking about you? Why does it never work?” 

Bucky’s expression fractured. He brought a knee down and captured your face in his hands, metal and warm skin overwhelming your senses. His eyes flitted between both of yours, brows furrowed impossibly tight. 

“I’m trying,” you stressed. “I’m trying to move on. To see other people. To give you space and time to heal. But it never works. I always—it always comes back to you.” 

“I don’t want you to move on,” Bucky said, desperate hands conveying his words. “The day you walked out the door was the worst day of my life.” 

You shot your gaze down in a plea for any of this to make sense. You had broken up for a reason, but right now, no reason seemed to take form. 

“But—”

“But you were right,” he interrupted, bringing your eyes back up to meet his. He looked so earnest, brows raised and eyes slightly wider to catch your attention. “Okay? You were right. ‘Course, I knew that. My girl’s right about everything, but I didn’t want you to be right.” 

Defeat made your muscles feel weak, deflating your shoulders and sending a new wave of uncomfortable sadness through you. Of course, you knew you were right. All those months ago, you had been so obviously right, but Bucky had fought so hard for you to be wrong. He never admitted to anything—until now. 

He had come to terms with it, then. 

You had dug your own grave. 

“Then why can’t I stop loving you?” you cried, the sound so aching it sent a crack through Bucky’s chest. He shook his head, but the motion was lost behind your blurred vision. You were so tired of crying. “I want to move on. I’ve been trying to but—” 

“Hey, baby, look at me, yeah?” Bucky hushed, repositioning his hands on your face if only to catch your attention. “I said you were right then. I needed the time. I needed to do right by you. I—I’ve been seeing people to help. I’ve been—making friends. The apartment’s got a bedframe now,” he added, tilting his head to offer you a smile. “I’ve been trying to be the man you need. I don’t want you to move on. Honestly, it’s been tearing my heart out to pick you up all these times.” 

Your chin trembled, but tears began to dry on your face. Bucky didn’t say more, but he continued to wipe the wetness from your cheeks and chin and jaw, searching your expression as he went. He looked pained, stressed. His car continued to run behind him and you were vaguely aware that this gas station might not actually have gas. 

“You got a bed frame?” you shakily asked. You grabbed his hands from your face, holding them in your lap instead. 

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky breathed out, looking down at your joined hands. 

“I didn’t know you even had a mattress.” 

“Needed one for when I got you back.” 

Your throat was dry, the wind a vicious attack against your quiet words. “Why haven’t you said anything?” 

“I was just happy you were calling. I didn’t care if it was to get you from these—” He paused, looking down to the divots his shoes made in the dirt before finding you once more. “Baby, I would’ve picked you up from bad dates for the rest of my life if it meant you were talking to me. Don’t stop loving me. Don’t move on.” 

An array of emotions were displayed on your face. You squeezed Bucky’s hands in your lap and leaned forward until your forehead was against his, eyes closing in contentment that didn’t match the scenario. A sign above you buzzed with low voltage electricity that would surely give out soon, the weak neon flickering in a violent sun. 

“Give me a chance,” Bucky pleaded. “Let me show you.” 

You fought the urge to laugh. “Bucky, I would have given you another chance months ago. You never asked.” 

You stayed there for a few more minutes, calming your racing heart in the stifling heat. This felt like starting over, but it also felt like comfort and familiarity and home. Bucky didn’t move until you did, only prying himself away when you leaned back and sniffed, eyeing the car behind him with puffy eyes. 

He looked upon you with a sickening adoration, cupping the side of your head as he placed a quick kiss to your temple. “Let’s get you home, yeah?” 

You breathed out an okay as you stood and nodded your head, the motion dizzying with how much you had cried and how long you had sat on those splintering steps. He noticed—he always noticed, even when things weren’t great. 

Bucky held your face in his hands once more, but it felt different now. He kept you at a distance and stared at your face as he instructed, “I’m gonna run in and get you a water. Wait in the car with the air on.” 

“Hope you have cash,” you briefly smiled. “I don’t think he has a working cash register. Couldn’t buy water earlier.” 

Bucky shook his head slightly, a rueful smile in return. “Give me Josh’s address.”

[unwrittenlibrary]

One of my closest friends @freyjas-musings surprised me with this GORGEOUS Elucien birthday gift today! Thank you so much @freyjas-musings for this beautiful gift. I’m so thankful that we met all those years ago and became friends. You’ve been one of the few people to help keep me sane in this crazy fandom! I love you bunches 🩷🩷 thank you for all your love and support 🩷🩷

And thank you so much @brielyasmin for creating this beautiful artwork. Elain and Lucien look STUNNING 🥹🥹 your artwork always blows me away with its beauty!!

Characters belong to Sarah J Maas

[unwrittenlibrary]

This is so, so important you guys.

[unwrittenlibrary]

Love of Choice | Azriel x reader

Summary: The Cauldron doesn’t alway pick wisely when it comes to mates, but even though Azriel isn’t hers, she chooses him.

A/N: Jeez almost made myself cry writing this one (in a good way). I was so close to ending this with heartbreak, but you guys know I’m a sucker for happy endings lol. Please do let me know what you think! I love love love reading your comments ✨🫶

Word count: 5457

Warnings: talk of past abusive relationship and violence, angst (w/ happy ending), all the feels … it’s a bit sappy ngl

-

Fear is a funny thing. It is such a basic emotion to feel, yet somehow—if felt for long enough—it becomes a part of oneself. A detail so deeply engrained into the very essence of the being that you eventually learn to live with it. A constant companion. Sure, you’ll forget about it when things run smoothly, but whenever it comes back to crack the surface, your heart will sink for just a second with a horrific sense of realization.

For Y/N, that sinking feeling always came in the form of a simple question.

“So, since when have you and Azriel been mated, then?”

Feyre’s smile was honest, if a bit cautious. She was still adapting to life at the Night Court, though she looked healthier than she had upon her arrival. The bones no longer protruded from her clavicle, and she warmed to the presence of the inner circle a little more with each passing day.

From the corner of her eye, Y/N could see Cassian snap his attention to the glass in his hand. The laugh that had previously fallen freely from his lips due to a drunken patron at Rita’s had ebbed away quickly. He knew of the tension that flowed into each of Y/N’s muscles at Feyre’s question, though she did her best not to show it.

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Azriel and I aren’t mates,” she said, her tongue heavy as she formed the words she’d had to speak to herself over and over again to accept them as the truth.

Feyre seemed surprised. “Oh? I never would’ve guessed. You two seem so … in sync.” She hesitated, and Y/N could see the question in her eyes. “Do you think the bond just hasn’t snapped yet? I’m sorry if that’s overstepping a line, you don’t have to answer, of course,” she added quickly, a faint touch of red tinting her cheeks.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind,” Y/N said, her smile gaining in warmth at the newly turned faerie before her. Despite all the things Feyre had had to endure Under the Mountain, she was still so … curious. So new. “My mate died centuries ago. That’s how I know it cannot be Azriel.”

“Gods, I’m so sorry.” Feyre looked truly grief-stricken at the thought. “I can’t imagine how terrible it must have been to lose your mate.”

It was Cassian who snorted into the brief silence that followed Feyre’s words. “Good riddance,” he muttered before downing the rest of his drink.

Y/N tilted her head as she observed the uncomprehending look on Feyre’s face at Cassian’s unsubtle words, and she wondered what Feyre had been told about the mating bond.

“Mates aren’t always chosen wisely, Feyre,” Y/N spoke. “Sometimes the matches are … unfortunate. I don’t know what Tamlin told you about it,” her voice became cautious at the mention of the High Lord of Spring, “but accepting the mating bond is not compulsory. Sometimes the Cauldron—wise as it is—chooses wrong.”

Feyre seemed to cling to every word she spoke, her eyes wide. “What happens if you refuse the bond?”

Y/N forced the air from her lungs in a deep exhale, signalling Rita for a refill of her drink. “Well, it depends. Seeing as the female is usually the one who must accept the bond, she’s also the one who can reject it. There are very, very few instances in which a male refused a mate.”

“And the few we know of have not been pretty,” Cass added, picking apart a napkin with rough fingers. “No matter who rejects it, the other one usually goes mad with grief. Our nature’s fun like that,” he added with a wink and a half-hearted grin.

Feyre blinked a few times before looking at Y/N with a mixture of hesitation and curiosity, though it seemed the latter won the upper hand.

“So, I take it you were the one to reject your bond?”

Y/N grinned at that, though her insides were churning. “Do I not look mad to you?”

Feyre gave a sheepish smile. “Not particularly, no.”

Y/N sighed, and her grin died as fast as it had appeared. “I did reject it. He wasn’t very nice.”

Cass snorted again. “Understatement of the year.” A frown took over his features, making him look every bit as deathly as he was. “The cruel bastard.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“It’s the only way of putting it.”

Feyre’s eyes darted from one to the other, and Y/N could see the question arise within them before she so much as formed the words.

“What did he—”

“I’m gonna go get a refill,” Cassian announced. He stood to head for the bar before Feyre could finish her sentence, and Y/N recognised it for the exit strategy that it was. Contrary to what one might have expected given his title, Cassian had never particularly enjoyed hearing tales of cruelty and suffering. Especially not when it came to the people he loved.

Y/N cleared her throat, and Feyre’s expression grew wary, her voice barely above a whisper when she spoke. “You really don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s fine,” Y/n said. “You’re one of us now. You deserve to know who we are.” She hesitated, then sought out Feyre’s gaze. “Rhys told you about what happened to Mor?”

A barely-there flinch ran through Feyre at the mention of Mor’s ordeal. She gave a single nod, and Y/N lifted a shoulder.

“My family doesn’t stem from the Hewn City, but our customs were pretty much the same. They planned to marry me off to the highest bidder, and when he turned out to be my mate as well, they saw an opportunity to squeeze him for the last of his riches. A mate—especially a male one—would do anything, give anything for the bond.” She hesitated. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t smart enough to get myself out of it … not like Mor did. I thought I’d got lucky, given that I’d be married off to my mate.”

Y/N tugged on the cuff of her dress. “I lived with him for a while, but it didn’t take very long to realise my mistake and I thank the Gods every day that I hadn’t yet accepted the bond.”

“Why hadn’t you?” Feyre asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

Y/N shrugged. “Intuition? It was during the war with Hybern, right after we’d freed our human slaves, and I told him I wanted to wait with the ceremony till the war was over. But even during the few good weeks we had, something always felt … off.” She cleared her throat again, her mouth suddenly dry. “Well, like I said, it only took a few weeks to realise my mistake. They don’t value women a lot, you see. The other High Lords, I mean. Never have. Except for breeding purposes, of course.” Bitterness twisted her mouth into a frown. “I’ll spare you the details, but it wasn’t … well, it wasn’t pretty.”

“Wait, you … you were married to a High Lord?”

“Well, not quite.” Y/N tilted her head. She’d assumed Rhys had told her this much at least. “To an heir. Nuvian. The heir of Spring.”

She could see the colour draining from Feyre’s face. “You were married to … to …”

“Tamlin’s eldest brother, yes.”

Feyre swallowed heavily, and Y/N observed her for a moment. She knew of the bond between Feyre and Rhys, of course. It was hard to miss. Or at least it was hard to miss for someone who’d spent her life resenting one bond and longing for another. She’d gotten very sensitive when it came to the detection of mating bonds. Only Feyre didn’t know it yet, of course. 

She briefly wondered whether she should tell her, but soon concluded that it wasn’t her place to interfere.

“And he—” Feyre broke off, shaking her head at the direction her thoughts had taken. “I always got the impression Tamlin was raised to … to respect.”

“Tamlin’s family values wives for their roles as wives. They’re supposed to be silent and pretty to look at and pop out a few heirs while they’re at it.” Y/N hesitated when she recalled that Feyre did once love the High Lord of Spring, and, softening her tone, she added. “I don’t know Tamlin very well. I believe you when you say he’s not like that.”

An emotion flickered across Feyre’s face—one Y/N couldn’t quite place. It was gone faster than it had appeared.

“So, you lived at the Spring Court? And you never accepted the bond?”

Y/N sighed, leaning back in her chair. “No. Never. He didn’t seem to care much at first. I mean, he got most of what he wanted from me even without a bond. Save for the heir of course—I made sure of that.”

“What do you mean?”

Y/N felt her jaw clench for a fleeting moment. “There are tonics even someone without much knowledge of herbs can brew. Over my dead body would I have bound myself to him with yet another chain.”

Feyre hesitated. “And what happened then?”

Y/N felt every muscle, every tense edge of her face soften as a sense of calm washed over her. “Then I met Azriel.”

Feyre was surprised. “Already?”

She nodded. “Rhys and Tamlin were friends back then. I’m sure he told you?” When Feyre nodded, Y/N continued. “Rhys visited the Spring Court a couple times. We didn’t know each other then, but I missed my home, and so I befriended him. He reminded me of the Night Court, and I felt a little better when I talked to him. He brought me little trinkets from Velaris, things you could only get in the Night Court … and then one time, he brought Azriel along. I think it was for spying purposes, but Gods…” Y/N shook her head softly, mesmerised as she allowed herself to sink deep into the memory. “I fell hard, and I fell fast, and I’ve loved him ever since.”

“Was he the reason you left Nuvian?” Feyre asked quietly, and the memory that had just warmed Y/N’s veins turned ice cold.

“One does not simply leave the Heir of the Spring Court,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Nuvian noticed of course, he was bound to. He detected a scent he didn’t know, said I … tasted different.” She grimaced. “He didn’t know it was Azriel. He suspected Rhys, and so he— … he began to whisper, to scheme and manipulate his father into thinking Rhys would be a threat to his throne.”

Nausea twisted her stomach into a knot, and for the first time since knowing her, she didn’t dare meet Feyre’s eye. She didn’t have to. She knew that Rhys had told her this part.

“By the Mother,” Feyre breathed.

Y/N cleared her throat, desperately attempting to swallow the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. “Tamlin’s father slaughtered Rhys’ family, and it was all because of Nuvian’s jealousy. It was all because of me.”

Cassian chose that moment to reappear, bearing a beer glass he’d already half-emptied only to set it down on the table much harder than necessary.

“Stop talking like that,” he said gruffly, though the gentle hand that appeared on her back counteracted his harsh tone. “It wasn’t your fault. Tam’s old man would’ve come for Rhys even without your involvement.”

She offered a wobbly smile. She knew he truly believed his words—all of them did. Rhys had never once blamed her for what had happened. But she knew the truth, even if neither one of them wanted to see it.

Silence stretched on for a long while, only the soft murmur of a lazy crowd of patrons buzzing in the background of Rita’s pub. She felt a gentle brush of air on her ankle, goosebumps arising on the back of her neck.

It was Feyre who spoke first. “So that’s how it ended? Rhys and his father killed Nuvian along with his family, and you were free to go back to the Night Court?”

“Oh, Rhys didn’t kill the bastard,” Cass said, and Y/N smiled at the shadow curling over her hand.

Feyre looked confused now. “Then who killed him?”

“I did,” a low voice hummed from somewhere behind them—a voice deep as the night and smooth as shadow, and Y/N felt her heart pick up its pace as though on cue.

From the way Feyre’s eyes focused on something behind her, Y/N could tell that Azriel had emerged from his shadows, and sure enough, two broad palms appeared on her shoulders, heavy with comfort and warmth.

“Azriel,” Feyre said, her eyes briefly flickering to Y/N as though to make sure the topic was still okay to talk about, even with Azriel present. “You went with Rhys that night?”

Y/N lay her head back to look up at Azriel and watched as he inclined his head in confirmation.

When he caught her gaze, his eyes softened, and she felt his thumb brush against the side of her neck affectionately.

“Will you give us a moment, my love?” she asked softly, her hand coming up to find one of his, the pads of her fingers brushing over raised scar tissue. She knew he’d come to take her home. “I will be out in a moment.”

“Of course,” he said, and Y/N caught a flicker of concern in the depth of his eyes—one he always got whenever she dwelt on the past. He squeezed her shoulders, offering a polite smile to Feyre, and then vanished into the shadows once again.

Cassian was quick to rise from his chair as well. “I’ll go keep him company,” he proclaimed. “Would be a shame to have him freeze his balls off all by himself.”

Y/N snorted. “And you call yourself Illyrian.”

She hid a grin as Cassian gave her the finger before steering towards the door, half-empty glass in hand.

Y/N exhaled deeply, but she could see from the look in Feyre’s eyes that something was still nagging her. Tilting her head, she asked, “What is it?”

Feyre hesitated. She opened her mouth, then clapped it shut before opening it once again.

“It’s just,” she began. “The mating bond. It’s supposed to be this amazing, beautiful thing, and hearing that it was such agony for you, it’s … well, it’s a reality check I suppose.”

Y/N’s face softened as she sought out Feyre’s hands on the tabletop. “Most times, it is beautiful,” she said. “It’s just dangerous to romanticise it, as it is dangerous to romanticise literally anything else in life. It is important to remember that you have a choice. You can choose to reject it just as well as you can choose to embrace it. And if the latter, I’m sure that— … whoever you end up with shall be worthy of your love.”

Gods, she’d been this close to letting it slip. But luckily, Feyre was still distracted.

“But you and Azriel—” Feyre broke off, collected her thoughts, then opened her mouth again. “I truly don’t mean to pry, but while I was with Tamlin, I kept waiting … I kept thinking the bond would snap any day now. And when it didn’t, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he and I … that we—”

“That you weren’t meant to be,” Y/N finished for her, ignoring that sharp twist in her gut—that fear she’d now been carrying for centuries raising its ugly head. She nodded, searching for the right words before she opened her mouth. “I’m very sure of Azriel’s love for me, and yet every night before I fall asleep, there’s a part of me that fears that the next day will be the day that he finds his true mate. I dread the day his bond snaps in place because I know he’ll want to fight it. He’ll do anything in his might to fight it, and he’ll be torn between his love for me and every instinct telling him to love someone else. I dread it because that’s not what I want for him.”

She swallowed thickly. “I had my mate, and I’m glad he’s dead. Azriel carved him up, and I did not shed a single tear. I rejected the bond, and I chose to spend my life with Azriel instead. I choose him every single day, and even if one day it’ll end, I’ll know that it was real. No Cauldron, no Mother, no Gods. I love him, and he loves me, and we chose each other, bond or not.”

Tears were lining Feyre’s eyes as she stared at her, and Y/N smiled, tilting her head. “You’re still new to this, Feyre,” she spoke softly. “Unfortunately, when you live an immortal life, things are bound to get unfathomably hard at one point or another. But that doesn’t mean you don’t get to have a say in your own future.”

It was just a short while later that Y/N revelled in the starlight as she walked along the Sidra, her arm looped through Azriel’s, her head leaning against his shoulder. She’d always loved the night.

Cassian had taken off with Feyre earlier, flying her back to the House of Wind, but Y/N and Azriel had decided to walk to the home they shared by the river.

“My love,” Azriel spoke softly into the silence, his steps halting as he turned to face her fully.

She smiled as she looked up at him, at the starlight reflecting in his eyes, the dark strands of hair swallowed by the shadows of night. “What is it?”

She felt his palms on her cheeks, his warmth seeping into her skin, and when he kissed her, she felt the tingle right down to her toes.

“I love you,” he breathed when he broke the kiss, his face still close enough for her to feel the puff of his words wash over her skin. “I love you more than words can say. And I choose you, too.”

Her smile turned watery then, though she tried to play it off.

“Eavesdropping now, are we?”

“Marry me.”

Her heart stuttered to a stop at his words, her breathing suddenly laboured. “Azriel—”

“No, wait,” he said, his thumb brushing against her lower lip in a gentle request. “I know we’ve talked about it before, and I know you have this notion of me suddenly finding my mate and then being bound to you when I’d rather be with them. But that’s not going to happen.”

She swallowed thickly, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke, for fear it could break entirely. “You don’t know that.”

“But I do.” Conviction lay in Azriel’s words, his eyes searching hers. “You said it yourself. We choose each other every day and we have for centuries now. The bond is rare to begin with, but what makes you think you’d be second choice if it ever came to the possibility of mine snapping in place?”

She was thankful for the thumb he smoothed across her cheek, catching a stray tear.

“You don’t know the power of a mating bond, Az. There’s no way you can be sure.”

He considered her for a moment. “Maybe not. But you told Feyre that we get to decide for ourselves. We don’t need to rely on the Cauldron. I get to choose, and I choose you.”

She felt her lip wobble.

“I choose you,” he said again, softer this time. “You’re my mate in every way that counts. Marry me.”

-

The day Azriel’s bond snapped in place was a few months after the second war with Hybern.

Solstice was nearing, and Rhys had invited representatives from every Court to celebrate early. Well, almost every court. He’d skipped Spring and Autumn.

The banquet hall in the House of Wind had been decorated for the occasion, artful ice crystals mixing in with dark fabrics and millions of tiny diamonds forming the illusion of a rich night sky.

It was in the middle of the main course that Azriel felt a sharp tug in his chest, a flinch running through him at the sensation.

To his left, Y/N threw a worried glance at him.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, her hand seeking out his, the diamond on her finger catching the light of the chandelier. Azriel thought of the day they’d stood before their friends, exchanging rings, vows, promises. It all seemed years away now, though it had only been months.

“Yes, I …” Azriel broke off, clearing his throat. “Excuse me for a moment, my love.”

He didn’t bother getting up from the table, but rather vanished into his shadows only to find himself in the comfort of his room seconds later.

Something felt … off.

He’d heard of heart attacks before, had even witnessed a few during the time he’d spent spying in the human realm, but he knew that that couldn’t be what was happening to him. Faeries didn’t get heart attacks. Short from a blade to the gut, there wasn’t much that could kill them.

Poison entered his mind. Poison was possible. Or a cold. Perhaps a bruise from his last training with Cass. Or an old war injury.

Anything. He was racking his brain, desperately searching for an explanation other than the obvious.

A new wave of warmth crashed into him, and Azriel gritted his teeth when a gentle knock on the door had him flinch.

Usually, he sensed anyone approaching within a mile thanks to his shadows.

“Az,” Y/N said as she entered the room, closing the door behind her. Gods, he loved the dress she wore tonight, the delicate earrings he’d gifted her years back. He tried to focus on them with all his might. “Are you sure you’re okay? You looked … spooked when you left.”

“Yes, I’m—” Azriel broke off and flinched when the sharp sensation reappeared, instinctively lifting a hand to his chest.

It seemed that gesture alone was enough for her to realise, and Y/N’s face fell as though drained entirely from energy.

Suddenly, silence lay heavy between them, thick as mud and unbearable in its duration.

“It’s your bond,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, her expression almost numb. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” Azriel said, forcing the sensation back down and ignoring the rising panic threatening to clog up his throat. “No, it’s not.”

“Azriel—”

“No.”

Silence settled once again, and Azriel wanted to throw up at the distance she kept as though she had no right to step closer. As though she wasn’t the one who was supposed to be here right now.

He took the step instead, lifting his palm to her face, but before he could touch her, the sting in his chest intensified and Azriel huffed as he clenched his fist mid-air.

Her eyes softened, but the sorrow they held almost broke him.

“Azriel,” she spoke softly, quietly. “It’s okay.”

He shook his head, not trusting his voice.

“You’re suppressing it,” she said. “Allow it to snap in place.”

“No,” Azriel gritted through his teeth. He didn’t want this, and the fact that she looked like her worst fear had just manifested right before her eyes didn’t make it any easier. She made it seem final. She made it seem like she’d already given up hope.

“The longer you suppress it, the stronger it’ll get.”

“You just made that up.”

She smiled weakly. “Maybe.”

Azriel’s eyes watered. “I don’t want it.”

“That’s okay, baby,” she breathed, finally stepping closer, lifting her own hand to his chest. “Letting it snap in place doesn’t make it final. You can find out who you’re bonded to and decide then.”

“I have decided.”

No part of her seemed convinced at that, but she let it go without comment.

“Let it snap,” she urged instead. “You won’t be able to fight it forever.”

Azriel’s hands shot to her face, his grip a bit firmer than he intended as he held her cheeks in his palms.

“Listen to me,” he ground out, the pressure in his chest intensifying. “Stop talking like that. Stop talking like this is the end. I have decided. I. Choose. You.”

She looked at him for a long while—so long that he thought his chest might burst into flames if she kept it up much longer. Finally, her gaze snapped to the ring on the hand that still lay on his chest, and she nodded.

“I know,” she breathed, fixing her eyes back on him. “I know, Az.”

Azriel exhaled as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and with his hands still on the one he loved, he carefully loosened the restraints he’d kept on the throbbing heat in his chest.

At once, it burst free, and Azriel stumbled a step back, his hands falling from her cheeks as though they’d been burned. Tension ran from the top of his head right down to his toes, and he felt it then—glowing deep within him, golden and hot, pulsing with energy, tethering him to … he didn’t know to whom, but the feeling was breath-taking. It was all-consuming, clouding his mind and numbing his senses as every bit of his focus turned inwards in an attempt to peer to the other side of that line. The side that still lay in darkness.

Her voice was the only thing that penetrated the fog in his head.

“Can you feel her yet?” she asked, her voice cracking at the end, and Azriel knew that he hadn’t controlled the mesmerisation he’d felt just then. He’d let it all show on his face bright as day for her to see.

He hesitated. “No.”

“Tug on it.”

He wanted to fight it, to refuse, but the sudden need to find out was overwhelming. It seemed like he no longer was in control, like his body was working against his mind, and so he did as she said.

It took a few tries. He never would have imagined it to feel like this, but when he finally managed to grasp the invisible thread within him, he gave a tentative tug. When that didn’t work, he gave a harder tug, and from one moment to the next, his heart stuttered to a stop.

Because standing before him, in the room he’d called his home for many years, was the one he loved. And as his eyes tracked the absent-minded look on her face, he noted her hand rubbing at a spot just beneath her left clavicle. She didn’t even seem to realise she was doing it.

He stared at her, and as he stared, he forced himself not to hope, because surely it was impossible. Unheard of. Otherworldly.

Azriel gripped that thread within him, and he tugged, and as he tugged, he flooded it with everything he felt for her, every bit of love he had to offer.

His knees weakened when she flinched, confusion on her face.

“What—”

“Look at me,” he interrupted her, placing his hands on her shoulders this time, his eyes boring into hers. He gave another tug, and he could see it then—see the realisation flicker deep within her eyes, the eyes that now flooded with unshed tears.

“What are you doing, I—”

Suddenly, a sense of calm overcame Azriel, and it seemed time slowed to a grinding stop. He saw her eyes then, the eyes he’d lost himself in right upon their first encounter in the Spring Court. The lips he’d kissed during stolen moments alone, the cheeks he’d held when she’d sobbed over the cruelty of the Cauldron for making Nuvian her mate and not him.

He’d wanted to kill Nuvian then. For everything he’d been doing to her, every bruise on her body and soul, every finger he’d ever dared to lay on her. Azriel had already had a plan, but he’d hesitated. He didn’t know what it would do to her if he killed her mate, and before he’d managed to convince himself to go through with it, Tamlin’s father had already sought his revenge for a supposed threat to his throne.

Afterwards, Azriel had held in his hands not only the shattered bits of his lover but also those of his brother, and he’d revelled in the way his dagger felt cutting through Nuvian’s throat like a knife through butter.

He spoke her name now, the name of a love greater than he’d ever dared to hope for. It felt soft on his tongue, and his wings shuddered with the sensation.

“Y/N. My love. It’s you.”

She stared at him, and when she took a step back, creating distance between them, Azriel’s heart gave a crack.

His fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, and he felt her hand tremble in his grip, her face stricken.

“Feel for it,” he insisted, lifting her hand back to his chest to press her palm over his heart. “Dig it up.”

“Azriel,” her voice was rough as gravel as she spoke, her head shaking frantically. “Don’t. It’s not possible.”

He urged closer, breathing her in, feeling the bond thrum thickly within him, and when he tugged again, she gave a choked sob in response to the sensation he knew now coursed through her as well.

“Let it snap,” he said, using her own words, his voice much calmer than he would have thought it would be in such a situation. He weaved his free hand through her hair, lowering his forehead to hers. “Allow it to snap in place.”

She hesitated, but when she finally allowed the tension to flow from her muscles, it seemed every fibre of Azriel’s being came to life with sizzling heat, and this time, when she sobbed, it was with joy barely contained.

-

- BONUS -

It was a little while later that Azriel stood in Rhys’ study, his fingers running along the bare curve of his mate’s back, revelling in every bump and dent of her spine. He truly loved her dress—her back bare for him to touch, her front glittering like his favourite constellation.

In the hour since the bond had snapped into place, his hands hadn’t left her once.

Rhys stared at them.

“Two mating bonds,” he muttered, his expression equally mesmerised. “I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”

“Do you think it’s because I didn’t accept the first one?” Y/N asked quietly. She was still buzzing with joy, but the overwhelming revelation had left her spent, her cheeks glowing, her tone calm. Her own hands were fiddling with a button on Azriel’s jacket.

Rhys considered her for a moment. “Perhaps,” he said. “Either that or the fact that Nuvian is dead. There could be a time factor to it as well, but—" Rhys halted in his speech, and his eyes snapped to the door behind Y/N’s back. “Feyre, darling. Have you heard the news?”

When Y/N turned, her gaze landed on the High Lady, and a smile curved her lips in response to the excitement shining in her eyes.

“Well of course. Your thoughts were very loud,” Feyre grinned, closing the door softly behind her. “Cassian and Mor are losing their minds.”

Azriel snorted softly, and Y/N felt his hand slip to her hip to give a gentle squeeze.

“I’m so happy for you two,” Feyre said, bouncing ever so slightly on the balls of her feet, her eyes bright. “I’m so glad it worked.”

Y/N and Azriel shared a look before Y/N looked back at Feyre and asked, “What worked?”

“Well, I wished for it.”

A beat of silence.

“Whatever do you mean, my darling?” Rhys asked from where he sat behind his desk.

Feyre tilted her head. “When you and I were mending the Cauldron, of course. I wished for them to be mated. Didn’t you hear?”

Silence settled, the clock by the door ticking loudly, and all Y/N could do was stare at the faerie that—in the few short months she’d been living at the Night Court—had not only become her High Lady but a dear friend.

For the first time since the bond snapped, Azriel’s hand left her skin, and she felt the loss of contact right down to her bones.

She watched carefully as he neared Feyre and smiled when he wrapped strong arms around her delicate shoulders, pulling her firmly to his chest, his head bowing as he pressed his cheek to her hair.

“Thank you,” he breathed, and as Y/N caught Feyre’s gaze over the shoulder of her mate, it felt like her heart was about to burst with happiness.

[unwrittenlibrary]

Illyrian Brows

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Azriel x reader 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: <1k baby drabble 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲: fluff

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

You pluck Az's eyebrows and make some males jealous.

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: ʙʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪꜰʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 18 ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ.

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

“Ow.”

Massive wings twitched when you pulled another hair from Azriel’s brow. The Illyrian pursed his lips, intense hazel gaze flicking up to your face just above his. 

You couldn’t help but smirk, looking down at the handsome male from your perch on his lap. Feyre really was onto something when she called the bat boys Big Illyrian Babies… 

“It’s almost like you’re enjoying this,” Azriel grumbled. 

“Me, reveling in your pain? Never, shadowsinger,” you assured. He winced again at the removal of a particularly thick hair toward the center of his forehead. 

He sighed through his nose, letting a quiet groan loose as you followed suit on the other brow. His arm tightened around your waist and you swallowed, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. 

“I never took you for such a princess,” you laughed and Azriel glared up at you. 

But the withering look quickly morphed from malicious to lighthearted. The Illyrian kissed his teeth and looked away, over your shoulder. “I don’t know how you even talked me into this. I’m never letting you do this again.”

You hummed and plucked another hair, this time from underneath the tail of his dark brow, toward the side of his face. His nose twitched, the only sign of his discomfort. You smoothed your thumb over the irritated skin to soften the sting, not noticing hazel eyes deepen, tracing the lines of your face. “I deeply apologize, your Highness, I didn’t mean to offend.”

The male scoffed, a small smirk curling at his lip and about to retort something witty no doubt when a low whistle sounded from the doorway behind you two. 

Startled, you ripped out another hair as you turned to glance over your shoulder, rendering a yelp from the male below you before he poked his head around your frame, too. 

Cassian was standing there with a wolfish grin, arms crossed and his own full brow raised high. 

“Well, well… and what do we have here?” he inquired. 

Azriel shifted uneasily beneath you. 

“We were just—“ 

“Oh, I—“

You and Azriel shared a flustered look before you looked back at the Illyrian by the door. 

“Eyebrows! I’m just helping Az tame these… wild brows… is all,” you explained, suddenly very aware of your place in the male’s lap. 

Cassian only grinned wider. “Oh? That all?” 

A pillow from the chaise you two were sat on suddenly sailed over your head, smacking the male in the chest. He didn’t budge so much as an inch, unbothered. 

“Yes,” Azriel hissed, his arm on your waist tightening. “That’s all.” 

“Okay, well, if that’s the case, can I go next?” Cass requested, the devilish rogue. “If salon Y/n is taking new clients, that is.”

Before you could think to reply, Azriel did for you. 

“She’s fully booked,” he said, his words and eyes equally full of ice. “Now fuck off.” 

Cassian let out a mix between a snort and a laugh, his brow and both his raised up high before he slipped out of the door and back into the hall. 

You turned back to Azriel, amused. 

The male rolled his shoulders back, wings fixing into place with them. You shared a look before he nodded at you and closed his eyes, turning his chin up so you could continue your work, choosing not to acknowledge the interruption at all. 

You chuckled and went back to work, thankful the male needed much more grooming before you’d have to remove yourself from him. Unbeknownst to you, Azriel felt the exact same. 

If the price of you sitting in his lap and showering him with your undivided attention was a few measly eyebrows, he’d gladly let you pluck every single one.

⤷ masterlist

[unwrittenlibrary]

fanfics are one of the best things that humanity has come up with. i fucking love reading stories about my favorite characters from people who have the same brainrot as me

[unwrittenlibrary]

Stop giving fathers redemption arcs. That old man sucks and you know it

[unwrittenlibrary]

mortal habits

summary: the act of patching up small cuts and bruises is so exceedingly mortal, something azriel has never worried about. until she kneels in front of him, fretting.

word count: about 1k

warnings/tags; archeron!reader, fem!reader (she/her pronouns) ummmm this is Not Good & not beta'd.

notes: i make my return for azriel... since my last fic (in the year of 2022! insane!) i have started reading a lot again, i've settled into my job and i've started writing again. how exciting. this is a disaster of a fic. it's been awhile. hopefully i write mooooooooore though, i do miss it.

-

Azriel had been through worse. Far worse. He had lived through two wars. Had completed the Blood Rite. Trained alongside Cassian and Rhys for centuries. His hands had been burned, scarred and permanently altered. His wings had been torn before.

So he had been through worse.

The cuts across his torso were minor, already closing, and the bruises blooming along his ribs would be gone in hours. His Siphons hummed faintly, magic stitching him together even as he sat, still and quiet, on the edge of your bed.

He could handle pain. He had handled pain his entire life.

But this? This was different.

You knelt before him, brow furrowed in concentration, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you dabbed an ointment onto a particularly nasty gash just beneath his collarbone. You had practically manhandled him into this spot, told him to not move as you retrieved the jar of ointment Madja had given you for your own cuts when you had been training with Nesta.

At any point before you knelt before him, he could have been honest and told you it wasn't necessary. That by the time you moved on with your day and joined Feyre in her studio or Nesta in the library, the wounds would be nothing to him. Scratches he will eventually forget he ever had.

“I swear, Az,” you mutter, dipping your fingers into the little glass jar beside you. Your nails have gotten longer. Painted a pretty blue that looks eerily familiar. “I don’t know how you’re still walking around after all of this.”

Azriel huffs a quiet laugh. “I heal fast.”

You shoot him a look—one of those unimpressed, sharp glances that remind him exactly who your sisters are. Rhys sometimes says that when Feyre looks at him, he feels like bowing down. Cassian constantly says he's at Nesta's mercy.

Azriel thinks he finally understands the sentiment. He would kneel to you, make himself at your mercy. He would bend to your will.

He smiles down at you. Your sharp eyes narrow in a way that always seem to make his shadows curl around him in amusement, like they also find you cute. “That doesn’t mean you don’t feel it.” You say.

He doesn't reply. Because he knows you're right. And because the gentle press of your fingers against his skin makes his throat tighten in a way that had nothing to do with pain.

Because he wants you to keep touching him.

It was such a mortal thing, this tending to cuts and bruises. Rhysand and Cassian would have waved you off with a smirk and told you it was pointless. Maybe even laughed at the naivety of it, at the idea of warriors tending to these small injuries like they were huge inconveniences.

You weren’t a warrior though. You hadn’t grown up knowing the brutality of being an Illyrian. And you didn't grow up with the efficiency of fae healing. To you, wounds meant something—they weren't just small things that could be shrugged off but proof that someone you cared about had been hurt. They were proof that someone you cared about was not invincible.

So he lets you fuss over him, lets you press too-gentle fingers to his ribs. He forces his breathing to remain even when your nails scratch over his stomach by accident and you offer him an apologetic smile.

It was sweet. Infuriatingly, heartbreakingly sweet how you tended to these cuts and bruises like they were fatal.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmurs, watching as you smoothed the salve over his shoulder, fingertips lingering against his skin.

You shrug, continuing to touch him. "I want to.” You say simply.

He swallowed hard. Nobody had ever wanted to take care of him. At least, not like this. Madja was always there for the inner circle. His brothers loved him, so did Mor and Amren in her own way, maybe. But nobody had ever wanted to take care of him. Not in this simplistic way.

He glances down where your fingers dance across his collar bone. Watches your hands as they examine the bruises along his chest.

Your hands were so different from his. Soft where his were scarred, warm where his were cold. They didn't know battle, did not know pain in the way his did. And yet, they were careful with him. As if he were something fragile. Something you wanted to take care of.

No one had ever touched him like this before.

You pull your hands away, sit back on your heels and tilt your head at him. Then you grin, devastatingly beautiful. “There,” you say with quiet satisfaction. “Not perfect, but it’ll do.”

Azriel wanted to tell you that it was perfect, anything you did was perfect. That the ache in his ribs had nothing to do with the fight and everything to do with the way you were looking at him now—soft, fond, completely unaware of the chaos you created inside his chest.

Instead, he reaches out, brushing his fingers lightly over your cheek. A quiet thank-you, unspoken but understood because he knew you understood him.

Your lips part slightly, breath catching, and for a moment—just a moment—he let himself believe that this was something he could have. That this tenderness was meant for him.

Then you smile, small and knowing, like you could read every single thought Azriel had. Like you understood why his heart was racing.

Azriel’s fingers linger against your cheek, scarred and rough, but you didn't flinch and he didn't pull away. You just sat there, looking at him like he was something more than shadows and scar and unworthiness.

“Az,” you murmur, voice the softest that he's ever heard it, like you knew his mind had trickled into thoughts of not being good enough for this, for you.

He swallowed hard. He should pull away, stand and urge you to stand up with him. Should let his hand fall away and bury whatever this feeling he has beneath layers of duty and restraint. Go back downstairs and join the rest of your family at the kitchen table.

But you were still kneeling before him, still so close, and he could see the way your lashes fluttered, the way your lips parted, like you felt this as much as he did.

He was an idiot.

A complete, utter idiot.

Because instead of pulling away, his thumb brushes over your cheekbone, barely a whisper of a touch, and he says, “You shouldn’t waste your time on this.”

Your brows knit together, and you reach up, wrapping your fingers around his wrist before he could retreat. “Why not?”

His throat tightened. “Because it’s pointless.” It is. Not the tending to cuts, not your mortal practice, doing this for him. Wasting your time worrying over him, was pointless.

Your grip doesn't falter. If anything, it only grows firmer, grounding him. “I don’t think it is.” You say softly.

Azriel inhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head, but you don't let him look away. You tilt your head again, studying him the way you always did—like he was something you wanted to figure out.

“Just because you heal fast,” you say slowly, carefully, “doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be taken care of.”

Something in his chest cracked, splintering apart under the weight of your words. No one had ever said something like that to him before. No one had ever looked at him like this before.

Like he was something worth taking care of. He had never been afforded this gentleness.

He let out a breath, slow and uneven, and decides to allow himself one more indulgence—just one. He turns his hand, catching yours in his grasp, and he squeezes.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, even though the words feel like a lie. Maybe they are one.

You let out a soft, exasperated laugh. “Of course you are.” You say, but you don't let go. You just sit there, hand wrapped around his, warm and steady and real.

Azriel should let go. He should get up, finally put space between you and remind himself of all the reasons why this—you—were not his to have.

Azriel doesn't let go though, and neither did you.

The silence between you stretches on, but it's comfortable. His mind may be warring and his heart may be racing, but silences with you were never anything but comfortable. It was like you knew how to exist with him. Like you knew he needed a moment to sort his thoughts out.

And the truth was, his thoughts were coming down to the fact that he was afraid to want this. Afraid of what it would mean for his relationship with Rhys and your sister. Would Rhys see him worthy of one of Feyre's sisters? Would Feyre? Would they confirm every thought he's ever had about himself?

(Did it matter? If you looked at him like this? If you touched him like this? Did it matter what anybody else thought?)

Your free hand lifts between the two of you and he startles out of his thoughts. You smile gently as your nails trace the edge of his jaw softly before gently cupping his cheek.

His pulse stutters. He's touch starved and desperate for you. Azriel's eyes flicker between yours, searching for doubt or fear or disgust, something to prove to him that he shouldn't do this.

But he finds none, and he's done fighting, so he lets his eyes slide shut. He lets himself lean into your touch.

(He doesn't see your eyes flickering down to his lips. He has no clue that your own heart is racing in your chest. Azriel is completely unaware that for so long, since you came out of that cauldron irrevocably different, all you've wanted is him.)

He can only feel your hand, still wrapped in his, tense with nerves. He can feel the hesitant brush of your lips against his and he inhales sharply.

Then he kisses you. Any ounce of restraint he had, which hadn't been much, disappears.

His hand moves to cup your face instead of staying intertwined with yours and his fingers thread through your hair as he pulls you closer. Your legs extend into a tall kneel at his urging.

You shift so your front is almost fully pressed against him, your hands holding onto his waist. It's a little awkward and entirely uncomfortable for his back and your knees, but neither of you care all that much. His wings expand around you two, his shadows swirl in excitement.

Your arms move to wrap around his neck and your breasts press against his chest when you do so. He makes a quiet, desperate sound against your mouth before kissing you harder, as if he’d been starving for this. He supposes he has been. From the moment he saw you in the mortal lands.

From the second a scream tore from his lungs when you were dumped into the cauldron and then dumped back out. He's starved for you. For this. For your touch. For your body to be pressed against his like this.

Your hands shift to his shoulders, fingertips running over warm skin and fresh-healed wounds, but he doesn't care. This had never been about the wounds. All he had wanted is you with him, if he was being honest.

When you had seen him come inside from training with Rhys and Cassian and gasped at the cuts while you ran your fingers across his torso and back, he had been vibrating with want. When you had wrapped a hand around his wrist and pulled him towards your room because you had a jar of salve, he had gone willingly, just wanting to be in your space.

Not because he cared about these cuts. But because he cared about you.

Your lips part against his and his tongue slides into your mouth. Both of you groan and he presses so close to you that neither of you are truly sure where one of you starts and the other ends. He kisses you like he's not entirely sure he'll ever get to kiss you again.

And when two you finally, finally, pull away—just enough to catch your breath—his forehead drops to yours, his chest rising and falling in sync with your own.

His eyes open slowly. They meet yours, still sharp but now even more beautiful and dazed.

You smile at him, breathless. “Not so pointless now, is it?” You tease. "My care regiment."

Azriel lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as his thumb traced along your cheek. “Not even a little. Do you always kiss your patients?"

You laugh, a little like you can't believe he made that joke. "Just the very pretty, Illryian shadowsingers." You say quietly with a bright grin.

And what kind of male would he be if he didn't kiss you again?

-

notes: i fear i do still suck at endings. i also have gotten worse at accepting criticism so pls be nice <3

[unwrittenlibrary]

mortal habits

summary: the act of patching up small cuts and bruises is so exceedingly mortal, something azriel has never worried about. until she kneels in front of him, fretting.

word count: about 1k

warnings/tags; archeron!reader, fem!reader (she/her pronouns) ummmm this is Not Good & not beta'd.

notes: i make my return for azriel... since my last fic (in the year of 2022! insane!) i have started reading a lot again, i've settled into my job and i've started writing again. how exciting. this is a disaster of a fic. it's been awhile. hopefully i write mooooooooore though, i do miss it.

-

Azriel had been through worse. Far worse. He had lived through two wars. Had completed the Blood Rite. Trained alongside Cassian and Rhys for centuries. His hands had been burned, scarred and permanently altered. His wings had been torn before.

So he had been through worse.

The cuts across his torso were minor, already closing, and the bruises blooming along his ribs would be gone in hours. His Siphons hummed faintly, magic stitching him together even as he sat, still and quiet, on the edge of your bed.

He could handle pain. He had handled pain his entire life.

But this? This was different.

You knelt before him, brow furrowed in concentration, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you dabbed an ointment onto a particularly nasty gash just beneath his collarbone. You had practically manhandled him into this spot, told him to not move as you retrieved the jar of ointment Madja had given you for your own cuts when you had been training with Nesta.

At any point before you knelt before him, he could have been honest and told you it wasn't necessary. That by the time you moved on with your day and joined Feyre in her studio or Nesta in the library, the wounds would be nothing to him. Scratches he will eventually forget he ever had.

“I swear, Az,” you mutter, dipping your fingers into the little glass jar beside you. Your nails have gotten longer. Painted a pretty blue that looks eerily familiar. “I don’t know how you’re still walking around after all of this.”

Azriel huffs a quiet laugh. “I heal fast.”

You shoot him a look—one of those unimpressed, sharp glances that remind him exactly who your sisters are. Rhys sometimes says that when Feyre looks at him, he feels like bowing down. Cassian constantly says he's at Nesta's mercy.

Azriel thinks he finally understands the sentiment. He would kneel to you, make himself at your mercy. He would bend to your will.

He smiles down at you. Your sharp eyes narrow in a way that always seem to make his shadows curl around him in amusement, like they also find you cute. “That doesn’t mean you don’t feel it.” You say.

He doesn't reply. Because he knows you're right. And because the gentle press of your fingers against his skin makes his throat tighten in a way that had nothing to do with pain.

Because he wants you to keep touching him.

It was such a mortal thing, this tending to cuts and bruises. Rhysand and Cassian would have waved you off with a smirk and told you it was pointless. Maybe even laughed at the naivety of it, at the idea of warriors tending to these small injuries like they were huge inconveniences.

You weren’t a warrior though. You hadn’t grown up knowing the brutality of being an Illyrian. And you didn't grow up with the efficiency of fae healing. To you, wounds meant something—they weren't just small things that could be shrugged off but proof that someone you cared about had been hurt. They were proof that someone you cared about was not invincible.

So he lets you fuss over him, lets you press too-gentle fingers to his ribs. He forces his breathing to remain even when your nails scratch over his stomach by accident and you offer him an apologetic smile.

It was sweet. Infuriatingly, heartbreakingly sweet how you tended to these cuts and bruises like they were fatal.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmurs, watching as you smoothed the salve over his shoulder, fingertips lingering against his skin.

You shrug, continuing to touch him. "I want to.” You say simply.

He swallowed hard. Nobody had ever wanted to take care of him. At least, not like this. Madja was always there for the inner circle. His brothers loved him, so did Mor and Amren in her own way, maybe. But nobody had ever wanted to take care of him. Not in this simplistic way.

He glances down where your fingers dance across his collar bone. Watches your hands as they examine the bruises along his chest.

Your hands were so different from his. Soft where his were scarred, warm where his were cold. They didn't know battle, did not know pain in the way his did. And yet, they were careful with him. As if he were something fragile. Something you wanted to take care of.

No one had ever touched him like this before.

You pull your hands away, sit back on your heels and tilt your head at him. Then you grin, devastatingly beautiful. “There,” you say with quiet satisfaction. “Not perfect, but it’ll do.”

Azriel wanted to tell you that it was perfect, anything you did was perfect. That the ache in his ribs had nothing to do with the fight and everything to do with the way you were looking at him now—soft, fond, completely unaware of the chaos you created inside his chest.

Instead, he reaches out, brushing his fingers lightly over your cheek. A quiet thank-you, unspoken but understood because he knew you understood him.

Your lips part slightly, breath catching, and for a moment—just a moment—he let himself believe that this was something he could have. That this tenderness was meant for him.

Then you smile, small and knowing, like you could read every single thought Azriel had. Like you understood why his heart was racing.

Azriel’s fingers linger against your cheek, scarred and rough, but you didn't flinch and he didn't pull away. You just sat there, looking at him like he was something more than shadows and scar and unworthiness.

“Az,” you murmur, voice the softest that he's ever heard it, like you knew his mind had trickled into thoughts of not being good enough for this, for you.

He swallowed hard. He should pull away, stand and urge you to stand up with him. Should let his hand fall away and bury whatever this feeling he has beneath layers of duty and restraint. Go back downstairs and join the rest of your family at the kitchen table.

But you were still kneeling before him, still so close, and he could see the way your lashes fluttered, the way your lips parted, like you felt this as much as he did.

He was an idiot.

A complete, utter idiot.

Because instead of pulling away, his thumb brushes over your cheekbone, barely a whisper of a touch, and he says, “You shouldn’t waste your time on this.”

Your brows knit together, and you reach up, wrapping your fingers around his wrist before he could retreat. “Why not?”

His throat tightened. “Because it’s pointless.” It is. Not the tending to cuts, not your mortal practice, doing this for him. Wasting your time worrying over him, was pointless.

Your grip doesn't falter. If anything, it only grows firmer, grounding him. “I don’t think it is.” You say softly.

Azriel inhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head, but you don't let him look away. You tilt your head again, studying him the way you always did—like he was something you wanted to figure out.

“Just because you heal fast,” you say slowly, carefully, “doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be taken care of.”

Something in his chest cracked, splintering apart under the weight of your words. No one had ever said something like that to him before. No one had ever looked at him like this before.

Like he was something worth taking care of. He had never been afforded this gentleness.

He let out a breath, slow and uneven, and decides to allow himself one more indulgence—just one. He turns his hand, catching yours in his grasp, and he squeezes.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, even though the words feel like a lie. Maybe they are one.

You let out a soft, exasperated laugh. “Of course you are.” You say, but you don't let go. You just sit there, hand wrapped around his, warm and steady and real.

Azriel should let go. He should get up, finally put space between you and remind himself of all the reasons why this—you—were not his to have.

Azriel doesn't let go though, and neither did you.

The silence between you stretches on, but it's comfortable. His mind may be warring and his heart may be racing, but silences with you were never anything but comfortable. It was like you knew how to exist with him. Like you knew he needed a moment to sort his thoughts out.

And the truth was, his thoughts were coming down to the fact that he was afraid to want this. Afraid of what it would mean for his relationship with Rhys and your sister. Would Rhys see him worthy of one of Feyre's sisters? Would Feyre? Would they confirm every thought he's ever had about himself?

(Did it matter? If you looked at him like this? If you touched him like this? Did it matter what anybody else thought?)

Your free hand lifts between the two of you and he startles out of his thoughts. You smile gently as your nails trace the edge of his jaw softly before gently cupping his cheek.

His pulse stutters. He's touch starved and desperate for you. Azriel's eyes flicker between yours, searching for doubt or fear or disgust, something to prove to him that he shouldn't do this.

But he finds none, and he's done fighting, so he lets his eyes slide shut. He lets himself lean into your touch.

(He doesn't see your eyes flickering down to his lips. He has no clue that your own heart is racing in your chest. Azriel is completely unaware that for so long, since you came out of that cauldron irrevocably different, all you've wanted is him.)

He can only feel your hand, still wrapped in his, tense with nerves. He can feel the hesitant brush of your lips against his and he inhales sharply.

Then he kisses you. Any ounce of restraint he had, which hadn't been much, disappears.

His hand moves to cup your face instead of staying intertwined with yours and his fingers thread through your hair as he pulls you closer. Your legs extend into a tall kneel at his urging.

You shift so your front is almost fully pressed against him, your hands holding onto his waist. It's a little awkward and entirely uncomfortable for his back and your knees, but neither of you care all that much. His wings expand around you two, his shadows swirl in excitement.

Your arms move to wrap around his neck and your breasts press against his chest when you do so. He makes a quiet, desperate sound against your mouth before kissing you harder, as if he’d been starving for this. He supposes he has been.

From the moment he saw you in the mortal lands. From the second a scream tore from his lungs when you were dumped into the cauldron and then dumped back out. He has starved for you. For this. For your touch. For your body to be pressed against his like this.

Your hands shift to his shoulders, fingertips running over warm skin and fresh-healed wounds, but he doesn't care. This had never been about the wounds. All he had wanted is you with him, if he was being honest.

When you had seen him come inside from training with Rhys and Cassian and gasped at the cuts while you ran your fingers across his torso and back, he had been vibrating with want. When you had wrapped a hand around his wrist and pulled him towards your room because you had a jar of salve, he had gone willingly, just wanting to be in your space.

Not because he cared about these cuts. But because he cared about you.

Your lips part against his and his tongue slides into your mouth. Both of you groan and he presses so close to you that neither of you are truly sure where one of you starts and the other ends. He kisses you like he's not entirely sure he'll ever get to kiss you again.

And when two you finally, finally, pull away—just enough to catch your breath—his forehead drops to yours, his chest rising and falling in sync with your own.

His eyes open slowly. They meet yours, still sharp but now even more beautiful and dazed.

You smile at him, breathless. “Not so pointless now, is it?” You tease. "My care regiment."

Azriel lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as his thumb traced along your cheek. “Not even a little. Do you always kiss your patients?"

You laugh, a little like you can't believe he made that joke. "Just the very pretty, Illryian shadowsingers." You say quietly with a bright grin.

And what kind of male would he be if he didn't kiss you again?

-

notes: i fear i do still suck at endings. i also have gotten worse at accepting criticism so pls be nice <3

[unwrittenlibrary]

I can’t fix him but I could fuck him.

[unwrittenlibrary]

Knowing You

Azriel was intimidating, scary—a menacing presence in almost every setting. But not to you. Never to you.

Tattoo Artist!Azriel x Elementary School Teacher!Reader (1k words, modern au)

~~

“Why’s your boyfriend all…pissed off?” 

“Huh?” You spun your head around, finding Azriel towering over everyone else in the room, a scowl seemingly permanent on his face. His eyes narrowed from time to time, taking in the crowd and its unwillingness to calm. He remained plastered to the back wall. 

“Oh,” you laughed, turning back to your friend with your fingertips drumming against your jaw. “He’s not pissed. That’s just his face.” 

Your friend’s brows jumped up to her hairline. “He always looks like that?” 

“He doesn’t look that angry.”

“Absolutely no one is approaching him. This is a party. He looks about ready to pummel that tiny guy next to him.” 

“He’s just a little intimidating,” you reasoned. “And—hey, look!” you pointed over your shoulder. “He smiled a little, see?” 

She scoffed, sipping her beer. “I don’t get it. You’re all… well, you. And he’s all dark and mysterious and—honestly kinda scary.” 

You chewed on your bottom lip and turned further to inspect the man you had been in a relationship with for the better half a year. Was he scary? You certainly didn’t think so. Maybe a little at first. Maybe when you walked into that tattoo shop with your friend and his dark gaze almost burned a hole in your head. But not now. Never now. 

“You don’t really get him, that’s all.”

“And you do? He’s got a whole thing going on that you shouldn’t be tied up in,” your friend urged, but this was hardly the time for long, important conversations. You were tipsy and the music was too loud and, to be honest, you’d heard it all before already. Nothing was going to change your mind about Azriel. 

“Are you even listening, y/n? You’re polar opposites. And you said that he smiles but I have still yet to see one since—oh.” 

Azriel spotted you then—his goal from the moment he walked into this overly crowded house. He hadn’t been pissed. He’d been looking for you. 

And it was clear that he spotted you, because the second he did a wide grin split up his perfect face. It simmered a bit when he realized your friend was observing the scene, but a quirk of his mouth still remained. He started his path to you then, weaving in and out of the inebriated crowd. 

He touched you the moment he could, his hand meeting the small of your back as you sat on the creaky kitchen stool. His lips pressed against your temple and a murmured greeting was lost in your hair. He was lost in the bubble he created each time he had you in his grasp, your bright eyes and adoring smile rendering him unmoveable, but then your friend subtly cleared her throat and Azriel looked away. 

“Hello, Amber,” Azriel greeted, keeping your body slotted into the crook of his arm. “Having fun?” 

She blinked at him. He really was intimidating, especially up close. Even with the heightened bar stools, he was a good head over where the two of you sat. 

“Um, yes, thank you.” 

“And the summer break?” he questioned. He had started to rub circles into your spine. 

Amber stuttered again, thoughts lost in her head before replying, “It was good. I’m sorry—how do you know my name?” 

“Y/n’s mentioned you. I’ve seen your Instagram, too. Connected the dots.” 

“Right,” Amber nodded, her eyes trailing down the vast array of tattoos that wound up from the neck of Azriel’s shirt. 

Azriel then looked back down to you. His voice was low, almost too low for the pounding music, but he made up for that by pressing up closer to you. “Are you ready to go, sweetheart?” 

You giggled at the feel of his breath at your ear, pushing him away slightly in a haze. He only shook his head and smiled at the space you’d created. 

“Trying to flirt with me in public? Azriel, you are scandalous.” 

He only breathed out a laugh, gaze bouncing between your glossy eyes. Once you stopped giggling enough to meet his stare, his expression softened. “You told me to pick you up at eleven. You have a lesson plan, pretty girl.”

You gasped, slapping a hand against Azriel's chest that didn’t even have him flinching. You whipped your head over to Amber—who was staring at the two of you in confused amusement —and hurriedly offered, “I have to go! Third grade!” 

In his efforts to capture your attention, Azriel had woven both of his arms around you to meet at your lower back, a hold that you now shot out of. You wobbled as you pressed out of the stool and grabbed Azriel’s leather sleeve. An unnecessary gesture; anyone at this party could see that the man would follow you anywhere. 

“I didn’t prep the multiplication tables,” you rambled, words slurring together. 

“You did. I helped you with the formatting on the iPad.” 

“I let you touch my iPad?” you gasped. 

“No, sweetheart. It was mine.” 

“Your work one?” 

Azriel only continued to guide you out of the party, you none the wiser to the dirty looks he was shooting everyone too drunk to get out of the way. 

“Let’s get back to your apartment, okay? Then we can deal with the iPad.” 

You giggled, springing off the threshold to the front door and giving Azriel a heart attack. “Okay!” 

[unwrittenlibrary]

On my knees for this man in more ways than one wut

📸 (c): herb10

[unwrittenlibrary]

In Every Universe

Pairing: Reader x Azriel, Minor Elain x Lucien

Summary: Elain catches you asking Azriel if you're destined to be together in every universe.

Warnings: mostly fluff, pining, soulmatism, brief mentions of violence/blood/death, elain as your no.1 shipper, elucien being sweet

Word Count: 3.9k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The wood of the doorframe was rough beneath Elain’s fingers as she lingered in the opening.

Elain loved the Day Court—the sun-kissed glow of her skin, the endless warmth that felt like home. But every now and then, it was healing to return to her family, to see them, to know they were okay. Visits to the Night Court with Lucien at her side were rare since they’d started their family, but they always felt meaningful. There was a peace in these nights, a quiet place to rest and breathe. And sometimes, it gave her this: a glimpse of the people she loved, caught in the small, unspoken ways they cared for one another.

The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the celestial device. Feyre had told her about it, but Elain’s mind had forgotten to store away the proper name. She blamed it on her pregnancy brain at the time of the conversation. The device glowed as it slowly spun, scattering faint patterns of light over you and Azriel as you stood together, watching in awe. 

It was slightly ironic to Elain that she was able to sneak up and observe such an intimate moment without Azriel, the most-feared Spymaster, noticing. But, in all truth, she wasn’t entirely surprised. You and Azriel had your own world, held moments that seemed like they existed only for you two—even Azriel’s shadows became something else entirely, something distracted and completely enamored with you. 

“It’s… beautiful,” you said, the words reverent. “Gods, what a wonder we live in.”

Azriel hummed a sound that sounded a lot like agreement— like complete contentment. Elain recognized it slightly, almost felt compelled to compare it to the cat that Vassa and Jurian had dubbed the true ruler of the mortal lands. She stifled a laugh at the thought. 

You pointed at something—a star, perhaps—and said something Elain couldn’t hear, your voice too soft. Azriel tilted his head toward you and his shadows swirled around you both, gentle and calm tendrils wrapping themselves through the edges of your hair strands. Azriel murmured something back, and though Elain couldn’t catch the words, she saw the way they made you smile.

There was no hesitation in his movements as he reached out, scarred fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was light, practiced, and it made him look entirely at home. Of course it did. He’d done it a hundred times before. You didn’t flinch or startle—didn’t even pause. Instead, you tilted into him slightly, the curve of your smile deepening.

Elain’s heart blossomed. She wondered, for a brief, fleeting moment, if anyone had seen such moments with her and Lucien– wondered if her eyes glowed just like yours. 

Azriel shifted his gaze to you, and Elain could have sworn she watched his eyes dilate even from feet away. His thumb grazed your temple as he asked, “What are you thinking about?”

You leaned into the brush of his fingers. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Azriel repeated, amused. His thumb drew a lazy circle across your skin. ���I can practically see the gears turning in there.”

A laugh. You shrugged, and a glimmer of amusement sparkled in your eyes. “It just makes me wonder.”

“About?”

Elain found herself leaning forward slightly, awaiting your answer as if she had been talking to you herself. You casted a glance back at the device before you. 

 “What else is out there, you know?” You tilted your head in contemplation, and Azriel pulled you into a soft embrace as you continued, “And that Bryce girl. I mean, if there are other worlds like hers, do you think…”

Azriel wrapped his arms around your center, placing an affectionate kiss to your clothed shoulder. Then, he placed his head into the crook of your neck. “Do I think what, my love?’

You turned your head to meet his eyes. “Do you think we’re together in each of them?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his silence thoughtful rather than hesitant. 

And then the room began to shift. Or maybe it was just Elain. She stood up straighter and took a deep breath as the device before you both blurred, its golden light fracturing into something softer, quieter— a divine invitation. 

Elain let herself be pulled through.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The cannon fire echoed like thunder. 

One, then another, and another still. 

Azriel’s head tilted. “Two,” he murmured. “Close.”

You couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. Your mind raced through the possibilities—faces you’d seen only hours ago. A girl in the meadow. That boy with the scar. Maybe someone who’d deserved it. Maybe someone who hadn’t.

“So that makes it five.” You gripped the hilt of your blade tighter, sweat slipping down your palm. “Besides us, there's only five left.”

Azriel was quiet. 

“Come on,” he said, already turning. “You need to head east, away from the canons. I’ll lead them away from you.”

You caught his wrist. It was instinct, almost violent, and your nails dug into his skin. “No.”

He stopped. Turned back slowly, and furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I’m not leaving you behind. We finish this together. You can’t keep putting yourself—”

“I can,” he cut in, voice cold. “And I will.”

“I won’t let you.”

Something cracked in his expression then. His lips parting like he wanted to argue, like he was ready to fight.

“Let me?” he repeated, his voice low. Dangerous. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“And you don’t get to decide for me.”

There was a silence that filled the space between you. Your hand, still wrapped around his wrist, softened into something almost reminiscent of a lover's hold. 

“Don’t make me watch you die,” you said finally. “Don’t do that to me, Azriel.”

His eyes softened just enough to hurt.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you alive.”

“Why?” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. “You can win this. You know you can. Why throw away your chances for me?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head like the words were too heavy to say. But when his gaze met yours, there was no hesitation.

“You know why.”

You shook your head. “No—”

“It’s the same reason you killed that girl from six.” His voice was quiet. “For me.”

You didn’t deny it. You couldn’t. His hand, warm and calloused, brushed the back of your fingers.

“So don’t ask me to stop,” he said. “The capitol has taken so much from me. They’ve destroyed everything I cared about.  I won’t let them take you.  Not while I’m still breathing.”

A loud crack sounded in the distance. The world shifted again, a soft breeze carrying with it a sky speckled with stars.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Cicada songs threaded through the air like an ancient hymn. You sat near the embers of a dying fire, the orange glow licking against the edges of the stone walls surrounding you. 

Azriel sat a few paces away, his back resting against one of the columns. His tunic was simple, sandals dusty from the day’s travel, but there was something about the way he held himself that made him seem as much a part of the night as the stars overhead.

“Do you think they truly listen?” you asked him.

Azriel’s gaze flicked to you. “The gods?” 

You nodded, not sparing him a glance. Your eyes were glued to the heavens above, to the glistening stars that seemed to be leaning closer, listening.

“They hear everything,” he responded. “The question is whether they care.”

You turned to him then, the corner of your lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “You don’t honor them?”

Azriel’s eyes scanned your face before he responded simply, “I’ve been given no reason to.”

“And you aren’t afraid of angering them?”

“I’m afraid of man more than I am of the gods.”

A flicker passed through your face, something thoughtful, contemplative. “What would you pray for, if you thought they did listen?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His scarred hands rested on his knees, the firelight painting shadows across them. There was a weight in his silence, a deliberation that pressed against the edges of the night. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than before, almost a confession.

“I’d ask them to leave us be. To let us live without their meddling.”

You studied him. The sincerity of his words seemed to tug at something in your chest. “You think they’d grant a prayer like that?”

Azriel’s lips curved into a small, wry smile. “No,” he said simply. “But I’d still ask.”

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Stubborn,” you murmured, though your tone was warm.

When he fell silent again, you observed him once more. “What else is on your mind?”

Azriel didn’t answer right away. His gaze turned back to the fire, as if searching for something in its depths. “You could be one.”

You blinked at him, thrown. “One what?”

“A god,” he said, his eyes shifting to meet yours. “A proper one. A kind one.”

Your chest tightened, nerves prickling at the edges of your mind. “Azriel,” you said, your voice low, almost a warning. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” he asked. “If I can see it, do you think they can’t?”

You glanced up at the stars, as if expecting them to strike him down then and there. “Because it’s not for us to claim,” you whispered. “And because it’s not true.”

Azriel leaned in slightly. “It is true,” he said, as though daring you to contradict him. “You stand apart. You always have.”

“Azriel—” 

“I mean it,” he said, his voice softening. “If they did listen, if they cared, they’d envy what I see in you.”

You didn’t know how to answer. Azriel reached out then, his scarred hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. You swallowed hard.

“And what of you?” You asked. “If I’m to be a god, would you be one, too?”

He shook his head and a sweet smile made its way onto his face. His brows furrowed softly. Your fingers twitched as if you ached to smooth the crease between them.

“I think I was born to follow you.”

The fire light around you flickered, and the music of the cicadas began to reverberate, stretching and pulling like a ribbon in the wind. Soon, sounds began to fill the air—smooth instruments, slow and electric. 

Warping, stretching, bleeding into something else.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You were perched on a velvet stool at the edge of the bar, watching the crush of dancers sway in time to the music. There was a faint scent of cigarette smoke that clung to the air, a smell that somehow mingled perfectly with the sharp tang of liquor and the sweetness of spilled champagne.

Azriel appeared beside you without a word. He wasn’t dressed to stand out— black suit, white shirt, no tie— but somehow, in the haze of golden light and shadow, he drew every glance. You adjusted the strap of your dress, the sequins catching what little light there was, throwing sparks of silver onto the walls. 

“You’ve been hiding,” he said. 

You turned your head to meet his gaze. There was something steady in it, like he’d been waiting for you to notice him. “I didn’t know I was being looked for.”

Azriel’s lips curved. “You always are.”

Your breath hitched, just enough to be noticeable, but you masked it with a sip of your drink— one with fading bubbles. “And here I thought I was just another face in the crowd.”

“Not to me,” Azriel said simply, as if it were the plainest fact on Earth. His gaze didn’t leave yours. “Never to me.”

The band transitioned into a slower tune, the saxophone drawing out a melody that made your face soften. You looked down to hide your growing smile, cheeks now rosy from Az’s attention.

“You’re not dancing,” he noted, eyes flicking briefly to the crowded floor. 

“I don’t know if it's the right night for that.”

“Maybe you just need the right partner.”

The suggestion hung in the air, and when he held out his hand— scarred, steady— you didn’t hesitate to take it. He led you to the dance floor with a gentle hold, drawing you into his arms. 

“You didn’t have to come find me,” you murmured, your gaze tracing the lines of his face.

Azriel’s eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a soft smile. “I’ll always find you.”

The music slowed, and the world softened with it.

And then, the light dimmed, fading into the deep, quiet shadows of something colder, untouched, an air heavy with the scent of pine and earth.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Two wolves emerged from the shadows, moving together, their coats brushing in fleeting touches. It was a quiet language— small movements of instinct and closeness. One was a shadow itself, dark fur absorbing the moonlight. The other was lighter, sleek and graceful, its movements quieter but no less assured.

The darker wolf paused, tilting its head toward its companion, a huff of warm breath visible in the chilled air. The lighter one hesitated, then stepped closer, nuzzling its muzzle against the dark wolf’s neck, a gesture of comfort—or reassurance. The dark wolf stilled at the touch, its golden-hazel eyes half-closing as if the simple act of connection mattered more than the world around them.

And then it turned, moving quietly into the heavy, shrouded forest. The lighter wolf turned to follow the dark one, glancing back only once before disappearing into the trees.

A sharp shift—the silence of the forest soon replaced by the soft crunch beneath leather winter boots.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You and Azriel approached the house ahead, its exterior draped in a plethora of colorful Christmas lights. The world was still, save for the muffled laughter drifting from inside, and you pulled your coat tighter against the cold.

“We’re late,” you murmured, quickening your step.

Azriel let out a quiet laugh. “I doubt they mind.”

You shot him a pointed look, but Azriel only chuckled again. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.When you reached the door, your hand had barely touched the handle before Azriel stopped you, his hand brushing yours. You glanced up at him, frowning, only to catch the cheeky grin tugging at his lips as he tilted his chin toward the frame.

There, hanging above the doorway, was a sprig of mistletoe.

“Mistletoe,” you said with a sweet hum. You met Azriel’s eyes.

“Cassian or Nesta?” He asked.

“Definitely Nesta,” you said. “She loves her romance.”

He nodded in agreement. “It is a romantic tradition.”

Azriel stepped closer, lifting a hand to cradle your face as he kissed you—soft and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. When he pulled back, your cheeks warmed under his gaze, his forehead brushing yours as he whispered, “I love you.”

The words were soft, meant just for you.

“I love you, t—”

The door sprang open and a shrieking voice filled the air with an excited, “Momma!”

You barely had time to turn before your son barreled into your arms, his eyes bright and his arms outstretched. You caught him easily, lifting him with a grin.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hey, buddy,” Azriel said, leaning over to ruffle his messy curls. His mini-me only giggled and nuzzled deeper into the crook of your neck. A true momma’s boy. From inside, more laughter echoed, and Cassian appeared around the corner, grinning wide as he carried your daughter—upside down—by her ankles. Her delighted shrieks filled the house.

“Cassian!” you called, trying to suppress a laugh.

“What? She loves it!” Cassian shot back, clearly pleased with himself.

“Put her down,” you said, stepping inside as Azriel snorted behind you.

Cassian finally relented, lowering her to the ground. She didn’t hesitate, darting forward to wrap her arms around Azriel. She barely reached his hip, and he crouched slightly, holding her close like it was second nature.

“Sorry we’re late,” you said, closing the door. You wiped your shoes on the matt below you. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Nesta’s voice said, drifting into the room before she rounded the corner from the kitchen. Her hair was in a loose bun, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She stopped at Cassian’s side, offering her husband a small nudge. “Our date nights always run late too.”

Her daughter trailed behind her, blue eyes already half-rolling. "Yeah. We need to talk about punctuality in this family."

She breezed past you and Azriel, offering you both quick hello’s before darting up the stairs.

Nesta rolled her eyes, but the action was affectionate. Comfortable. “Teenagers,” she muttered. Cassian slung an arm around her shoulders, grinning. “She’s going through a phase.”

“Heard that!” came a sharp voice from upstairs.

You stifled a laugh, glancing at Azriel. His eyes widened slightly, and the corner of his mouth tugged into a crooked, almost reluctant smile—amused, exasperated, and entirely Azriel.

Nesta gestured toward your son, now half-asleep against your shoulder, and your daughter, who was eagerly tugging Azriel toward the living room to show off the fort her and Cassian had made. “Enjoy this,” Nesta said with a smirk. “While it lasts.”

A dreamy smile spread across your face as you watched them. “Oh, Nes,” you said softly. “I plan to enjoy it all.”

The room seemed to shimmer, the sounds of laughter melting into something darker, quieter. 

And then, without warning, the world changed.

Cold. Hollow. Dark.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“God, you look beautiful.”

You turned to Azriel, breathless, a wicked grin pulling at your lips. His golden-hazel eyes burned as they swept over you, lingering on the streaks of blood splattered across your cheek. 

“You really think so?” you hummed, stepping closer, boots crunching against the broken glass scattered across the floor. The room reeked of iron and fear, the man slumped against the wall choking on his last breaths.

Azriel tilted his head, his shadows twisting and curling at his feet like they were alive, waiting for a command. “I’d argue you’ve never looked more stunning.”

Your grin grew, something divinely sinful, and you pulled the gun from the back of your waistband. The barrel gleamed in the dim light. “Would you like the honors, my love?”

Azriel’s hand brushed yours as he took the gun— perfectly smooth skin speckled in streaks of red. “Of course.”

The man whimpered as Azriel crouched before him, his shadows licking at the edges of the room, swallowing the light. You didn’t flinch, didn’t look away as Azriel tilted the man’s chin with the barrel, his voice low and almost tender. You seemed proud, even. Powerful.

“You should’ve known better.”

With a single, swift pull of the trigger, it was over. Azriel stood, wiping the gun against his pants before turning back to you.

“The others are all yours,” he murmured, his free hand brushing a strand of hair from your face, smearing blood across your temple.

“And they said romance was dead,” you said, leaning into his touch.

Azriel grinned, and for a moment, the bloodlust that had overtaken the room seemed to fade. He pulled you close, lips crashing onto yours in a brutal, animalistic kiss. When you finally pulled away, breathless and wild, Azriel’s gaze was sharp—hungry. His eyes gleamed with something darker now.

“You’re the only one who ever understands,” he whispered.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“Elain?”

Elain gasped and snapped back to the present, her body slightly recoiling like a thread once strung tight. She blinked and turned her head, watching the beautiful face of her mate come into focus. His eyes were fixed on her, that familiar gleam in them.

“Hmm?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Where did you just disappear to?” 

Lucien’s hand gently swept her curly hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck, and allowed his palm to settle there— fingers brushing lightly against her skin, thumb grazing the underside of her jaw. Elain melted into the touch. 

The remnants of her vision— of that twisted, vicious kiss between you and Azriel– still lingered at the edges of her mind, making her uneasy. But it was already fading, like a bad dream melting away in the morning light, as she looked at Lucien. The warmth of his touch steadied her, grounding her back into the reality of this life— something far less terrifying, far more full of light. Elain let her mind wander to the other thing she’d seen, to the cicada songs and the mistletoe. 

“Let me tell you later.”

Lucien’s smile softened in that kind way that made Elain’s heart feel full, like it might spill over.  “Alright,” he said.

“Oh, Elain, Lucien!”

Your voice broke the quiet, pulling their attention toward you as you approached, Azriel in tow. His shadows moved faster than he did, twisting around you in fluid motions, draping themselves over your limbs like they were part of you instead of the shadowsinger himself.

“Have you been here for long?” You asked as you met them at the doorway. “I’m so sorry we didn’t notice. We were in our own world.”

Azriel greeted her and Lucien with a small smile. But, as usual, his eyes drifted to you immediately, brightening in their glow as he watched you.

“No, no,” Lucien answered, noticing Elain hadn’t responded yet. “We were just making our rounds.”

You beamed. “Well, you should take some time in here. It’s beautiful.”

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt,” Elain said softly.

You shook your head, glancing at Azriel for a moment before you leaned into him, placing a hand on his chest and giving it a light tap. “We’re actually about to leave. We’ve got reservations for our anniversary.”

“What does today mark?” Lucien asked.

Azriel’s voice was light as he wrapped an arm around you. “430 years.” 

“Can you believe he’s put up with me that long?” you said, a teasing smile on your lips.

Lucien laughed. “I’d say its the other way around.”

Azriel laughed, then, too, rolling his eyes in a way that seemed so brotherly that Elain’s smile almost split her cheeks in two.

“You’re meant for one another,” Elain found herself saying. “Happy anniversary.”

Azriel nodded in thanks as you smiled and moved to leave. He patted Lucien’s shoulder as he brushed past, and Elain let her gaze linger on your retreating forms for a moment, catching another small moment as Az cheekily smacked your ass, causing you to let out a small amused shriek and push him away.

For a moment, Elain was almost tempted to ask Lucien the same question you’d asked Azriel: Do you think we’re together in each life? But it was silly– fruitless, really. Because Elain knew, with certainty, that she’d find her loyal, flame-branded mate in every universe. In every form.

She’d seen it herself. 

So instead, Elain grabbed his hand, interlaced their fingers, and said, “Let’s admire our world.”

And as always, Lucien followed her without protest. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note:

I had a vision (tehehe) of this one shot and i dont think i did it justice but alas, here she is. also are you truly soulmates if you arent evil sociopathic villains in at least one universe? me thinks no

also fun fact, 5/6 of these au’s are scrapped ideas i’ve had🫣

thank you for reading <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻 (this so desperately needs to be updated, i fear): 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound-blog

@melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @paradisebabey

azriel tag list🫶🏻:

@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty @acourtofsteelandthunder  @mortqlprojections @ushijima-stits 

[unwrittenlibrary]

✨ethereal✨