yourfavouriterival

[yourfavouriterival]

i am stupid

hi! i just wanna ask (bc i suck at deciding things) if you prefer, when reading x reader fics, 2nd or 3rd person?

[yourfavouriterival]

thinking nsfw (18+) thoughts about choso

sitting on choso's face, whimpering because he's so messy with it, so sloppy, so desperate, just holding your hips down when you start shaking, wishing he could live underneath your cunt just so he could taste you.

thinking about the muffled praises he mutters deep into your wetness, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you hunch over him, grabbing onto the headboard and finally, finally, letting loose and grinding down on his tongue.

and don't think you can cum just once and then clamber off - he's had a taste so best believe he's drinking your essence up.

[yourfavouriterival]

jjk masterlist

the slow descent from reality (and how to find your way back) - platonic geto, gojo and shoko x fem!reader

[yourfavouriterival]

that fic was so good!! literally warmed my heart, and it’s so nice to see more platonic readers just being part of a friend group/found family - fandom really needs more of it. really loved it 💕

thank you!!! you’re so kind 😭

[yourfavouriterival]

the slow descent from reality (and how to find your way back)

shoko x platonic!fem!reader, gojo x platonic!fem!reader, geto x platonic!fem!reader

warnings: slightly au (not concrete on whether it is canon-compliant), puking, crying, mentions of wounds, mentions of death, hurt/comfort

note: idk if this is good :( but it came out and this is the first thing i've written in months so do give me criticism

-

There must be something in the air. That must be it, because she must’ve been imagining things. Surely, the two loves of her life were still very much the loves of her life. Surely, her closest and longest friend was still her closest and longest friend. Surely, their choice of school and choice of career hadn’t changed their souls so much that she flinched away from their touch. Surely, she could still stand her three best friends' gaze on her and not need to shrink from them. 

And yet. 

Her best friends—her three only ones—that she couldn’t bear to be away from had suddenly become the only ones she couldn’t bear to be close to. 

It’d all started in the beginning of the colder months. She’d yanked her coat over her thin hoodie and held the sleeves to stop them from rolling up her arm. She’d pulled a hat onto her head, avoiding the mirror to be able to ignore how egg shaped she must’ve looked. She’d double-tied her shoes to keep the cold out. 

She’d even grabbed an extra knife to stuff in her boot. 

And still her hands shook and her heart blistered from the cold. 

How long had she grasped onto this feeling within, trying to breathe it into existence only for it to not matter in the slightest? Years, at this point. How long had she wanted to fight stronger curses, to show how strong she truly was? How long had she longed for the chance to prove herself, to finally protect something that mattered?

Yet this past mission. She might've very well signed her resignation papers on the train ride home. 

Her train compartment had been isolated, just her and the sound of metal on metal as she turned her head away from the windows. Her phone lay silent in her pocket, the headphones she usually wore haphazardly thrown into her shoulder bag alongside the knife she’d stuffed in her boot. 

She’d come home, though. As she walked the steps leading to her dorm room, she thought she might just pass out, not from exhaustion. Every step hurt her lungs, and she felt the world was spinning before her eyes, and she couldn’t seem to stand on her own two feet, having to support herself on the wall next to the door. 

She’d never felt so weak. 

Her phone buzzed. 

She opened it. 

suggy: me n dumbass r watching lotr. come over

suggy: realising that sounds like a fuck boy dont come over

suggy: i give up. bye. 

suggy: shoko wants u here. i will not fuck u. 

sat on as a child: sugu soooo wants to hit

sat on as a child: ok sorry hope ur mission went well :3

cigarette girl: hello can u bring me a pack i think i left it in ur room

cigarette girl: omg wait how did the mission go!!! ur so professional now

And for some reason, she closed the door and slid down, numb to the feeling of the wood door digging into her back and somehow unable to close her eyes. The room was dark, the candle she had in the corner cold and dry, the light switch on the wall above her seeming to move further and further away from her hand that felt like forty pounds resting on her leg. 

She felt sick. 

-

For two days she couldn’t eat. She avoided Suguru and Satoru’s invitations by saying she had a stomach ache and she avoided Shoko by saying she had plans with the boys. For four days she couldn’t sleep. 

Nausea wracked her body with each breath and her head was spinning even though she hadn’t moved from her pillow for days. Her body felt oily, the idea of taking a shower too hard. 

I failed. I quit. That’s all she wanted to say. She just wanted to close her eyes for a moment and not see what haunted her mind. 

But if she really quit, what else would she do? Maybe she’d become a doctor, and try to save some lives for once. But why should she try to save people who rarely wish to be saved? Similarly, why was it in her DNA to see curses? Was it not non-sorcerers who should pay the price for their own doings? Should she need to watch yet another child die—

“Oi! Let us in, we’ve got take-out!” 

Satoru was the voice, and two smacks were heard, so that meant Shoko and Suguru were with him. 

But she couldn’t move a muscle. The blankets seemed to consume her, and she might’ve fought against it if she had any energy left to give. But her legs were made of cement and her stomach was filled with glue, sticking her insides together, and hindering her ability to feel her own legs. 

She didn’t want them to come in. She didn’t want them to see her like this. What would they think of her now? Her room was a mess, reflecting a fraction of what her mind was, and her bed looked like someone had fought a war in it. 

“We’re waiting! Hello,” Gojo drawled, voice almost like a melody through the door. 

She kept staring at the wall, curled into herself and breathing much too shallowly. 

“Suguru, you literally have a key. Use it.”

“For emergencies.”

“This is an emergency. I need to sit. My legs are numb,” he whined. Their voices were all muffled and she couldn’t really figure out if it was due to the door between them or how her ears were ringing. 

“Fine,” Suguru groaned, and she heard the sound of the key scraping against the keyhole before the door opened. 

“Your favourite people are here!” yelled Gojo. 

But it was so quiet. 

Her name was called out, or she thinks she heard it. But she didn’t move, only her back facing them. For a moment, she worried about the fresh scars on her back that couldn’t be healed fast enough, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. 

The bed dipped by her legs, and then a hand was placed on her knee over the blanket. The hand was warm, like a furnace under someone's skin, so it had to be Suguru. 

Her name was said again, and the bed dipped twice more—once by her head and lastly by her back. 

“What’s happened?” 

She didn’t speak, but she did start coughing. And then she spoke the first thing she’d spoken in days. “I—I’m gonna throw up,” she warned frantically, and within a second there was a metal bucket by her head where she’d shot up to sit. 

“Go away,” she cried between gags, but all that happened was Shoke pressing a wet towel to her neck and someone rubbing her back. “Please, j—just go away,” she cried, tears springing to her eyes when the gags turned to dry heaving. 

“Not right now,” Satoru said, unusually soft when he took the wet towel from Shoko to wipe around her mouth as she sat up. 

Without a word, Suguru took the bucket and disposed of it and it’s contents in the bathroom attached to her room, and then returned to kneel on the floor beside the bed. “We heard what happened.” 

It just made her cry harder, body so weak that she had to lean against Shoko behind her. “Then you should leave.” 

“Never,” Shoko finally said, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her head. 

The tears that fell from her eyes dripped onto her shirt, but she couldn’t seem to close her eyes from the onslaught. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Suguru promised. “Do they hurt?” She didn’t know what he meant, so she shook her head regardless. “Your back.” 

Oh. Right. The two slashes running across her lower back throbbed at the reminder of their existence. 

“A bit,” she said finally. “I feel… gross.” 

“Then do you want to shower?” 

“Y—yeah,” she said, but when she stood (disregarding that she was only clad in underwear and a t-shirt) her legs buckled beneath her, and she would have crashed to the floor had her three best friends not caught her. 

“Okay, I’m carrying you,” Satoru said, and no sooner than the words left his mouth was she in the air, not without yelling a bit. 

As they entered the bathroom, she realised what a conundrum she was in. Was she to strip naked? Or should she somehow hold herself up—

“Stop thinking so much,” Satoru chastised, and set her down on the closed toilet seat as Suguru and Shoko joined them. “Which one of you wants to? I would but—”

“Yeah, yeah, your six eyes and whatever,” Shoko grumbled, but it was Suguru who took whatever Satoru was holding.

“A blindfold?” she laughed suddenly, even though it tore up her throat to do so, and she lost her breath when Suguru tied it around his head and stood in the shower, arms open. 

“Won’t look. Just here to help,” he said. And then Satoru was guiding her into the shower, and taking Shoko out and closing the door, and then it was just her and Suguru. 

“Sugu,” she said softly. And then she was leaning forward, resting her head on his collarbone and just breathing him in as she reached behind him and turned the water on. She flinched at the coldness first, but leaned back anyway to take off her shirt. “Can’t get my underwear off,” she mumbled, and even with his gentleness of finding her hips and pulling them down, she couldn’t help but feel her face and neck warm. 

“We’ll take care of you.”

-

When Suguru clambered out of the bathroom with his soaking wet clothes to change, he also threw in an oversized shirt and underwear and pants, but as she yanked them on she noticed the smell—Gojo Satoru. 

She remembered, suddenly, buying them. They’d gone to a second-hand store, and Satoru had taken the biggest shirt he could find “just for funsies” and the softest pants, and then proceeded to never wear them. Shoko had complained and offered to take them, but Satoru refused, saying that someday he would want to wear them.

And now she was wearing them and tentatively stepping out of her bathroom to a very clean room. 

“Um—”

“I cleaned!” Satoru yelled. Shoko hit him in the shoulder, and walked towards her to guide both of them into her newly made bed. 

“I cleaned,” Shoko whispered, curling her body around her best friend’s. Then Satoru joined, flopping down next to Shoko whilst Suguru pressed his chest to her back. 

“I know.”

[yourfavouriterival]

you can now find me on twitter!! @yourfavrival

[yourfavouriterival]

enticed

tomura shigaraki x fem! lov! reader smut

warnings: mutual masturbation also blue hair shiggy, slight degredation, some praising, sort of knife play (there is a knife involved but not used to harm), humping, oral (female recieving), reader wears a skirt in this one, switch!shiggy more than hinted at bc hot, fluff at the end

word count: 2.6k

summary: sex with shiggy when you've snuck away

-

“sh—show me,” he ordered, reclined in the desk chair with his blue hair tousled against the headrest, panting into the open air in front of him; and though his body might’ve been relaxed and nonchalant, his eyes remained hyperfocused on her, one hundred percent. 

“spread your legs,” he groaned, that raspy voice sending shivers down her spine and resulting in, through no doing of her own, her knees opening to show him what they both craved. “god,” he groaned, pressing his head back into the chair and letting his eyes fall closed. 

she knew what he saw: a wet patch in the middle of lacy panties and naked thighs shaking with the tension of the moment. and she knew what she saw: a tent against the zipper of his (ratty, to be honest) pants, and if she focused hard enough, she thought she could see the beat of his heart in his underwear. 

she placed her sock-covered feet onto the arm rests of the chair, leaning back onto her palms on the desk she sat on. how did she get here, perched on a random desk and showing off her cunt to shigaraki, the named man staring at her like he wanted to absolutely devour her?  

but then again, she could say the same thing about herself—what she wouldn’t give to be on her knees with him deep down her throat—with the way she, too, was devouring the image of the blue-haired villain panting because of something she did.

“please,” she whined, dropping her head against her shoulders.

“look at me,” he commanded, and it was like he was yanking at her head with the way it shot back up to make eye-contact with him. god, she loved his eyes. was that weird?

“i’ll—i’ll beg, just—”

“don’t be a slut,” he tutted, but then he was unbuttoning his pants with two fingers (somehow) and slipping a hand into his pants. “just sit there and be good. let me look at you, okay?”

“okay,” she whispered back, but she could feel her own wetness glide through her folds when she twitched. she wondered if she could cum from rubbing her thighs together, but more than cumming she wanted to be good for him. 

just days ago, she barely knew the man—had only heard of him through the news—and now she was not only a part of his little league, but was allowed to watch him, in this way?

she watched as his hand grasped his cock, enamoured with the way his hips just slightly jerked when he twisted his hand for the first pump, pressing down with the palm of his hand onto his head. let me see, she wanted to beg. let me see you fuck your hand.

instead, she offered, “i can take them off.” to emphasise, she let her knees drop further, the fabric of the panties bunching and slipping into her slit just slightly, and she saw the way his eyes narrowed at the movement. “let me show you, please—”

he cut off her whine with a harsh laugh, eyes squinting. “oh, such a slut, aren’t you?” 

she keened at the sound of his laugh, breathing shakily when he indifferently stood up, fly and button still open, now in between her open thighs which might’ve been trembling just from him being as close as he was. 

and then, from the discarded bag to the left of her which she’d thrown off in her haste to show him just how much she wanted him, he grabbed a switchblade, flipping it open and hovering it in front of her face. 

she didn’t flinch. how could she when she knew that, in this moment, if he asked her to slit her throat, she would? 

“cut these slutty things off. let me see,” he mocked in the same tone of voice she had begged him in, “that pretty pussy you’ve been hiding, okay?”

with a condescending tilt of his head, he sat down once again in the chair and then flipped the knife in his hand, holding it by the blade and showing her the handle.

she took it, sitting up slightly straighter, and practically throwing herself to cut her underwear off at the sides, the only sound in the room being that of ripping fabric and short breaths.

“shigaraki,” she started, pleading with her eyes, “please, i feel like i’ll explode.” her complaint fell on deaf ears, instead he watched her with a smirk as the fabric finally dropped onto the table. with the help of her hand, empty now that she’d thrown the knife hastily in her desperation, she removed the fabric from her body and went to throw them, but was stopped by him reaching out a hand. 

“give it to me,” he ordered, and grabbed it right where she’d been dripping, she realised with an embarrassed flush. “does this really turn you on this much?” he teased.

and all she could do was try not to moan aloud as he brought the ripped panties up to his mouth and, whilst staring her down, licked up her wet patch and groaned into the fabric. 

“does just me looking at you make you into such a desperate little mess?”

“yes,” she whispered, slipping down the table to present herself like a gift to him. “yo—you don’t have to do much, just use me and i’ll be good,” she begged. 

“show me your tits and i’ll consider it,” he demanded, and he held in his laugh when she scrambled to unbutton her top and expose her pretty bra to him. “look at that,” he grinned, running his tongue over his teeth.

she pushed her chest out at that. “please,” she cried, close to tears at how wound up he was getting her—probably without meaning to. she could feel her own heartbeat pulse in her cunt and her nipples tighten. “i just need your…” she groaned, voice whiny and breathy. “anything, please,” she sobbed.

“pinch your nipples,” he commanded, breaking her out of her little cry-fest. 

“w—what?” her eyes widened, and she stared at him as he lowered both his pants and his boxers and let his cock spring up, catching it with his palm and spreading his pre-cum down his throbbing dick. 

“fuck,” he groaned, veins showing in his neck as he rubbed a circle on his tip before pumping his cock again. “pinch your tits for me, okay?”

“okay,” she stumbled, pulling down the cups of her bra to frantically pinch at her nipples, sitting up straight. in her mind, she could almost imagine it was his dangerous hands pinching and pulling them, and in her fantasy his mouth was wrapped around them. 

with each pinch, she unknowingly rocked her hips against nothing, dripping arousal onto the hardwood table under her now that her cunt was pressed directly at it. 

“thank you,” she mumbled between needy moans. 

enamoured, he watched the rock of her hips, not even telling her off when her eyes fluttered shut with each shot of pleasure going to her swollen pussy.

he could imagine himself, stretching her out and pressing deeper until she choked on the feeling, and if he was lucky, she’d whimper a ‘wait, too big!’ but they’d both know she never wanted him to stop. and, somewhere in this fantasy of his, he was the one begging for respite, maybe with his hands tied and his cock used by her. 

instead, in time with her lurching hips, he fucked up into his hand, tightening it when his eyes zeroed in on her leaking hole. 

he was watching it so intently that he didn’t see her fingers moving to touch her cunt until two of them circled her clit, breaking him out of his trance. 

“ha,” he mocked, though it sounded much less threatening with the way he panted for breath. “you really are depraved, aren’t you?” 

she’d fallen back onto the table at this point, and to meet her eye, he stood, still fisting his own cock, until he could feel the heat her body gave off. 

“hey,” he drawled. “make yourself cum and i’ll reward you.”

“god,” she groaned, voice almost animalistic, as her back arched. “but i need your—anything,” she begged. 

“what, you want my fingers? what if i decay you?” he teased, leaning closer to her face, body hunched over hers. “would it be worth it, huh? to die?”

her heart was beating faster than she could keep track of it, with both the threat and his closeness. “don’t care,” she mumbled out. 

“you’re shaking from your fear,” he noted, barely getting the words out before his head dropped with a low, desperate moan as he pushed his cock against her thigh. “do you like fear? will it make you cum?”

“yes,” she gasped, pressing hungrily on that sensitive bundle of nerves, fingers slipping through her slick as she tried to make as small circles as possible. “shig—oh,” she moaned out, smiling through the pleasure at the sudden rutting against her thigh as tomura shigaraki fucked his cock against her, just as depraved as she. 

“fuck,” he spat softly under his breath, and she knew if she had the willpower, she could make him whimper, maybe press his lips into her cunt and make him taste her. “put them in,” he sighed.

she did as he asked, sliding in two fingers in her distressed state, fucking them into her and curling them, rocking her hips in time with shigaraki’s. “f—feels so good,” she forced out, breath coming in short pants. 

“slut,” he laughed again. “you just—just have to tell me how slutty you feel, huh?” 

“y—you’re the one who’s humping my thigh,” she retorted.

she wasn’t prepared when he suddenly shot his hand out and forced two fingers down her throat. as she choked on them, a surprised moan vibrated around them. 

“shut the fuck up,” he warned, but the drool pushing out between his fingers made him reach down with his hand to remove her hand that was fucking herself, pulling it out to bump his mushroom tip against her swollen, glistening clit. with each rock of his hips, her folds peeled apart to allow his veiny cock between them—so dirty to hump like depraved teenagers in an abandoned building on an old desk.

and then he was using her cunt to jerk off, hunching over her more to practically lay on top of her, rubbing against her clit in short, desperate thrusts. 

“shit,” he moaned, pre-cum oozing from his tip to meet her arousal. “so good for me, yeah?”

“‘ank you,” she gurgled out, eyes rolled deep into her head. 

his head lowered to her still uncovered tits, and just like in her fantasy, his mouth—with his dry lips and his salivating mouth—wrapped around her nipple, moaning desperately around the skin as he got closer and closer to his orgasm against her pussy. 

he ignored her responding sob, ignored her knee hooking over his hips to press them impossibly closer together, ignored her hips jerking up to unwittingly try to get the tip of him into her pulsing hole—because he was so, so fucking close, balls drawing up as his stomach clenched.

and with a final thrust of his hips and with his fingers pressing down on her tongue, he spurted against her clit, his mewl buzzing against her tits as he buried his head in between them. 

and she might’ve been just as close as he was, but even if she didn’t reach her peak, she could’ve died happily when he came against her.

the cum pulsing out of his tip that thumped against her clit leaked down into her waiting hole, but he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to, both of her legs tightly wrapped against him and she pushed her hips into his in desperation as her orgasm fully faded away.

struggling, nearly squeaky breaths against her tits as he came down, still pushing his hips lazily into hers as he drained himself of cum. his fingers still deep in her throat with her eyes fluttering shut as he, probably without meaning to, pressed hard against her tongue, covering his fingers in her spit.

she basked in the moment, keeping her eyes closed even when he pulled his head away from her tits and, with a lot of fluid involved, pulled his dick away from her pussy and his fingers from her mouth. 

tightly wound, sure she could cum if he just blew on her, she threw an arm over her eyes to collect herself. 

she didn’t know how enticing, how gorgeous she looked, legs falling from his waist to reveal her pussy covered in his seed, legs spread wide to give shigaraki an amazing view of her clenching hole and her heaving chest, nipples erect and winking with his spit still adorning them. 

he just couldn’t stop himself.

suddenly, he was on his knees in front of her, mouth open as he pushed his face into her cunt, some part of him wanting to become one with her.

she squealed, eyes shooting up and her upper body lurching up to behold tomura shigaraki, eyes closed and mouth open, licking and sucking at her cunt. he was eating her and him from her twinkling folds.

“taste so good,” he mumbled, moaning into her when she grabbed at his head and his hair, pressing him into her. in hindsight, maybe she was hurting him, but with the way he opened his jaw wider to devour her, she guessed he enjoyed it.

he was sloppy, and maybe not so talented with eating her out, but he sucked on her clit and he thrusted his tongue into her and he buried his nose into her and she was close again, throwing her legs over his shoulders. 

“look at me,” she breathed, yanking his hair back until just his tongue was dancing on her clit and he opened his eyes. hands clenched on the table to push himself as close as he could to her. 

his eyes, so wide and needy, and his shoulders shifting with each desperate breath of her scent was most definitely what threw her over the edge.

or maybe it was the moan he let out when she groaned, “good boy, shig.”

her back arched into the air, digging her legs into his shoulders to somehow press herself closer to him. 

pulsing, throbbing, around nothing. 

suddenly, she was falling, detached from shigaraki’s mouth and finding herself on the ground. “what?” she mumbled, still in the haze of her orgasm. 

“sorry,” came from above her, and it was then she realised. he’d put all his fingers on the desk beneath her, dusting it. 

all she did was laugh, pressing herself up from the ground to stand in front of him. “i’m just glad i have that effect on you.”

“shut up,” he rasped back, but she caught the dusting of pink on his cheeks as he zipped his pants back up. 

“c’mere,” she muttered. still half-dressed and with a sprinkling of dust on her back she pressed forward to press a gentle kiss on his chapped lips. head tilted, eyes closed. 

in a spur of the moment decision, he mirrored her. an ounce of vulnerability in this otherwise filthy encounter shown in the way his mouth clumsily followed her silent instructions, moulding to hers. 

when she pulled away, breath noticeably coming in shorter puffs, her hands roamed up to his face, fingers dancing over his jawline and his under eyes, smiling at the way he pushed into her. poor boy’s touch-starved, she thought. 

eyes still closed, he was searching for her mouth again and she pressed her lips to his again, mewling when two of his fingers tentatively traced her face in a mimic of her. 

but his eyes shot open when one hand moved from his face to his ass of all places. “delicious,” she grinned. 

“shut up.”

[yourfavouriterival]

Cockwarming din, not because he wants to be in control, just because he wants to be as close as possible

one of the shorter things i've written but i like it! i'm trying to not babble in fics that don't need it. i also am still a whore even if i haven't written anything in a while. hope this is okay, still getting in the loop of things again!

pairing : din djarin x female!reader

warnings : cockwarming, previous mentions of sex

word count : 320

summary : the request

-

“Let me in.”

It was a request whispered in the dead of night, and without question, Y/N sleepily lifted her leg to hook over Din’s hip where they lay, his chest to her back. She relished in the feeling of his fingers swiping over her cunt, circling her clit and dipping down to curl a finger before smoothing her arousal over his cock. The blunt head of his length pressed gently to her wet opening as he held her stomach to arch her hips into him, and she keened as he rocked his cock into her gently.

When he finally slipped into her, sliding deeper as she whimpered out his name, he stilled, arms wrapping around her hips to pull her closer. Her hands came to grip his fingers, humming as he stretched her walls.

“‘S deep,” she whispered into the darkness of where they were supposed to be sleeping, heart pounding in arousal. Her nipples, erect in the cold room, pebbled even more—as though it were possible—and another round of wetness went through her, letting Din slide in deeper.

He rocked his hips into her, once, twice and then halting as his tip pushed into her g-spot. With his twitching and her throbbing walls, everything seemed to beckon him deeper, seemed to want him to ravage and pound her into the mattress, but the ache in his legs from the long day they had and the way she leaned her head back to just bask in how full she felt hindered him from doing so.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he said as he shifted his hips to rest against her ass comfortably. Usually, one of them would be on their knees in front of the other, but there was something peaceful—and oddly romantic—that made nothing else matter. “I love you,” he repeated to her, but he could feel with how her chest moved that she was already asleep.

[yourfavouriterival]

stranger things masterlist

key: angst = 🥀

fluff = 🌺

smut = ⭐️

short (under 1k words) = *

eddie munson:

guitar pick 🥀 (spoilers for season 4 volume 2)

[yourfavouriterival]

eddie munson : guitar pick

note : i wanna die. i don't know what to do with myself as of today.

pairing : eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings : ¡¡¡ MAJOR season 4 volume 2 spoilers !!! angst (grief, crying, death), slight fluff, some people are assholes

word count : 1566

summary : the aftermath of volume 2

- 

“Mister Munson?”

There. She’d only met him a couple times, lounging at Eddie’s trailer with some shitty, one dollar drink and an amazing horror movie playing. He’d say ‘hello’ and she’d reply something kind, and then Eddie would laugh at her shyness in front of his uncle, who’d grin and go to his room. 

Standing, head bowed down, in front of a vandalised photo of Eddie Munson, stood Wayne Munson. His hand hovered over the pin holding the paper sheet to the corkboard of similar announcements of missing people, all of which would be prioritised over finding Eddie Munson. 

He didn’t say anything. No reply, just robotic movements of grabbing the pin and yanking off the ruined paper, replacing it with a new one. 

Her heart twinged—no, twinged wasn’t the word for it. There wasn’t a word painful enough for how her body locked up, squeezing out any air from her lungs and burning through her composure which she prayed she’d keep through the day. 

“Y/N,” he replied, turning his head to look at her. His eyes went straight to the shirt she was wearing—Eddie’s—and his face contorted into something painful. 

A white shirt with a black print reading: ‘Corroded Coffin’. Eddie had been designing it, grinning when Y/N had asked what he was doing:

“I’m making merchandise. We’ll be big, you know? And everyone will be wearing this,” he said, grabbing her hand which was reaching for the shirt. “It’s wet, dumbass.”

“Do I get one?” she asked, laughing when he pulled her onto his lap and pressing quick kisses to her hairline. 

“Duh. You get this one, lucky charm. Hopefully, you’ll wear only the shirt,” he paused, sucking a mark onto her jaw, “and nothing else.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“What, you don’t like it?” His face twisted comically.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Eds,” she laughed, head burrowing into his neck and pressing soft kisses to his shoulder. “I’m honoured. You know I’m your biggest fan. I’ll be there for every show.”

“Yeah, yeah, you charmer,” he laughed, one hand grasping at her hips and the other cupping her jaw and leading her lips to his.

They’d gotten distracted and he never finished the shirt. He never would. 

“They’re not going to be looking for him.”

She didn’t want reassurance. He knew already that this stupid town decided who deserved to live and who didn’t with no regard. She just said, “no, they’re not.” 

He walked to one of the empty beds close to the corkboard, slumping down. Y/N couldn’t move her feet, staring at the picture of Eddie. He was staring at the camera, and her mind could remember the colour of his eyes and the feeling of his lips. 

“You got any idea of where he is?” he asked, glancing up at his nephew’s girlfriend. 

She lowered her eyes, shaking her head. 

“I’ll still put up as many damn posters as it takes until he’s found because my boy is innocent.”

Her hand reached into her pocket, wrapping around the guitar pick as she tried to fight off the tingle in her nose indicating the sobs in her chest. 

“I’ll see you around.” He stood, walking away. 

“I was with him,” she faltered, but it didn’t matter. Eddie’s uncle had already turned, eyes searching hers. “When the, uh, earthquake hit.” His figure was getting blurrier, and her throat started tightening around the words she was attempting to force out. 

“So,” he paused, “you do know where he is now?”

She couldn’t physically push the words out. Her eyes closed as she took her hand out of her pocket, holding the guitar pick—Eddie’s guitar pick—out to his uncle. 

His gaze went from hers to the guitar pick. 

“I’m…” she faltered. “I’m so sorry,” she sputtered out, hand quivering around the chains which Wayne Munson took. How could she tell him that Eddie was—

Words failed her, and she could only watch as Eddie’s uncle fell apart in front of her, collapsing back onto the makeshift bed. 

And when the usually stoic man started sobbing, Y/N couldn’t keep her silent cry, hand coming up to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated, a muffled apology, sitting down next to him. Her eyes fluttered, drops falling from her eyes. “He was good. He was so good. And no one bothered to try to find that out, and I don’t know why.”

Crying used to feel good, like a relief from the world. But Eddie used to be there, holding her or talking to her, and now he wasn’t and she couldn’t collect herself in front of his uncle, and he was still facing away, clutching the guitar pick to his chest and nodding. 

“I wish more people had tried to find that out, because I think they would have loved him as much as I do. I love Eddie, Mister Munson, so much, and he was the best person I had the privilege to know. Even when this town didn’t deserve it, he fought for it. He never got mad. He never shouted at anyone, he just took it and I know it hurt him but he kept being himself. He could’ve run—survived. But he fought and he…” she swallowed, a nausea settling over her at her next words. “He died for this place and that isn’t fair.”

“Eddie! Dustin!” she yelled, having just fallen out of the doorway. “Eddie? Dustin? Where are you?” 

Her voice was hoarse now, but she ran out either way to find—

Dustin was holding Eddie, and something was wrong. Something was bad, worse than anything someone could dream up. Through all the shit with Vecna, with the bats, with the deaths, Y/N had never felt this kind of dread until this moment.

“I think it’s my year, Henderson,” he struggled with the words that she heard as she ran forwards, “I think it’s finally my year.”

“Eddie!” she fussed, falling onto her knees opposite of Dustin. She didn’t care about the dead bats around them or the way loose rocks dug into her skin, she could only see him. “Eddie, hey. Hey, you’re okay, right? You’re okay.”

“I’m okay, lucky charm,” he smiled, but it didn’t last long fading to be replaced with the tears filling his eyes. 

But he wasn’t okay. There was blood around his mouth and on his body, and she could see that he was struggling to even breathe. He wouldn’t survive the trip out of the Upside Down, and she had the sinking feeling that the hospitals would turn them away. 

“D—don’t worry,” he blinked. “Worry ‘bout Henderson here.” Dustin grabbed his hand, saying something about how Eddie was okay, but Eddie just smiled and said, “I love you, man.”

Dustin, the poor boy who was too young to lose someone this important, whimpered back, “I love you too.”

“Y/N, I—I—” he struggled, but Y/N just leaned down and pressed a kiss to the spot where his forehead met the bandana wrapped around his head. 

“I know,” she answered, because she knew what he meant. He never stopped saying it. “I love you, Eddie. You did so well. Just rest a bit, and I’ll fix this.” One of her hands went to his hair, smoothing it out for possibly the last time, and she wished she could hear the way he usually hummed when she did that. 

She thinks he may have tried to laugh, but a cut off sound came out instead, and just as a tear fell from his eye, she knew that he was gone. 

She didn’t make a sound, just fell forwards and grasped at Dustin’s hand which tightly gripped back, gasping into the tattered fabric of his shirt. 

“Eddie…” Dustin begged, and he was so young and innocent that she couldn’t hold herself up anymore. 

“Oh, God,” she sobbed out, wishing she could scream until her throat corroded and her heart burst. Her hand was still in his hair, but she couldn’t physically move from where she’d collapsed onto him. “Eddie,” she screeched, a panicked and pained sound lost in his shirt. 

He didn’t say anything, and she took that as incentive to stand. 

“I’m—I'm sorry,” she said again, wiping her eyes. 

“You should keep this,” Wayne said, reaching towards her and giving her Eddie’s guitar pick. He didn’t look at her, and she wondered if he ever would again. 

She took it, and her throat hurt so much that she rushed to the women’s bathroom, ready to puke her guts up or tear her heart out in one of the stalls. But she wasn’t the only one in there, so she rushed into one of the compartments, sunk down onto the lid of the toilet and held a hand to her mouth, holding it down and hoping to hold in the sounds. 

“It’s that boy’s fault, you know? Eddie Munson killed all these people. Him and that cult.”

Eddie did so much, and he died with everyone thinking of him as a devil worshipper. He was so good. He was perfect, and he was flawed, but he did good. He didn’t run. He fought. He loved so fiercely. And Y/N had no clue of where to go from now. 

Because, truly, did anything matter if she couldn’t share it with the only person she’d ever truly love?

[yourfavouriterival]

THE AZRIEL FIC OMG IM IN LOVEEEEE

thank youuuuuuuu aaaaaa

[yourfavouriterival]

AZRIEL: taking you home - part three

part one | part two | part three

note : every time i saw the title for the 2nd part “ask me to stay”, i read “ask me to slay” so yeah

note 2 : yes it’s finally written. this will be the last part but i will be writing a prologue i think if that’s something you want

p.s: should i make a taglist?

pairing : azriel x fem!reader

warnings : lil twinge of angst (some guilt, some harsh truths), smut (fingering, oral (both receiving), penetrative sex, slight overstimulation, praise kink, slight degradation kink, shadow play), fluff, idiots in love, mating bonds

words : 4889

summary : y/n archeron, the eldest sister, is mated to azriel. but azriel isn’t aware of this. this paired with the trauma of being made makes y/n make drastic decisions. 

masterlist

-

She refused to let him help. 

Azriel might have laughed if it had been less tense. Now, all he could do was watch her rush around, mashing potatoes and mixing spices into stew.

“It’s fae food that I import,” she explained without him needing to ask her. 

Mother above, she was beautiful. Relaxed. Happy, he realised. She was relaxed and happy, as though the time away from the Night Court helped her find herself and enjoy who she is. 

He hated the idea that she might have had to leave to feel better. “Was the Night Court that… draining?” he asked as she turned the heat off, fearing that her answer would affirm his thoughts.

She spun, eyes wide. “Oh, Mother,” she breathed. “No, Azriel. It was me, and it was that I needed… something,” she sighed. She coughed awkwardly and turned back. 

“Feyre thought someone had killed you in the war.” He saw the way she froze. Her back turned rigid. “We all did.”

“What?”

“The letter—your letter—was the first proof that you lived and—”

And when Azriel had been shown the letter—the sentence: “i’ve been in the human lands since i left”—he’d taken off to the Human Lands straight away, ignoring Rhys’s orders to turn back. Since the War with Hybern, he’d had this image of her body, greying and alone. 

The first day after she’d gone had been the hardest. As pulled away from everyone as she was, barely able to leave her room some days, she was still so much herself. She was this refreshing person who, when she found it in her to do it, smiled with the love one can only give to those deserving of it.

When he’d met her as a human, he thought she’d been the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, but had realised her mortality as they talked about what she would do once the threat was gone. 

She’d, by far, accepted Feyre, and the others, the best. Rushing to give Feyre a hug as soon as she saw her, trying to joke about the situation.

He’d loved her since they met. And then, he’d been a dumb little idiot. Pulling away from ehr to give her space and trying to do right by her by taking care of Elain so she had less to worry about. But she still felt as though she’d been dying. But now, he could see her living, and he didn’t want to waste one moment without seeing her. 

“Oh.” 

The stew was simmering, so she turned and shut off the heat. 

Azriel could stare at her for hours, as he had when she was still in Velaris. Rhys had teased him for the way he lost track of time, tracing her figure at the dinner table, and Azriel had turned pink, brushing him off. 

He lost his mind for a while when she left.

“Ow, fuck!” He had zoned out for a bit, and in that time, she’d grabbed the hot metal of the pot with her bare hand. She winced loudly, running her hand under some cold water.

“What did you do?”

“Well, it’s not my fault, is it?”

“What did you do?”

“Fuck you,” she replied. 

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“Yes. Now.” He stood from his chair and grabbed her wrist gently, opening her hand and seeing the burn on her palm.

No. He should have paid attention to her, not zoned out. Would she hate the scar this would leave in the way he hated his hands? He hated to even think that she would hate something about her. Something that he was burdened with on his own hands.

“It’ll scar,” he said, swallowing harshly. 

“It’s okay,” she assured.

“I can’t stop the scarring.” He should have payed attention to—

“Az,” she interrupted his thoughts, reaching up and lifting his head from where it had been glaring at the floor. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he whispered. And then, something happened. Their eyes met for a split second, and something clicked into place, setting Azriel’s whole body alive with the look she gave him.

His shadows shot out from where he’d tried to hide them, surrounding them both. She smiled at them, angling her head as if she, too, could hear the whispers they delivered to Azriel.

Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. 

The word rang in his ears, and his shadows slinked behind both of them. 

“I think they like me,” she teased, lifting her damaged hand to let a sliver of shadow run over her palm and through her fingers. 

“I think they do,” Azriel choked out, eyes not leaving her. She wasn’t scared of his shadows, nor was she angry at the closeness of him. I do, he thought. 

Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate. 

“I’ll finish dinner, okay?”

Dinner. A meal. Did she know what that would mean? For them?

Did she not know?

He had to ask. He had to know if she knew, and was so disgusted by the idea of him that she had to go—

“Food is served.”

-

She’d set a plate on either side of the large, four-legged table made of dark wood. 

She sat.

He sat.

Silence. 

“I, uh, find it rude to start before my guest does,” she laughed awkwardly. He still didn’t start. She wondered if his wings were that uncomfortable in the chair and wondered if she should stand. “Azriel? Is there something wrong with the food—”

“Why did you leave?”

“Well, there’s a lot of internal,” she swallowed against the dryness in her throat, “reasons and some external ones—”

“Was it me?”

Her eyes widened, and her eyes met his. He sat with his back straight, hands folded in his lap, but his shoulders were tense and his eyes flitted from her eyes to her mouth to the table. 

Gods, he’s so pretty. 

“I felt… choked. Everything was too much and I…” she trailed off. What could she say? ‘You’re my mate and I can't handle my jealousy’? That would be ridiculous.

Or maybe…

“You’re my mate and I can’t handle my jealousy,” she blurted out. “I’ve known for a while. Like, since I met you.” She laughed awkwardly. “You’re not saying anything.” 

A bit of colour returned from his drained face. “So, you didn’t…”

“What, leave because I’m fae now?” She smiled. “It’s not all bad. My back doesn’t hurt as much as it did when I was human,” she joked, but he was still frozen. “Look, I knew you’d never love me the way that I started to love you. That, on top of all the other shit, pushed me to leave.” 

“You left because of me.”

He nodded, looking down at the table. “What? No! No, no, no.”

“You just said that.”

“No, Az,” she pushed, standing up faster than her mind could follow it and cupping his face with both hands, warm hands on colder cheeks. 

Dark hair, slightly upturned at the ends, slightly covered his left eye, and if she weren’t already pushing a boundary by touching his skin. He stayed sitting, now looking up at her. Lips slightly jutted out from the angle he was looking at her from, eyes wide from the sudden control she took. 

“Nothing about you. It was me,” she asserted. “You’re perfect.” She leaned down, closer to his face. 

He didn’t want the chance to go, so he stood, still crouched a bit to match her height. And then he pressed his lips against hers. 

The shock of the contact made her moan out, melting into him. 

Some instinctual part of her pushed her body into his, moulding her body and soul to fit his tattered one, trying to fit parts of her into the cracks that needed fixing and soothe over the other dents that didn’t need help. 

He stood to his full height and she had to stand on her toes and tilt her head up, but she didn’t care because she’d be damned if she stopped kissing him. 

Kissing him was like being pushed into the heart of a volcano, yet you don’t get burned. You’re filled with this warmth that overwhelms you and steals your breath but you know, should you ask, that he’d give that breath back in the blink of an eye. 

They broke apart with a gasp, and it was then that Azriel noticed the grip he had on her hips and the way she tilted her own pelvis into his. 

“Accept the bond,” he begged, swooping down to suck at her neck. Her body arched into him, an arm coming around his neck to brace herself so she didn’t fall as she shakily laughed. “I’ll do anything you want,” he promised, hands grabbing at her lower back, inching towards her ass whilst his lips pressed soft kisses up her neck to her cheeks, tracing the shape of her jaw. 

“Was planning on it,” she laughed. 

She shrieked as he lifted her off the ground, settling her on the table in front of her. “Spread your legs for me,” he whispered against her skin.

She did. Feet dangling off the table, loose dress bunching up her thighs and right in front of Azriel’s chair. 

And then he sat. And… ate dinner?

He scarfed the food down, gulping as fast as he could. 

Oh, she thought. Of course. The mating bond is completed with a meal. 

But, still, the brash difference between the hungry lust from only moments ago to her perched on the table with a bowl between her legs, swallowing as fast as he could. 

She couldn’t stop the laugh that she let out, stemming from her chest and taking over her entire body to the point where she had to hold herself up with her hands so she didn’t fall into her own (forgotten) meal behind her.

She missed the look—a love-filled one and amused one—in Azriel’s eye as he stood, grabbing her bowl. “Still hungry, eh?” she giggled out, and he, too, let out a laugh, because the situation was so ridiculous and Y/N was so beautifully odd. 

“Starving,” he commented through an annoyingly cute smile. Bringing the bowl and spoon to her face, he scooped up food. “C’mon.” 

“Not too hungry,” she replied through a laugh. 

“You’ll need it,” he promised, and as if she wasn’t already filled with a heat she couldn’t ignore, it got a hundred times hotter. 

She let him feed her, and the electricity in his eyes glued her gaze straight at him. When half the bowl was gone, it seemed he got impatient, because he lowered it from his grasp to the table.

“Stay,” he ordered, pushing her chest back until she lay flat against the table. 

And then he, the motherfucker, picked up the bowls and walked to the sink. “What—” she started as she tried to sit up, but just then, slivers of shadows shot up her body, pushing her back against the wood. 

There was a shadow each on her thighs, holding them both down and apart from each other, a shadow each on her wrists, pinning them to the wood, and a shadow encircling her throat, no pressure but so very there. Lastly, a shadow traced up and down her torso. 

And if Azriel was a painter, he would have done all he could to capture the way Y/N looked. Not only were the shadows, his shadows, holding her down, but they writhed under her, a blanket of darkness enveloping her as he returned from setting the bowls away. He wanted—no, needed to worship her.

So Azriel sank to his knees in front of her. 

“Azriel,” she breathed, keening at his gentle touch to her inner thigh. It was so unlike the touch of his shadows, more real and less cold. 

“I’m going to kneel here,” he informed, air from his breath hitting the sensitive skin, “and I’m going to put my mouth right here,” he continued, a thumb now tracing the fabric covering her core and he grinned when she tried canting her hips up, “for as long as I want, and you’re going to take it. Okay?”

“Please,” she whined, something heavy settling in her. She needed him, and she thought she might die if she couldn’t feel him, somewhere in her. 

“I like you begging,” he remarked, pulling her underwear down her legs and laying them to the side. “Maybe I’ll make you beg for all the time that you spent away from me,” he murmured. 

“No,” she gasped out, trying to lift her head but the shadow tightened around her neck. “I won’t leave you again, I swear.” 

“Good girl,” he spoke against her before burying his face between her thighs. 

A spark. A fire. An explosion. She wouldn’t be able to begin explaining the feeling of his tongue against her, drinking her up. She couldn’t even move her fingers, frozen in pleasure, but her mouth was open, moans flying out. 

“Fuck, Azriel,” she whimpered when he ran his teeth across her clit. 

He was licking against her clit, moaning into her and creating a vibration that made her whole body hum a praise. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, eyes rolling back when two fingers pushed into her, curling up onto that one spot whilst thrusting. 

He was drunk on her. The way she tried to writhe, the sounds she made, the way she looked. “There we go,” he said, but she couldn’t hear him over the ringing in her ears and the squelching of her pussy and the shots of pleasure going up her back. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, nor could he ignore the feeling of her tightening around his fingers and her juices starting to drip down his hand. 

“Good girl,” he praised. “That’s a good girl,” he repeated when she cried out, her back arching ever so slightly under the press of the shadows. Nipples pebbled beneath the dress and legs shaking.

He couldn’t even bring himself to care about the fact that his scarred hands were touching her, because it felt and looked so right—thick fingers now thrusting deep within her, her warm walls keeping them wet and warm. 

“Azriel,” she faltered, fingers flexing. Azriel swooped in, sucking her clit into his mouth, running his tongue over it. At the same time, the hand that wasn’t currently in her trailed up her legs to interlace fingers with hers where it had been flexing. 

“I’ve got you,” he panted against her, and then he shoved a third finger into her, and she wailed into the empty house. 

“C—oh, fuck, I’m cumming, Az,” she sobbed.

“Mmm,” he hummed against her clit, and then he fucking pulled away. 

“No,” she begged, trying (in vain) to escape the shadows to get him back. “Az, please, no, I’ve been good.”

“You have,” he cooed, standing to his full height.

Mother, he is wide. 

“I hate you,” she lied through clenched teeth, feeling the dull throbbing of her cunt and the tingling on her clit.

“Do you, now? Say it again,” he dared, bracing a hand on the table next to her head and leaning over her. 

“I hate you,” she breathed, but the moan she let out when he slapped her lightly on the cheek told him otherwise. 

Spread on a table, sweaty and wet, puffy pussy on display and breasts heaving. “And if I do this?” he teased, hand coming down to her clit, rubbing tight circles. 

She writhed, crying out. “Please!” Teary eyed and flushed all over, she looked like a wet dream.

He pulled his hand away just as quickly as it came. “Tell me, Y/N, do you still hate me?”

She shook her head. “I could never hate you,” she said, and this one was sincere. She caught his eye, and he sent a warm smile her way that made her stomach tingle with butterflies, the ones that came from overwhelming love rather than lust. 

“Me neither,” he confessed. “You left, so I suppose I should hate you, but I can’t.”

“Good,” she said, and the shadows around her loosened—as though they knew what she wanted and listened—and she sat up, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

Lips pressed against lips and chest touched. Tongues slid against each other, her wet pussy desperately grinding against his bulge straining against his trousers. 

“Need you,” she begged, hands sliding down his chest and reaching his pants. “Can I?” she asked, and he nodded so she, obviously, practically ripped his pants down the seam. 

“Desperate little baby,” he teased her darkly, but she swatted his covered chest with her hand. He caught it, moving it down and into his pants. “Feel that?” he whispered, and she nodded, throat dry. 

Mother, he was large. Thick and long and veined and perfect. Her hand finally wrapped around him (barely) and when he shoved the rest of his pants down, she let out a strained whimper, trying to get up from the table so she could fall to her knees and let him shove his cock down her throat.

“Not tonight,” he tutted, manhandling her up. “Where’s your bedroom?”

She looked lost, eyes wide and hand tightening around him when she grasped him again. “Please?” she asked, mouth slightly open. “You’ll like it.”

He laughed. “I’m sure I will. But tonight, you’re mine to fuck.” 

And with that, he picked her up, an arm under her knees and behind her back, and marched towards a hallway. “Wrong way,” she mumbled. 

“I knew that.”

“Of course you did.”

Her bedroom wasn’t much to look at, but it had a sturdy bed with soft sheets. He grinned. “How many mortal men have been warming your bed in your time away?”

“None,” she gasped, bouncing as he dropped her on the bed. 

“Oh, you must be so strung up,” he mocked, taking fabric from her dress in both hands. And then he ripped it off of her, but he just moved on to say, “Been rubbing your little clit to thoughts of me, all alone in your cottage.”

She was on fire. 

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” she moaned, arching her naked body against him. Her mind wandered to the nights where she, indeed, rested in this same bed and thought of Azriel in… less than innocent ways. “Just want you.”

“My wet dream,” he groaned, gently removing his shirt and folding it. 

“How come your shirt gets extra special treatment?” she complained, looking to the side at her ripped dress. 

“Because I have wings.”

“Stupid argument.”

“Spread,” he ordered, and her thighs just pushed apart immediately, exposing her dripping core to his hungry eyes. “Messy.” 

He kissed her then, one hand wrapped in her hair to guide their lips together, moaning into her mouth when she whimpered into his. 

His other hand wrapped around his cock, pressing it against her entrance. “This okay?” he asked, pulling away from the kiss. 

“Yes,” she breathed, hands holding his cheeks as he slowly, torturously slowly, slid into her. 

And—

“Holy—Mother,” she choked out, eyes rolling back. He was everywhere, so wide and long and hard that no part of her was left untouched. Hands left his face to twist in her bedsheets as Azriel let out a low groan at the tightness and heat of her. 

And when he thrusted into her, a slow pull and push, watching her chest heave with her breath and the push behind his hips, he swore he was in love with her. 

“Deep—” she gasped out. “Baby, you’re so deep.”

A hand shakily pressed down on her stomach, trying in vain to curb the tingles in her stomach.

Azriel wouldn’t admit it, but her calling him ‘baby’ made him blush. He was just happy that he could blame the redness on his cheeks on the intensity of fucking her. 

“Mate,” she gasped out suddenly, and Azriel couldn’t help the groan that came out of his mouth, nor could he stop the way his hips moved faster, pressing more and more of himself into her, or the way his hand snaked down to rub against her bundle of nerves. 

The way he stretched her cunt and the way he forced her legs to stay spread around his hips and the weight of him pushing her into the soft mattress. 

“Mate,” he repeated to her, catching her lips in a kiss. “You’re coming home with me,” he promised her, and she moaned, tightening around him. “And you’re never going to run away again.”

“Okay,” she gasped as he hit a tender but pleasurable spot deep within. “I promise,” she cried, clawing at his back. 

The sound of him fucking her; the wetness squelching in the otherwise quiet room; the way her nipples tightened and rubbed against his chest; the shots of pleasure that shot up and down her spine; the feel of him against her fucking womb. 

The way he looked. The way his arm bulged, holding himself above her. The way he moaned into her mouth.

And then she was cumming.

She barely got a warning out. “Cum—cumming,” she whined, the whine becoming a drawn out cry because he didn’t fucking stop and she was tightening and gushing and—and he didn’t care. 

“Good girl,” he praised, guiding her through it. And when it became too much for her—when she pressed his hand from her clit and pressed against his stomach to give her a break, the shadows returned. 

Shadows took both of her wrists, and as though they’d practised it, Azriel pulled out of her. 

He grasped her hips, pulling her up and around until she was facing him, yet her hands were crossed behind her back. “You’re so wet,” he teased, sliding two fingers through her folds and she yelped, falling forwards into his chest. 

“Azriel,” she moaned. He pulled his hand away and guided her onto her hands and knees. “It’s—” she stammered. “It’s so much,” she complained, legs shaking. 

“Just a little more,” he promised, already pushing into her again and, for as much as she might complain, she was pushing back into him, begging him to fill her needy little cunt. “I’ll make you cum one more time and then I’ll be done.”

“Oh, Mother,” she whimpered because he was somehow deeper.

And he fucked her through two more shaking orgasms (because he’s a liar and wanted to feel and hear another orgasm—the way she screamed out for him) and then he pulled out, and when her body was shaking, she dropped to her knees in front of him as he sat, legs spread on the bed.

He looked like a god. Like something she should worship. 

She opened her mouth and took the tip of him in, licking at her arousal and cum mixed with his taste. He was so soft against her tongue, but his hand was rough as it tangled in her hair. Two shadows yanked her arms back and another encircled her throat, slivering up to her mouth. 

“My shadows are going to keep your mouth open,” he started, leaning down to look her in the eye. She was destroyed, dripping with her previous orgasms, face warm and flushed. “And you have to tell them if you need them off.”

“What?” she mumbled through the shadow holding her mouth open. 

“Tell them. Think ‘off’,” he said.

‘Off,’ the thought, and the shadows were gone, before returning with another command. She grinned up at him, sweaty and heaving. 

The shadow in her mouth forced it open and another guided her head down as it pressed against her scalp. 

Azriel slipped into her mouth, and she moaned. He touched the back of her mouth easily, and she gagged when he hit it. “Breathe,” he ordered, and she tried to breathe through her nose, relaxing her throat. 

‘Go,’ she thought, and the shadows, now surrounding her head in thin slivers, bobbed her head up and down his cock. 

He murmured words to her, but she could only hear the sound of her mouth being forced down on his cock, the spit dripping down him and around her mouth.

“There we go,” he said, but he was shaky and his hand came to her face, brushing her sweaty hair off of her forehead. 

The shadows pulled her off of him at her command. “You cumming, baby?” she teased, and then she was back on him, pushing him into her throat whilst she swallowed around his tip. 

“Take it,” he ordered, and she nodded as best he could. “Take it,” he muttered, head falling back in a long moan, hips jumping harshly into her mouth to grind his cock into her throat, and he held her head down with his hand, filling her mouth until she choked. 

She drank him up greedily, because this was her claiming him. He’d been in her mouth, bruised her throat, filled her with his seed and, most importantly, he’d let her. He’d tasted her and now she’d tasted him. 

He pulled away shakily, and he wouldn’t say it to anyone else (read: Cassian) but his legs were shaking, and she took a gasping breath as the shadows left her mouth and body, instead allowing Azriel to pull her up and into his arms.

Azriel was strong enough to lift her, even drained of cum and energy, and he guided her into the washroom. 

“Hi,” he mumbled shyly, pressing a kiss to her mouth before hugging her to his body.

“Hi,” she whispered in reply. “Can’t feel m’legs,” she laughed, and he spun her so her back was to his chest and she could brace herself against the counter. 

“If I wasn’t sure you’d pass out, I’d be on my knees again,” he growled.

“Maybe I would want you to make me pass out,” she dared, reaching behind her and lacing her fingers into his hair and turning her head to kiss him. His hand darted out to grasp her waist and stomach. 

“Maybe I will,” he disclosed, pulling away from her lips, “but first I want you to sleep.” He kissed her head, and grabbed a cloth and ran it under the water.

He cleaned her up, pressing a kiss to her skin when she flinched at the towel running over her sore nipples that his lips had been sucking on, and she tried to dart her hips away as he gently wiped at her drippy cunt. When he went to clean himself off, she fell asleep against the wall.

-

When she woke up, she was cradled to his chest that was rising and falling as though he was asleep, but she could feel—over the bond—that he was awake. 

“I shouldn’t have left,” she said, head against his skin. “It was selfish and cowardly.” 

“A bit,” he tried to joke. 

“I should have talked to someone, I see that now. But don’t think I abandoned your family.” Without leaving his chest, she took his hand that had been running up and down her back to her thigh and between her breasts. 

He found two jagged scars.

She felt the moment he tensed. “I fought for your family, and maybe I should have joined you, but I fought. And it’s why I feel I must warn you.” She sat up. “I can’t sleep sometimes, and sometimes I cry. I’m not strong enough for any war, and I know that, but if you can’t have that—”

He sat up to kiss her, tilting his head whilst his right hand traced the scar on her leg. She could have cried at the softness in which he kissed her. 

“I know you didn’t abandon us,” he promised, pulling away to press his forehead to hers. “I know because I called you, and you love your family. I just wish you’d joined me.” His hand traced over her scar on her chest and his presence traced over the cracks in her heart. 

She breathed shakily. “I’ll cry right now,” she threatened. 

“Then cry,” he offered. “I’ll be here.”

She and he both paused, basking in each other. 

“Our family.” “What?”

“You said ‘your family’. It’s ours.”

“I barely know your family,” she pointed out. 

“But they all want to know you. You were pulling away. You were dying, but you were still there and you hugged Feyre when Nesta blamed her and you stayed with Elain when she wouldn’t eat. And you left because—what was it you wrote? You were taking Rhys’s money?”

She flushed. “I was—”

“And he wanted you to,” Azriel laughed, and if she could hear that for the rest of her life, she’d be the happiest person alive. “But it is absolutely not your fault for needing time and space.”

She grabbed the blanket and him and pulled it over them, laying down with him. She didn’t cry. She could’ve. She knew Azriel wouldn’t mind if she cried. But something heavy in her let go. 

“Oh, fuck,” she said suddenly. 

“Mm?” Azriel asked sleepily, halfway gone when she had spoken. 

“Nesta’s going to actually stab me.” 

“Serves you right, you minx,” Azriel replied, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “Now hush.”

And as much as she mocked him whilst his eyes were closed, she was sure she’d tell him how much she loved him tomorrow.

[yourfavouriterival]

So when can we expect the 3rd part if the azriel fic?. I loved it so much!

LITERALLY IN LIKE TWO SECONDS how did u know

[yourfavouriterival]

I come back like every day for the part two of the azriel fic. It was so good and I can't wait to see it!

it is up now!!! here

[yourfavouriterival]

AZRIEL: ask me to stay - part two

note : welcome to me, maya, deciding she is going to write a whole ass thing instead of two parts. 

part one | part two | part three

note 2 : also, sorry for the very very long wait. i am dumb and a procrastinator. also, there will be at least one more part of this.

pairing : azriel x fem!archeron!reader

warnings : talk of death and war, angst, fluff beginning

words : 1264

summary : y/n archeron, the eldest sister, is mated to azriel. but azriel isn’t aware of this. this paired with the trauma of being made makes y/n make drastic decisions. 

masterlist

-

dearest feyre,

i leave by my own will, with the purest of intentions. i leave because i know that the night court, velaris, as gorgeous as it is, cannot be for me. 

i would simply be a nuisance, feeding off of rhysand’s generosity and money. your mate is the kindest male i’ve met, but i do not feel right about this. 

your sister,

y/n archeron

-

She’d written a letter before she left—letters shaky and ugly and badly written, but still hers—because she never wanted Feyre to experience that heart-wrenching fear that Y/N felt when Tamlin took her from them. Feyre shouldn’t have been worried in the way Y/N had been, though. She did have fae magic to protect her, including… a couple other tricks. 

She loved the nighttime, ironically. When she left, she expected to be thankful that she would never have to love the Night Court and all of it’s qualities, but she quite disliked the summer that came every year in the human lands. 

Her fault, considering that she herself chose to come here.

She’d been gone for a couple of years from her family. 

From her mate. 

When she first came here, she hid her ears and slimmer body by hunching and having hoods most of the time, and eventually she got hired as a maid for one of the oldest women in the town. 

And when that woman died, she had no kin to give the house to. 

Y/N inherited the wooden house in the woods with the large kitchen and the many bedrooms. 

It was just her and the big house. A very lonely existence. 

-

She woke up screaming. 

She was back there. 

That day.

She could feel the unforgiving cold of The Cauldron gripping her body, pulling her under and under until she was forced to inhale the liquid, and the awful feeling of it rushing down her throat the way she used to knock back shots. Her arms froze around her in a lonesome hug as screaming flew through her, shrieks from inhuman voices.

Feyre had asked if she saw anything when she went into The Cauldron, but how does one look at their sister and tell them what they saw?

Because Y/N’s heart had stopped. She’d died before whatever Mother-forsaken thing brought her back. And she’d seen nothing. There was no tether tying her back to the real world, no guarantee that she would see her sisters again. 

That scared her more than anything. Because if she died and didn’t come back, would it just be a void for the rest of time, alone without any reminders of her short life?

-

She’d felt a connection to Azriel, no matter how one sided. 

That’s why she’d known that the war had started. And that’s how she’d known where to go. There’d been a fear coursing from Azriel into her. A tug had pulled at her that day, seemingly so long ago, asking—begging—her to join her mate in battle. 

So she’d gone, and earned herself a couple nasty scars from simultaneously fighting for her life and hiding herself from her family her friends.

War was something she didn’t even dare think about. How could she, in the cottage, where they fought a battle to stay alive each day? And, when she was stuck in a loop of unfeeling, war was the last thing she could think of. War, however, had been worse than she could have dreamt of. 

Death in every direction; someone crying out for help that would not come; blood staining everything in sight. But the worst part was having to kill someone.

And… her friends fighting side by side. The males and Mor—who she’d only known for a while but had crawled into her heart, and her sisters, who, despite their differences, never abandoned her the way Y/N had abandoned them the minute things got tough. 

She, now weeks after, wished for two things. 

She wished for Azriel to not only realise the bond between them, but for him to accept it. And, then, she wished to collapse into him and cry into a male who would die to protect her, even if she never needed nor wanted that. 

But, once again, she fell asleep in her lonely bed, accepting the soreness in her chest and the ache in her bones.

-

It had been a month since she came back from the war. Wounds healed and got used to the way the skin was now raised. She did yearn for her sister, though, which is how she found herself in front of a piece of paper, pen in hand. She’d barely learned how to write during her time where Feyre was gone. 

She cringed at the unreadability of her writing once more. The ‘n’s looked like ‘u’s and she didn’t even want to think about the state of her ‘e’s. But she could see Feyre reading it, because Feyre was Feyre. 

It hurt to write it. It hurt to hold herself accountable for the pain she caused and she lied she had spun. 

dearest feyre, my sister, 

i hope you are well. 

i’ve been in the human lands since i left, apart from once, and i am safe and happy. i know you live, and i hope that you have all you dreamed of. 

i should have talked to you. you and your family were nothing but kind and patient with me, and i left without a word. i am so sorry, feyre. there is no blame on you nor anyone else, but i was dying there, feyre. i felt choked and stuck and i needed to understand how to live on my own in the way i was now. the night court is not at fault, but it was everything at once. too much happened too fast and, as ready as i was to die, i feared it happening.

i’m better now, and i hope one day you forgive me for what i did. 

i love you.

y/n archeron

Magic would make sure it reached it’s destination. 

She wondered if she’d get a response.

-

She got a response at around sundown the next day.

In the form of Azriel dropping on one knee in front of her house, standing up when he pulled his wings taught against his back. 

“Good morning,” he said, watching her from where she stood in her front doorway, gaping at him. He walked towards her, and she slunk back in as he lowered his head a bit to enter the house. “Nice house.”

“How did you find me?” she asked, closing the door after he’d entered and setting her tea cup on the counter.

“How many bedrooms?”

“Three, but���​—”

“Bathrooms?” 

“Two. Azriel, how—”

“And you live alone?”

“Yes! Azriel,” she took a short breath, rushing after him and his goddamn long legs. “How did you find me?”

“The better question is why you decided that it was better to rush off to the Human Lands and live in a cottage than live with your sisters and friends,” he said, and although his voice was even, she knew that he was pissed. 

“Azriel—” her voice broke, and she felt heat rush her body, the ugly mouth of shame gnawing at her gut. 

“Don’t.” 

This must be what enemies saw before Azriel killed them. 

“Do you—” she coughed dryly, “want some food? It’s dinner.” She turned fast enough to the kitchen that the single tear was unseen by him. 

He didn’t say anything, and when she turned, his mouth was open before he laughed. “Okay.”

[yourfavouriterival]

Your azriel fic was so good!! I’m so excited for part two!

yay! i, too, am excited for part two when i eventually post it (meaning i've finished it and am simply procrastinating)

[yourfavouriterival]

bestie i NEED part two of i need to leave asap

gimme two minutes bestie. i do be editing