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Azriel Shadowsinger (Acotar)
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The Things We Left Unsaid
Azriel x Reader Angst / Hurt-Comfort / Jealousy
Twenty years ago, you left Velaris with no intention of ever returning. When Rhysand's wedding invitation arrives, you convince yourself you can endure one night beneath familiar stars. One night among old friends. One night in the same room as the male you spent centuries loving and decades trying to forget. You were dead wrong.
Returning home had not been on your bingo card.
When you had left Velaris all those years ago, you had done so with every intention of ensuring it would be a very long, very merciful stretch of time before you ever set foot in the City of Starlight again. Not because you hated it. If anything, that had been the cruelest part. Velaris had never been the sort of place one could hate easily, not when its river caught the stars each night as though the sky itself had spilled into the Sidra, not when music drifted from open windows in the Rainbow and laughter carried through streets that had once known your footsteps better than any road in the world. Velaris had been beautiful. Velaris had been safe. Velaris had been home in a way no court, no palace, no kingdom across the sea had ever managed to become after you left.
And home, unfortunately, had teeth.
It was not the city itself that had driven you away, though for years you had allowed people to believe that because it was easier than explaining the truth. It was easier to let them imagine wanderlust, ambition, restlessness, politics—anything other than the fact that you had crossed oceans because remaining here had begun to feel like pressing your fingers into an open wound and pretending you did not bleed every time you saw him.
Azriel.
Even thinking his name after all this time felt like reaching toward a flame you had once mistaken for warmth.
When Rhysand’s wedding invitation had arrived several weeks ago, sealed in dark wax and marked with the crest of the Night Court, you had stared at it for nearly an hour before gathering the courage to open it. You had known, even before reading the elegant words written inside, that you would come. Rhys was your friend, one of the oldest and dearest pieces of a life you had tried so desperately to fold away, and if he had found the sort of happiness people wrote songs about and built legends around, then you would stand beneath whatever sky he chose and smile for him. You would be glad. You were glad. Truly, painfully glad.
Yet the moment your fingers had brushed the parchment, something had stirred beneath your skin.
Lightning.
It had gathered at your fingertips in thin, restless threads, a quiet pulse of silver-white heat crawling over your knuckles as though your power had recognized the danger before your mind had allowed itself to name it. You had closed your fist until your nails bit into your palm and forced the storm back into the hollow spaces of your bones, but even then, even months ago, some part of you had understood that returning to Velaris would not be a simple act of friendship. It would be an excavation. A reopening. A walking willingly into a room full of ghosts and pretending none of them still knew your name.
Now, standing on one of the House of Wind’s marble terraces with the wedding celebration glowing behind you and the whole city stretched beneath you in impossible beauty, you wished you had listened to whatever warning your magic had tried to give.
Nothing had changed.
That was what made it unbearable.
The Sidra still shimmered below, winding through Velaris like liquid starlight. Lanterns still glowed along the streets. Music still rose from the celebration behind you, soft and warm and full of joy, mingling with the murmur of voices and the occasional burst of laughter from guests who had no idea that you were gripping the balcony railing as though it were the only thing keeping you from splitting apart. The mountains still stood dark and eternal beyond the city, cradling it in their ancient arms, and above them the stars burned with the same devastating brilliance you remembered from a hundred nights spent telling yourself you would leave soon, that you would stop waiting soon, that one day loving Azriel would become something distant and survivable.
It should have comforted you to find Velaris unchanged.
Instead, it made your chest ache with a grief so sharp it felt almost humiliating.
Because the city had remained exactly as it was while you had spent twenty years learning how to exist without it.
Without him.
“Gods, you look like you’re about to throw yourself into the Sidra.”
Dorian’s voice slid into the quiet beside you, smooth and amused and far too aware, and you turned your head just enough to glare at him.
He only smiled, stepping closer until his shoulder nearly brushed yours, the moonlight catching the elegant lines of his face and the dark sweep of his hair. There had been a time, years ago, when Dorian’s smile had made you forget how much you hurt. There had even been a time when both of you had tried to believe that friendship might become something easier, something safer, something that did not involve bleeding out over a male half a world away. It had not worked, of course, because Dorian had been too clever and you had been too haunted, and eventually you had both laughed about the failure over too much wine and settled into something far rarer than romance.
He knew you.
Worse, he understood you.
“It is a wedding,” he reminded you, leaning his forearms against the railing as though the sight of the city was merely pleasant and not currently carving you open. “A happy event, from what I have gathered. People do occasionally smile at those.”
“I am smiling.”
“You look like you’re attending a funeral.”
You rolled your eyes, though the gesture lacked any real force. “I brought you here as moral support, not as commentary.”
“I can multitask.”
You glared at him, then smiled with all your teeth, "That's better."
"It wasn't a smile."
"It was close enough."
Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched.
Dorian immediately pointed.
"There she is."
"Shut up."
His laughter echoed softly between you.
His shoulder bumped yours lightly, and the familiarity of it loosened something in your chest for half a breath before the pressure beneath your skin surged again. Dorian must have felt it, because his amusement faded just enough for concern to slip through. The air around the terrace had begun to shift, the warmth of the evening sharpening with the electric promise of a storm not yet visible in the sky. You hated that he noticed. You hated that anyone could notice, but your magic had always been the most honest thing about you, even when you wished it would learn the value of silence.
Storms gathered easiest when your emotions escaped your control.
Anger, fear, grief, longing—your power did not care which wound had been touched. It answered all of them the same way. Lightning in your veins. Pressure in the air. Clouds drawn over clear skies like curtains pulled across a stage. You had spent centuries mastering it, had learned how to call thunder with a flick of your wrist and split battlefields apart with a single raised hand. Men had trembled before that power. Courts had whispered about it. There were kings beyond the sea who still spoke your name like a warning.
Yet for all your strength, you had never fully mastered the curse hidden inside it.
You could hide your thoughts. You could school your face into perfect indifference. You could lie so sweetly that even ancient creatures believed you.
But the sky always knew.
And tonight, the sky was listening far too closely.
Dorian’s hand found yours beneath the fall of your sleeve, his fingers warm around your cold ones, his thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles with the steady patience of someone coaxing a frightened animal back from the edge of flight. “Breathe,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.
You looked away from him, toward the city, because his kindness made the ache worse. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Yes, but correct.”
Despite yourself, your mouth twitched, and Dorian’s smile returned faintly, though it did not reach his eyes this time. “If you want to leave, we can leave. I’ll offend someone important on our way out if you need a convincing reason.”
The offer settled between you with surprising heaviness.
Leave.
For a heartbeat, the temptation was so strong you nearly turned toward the door.
You could leave before the ceremony became the reception, before the old faces found you, before Rhys pulled you into a hug and made you feel guilty for staying away, before Mor cried and Cassian shouted your name across a room, before Amren looked you over and said something dreadful and accurate. You could leave before the true danger found you.
Because while Rhysand’s wedding was the reason you had returned to Velaris, it was not the reason your hands would not stop shaking.
Dorian knew it.
You knew it.
And if anyone from your old life looked at you closely enough tonight, they would know it too.
Your gaze drifted to the stars above the terrace, and the sight of them almost undid you. You had forgotten, somehow, how Velaris made the sky feel close enough to touch. Across the sea, there had been beautiful places, glittering courts and ancient cities and ports where the sun bled gold into the water every evening, but none of them had ever managed to make the stars feel like old friends. Here, they seemed to look back at you. Here, they remembered.
Gods, you had missed them.
That was the first betrayal of the night.
The second came when you realized that missing Velaris still felt painfully similar to missing him.
The ceremony itself was beautiful, which was almost cruel.
Rhys had never looked happier. You had known him through arrogance and grief and war, had seen him wearing power like armor and sorrow like a second skin, yet nothing in all your years of friendship had prepared you for the expression on his face when Feyre walked toward him. It softened him completely. Not weakened him, never that, but changed him. He looked like a male who had finally found a place to set down the weight of centuries, and Feyre, radiant beneath the glow of lanterns and starlight, looked at him as though she had no intention of letting him carry it alone ever again.
You had smiled for them.
You had meant it.
Yet beneath the happiness, beneath the warmth spreading through the gathered court as vows were spoken and rings were exchanged, something old shifted inside you with slow, aching cruelty. Once, a very long time ago, before pride and silence and cowardice had turned wanting into a weapon, you had imagined what it might be like to be looked at that way. Not by just anyone. You had not wanted just anyone. That had always been the problem.
By the time the celebration moved fully into the night and guests spilled across the terrace with glasses of wine and laughter bright on their tongues, your nerves had become a living thing beneath your skin. You turned toward Dorian, intending to say something sharp enough to distract yourself from the hollow place behind your ribs, and then the world stopped.
Not poetically.
Not gently.
It simply stopped.
Because across the terrace, half-hidden between a cluster of guests and a spill of golden faelight, stood Azriel.
Your body recognized him before your mind could protect you.
The betrayal was immediate and total.
Your breath caught so sharply that it hurt. Your fingers tightened around your glass until the stem nearly cracked. Every sound around you dulled at once, the music and laughter and conversation falling away as though the entire celebration had been plunged beneath water, and suddenly there was only the impossible distance between you and the male you had spent twenty years trying not to love.
He looked exactly as you remembered him.
No, worse.
He looked like memory had been kind to you, and reality had arrived to punish you for surviving it.
Time had sharpened him, carving new edges into a face already too beautiful for mercy. A scar you did not recognize cut faintly above one dark brow, pale against the warm brown of his skin. His hair was longer than it had been when you left, falling with careless elegance over his forehead, and he was not wearing his leathers tonight, not the familiar armor that had always made him look like something forged for violence. The dark formal jacket he wore instead should have softened him.
It did not.
If anything, it made the sight of him more devastating.
He still wore his siphons.
The blue stones gleamed faintly at his hands, and for one breath—one foolish, impossible breath—you thought they flared when his eyes found yours.
Azriel went utterly still.
Not simply paused.
Stilled.
As though every muscle in his body had forgotten its purpose.
His expression did not change at first, and perhaps that was what hurt the most, because you knew that face. You knew the mask he wore when feeling too much would be dangerous. You knew the quiet, controlled nothingness he offered the world when something inside him had moved too violently to be trusted in public. But then, beneath that restraint, something flickered. Shock first. Not surprise. Shock. A raw, unguarded fracture in the careful lines of his face. Then relief, so brief and terrible that it made your heart twist. Then something deeper, something that disappeared so quickly you almost convinced yourself it had never been there at all.
Longing.
The word formed in your mind before you could stop it.
You hated yourself for it.
Hated the way your heart stumbled toward him, stupid and loyal and apparently untouched by the passing of decades. Hated the warmth that spread through your chest at the sight of him alive and whole and looking at you as though you had stepped out of some dream he had never admitted to having. Hated the small, traitorous part of you that whispered that perhaps time had been cruel to him too. That perhaps you had not been the only one who carried the ghost of what might have been.
Twenty years, and still your body reacted to him as though no time had passed at all.
That was the third betrayal.
Azriel had not moved.
Neither had you.
The crowd flowed between you, laughing and brushing past with glasses of wine and bright wedding smiles, but the two of you remained caught in a silence that felt separate from the rest of the world. His gaze traveled over your face with such careful intensity that it almost felt like touch. Not polite observation. Not casual recognition. He looked at you as though he were trying to reconcile memory with reality, as though he had imagined this moment often enough to know exactly how it would ruin him and still found himself unprepared.
You wondered if he could hear your heart.
Because you could feel it everywhere.
In your throat.
In your wrists.
In the restless lightning gathering beneath your skin.
A distant rumble rolled across the mountains.
Dorian, standing beside you, followed your gaze and went quiet in a way he almost never did. For once, he did not immediately make a joke. He simply studied Azriel for a long moment, then leaned closer and murmured, “I assume that is him.”
You could not answer.
Dorian glanced at the sky as another low growl of thunder moved over the city. “Right,” he said softly, and though there was still a trace of humor in his voice, it had gentled around the edges. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
You should have looked away.
You did not.
Across the terrace, Azriel finally moved.
A single step.
Then another.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Not rushed enough to betray eagerness, not hesitant enough to suggest doubt. He crossed the space between you with the same controlled grace you remembered from battlefields and council rooms and quiet hallways long after midnight, but the closer he came, the more you saw the truth beneath the calm. His shadows had gone unnervingly still around him. Not absent. Not quite. They hovered at his shoulders and wrists like creatures holding their breath.
Your stomach dropped.
You had imagined seeing him again more times than you cared to admit. In some versions, you were cold. In others, cruel. Sometimes you said everything you had swallowed twenty years ago. Sometimes he apologized. Sometimes he did not. Sometimes you left before he could speak at all.
Not one of those imagined conversations survived the sight of him walking toward you.
Beside you, Dorian shifted, his hand still loosely holding yours. “If you need me to fake an illness, I can collapse beautifully.”
The absurdity of it should not have made you laugh.
It did.
Only briefly. Only softly. But the sound escaped before you could catch it, and unfortunately, Azriel arrived close enough to hear.
His gaze snapped to your mouth.
To the fading curve of your smile.
Something darkened in his eyes.
Not anger. Not exactly.
Something older and uglier and far more possessive than he had any right to feel.
The silence that followed stretched until even Dorian seemed to sense that joking now would be unwise.
Up close, the years became both kinder and crueler. You could see the faint lines at the corners of Azriel’s eyes, the new scars, the subtle silver threading near his temples, the way the shadows curled tighter against him as though they knew something their master refused to say. He was older. Harder, perhaps. More tired in ways only someone who had once known him well would notice.
And still, devastatingly, Azriel.
Your chest ached so fiercely that for a moment you feared your magic would answer it.
His eyes did not leave your face.
As though he were afraid that if he looked away, even for a heartbeat, you would disappear again.
“Hi,” he said at last.
One word.
So simple it should not have undone you.
But his voice was rougher than you remembered, lower somehow, and there was something caught inside it that made every careful defense you had built over the years shift uneasily.
You swallowed. “Hi, Azriel.”
His name felt dangerous on your tongue.
Familiar in the worst possible way.
It summoned too much. Every argument that had not truly been an argument. Every glance held a moment too long. Every near-confession buried beneath duty or fear or pride. Every Solstice night, every training ring, every brush of his shadows against your wrist when he thought you were not paying attention. Memory rushed through you so quickly that you almost swayed beneath it.
Azriel noticed, of course he did.
Nothing had ever escaped him, least of all you.
His eyes softened by a fraction, and the softness hurt more than indifference would have. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”
There were too many things hidden beneath the words.
I looked for you. I wondered. I hoped. I was afraid you wouldn’t.
You heard all of them and trusted none of them.
“Of course I came,” you replied, forcing your voice to remain even. “It’s Rhys.”
For a moment, Azriel said nothing.
His gaze stayed on yours, steady and unreadable, but something tightened near his jaw.
As though that had not been the answer he wanted.
As though there had been another answer he had hoped for, one neither of you had earned the right to say aloud.
Dorian cleared his throat gently, not because he was uncomfortable, you realized, but because he could feel the pressure thickening in the air. The storm had gathered faster than you intended. Somewhere above the House of Wind, clouds were beginning to smother the stars.
Right.
Dorian.
You dragged yourself back to the present and glanced between them, suddenly aware of Dorian’s hand still loosely around yours. “Azriel, this is Dorian.”
Azriel’s gaze lowered.
Not dramatically.
Not openly.
But enough.
His attention landed on the place where Dorian’s fingers touched yours, and something in the space around him sharpened. The shadows at his shoulders stirred for the first time since he had crossed the terrace. One slid down his arm like spilled ink, vanishing before it reached his hand, but not before you saw the slight flare of his siphons.
There.
A crack.
Small enough that anyone else might miss it.
Large enough to make your heart twist with cruel satisfaction.
“Azriel,” he said, extending a hand.
Dorian accepted it easily, his expression open and pleasant in the way it became when he had already learned everything he needed to know from a single glance. “Dorian.”
Azriel’s grip looked controlled.
Too controlled.
“Prince,” he said, and though the word was perfectly polite, you knew Azriel well enough to hear the blade hidden beneath it.
Dorian only chuckled, either unaware or deliberately pretending to be. “Just Dorian is fine. I try not to lead with the title unless I need someone intimidated, impressed, or deeply bored.”
Azriel did not smile.
Dorian did.
You nearly loved him for it.
The atmosphere grew heavier anyway, the air pressing against your lungs as though the storm above had begun descending toward the terrace. Dorian glanced upward, then back at you with the faintest raise of his brow. “You know, in most courts, this would be considered a weather concern.”
Before you could answer, movement behind Azriel caught your eye.
A female approached through the crowd, and your stomach sank before you could understand why.
She was beautiful in the sort of effortless way that felt unfair. Not dazzling. Not striking. Simply beautiful. The kind of beauty people trusted immediately. Long chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders, and laughter still lingered in her eyes from whatever conversation she had just left behind.
She looked kind.
Gods, that almost made it worse.
Because she didn't carry herself like someone trying to impress Azriel.
She carried herself like someone who already knew she belonged near him.
That, more than anything, was what struck you first.
Not her beauty.
Not the way people turned slightly as she passed.
The ease.
The familiarity.
Azriel sensed her before she reached him.
You saw it happen.
A slight turn of his head.
A subtle shift in his stance.
Not much.
Never much with him.
But enough to tell you that he had expected her presence, or at least was no longer surprised by it.
Something cold moved through you.
The female smiled at him first, bright and gentle, then looked to you with curiosity blooming across her face. She seemed kind. That was the worst part. There was nothing sharp or cruel in her expression, no calculation, no triumph. Only interest and warmth and a faint excitement that made you feel suddenly, viciously ashamed of the bitterness already rising in your throat.
Azriel looked between you, and for the first time all evening, he seemed uncertain.
Not outwardly.
Not enough for Dorian to notice, perhaps.
But you noticed.
You noticed everything about him, even now, especially now.
“Y/N,” Azriel said carefully, and the caution in his voice made the cold inside you spread. “This is Selene.”
The pause before he continued was brief.
Tiny.
Almost nothing.
It wounded you anyway.
“Selene, this is Y/N.”
Selene's face lit with recognition. “Oh,” she breathed, stepping closer before you had time to prepare yourself. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
The words struck with ridiculous force.
Heard so much about you.
You looked at Azriel before you could stop yourself.
What had he told her?
What version of you had survived twenty years inside his mouth?
Had he told her you were an old friend?
A former ally?
A mistake?
A woman who had once been stupid enough to refuse a necklace because accepting it would have meant admitting she wanted more than he was ready to give?
The questions rose like thorns, but Selene had already reached for your hands with a smile so genuine that you forced yourself to meet it. Her fingers were warm around yours, her delight painfully sincere, and you hated that your first instinct was to search her face for evidence of things she had not done to you.
None of this was her fault.
You knew that.
The knowledge did not soften the ache.
“I’m glad to finally meet you,” she said, still smiling. “Azriel never says much, but when he does, people tend to listen.”
You could not help the faint, humorless curve of your mouth. “That sounds like him.”
Azriel’s attention flicked to you, swift and sharp.
For a heartbeat, something like memory passed between you.
Then your gaze dropped.
Not intentionally.
Not meaning to find anything.
But it did.
The delicate chain rested against Selene's throat like a secret made visible, the stone at its center catching a sliver of faelight and throwing it back in a soft, familiar gleam.
Your entire body went still.
No.
For a moment, your mind refused to understand what your eyes had already recognized.
The shape.
The setting.
The small, almost hidden detail at the clasp that you had once touched with trembling fingers beneath Solstice lights, staring at the gift Azriel had placed before you with that careful, guarded expression that had made you want to cry even then.
The necklace.
Your necklace.
No.
Not yours.
That was the cruelty of it, wasn’t it?
It had never been yours.
You had not taken it.
You had looked at the beautiful thing he offered you and seen every unspoken word between you reflected in the stone, every possibility, every danger, every reason accepting it might shatter whatever fragile thing you had been pretending not to feel. So you had pushed it back toward him with a smile you still remembered hating and told him it was too much.
You had meant: I am terrified of what this means.
He had heard: I do not want it.
And now it rested against Selene's skin as though it belonged there.
As though it had found a home after you refused to be one.
The terrace tilted beneath your feet.
Or perhaps you did.
Dorian’s hand tightened around yours.
Azriel saw exactly where you were looking.
You knew the moment he realized.
It happened quickly, but not quickly enough. His face changed, the mask slipping in a way so brief and devastating that you almost wished it had not happened at all. Regret flashed across his features first, naked and immediate. Then pain. Then something that looked dangerously close to panic.
Too late.
The thought arrived with such quiet cruelty that it nearly made you laugh.
Too late, Azriel.
Because there it was.
The answer to a question you had spent twenty years pretending you were not still asking.
You had been stupid.
Unbelievably, humiliatingly stupid.
Some secret, stubborn part of you had come back to Velaris believing that perhaps distance had lied. That perhaps the years had not buried everything. That perhaps, when you saw him again, there might be something left between you worth aching over.
And perhaps there was.
Perhaps that was the worst part.
Because Azriel was looking at you as though you had just found the knife he had forgotten was still buried in your chest.
His mouth parted. “Y/N—”
“No.”
The word left you softly.
Too softly.
Not angry. Not sharp.
Worse.
Calm.
Painfully calm.
The sort of calm that never truly meant peace. The sort that arrived when the clouds had already gathered and the storm was only deciding where to strike first.
Selene glanced between you, confusion dimming some of the brightness in her eyes, and guilt lanced through you so quickly you almost flinched. She did not deserve this. She did not deserve the storm gathering above your head or the venom sitting beneath your tongue. Whatever Azriel had done, whatever history had led to this moment, she had merely walked into a wound she had not known existed.
So you smiled at her.
Truly smiled, even if it cost you something.
“It’s lovely to meet you.”
Her answering smile was smaller now, uncertain but kind. “You too.”
Then you looked at Azriel.
Really looked at him.
At the male you had loved too long and hated too poorly.
At the shadows curling anxiously near his wrists.
At the siphons glowing faintly again, betraying what his face was desperately trying to conceal.
At the regret in his eyes, deep and immediate and useless.
Your smile did not falter.
“Nice necklace.”
The words were polite.
Pleasant, even.
Anyone listening might have mistaken them for a compliment.
Azriel heard the funeral.
You saw it in his face, in the way something behind his eyes went utterly still, in the tiny, helpless movement of his hand as though he meant to reach for you and had finally remembered he no longer had the right.
Dorian moved before you had to ask.
His fingers laced with yours properly this time, not possessive, not performative, simply steady, and you let him guide you back toward the open doors where light and music spilled from the celebration inside. You did not look away from Azriel as you passed him. Not once. You held his gaze with every shard of anger and misery and old love still burning inside you, because if he was going to watch you walk away again, then you wanted him to understand exactly what he had placed around another female’s neck.
Behind you, the first crack of lightning split the sky over Velaris.
The thunder followed a heartbeat later, violent enough to silence the terrace.
And when the storm finally broke above the House of Wind, you did not need to turn around to know that Azriel was still standing exactly where you had left him.
---
A/n : well well well, the ansgt is BACK !! I loved writing this part, I had this idea for such a long time ! Hope you enjoyed it 💙
I pictured our sweet Dorian from TOG, so just think of his face here 🤪
I don't know if I'll turn in into a serie yet, let me know !
MAIN TAGLIST : @sjejejjej @theyouthfullmoon @maplesdapperthoughts @jaziona92 @lilah-asteria @chillinini @spookypersondinosaur @sunmoonsweets @angel-graces-world-of-chaos
pairing : garrett graham x reader rating : nsfw warnings : unrequited love, angst, sexual descriptions wc : 5.1k (edited)
part I part II
You weren’t the luckiest when it came to your love life. Or rather, your lack thereof.
It was as though you were hardwired to fall for the worst of the worst, bypassing and ignoring all the bright red flags they waved in your face. You were colourblind, it seemed.
It was a routine of sorts. Meet, fuck, fall in love, fuck some more, get dumped, cry about it, repeat. There was never a point in that routine where an actual relationship existed and that deeply hurt you. You felt as though you weren’t worth loving, just good enough to sleep with.
pairing : garrett graham x reader rating : nsfw warnings : sexual descriptions ; mutual pining ; anxiety wc : 3.2k (edited)
part I part II
“What do you mean you can’t ride a bike?” Garrett asked. You’d think you just told him that you step on baby turtles as a hobby.
“I mean, I don’t know how to ride a bike. I never learned,” you state flatly.
“But, like, everyone knows how to ride a bike,” he flung his hands up dramatically, “It’s literally just a bike.”
“Garrett, sweetie, it being just a bike doesn’t miraculously make me know how to ride it,” you retorted, before taking a sip of your energy drink.
⌗ ┆ 𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑭𝑬𝑪𝑻 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑴𝑬 .ᐟ . . . garrett graham
i wanna feel you
in me for the first time, again
ִֶָ. .་༘࿐ PAIRING. garrett graham x inexperienced! reader
SYNOPSIS. you lose your virginity to the Garrett Graham.
ִֶָ. .་༘࿐ WARNINGS. 18+ smut
⤷ ˎˊ˗ authors note, my obsession for garrett and off campus is growing every second. i need s2 so bad. ALSO this is one of my fav things i’ve written so far so i hope you guys enjoy! leave reqs in my inbox! i love hearing your thoughts :)
Garrett hovered above you, his hazel eyes full of laughter and want, while you lay on the mattress, breathing quickly and trembling. "Still sure about this, baby?" he murmured in a low, husky voice as his fingertips brushed your naked side. His hands were on either side of your head, imprisoning you and making you feel small and owned. "Because once I'm inside you- there's no going back."
Biting your lip, you nodded. "Garrett, I want you. I want it to be you.”
He grinned darkly and contentedly at that. His tongue glided into your mouth as he moved in to give you a slow, deep kiss. Even if you hadn't said it yet, he owned every aspect of you.
You gasped as he proceeded slowly and deliberately down your body, pressing kisses to your throat, down your chest, and sucking at the skin just above your breast. Beneath him, you were shivering, nude, and softly squeezed your thighs together. However, he had already tasted everything. touched every single thing. "You're fuckin' perfect," he whispered as he ran his fingers over your hips after tasting it. “I’ve been waiting to fuck this tight little virgin pussy."
Your heart was pounding as you writhed. You said, "I need you, G”
He begins kissing your collar bone, which is visible through your shirt. He began putting small kisses on top of dark, bruised hickies that were all over your neck and chest. Garrett was able to comprehend what you needed since you continued to tighten your thighs. He kissed all the way down your stomach until he reached the top of your pajamas. When he gazed directly into your eyes, you nodded and pulled him in the direction of your tender spot.
Your underwear was still on when he took off your shorts. He dropped to his knees, moved your legs to either side of his shoulders, and looked directly into your eyes. He moved in closer and began kissing the inside of your thighs. When you made a quiet sound, he looked down and noticed the wet spot on your panties, which motivated him to assist you in solving your issue more quickly.
He began caressing your underpants in gentle circles. You muttered, "More please." He smiled at your condition; you're already drenched and he hasn't done much. "Whatever you need, baby." As he began to pull off your underwear, he said.
Garrett didn't spend any time. He took one hand away from you long enough to fumble at his belt, his fingers sloppy with urgency as he pulled it free. “I promise i’m going to take care of you. I’ll be gentle” he reassures you.
He didn't ease you into it or give you the typical easy slide in. As soon as he set himself free, he began to draw you in, aligning himself more out of need than patience. His breath caught as soon as he saw you, then he suddenly pushed in.
Your body clamped around him as the sudden, full stretch hit, causing you to cry out. Garrett’s head dipped forward as if the sensation had pushed the rest of him loose, and he moaned at the feel of it.
"Shi-"
The phrase cracked into something rougher in your throat.
Before your body could adjust or catch up, his hands grabbed your hips and began moving you once more. As he brought you into action, his hands clamped onto you, fingers digging in.
Garrett pulled out and in once more, barely an inch, but the blow was as forceful as the first. Your body tightened around him as if it couldn't decide whether to push him out or take him, and your hands shot to his shoulders, squeezing in as another cry escaped you.
He sensed it right away.
His hands gripped you more firmly, stabilizing, grounding, and preventing you from pushing away. "You're doing so good for me," he continued, his words harsh with admiration, his head lowering slightly so that his voice didn't have to travel far when he spoke. "You can take it. I'm sure you can. Just be relaxed, i’m right here with you”
You were aware that Garrett's comments were intended to be helpful, but that didn't stop the thoughts from hitting where it hurt the most.
No matter how tight the stretch grew, he continued to push in, inch by inch, never actually pausing or giving any of it back—just that constant pressure that kept growing. As your body struggled to take him, to open around something that still felt too much, you bit your lip and dug your fingernails into his shoulders.
"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered against your skin, the words slipping out even as he continued. His mouth found your neck and stayed there, kissing, sucking, working at the same spot as if he knew exactly what it took to get you through this part and was doing it without letting you think too hard about anything else. "I'm almost there... you're taking me just right, just like that.."
At last, he pushed himself all the way in.
The stretch flared and calmed, and the sound that emerged from both of you followed. His sound was deeper and rougher, drawn directly from his chest as he fully filled you, while yours was intense and breathless.
At first, Garrett moved slowly, barely pulling out before pushing back in, as if he was allowing your body to acclimate to him while he remained heavy and deep. However, it was short-lived.
His hips drove into yours with greater power and intent as his rhythm quickened, each thrust coming a bit faster and harder.
It couldn't be anything else because of his size.
Your body drew in as if it didn't want to give up any of him; every push drove all the way in, and every time he pulled out, you immediately felt the loss of it, that abrupt, too obvious emptiness. Then he was within you once more, deep enough to cause the pain to resurface. It didn't end.
Every time he drove into you, his body moved over yours with only heat and weight, pushing you further into the sheets. The harsh sound of it filled the room next to you, and its intensity never lessened, each movement landing hard enough to keep your breath catching and shattering.
Your body was absorbing every inch of him as if it didn't know how to handle it, and the stretch and fullness were still too intense.
Even so, he felt incredibly amazing.
The sounds you were making no longer even attempted to make sense. Every time he pushed into you, they emerged uneven and strangled, catching somewhere between his name and something rougher and more broken that was pulled out of you repeatedly.
"That's it," he uttered in a low, strained voice, pausing between breaths as he observed you disintegrate beneath him. "Feels so good... you feel so good for me."
He moved onto one forearm, getting nearer and positioning himself just enough to grab your hand.
His fingers encircled it and then guided it lower, pressing your hand into your stomach at the exact spot where each of his thrusts struck.
Without warning, your body constricted around him, and as the pressure continued to rise, your breath caught again as it became heavier, sharper, and too much to ignore.
"Perfect for me," Garrett said, pressing your palm farther into it as he held you against it.
The words quickly overwhelmed you, causing your body to collapse around them. Your voice broke as it tore from you, and it was loud and unsteady. At the sensation, Garrett let out a low groan. His pace faltered for a brief moment before he continued to push through and drive into you as you broke apart beneath him.
Garrett leaned in and kissed you once more. His own breathing was harsh against your lips as his body pursued it, and he kissed you through every sound and aftershock that tore through you.
It struck all at once, a strong pulse that pushed him deeper into you, instantly warming you from the inside out.
All of it was felt by you.
The warmth. The weight of it. The way he remained there with it.
"You're perfect," he whispered against your lips, planting another kiss there as if he truly meant it. "You did so good, baby..." he said, his mouth sliding against yours as his voice became low and steady once more.
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10ThingsIHateAboutYou
description: you’re Hopper’s daughter, which means one thing: no dating. ever. unfortunately for Eleven, that also means she can’t date either, unless you do first. cue Mike and Dustin coming up with the worst (best) idea possible: paying Eddie to take you out. too bad you’re the last person in Hawkins who’d ever fall for it… right?
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: hoppers daughter! reader, enemies to lovers (or something like that...), punk x menace, you hate everyone but him (eventually), he falls first, persistent idiot x guarded girl, sibling dynamic with el, soft eddie munson, we love a mean girl with a soft center, slight angst
TW: deception/manipulation, mild angst
WC: 12.2k (sorry not sorry)
A/N: i just re-watched 10 Things I Hate About You for the millionth time and immediately caught inspo. it's taking everything out of me to not make this a series but i stay doing that to myself. reblogs are always appreciated :) enjoy!!!! <3
Crawling love, always there for you
Malachi Vize x Shy!Fem! Reader
Summary: Malachi is obsessed, but no longer with Olivia, but with her, the woman he met by chance on the street, a young beautiful woman, everything could be perfect if it weren't for Olivia Vize, his foster sister.
CW: English isn't my first language,Stalking, obsessive behavior, mentions of death, blood, Olivia Vize, mentions of incest
A/N: I haven't seen a Malachi Vice ff anywhere, so I have to change that! Omg I LOVE Malachi so much. He deserves so much better, and here we are, showering our favorite boy with love!
Silence, darkness, and despair. That was all Malachi Vize had ever felt before meeting her. Even with Olivia, he never felt as complete as he did with her. She appeared to him like a shining butterfly that had flown through a spider's dark web, she appeared to him in the dark web of his problems and illuminated his world with her mere existence.
Olivia, noticing this, developed a strong jealousy toward this girl. Why does Malachi only look at her? Why does he have her as his background? And why does he smile like a madman when she texts him? The relationship between her and Malachi fell apart until it was in pieces. And the girl? She's been subjected to Olivia's constant bullying. She has no joy at school because Olivia spreads nasty rumors about her. "Did you know she was sleeping with Mr. XXX to get her a good grade?".
It got to the point where she had to settle the school, on her last day he stood in front of the school, like a knight in dark armor, Malachi Vize. Malachi's gaze pierced her before Olivia threw herself at him. But Malachi ignored her, his gaze fixed on the sad eyes of the girl he adored so much. His blood boiled when he learned what Olivia had done; he ensured she received private tutoring to earn her degree.
He spent much more time with her, his foster parents were happy that Malachi had given up his obsession with his foster sister and welcomed the girl into their family. She was charming, so grateful for everything, she always thanked with a gentle smile and knew sign language perfectly. She also often stayed overnight with Malachi, he couldn't help but claim and mark her for himself.
Men didn't dare approach her since she was with him, because Malachi was known for beating men bloody who looked at her for too long. Until that night, she was alone, and three men came too close to her, much too close for Malachi's liking. How did he know? He was always there to protect her. And before she realized that three men were stalking her, they had already disappeared into the realm of the dead.
His heart melted when she showed him the tarantula she'd gotten, like Malachi had. Now they were a little family, weren't they? Well, Malachi wouldn't mind having a real child with her either. Not a single night went by without him showing her his love again and again with gestures or actions; her neck was no longer an untouched place but a canvas decorated with his hickeys. She knew about his dark side, she swore to heal him, to pick up his broken soul one by one and to cleanse every splinter with her love and put it back together with her devotion.
Until the day her life collapsed, Malachi went to prison because of Olivia. And her? She sat at home while a life grew inside her, her and Malachi's child. She visited him every day, and when the day came that he was released, their bond was stronger than ever.
Nothing could separate them, not even his family.
-Peachyprophet
malachi vize x reader headcanons 🕷️🕸️
part 1 - childhood
he’d sit with you on the playground if you were upset
he’d let you have the oreo in his lunchable if you wanted it (and after a while, he’d just give it to you)
he’d let you hog the TV and watch any “girly” princess movies you wanted (he lowkey found them entertaining)
it would excite him when you showed any interest in his toys or hobbies
he’d protect you against any bullies, even if he was bullied himself
in small ways he’d always try and match with you somehow (like if you wore blue, he’d wear something blue too or he’d wear the same accessory as you just in black, etc)
he’d practice sign language with you sitting criss cross on the floor
he’d share stuffed animals with you (he’d always pierce their ears)
he learned how to braid your hair and loved doing it for you, especially before bed (he let you make small braids in his hair too) (and he secretly loved it and avoided them while brushing his hair to keep them in longer)
he’d LOVE building pillow forts with you (it’d be a quiet, calm, safe space)
he’d always bring you random little gifts (rocks, dandelions, pretty leaves, etc)
he’d love coloring in silence with you (and giving them to you as gifts for your wall)
What about Azriel and a size kink? I feel like this is usually written for Cassian, but I can totally see Azriel with it too? It doesn’t have to be spicy, maybe a little suggestive? Idk.. I’m gonna leave the interpretation to you hehe 😁😋
i was thinking about this exact thing yesterday 🤤 hope you enjoy :) warnings: size kink, suggestive
Azriel was… bigger than any male you’d been with before.
What they said about wingspan hadn’t been a lie, and you found that out the first time you tried to have sex.
“Holy fucking shit…” You said, staring down at the massive erection staring back at you.
He let out an awkward chuckle, eyes still roaming over your body, as his palm slid slowly against his hard cock.
“You expect me to fit all of that, inside here?” You point to your lower abdomen.
You knew there had been a dramatic size difference between the two of you. You were on the smaller side for a female fae, and Azriel was… well, an Illyrian.
But looking at him fully erect and standing before you with nothing else on— you weren’t sure how anyone would be able to take that.
“Let me stretch you out,” Azriel says, reaching to touch your hips gently.
He had you standing against the bed, the backs of your thighs pressing up against the mattress. The cold wood sent a shiver down your spine as you looked up at him.
“Are you sure?” You ask, your voice trembling.
It’s not like you expected him to be small, by any means. Illyrian males are known to be larger than regular males in all respects, due to the fighting and protecting aspect of their nature. In fact, you prepared to be sore for a day or two. Maybe take a few warm baths, take it easy at training tomorrow.
But this… this might take you down for a full week.
You didn’t totally hate the idea of it, though.
“It’ll take some work, but we’ll get there.” Azriel reassures you, moving to place a gentle kiss on your temple. “We don’t have to do anything tonight, if you don’t want to.”
“No, I want to.” You say quickly, looking up him with those beautiful wide eyes.
He smiles and runs his fingers over your delicate skin, bending down to graze your lips gently.
“Just tell me if you change your mind, sweet girl.”
─────────── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──────────
A/N: part 2? i kinda wanna write this now… i’m interested in exploring this dynamic more in detail :) lmk what you think ♡♡
Accidents*
Azriel x mate!reader
Summary: you were young when you were mated to one of your best friends and without realizing you accepted the mating bond at fifteen. Now centuries later you and your mate keep your promise of being just friends but when you need someone and try to go somewhere else, your mate will not have that.
Warnings: oblivious!azriel, sad reader, smut, p in v, choking (not in a sexual way)
Authors note: this is in the universe of deal breaker but can be read as a standalone! I just loved the concept of something like this when I wrote deal breaker.
Main Masterlist:
Deal Breaker:
⋆—✧—⋆—✧—⋆—✧—⋆
A century.
A full century of pretending it didn’t matter.
You and Azriel had made the decision when you were only fifteen—too young, too overwhelmed, too afraid of what the bond meant.
Friends.
Just friends.
Even if the bond thrummed quietly between you.
Even if your heart had never listened.
You had loved him long before that day. Since you were thirteen, when he was still quieter, still more guarded—but softer with you than anyone else.
And when the bond snapped into place?
You knew.
You knew he didn’t feel it the same way.
So you buried it.
Locked it away so deeply that even you almost believed it was gone.
⋆—✧—⋆—✧—⋆—✧—⋆
“You are insufferable,” Mor groaned, dragging you further into the crowded bar.
“I’m just observing,” you shot back, though your eyes flickered nervously around the room.
“You’ve been ‘observing’ for a hundred years,” Mor muttered.
From beside her, Amren sipped her drink, unimpressed. “At this point, it’s just sad.”
You rolled your eyes, grabbing a drink from the bar just to have something to do with your hands.
“I’m fine,” you insisted.
Mor snorted. “You’re over a hundred and still—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” you warned.
Amren raised a brow. “Virgin?”
You groaned, dropping your head. “I hate both of you.”
Mor only grinned, nudging you sharply. “Then fix it.”
“I’m not just going to—” you started, but her grip tightened on your arm.
“Look,” she whispered, tilting her head subtly.
Across the bar, a male sat watching you.
Not in a crude way.
Not like the others who let their gazes linger too long or too boldly.
No—his expression was soft. Curious. Almost… patient.
Your stomach flipped.
“He’s been looking at you all night,” Mor added.
“I’m not going over there,” you said immediately.
Amren sighed. “Then sit here and waste another century pining after someone who refuses to act.”
Your chest tightened at that—but before you could snap back—
A drink slid onto the bar in front of you.
You blinked.
The bartender nodded toward the male.
“He sent it.”
Mor’s grin turned wicked. “Well?”
You hesitated.
Your mind screamed don’t.
Your heart whispered why not?
And Azriel—
Azriel wasn’t here.
You didn’t remember crossing the room.
Only that suddenly you were there, standing in front of him.
“Hi,” you said, offering a small smile as you took the seat beside him.
His answering smile was warm. Easy.
“Hi.”
“Thank you for the drink.”
“Seemed like you needed it.”
You huffed a quiet laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only if you’re paying attention.”
His name was Jonah.
And somehow, talking to him felt… simple.
There was no weight. No history. No bond humming beneath your skin reminding you of everything you weren’t supposed to want.
You laughed more than you expected.
Relaxed more than you had in years.
And when the night stretched on, neither of you seemed eager for it to end.
“I can walk you home,” Jonah offered as you stepped out into the cool night air.
You hesitated—just for a moment.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
The walk was quiet in the best way.
Comfortable.
When you reached your apartment, you turned toward him, heart pounding—not with fear, but with something unfamiliar.
Something new.
“You don’t have to—” he started.
You didn’t let him finish.
You leaned in.
Your lips met his.
Soft at first.
Testing.
Then he responded—more certain, more grounded—and your breath hitched as something inside you finally… gave.
Finally let go.
Your fingers curled into his shirt as the kiss deepened—not rushed, not frantic, just real.
Different.
When you pulled back, your hand found his, tugging gently.
“Come inside,” you murmured.
He followed.
The door barely closed before your back met it again, his lips finding yours with more certainty now.
Your pulse raced, hands slightly unsteady as you guided him down the hall toward your bedroom.
Every step felt surreal.
Like you were crossing a line you had avoided your entire life.
When you reached the bed, you pushed him back gently, your breath uneven as you climbed over him, your fingers brushing along his jaw.
There was no bond here.
No expectations.
No history.
Just you.
Just him.
Just a choice.
For once—
You chose yourself.
⋆—✧—⋆—✧—⋆—✧—⋆
Morning came slowly.
Too slowly.
You shifted beneath your blankets, a soft groan leaving your lips as a dull soreness settled deep in your body—unfamiliar, but not entirely unwelcome. For a moment, you stayed there, eyes still closed, letting yourself feel it.
Last night.
It had actually happened.
You inhaled, your chest rising—and then—
A sound.
A strained, choking groan from your living room.
Your eyes snapped open.
Every sense went on high alert.
You scrambled out of bed, grabbing your robe and tying it quickly around you as you moved toward the door, heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.
“Hello?” you called, voice tight.
Another sound.
Closer.
You yanked the door open—
And froze.
Azriel stood in your living room.
Wings flared.
Shadows raging.
And his hand—
His hand was wrapped tightly around Jonah’s throat, pinning him against the wall near the door, lifting him just enough that his feet barely touched the ground.
Jonah’s face was turning red, his hands clawing weakly at Azriel’s wrist.
“Azriel!” you shouted.
His name cracked through the room like a whip.
Instantly—
His head turned.
And the fury in his eyes softened the second they landed on you.
“Do you know this male?” he asked, voice low but controlled in a way that made it even more dangerous.
You swallowed, nodding. “Y-yes—”
His brows furrowed.
Confusion flickered.
Then—
His gaze dropped.
Slowly.
Taking you in.
Your robe. Your bare legs. The marks along your skin.
The scent.
His entire body went still.
Because he could smell it.
Another male.
On you.
Azriel’s jaw tightened, something dark and primal flashing across his face before he turned back to Jonah, who was now barely conscious.
“Get. Out.” he growled.
The command wasn’t loud.
But it was absolute.
Jonah nodded frantically, his hands still gripping Azriel’s arm.
Azriel released him.
Jonah collapsed forward, coughing harshly as he stumbled toward the door, fumbling with the handle before finally wrenching it open.
He paused just long enough to glance back at you, eyes wide.
“You didn’t tell me you were mated,” he rasped.
Your mouth opened—
But before you could say a word—
The door slammed shut.
Azriel had already moved.
Locked it.
The click echoed in the silence.
And suddenly—
The room felt very, very small.
He didn’t turn around immediately.
His back faced you, wings still slightly spread, shadows coiling tight like they were barely being held in place.
When he finally did—
His expression wasn’t anger.
Not fully.
It was something worse.
Hurt.
Confusion.
Something raw and unguarded that you had never seen directed at you before.
His voice, when he spoke, was quieter now.
But it shook.
“…You slept with him?”
You nodded.
Slowly. Honestly.
And that seemed to break something in Azriel.
He stalked closer, each step deliberate, controlled—but barely. “Why?” he murmured, voice low, strained in a way that made your chest tighten.
You swallowed. “Because… you wouldn’t.”
The words hung between you.
Heavy.
Azriel let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head as he reached you. His hand came up, gentler than you expected, brushing your hair back from your face—his fingers stilling when he noticed the faint marks along your neck.
His jaw tightened.
“You never asked me, love,” he said softly.
Your brows pulled together. “We agreed to be friends.”
His hand shifted, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“I am your mate,” he said, voice deepening, something ancient and unyielding threading through it. “Before anything else.”
Your breath caught.
“You needed someone,” he continued, quieter now but no less intense. “You come to me.”
Guilt flickered through you. “I’m sorry—”
“No.” His thumb brushed lightly along your jaw, stopping you. “Don’t say that. If anything… I should be.”
That softness—that honesty—undid you more than anything else.
He hesitated then, just slightly, his gaze searching yours.
“Can I kiss you?”
Your answer came without thought.
“Please.”
That was all he needed.
Azriel leaned in, closing the distance slowly this time—giving you the chance to pull away.
You didn’t.
His lips met yours, soft at first, careful… like he was relearning you.
“Never have to beg for me,” he murmured against your lips. “I’ll always be what you need.”
Your fingers curled into his shirt, grounding yourself as you nodded, your lips finding his again.
The kiss deepened—not rushed, not overwhelming, but filled with everything you had both been holding back for far too long.
His arms slid around you, lifting you effortlessly until your legs wrapped around his waist. You gasped softly, instinctively holding onto him as he moved, carrying you back toward your bedroom.
“I felt it,” he admitted quietly against your lips. “Your pleasure… and then how sore you were after. I needed to check on you.”
Your breath hitched.
“And then I found another male in my mate’s bed.”
The edge in his voice sent a shiver down your spine—not fear, but something deeper. Something that made your heart race.
He set you down on the bed, not rough, not careless—just firm enough to make your pulse spike.
For a moment, he just looked at you.
Really looked.
Like he was finally allowing himself to see you as more than just his friend.
His mate.
His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter. Grounded.
“Next time you need anything,” he said, brushing his fingers gently along your arm, “you don’t go looking somewhere else.”
His gaze lifted to yours.
“You come to me.”
Your fingers tremble as you tug at the buckles of Azriel’s leathers, the worn material giving way with a soft *snap* that makes his breath hitch. He growls against your lips, the sound rough and hungry, before his hands find the tie of your robe. The fabric slithers open, pooling at your feet, and Azriel’s gaze darkens as he takes in the sight of you—naked, flushed, and trembling.
"Gods," he mutters against your mouth, his voice rough. "I’m gonna need to mark you all over to get rid of that male’s stink."
You giggle, breathless, before his mouth crashes back onto yours, his tongue sweeping inside like he’s claiming every inch of you. His hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing into your stomach. A shiver runs down your spine, and you moan into the kiss.
Then he’s dropping to his knees.
His breath is hot against your inner thighs before his tongue drags up your slit, slow and deliberate. You gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as he licks you like he’s savoring something exquisite. You’ve never been eaten out before—hell, you never even came last night, not even when Jonah clumsily tried to fuck you into oblivion.
Azriel groans against your pussy, the vibration sending a jolt straight to your core. His fingers dig into your thighs as he feasts on you, his tongue circling your clit before he sucks it between his lips. Pleasure coils tight in your belly, and when you feel yourself teetering on the edge, you cry out, your hips jerking forward as you come on his face. He groans, lapping at you like he’s starving for it, his tongue dipping inside to lap up every drop of your release.
When he finally rises, his lips glistening, you’re still trembling from the aftershocks. He kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and you whimper when your hand drifts down between his legs.
"Fuck," you gasp, wrapping your fingers around his thick cock. "Azriel, it’s—holy shit, it’s huge."
He hums against your neck, his hips bucking slightly into your grip. "We’ll make it fit, baby."
You bite your lip, still stroking him. "Azriel… I just… I lost my virginity last night. To Jonah."
His body goes rigid for a second before he pulls back, his eyes wide. "What?"
You nod, hating the way his expression shutters. "I’m sorry."
Azriel whines, his forehead pressing against yours. "Oh, baby, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry you felt like you couldn’t come to me."
You shake your head. "I wish I did. He couldn’t even make me come."
A slow, wicked smirk curls his lips. "Oh, we can’t have that."
His cock twitches in your hand, and before you can say another word, he’s lifting you effortlessly, pressing you against the wall. His mouth finds your nipple, sucking it hard as he lines himself up, the thick head of his cock teasing your entrance.
"You ready, baby?" he growls.
You nod, breathless, and when he pushes inside, it’s with a groan that rips from his chest. You’re so tight, so fucking wet, and the stretch is almost too much—almost—but then he bottoms out, and you both let out a broken moan.
"Fuck," he hisses, his fingers digging into your ass as he pulls back and slams into you again. "You feel too good."
You wrap your legs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust, the wet slap of skin filling the room. His mouth crashes back onto yours, his tongue fucking into your mouth just like his cock is fucking into your pussy, and you’re lost in it—lost in *him*.
His fingers find your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he pistons into you, and when you come again, it’s with his name on your lips, your walls clenching around him so tight he groans, his own release spilling inside you with a shuddering moan.
When he finally pulls out, you’re a trembling, well-fucked mess, and Azriel presses a possessive kiss to your shoulder. "Mine," he growls, nipping at your skin.
You smirk, breathless. "Yours."
And damn if that doesn’t sound like the hottest thing he’s ever said.
Something in his expression shifted at that—like the word meant more to him than he was ready to admit.
He leaned in again, brushing another soft kiss against your lips before gently pulling the blankets over you, tucking them around your body with surprising care.
“I’ll be right back,” he murmured.
You barely had time to respond before he slipped away, returning moments later with a warm cloth. His movements were quiet, careful—almost reverent—as he helped you settle, making sure you were comfortable.
It wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t distant.
It was… intimate in a completely different way.
When he finished, you caught his wrist lightly.
“Will you stay?” you asked, voice small despite everything.
Azriel didn’t hesitate.
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your head. “Never leaving you, love.”
And for once—
You believed him.
He slipped into bed beside you, pulling you gently into his chest, his wings shifting just enough to curl slightly around you like a shield.
Safe.
Warm.
Yours.
You let yourself melt into him, your fingers resting lightly against his chest.
“What happens now?” you whispered.
For a moment, he didn’t answer.
You felt it—the hesitation. The way his body stilled just slightly beneath your touch.
Then—
“We stay friends,” he said quietly. “But… we don’t ignore what we are. The bond comes first.”
Your chest tightened.
You nodded anyway.
Because that was what you had always done.
Accepted what he was willing to give.
But this time—
It hurt more.
A lot more.
Azriel shifted slightly, pressing his face into the curve of your neck, placing soft, lingering kisses there like he was trying to reassure you… or maybe himself.
You swallowed hard, staring ahead as your fingers curled faintly in the blanket.
“Friends…” you echoed softly.
The word didn’t feel the same anymore.
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With Respect for Time (5)
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel had still been hung up on Elain when you first met, hopeful that the teetering relationship would last. But time passed, and while their relationship did not withstand the test of that time, Azriel found joy somewhere else. He fell in love with you. Slowly. Purposefully. Wholly. He was happy. You were happy. Time is funny that way. It doesn’t always make sense.
Word count: 1.5k
Warnings: Angst, injury, memory loss/time travel, yearning, ANGST I'll say it again
a/n: Shorter chapter this time but I promise to post a longer one in the veryyy near future ;) Love youuuu hehehe
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
You worried your bottom lip, pacing the length of the window for the hundredth time. Mor had given up on words to settle you, and Cassian and Feyre had left the room altogether after you’d insisted, several times, that you would feel better waiting alone. Your nerves were permeating the space. Mor refused to leave.
“Maybe we should go outside for a while,” Mor urged, her forced smile making you feel worse.
Your friend meant well. She always did. Still, nothing would help—not taking a walk or sitting down or talking about your worries. Maybe Azriel would help, but Azriel was gone.
“I’m fine here,” you mumbled, chewing on your thumbnail to give your lip a break.
With Respect For Time (4)
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel had still been hung up on Elain when you first met, hopeful that the teetering relationship would last. But time passed, and while their relationship did not withstand the test of that time, Azriel found joy somewhere else. He fell in love with you. Slowly. Purposefully. Wholly. He was happy. You were happy. Time is funny that way. It doesn’t always make sense.
Word count: 2.7k
Warnings: Angst, injury, memory loss/time travel, yearning, ANGST I'll say it again
a/n: Weee part 4 :) I'm not kidding I let this tiktok play on repeat the entire time I was writing this update SO if you would like the full effect I would suggest doing the same <3 ILY THANK YOU FOR READING!!
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
The world felt off its kilter with the news of your Azriel. Before, your heartache and confusion were most prevalent; Azriel was here, and although he did not love you and there were no clear reasons why, he was here. Maybe he didn’t look at you the same or remember your history, but there was a piece of his mind that could still be unlocked. You were in there, somewhere.
But now, you knew none of that to be true. There was nothing to be found of you in Azriel’s mind. You didn’t exist—not to him, not yet. He had said he felt some primal urge to care for you, but in the end, you were alone. Alone, with your mate in some unreachable place.
With Respect For Time (3)
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel had still been hung up on Elain when you first met, hopeful that the teetering relationship would last. But time passed, and while their relationship did not withstand the test of that time, Azriel found joy somewhere else. He fell in love with you. Slowly. Purposefully. Wholly. He was happy. You were happy. Time is funny that way. It doesn’t always make sense.
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: Angst, injury, memory loss, yearning, ANGST I'll say it again
a/n: Okay I'm thinking there will be 6-7 parts and I'll leave my guestimate to that for now. Also sorry if there are typos this was written while I was supposed to be working lolll but thank you for reading!! :) I love the angst and I love you 🫵
Part 1, Part 2
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
Azriel was staring at you. You could feel his eyes boring a hole into the side of your face as you sat beside Mor and pretended to listen to her rehashing news from Cassian. She was repeating herself to fill the space, and you were grateful; distraction was difficult with the state you were in.
You picked at your sleeve as Azriel continued to stare. Rhys would be in soon, and then you would have answers—answers, but nothing fixed. Probably. You had considered staying in your room this morning, but then reason seeped into the doubt in your brain, and you backtracked on that decision.
azriel fucking you so good and being so filthy every single time that you can’t help feeling shy afterwards and he gets so confused by it lmao
come join my acotar party!
--
Your brain had stopped working for several minutes after your third orgasm of the night, and you're surprised it's regaining any function at all. But it is, and with each memory of you and Azriel ravaging each other for the night you're hit with another wave of mortification.
Do you really moan like that?
Well, you can't really blame yourself for that one. Azriel is a... passionate lover, and you're not sure you could ever stop yourself from expressing just how crazy he makes you. He makes you feel things you've never felt before, in places you didn't know you could feel them. But still, the memories of you yanking his hair to get him closer to your cunt, the way you'd stroked the inside edges of his wings until he'd lost control and jackhammered into you at a pace strong enough to slam the headboard into the wall, the way you'd held your mouth open and slack for him to use as he pleased-
You turn over, burying your burning face into the pillow.
"Love," Azriel calls worriedly from the bathroom, wet washcloth in hand as he approaches the foot of the bed. He's cleaned himself up quickly, but despite going first he always offers you the courtesy of bedside assistance, "I don't think you can breathe well like that."
"I don't want to," You groan into the pillowcase, "I'm- Azriel, please don't look at me."
It's not because you're naked, it's because you're overwhelmed and humiliated. But he's confused, considering he'd just been inside of you for the better part of two hours- he's not really sure how much closer and more personal he could have gotten with you.
"Okay," He hums kindly, eyes now glancing up at the ceiling, "I still need to clean you up, though."
He hears you move, but he's following orders and not looking while you do it. When you pluck the washcloth from his hands he has to flail blindly to catch your shoulders, wrestling you down onto the mattress where you try fleeing to the bathroom.
"Don't walk yet," He tells you, voice firmer, though still kind, "Can I ask what's got you running away now?"
"I was really loud." You muse, after just a long enough period of silence for it to be awkward, "I- It probably sounded like we were watching porn in here."
He has to bite his lips not to smirk, but he does it out of courtesy, "No, I bet it sounded like we were having sex. That's what porn is, if you've forgotten."
"Yeah, but only porn stars moan like that," You gush, your cheeks aflame, "I- you said crazy stuff to me, you know that?"
"I remember," Azriel hums, eyes still locked onto a spot on the ceiling, fingers moist from the washcloth, "And I also remember the way you reacted to them."
"That's why you can't look at me," You whine, scraping the wet washcloth along the sensitive skin of your soaked thighs, "That's- that was insane, Azriel."
"That's what sex is like," He scoffs defeatedly, "It's really difficult to have sex without doing things that make you blush."
"That's what sex with you is like," You insist, and at a hiss of pleasure-pain as you press the washcloth to your abused core, Azriel reaches blindly once more for you. He knows your body inside and out, and is soon dragging a washcloth-draped finger through your cunt to collect what he'd left behind.
"Well," He drawls, even his own cheeks pinkening slightly, "You're gonna have to get used to that. I don't intend to disappoint you."
"You couldn't." You decide, leaning into his touch even though you're still warm-cheeked from the embarrassment of being that pliant for him, "Just- promise me you won't look me in the eyes until you forget the sound of my porn-star moan?"
"No deal." He shakes his head, finally dropping his eyes to your own and watching you squirm at the intensity of his hazel gaze, "I've already memorized it, and I'm not forgoing eye contact for the rest of our lives."
Best friends reader and Az finally confessing her feelings to him drunk saying she doesn’t want to just be friends anymore!!!!
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Word count: 750
Warnings: Some angst because this is my world and I do what I want
a/n: Drabble masterlist can be found here. Thank youu for the request hehehehe ily <3
____________________________________________
Azriel blinked and shook his head harshly, deeply regretting his decision to give in to you and drink that night. He spotted you sitting alone at their private table, the rest of your group happily sprawled out across the dance floor as your face glittered with tears. He should be sober. You were crying and alone, and he should be sober.
When he reached the booth, your tears were not sullen sobs but slow, meaningful tracks that pooled at the glitter on your neck. You didn't notice him when he arrived, your gaze outcast and far hazier than Azriel's, but you focused on him as soon as he kneeled at your feet. You blinked to clear your vision, and more tears came.
"What happened?" Azriel almost cooed, a hand resting on your knee. If it weren't for the bumping music, he would have practically whispered the words to you.
You shook your head, lips pressing into a line.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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With Respect For Time (2)
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel had still been hung up on Elain when you first met, hopeful that the teetering relationship would last. But time passed, and while their relationship did not withstand the test of that time, Azriel found joy somewhere else. He fell in love with you. Slowly. Purposefully. Wholly. He was happy. You were happy. Time is funny that way. It doesn’t always make sense.
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: Angst, injury, memory loss, ANGST I'll say it again
a/n: Yayy part 2 :) I hope you enjoy all the angst! I'm still not sure exactly how many parts this will be, but I think maybe 4-5? Anyways love you thanks for reading <33
Part 1
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
Wind whipped at your face as you stood on the precipice of the cliff, vaguely aware that you were somewhere between Day and Dawn. Your emotions had led the winnow. Without agency over your mind, you had guided yourself to a place unknown, though you were sure Azriel had mentioned it to you before. He loved to tell you about the beautiful places he saw while away from home.
As you stood and stared out at the thrashing sea, arms tight around your middle, you wondered if that was some sort of game for him—a ploy in this years-long deceit.
With Respect For Time
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel had still been hung up on Elain when you first met, hopeful that the teetering relationship would last. But time passed, and while their relationship did not withstand the test of that time, Azriel found joy somewhere else. He fell in love with you. Slowly. Purposefully. Wholly. He was happy. You were happy. Time is funny that way. It doesn’t always make sense.
Word count: 2.2k
Warnings: Sooo much angst! I don't want to give anything away yet so just focus on the angst!!
a/n: This will be about 3 parts I think? Hehehe enjoyyy I'll add more warnings as they become relevant :) ily you thank you for reading <3
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
Loving Azriel was easy. So, so easy.
In the years you had waited to find your partner in life, you had never envisioned such a relationship. He listened. He cared. He revered you as an equal and treasured you, it seemed, with each breath he took. You made him better, and he ignited the same passion within you.
It hadn’t always been quite so easy. Azriel had been in love with Elain when you first met. But, no, he would tell you that wasn’t the case—that he had thought he was in love with her, yes, but that he had thought wrong. He had never truly known love before you. He had lamented as much at your mating ceremony and affirmed that he would never know anything of equal value for as long as he should live.
Azriel was a sap, sentimental in his love for you. You adored it. Your family found it rather sickening at times.
