#az x reader

This wasn’t the first date. Nor the second. It was the sixth date between you and Azriel. When you downloaded that god-awful dating app your friends had you get, you never expected to match with someone so mysterious yet gentle in unexpected ways.

A quiet blade sheathed in silk.

However, what wasn’t quiet was the rumbling motorcycle engine beneath you two as he drove toward the lookout spot.

His secret, special spot. Azriel mentioned it to you through texts and the thought of something so secretive to him enticed you. Of course, you said yes.

“Closer—“

A demanding tone. Yet it held a sense of carefulness to it. You scooted yourself closer to the male. Your arms locked around his waist tighter while he leaned into the final turn like he trusted the road itself.

The bikes roar simmered as he came to an easy stop. Placing both boots flat on the ground, turning his head to look at you. “Wow… Az, this is breathtaking…” A mere whisper fluttering through your lips as you took the scene in.

From the cliff, the city lights gleamed brightly in the distance, and the stars twinkled ever so perfectly above both of you.

“Isn’t it?”

His voice purring lowly, sending a shiver down your spine as you stared over at him. But Azriel? He was looking at you. Drinking in your beauty. The view that was simply you.

“It’s so sweet of you to bring me here…”

You felt the apples of your cheeks shade into a deep crimson. His intense gaze burning into yours. And for a moment you felt your heartbeat pick up. Perhaps the one between your legs as well.

A sly smirk twitched onto his lips as he hopped off the bike and onto the gravel road. Leaving you straddled on it. “You deserve it. A special spot for a special girl-“

Butterflies filled your belly. So sweet yet so damn smooth. You felt yourself staring at the handsome man, getting lost in those hazel eyes of his. But Azriel? He was doing the same, yet the amber specks were slowly darkening. “W-what? What is it?”

A breath. A tension growing between you both. Feeling a pull to him. That same sly smirk only seemed to spread wider across his features.

“Every time I look at you…I want to touch you…”

So smooth yet again. Warmth ran throughout your entire body as he brushed some of your hair behind your ear. Fuck it. He was gentleman enough. It had been a few dates. You needed him. Fucking craved him.

“Then… touch me.”

The whisper hardly left your mouth before you felt his soft lips slam to yours. His body pressing firm and tightly against your own while his other hand gripped your waist tightly.

Heated. The kiss was instantly turning into one of seduction. Azriel repositioned you, turning you to face him as you sat on the bike. The vibration from the engine only building up that arousal between your legs more so.

“God— I’ve been waiting to taste you.” He growled, his hand snaking down from your cheek to your breast. Firmly grasping it before slipping lower to the hem of your flowy sundress.

You smiled through the kiss. “And? How do I taste?” Teasing Azriel, a small groan emitted low from his throat. “Absolutely sensational.” He husked into your mouth, his hand now massaging the inside of your thigh.

A soft little whimper slipped through your lips, only giving him that approval even more. He traced over your dampened lace panties. “Got you soaked already, hm?”

That damn domineering tone. You managed a breathy “yes—“ before he yanked your panties to the side. Taking his pointer finger and running it along your slit to tease you.

Your breath hitched as he moved his mouth down to your jaw, kissing until he got to the delicate side of your neck. “You gonna be a good girl for me, beautiful?” Again, you gave a quick and eager head nod.

With that, Azriel thrusted two fingers inside of you. The cool feeling of his silver rings only adding onto the pleasurable sensation. “F-fuck!” you cried out while he smirked against your subtle skin.

“You can’t control yourself, can you? Feels too good already?”

He chuckled under his breath before pulling his head back to stare into those submissive eyes of yours. “So good, Az— fuck. You really know what you’re doing.”

“I know I do.”

His thick fingers moved in such ways that it could only be described as otherworldly. A come here motion with both of them before he stretched his thumb out to press on your swollen little bud.

All the sensations were making you melt for the male. But what was really getting you now? When Az reached over with his free hand, twisting the throttle which only made the seat vibrate harder. The motorcycle purring along with you.

“You like feeling the bike's vibration while I finger fuck this slit?” He asked as your body jolted, a sea of moans effortlessly slipping through your now swollen lips.

Again, you nodded eagerly. Euphoric sensations only rising more so. “Y-yes. I do- god it feels— fuck!- it feels so good—“

A mess. You were slowly becoming a mess for Azriel. God did he adore this sight of you. And this was just some foreplay. Nothing crazy. But god, you couldn’t even imagine how great the sex would be with him.

“You feel how close you are to cummin’ from just my fingers? Imagine my cock-“

Azriel moved his head swiftly, dropping his lips back to the crook of your neck. Kissing, biting, and sucking as he pleased. Leaving his mark on his new beautiful conquest. You.

“God— I’m really close. Really fucking close.” Your entire body started to quiver. But the biker used that same free hand to twist the throttle yet again. The vibration from revving up the engine sending you right over the edge.

“I know, sweetheart, I know… That’s a good girl- Fuck— cummin’ on my fingers like that.”

Az talked you through an intense and pleasurable orgasm. His darkened gaze falling to watch as your juices squirted out onto his hand and rings. Drenching the saddle of his bike.

Once you started to catch your breath, you felt your eyes flicker between his. Heart racing as the tension grew. “Az, that was—“ Your words cut off when suddenly bright headlights were zooming in your direction.

“Fuckin’ Hell! Hop on, babygirl-“

Low and demanding yet again, you quickly obeyed. listening to him as you adjusted yourself. Both of you repositioned on the motorcycle before he took off.

Some random people were driving around the spot. You didn’t want them to see anything. And Az? He didn’t want anyone to see you in such a vulnerable position. Because that was only for his eyes.

Possessive and jealous already, though he wouldn’t say that aloud. Not yet at least. He craved you like no other. And even though he didn’t get to feel your walls stretch around his cock tonight, he knew he would soon. Especially hearing the little noises you made for him.

But getting this little teaser? Fuck it made his imagination run wild until the next time he’d see you…

Ahhh first biker!az fic🥹 love making au’s come to life! Hope yall enjoyed this one, plenty more to comeee

As always asks & requests are open!🤍

divider linked in main ml🌙

Drowning those thoughts is surprisingly easy, a plethora of wine bottles are scattered about the table and not a single person bats an eye when you snatch one up for yourself. They’re too caught up in each other to realize you’ve slipped away; abandoning the suffocating love that permeated from every direction besides your own.

Fresh air helps a little, the stolen bottle of wine aiding in keeping you warm from the unforgiving nighttime chill. Eventually the cool bite doesn’t send shivers down your spine and you barely even flinch when bare skin meets cold stone, your gaze dipping down to lively town below.

Time moves too quickly as the observer, seconds bleeding into minutes until hours have passed and the bottle has nothing left to offer. There’s a brief moment where your foggy brain contemplates the effort it would take to retrieve another when your solitude is broken.

Two bodies burst through the balcony doors on the furthest side, mostly concealed by trees and flowers but you’d recognize those wings anywhere. A hand smacks over your mouth to conceal any sound, body freezing in place as you witness Azriel press Elain into the wall, his hands cradling the sides of her face lovingly.

A part of you shatters when you catch that sparkle in his eye, the eagerness in his movement to have her closer until her cheeks go flush and thick lashes flutter closed in preparation for the sweet kiss Azriel is sure to grant her.

You’re unable to stomach another moment and neither of them even flinch when you shuffle from your spot and make a bee-line for the exit. Tears cloud your vision, shoulders shaking and steps unsteady as you all but run through the halls, darting up the stairs and colliding right into another body. “Oh,” The startled sound is all but whimpered out of you and red eyes and splotchy cheeks are the first thing Nesta sees as you look up. “Gods, I’m sorry.” You scramble to your feet, retrieving the book she’d dropped in the collision. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching here I was going.”

“That’s not like you.”

A weak smile quirks at the corner of your mouth, unbound hair in unruly strands down your shoulders. “I’m not quite myself at the moment.”

Nesta hums in response, slender arms crossing over her chest and the fabrics of her nightgown shifts with the motion. Her gaze is scrutinizing, picking apart the truth from the lies and you’re infinitely grateful that she doesn’t call you out on your state of disarray. “Want me to walk you to your room?”

“No.” You whisper, hastily wiping your cheeks and attempting to smooth down stray hairs and wrinkled silks. “No, I think I’m going to go for a walk instead. I could use the fresh air.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

Nesta's neck cranes, slowly turning on the balls of her feet as you swiftly slip past her and make way for your chambers. Perhaps, it's the defeated slump of your shoulders that catches Lady Death's attention; that emptiness in your eyes that couldn't even be filled by the overflowing tears that stained your cheeks.

She considers waking Cassian--he always was better equipped to handle the emotions of others but you're already gone, disappearing behind the door without even saying goodnight. Something about the interaction forces her to linger, smutty book long forgotten as she waits to see you creep out that same room ten minutes later.

You're dressed to better accommodate the weather now. Thick leathers insulating body heat while subconsciously providing much needed compression--the tight fabric mimics comfort in its attempt to hold together the broken bits of you shoved inside.

Nesta's lips part, a million possible words resting at the tip of her tongue but you're quick to intercept, tone numb and alarmingly empty. "Don't wait up."

--

Being alone was supposed to be relaxing.

Distracting, at the very least.

But, all you could feel was the cool prickle of awareness at the back of your neck the whole time you sat at the edge of the mountains that overlooked the Sidra. Each time you'd slow your breathing and attempt to regulate the unusual beat of your heart with the captivating view of Velaris at night. While most were inside, the homes that resided there were full of life; lights glowing golden through their windows, laughs ebbing through the woodwork and creating a sense of serenity that refuses to wash over you as well.

Eyes narrow, shoulders squaring and fingers twitch for the sharp daggers strapped to your thighs. The thick trees you’d come through seems far less attractive now, branches craning out like grabbing hands with gaps of murky darkness that resembled giant mouths waiting to swallow you up. “Nesta?”

The chuckle that breaks through the clearing is anything but feminine. “Not quite.”

It happens too fast--the hand that smacks over your mouth to mute the startled scream that rips free. You push against the solid wall of a body stationed behind you, attempting to sway his stability in order to break free but a sharp sting in your neck renders you still.

The burn that follows is instant and before you can stop it, the unforgiving darkness becomes all you know.

--

The palpable tension at breakfast is suffocating.

Azriel's seething brood casts angsty shadows along his strong build, creating a visible wall between himself and his High Lord after the stern conversation he was forced into the night before. It runs on repeat in the shadow singers mind, the order given to back off on his affections towards the middle Archeron sister.

It seems cruel. A sick form of punishment that Azriel can't quite wrap his mind around because who was really in charge of the tragectory of his life? Azriel ? Or his High Lord?

The mere thought has his teeth grinding in silent contempt, his gaze flickering around the table before landing on the bare spot directly across from him. His brows furrow, confusion briefly sweeping away the rage as he considers the time--your usual schedule and the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. "Where is she?"

A brief pause, the casual conversation slowing to a halt until Azriel catches a glimpse of something on Nesta's face--a strain of guilt he'd seen a million times on a trillion different faces. "Left earlier this morning." Polished silverware scrapes at fine china, pushing aside food that her body refuses to indulge in. "Said she was going for a walk."

Discontentment settles into Azriel's bones--a feeling he struggles to understand and Nesta's answer only exasperates the unsteady sensation.

"In this weather?" Grey clouds are thick in the sky, shades of slate and granite completely masking the sun as relentless rains pour down from above. "When was this?"

"Around three."

Cassian swears lowly from beside his mate, a sturdy hand resting at her shoulders but the regret lacing his features speaks plenty about the decision to stay quiet for so long. It was too dangerous, especially after the last few meetings Rhys had with Kier in Hewn. Change took time and the Steward and his men were complaining about that change taking too long. Hateful words were thrown in the name of the people of Hewn City and how they had desires too; dreams of a better world for themselves and their children but the High Lord’s better judgement rose question to the other consequences that could arise from giving what they were asking for. "Ness that was nearly eight hours ago."

The screech of Azriel's chair draws attention, a sudden boost of fuel being injected in his veins. "Did she tell you where she was going exactly?"

Nesta’s tone turns into vitriol, a subconscious reaction to the guilt that gnawed at her bones for not seeking for you sooner after finding you in your state. The reminder of tears streaming down your face flashes behind her eyelids; the choppiness of your words through labored breathing. How desperately you’d attempted to wrangle it together just long enough to make it to your room and suddenly the eldest Archeron feels that familiar uselessness creep beneath her skin. “She didn’t leave me a map with a drawn out route—she just said she needed air.”

“While crying?” It wasn’t intentional, Rhysand seeing the flash of memory that Nesta had unknowingly projected; her mental walls caving for just a fraction of a minute before the iron doors had regained their formidable security. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Silverware clatters against the table, staining table linen in strawberry jam but no one seems to give a shit when the severity of the situation behinds to settle over the room. Nesta runs a hand against the material of her dress, smoothening out wrinkles and creases in order to avoid all of the eyes settling over her face. “I was just going to the library to read and we bumped into each other. She came from the balcony—I offered to walk her to her room but she just…” A sigh pulls free, jaw setting tightly. “I let her go.”

“Nesta.” Feyre’s slow shake of her head holds enough disappointment to have Nesta’s shoulders squaring on the defensive.

“I’m not some evil bitch, I waited up!” She seethes, the beginnings of those silver flames lapping at the steely grey of her eyes but the fight within isn’t truly directed towards Feyre or anyone else but herself. Because she’d felt the exact moment that you walked from the doors and winnowed away, that she’d made a grave mistake. Nesta’s shoulders sag, fingers bunching unforgivingly into the inky linen cloth until she felt the tips of her nails digging into the polished mahogany underneath. “I waited.”

Azriel’s already out of the room without a word.

He didn’t have a right to shame her because Azriel had a feeling he knew what sent you running.

His teeth grind together when thinking back to the night before when he and Elain had scuffled off onto the balcony at the witching hour; hoping their sins would be shielded by the dark cast of night. Too caught up in one another to consider another already occupying the space.

And, no matter how many times Azriel brushed his fingertips over the soft curve of Elain’s cheeks or vyed for a fleeting touch when passing in the hallways—the kiss he thought he wanted lacked the spark he was sure would flicker to life when lips grazed.

He’d pulled away so abruptly, brows furrowing in a stark line discontentment that was visible to anyone with eyes and then he heard the broken whimper of a gasp.

It’s been too easy to pass it off as Elain and far easier for him to forget about it altogether after Rhysand had found an embarrassed Elain rushing back to her room with flushed cheeks and an unsteady gait. He’d never heard his brother shout so loud, the veins in his neck protruding as he ordered Azriel to never even look her way again. That if a quick fuck in the dead of the night was what he desired then Azriel should wander along the cobblestone streets of Velaris and find himself a suitable pleasure house and pay for it.

The words act as fuel, Azriel’s senses working on overdrive; shadows scrying for information faster than ever before until they’d returned with something he could work with.

Dropped neatly in his palms were the cool steel of your twin blades that never left the secure holsters forever strapped to your thighs.

And they were soaked in your blood.

—

You recognized the suffocating dank smell that tended to fester when stuffed so far beneath the earth—the perfect dungeon.

One you’d been in countless times before, wearing that shadowy mask of indifference when masquerading as the soulless monster that became necessary to survive while in Hewn City. It took decades of assistance by Azriel’s side; an apprentice of sorts when the bounds of your affections had just begun testing its limits—wondering to see just how far you’d go just to be near him.

To get him to notice you. Your mate. Yours. Yours.

All of that seems so foolish now. Insignificant compared to the dire situation you’d found yourself entangled in.

Sharp twinges of pain throb up your neck, aches settling in from the uncomfortable position and it’s a strain when you shift in attempts to take in your surroundings. Fear lurches in your chest when your hands don’t move, restrained by chains that had you hung up like a prized hog after a fresh hunt.

Not good. Not good. Not good. So, not good.

“I always did love that look.” Immediately your spine goes ramrod straight, fingers clenching into fists over the cool bite of the chains as that voice washed over you like a bucket of water. Refreshing on your own terms and a horrible wake up call when it wasn’t. “When panic shifts into realization—truly a sight worth capturing. Especially when attached to such a delicate disposition.”

Delicate?

You’d never once used that word in ordinance to yourself.

Hearing it now, under such circumstances makes your heart lurch, it’s beat untamed against your ribcage and it takes every bit of strength left to smooth that look of utter calm across your features. “Come a little closer, let me show you how sweet I can get.”

The underlying threat is easily palpable and Kier is wise not to follow the bait; aware of the wounded animals ability to put up a considerable fight and he’s too coward to brawl fairly. “As tempting as that is, it won’t be me who plays with you tonight.” Your teeth bare into a snarl, pure promise rumbling from your chest and the sound encourages a chuckle from the male.

He’s not close enough to injure; to swing the brunt of your weight around for a well-timed kick that you knew would disable long enough to figure a way out of these damn restraints. But even with the distance between you, the resemblance between this male and Mor was striking. She’d inherited the shape of his lips, even if the words she spoke were far sweeter than the shit spewed from her predecessor. More similarities are spotted during your scrutinizing evaluation of him; the line of his nose, the shade of his hair, the confident air that oozed from his form—no matter how misplaced it was.

“I’ll kill anyone who dares lay a finger on me.”

“So much fight in you,” Kier all but croons, his eyes raking across your body in a way that was less than savory. “I can’t wait to see how long it lasts.”

Breathe.

Years of training beside the spymaster had prepared you for this very moment and it’s easier to drift back into the memory of just another session; before things had gotten so complicated and he’d just been a friend eager to teach if you were willing to learn. Countless times you’d been in a similar situation—you, waking up tied up to some chair with ropes securing every possible joint in place and Azriel would leave you there as long as it took for you to figure your way out of it.

Allow the thrum of your heart be the beat that keeps you focused.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Relax and take in your surroundings. Notice things no one else thinks is important because that could be the one thing that keeps you from an untimely death.

The cell wasn’t very large, four stone walls covered in grime and mildew with just enough space for two grown men to fit semi-comfortably. No windows. One door with a thin slot at the top large enough for two eyes to peer inside. No fire. No light. No warmth. No breeze, just stale, dank air that tasted of iron when your breathed in too deep.

Just stay alive long enough to get help.

“What do you want from me?”

Kier inhales a greedy breath, his chest expanding in the ornate armor worn. It glistens even with no light—proving that even with his privileged title, he was never the one who got his hands dirty. “Many things,” He finally confessed, the words airy and nonchalant. He’s too cocky. Too comfortable. “But first, I want you to tell me about the Cursebreakers sisters.” He dares a step closer, arms crossed casually behind his back as a dark look begins to worm its way into his eye. “I want you to tell me everything you know about the Made ones and the power they stole from the Cauldron.”

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A smile works its way across his face—one so familiar it taints good memories with its stain. “I hoped you’d say that.” Kier walks past, the smell of his cologne burning your nostrils and you couldn’t imagine ever smelling tobacco and ash, bergamot and oakmoss without gagging ever again.

One knock on the thick steel door and slender male with hair like soot and eyes like a raven enters.

Your face remains a blank slate. Even as you take in the rubber material of his apron and the sturdy material of his leather boots. Well used gloves cover his hands and tucked under his left arm is a rawhide holder filled to the brim with all kinds of terrifying treats.

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

“Who are you?”

He takes his sweet time answering. Making a show of neatly setting down the holder and undoing the braided leather straps holding it in place. “You can call me the Butcher—everyone else does.”

“How original.” A thick swallow to quell the nerves; to shove away the shake that threatened to disturb your carefully curated cadence. The chains rattle as you shift, the tips of your toes just barely skimming the cool ground beneath you but not quite enough to relieve your wrists of the burden of bearing the entirety of your weight. “Well, Butcher—come make yourself useful and loosen my chains, will you? It’s starting to chafe a bit.”

His head shakes in his denial, barely acknowledging the departing Steward and the heavy thud of the shutting door—a lock sliding into place. “You don’t really want me to do that.” For donning such a threatening title, the Butcher is deceivingly soft-spoken. It sends your nerves into a fritz, triggering your fight or flight and for the first time since your eyes had opened and the darkness had waned; that delicately woven web of control slips from your grasp. “If you’re as stubborn as I think you are,” The sharp ring of metal twangs through the air and in his grasp is a perfectly polished knife a little too curved to be considered a scalpel. “You’ll need something to hold onto. It helps with the pain…for a time.”

Breathe.

“Then let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

Butcher chuckles low under his breath, full lips concealed by an ever fuller beard—the only thing about him that wasn’t perfectly trim and proper. “Not a fan of foreplay?”

Fingers curl around the cool bite of thick chains, your chest rising and falling in a steady pattern as you began to dissociate. An attempt to keep your mind as protected as possible from whatever was to come. “I’m more of a rip-the-bandaid kind of girl.”

Death clings to the pristinely polished rubber of his apron, the creak of his gloves filling the space as worn fingers ready around the hilt of his weapon. “You know,” Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. Disappear off into that numb place deep, deep within your mind. Ignore the bite of the blade poking around already sensitive wounds. “Under entirely different circumstances, I think I might’ve actually liked you.”

The switch flips so fast—too fast for you to catch but it’s impossible to miss the devastating burn that ripples through you as flesh is severed, muscle flayed and so, so much blood spilled.

It’s hard to keep track of how much time passes down here without access to windows and you’re certain that it’s intentional, aiding in the psychological aspect of their torture.

Relax and take in your surroundings. Notice things no one else thinks is important because that could be the one thing that keeps you from an untimely death.

The masculine baritone of Azriel’s teachings repeated like a mantra in your mind until it becomes the only thing distracting you from the sound of your flesh tearing, your blood drip, drip, dripping a misshapen puddle beneath you.

You force yourself to keep conscious, mentally noting anything your eyes are able to latch onto. Insignificant things; ebony hair, umber skin, a brand burned into the middle of Butcher’s left wrist in a symbol half-obscured by his gloves.

There’s a block on your powers, not quite faebane in its most lethal dose but paired with the wards humming against the walls, you knew using magic wouldn’t be an option for you. “Tell me about the Made ones and I can stop.”

“I don’t know anything.”

Just stay alive long enough to get help.

“You live there with them,” Butcher goads, crooked teeth exposed when gritted into that grimace of a sneer. Leather creaks under the playful twist of his wrist, the sharpened blade carving at muscle and obliterating sinew until you swear it reaches bone. “You share drink and food, you fight beside them in battle and you expect us to believe that secrets aren’t shared as well?” Every breath is ragged, a sheen of sweat coating your skin and unruly hair sticks to the curve of your neck. “Tell me what you know before I decide to get a little more creative in my methods.”

“Even if I did know anything, why the hell would I tell you? What would Hewn scum do with such knowledge?”

Your words have nicked a nerve, robbing the Butcher of that soft-spoken charm and replacing it with something more sinister. “You say the same thing to that bastard Illyrian you’re always seen around?”

A brow quirks, furrowing ever so slightly as it became more and more apparent that this was more than some spur of the moment kidnapping. Their questions, the desire to keep you immobile and battered but not enough to render you unconscious—not enough to be fatal. For whatever reason, they needed you alive and judging by the desperation that claws its way to the edges of Butchers voice, his curses and demands falling on deaf ears as your mind runs on overdrive to accumulate all the information you could before it was too late.

Each breath grows more labored, lashes fluttery and thick with exhaustion but just when it feel like too much—when you feel like giving up and succumbing to the sweet oblivion.

The rake of talons brushes against your mental walls. A cautious prod, testing your durability and utter relief washes over you when that feline lilt floods your consciousness. “We’re coming, just stay awake.”

The syllables barely reach your ears, sound faded by the obnoxious ringing that refused to subside—a side affect from all the fucking screaming and shouting. Swears slurring together the longer you snapped at the male before you, knees jerking and wounds barking in agony when the heel of your foot smashes so hard into his nose, his skull caves in; limp body dropping to the floor with a thud.

It’s all the strength you have in you and the death-grip you have around the chains is released all at once. Time moves in slow motion as you dangle there, vision darkening at the edges and that thrum of your heartbeat loud enough to distract you anymore. “Rhys they want— they want…”

So much blood oozes from your wounds, drenching your leathers all the way through and you were definitely feeling the affects. Your vision blurs, lids going lazy with just enough time to hear that voice—Azriel’s voice bellowing your name. “Stay alive.” He mutters over and over and over when he’s finally reached you, adrenaline pumping so high that he breaks the chains from their bolt with nothing more than his bare hands. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare fucking die on me.”

You swear you try to obey the command, desiring nothing more than to keep Azriel's attention after finally being front and center in it. But it just felt so safe held in his grasp, tucked so close to his chest while he rids you of your restraints and applies pressure to gaping wounds.

All you wanted was one second. If you closed your eyes just for a second to gather your wits then you'd wake up and everything would be okay.

It sounds like a good idea-- so good that you allow the peace to wash over you like a cool tide washing over the shore in the early days of the burning summer; ignoring the desperate shouts from a vignette of voices that fades in the background like the haunting final notes of a song.

—

Confusion crashes at you in unforgiving waves, memories --or were they dreams?-- flash behind your lids with each blink. A dull throb pounds behind your lids, aggravating your mental shields to the point where you feel them wobble with each breath.

"You should stay still." Azriel's saying without giving you time to clear through the dense fog plaguing your mind. Instead, he busies his hands with fussing over your blankets, carefully tucking bare toes and pressing a five finger grip on your sternum when you attempt to rise from the soft cushion of a mattress that certainly did not belong to you. "It took Madja a while to get you all stitched up. Are you in pain? She left ointments and a few tinctures."

He's graceful enough not to mention the owlish blink of your eyes and their befuddled examination of his room until the crackly rasp of your voice cuts through the space; both of you refusing to address the elephant in the room. "My head hurts a little."

"Yeah," Shadows fuss with warm rags, sweeping it over your forehead and dabbing it along your cheeks while others occupy themselves with filling a glass of water to offer. "Rhys will be by later to apologize for that, I'm sure."

Your brows furrow deeply, nose scrunching when you sip your water. "Apologize for what?"

"You were in distress. We thought you were going to--" Azriel abruptly cuts himself off, fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Rhys went in your mind, said that before you'd gone unconscious that you were trying to tell him something that seemed urgent enough to bypass the usual request to wait for permission."

Your heart begins to pick up speed in your chest and suddenly the desire to rise from this bed and run away was becoming horribly intense. Legs shift under the weight of a duvet that didn't belong to you, attempting to hide the way your sore muscles sink into the overwhelming scent of night-chilled mist. "Okay...and what did he see?"

"He saw you get taken," Azriel turns his back to you, expertly avoiding your eyes but the nervous energy buzzing off his skin was unmistakable. "He watched them carve you up and torture you for information about Nesta and Elain." The stabilizing breath he takes shakes his shoulders, the strong line of muscle barely concealed by the tight stretch of his leathers--leathers still stained in the blood of those who'd spilled yours, no doubt. "Rhys said that you didn't say a word. You didn't give them a thing."

"That's good, right?" A pillow is fluffed behind you, shadows doting on every need. "Then, why do you sound so upset?"

"Why do I sound so upset?" Azriel cruelly mocks, his aurate gaze positively smoldering with rage when they land on you. "Because, you almost died! You almost died in my fucking arms before I ever got the chance to—. What the hell were you thinking?"

The beating you'd endured does nothing to quell your fiery spirit, eyes lighting with life and lips running a mile a minute—too fast for your logical brain to keep up with. "I was thinking that they wanted information on your precious, little girlfriend." You all but spit out, childishly pushing away the comfort the duvet from your legs as you attempt to shuffle from Azriel's bed without disturbing the tight wrap of your bandages. Why the hell were you in here anyway? "I was thinking that maybe, it'd be easier for them to fucking butcher me rather than watch what would happen to you if it were Elain there in my place."

Silence stretches along the hardwood floor, cloaking up the length of the walls and muting out the low crackle of the fireplace; its flame gentle and calm in the midst of an emotional storm. "I almost wish you would've let it be her." Azriel fills the void, finally mustering up the courage to face you. "I could've survived that and whatever consequences came along with it because my mate takes precedence above all."

Just like that, all the spitfire you’d prepared in retaliation absolutely dissipates after hearing those two words. “Your mate.”

Azriel doesn’t confirm with words. Instead, he searches inside for the humming gold thread wrapped taut around his ribs, just above his heart and pulls. Fucking yanking at it with all his might and something sparkles in his eye when your body jerks in retaliation.

“You know?”

“How long have you known?”

Your heartbeat hammers against your ribcage, threatening to carve out a hole if that’s what it took to get to its other half. “A while.”

“And you’ve said nothing.” He says, tone sounding almost defeated. “Why wouldn’t you have said anything?”

“Because, Az,” The shadows have seized their tireless caretaking, sliding back into place beside their master as you lose the ability to accept the tender affection. “You wouldn’t have chosen me. Not before Mor and certainly not before Elain.” You’re quick to bristle over that part, not leaving any room for the spymaster to interrupt no matter how expressive his face became. “Besides, the bond is a choice not a burden and that’s what it would’ve been for you if I spoke up about it.” Pure determination is what allows you to bear the brunt of your weight , willing yourself to appear strong in the face of the male who could render you to cinders if he so pleased. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d really like to shower the dungeon smell off of me.”

A childish whine of a noise is ripped from your throat when Azriel huffs out a breath, murmuring something about you being stubborn as hell before carefully picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom. It's embarrassing, a furious blush burning at the apples of your cheeks as he starts the shower, adjusts the temperature and slowly sets you down. "Thank you for that but you don't have to do this. I can handle cleaning myself."

"You can barely stand on solid ground on your own."

"I'll manage."

"I know. What I'm saying is that you don't have to." You nearly faint on the spot when Azriel crouches down in front of you, his hands shaky but sure when unlatching the difficult ties of your fighting leathers. His teeth grit together when the fabric is loosened and carefully worked down your thighs, over your knees and tugged away from your ankles. "Just let me help."

Azriel is nothing short of respectful, you notice. He doesn't sneak salacious peeks at the endless expanse of bare skin that he exposes. Doesn't once mention the tremble of your breath or the way your fingers seem to bite into the flesh of his arms whenever a new article of clothing is removed and dropped to the floor. Even after he's eased you into the shower stream; standing before him, perfectly presented on a soaking wet platter—he keeps his eyes trained on your face.

Shadows thicken over sensual bits, providing a shield between you and the male diligently applying soap to rag. Each drag of the slightly rough material against your skin releases a tension you hadn’t noticed you’d been carrying and all you can do is watch as he rids your skin of the thick film left behind when magic was used to clear away muck.

Eons must past before words are spoken, a this time Azriel is more intentional when he chooses them--more intimate when he relays them. "I'd always hoped for a mate. Ever since I was a boy and my mother told me stories about two halves scouring the world to finally become whole again." You're malleable under his care, pliant when he lifts your arms to scrub underneath and damn-near boneless when he turns you with slippery hands to slowly work the knots from your back. "I had always hoped that one day, I too, would find my equal." Azriel clears his throat, returning back from whatever memory he'd been sucked into but the massage doesn't stop; it only drags lower. "Then so much time had passed and I started to wonder if I couldn't find them because I wasn't being forward enough but that only lead to misplaced affections and unfulfillment."

"Azriel, I'm not sure if I really understand--"

"I felt something for you—something stronger than friendship but I pushed it away. I ignored it and looked elsewhere because I can bare not being as close with Mor and it’s as easy as breathing to never see Elain again but losing you—ruining the peace I feel when I’m with you would’ve broken me.”

Tears well in your eyes, a thickness welling in the back of your throat and your skin burns where his fingers touch, lingering near the dip of your back and just barely curling around the curve of your hips. “Az, you don’t have to say any of this to make me feel better. I just wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy.”

“Then, please don’t reject it.” His warmth ripples over every inch of you, your neck craning to make room for the forehead he helplessly drops in the crux of your shoulder. The perfect line of his nose drags along the curve of it, inhaling the soothing notes of your scent mixed with his body wash. “Don’t reject me—this is all I’ve ever wanted.” Finally his fingers curl around your hips, the grip gentle but oh, so claiming. “Can’t you feel it? This rightness.”

Raw emotion swims in the amber tones of Azriel’s eyes when you turn in his arms; searching within those rich shades to find any detection of a lie.

Not one reaches your radar.

The line of your vision drops, creeping down his nose until it fixates on the plush pink of his lips. Instinct takes over, offering a gentle nudge until the space between two is eaten up and breath becomes shared as a line was about to be crossed—a prophecy fulfilled.

When Azriel’s lips finally brush against yours, it’s like a coil snaps, unleashing an animal he hadn’t known existed. Sure, he had plenty of experience with childish crushes and boyish infatuation. But this, Cauldron, it nearly takes his breath away with its intensity—the burning desire that rips through his veins like a forrest fire.

One kiss bleeds into two hands desperate to acquaint themselves with your body until all that mattered was you, your spymaster and the sentient shadows protectively surrounding you both. “Azriel,” You all but keen in his ear, chest heaving and hips rolling into the hardness of him pressed against you.

“Mate.”

A whimper cuts through your throat, neck craning to make space for the perfect bruises he was sucking into the skin there. “I want you.”

AZ

This sweet man wants to make you feel good so so bad. He tries so hard to be gentle, but he loves you so much that sometimes, he just loses control, fucking into you with abandon. He always apologizes profusely, but all the while his hips never stop pounding into you

He truly can't keep his hands off of you. All these lonely years spent wandering alone left him insanely touch starved, and now that he has you, his hands always seem to gravitate towards your hips, squeezing and rubbing at your curves

He has to be careful during sex; his joints are in bad shape and he threw his back out more than once while bending over you to kiss you while fucking. You often try to goad him into letting you ride him to take the strain off his body, but in the end you always seem to find yourself bent in half, holding onto the sheets for dear life

His body is huge, and his cock is proportionate. Even now, after being speared open by him numerous times, you still squeal from the feeling of him stuffing you to the brim, hitting all your sensitive spots at once and bullying your cervix with every thrust

Condoms are very uncomfortable due to the size issue, not that you wanted them in the first place. He wore them out of concern for you, not wanting to tie you to someone like him forever, but when you begged AZ to take it off, to let you feel all of him, to please fill you up with his cum, it was like a switch flipped in him. From then on, he made sure to fuck his cum as deep into you as possible, keeping your hips still so he could cum directly onto your pretty little cervix

"You can take it, dear. You always do." You were squirming under him, trying to relax enough for his fat cock to breach your tight cunt. No amount of lube could prepare you for him, and you knew you simply had to bear it to get your sweet, sweet reward. When he finally bottomed out, AZ sighed, holding your hips still so he could gently roll his hips into you. It never stopped there, though. Mere minutes later, he started pulling your hips towards him to meet his every thrust, using you as his personal fleshlight, pummeling your cunt with all the strength of a 9ft tall man. "Sorry, my love I'm- aahhh, I'm so soryy my dear, I can't stop... You're so tight..."

Drayden

Likes you in nice lingerie, enjoys ripping your pantyhose and fucking you through the holes

A bit of a mean dom, and very into BDSM. He expects you to be obedient, and if you're not, there will be consequences; wether rope, a spreader bar or his own hands, he will hold you down and show you who is in charge

He'll spank you until the outline of his hand is inprinted on your ass, the red welts sure to bruise and remind you of him for days every time you sit down. He loves marking you, but only were no one else can see – seeing you pressing your thighs together after sitting down, knowing he's the reason you can't sit straight; it fills him with a possessive kind of pride that makes him want to do it all over again

Not above calling you to his office and have you sit under his desk to stuff his cock down your throat. He will return the favor, of course, but make no mistake - even with his face between your thighs and your juices soaking his beard, he is still in control. You learned that quickly when he took a call while his fingers were buried in your cunt, forcing you to be quiet while he assaulted your sensitive spots

Absolute aftercare king. Massages are common, and he insists on cuddling you after every session. He always has a bottle of water at the ready, as well as a fluffy towel waiting to clean you enough to feel comfortable again. Kisses all over your face and neck to soothe you to sleep, then stays awake a little longer to bury his nose in your hair and enjoy your presence

He came home in a particularly bad mood, immediately plucking you from the couch and carrying you into the bedroom. A few short minutes later, you found yourself bound in intricate ropes, your legs forced open by a metal bar, your pretty cunt on display for him. "Coming home to this makes it all worth it", he said, standing next to the bed, still fully dressed and looking down at you. His large hand traced along your inner thigh, over the marks he left last night. "You'll be good for me today, right? Help me relax?" Not like you could answer him with the gag between your teeth.

Hassel

I just know this man is packing heat

His cock is long and thick, and he knows how to use it. Thankfully, he adores prepping you, really taking his time to finger you open for his cock, having you cum at least once before he splits you open

Gente at first, but once those Dragon Genes™️ kick in he loses himself quickly. Will hit your cervix with every thrust, and will hold you down by the hips so you don't squirm away

Breeding kink incarnate. Yet again a lovely gift from his bloodline, Hassel will try everything in his might to knock you up, wether conciously or not. Expect to be locked in a mating press by the end of the evening

Will accidentally overstim you because he is so pussydrunk. You're so tight around him, and he's still so hard, he just can't bring himself to stop. It feels so good when you cum on his cock, you can do it one more time, right? Please?

He's a biter for sure. Your neck, your thighs, even your tits will have marks once he's done with you. He'll be super sheepish come morning, but having you marked up turns him on so much he might just add some more before you leave for the day

He held you by your hips, pummeling into you like a man possessed. All he could think about, all that mattered, was fucking you as deeply as he possibly could, to leave you satisfied, to fuck his seed into you, to have you clinging onto his shoulders and have you scream his name. You already came twice, and you were so, so sensitive, but Hassel was intent on having you squirting on his cock again. His words were slurred, pussydrunk and feral, his head filled with nothing but you, you, you- "Jus' one more- mhh, you can- ah! Give me... one more..!" And you would.

Kabu

Completely pussy whipped and wouldn't change it for the world. If he died between your thighs, he would die a happy man

He's a munch for sure. Every win against a challenger is celebrated by eating your pussy. Every loss is soothed by shoving his face into your cunt. You suspect he uses it as an excuse to eat you out, but when you ensured him that all he had to do was ask, he vehemently denied any accusations

All his physical training gave him ungodly stamina. You regularly get fucked for hours, until he is sure the shape of his dick is inprinted onto the walls of your cunt and you are left barely coherent

Even after years and years of dating, Kabu still gets hard every time you undress in front of him, even if you're just changing clothes. While you can shoo him away with the threat of being late for a match, you do end up missing your dinner reservations more often than not, succumbing to the warm hands roaming over your body and undoing all the buttons you just fastened

Loves it when you scratch his back, desperate to hold onto him while he pounds you into the mattress. It reassures him that he's doing a good job, and it sends the message to anyone in the locker room to stay away from you

Pawing at his head, you tried to push Kabu away from you, begging him to slow down after he pulled your third orgasm from you. "Sweetie, please, you taste so good, don't make me stop just yet..." He latched right back onto your clit, suckling softly while his fingers started to move again, stroking that sensitive spot inside you. His hips ground into the mattress with renewed urgency, but he made no move to loosen his pants and fuck you proper. No, he was content just as he was, his face buried in your pussy, your juices coating his tongue.

Nanu

You'll be riding him most of the time. He's far too lazy tired to be on top. He has two very demanding jobs after all

That doesn't mean he subs, though. He will guide your movements, tell you to go harder and faster, to grind your hips slowly so you can feel him at your deepest points

Not a mean dom, but will get annoyed when you tease him. You refuse to move and giggle at him when he tries to lift your hips? You won't be laughing when he flips you over and starts to plow into you, holding your hands above your head and making you scream his name

Speaking of, on days he feels particularly annoyed, he might just put those handcuffs he carries to good use. Fastening them to the bedposts, you would be unable to fight back while he uses your holes until he's satisfied. Not that you'd want to, of course. You were the one to suggest it, after all

Adores it when you blow him after a long day of work. Sitting in his plush chair, whiskey glass in hand, while you choke on his cock, struggling to fit all of him in your throat? He can't imagine a better use of his evening