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sjmxreaderweek · 1 month ago

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The Morning After

Pairing: Tamlin x f!reader

Summary: After a wild night at Summer Solstice and one too many drinks, you wake up in the bed of the High Lord of the Spring Court with no memories of how you got there.

Warnings: hangover, allusions to sex

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: I normally write in past tense, but I realized after a few paragraphs that I was writing this one in the present tense. Since it came so natural, I decided to leave it that way bc I was too lazy to change it all lol

Main Masterlist | Week Masterlist | Tamlin Masterlist | AO3

@sjmxreaderweek

You wake up to a constant, throbbing pain in the back of your head.

The first thing you notice when you open your eyes with a groan is the blinding sunlight streaming in through the open curtains.

Who leaves their curtains open before going to bed? Especially in the Spring Court, where the sun shines brightly most days. How can anyone sleep like this?

Once you adjust to it, blinking several times, you finally take in your surroundings.

The room is decorated in shades of verdant green and golden yellow, with high-end furniture far more expensive than you could ever dream of. There’s even a fireplace on the opposite wall.

Whoever you went home with last night must be really rich to afford a place like this.

Your head throbs, as if reminding you exactly why you can't remember who you went home with.

Maybe you shouldn't have drunk all that wine. You knew you couldn't hold your liquor.

You can hear someone breathe softly on the other side of the bed and, hoping you have at least made a good choice and picked a good-looking guy, you turn around.

Unbound blonde hair, slightly tousled from sleep, frames a handsome, tanned face you recognize instantly.

You went home with the High Lord himself.

And the worst part? You can’t remember a thing.

You remember the celebration in the vast rose garden facing his manor and how you stopped to admire its roses and their beauty when you first arrived. You remember drinking the first glass of wine to relax and enjoy the Solstice, even among all the faeries gathered there. You never liked big crowds.

After the second glass, you were dancing freely. Tamlin played the fiddle alongside the other musicians, and your eyes had been drawn to him from the start. He just looked so good in his elegant, bright green tunic, long hair tied in a braid that fell over his shoulder. You couldn’t stop glancing at him every so often.

The third glass came after you imagined—for the tenth time—that his gaze had lingered on you while you danced.

Thinking back on it now, maybe it wasn’t just your imagination after all.

But as much as you try to recollect, you can’t remember why you drank a fourth glass or what happened after that. The pounding headache doesn’t help, and you’re left wondering how much more you drank for your memory to be gone.

Tamlin sighs softly in his sleep, and you freeze.

If he wakes up, what are you supposed to do? You can’t tell him you have no idea what happened. You don’t even know if you slept with him.

You’re wearing the thin camisole you had on under your dress, and you catch a glimpse of his shirt as he shifts under the cream-colored sheets. So neither of you is naked. And you’re on opposite sides of the bed, which is large enough for at least four people. You wouldn't be able to touch him even if you fully extended your arm toward him.

So maybe nothing happened.

But then why are you in his bed?

You can’t face him like this. A pounding headache, no memories… not exactly the proper way to meet your High Lord. What if he considers it rude? You wouldn’t be able to live with the shame.

Slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible, you rise from the bed. Maybe leaving before he wakes up is also rude—especially if you did sleep with him—but it’s something you can live with. You can slip out of his room, find your way out of the massive mansion, and never have to face him again.

As soon as you stand up, you have to brace yourself against the wall. The room spins around you, and it takes blinking a few times for it to finally stop. Once you’re sure you won’t stumble and fall, you pick up your pale yellow dress from the chair next to the bed.

Someone—probably not you, if you had to guess—took the time to neatly fold it before draping it over the back of the chair. The fabric barely has a crease when you put it on.

Fortunately, the rustle of clothes doesn’t seem to bother Tamlin. His eyes remain close, his breathing steady.

To avoid making unnecessary noise, you pick up your shoes and tiptoe toward the door, praying it won’t creak when you open it.

“You're not staying for breakfast?”

For a moment, you don’t move. You just stand there—back rigid, one hand on the door handle, shoes held in the other.

Maybe if you don’t move, if you don’t speak or even breathe, he’ll forget about you and go back to sleep.

But you can feel his eyes on you, piercing and curious, and eventually, you turn around.

He is breathtaking.

His hair is molten gold in the morning sunlight, falling over his shoulders in soft waves. A hint of amusement dances in his green eyes as he studies you.

Forcing the words out, you stutter, “I’m… I’m sorry, my Lord. I was—”

“My Lord?” Tamlin repeats. “You sleep in my bed, and now you go back to calling me by my title?”

His voice is still laced with drowsiness, yet it carries a note of playful teasing.

A deadly mix.

At least he’s not annoyed.

“I don’t…” you begin, but you don’t really know what to say. Should you apologize? Tell him the truth about just how drunk you were last night? Or should you start by asking him for explanations?

Before you can make up your mind, he speaks again.

“How’s your head?”

At your confused frown, he adds, “You drank a lot last night. I’m assuming you have a hangover?”

Your hand finally falls away from the handle, but you don’t step away from the door. Keeping your distance seems like the safest, least embarrassing option right now.

“A little,” you admit reluctantly. “I was just about to…”

Your voice fades. Slipping out while he was sleeping is one thing, but now that he’s awake, maybe you should ask him about last night. You can’t just leave without knowing what happened. He’s the High Lord, after all. If something happened between you two, you need—and want—to know.

“About to leave without saying ‘good morning’?” he teases, brows raised.

Taking a deep breath, you prepare yourself for the dreaded question, hoping you won’t embarrass yourself any more than you already have. You already wish you could simply disappear.

“Yes,” you answer, then immediately add, “No! I mean, yes, but it’s just because I… I don’t really remember what happened…”

The beat of silence that follows is deafening, and you brace yourself for his judgment.

But Tamlin only chuckles.

“It’s that kind of hangover, then,” he comments, shaking his head as if disappointed. But rather than at you, he seems disappointed in himself. After a moment, he mumbles under his breath, “I should have seen it coming.”

At last, you take a step forward, your shoes still clutched in your hand.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He runs a hand through his hair, the golden strands tangling between his fingers. Your eyes follow the movement before settling back on his face again.

“When you approached me last night,” he explains, meeting your gaze, “you seemed only slightly tipsy. I didn’t think too much of it. You just looked a little… overexcited.”

You hold back your groan. Of course you looked overexcited. That’s what alcohol does to you, and you can’t blame him for not realizing you were far beyond ‘slightly tipsy’. Your problem with drinking isn’t your behavior while drunk—it’s the morning after. Though it has never been so bad that you couldn’t remember things before.

“We talked for a while,” Tamlin continues. “And when the celebration was over, we came back here. But as soon as you saw the bed, you jumped on it and collapsed.” He flashes you an amused smile. “You fell asleep in seconds.”

You look down at your bare feet, fingers tightening around your shoes. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be,” he reassures you. “You looked quite adorable, to be honest.”

His tone is gentle enough that you dare to glance at him again.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, that smirk still playing on his lips.

Adorable.

Drunk and passed out on his bed, and he still thought you were adorable. You refuse to think about how your face must look right now—or your hair.

Not knowing how to respond to his compliment, you change the topic instead.

“You took off my dress.”

You don’t know why you said that. It’s obvious it was him. And as you watch Tamlin’s smile fade, you worry that your words came out more like an accusation than a simple statement.

“I did,” he replies quietly. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. It didn’t look comfortable to sleep in.”

Something flutters in your chest at his thoughtfulness. He has a point—it probably wouldn’t have been comfortable. Not that you would have noticed with all that alcohol in your veins.

“No, it’s alright,” you assure him with a small smile. “Thank you.”

Tamlin relaxes again, then he finally stands and pads closer, barefoot like you.

Has he always been this tall? You have never been so close to him before. Well, not that you remember, at least. His earthy scent floods your senses, reminding you of cut grass and fresh mint, soothing the dull pain lingering in the back of your head.

You can’t tear your eyes away from him as he stares down at you, and even though a racing heart doesn’t exactly get along with a headache, you feel too drawn to him to care.

Needing a distraction from his intense gaze, you decide to speak again.

“So we didn’t…?”

You leave the question hanging, unsure how to properly ask him. A part of you hopes the floor will open up and swallow you whole rather than face this topic.

Tamlin raises an eyebrow, and you can’t tell whether he’s waiting for you to finish the sentence or if he’s genuinely surprised by the question.

“No, we didn’t,” he answers eventually. His lips curl up at the corners. “I’d be very offended if we did and you didn’t remember it.”

Now you really wish the floor would swallow you.

You already assumed the answer was going to be no, so why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut? Why did you have to make it even more awkward for yourself?

“I slept on the bed just because there’s enough space.” Tamlin shrugs, glancing back at the oversized bed before turning back to you. “I figured it wouldn’t be a problem.”

You shake your head and regret it a moment later. Stupid hangover.

Tamlin’s gaze softens as he notices your slight wince, speaking before you can tell him you didn’t mind sharing the bed.

“Will you stay for breakfast?” he asks gently. Seeing your hesitation, he adds, “We can get you an infusion to help with your headache.”

You’re not sure it’s a smart idea. What if you say something else that makes things weird and awkward? Yet Tamlin doesn’t seem uncomfortable at all. Quite the opposite, actually. And maybe if you stay, if you get the chance to talk with him a little longer, you might find out what else you did last night. If he was so struck by you that he took care of you—and your dress—then your drunk self must have done something right. Hopefully, he won’t be disappointed by your sober self.

“Alright,” you agree with a shy smile. “I can stay for breakfast.”

Tamlin’s smile widens. He takes the shoes from your hand and sets them back on the floor, then offers you his hand.

“Shall we go, then?”

When you accept, his fingers are warm as they envelop yours. He gives them a gentle squeeze before leading you toward the door.

The long hallway outside is less colorful than his bedroom, but just as elegant. Pale green carpets—soft and plush under your bare feet—cover the white marble floor. A few paintings hang on the walls, and pots of small plants and pink flowers line the path to the staircase.

As you walk, Tamlin glances at you. “You know,” he begins with a smirk, “we might not have slept together last night, but we did kiss, though.”

You gasp, almost stopping in your tracks to gape at him. “We did?”

He nods. “Oh, yeah,” he replies, sounding way too pleased with himself. “Too bad you don’t remember that either.”

You are at a loss for words.

You kissed him. Tamlin.

You kissed the High Lord.

It makes sense, you suppose. If you went back to his room together, the intention was obvious. You would have slept together if you hadn’t fallen asleep immediately. Of course you had kissed before that.

You only wish you could remember. It would be nice to know how it feels, to know what his lips taste like.

But maybe… maybe you will.

After all, he invited you to stay for breakfast. Your shoes are still in his room, so you’ll have to go get them before leaving. He is leading you downstairs, his hand warm and steady in yours, his eyes still on you as he smiles softly.

Hopefully, you’ll find out.

“Yeah,” you echo in a murmur. “Too bad indeed.”

*lovely divider by @slytherin-pen

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#sjmxreaderweek #sjmxreaderweek2025 #tamlin x reader #acotar x reader #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #soft tam is best tam

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sjmxreaderweek · 1 month ago

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City lights lay out before us

Pairing: modern!Eris x reader | WC: 1.9k | warnings: angst

Summary: months after a disastrous breakup, Eris unexpectedly shows up, unable to stick to the plan he made when he shattered your heart. At least for one night, the two of you live in a new plan.

Author’s note: happy free day for @sjmxreaderweek !! This is inspired by Fast Car by Tracy Chapman (elite vibes) and delusion 🫶🏻

The low hum of the diner is like a static noise, always there, only slightly grating. Your head throbs from your too tight ponytail. Your eyelashes feel heavy beneath the mascara and eyeliner. You nod to the cooks, taking off your apron and clocking out in the kitchen.

Each step to the parking lot feels heavier than the last, exhaustion settling into your bones. You need just enough to get home, to dive into the burger one of the cooks made for you and pass out on your ratty couch.

You hold your keys tight, ready to embrace the uncertainty of the darkness, walking to your car when you stop. A familiar shade of red sat a few spots from your old jeep, the luxury car standing out almost obnoxiously beneath the flickering lights.

You recognize it immediately - the shade of red that matched the driver’s hair, the heavily tinted windows, even the low rumble as it idled left the back of your throat feeling dry.

Your grip tightens on your keys, trying to hide your face. Aching feet forgotten as you suck your head low, speed walking to your car. You swing the door open, hopping in, ready to start your car. For some reason, you can’t move. Stuck in the darkness of the parking lot, unable to crank your car.

Some deep part of you yearns to know why he’s here. Why now, why tonight?

You know what tomorrow is, a massive ice cream container in your freezer back home prepared for the event. He knows what tomorrow is.

So why is he here?

You sit for a few more minutes, feeling the eyes from the car on you as your forehead meets the steering wheel.

Today was exhausting. A twelve hour shift and you have to open the diner in the morning, only enough time between shifts to eat and sleep just enough to not be a wretch tomorrow.

He can’t be more than twenty feet away, his car waiting silently. An open invitation - one that had been shut off from you for months now. He even parked in the same spot he used to.

The month of silence between you two felt eternal, a never ending chasm in your heart. So many emotions tangled themselves into knots in your heart. Friends said you were better off, that they didn’t have big expectations for him.

Were you the fool, always ready to be played? Or was Eris the coward, leaving when things got too close to real? Or were you both tarot archetypes, bound to some deck of fate to end up hurt and alone?

You are the fool tonight, you think as you get out of your car and walk toward his. You slide into the passenger seat, guarding yourself enough to hear the truth but not come back for anything less than you deserve.

You keep your eyes straight ahead, not looking at him as you buckle in. You sit pin straight, not letting any weakness show. Not even as the air conditioner blasts his scent across you, a tiny shudder slipping from your mouth at the smoky scent.

You fold your hands in your lap, feeling the car move as he reverses out of the spot, turning right out of the diner. No one speaks, the radio doesn’t even play, the only sound is the low purr of his engine.

Signs blur past, none of them registering. Your mind is too preoccupied with why, why, why to take note of where he was going or looking for familiar landmarks.

Eris liked to drive to clear his head. Half of your time spent with him was in this car, it was practically an extension of himself. It allowed him the right amount of privacy to not be seen, but his presence was familiar enough on the downtown streets to not be ogled or noteworthy.

“Say something.” An accidental plea slipping from his lips or a desperate command, you couldn’t tell. Either way it annoyed you.

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Anything. Stop blocking me out.”

“That’s a funny way to explain what happened.”

The last time you spoke was a hazy memory full of more than just your heart being shattered. You couldn’t remember all that was said, all the ways you cursed the man sitting next to you.

His hands tightened on the wheel, looking more like he was revving a motorcycle than driving a car.

“I don’t know how to do this.” A sarcastic laugh escaped you, cold and bitter. That finally got you to look over at him, only his side profile in your view. It was enough to see the agitation on his face, how red his cheeks are from anger.

You didn’t know what ‘this’ meant, but really, did he know how to do any of it?

“You seemed very sure of yourself last time.” The last words he had spoken to you were etched into your brain, forming a memory that felt eternally present.

I can’t do this anymore.

Funny use of the word. Boiling what had felt so large and monumental to you down to ‘this’.

“Don’t do that.”

This and that. Never giving full language for whatever laid between the two of you.

“Eris, I don’t know why I got in here.” Rubbing the bridge of your nose to stop the tears from forming. You were done crying over him, especially to his face. “You made your opinion very clear.”

He didn’t. Never giving you a full answer, a real answer. Regardless, he made his opinion of you known. You were fun. A getaway from his real life. Someone poor and down to earth to be wowed by his family’s money and connections.

You were a vacation to him. Time to get his mind off his responsibilities, play pretend for a few months. But eventually the tan wears off and the swim trunks have to be packed away, clocking back into real life.

That’s all he had done. Ended things so you both could go back to the real world.

“I need you here.” His voice strains with the words, the weight of them pulling tight on his vocal words leaving him half breathless. He ticks his jaw with the effort of his confession, trying and failing to swallow it back down.

“Why don’t you need her?” It had stung watching it unfold through the bifolds of newspapers and through instagram, but it was all anyone in the city could talk about. The heir of a media empire marrying the heiress of an oil company. Eris Vanserra and Morrigan Fairchild: a billion dollar match set to wed tomorrow afternoon.

A lush ceremony in the biggest church followed by a reception in the art museum downtown. Security will be up to their ears in trying to keep uninvited guests out of the nuptials.

“I don’t want her.” He stresses the last word, practically sneering at the thought of his betrothed. All the media and press about the pair of them had left you wanting more, to analyze every movement they made together.

It’s only now you realize you have never seen a photo of them together.

“Then why marry her?”

“It’s what my father wants.” He hits the accelerator, likely pushing it all the way to the floor. You gasp at the intense rush of speed, falling back into your seat a bit, the leather cushioning the harsh movement.

The true heart of the matter, the unacknowledged third party in your relationship has always been his father. It never mattered who you were, how nice or funny you were - you would always be looked down on for your social standing.

“Don’t do it.”

“It’s not that simple.” His tone is full of disbelief and condescension. You could make out his meaning clear enough: you don’t get it.

“Make it that simple. Are you really going to throw your life away because your father asks you to?” Eris Vanserra, one of the most interesting people you knew, a force of nature, willingly giving up his autonomy feels impossible. Despite that, he still sits next to you, tying the puppet strings onto his limbs himself.

The car speeds up, weaving between lanes, desperate to outrun his own destiny or save every second possible despite having no destination.

“We could get married.”

Silence hangs in the car, interrupted only by the air conditioning blasting through the vents. Your mouth hangs open, unsure how to even respond to his proposition.

“We could get married,” he repeats, more sure this time. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

He looks over to you after pulling up to a red light, the bright lights coloring his face. All evening he had ranged from anger to some deep sadness, but now his face had relaxed.

“Your father will make us get an annulment.”

His face changes to green, both the light and a queasiness at the mention of his father.

“Besides, you have a fiancé.”

The car stays still despite the green light, this moment stretching on for an eternity. You can’t turn away from him, his deep amber eyes holding you in place. No one honks - a surprise in this city, its citizens eager to move as quickly as possible.

“She’d be fine.”

“Would she?”

“Her family- she has people that care about her. She’ll be fine. Better, actually.” You caught glimpses of the life Eris lived - the expectation, the stature. As an outsider, it was crushing glamour meant to stifle and suffocate any individuality. Somewhere deep down, you knew that she would not be alright. A failed engagement for such high status was not taken lightly.

Not to mention the tabloids and the press.

“How do you know that?”

His silence was all the confirmation you needed. He didn’t know, didn’t know any of it. Wasn’t that what he had admitted?

I don’t know how to do this.

“Let’s do it anyway.”

You cough as your breath catches in your throat, unsure you heard him correctly. He straightens in his seat, a new look of determination as he changes gears. He is at the helm of this half-baked idea, in the driver’s seat of his life for the first time.

Tomorrow will happen no matter what the two of you do, the sun rising no matter what decision you make. Somewhere deep down, you know what Eris will choose. You know where he’ll be tomorrow, the photos printed and distributed across the world.

Tonight, beneath the shelter of the stars and the roof of his car, you don’t care. One last night of dreaming to block out the heartache of tomorrow is worth it.

The city signs glow brighter as he drives. Each one is full of hope and opportunity. You spend hours driving around the city - down every side street, through neighborhoods on the outskirts. You plan an elaborate elopement, one that wouldn’t make it outside this car or this moment in time.

“It would be beautiful, wouldn’t it?” You ask, knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it anyway. Eris looks over at you, his face lit up by a green light. A more superstitious person would take it as a sign, but you stopped believing in them a long time ago.

He smiles, every trace of tomorrow gone, leaving his face bare and almost gleeful in the now.

“It would.”

Banner by @tsunami-of-tears

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#eris vanserra x reader #acotar fanfiction #eris x reader #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #sjmxreaderweek2025 #sjmxreaderweek #beautifully done 💕

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sjmxreaderweek · 1 month ago

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I've Got the Gift of One-Liners (And You've Got the Curse of Curves)

Day 7: Free Day @sjmxreaderweek summary: Backstage. One night. No regrets. The track says too much—but that night said it louder. (A bonus fic for my Wings of Illyria AU) word count: 7.2k content: [ explicit sexual content, oral sex (male receiving), praise, dirty talk, fingering, pet names (sweetheart, baby, i think thats it), condom (i know, shocker for me), mentions of sacrilege, cigarettes, smoking, explicit language ] author's note: HERE SHE IS, im really excited to hear what yall think of this one :) i really loved working to tie in the lyrics i already established in previous parts to this one :) ✦ . AU Masterlist . ✦

Security had pulled you from the pit like it was routine — like girls were ushered out of the crowd for private encores every night. One of them checked your ID with the flat disinterest of someone who’d done it a hundred times before, just long enough to confirm you were over eighteen before waving you through. You kept waiting to wake up, to be told it was a mistake, some kind of cruel joke. But the moment stretched on, and reality was still here, pressing against you with an undeniable heat.

Azriel was leaning against the wall with a crumpled bottle of water, shirt clinging to his chest, damp with sweat from the stage lights that still seemed to kiss his skin, glowing like he was something otherworldly. His eyes flicked up the moment you walked in, and for a split second, it felt like the world around you stilled.

You stopped a few feet away, suddenly aware of everything—the way your hair clung to your neck, the heat in your face, the way your heart was hammering. His gaze never left you, heavy with something that had you second-guessing the ground beneath your feet.

But then, that smirk. The one he wore on stage, in press releases, in interviews. You knew it was just part of the act—the same cocky, rehearsed charm he gave everyone—but directed at you it was different. He unscrewed the bottle of water, lifted it to his lips, and drank, the sound of it strangely intimate. Azriel’s eyes didn’t leave yours the whole time.

“Hey, beautiful. What’s your name?”

You told him, voice caught somewhere between awe and nerves, your eyes locked on his—but your focus kept drifting, low and traitorous, to where his tattooed fingers twisted the cap back onto his bottle. It shouldn’t have been as distracting as it was. It was like he was already imagining what he’d do with his hands when he got them on you.

And when he repeated it, slow and low, like he was already tasting it—fuck. Your legs nearly gave out.

“I—” you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, nerves flickering like static beneath your skin. “You were really great out there. I mean, I’m sure you hear that all the time. But I—” You winced, cringing at the way the words tumbled out too fast, already regretting trying to sound cool. “Sorry. That was stupid.”

But he just smirked, slow and sure, like he was amused at your attempt to stay composed. “No, it wasn’t.” His gaze never wavered, an almost predatory gleam in those hazel eyes as they flicked down to your lips, a deliberate pause in the air. And then, without missing a beat, he said, “C’mon.”

He reached for your hand. You hesitated for all of half a second, then took it.

Azriel’s fingers laced through yours like it was second nature. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like it wasn’t the kind of thing that would reroute the entire rest of your life.

You followed him through the back hallway—dim, humming with bass still trapped in the walls, cords snaking across the floor, scattered flyers and crumpled setlists littering the ground. The air smelled like beer, sweat, and the heavy, lingering scent of smoke, the kind of grit that hung in the air after a show, when the stage lights had dimmed but the energy was still burning. His hand was warm, rough, calloused. You couldn't stop looking at it—or at him, broad shoulders, the sharp line of his jaw, the glint of a silver chain nestled against his skin.

“You always pick someone out of the crowd?” you asked, trying to sound casual. Normal. Like you hadn’t screamed every word of his songs twenty feet from the stage ten minutes ago.

He glanced over, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Only when she looks like she wants it bad.”

You huffed a laugh. “Pretty sure that was half the front row.”

“Yeah, but only one of them kept mouthing the guitar riffs.”

Your cheeks burned. “Okay, that’s embarrassing.”

“No,” he said, his voice low, “that’s hot.”

You couldn’t tell if your stomach flipped or bottomed out.

He kept walking like he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain. “So, you come to a lot of shows?”

“First time seeing you live,” you lied. “Been a fan for a while, though.”

Azriel shot you a quick look, brow lifting. “Just a fan?”

You bit your lip, trying not to think too hard about the cardboard cutout you and your roommate had in your freshman dorm. Or the playlist in your phone titled ‘Azriel’s Soundtrack for When He’s Fucking Me Into Oblivion’. Or the handful of other Wings of Illyria concerts you’d gone to. You’d even bought tickets to a show they were only opening for—left after their set without even seeing the headliner.

“A big fan.”

He grinned—full teeth, devastating—and looked ahead again. But your gaze wandered, flicking toward every open door, every voice in the distance. Somewhere in your head, the whisper returned: what are you doing, this is insane—

Azriel slowed, his eyes still ahead. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly.

He stopped, turned to face you fully. The hallway was dim and quiet, the distant sounds of teardown echoing faintly behind you. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, the sharpness in his gaze as he studied you.

“You keep looking around,” he said, voice low. “Don’t want to be seen with me or something? Any little boyfriends I should know about?”

You opened your mouth, intending to deflect, to joke—but his hand slid up, fingers brushing the bare skin beneath the hem of your shirt, and your breath caught.

“Jealous already? We haven’t even kissed yet.”

But he was still touching you, palm spreading against your waist like he meant to leave a print there.

“Besides,” you let your eyes drag over him, slow and deliberate—the damp shirt clinging to every line of his chest, the lazy grip he still had on that half-crushed water bottle, his messy hair, the smudged eyeliner, the mouth that looked like it’d been made just to get you in trouble. “They don’t have a greenroom or a god complex, so… it’s not exactly a competition.”

He laughed—a short, rough thing, punched out of him like you’d caught him off guard. “You’re funny, (y/n).” And the way he said your name, so effortless, completely undid you in a way you wouldn’t admit to anyone.

“I am,” you managed, your voice tight, strained. “Actually hilarious, once I stop feeling like I might throw up.” And you meant it—you were two seconds away from either cracking a joke or passing out.

Another smile, slower this time. “Relax.” His mouth brushed your temple, his hand now fully beneath your shirt, fingers trailing up your ribs. “No one’ll see, just let me feel you.”

You shivered, not from the cold.

“I just…” you started, glancing past him again—down the hallway, toward a door that had just clicked shut. “I don’t wanna look like one of those girls.”

“What girls?”

“The ones naïve enough to think this means something.”

He didn’t flinch. Just leaned in, his voice like smoke and promise: “Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

A pause, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hand slid lower—out from beneath your shirt, fingers trailing along your skin like he couldn’t quite stand to let go..

“Just means right now, it’s you and me.”

Then he opened the door to his dressing room, leading you inside with a gentle pull.

The door clicked shut softly behind you, and for a moment, the room was just a quiet, dimly lit space. A couch sat against the far wall, the remnants of a few discarded bottles and empty cups scattered around. The air felt heavier in here, but it was still comfortable, like you could actually breathe for a second after the chaos of the show.

Azriel stepped further into the room and tossed his water bottle onto the couch, letting it roll off with a dull thud. He turned to face you, arms casually crossed over his chest. The easy confidence was still there, but now, in the quiet of the space, it felt a little more grounded, less like the persona he wore on stage.

You couldn’t help but feel the tension—too much of it hanging between you, and yet neither of you seemed in any rush to break it. You shifted your weight, unsure what to do with your hands, your thoughts spinning.

“So…” Azriel started, his voice low, but with no real edge to it. “What’s the deal? You’re in here with me, but you’re not acting like you’ve got a thousand questions or a million things to say.”

You blinked, a little taken aback. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Most people—fans, I guess—they want to talk about the band, the music, all that. They’ve got their script. But you just seem… quiet. A little offbeat, actually.”

You bit back a joke about a musician calling you offbeat—low-hanging fruit, and besides, his voice had gone too genuine for teasing.

Instead you gave a small shrug, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you looked at him—really looked at him, like you weren’t afraid to see the man behind the persona. “I mean, what’s left to ask? You already put it all out there on stage.”

Azriel tilted his head, like he wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a challenge. “You think that’s all there is?”

“No, no. I think you’re really good at making people feel like they know you,” you said. “Even if it’s just a story you’re selling.” You paused, then added, “But it’s a good one! Makes people believe.”

That seemed to catch him off guard—just for a second. The smirk flickered, not gone, but softened at the edges. “And you? Do you believe it?”

“I think you want everyone to,” you said, stepping a little closer, feeling bold despite the nervous tremor in your fingers. “But I don’t think you care that much if I do.”

He laughed under his breath, low and rough. “You come with a warning label, or do people just figure it out too late?”

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’ on purpose. “Not going to cry about you writing a song about someone else, either.”

Azriel’s brow quirked. “What if I said I was writing one about you right now?”

You rolled your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “Then I’d assume it’s a slow night for inspiration.”

That really made him laugh. A full-bodied, caught-off-guard kind of laugh that cracked the air open between you. He crossed the room slowly, like he didn’t want to scare you off, but couldn’t help himself either.

When he stopped in front of you—still standing just inside the doorway, your back barely brushing the closed door—there was less than a foot between your bodies. The heat off him was immediate, dizzying. His voice was lower now, rougher around the edges. “You always this blunt?”

“Only when I’m nervous,” you admitted, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Which, if we’re being honest, is kind of your fault.”

Something shifted in his expression—something that wasn’t the stage persona or the flirty smirk. Just Azriel, the guy beneath all that noise. “Don’t be nervous.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Easy for you to say.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth again, slower this time. He didn’t say anything for a beat, just stared at you like he was memorizing your face, the slope of your jaw, the way your lip caught between your teeth.

“I thought you’d be easy,” he said finally, voice almost more thought than words.

Your brows rose.

“Not like that,” he rushed out, hands half-lifting like he meant to ward off the offense. “I just meant—fuck—I thought I had a read on you. But I don’t.”

You felt your breath hitch.

Azriel leaned in—not touching you, but so close you could feel his words against your skin. “It’s kinda messing with me.”

You swallowed, pulse a wildfire. “Good.”

And that was all it took.

He didn’t lunge or rush—just closed the space between you in a smooth, devastating slide. One hand skimmed your hip, the other cradling your jaw like you were something he’d been craving all night. His lips brushed yours, light and deliberate, a question more than a claim.

You answered without thinking—hands fisting in his shirt, mouth parting just enough to meet him halfway.

The kiss was slow at first—measured, like he was still trying to figure you out. But the second you sighed against him, something in him cracked. His hand tightened on your waist, and he deepened the kiss with a hunger that sent heat straight to your core.

He tasted like sweat and water and something darker, something heady. You barely had time to register how good it was before he was walking you backward, not breaking the kiss, just guiding you until your back met the door.

Azriel kissed like he performed—confident, intense, a little overwhelming. Every press of his mouth stole more air from your lungs, every shift of his body pushing you harder against the door like he wanted to pin you there and never let you leave. His hands found your waist, your hips, your jaw—possessive but not rough, like he wanted to touch everywhere at once and didn’t know where to start.

You let him. For a while.

Because, god, it was good—the kind of kiss that melted your spine and rewired your thoughts. That made it very clear how he got away with every scandal, every rumor, every headline that should’ve been a red flag but somehow wasn’t.

But then something clicked. A flicker of boldness, of clarity, of fuck-it heat right behind your teeth.

You broke the kiss first—he chased your mouth for a second, frustrated, but you steadied a hand on his chest.

“What—” he started, just slightly breathless.

You didn’t answer. Just grabbed the hem of his shirt like it belonged to you now, like he already belonged to you. And then, with one sharp turn of your bodies, you had his back against the door.

Azriel blinked. His chest rose in a slow, surprised breath. “Oh?”

You didn’t smile. Not really. Just met his eyes as you sank slowly to your knees, one hand dragging down the front of his chest, watching the way his muscles jumped under your touch.

His pupils blew wide. “Fuck.”

“Still think I’m quiet?” you asked, voice low, teasing, as your fingers found the waistband of his jeans.

Azriel’s hand slapped flat against the door behind him, like he needed to ground himself.

“I take it back,” he muttered, already sounding wrecked.

“Good,” you said, undoing the button with infuriating slowness.

That earned a groan—deep, appreciative, the kind of sound you’d file away forever. His eyes stayed on you, stunned, like he’d just realized you weren’t playing by any of the rules he thought you were.

When you dragged his jeans down just far enough, he hissed through his teeth, head tipping back against the door with a quiet thud. You pressed a kiss just below his hipbone, slow and deliberate, then another.

A soft hum vibrated in your throat as you mouthed against the fabric of his underwear, teasing, your lips tracing the ache there. You could feel the size of him even through the thin material, and god, he only seemed to get bigger the more he hardened beneath your touch.

You wondered how it looked from his angle. A starry-eyed fan kneeling on the dirty carpet of his dressing room, the last place you ever thought you’d be—pressing your mouth to the bulge in his underwear like you were starved, desperate for a taste of him.

Azriel’s breath hitched, and his hand found your hair, tugging lightly to guide you away from him. “Enough with the teasing,” he muttered, voice rough but the edge of amusement still there. “You’re killing me here.”

Finally you pulled the fabric down, taking him into your mouth inch by inch, and fuck, the sound he made when your mouth wrapped around him was downright obscene.

“Shit—” he choked, breath catching.

You didn’t rush. You savored. Licked and sucked and stroked with practiced ease, drawing long, lazy moans from him like you were playing an instrument you knew intimately. Your hand worked in tandem with your mouth, gliding over wet heat, and his thighs tensed beneath your grip.

“God, (y/n),” he murmured, voice strained.

That did something to you—hearing him say your name like that.

A second later, one of his hands finally threaded into your hair, not guiding, just there. His fingers dragged through the strands gently, like he needed to anchor himself. You looked up at him as you took him deeper, watched his chest rise in a sharp inhale, watched his mouth fall open just a little.

His hips twitched. His jaw clenched.

“Fuck, you’re—” His voice cracked off. “You’re really fucking good at that.”

You pulled off slightly, just enough to smirk against his skin, your tongue flicking out again with infuriating confidence.

“I know,” you said, breath warm. Then you took him again, slow, deep, letting your throat tighten around him. Your jaw ached, muscles sore from the effort, and distantly, you wondered how the hell this was going to fit inside you. The thought of it made you flush, but you kept going.

Azriel swore, hand tightening briefly in your hair before smoothing it down, like he was torn between urging you on or just losing himself in it. His eyes were dark, almost dazed, mouth slack, and every muscle in his body was drawn tight like he was barely holding on.

You were about to do it again—just a little deeper, just a little sloppier—when he suddenly grunted and tugged at your shoulders, not rough, but firm.

“Okay—okay,” he said, breath ragged, jaw working as he blinked down at you. “That’s... you need to stop. Now.”

You blinked, lips swollen, mouth still wet, the taste of him warm on your tongue. The fear crept in, sudden and sharp. “Why?” you asked, voice quieter than you meant, uncertain.

His laugh was short and sharp, like he couldn’t believe you had the audacity to ask. “Because if you don’t, I’m gonna embarrass myself.”

You smiled, slow and wicked. “So you can do the whole ‘humble rockstar' thing.”

He gave a breathless laugh, then cupped your jaw in one hand and tilted your face up toward him. “Get off the floor, sweetheart. That mouth should come with a warning.”

You rose, still smug, and he kissed you before you were fully upright—fast, needy, like he couldn’t help it.

Like he needed more.

The kiss turned rough fast—his mouth hard on yours, all tongue and teeth and the kind of heat that made your knees threaten to give. You barely had time to register that he was moving again before he pressed you chest-first to the wall. The cool surface kissed your flushed skin through your top, shocking a little breath from your lips.

Azriel’s front was flush to your back, his breath ragged at your ear, hands already moving with greedy intent. One gripped your hip, steadying you; the other snaked around you and skimmed up the inside of your thigh, dragging the hem of your skirt higher and higher.

And then he paused. You felt it—the stutter in his breath, the twitch of his fingers.

“No fucking way,” he murmured, grinning into the shell of your ear. “You wore this tiny thing and didn’t even bother with shorts?”

You didn’t answer. Your smirk spoke for itself, even if he couldn’t see it.

Azriel groaned—like the sound had been ripped from his chest—and shoved your skirt up around your waist, rough with want. His hand cupped you through your underwear, palm broad and warm and already pressing just right.

You gasped, back arching slightly, and he groaned again, low and hungry.

“That’s evil,” he said, dragging two fingers over the thin fabric. “Fucking evil.”

You whimpered as he circled your clit through your panties, slow and deliberate. His body caged yours, every inch of him crowding you against the wall, hips pressing firm into your ass, his cock thick and hard against you through the fabric.

And then—swift and smooth—he hooked two fingers in the side of your underwear and pulled them aside.

“Fuck,” he muttered into your neck, fingers sliding through slick like he owns it. “You this wet the whole time?”

You nodded, barely able to breathe, your forehead pressing against the wall, hips twitching back into him.

His fingers moved again, lazy and unhurried, fingers skilled from years of strings and rhythm, stroking like he wanted to memorize every reaction. “You were singing my lyrics like that,” he whispered, “with this pretty little cunt already begging for me?”

A tiny, broken sound escaped you.

He laughed—rough and low, his free hand splaying over your stomach, holding you steady. “Should’ve pulled you up on stage right then,” he said, dragging his fingers higher, circling, teasing. “Let the whole crowd see how much you wanted it.”

Azriel didn’t wait for you to respond. His fingers slid back down, stroking through the mess he’d already made of you, gathering it up like he owned every drop. And then he pressed one inside—slow, thick, knuckle-deep in a heartbeat.

You gasped, eyes fluttering closed as your forehead met the wall with a dull thud.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, voice all gravel and sin, “you’re so tight.”

You barely had time to whimper before he added a second, pushing in with more pressure, no resistance. His palm pressed flat against you now, keeping your underwear pulled taut to the side, while his fingers curled just so—finding that spot that made your thighs tremble.

“That it?” he asked, like he already knew the answer. “Right there?”

Your nod was jerky, breath ragged, hands splayed uselessly against the wall. You turned your head, blindly searching for him, and his mouth was there—hot, open, devouring yours like he couldn’t stand not to be kissing you. Your lips parted, tongues brushing—messy and desperate. He was all heat behind you, chest rising fast as his hips rolled forward, like he couldn’t help grinding against your ass, letting you feel every inch of how hard he was.

But your gaze dropped, and your head trailed after it, tracing the lines of ink winding down his forearm—down, down—until they vanished beneath your skirt, where his fingers were still working you open.

He set a rhythm—slow but deep, purposeful, fingers curling again and again, dragging against that spot like he was trying to ruin you. Your underwear still stretched taut to the side, the fabric bit into the crease of your thigh, an added pressure you could feel with every shift of his hand.

“You’re fuckin’ clenching,” he groaned. “God damn.”

One hand still braced at your stomach, Azriel dipped his head to your neck, teeth grazing skin that was already damp with sweat.

You blinked, your eyes a little hazy, before you spoke up. “Didn’t that one used to be unfinished?” you asked, voice low. “The wing—on your tricep.”

He slowed, just barely, the rhythm stuttering. “You’ve seen it before.”

You nodded. “The Tiny Desk session. And that festival set—when your shirt came off halfway through.”

A low, incredulous laugh ghosted over your throat. “You really pay attention, huh? Kinda sexy.”

You tried to stifle a laugh. “I mean, it’s hard not to. You’re kind of… hard to miss.”

“Mm,” he hummed, his fingers picking up pace as he pressed deeper. “What else have you seen, sweetheart?”

You blinked, mouth parting—his fingers kept moving, stealing the words before you could speak. “I—I’ve seen a lot of your shows. Recordings, I mean.” You laughed softly, trying to push through the aching heat building in you. “I know you guys’ setlists by heart.”

“Oh yeah?” he murmured against your neck, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “Go on then—what was the opener for the Late Hours tour?”

“‘Out of Body,’” you breathed, hips twitching against his hand. “Except for that show in Brisbane where it was—fuck—‘Violet Hour.’”

His fingers slowed just enough to make you whine, but it was deliberate—he was listening now. “Jesus. You’re a little encyclopedia, huh?”

You gave a shaky laugh. “Kinda my thing.”

“Mhm,” he said, curling his fingers just right. “So when’s my birthday?”

You blinked, struggling to think. “March… twenty-second?”

He gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “What the fuck.”

“And you told GQ you don’t like cake,” you gasped. “Said your mom used to burn—oh god—burn the edges.”

That made him laugh, teeth grazing your jaw. “Fuckin’ hell. You know shit about me you shouldn’t.”

“You’re the one who keeps putting it out there,” you panted.

His fingers didn’t stop, dragging more ragged sounds from your throat. “Feels unfair, though. You’ve got all this shit on me, and I don’t even know what you do.”

You made a noise that was half-moan, half-laugh. “Like… in general?”

“Yes, in general,” he drawled, clearly enjoying himself. “Do you work? Study? Or just professionally stalk musicians?”

“Depends who’s asking,” you managed, voice catching as his thumb traced slow, maddening circles, so precise you knew you’d never manage it again without him.

“I’m asking,” he murmured, picking up the pace again. “C’mon. You told me my fuckin’ birthdate. Least you can do is tell me yours.”

Your mouth opened—nothing came out at first. The next slow thrust of his fingers had you gasping, voice faltering before the answer finally slipped past your lips.

He hummed, satisfied. “See? Was that so hard?”

“You’re making it hard.”

“That’s kinda the point.” The cockiness in his voice alone could have pushed you over—but then came that quiet chuckle, right against your ear, low and smug and fucking lethal.

But just as the wave crested, as your body tensed and your breath caught, he stopped.

Pulled his fingers out, dragged them slow down the inside of your thigh like he knew what he was doing, like he meant to leave you there—trembling, soaked, and aching.

You whimpered in protest, hips shifting back, desperate for any kind of contact, but he just chuckled, breath still hot against your ear.

Then—his hands were on your waist, spinning you. Your back hit the wall with a soft thump, and Azriel was already there, crowding into your space, his fingers dragging up your bare thighs before settling on your hips.

He looked wrecked—hair a mess, pupils blown wide, lips parted like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. And he was watching you like he was deciding whether to devour you slowly or ruin you in one go.

He bent, hands curling around your ankles, lifting one foot at a time to unbuckle your heels and slide them off, setting them aside with surprising care. Then his hands were under your skirt, pushing it up, up, until he had it bunched around your waist. A quick, rough tug at the waistband and your underwear was gone—torn clean off, like it was never meant to survive this.

Your top came next. He peeled it up over your head, fingers skimming your skin, and your bra was unclasped and discarded with barely a breath between.

Then his hands were back on your body—hot and greedy, like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch first.

You reached between your bodies, brushing over the exposed length of him—still hard and glistening. He hissed between his teeth. “Not helping,” he growled.

You smiled up at him. “Then hurry up.”

Azriel shoved his shoes off, then kicked his jeans and boxers the rest of the way down, stepping out of them completely. He turned, muttering something under his breath as he dug between the couch cushions. A second later, her came up with his wallet, flipping it open with practiced ease.

You watched, dazed, as he pulled out a condom. Wallet condom. Of course.

At least if this somehow knocked you up, your baby daddy was hot and rich. The kid would be set.

Before you could fully imagine a life and kids with him (as if you hadn’t before), he was on you again—all of him. Bare chest pressed to yours, the heat of him bleeding into your skin. He didn’t wait. One hand slid behind your knee, hitching your leg up and over his forearm, opening you to him as he stepped in close—so close. His other hand braced the wall beside your head, steadying both of you.

“Loud,” he murmured, lining up. “Bet you’ll be loud for me.”

Your mind went static. Any reply you would have come up with died in your throat as he pushed in, thick and slow, dragging a shattered moan from your lips as he filled you inch by inch. The stretch burned in the best way, a pressure that made your spine arch, your fingers scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, his arms, anything.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes locked on your face like he couldn’t decide what to focus on—your parted lips, your fluttering lashes, the way your body clenched around him. “You feel—shit—perfect.”

You could barely answer, your mind dissolving as he drew back and thrust in again, the rhythm sharp. The wall thudded softly behind you with every motion. One foot barely held steady on the ground, the other still hooked tight in his grip like he dared you to move.

He leaned in close, lips grazing your jaw as he murmured, “Look at you. Taking it so fucking well.”

Your head tipped back, the words like gasoline, and he took the opportunity—mouth on your throat, teeth grazing skin, hips snapping forward again, harder this time. The slick drag of him, the sound of skin meeting skin, the low growl in his chest—it all worked in tandem, pushing you further, higher.

“Bet you’ve touched yourself to my music before,” he whispered, pumping deeper, rougher now.

You let out a sound—half protest, half moan—and he grinned against your throat, wicked.

“What was it?” he pressed. “One of the slow ones? Something filthy?”

His hand slid up to your chest, fingers teasing over your nipple in lazy circles before giving a firmer roll, then settling there to hold you steady. “Which one, baby?” he murmured. “Which song made you spread your legs and think about my cock?”

“‘Glass Chapel,’” you gasped, a broken sound, and he groaned—a guttural, desperate sound like you’d cracked something open in him.

“No fucking wonder you were only singing my parts out there.” His eyes dragged over your face, catching the way your cheeks flushed, lips parting like you’d been caught. His smirk deepened. “Yeah. I noticed. Was it the bridge? Yeah? Yeah, baby, knew that bridge would ruin you.”

“It did,” you breathed, your fingers digging into the muscle of his arm as he angled his hips to hit exactly where you needed. “I came so hard I—” He sped up—the wet, obscene sound of his efforts echoing in the dressing room, shameless and slick. “God, I had to pause it.”

Azriel snapped. One arm locked tight around your waist, the other already hooked under your thigh as he lifted you—effortless, like you weighed nothing. He pressed you into the wall, firm but careful, his body pinning you there. Your legs locked tight around his waist, arms flying up around his neck. You buried your fingers in his hair as he thrust into you hard enough to make your breath stutter, raking your nails down his scalp when the angle hit just right. He groaned against your chest, then dipped his head to suck your nipple into his mouth, tongue hot and insistent.

“Song’s old,” he growled, voice muffled against your skin. “Let me give you something new to touch yourself to.”

You whimpered something that wasn’t a word, hips tilting to meet every thrust like your body was chasing him on instinct. The stretch of him was dizzying, unbearable in the way only perfect things could be, and when his teeth grazed your nipple, a shock of pleasure bolted down your spine.

“Feel that?” he muttered against your skin. “Every time you play that song now, you’re gonna feel this.”

He slammed into you again—deep and brutal, but never careless—and your moans turned strangled. Your head tipped back against the wall, nails dragging harder through his hair until he hissed.

His breathing was ragged as he pulled back just enough to speak, eyes dark and intense. “When I saw you out there… The way the lights hit you, how you looked at me—like you were waiting for me to see you.” His voice dropped lower. “I wondered what you’d sound like if I ever got you alone. If your voice would shake when you said my name.”

Your body seized around him at that, the raw confession cutting through the fog in your mind like lightning.

“Oh, you like that,” he growled, almost laughing as your hips rolled down against him, helpless. “Knew you were filthy, baby. Knew it when you looked me up and down the second you got backstage. When you told me you got yourself off to goddamn ‘Glass Chapel,’ Jesus Christ.”

You huffed a breath, teeth sinking into your lip. “It was the Hail Marys that did me in.”

He stilled suddenly, eyes flashing, like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right. Then he breathed out a low, stunned laugh—more breath than sound. “You’re kidding.”

You didn’t say a word, just shook your head—lips parted and red, hair a wreck, sweat catching the dim light on your skin. You were sure you looked completely fucked out, and God help you, you loved what it did to him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, jaw tight as he thrust into you again, slower this time. “That shit’s not even subtle.”

A bitter smile curved his mouth. “Didn’t think you’d be into the whole martyr complex. You got a confessional kink, too? Or is it just the guilt that gets you off?”

You tried to glare at him, but it collapsed into a moan as he found that merciless rhythm again, your head falling back against the wall. “You’re cocky as hell,” you managed, breathless, “but I thought about this every night and still didn’t think you’d be this good.”

Azriel let out a rough laugh, hips slamming into you like your praise lit something in him. “Yeah?” he panted, mouth dragging over your throat. “Say that again.”

You dug your nails into his shoulders, lips brushing his ear. “You’re better than I imagined, Azriel.”

He groaned, low and rough, and buried his face in your neck like he needed a second to pull himself together. “Fuck, baby.” His voice was ragged. “Keep talking like that and I’m not gonna last.”

A smug smile curled on your lips, despite how wrecked you felt. “What, you want me to lie instead?”

Azriel laughed, breath hot against your skin. “No, keep talking.” His hands tightened around your thighs as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, pupils blown wide. “Tell me what you want, (y/n).”

When his hips slammed into you again, deeper than before, the words spilled from your lips without a second thought. “I want you to fuck me like you can’t get enough. Make me scream so hard I forget where I am, who I am—I don’t care, I just want to feel you all over me, Azriel, until I can’t walk, can’t think, just you. Fucking me. Over and over.”

The sound of your pleasure bounced off the walls, loud and unrestrained, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the way he made you feel. You couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop him as he drove you toward something reckless and burning.

Azriel’s breath came in short, ragged bursts, and his eyes darkened with a wicked, almost feral gleam. “Fuck, (y/n),” he growled, voice rough and shaking. “Fuckin’ perfect goddamn pussy. Made for me to fuck it, huh? Yeah, baby, and that filthy fuckin’ mouth—I could fuck you like this forever, you know that?”

You whimpered, one hand sliding between your bodies, fingers working your clit in tight, desperate circles. “So close,” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t stop, Azriel—fuck, don’t stop.”

His hips stuttered at the sight, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Shit—look at you,” he rasped, eyes locked on where your bodies met. “Rubbing yourself while I fuck you. You feel too fuckin’ good to be real.”

His voice broke on the last word. And then he lost it—thrusts erratic, bruising, as a groan tore from his throat and he came hard, spilling into the condom with a raw, guttural sound like it was dragged from the pit of him.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept moving, fucking through it, pace rough and messy with the aftershocks, and the overstimulation only pushed him harder. The rhythmic slap of his skin against yours grew louder, the pressure building in your core, until you were coming with a cry, back arching as heat tore through you like wildfire.

Your whole body shook. Your legs trembled. And finally, finally, he slowed.

Azriel leaned into you for a second, breath ragged against your skin, before finally easing out with a low, involuntary hiss, your bodies slick and trembling where they met.

Without a word, he adjusted his grip on you, one arm locked beneath your thighs, the other bracing your ass as he carried you from the wall like he hadn’t just demolished you. Like you weren’t still gasping in his arms.

“Hold on,” he muttered, voice rough, and you instinctively clung tighter, arms looped around his neck. He shifted one hand, reaching for the blanket slung over the back of the couch, and shook it out with an easy flick before laying it across the cushions.

Then he knelt, lowering you onto it with a care that shouldn’t have felt so reverent after what he’d just done.

While you melted into the soft spread—mind blank, body humming—Azriel rose and padded over to a trash bin tucked near the corner. He peeled the condom off with one hand as he walked, tied it off, and tossed it without pause.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

There was something unshakably magnetic about the way he moved—casual and unhurried, like he wasn’t Azriel, the bassist every dive bar daydreamed about and the reason half the crowd screamed louder during the breadowns, but just some guy cleaning up after the best sex of your life. His shoulders rolled as he walked, loose and satisfied, and there was a certain quiet confidence in the slope of his spine, like he didn’t need to say a word to know you were still reeling.

He made his way to the mirrored dressing table—small, utilitarian, built into the wall—and grabbed a towel and a battered pack of American Spirits off the cluttered surface. Your eyes trailed after him, helpless not to admire the ripple of lean muscle across his back, the taper of his waist, the tight curve of his ass. Even his legs—long, strong, littered with faint bruises and a thin, silvery scar running vertical over one knee—had you clenching around nothing. Azriel looked like he was carved for sin and didn’t even know it. Or worse—did know, and just didn’t care.

The cardboard crinkled in his palm as he tapped one loose and caught it between his lips, already moving back toward you. With the lighter tucked inside the carton, he slid it free one-handed, thumb dragging the wheel with practiced ease.

Back on the couch, he dropped down beside you, one arm thrown over the backrest to hook around your shoulders. The flame lit with a soft chk as he sparked the cigarette to life, the glow briefly catching on the sharp cut of his jaw, the relaxed slant of his mouth.

Then, without so much as a look, he held the towel out to you, a fluffy rolled up green thing—just a quiet offer, casual and thoughtless, like it was muscle memory. You took it with a still-shaky hand and an even shakier thank you.

Azriel leaned his head back and took a long drag, exhaling like he didn’t have a care in the fucking world.

And you? You stared.

You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t fucking believe it.

Azriel—the Azriel—was sitting beside you like you hadn’t just been pressed against a wall, stuffed full and screaming his name like a prayer. Like he hadn’t just wrung you out with his hands on your thighs and your voice in his ear. He was right there, cigarette in hand, the taste of him still on your tongue.

A shaky breath left you.

You needed a cigarette—

So you reached out and plucked his from between his lips, slow and deliberate, your index and middle fingers brushing the corner of his mouth.

He turned to look at you, one brow arched in lazy disbelief, but there was unmistakable amusement in his eyes.

You didn’t say a word. Just brought it to your mouth and took a long, deep drag—slow enough to make a point, greedy enough that you knew he’d taste it when he got it back. Smoke curled from your nose, then your mouth, a slow exhale through parted lips.

Only once the breath had fully left you did you glance at him—then carefully, precisely, placed the cig back where it belonged, tucking it against his mouth like you were returning something borrowed.

Azriel let you do it, didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. Just took another drag like nothing about this was abnormal.

You busied yourself with the towel—more for something to do than out of any real modesty, dabbing between your thighs like it might distract from the buzz still lingering in your limbs.

What were you supposed to do now?

Just get dressed and leave? That felt weird.

Say thank you? Even weirder.

Make conversation? Try to pretend like this wasn’t the craziest thing that had ever happened to you?

You avoided looking at him, trying not to think too hard, trying not to come across like you were thinking too hard. But your thoughts were looping, loud and nervous, until—

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his expression shift. A sharp inhale, eyes widening mid-drag, followed by a low, almost startled curse.

Then:

“You wouldn’t mind signing an NDA, would you?”

You blinked, turning to look at him. “Isn’t that supposed to be before?”

Azriel exhaled smoke through a crooked grin, one brow raised, all lazy charm and unapologetic sin. “I forgot,” he said, voice rough with amusement.

He tilted his head toward you, like he could already see you agreeing, like he knew exactly what you’d say next.

And fuck—you probably would sign it.

#sjmxreaderweek #sjmxreaderweek2025 #azriel x reader #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #i'll be the puddle in the corner thanks

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sjmxreaderweek · 1 month ago

Text

Tensed

Cassian x Reader

For @sjmxreaderweek

Sjmxreader 2025 Masterlist

Day 7 - Free Day

Summary: Cassian returned home from Illyria, his wings and shoulders wound up tight. You weren't one, but you understood how it hurt him, knowing he needed you more every time he flew back.

Cw: Fluff/comfort turns into smut, wingplay, best tension remover frfr

As the afternoon sun streamed through the windows of the House of Winds, casting a light across your sketchbook page, you found yourself lost in thought. The familiar lines and curves of Cassian's wings danced beneath your pencil, a soothing ritual that had become a staple of your days while he was away to Illyria.

Your mind wandered as your hand moved deftly over the paper, capturing the intricate and powerful muscles that made up Cassian's magnificent wingspan. The way his wingtips curled slightly at the ends, the sharpness of his leathery wings, the subtle sheen they held when glistening wet after a rainstorm, every detail felt etched into your memory like it was a well-loved book.

As you worked, the faint scent of his favorite leather armour wafted through the air, carried on the gentle breeze. You looked up, smiling, "Cassian!" You got up to the balcony, seeing Cassian flying back towards you.

He hopped down and wrapped strong arms around your waist, pulling you close against his chest. "Missed you," he murmured, nuzzling his nose into your hair as his warm breath sent shivers down your spine. The firm planes of his body pressed against yours, making it difficult to focus on anything but the intoxicating nearness of him.

Your heart dropped with dread as you watched Cassian soar closer, the wind whipping his hair into a frenzy around his chiselled face. His hazel eyes were full of sorrow upon spotting you, and he angled his flight path to glide smoothly onto the balcony.

As he held you, Cassian's gaze drifted down to the open sketchbook still clutched in your hands. A slow smile spread across his face as he took in the meticulous drawings of his own wings.

He was tensed still, his hands gripping your hips almost too tightly, betraying the turmoil brewing inside him. As much as he tried to hide it, you could sense the weight of his stress of his duties bearing down on him.

"Cassian?" You tilted your head back to look up at him, concern etched on your features. "What is it? You're not... What's wrong?"

"Don't pull away..." He pulled out closer, burying his face in your neck, "Please. Just stay." His words hung heavy in the air between you, thick with unspoken emotions. Cassian's breathing was ragged against your skin as he clung to you, his grip on your hips becoming more desperate. The tension radiating off him was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to vibrate through your very being. "I'm so tired."

As he leaned heavily into you, seeking solace in your warmth and comfort, you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him, holding him close. Your fingers traced gentle patterns along his back, trying to soothe the knots of tension that had settled there. Cassian let out a shaky sigh, his breath hot against your skin as he relaxed incrementally into your embrace.

Slowly, you walked him to your room, making him sit, minding his wings. "Can you tell me what happened, Cass?" You sighed softly, getting settled in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I want to help you." You felt your bond, giving him comforting touches through it, wanting to help him relax.

"I... I was too late." His voice was barely a growl, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, letting the bond you shared comfort him, "She was only 10... They tried to take her wings. I stopped them but she is still ruined, I was too late."

"Oh, Cass." You squeezed him tighter, feeling his heart race against your body, the change in his breath, at how much saving Illyrian girls meant to him, to make sure none of them lived his mother's life. You didn't know what to say in comfort, all you could do was kiss his head softly, "You do your best Cass, You always do. If you got to her before they could fully clip her then you did save her. I know you want to save everyone... I do. That's what I love you for. I know you can."

Cassian groaned, face pressing in your breasts, leaching comfort you had to offer, feeling your hands on his hair and shoulders, his body was fully knotted. "I just... I can't save everyone..."

"Yes you can. You can." You replied instantly, kisses prepping over his face, holding him close, "Come now, let me help the tension away." You gave him a soft smile, sitting up from him, gently motioning him to lay on his stomach down and wings up. The sight of him steered something inside you that made your heart clench in pain, you moved to work, stripping him off his leathers so he was naked, he shuddered as the air hit his body.

"Y/n..." Cassian whispered, looking up from his face in a pillow to see you rummage through the draws of the nightstand to pull out some oils, lavender and almond, and put them on the stand. He sighed as he felt you sit on his ass after you'd covered him with a blanket.

"I'm here... I'm here." You whispered, your voice gentle, you dropped a few drops of the oils, mixing them in your hands to warm them up. You pressed your hands on his back, between his Illyrian wings. With tender care, you began to massage his muscular back, working out the kinks and knots that had accumulated from the stress and strain of his duties.

Your touch was soothing, easing his tense muscles and calming his racing thoughts. As your skilled fingers roamed over his skin, tracing the contours of his powerful physique, Cassian let out a low, rumbling moan, his body melting under your ministrations.

His wings, usually a symbol of strength now lay vulnerable above him, their delicate membranes exposed to the cool air. The sight stirred something primal within you, a deep longing to protect and cherish this male who held such power yet was so deeply affected by the suffering of others, you smiled as his wings started to flutter, a sign of him relaxing as you massaged his neck and shoulders, "Damn, the knot here is really strong..."

Cassian groaned under you, gasping and sighing as his body felt looser, comforted under your weight, "Please..." He could feel the muscles in his neck soften under your touch, eyes softly closing as he grew tired. "y/n..."

"Shh, just relax," You cooed, your fingers danced over his skin, leaving trails of tingling warmth in their wake. As his eyelids drifted shut, you leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss his round ears.

"You deserve this peace," You whispered, trailing your lips along his cheek. Cassian's breathing slowed, deepening as he surrendered to your soothing touch and the gentle caress of your mouth.

As you worked, your hands occasionally brushed against his sensitive wings, sending tingles through both of you. The intimate contact sparked a hunger in your core, a desire to explore every inch of his powerful form. But for now, you focused solely on providing comfort, pouring all your love and devotion into the massage.

You stroked his wings, massaging the thick membranes, providing him waves of arousal up his spine mixed with the comfort. Cassian's wings responded eagerly to your touch, flexing and twitching under your skilled hands. Each stroke sent jolts of pleasure coursing through his body, mingling with the relaxation washing over him. His breathing grew heavier, more labored, as his arousal mounted.

"Mmm, y/n..." Cassian moaned, his voice husky with need. He arched his back, pushing his wings further into your grasp, craving more of your tantalizing touch. "Feels so good..."

As you continued to work his wings, the musky scent of Cassian's arousal filled the air. It took all your willpower to maintain the slow, sensual pace, focusing on easing his tension.

"That's it, just let go," You purred, your fingers kneading deeper into the muscles of his wings, coaxing out the remaining knots until they were smooth and pliant under your touch. Cassian's hips rolled subtly, grinding against the mattress as he chased the pleasure building within him.

His wings flapped lazily, responding solely to your touch. The sight was intoxicating, stoking the flames of desire burning in your belly. You trailed your fingers lower, exploring the ridges and valleys of his toned back, marveling at the play of muscle beneath your palms.

Cassian groaned under you, reaching backwards to grab your thighs with his hand, "Please... My wings again..."

"Of course, baby," You cooed, you grasped the base of one of his wings, applying gentle pressure to guide it back towards you. As the membrane unfolded, you ran your fingers along its surface, tracing the veins and creases with reverent touch. Cassian's talons brushed against your lips, teasing you with its proximity. With a soft hum, you wrapped your mouth around the delicate tip, suckling playfully, tracing you with his tongue.

Cassian's breath hitched, a guttural moan escaping his throat as your warm mouth enveloped his sensitive talon. His wings quivered, the pleasurable sensation shooting straight to his groin. "Fuck, y/n," he gasped.

Cassian's hips bucked, seeking friction against the mattress. His other wing fluttered restlessly, eager for your touch. You released his talon with a pop, grinning up at him with mischief in your eyes.

"Wait wait, I'm getting there." You said, tugging gently on the wings to encourage him to spread them wider. Once they were fully extended, you dipped your head, swirling your tongue over the intricate network of veins and tendons.

"Mother's tits, y/n!" Cassian moaned, his voice raw with ecstasy as a sudden wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him. His wings spasmed wildly, thrashing about in the air as if trying to escape the intense sensations you were evoking.

His wings continued to tremble and convulse, reacting intensely to your ministrations. You could feel the heat emanating from his body, the sweat-slicked skin sliding beneath your touch. The air was thick with the musk of his arousal, fueling your own desires.

With a final, long lick along the length of his wing, you sat back, admiring the sight of Cassian's spent form sprawled across the bed. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his hazel eyes glazed over with sated bliss.

"Are you relaxed?" You asked softly, rolling off him to settle beside him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

Cassian turned to face you, a contented smile spreading across his features. "More than relaxed," he murmured, his voice still husky from his earlier moans. He reached out to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your lips. "Thank you, y/n."

He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a tender kiss. The intimacy of the moment, combined with the lingering effects of his climax, left him feeling vulnerable yet safe in your embrace. As the kiss deepened, Cassian's arms encircled you, drawing you closer until your bodies were flush against each other.

{General taglist- @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tele86 @thelov3lybookworm @romanticatheartt @inkedinshadows}

{Week Taglist - @readinf @thorins-queen-of-erebor}

#sjmxreaderweek2025 #sjmxreaderweek #cassian x reader #acotar fanfic #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #what a delightful way to start today

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sjmxreaderweek · 1 month ago

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Trust Fall

SJM x Reader Week Day Six @sjmxreaderweek

Prompt: Adventure / Home

Pairing: Manon Blackbeak / Reader

Summary: In a terrifying situation reader is left with no choice but to trust her wife.

Tags: reader jumps off a cliff (not in a sewerslider way) (in a death or death situation) cursing, fluff, not proofread because author is lazy

Word Count: 568

SJM x Reader Week | Acotar Masterlist

The wind whistled past my ears as I fell from the mountain, well, fell was probably not the best word. Jumped? Stepped? Took a dive? Either way I had gotten the required information, bloodhounds chasing me through the woods until I had no choice but to jump.

It really was a stupid idea. My heart thumping so fast at the speed and black dots dancing in my vision. I didn’t have any shapeshifting abilities, much less a pair of wings. Gods I was such an idiot, the rush of adrenaline that had made me jump in the first place was nothing compared to the adrenaline pumping through my body right now, consuming me as panic set in.

The jagged seafloor was rising closer and closer and all I could think about was how much it would hurt to land one of those sharp spikes of rock, I could practically taste the salty sea water and I desperately held onto the hope she would find me before it was too late.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my impending doom only furthering my panic attack when suddenly, strong talons wrapped around me in a vise-like grip. I was sure the bruises would last a month. After blinking a few times, Manon and Abraxos came into focus, the damned wyvern had the audacity to yelp as if he was laughing at my limp form in his claws.

I didn’t get a chance to retort when my lovely wife reached over the side of her wyvern and safely pulled me to a sitting position in front of her I made sure to hold onto my satchel lest this all be for nothing. Although the relief I felt lasted only a millisecond when I heard her ice cold tone.

“Are you insane!?” She bit out angrily. “We had a plan! You were supposed to wait for me at the cliffs-edge not-not jump off of it! What the fuck is wrong with you!”

People usually mistook my wife’s anger for bitchiness but I knew she was terrified and as Abraxos slowly rose from the sea, further into the clouds a few more seconds and I would’ve faced a horrific end.

I turned my head in her tense arms to face her, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. They were slightly frozen from the cold of rising altitude but I didn’t care. “I’m sorry. Those damned demon dogs were faster than we thought, if I had stayed any longer I would’ve been torn to ribbons. I trusted you to”

She didn’t say anything but I could see the gears turning in her hard stare as she looked me up and down. “I promise I won't ever do it again, that was terrifying and I’ll have nightmares for weeks.”

She still needed help softening that ice exterior, her hands turning white as she clenched her fists together. I pressed another kiss to her lips, moving down to her neck. Before peppering them all over her face.

“You’re ok.” She finally spoke, pressing my back tighter to her front, nuzzling her face in my neck from behind, moonlight strands of hair whipping around in the wind. “You almost weren’t ok.” Her voice broke slightly.

I reached an arm behind me to hold her head closer, pressing another kiss to the side of her forehead and she practically melted underneath the touch. “I trusted you to catch me.”

“I'll always catch you.”

"I know."

#manon x reader #tog fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #sjmxreaderweek #sjmxreaderweek2025 #manon my queeeeen #manon blackbeak x reader

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sjmxreaderweek · 1 month ago

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The Beauty of Prythian

Pairing: Lucien x human!reader

Summary: Lucien takes you to Prythian to show you the wonderful landscapes, but the view is not the only thing you have your eyes on.

Warnings: none

Word count: 2k

A/N: I love horses and riding, but I'm most definitely not an expert and it's been years since I last got to do it. This is to say, forgive me if there are some imperfections <3

Main Masterlist | Week Masterlist | Lucien Masterlist | AO3

@sjmxreaderweek

In the village, you walked everywhere you needed to go. Everything was within reach, and an hour was about the longest time it would take you to get to your gestation. You had no reason to leave, so it had been years since you last rode a horse.

You had forgotten how much it could hurt.

But at least you weren't alone.

Lucien's arms held you upright in front of him, slender fingers gripping the reins. His chest was a solid wall against your back, providing a warmth that seeped through the layers of your clothes, chasing away the morning chill. His breath—steady and unhurried—brushed against your ear every so often as he leaned forward to adjust the reins or simply shifted in the saddle.

You couldn't quite decide if it was comforting or utterly distracting. Maybe both.

“Will you tell me where we’re going now?” you asked for what was probably the third time. But it had been at least ten minutes since you last asked.

“You’re incredibly curious, you know that?”

Even without seeing him, you knew he had rolled his eyes, but a small smirk was already playing on his lips.

“I know,” you replied, shrugging one shoulder. “I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.”

Living so close to the border with Prythian, you had always wondered whether the stories and legends about Fae and magical creatures were true or not. When the wall separating them from you came down, you were thrilled. It meant you could explore those lands. But everyone else around you was only worried about it, and you were too scared to venture there alone.

Then you’d heard the rumors. About a High Fae male living in the mortal lands with General Jurian and Queen Vassa. About how he would sometimes accompany Jurian when he came to the village.

So you waited patiently, and when you finally caught a glimpse of the beautiful red-haired man—male, he always corrected you—you couldn’t stop yourself. You approached him.

And here you were, a few weeks later, on the back of a horse while he showed you his world.

“Just a few more minutes, and we’ll be there,” Lucien assured you. “But I’m still not telling you what it is.”

“Why not?”

“Because it defeats the whole purpose of a surprise?”

“Fine.” You sighed dramatically. “But can we at least go faster? My tailbone is killing me, so I’d like to arrive.”

Lucien chuckled, and the sound reverberated down your spine.

“As you wish.”

He clicked his tongue twice, and the horse picked up the pace, first shifting from a walk into a trot. When Lucien did it again, the horse broke into a canter.

Caught off guard by the sudden speed, you bumped back against his chest with a little yelp. He only tightened his arms around you, securing you in place as he clicked his tongue again and the canter smoothly became a gallop.

“Lucien!”

He only laughed, his grip on you steady and unyielding as the horse surged forward, its hooves pounding against the earth in a steady rhythm. The landscape blurred at the edges, forcing you to focus solely on the path ahead. Your heart thundered with every stride, a mix of exhilaration and sheer terror bubbling up in your chest.

“What?” Lucien called over the wind, voice smug and far too pleased with himself. “You said faster!”

“I meant a little faster! Not—” A bump in the trail jolted you upward, but Lucien’s arm around your waist held you firmly in place. “Not this fast!”

“You didn’t specify!” he retorted, and you could practically hear the grin in his voice.

You barely had the breath to reply, laughter and adrenaline stealing the air from your lungs. Your fingers dug into the edge of the saddle, holding onto it so tightly that your knuckles turned white. But slowly, fear morphed into something akin to freedom. The wind whipped against your cheeks, tangling through your hair, and you found yourself leaning into the movement—trusting Lucien’s hold, trusting the rhythm of the horse beneath you.

The pain in your lower back was still there, a constant throb that demanded your attention, but as you began to enjoy the ride, you could almost forget about it. At least for now.

The path began to climb, winding upward along the side of a hill. The trees grew sparser, revealing the warm, unfiltered morning sunlight. With every stride, the air grew crisper, sharper, the scent of pine and damp earth filling your lungs.

Just as your legs began to truly ache, Lucien eased back on the reins, his arm still wrapped around you. The horse slowed to a steady trot, then a walk, its sides heaving as steam curled off its coat. You caught your breath, your pulse racing faster than ever before.

“We’re here,” Lucien murmured in your ear. Despite his heavy breathing, his voice was softer now, almost expectant, as if he couldn’t wait to see your reaction to whatever his surprise was.

You finally took a look around as Lucien reined the horse to a stop at the top of the hill.

The trees had given way to a small clearing that stretched out toward the horizon, but beyond that…

You gasped, eyes widening as you took in the view.

When you crossed the border into Prythian, even without the wall, you had felt a change—a sizzle of energy along your skin. But you had also seen the difference: the colors were more vibrant, the trees taller, even the flowers seemed larger. It was the magic of the land, Lucien had told you, especially there in the Spring Court.

If the beauty had struck you from the first moment, what you were seeing now was simply breathtaking.

Rolling hills, lush and verdant, stretched as far as the eye could see. A sparkling river wound its way between them, the gentle gurgling of water reaching your ears even from a distance.

Lucien swung off the horse with effortless grace, his boots hitting the ground almost silently before he turned back to you, offering his hand.

“Come on,” he said, his metal eye glimmering under the morning sun. “Your poor tailbone deserves some rest.”

You took his hand and slid from the saddle with a wince as your legs protested. He caught you easily, his hands on your waist steadying you until you found your balance. Yet his hands lingered, and for a second, you even forgot about the view.

But then he stepped back and let his hands fall back to his sides. You swallowed, then turned to admire the landscape once more.

“It’s so beautiful,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“I thought you might like it,” he said quietly. There was something raw and unguarded in his voice, something you couldn’t quite place. “It’s the first place that came to my mind.”

You looked at him, but he was busy removing the horse's bridle. The animal blew softly, and Lucien patted its neck with a soothing murmur before securing the bridle to the saddle.

You frowned. “Is that safe?”

Lucien glanced at you. “He never wanders too far,” he replied, watching as the horse immediately began grazing. “This way, he can relax too. We'll be staying for a while.”

Curious, you watched him slide the satchel off his shoulder. He pulled out a blanket you hadn't even noticed he'd brought and spread it over the grass. You moved to help him, making sure that the spot he'd chosen wouldn't crush too many of the colorful flowers dotting the clearing.

“I'll admit it,” you said, settling onto the blanket once it was positioned. “I'm glad you kept this a surprise.”

Lucien joined you, sitting down next to you. He laid back on his hands, stretching his long legs in front of him, basking in the sunlight.

“Yeah?” He glanced at you. “And why's that?”

You gestured toward the view. “Words wouldn't be enough to describe this.”

He flashed you a smile. “Since you like it so much, does this mean I’m forgiven for the little gallop thing?”

There was nothing to forgive, actually. But you’d found that Lucien was the perfect partner to banter with. He always matched your jokes and teasing with his own, even when others might consider it a bit too much.

So you said, “That depends on what you’re willing to do to be forgiven.”

“Oh?” He narrowed his eyes at you, his expression amused. “Let’s say I’d do anything. What would you ask for?”

Despite your playful grin, you weren’t entirely joking as you answered.

“A kiss.”

Lucien went still. Something flickered in his eyes, but just like before, you couldn’t figure out what it was. He stared at you for a long moment, and the silence grew so heavy that you were about to apologize. But then he leaned forward with a roguish smile.

“A kiss?” he repeated. He was so close to you now, his breath fanning over your face. “A kiss where?”

Your heart thundered as his mouth brushed your jaw.

“Here?” he murmured.

His lips trailed down to your neck, sending tingling shivers down your spine.

“Or maybe here?”

You trembled, struggling to contain your emotions, to force your head to think straight. But his kisses at your pulse point were as soft as butterfly wings, and you couldn’t take much more teasing.

“My mouth, Lucien,” you specified, impatience threading through your voice. “A real kiss.”

He lifted his head from your neck. As your eyes met, a sparkle passed between you, and his smile widened into a grin.

“As you wish.”

A second later, his lips were on yours.

You had expected passion, roughness, a hunger you would struggle to match. You weren’t sure why. But Lucien was gentle and soft, his lips warm like the sunlight kissing your skin, his touch tentative as he cupped your cheek.

The only wild thing about the kiss were the butterflies in your stomach.

When you pulled apart, you could hardly believe he had actually kissed you. If you had known all it would take was simply asking him, you would have done it a long time ago.

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, Lucien spoke first.

“I think I should forgive you for all the questions you asked on our way here,” he said, his eyes still locked onto yours. “Perhaps I deserve a kiss for enduring them. We can… call it even?”

You didn’t really care about the why. You only cared that Lucien wanted another kiss, and you were more than happy to give him one.

You pulled him closer, fingers tangled in fiery hair, and kissed him again.

This time, it was more passionate. Your lips parted and your tongues met, dancing together for what felt like hours before the kiss finally broke.

Breathless and heavy-lidded, you looked up at him.You didn’t want it to end. You craved more—to kiss him until both your lips were swollen, until you were addicted to each other.

“Maybe you should give me another one,” you began. “I think—”

“I don’t care about the reason,” he interrupted, his voice husky. “I just want to kiss you.”

His other hand came up to cup your face, and you groaned softly against his mouth. He leaned forward over you, gently pressing you back until you were lying beneath him on the blanket.

Your hands roamed over his back as if searching for a way to pull him even closer, fingers twisting the fabric of his tunic. The heat between you only grew, desire stirring deep inside you, and suddenly his kisses weren’t enough anymore.

It had taken almost two hours to get here, and now you were already focused on something entirely different from the view you’d come for. But the landscape was still clear in your mind, like a picture you would always carry with you. A few minutes had been enough to fall in love with Prythian.

You looked up at Lucien—at his caramel skin, at the long red hair, at the wicked scar and the smirk on his lips as he pulled back.

Maybe Prythian’s beauty wasn’t just in its nature.

And its nature certainly wasn’t the only thing you’d fallen for.

*lovely divider by @slytherin-pen

#sjmxreaderweek #sjmxreaderweek2025 #lucien vanserra x reader #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #omg I am loving the lucien love today

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sjmxreaderweek · 1 month ago

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An Emissary’s Vacation

pairing: Lucien x Reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: some drinking

tags: no use of y/n, reader has long hair, fluff

a/n: written for day 6 of @sjmxreaderweek

summary: Lucien finally gets a much needed vacation and brings you along with him.

Lucien Masterlist

The sound of seagulls wheeling overhead and the faint crash of waves were what finally pulled you from the heavy, luxurious tangle of sleep.

You had briefly forgotten where you were, but as you blinked against the warm, golden sunlight spilling through gauzy curtains, you remembered arriving at Adriata Palace last night just in time for dinner. After Lucien helped bridge an alliance between the Spring and Summer Court in an effort to help both of them rebuild and feed their people without coming at a great cost to either court, High Lord Tarquin had offered him a week long vacation in the capital city.

Lucien had at first denied the offer, saying there was too much work to be done. So Tarquin had changed tactics and framed it as an opportunity to better learn first hand what the Summer Court needs and has to offer Spring. Lucien was grateful Tarquin had changed his mind when he had informed you of his plans and you practically flew across the room into his arms, bouncing up and down and squealing with excitement.

You stretched your arms over your head with a satisfied sigh. Every muscle in your body was deliciously lazy, boneless from a night tangled in sun-kissed sheets and a certain red-haired male who even now had his arm draped possessively around your waist.

“Morning, sunshine,” Lucien’s voice was low and amused against the back of your neck, his breath warm.

You twisted to face him, heart melting a little at the sight—hair tousled, a sleepy grin pulling at his mouth, russet eye gleaming even as the mechanical one whirred quietly to adjust to the bright light. He looked completely at ease, for once starting a day where he did not need to mull over reports or entertain haughty advisors.

“What time is it?” you murmured, running a hand through his hair.

He nuzzled into your palm like a cat. “Late. Very, very late.”

You laughed. “Perfect.”

The two of you finally managed to drag yourselves out of bed, still laughing and teasing each other as you stumbled down to a sprawling breakfast terrace overlooking the ocean. Adriata Palace was a dream with white stone and blue accents, wide open halls, and archways to the outside everywhere you turned.

The breakfast spread was almost comically huge. Platters of ripe fruit, flaky pastries, little silver pots of coffee and tea, and—your eyes lit up—pitchers of mimosas.

Lucien caught your gaze and smirked. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, pouring two glasses.

You clinked them together with an exaggerated cheers and sipped, the sparkling citrus flavor exploding on your tongue. Lucien popped a grape into your mouth, then stole a strawberry from your plate, grinning mischievously the whole time.

“Best vacation decision we’ve ever made,” you declared around your mimosa.

“Agreed.” He raised his glass to you. “To sunshine, mimosas, and you in a swimsuit.”

You mock-glared at him, but the heat in his gaze had you laughing again.

By early afternoon, you found yourselves barefoot on the warm sand, the scent of salt thick in the air. A dark-skinned Summer Court male with long braided hair introduced himself as Kailo and offered surfing lessons with a wide, easy smile.

Lucien gave you a devilish look. “You up for it?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re on, Vanserra.”

It started off about as gracefully as expected. You falling off the board almost immediately and Lucien howling with laughter from the shallows. You surfaced spluttering, flipping wet hair from your face.

“Oh, you’re so dead,” you gasped, launching a splash attack at him.

He only laughed harder, dodging and sending his own wave of water at you.

Kailo watched the two of you with amusement, patiently demonstrating how to balance on the board. Lucien, predictably, was a natural, managing to ride a small wave almost immediately.

Show-off.

You, meanwhile, wiped out over and over again, salt stinging your nose, board tumbling away.

“Bend your knees more, sunshine!” Lucien called from where he was floating nearby. “And less flailing! You’re not fighting a sea monster!”

“I am fighting for my life, you menace!” you shouted back.

But eventually—after at least a dozen tries—you caught a small wave. And this time, you stayed up. Wobbling wildly, arms pinwheeling, but riding it all the way to shore.

You crashed onto the sand with an undignified thud, panting and triumphant.

Lucien was already sprinting up the beach toward you, whooping loudly. He grabbed you and spun you around, soaking wet and laughing so hard you could barely breathe.

“You did it!” he cheered. “You magnificent, beautiful, stubborn creature!”

You laughed until tears ran down your cheeks, pressing a salty kiss to his mouth, still high on adrenaline and sun.

Later, after drying off and wandering along the shoreline, you and Lucien collected seashells and sand dollars like children.

“This one looks like your face when you wipe out,” Lucien said solemnly, holding up a particularly derpy-looking shell with a broken edge.

You tried to tackle him, both of you shrieking with laughter as you wrestled in the surf.

Afterward, you challenged him to a sandcastle-building contest.

Lucien took it very seriously, conjuring little shovels and buckets with a wave of his hand. His castle had towering spires and a perfectly sculpted moat. Yours… was more creative. A chaotic mess of shells, driftwood, and tiny flags made of seaweed.

When you presented them to a passing Summer Court child to judge, they declared yours the winner because, “It’s a pirate fort and pirates are cool.”

Lucien’s look of betrayal was so dramatic you nearly fell over laughing.

He draped himself across the sand. “This is an outrage. A travesty.”

You placed a strand of seaweed above his upper lip to resemble a mustache. “You’ll live, my lord.”

That night, High Lord Tarquin hosted a bonfire party on the beach.

Music drifted over the water and faelights floated in the air like tiny stars. Tables were laden with food and drink, and the bonfire at the center roared high into the night sky.

You lost track of how many drinks you had, your body buzzing and warm, sand between your toes. Lucien spun you in wild, clumsy circles, both of you laughing uncontrollably.

At some point, someone handed you a bottle of something strong and sweet, and you took a swig that set your whole face on fire.

You didn’t even remember why you started running down the beach—only that the world was spinning delightfully and you felt like you could fly.

Lucien shouted your name behind you, laughing, but you didn’t stop, bolting barefoot down the moonlit sand, your laughter wild and manic, hair streaming out behind you like a comet.

“Get back here, you menace!” he bellowed, giving chase.

You shrieked with laughter, zigzagging like a drunken deer.

Lucien was faster. He tackled you gently into the sand, both of you rolling in a tangled heap, breathless and wheezing with laughter.

“You are absolutely—” he gasped, “—out of your damn mind.”

You grinned up at him, dizzy and stupidly in love. “Takes one to know one, Vanserra.”

He kissed you then, tasting like wine, before slinging you over his shoulder with a groan.

“Come on, drunky. Time to get you to bed before you start swimming to another continent.”

You were too busy laughing to protest.

Back in your room at the palace, Lucien deposited you gently on the bed.

You sprawled dramatically, half-off the mattress, legs touching the floor.

Lucien shook his head fondly, kneeling beside you. “Alright, love, let’s get you sorted.”

You blinked up at him, trying to focus. “I’m fiiiiine.”

“Mmm.” He pulled your makeup wipes from your bag and very carefully started wiping away the smudged mascara and glitter clinging to your cheeks. His touch was so gentle it made your heart ache.

“Such a pretty mess,” he murmured, smoothing your hair back from your forehead.

You batted at him weakly. “You’re such a rake.”

Once your face was clean, he helped you sit up and wrangle yourself into pajamas—an oversized shirt that you promptly got stuck halfway through putting on. Lucien laughed helplessly, extricating your arms with the patience of a saint.

When you finally collapsed back onto the pillows, properly dressed and mostly clean, he joined you, pulling the blankets up and tucking you against his bare chest.

The world was still spinning slightly, but in Lucien’s arms, you felt slightly better.

“This was the best day ever,” you mumbled into his chest, your voice thick with sleep.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Yes, it was.”

“What do you wanna do tomorrow?” you slurred.

Lucien chuckled. “Maybe… a little less drinking. And more shell hunting. I want to find the biggest sand dollar on the beach and gift it to you.”

You beamed up at him. “Best mate ever.”

His russet eye softened. “Impossible. Not when you exist.”

Your heart stuttered. Your bottom lip wobbled. “You’re going to make me cry.”

Lucien tutted, caressing your cheek with his palm before kissing you again, slower this time.

Wrapped in each other’s arms, the sound of the waves outside your window, you drifted into sleep.

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