yourejinx - Tumblr blog

yourejinx · 3 months

Note

Inspired by the moment in ACOSF when it’s mentioned Cassian likes physical contact. A fic where reader and cassian are besties and hanging all touchy, maybe reader is braiding his hair and the mating bond snaps.

Kindly requested to be tagged if written/published.

𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞

pairing; cassian x fem!reader

warnings; porn with plot, basically just smut tbh but smut with FEELS (the best kind), p in v, oral (f!receiving), cassian is a sexy bitch

word count; 2.4k

a/n; dooo we want a p2 (and to find out what reader has planned...) i'm planning one in my head so if you guys are interested please let me know! @bxm-1012 enjoy!

Cassian shows love through touch- whether that be an affectionate squeeze, a kiss on the forehead or a playful shove; it's how he expresses love for the people around him.

You often take the brunt of this, being his best friend. You walk the streets of Velaris arm in arm, squeeze into one armchair that really isn't built to hold even Cassian alone, but somehow manages to fit the both of you, fall asleep on top of each other in a heap of skewed limbs after hours of partying and drinking and dancing at Rita's. You fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.

You're really not sure how you didn't see it earlier.

You're lounging in the aforementioned armchair when the bond snaps. Your legs are thrown over the arm and Cassian is settled in the centre, head to your chest as you scratch and tug at his shoulder-length hair, pulling it up into a braid. He tilts his head up, grinning at you through the dark lashes framing his eyes, and the whole world shifts on its axis.

Something stirs to life inside of you, a warmth blooming and spreading and seeping into your every pore; you can feel the way you're tethered to him, the gravitational pull between you.

You go stock still and your lips part in a silent gasp. Cassian's grin grows tenfold.

"You knew?"

"I suspected," he murmurs. He twists his body to face you. "I hoped."

"Oh," you breathe. You can't help it when your hand comes up to trace his cheekbones, the tip of your thumb skimming the bridge of his nose. His eyes fall closed and the bastard tugs on the bond so hard it emits a squeal from you, and you're pressing a palm to the centre of your chest to soothe the entirely unfamiliar feeling.

His mouth opens to break the silence but you're already moving, careening into his chest and burrowing yourself in tight. Your body sags with pure, uninhibited relief.

"You feel the same, then?" he teases.

Your eyes are glassy when you peel your face far enough to meet his stare.

"I always thought I'd have to make peace with it when you found your mate. I'd have to settle for loving you from a distance and that would be enough. As long as you're happy, I'm happy." He softens at the admission- your voice rasping and raw as you lay your feelings bare for him- hooking an arm beneath your own to drag you up his chest until you're nose to nose. "But I guess I can be selfish now, and keep you to myself," you whisper.

"Mm," he purrs, and the sound turns your core molten. "I like the sound of that."

He doesn't waste any more time before his mouth is on yours, lips slanting hungrily over your own; you part your lips in submission, granting him access to lick into your mouth, his tongue tangling with your own. He rises to tower over you until you're flattened against the curve of the chair, and plants his hands either side of your head to cage you in. His wings flare where they'd been previously tucked against his back. Your body goes involuntarily soft and pliable, heat prickling under your skin at his every touch. Instinct takes over- it's as if it's muscle memory. Giving yourself to him is as easy as breathing.

Your head swims at the feel of his body under your roaming hands, his scent that seems to shift from affection to something deeply primal and dominating. You urge him closer with a whine and a pathetic tug at his t-shirt. How has this man reduced you to a mess with no more than a kiss?

"Cass-" you gasp when his head turns and his mouth latches onto the sensitive spot beneath your ear; teeth sink into flesh and you have to bite your lip to conceal a wanton moan. "We-we should go somewhere... more private."

"Oh, don't stop on our account," comes Rhysand's amused drawl through the closed door. "We're vacating the premises as we speak."

A growl rips through Cassian and searing, unyielding need barrels to your core and pools there; it takes every ounce of willpower to not rut your hips against him and demand his clothes off that very instant.

"Sorry!" you squeak; as quickly as the word leaves your mouth, Cassian's smothering it with another eager kiss. You lose any semblance of control you were clinging to, a moan dragging its way from your chest and into his waiting mouth. A string of saliva stretches and bows between you when he lifts his head to look at your face.

"My mate," he purrs. "My beautiful mate."

Your eyes cloud when you gaze at him through half-lids, reaching down to grab the thick length of him and squeeze. His hips grind into your palm, something deep and almost terrifying loosing from the depths of his chest. It only serves to make your cunt drool.

"Wicked thing," he gasps. "Spiteful female."

You grin, wide and unabashed, before your hands grapple for purchase to tear at his clothes until his toned abdomen is revealed to you; you want to lick every inch of him.

"Desperate little creature, aren’t you?" he teases.

"Shut up!"

His eyes roll when you at last wrench his pants and underwear down his thick thighs, freeing his cock, hard and weeping and begging for your touch.

"Who’s desperate now?" Your brow quirks.

He echoes your sentiments, cadence deep and gravelly with lust. "Shut up."

Your snarking comments seem to loosen the tether he’s kept on his desire to hold you down and have his way with you, and you gasp when thick, calloused fingers curl their way around your windpipe; his fingertips are bruising against your jaw, tipping your head back to bare your soft throat for him. You go boneless in his grasp, eager to take whatever he gives you at whatever pace.

"So you do know how to behave," he muses, free hand coming between your bodies to paw at your clothes until they come away in ribbons, torn from your form and leaving you bare before him.

The first inch of him inside of you is a delicious stretch; your cunt parts and flares to make room for him. He pauses, and when he finds nothing but pure, unadulterated lust in your blown out pupils, he gives you the rest.

Slowly, agonisingly, he drags it out; moaning praises fill your ears as he grants you inch after inch of him until he's seated firmly to the hilt. His fingers are bound to leave bruises where they're curled around your waist.

You whine, fingernails digging cruelly into his sides. He’s so deep you’re sure you can feel him in your throat.

"Cassian."

"Fuck, sweet girl," he hisses. "Usually I’d take my time with you, work you up first until you’re crying. But I need you right now."

The breath is punched from your lungs as he sets a punishing pace; your spine curves and moulds to the arm of the chair when Cassian’s hands venture lower to cup the swells of your breasts. You feel his cock kick up inside of you when he catches sight of your pert nipples, hardening into buds at the exposure of the cool air and the feel of his hands brushing the sensitive beads.

"I’ll get my mouth on you later, baby."

You’d melt at the words if you weren’t already reduced to nothing more than mush from his dick alone. The thick girth of him splits you wide, nestling deep against spots you have yet to discover, pushing you further towards a precipice you’re almost terrified of— you’ve never experienced pleasure like this, to this degree. The insurmountable, unfathomable pressure builds until you’re coming with a scream, your body trembling around his own, cunt clamping down around him to suck him in further.

"There’s my girl," he coos, slowing inside of you to brush away the hair sticking to your slick face. "You’re perfect.”

You whine and cant your hips downward to rock yourself onto his cock, and the bellow that rips through him would have you flushing white-hot under any other circumstances; you’re too far gone to care, a shaking hand splaying against the ridges of his wing until he shudders under your touch. You moan at the sight.

"Now that’s just mean, baby."

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, gaze flitting up to meet his own with a coy smile. He brushes a slow line with his knuckles against your cheekbone— a loving gesture that has your heart clenching as well as your pussy.

"I love you," he says. "I love you so much."

"I love you," you repeat his words as he smears a kiss between your pinched brows. His forehead presses to yours as his hips rut up into your own. Dewiness clings to every inch of your skin and your knuckles bleed of colour where you cling to Cassian.

He brings you to completion four more times before he reaches his own peak, and only when you're reduced to tears beneath him does he crawl the length of your body, lips grazing over the slick skin beneath him until he reaches your cunt once more.

"Cass-" you gasp; your voice comes out a broken, strangled jumble of noise and he grins wolfishly up at you before licking a broad, long stripe from your spasming hole to your clit. Your back arches and you're not sure whether it's towards or away from his touch, but he stops you short when his fingers curl around your ribcage to press you to the plush fabric of the armchair.

"Told you I'd get my mouth on you, didn't I?"

Everything is simultaneously too much and not enough, and you're torn between grinding down into his mouth and shying away. Pleasure licks white-hot up your spine and you writhe against his bruising hold on your hips when the stubble on his chin scratches against your sensitive bundle of nerves. It's red and angry, swollen from Cassian's undivided attention, and it has tears gathering at your waterline once more. Your eyes are glassy and half lidded and he reaches up to brush the tip of his thumb against your cheek, his head never coming up from between your thighs.

Your skin sheens under the soft lights of the living room, sweat beading across the crown of your skull and your temples; you whine and thrash beneath him until your muscles seize and go taut like a bowstring, and pleasure drags you under once again. You're screaming - comes the dazed realisation - and your chest heaves as Cassian works you through it, offering up sweet praises for your orgasm. He smiles as if he hasn't just given you the best sex of your life.

You're utterly limp, boneless in his firm hold when he lifts your body to cradle you to his naked chest. The bridge of his nose presses into the softness of your cheek, skin rubbing against skin where he nuzzles into you.

"That was fucking amazing," you breathe with a laugh. "We should do that again."

"Mm," he hums. "Don't tempt me."

You giggle, pressing your face closer to his; everything about him intoxicates you: his smell, the feel of him under your hands, the dominating rasp of his cadence.

"We have something else to do first."

"What?" he asks, visibly deflating when you push yourself up on wobbling legs; your knees almost give out instantly. You can feel his smirk forming, burning into your naked form.

"Don't. Say. Anything," you grit. Your fingers brush the carpet when you bend to grasp a slip of fabric, and you quirk a brow at your sheepish mate. "My clothes, Cass!"

"I'll get you some more. Anything you want," he immediately says, watching you through half-lidded eyes. The love swirling in his irises almost has you staggering.

"While I appreciate that..." You lean down to press your lips against his, only pulling back to rest your brow against his own. "That doesn't solve my problem right now."

He snorts. "I like you naked. Maybe you should never wear clothes again."

"I'm not sure anyone would approve of that but you." Your smile is devilish. "Maybe I could distract a few High Lords at the next meeting..."

His teeth bare, a low warning growl reverberating through your very bones. You laugh, light and airy, and Cassian's sure you're heaven sent even as you send red-hot fury roiling through his veins.

"I'm sorry," you trill. "That was mean." You snag his own t-shirt, still predominantly in one piece, and slip it over your head; it lays against your mid-thighs and the scent of him cloys in your nostrils. "C'mon." You beckon him up with an outstretched hand, wiggling your fingers until he stands and slips his fingers between your own. A smirk pulls at the corners of your mouth. "Um, darling?" A pointed gaze has him grinning in return, clasping his chest in faux disappointment.

"I thought you liked me naked!"

"Oh, I do," you muse. "I'd just like to not scar everybody else in this house for life."

"It'd hardly be an unpleasant sight-"

"Yes, but I'm sure everyone would prefer it if I didn't try to kill them for looking." Your smile oozes saccharine, and then you're nudging him towards where his underwear lays discarded on the carpet. He pulls the material up and over his thick thighs and then he's back by your side in an instant; you preen under his adoring touch, pushing into the hands that slip underneath your shirt to grope at your bare skin.

"C'mon," you repeat, begrudgingly denying yourself the pleasure of sinking into his arms for another round of slow sex. "We need to do this first." You press your lips to the corner of his mouth. "Mate."

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yourejinx · 4 months

Text

Make You Feel Something

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: sexual tension, some anxious themes, probably typos, some swearing, and two best friends—they might kiss

summary: You paint a certain Shadowsinger like one of those French girls

[ inspired by that quote “Art isn’t supposed to be perfect, it’s supposed to make you feel something.]

—

“Just stay still.”

“I don’t know—I feel like I’m not doing this right.”

You sigh, a soft smile stretching across your features watching Azriel attempt to stop his fidgeting. “You’re doing perfect, just get comfortable and lay there—I’ll do the rest.”

The paper was thick, a little yellowed but the charcoal in your hand seems to enjoy such conditions. Your back settles into the plush cushions on the couch, a throw pillow tucked against your thighs and every now and then you glance over the sketchbook to peer over at the partially bared body before you. “What’s this for anyway?”

“Practice,” You mumble, clearly distracted when roughly outlining the shape of him, the throne of a seat he was splayed over, shirtless with his fighting leathers hanging dangerously low on his hips and large wings shuffled behind him. “Why are you so nervous? You’ve been shirtless around me a million times.”

His left arm shifts again before you can draw the outline of it. “No one’s ever painted me before.”

“Technically, I haven’t gotten to the painting part yet. This will eventually become my reference photo for that.” The words don’t soothe him how you’d hoped and after a while Az is moving enough to have you settling down the charcoal, eyes sliding to his own. “What’s going on in your head?”

“I don’t know where to put my hands.” The shadowsinger sheepishly admits, looking more boyish than you’d seen him in centuries. Dark hair falls over his forehead and judging by the neat lines along the perimeter of his head, Az had recently gotten a haircut.

He attempts to hide his hands, tucking them behind his head or shoving them under pillow until you make a move to shuffle off the couch and finally it all makes sense. The fidgeting wasn’t because your best friend laid half-naked before you but the creeping insecurity of his scars ruining the final product. “Lay like this,” Azriel’s like putty in your grasp, malleable and easy to guide when you shift one leg to casually drape over the arm rest. He’s at a bit of an angle but the way you position him gives off attractive arrogance, effortless masculinity mixed with a boyish charm. “They’re beautiful,” Your voice is filled with uncapped love, lips soft when you take both of his hands in your own and press a kiss on the back of each. “Art isn’t supposed to be perfect—it’s supposed to make you feel something.”

Hazel eyes take you in, memorizing the slight furrow of your brow as you make a few final adjustments; his hands on full display while you mumble under your breath, something about the lighting and your nose scrunches a little when his shadows tickle at your cheeks. “What do they make you feel?”

There’s a brief pause and you can’t make eye contact for a few seconds, fearful that if you did your resolve would break and you’d be too busy trying to take his clothes off to worry about the poor beginnings of your drawing. “I couldn’t tell you honestly without ruining our friendship,” His brow quirks, throat bobbing with a gulp. “—but if I didn’t like them I wouldn’t have asked you to model for me.” Relief spreads when a smile tugs at his mouth, head dipping down to hide the warmth that blooms at his cheeks when you waggle your brows at him. He’s much more relaxed when you return to your seat, a slow breath releasing from you as you twist your neck, fingers gripping around the charcoal once more and Azriel can’t seem to take his sights away from you.

Painted toes wiggle softly at the edge of the cushions, bare knees drawn up and your hair is gathered in a ponytail. You hum when you focus, some song Azriel’s never heard of before seeming to aid in alleviating the self-consciousness and pleasantly distracting his brain. Five minutes turn into ten, then fifteen before Azriel breaks the silence, being sure to keep his body exactly as you’d placed it. “What’s that song?”

“Not sure,” His body was an artists dream, all hard lines and alarmingly perfect symmetry; the golden light casting through the room, scattering moody shadows along the angles of Az’s face and your thighs clench slightly when you’re forced to pay such close attention to the plush curve of his mouth. “My mom used to sing it when I was really little—can’t remember all of it but it calms me down.”

“You’ve seen me shirtless a million times, what’s there to be nervous about?” Your eyes roll at his harmless teasing, huffing at the way he’d thrown your words back at you and it’s become increasingly harder than you make it look to get a fucking grip on your body’s reaction to him.

The response is instinctual, fingers rubbing the page to soften edges and your brain wanders to what it would be like for real. “You’re not exactly hard on the eyes and I’m not used to having a reason for examining your body for this long.” The warmth of his skin beneath your hands. The free will to travel the contours of his muscles and kiss each and every scar, ripple and divot formed by countless hours of training and dedication. He’s easy to draw when you spend so much time oggling, bottom lip caught between your teeth when mimicking the lines of his abdomen, the inky trail of hair that disappeared beneath dark grey fabric. “It’s truly annoying how perfect you are—could probably get some sort of sexual gratification from how satisfying it is to draw you.”

There’s no room for embarrassment when Az is so easy-going, the same laugh you’d always yearned for pulling from his throat and you have to swat away a few creeping shadows from sneaking a peek before the final result. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

“It’s true,” The fireplace crackles behind you, a warm glow filling the room and kissing at the exposed skin of the model before you. Sharp jaw, soft smile; the hard line of his brows smoothed out by the light in his eyes—like sweet honey and sunshine. “I’ve never once drawn someone like you.”

“I’d hope not.” Azriel’s head tilts just a little, brows furrowed in thought. “Who else do you ask to get half-naked for the sake of practice?”

He’s fully aware of how it sounds—the jealousy lacing his tongue and you have to pull your hands away from the paper a moment before the slight tremble threatened to ruin the flow of the strands of hair you’d been steadily shaping around his head. “Not many seeing as I usually prefer painting models that are nude. I figured for the sake of our friendship I’d spare you.”

“Spare me?” He scoffs in a way that reminds you of Rhys, a little cocky and entirely too confident. “I’m not sure your heart would’ve taken seeing me nude. Certainly, it was me doing you the favor keeping the rest of my clothes on.”

Azriel’s skin goes hot at your lack of response, gaze sliding thoroughly over the length of his body from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes and a slow smile appears. “You sound awfully confident,” You shift in place, adjusting your legs and stretching out to see him better. “Take it off then.”

His mouth parts, words caught in his throat for a few beats of time before letting out a breath. His hands hesitate before untying the leathers and shimmying them down his thighs. There’s no hiding the desire that clouds your vision when taking in the simple black material that held snug against his cock. His thumbs hook in the waistband, shoving them down and tossing them aside.

It’s not the most simple task to tweak at the preexisting sketch, snuffing out dark lines and fading them into the background enough to make it easier to map out the thick lines of his thighs and calves—the generous length hanging confidently between it all. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually do it.”

“Should I not have? Are you uncomfortable?”

Your head shakes in denial, brows furrowed in focus and Azriel can’t place how it feels to be looked at as a specimen rather than a person. Your gaze is admirably respectful, quick glances with your tongue peeking through when perfecting soft lines and adding shading here and there. “Believe it or not, I couldn’t be more relaxed.”

He believes it too, your heartbeat is steady and controlled, limbs perfectly lax and Azriel is more than grateful for the view when you’re all laid out; sleep clothes shifting with each move and desire burns in his belly when you flick your ponytail off your shoulder, exposing the curve of your neck. “Where do you plan on putting this?”

“Nowhere, it’s private.” For viewing pleasure only, for those late nights when picking up a random male from Rita’s didn’t quite scratch the itch. “Once the painting is finished I’ll give it to you and keep the sketch for my portfolio.” You move on to his wings, tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth when you slide from the cushions, bare toes sinking into the throw rug when you stand before him. “Can you put those up higher?” Azriel complies with ease, craning his wings higher but the furrow of your brow doesn’t subside. “Spread them a little.” Your head shakes when he moves and you reach up, fingers millimeters away before glancing down at him. “May I touch?”

He should’ve said no—maintaining some sort of boundary because drawing him naked was one thing but standing before him asking to touch; all the resolve in the world wouldn’t be able to save him. Azriel’s mouth opens, intent on saying no but by some sick sense of self-indulgence he nods in agreement, eyes fluttering shut when the scent of your shampoo enters his space. Warm skin grazes his own and while the shadowsinger is a tense mess beneath you, you’re the picture of serinity, completely in your element when carefully adjusting the membranous wings how you pleased. He tries to hold it back but your hands are so soft and the rough groan that fills the silence has goosebumps raising.

“You can feel all of that?”

Azriel traces a finger up the outer side of your thigh, pausing at the hem of your shorts. “Can you feel that?”

“Right, stupid question.” Maybe you linger longer than necessary, tracing over a texture you’d never felt before; not leathery, softer than that but just as sturdy. Warm to the touch and they shudder when you smooth over the thin seam at top that fused everything together. “They’re beautiful.”

“I’m flattered, really,” His voice is strained, hands clenched in tight fists and when you glance down past inky strands, his cock is standing at attention against his stomach. “—but I think you’re overestimating my self-control.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Not unless you asked me to.”

The swallow you force down is audible, hands shaky when you tuck them back at your sides but you don’t make a move to step away this time. Instead, you stand before him, fingers coated in charcoal and there’s a little smeared at your collarbone. His hand is up and touching before common sense can deter him; pure fire burns beneath each fleeting touch, knuckles grazing at the curve of your jaw and there’s no hiding the rising beat of your heart when he wipes your skin clean. “Thanks.”

“You shouldn’t be thanking me,” His head falls back, words low and barely contained. The hands he pulls away keep drawing back like a magnet, touching greedily at the sides of your thighs and stopping at your waist. “I’m supposed to be helping you and my thoughts are not very helpful.”

Years of denying himself the simple pleasure of touch and the powerhouse of a male on the battlefield is reduced to a simpering baby, grappling for more touch, more of your silky clothes shifting against his skin and the sweet smell of vanilla and cocoa, sugar cookies and warm milk filling his nose when he pulled you in closer. Better judgement makes you wonder if you should pull away, find a way to comfort him and keep it friendly but the more distance that closes between you the more of that hard length you begin to feel against you. “Az—“ He doesn’t let the warning fully come to life, hands twisting behind the back of your knees until you’re sat above him, resting on bare thighs and your hands brace at his shoulders.

“I know,” Azriel repeats it over and over under his breath, face buried in the dip of your throat, mouth grazing at the sensitive skin there and the little whimper he draws from you has that hard cock between you twitching against your stomach. “I thought I could handle it but you just feel so fucking good.”

It was wrong.

So fucking wrong.

Shit like this never ended well; mixing fucking and friendship but while you kept thinking no your body stubbornly arched into his touch. You bared more of your throat to him when he buries his nose there, taking in your smell while he memorized the feel of you. The slope of your shoulders, the flare of your ribs and the soft curve of your stomach. You grind onto him, searching for more friction when Azriel follows the length of your legs down then up to cup the fat of your ass. “Take it off.”

You feel weak; too captivated to acknowledge your backbone when you tug the shirt from your head and throw it somewhere behind you. His mouth is insatiable when pressing kisses to every inch of exposed flesh, holding you closer with each breathy moan and whispered plea for more, more, more. Nothing could’ve prepared you for his mouth finally slotting over your own.

Azriel’s careful now, slow and attentive, maintaining a pace as you got to know one another in ways you’d only thought about when you’d snuffed out the fire for the night and shuffled under the covers, fingers hiked up your nightgown for a few minutes of uninterrupted pleasure. He groans into your mouth when tongues touch, fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close.

You hand slides between the two of you, wrapping around the stiff length of him and the moan he lets out has him sinking back into the chair. Preening under the attention you continue, gaze locked on the half-lidded hazel eyes before you, his arms flexing at his sides, hands holding onto your thighs for stability because your hands were so soft, holding him so firmly and the steady drags up and down was enough to have his thoughts muddled and hips bucking up into your touch. Swears spill from his mouth like prayers, pleading and begging for you to keep going and watching him crumble beneath you was a greater high than any smokes or powders. “Feels so fucking good.”

“You look good under me,” Draped across a throne like some entitled High Lord finally receiving his birthweight as promised. “You close already?” Azriel’s cock throbs in your hands, pre-cum oozing from his slit and the thumb that curls to swipe over it is torturous. “Poor Illyrian baby—I’ve barely even touched you yet.” A cruel laugh accompanies the choppy breaths and hazel eyes kept falling victim to the backs of his lids. “The High Lords spymaster. The feared Shadowsinger. A great warrior with seven Syphons to hold onto all that power and here you are,” Your pace speeds up, pure feminine satisfaction building when watching such manly power submit beneath a woman. “—falling apart just for me.”

You feel his release coating your palm and you use it for better slip when you keep going, riding out his pleasure until he’s pulling your hands away, chest heaving.

He watches you slip from his lap while he catches his breath, catching a towel tossed his way for the mess. “Clean up for me, I need to finish this before the lanterns burn out.”

Azriel doesn’t listen though, rising from the throne and clearing the distance between you in no more than three steps and his mouth is right back on your own.

Fuck it, some of the best art was left unfinished anyway.

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