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lili-of-the-wildfire · 1 month ago

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You Make It Better

a/n: this was a request! I loved writing this, and I actually had to make myself stop before it got too out of hand (obviously, do you see the word count?) maybe I'll do a pt. 2??

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: language, some descriptions of anxiety and self-doubt

word count: 7.9k

synopsis: Life as Nesta Archeron's friend had never been smooth-sailing, but you never would have thought it would land you in the fae lands, in a fae body, surrounded by unfamiliar...everything. You're struggling to adapt to your new life while dealing with the loss of your human one, but there is one fae male that makes it all just a little bit easier.

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

“Hi.”

Azriel’s head snapped toward you. He was slouched in a low-back chair facing the library’s windows, his large wings draped low behind him, but his eyes were wide and alert as he took you in.

You shifted in the doorway, folding your hands behind your back. You avoided his eyes as you asked quietly, “How are you?”

Azriel stared at you for a moment. Self-consciousness started to creep in as you stood there, all too aware of the plain gown adorning you that you had refused to abandon since arriving in the fae lands. They had offered you plenty of ornate clothes and jewelry since you were dragged out of that cauldron, but all you wanted was something simple, comfortable, and mundane.

There was nothing mundane about you anymore. Not in the way your ears were shaped, or the way your body moved, or how your skin seemed to shimmer in the sunlight.

“I’m better,” Azriel’s cool, deep voice drew you from your critical thoughts. You swallowed, analyzing the beautiful man–beautiful male, you supposed–across the room from you. You didn’t dare step any closer.

“That’s good,” you whispered. This was the first time you had ever spoken to him. The last time you had even seen him was when he was lying in a pool of his own blood in front of the King of Hybern, his wings in tatters. You didn’t know what you were even doing here, talking to him now. You had just needed to get out of your bedroom, and had wandered the expansive halls aimlessly until you landed here. “I’ll leave you be,” you said softly, taking a single step back before his voice halted you.

“No, Y/N, wait a minute,” he rushed out. “How are you?”

Your lips parted slightly as you processed his question. You had been here for two weeks, and it was the first time someone had asked you that. Sure, there was plenty of fussing and daily check-ins with a member of the High Lord’s court, but you still felt so lonely, so isolated from everyone. They were all so worried about the physical well-being of Feyre’s friend, but there was no one who seemed to be worried about you. You didn’t blame them, and you weren’t angry with them either. They didn’t know you, and you didn’t know them, and they had done whatever they could to care for you.

You were angry with Nesta, though. You had not seen her either since that dreadful night that you were all shoved into that cauldron. She had sequestered herself away with Elain, and had not deigned to even see you. Her friend. She was the reason you were even in this gods-forsaken body in the damn Night Court of Prythian, and while you didn’t blame her for your kidnapping, you did blame her for abandoning you once you arrived here.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes snapped up to meet Azriel’s, who was waiting patiently for a response you didn’t know how to give. You shrugged slightly, mustering a small, placating smile. “I’m okay.”

He seemed to study you, eyes flicking up and down. You watched the shadows pulse around him in contemplation, recalling the name you had heard his friends murmur while speaking with his healers that first night.

“They call you a Shadowsinger,” you murmured quietly.

Azriel’s eyes followed yours toward his shadows. His gaze returned to yours apprehensively, nodding slightly. “Yes.”

“So,” you started, taking one step closer, “you control them?”

He seemed to hesitate, but eventually said, “Yes.”

His short answers weren’t exactly invitations to continue asking questions, to continue pestering him, but he didn’t seem to mind your presence. You thought about the sensation of being watched at night while laying in bed, the darkness that seemed to move in the corner of your room, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask such an outrageous question, so instead you asked, “Do you really fly?”

A small, teasing smile lifted his lips. “That is how you made it into this House, no?”

Your cheeks heated in embarrassment. That was a ridiculous question. If Rhys could fly you up this mountain, obviously Azriel could too. He must have sensed your embarrassment, though, because he said more seriously, “Yes, I do fly.”

You swallowed, struggling to think of something else to say. “Do you like it?”

His face seemed to soften, the morning sun gleaming off his golden skin. “More than anything.”

Your eyes glanced at the shadows retreating into the darker corners of his chair. “Do they…tell you things?”

He looked at his shadows, before nodding. “A convenient skill for a spymaster,” he said softly.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Spymaster?”

“Yes,” he said slowly, his brows furrowing. “How much have you been told about our court?”

You looked away from him, focusing on the soft satin slippers Morrigan had given you yesterday. The first gift you had accepted from the cheerful blonde. “Not much,” you admitted. “I’ve really only spoken to Rhys and Morrigan. Morrigan checks on me every day, but they have their hands full right now.”

His nostrils flared a bit as he took in a breath. “That’s not an excuse,” he told you quietly.

The heat on your cheeks spread down your neck as you also admitted, “I also haven’t exactly been an enthusiastic guest.”

Understanding flooded his features, his eyes rife with sympathy that you immediately wanted to run from. You didn’t want his pity. You didn’t want anyone’s pity. You just wanted to be spoken to like a human—or fae—whatever the hell you should even call yourself now. Regardless, you didn’t like being handled with kid gloves. Hiding away in your room probably wasn’t the best strategy to convince people that you were not fragile, but it was better than seeing that look every time you spoke with someone.

“Why are you spying on me then?” you blurted in a desperate attempt to redirect the conversation. Which, you supposed you did, but you also felt the little dignity you still clung to shrivel up inside your chest.

Azriel was clearly taken aback by the boldfaced accusation, and you couldn’t blame him. Who did you think you were? Not only had you barged in on the Night Court’s spymaster and pestered him with your questions, but then you decided to accuse him of invading your privacy, and you didn’t even know the poor male. “I’m sorry,” you sputtered out. “It’s just, I feel like I’m being watched at night. Like the shadows in my room are alive, and now seeing yours, I just thought—maybe I wasn’t actually losing my mind. But I’m probably just paranoid, I never should have suggested—”

“It’s okay,” he cut off your rambling gently. He cast a glare at his retreating shadows, before looking at you again. His cheeks were tinted pink, and you took an involuntary step forward as your heart flipped. “I do control the shadows—most of the time. But it seems they decided to take it upon themselves to watch over our guests while I’ve been…indisposed. I wasn’t even aware until now, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head a bit. “They don’t bother me, I was just…confused I guess. This entire place is confusing to me,” you added softly.

“I can imagine,” he said. You shifted again, rubbing your forearm. You let yourself look at him closely, just for a minute, just long enough to notice the honey hazel eyes that watched you carefully, and the dark swirls of ink creeping out from the neckline of his black shirt. You swallowed hard, feeling unsteady in his presence in a way you’ve never experienced, as if your body was begging you to move closer to him, but your mind and logic were pulling you back.

You forced yourself to step back toward the doorway. “I should go,” you said quietly. “I’m glad you are doing better.” With that, you shut the glass double doors behind you, and darted down the hallway to the safety of your room as your heart threatened to beat right out of your chest.

~ ~ ~

“Hello.”

You jumped at the male voice behind you, placing a hand on your chest as you turned to face Azriel. He was smiling softly, and your face flushed from having been caught. You glanced at Cassian and Feyre training in the courtyard before looking back at him.

“Hi,” you replied sheepishly.

“You don’t have to hide here, you know,” he said genuinely, no teasing in his voice.

You bit your lip, glancing at the stone floor. It had been a week since Feyre had returned, and while it was great to have her back, nothing else had changed much. You had been here for over a month now, and you still wore the same plain gowns, and you were still in the same overly luxurious room, and Nesta had only spoken to you once. You supposed your conversation was better than you could have hoped, given the reported vitriol she seemed to spit at everyone else, but she was still so cold and detached. You missed your friend, and you missed having purpose in your daily life.

“You could train too,” Azriel said softly, and your eyes snapped to him. “If you want.”

You opened and closed your mouth. You had caught glimpses of Feyre training with Cassian the last few days, and today your curiosity got the better of you when you walked by the training room and heard them sparring. Logically, you knew you could have just walked in and watched them, rather than hiding in the plants framing the entryway, but you also feared they might have asked you to join them if they saw you. “I don’t want to fight,” you mumbled, avoiding Azriel’s stare.

He didn’t say anything for a minute, prompting you to glance up at him. There was no judgment in his gaze. There was nothing but pure understanding that made you feel overly exposed. The urge to scamper off and hide was biting at you, and you curled your hands into fists as you anxiously waited for him to say something.

“What do you like to do?”

The question startled you, and you frowned as you met his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“How do you like to spend your time? What did your life look like before…” he trailed off, and you winced at the words left unsaid.

Azriel looked poised to apologize, but you answered hastily to avoid receiving any more pity. You weren’t some fragile doll, and you were tired of everyone walking on tip toes around you. “I like to sew.”

“Sew?”

You nodded. “Dresses.”

You didn’t miss his glance at your plain blue gown, and your cheeks flooded with heat. “Ironic, given my usual choice of attire. I know.”

Azriel’s eyes widened a bit. “That’s not—”

“It’s okay,” you assured, cheeks still warm. “I get it. Really. But the dresses I made were never…luxurious. They were practical. Necessary.” You bit your lip. “They were very mundane.”

Azriel’s face softened, and you braced yourself for the next question, for him to ask to see your dresses or when the last time you made something was (months, was the answer). “If you ever want to make something here,” he said quietly, “Just let one of us know. We’ll get you whatever you need.”

Your heart clenched. “Thank you,” you whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“As for training,” Azriel said, voice turning light, “you still could, even if you don’t want to fight. You can build your strength. Learn to defend yourself.”

Your eyes were drawn back toward Feyre, who was smiling with Cassian as she wiped sweat from her face. You nodded a bit, answering shyly, “I think I would like that, actually.”

~ ~ ~

When you told Azriel you wanted to train, you didn’t realize exactly what you had signed yourself up for. You had assumed he would ask Cassian to train you, just as he did with Feyre. Instead, when you showed up that first morning to train, you were startled to find the shadowsinger himself standing in the training room. Apparently, he was going to train you.

Two weeks had passed since then, and Azriel was brutal. He wasn’t harsh, or cruel, and he never yelled, but his demands were unrelenting. You had yet to even learn any sparring techniques. He said you needed to build your strength, to increase your bodily control, if you were to ever effectively protect yourself in the face of danger.

You supposed that made sense. He would be the one to know, after all, but it didn’t dull the ache ricocheting through your legs as you wobbly sat on the floor to catch your breath. You were dripping with sweat, your hair soaked and leathers damp. Most days you still couldn’t fathom that you were here, that you were training with a fae warrior while wearing pants.

A fae warrior that made your insides turn molten every time you met his eyes. You were fortunate he didn’t think anything of the flush in your cheeks every time he spoke to you during training. In any other scenario your schoolgirl crush would be embarrassingly obvious.

The toe of his boot nudged your outstretched calf. You glanced up at him through your haze of exhaustion, lifting a brow. “Get up,” was all he said.

You frowned, taking in a deep breath. “Azriel,” you groaned.

“I’m going to teach you something new.”

You perked up a bit at that, although the growing numbness of your legs protested. You pushed yourself to your feet anyway, willing your body to hold out a bit longer. Azriel might have been demanding with his training regime, but he had yet to push you past your limits.

He beckoned you to follow him to the center of the room, and you stopped a few feet in front of him. “You’re not ready to spar yet,” he said, and you glanced away, “but there are other defense mechanisms you need to learn first anyway. Sometimes, if someone has a hold of you, the best defense isn’t to fight at all, but to know how to get away.”

He took a step closer, his intense gaze somehow pulling yours back to his. “If you are ever in a situation where someone has control of you, if they are trying to take you somewhere or hurt you, your priority is to regain control, and then get the hell out. That’s it. Your safety is always your priority.”

You nodded in understanding, and the tension in his eyes seemed to relax a bit. His throat bobbed, and let out a breath before saying, “Today, you’re going to learn how to escape from someone else’s grasp.”

Excitement prickled at your skin, despite the terrifying circumstances that would have to arise for you to ever actually need to use these skills. It was just nice to finally learn something more technical than building your strength or endurance.

Azriel stepped even closer, and your heart skipped a beat at his proximity. He paused his movements, his eyes meeting yours again. “Are you comfortable with me touching you?”

Your eyes widened a bit, and you had to restrain the overeager yes! that nearly fell from your lips. You simply nodded, and when he still didn’t move, you quietly said, “That’s fine.”

Your skin was on fire before he even touched you, and it was a bit embarrassing, really, how starved you had become for someone else’s touch. Even if it was in the form of something as clinical as teaching self-defense. You were so isolated here, though, and it had been nearly two months since your life had been upended and you lost everything you knew and loved.

He moved behind you, and he slowly wrapped his arms around you, trapping your own against your sides. His chest was pressed to your back, his body heat mixing with your own, and his breath fanned across your cheek as he said, “If someone ever grabs you from behind like this, your goal is to get away.” He shifted his arms up to enclose around your throat, making your swallow hard. “If they have you in a chokehold, hit them in the groin, and when their hold loosens, you slip out.”

His arms moved back down to circle your middle, trapping your arms again. “I don’t get to try?” you asked innocently.

Azriel glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Not today,” he said drily.

You smiled a bit, then refocused on your task at hand. “So if my arms are trapped,” you said, “then what do I do?”

His hold on you tightened a bit, and you did your best to ignore the pounding in your chest. “If your arms are trapped like this,” he said, voice low, “then you move down. Squat and spread your arms at the same time to break their hold, and then push them away.” He squeezed you. “Try.”

You took in a breath, nerves fluttering in your chest. You tried to squat, but Azriel only followed your movement, and you couldn’t get your arms free. You stood back up, letting out a huff.

There was laughter in his voice as he said, “Try again. This time do it faster.”

You tried again, but Azriel’s hold was unrelenting. “I feel ridiculous,” you muttered, still trapped against him.

“You forgot to spread your arms, it needs to be a fluid motion if you want to loosen their hold enough. Again.”

“What,” Nesta’s icy cold voice sliced through the room, “are you doing?”

You tensed, and Azriel’s arms slowly fell away. You blinked at your friend standing in the doorway, her hair pulled back in her usual impeccable braids and her eyes filled with her usual ice. Although, usually that icy gaze wasn’t directed toward you.

Your face flushed under her scrutiny, and you scrambled for an explanation, but words seemed to fail you. You hadn’t done anything wrong, but the butterflies that had been fluttering around in your chest seemed to drop dead, settling heavy in your stomach as you stood in front of your friend. Your friend who was also forced into the cauldron, who was also struggling while you were busy nursing your growing infatuation with the fae male at your side.

“Azriel is training me,” you said softly.

“Why?” she demanded, her eyes sparking as she turned her gaze on the male.

“She asked,” he answered simply.

Nesta took a step closer, her voice dripping with venom as she said, “I doubt that.” She scoffed. “You faerie males are all so entitled and overbearing. As if I believe for a second that you didn’t plant this foolish notion in her head,” she spat. “She doesn’t need to train, and she doesn’t need you panting after her.”

You could practically feel the tension thrumming off of Azriel, but something inside you snapped at the way she spoke to him, to the one person that had bothered to make a connection with you since arriving in this court. “Enough,” you growled. Nesta blinked, her mouth falling shut. “Azriel offered to train me, and I said yes, because I want to. I want to feel strong. I want to know how to defend myself. I will never,” you seethed, “let myself feel as helpless as I did two months ago.”

You heard Azriel’s leathers shift next to you, his arm brushing against yours. That brief touch was enough to ground you, an inexplicable calm flowing through you. You let out a breath, your gaze softening but unwavering as you looked at Nesta. “It is helping me,” you said, voice softer, “To have a routine. To have a goal. You are welcome to join us.”

Nesta only stared for a minute, her eyes flickering with indecipherable emotion before she pursed her lips. “No.” With that, she turned on her heel, and left the same way she came.

Your mouth was dry as you stared at the empty doorway. Azriel’s hand on your shoulder jolted you from your stupor, but it fell as you turned to face him. “I’m sorry,” you murmured.

“She is hurting,” Azriel said, and a small part of you warmed at his ability to see beneath the icy armor Nesta liked to sheath herself in. You were all hurting, and while you desperately wished she would just talk to you, you knew Nesta, and you knew she would rather build a fortress around herself that let anyone see her tremble. “But you shouldn’t apologize for others’ wrongs,” he added gently.

You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding. Your stomach swooped as you looked at him, thinly veiled concern shadowing his face. You couldn’t shake the pull you felt toward him, and now it left you feeling unnerved more than giddy. “Can we be done for today?” you asked, voice small.

Azriel frowned, but nodded nonetheless. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” You tried to smile, but you knew it didn’t meet your eyes. “I’m just exhausted.”

“Okay,” he acquiesced. “Same time tomorrow then?”

“Yeah,” you rasped. “See you tomorrow.” As soon as the words left your lips, you darted out of the training room, mind reeling as you thought about Nesta’s scornful words.

You did want to train, you knew that, but what you couldn’t wrap your head around was how easily you had agreed to Azriel’s offer to teach you. Why did spending time with him every morning seem to soothe the ache that clawed at your chest from all that you had lost? Why did he make you feel at peace, when the very body you now resided in was the product of turmoil and violence? The realizations were jarring, and the questions they raised made your head swim as you fell into your bed, forgoing the removal of your leathers as you succumbed to your exhaustion.

~ ~ ~

Your eyes scanned the bodies moving from one tent to the next, fires crackling around you as camp members cooked or gathered around for warmth in the chill of the night. Nesta stood next to you, observing the camp’s nervous energy silently.

“Do you think we’ll have another night here?” you asked quietly.

A beat passed before she replied, “No, I don’t.”

You swallowed hard, your heart lodged in your throat. Your eyes scanned the grounds again, and in your soul you knew what you were really looking for—who you were looking for. There was no sign of the blue siphoned Illryian, and every minute, every hour that passed without laying your eyes on him intensified the growing pain in your chest.

“He’ll be fine,” Nesta said, albeit a tad begrudgingly. You weren’t sure how she knew where your anxiety truly lied, but you didn’t question her. You didn’t say anything.

Ever since Nesta barged in on your training session with Azriel, the rest of your sessions had been more tense, less fluid. You were sure it was your fault, your mind overthinking your growing friendship with the fae male, but nonetheless you longed for your early morning sessions in the face of this war. It was hard to comprehend just how much had changed in the matter of weeks.

Once Adriata was attacked, time for your training sessions became minimal, until they eventually fizzled out completely after the High Lords meeting. You understood, of course, but you couldn’t quell the longing you felt for Azriel in his absence. It was foolish, how attached you had grown to him after a month of knowing him, but you tried to give yourself grace given the circumstances you had been thrusted into.

The only positive change over those weeks had been Nesta’s rekindling of your friendship. She seeked you out one night to drag you to the private library of the House of Wind, and the two of you chatted quietly over books beside the fire. It was the most normal experience you’d had since arriving in the Night Court, and it bandaged the wound that was starting to fester from Nesta’s absence. You still hadn’t talked about what happened to the two of you, about your futures in Prythian, in a world of faeries. Neither of you were ready for those conversations yet.

You sighed, releasing a fraction of the tension in your shoulders. You said nothing before moving back toward the main tent, hoping you might be able to get some sleep before returning to the healers’ tent to help.

“Where is Y/N?”

His voice washed over you as you pushed through the flaps, entering the small area illuminated in faelights. You stopped at the sight of his wings splattered in blood, his dark hair matted to his head as he spoke with Feyre.

“Azriel?” you rasped. Azriel turned toward you, his body visibly relaxing when he saw you.

Your eyes were wide as he strode for you, his face speckled in blood and grime. His blue siphons seemed dimmer than usual, and his black leathers and armor were darker in some areas. “Are you okay?” you asked breathlessly, fearing the worst, even though he was standing right in front of you.

“I’m okay,” he said quietly, eyes soft. His gaze drifted up and down your body, his shadows mirroring his assessment. The cool brush of the tendrils left goosebumps across your skin, and you briefly wondered why that was the first time he had let them touch you. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, eyes brimming with worry.

“I’m fine,” you assured. His hands grasped your upper arms firmly, the tension of his grasp mirroring that on his face. You wrapped your fingers around one of his wrists. “I promise.”

His grip loosened marginally. “Why aren’t you wearing armor?” he asked.

“I’m working in the healers’ tent.”

He shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. You still need to protect yourself—”

“I will get her armor, Az,” Feyre’s voice cut through your bubble as she placed a hand on his shoulder. His eyes shone with thanks as she smiled slightly, her eyes limned with exhaustion. “I’m going to try to sleep. Let me know if you need me,” she said quietly, before disappearing from the tent, leaving the two of you alone.

Azriel’s breathing was heavy as you stared at each other, soaking in each other’s presence. “I need you to do something for me,” he said roughly. He dropped his hands from your shoulders to unsheath the dagger at his side. Your heart lurched as he handed it to you. You shakily grasped the dagger by the hilt, the blade surprisingly light and thrumming with energy. “It’s called Truth Teller,” he told you. “I need you to take care of it for me.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, shock stealing your words. “Azriel—”

“I want you to use it. If you need it, use it. Do not hesitate to protect yourself,” he ordered, eyes pleading. “Do you understand me?”

You absently nodded, glancing down at the black dagger clutched in your hand. The dagger you had never seen Azriel without. He stepped away to grab something off the table, returning with a leather belt in his hands. “Wear this.” He held it up, and you noticed the perfectly sized dagger sheath fastened to the belt.

Your heart stopped beating as his hands circled your waist to wrap the brown leather around you. He easily fastened the buckle, pulling the material taught around you. When he was done, he tugged at the buckle, his fingers grazing your waist and making your skin heat. Seemingly satisfied, he reached for the dagger in your hand, carefully pulling it from your grasp and sheathing it in your belt. You swallowed hard as you looked between the dagger and the male in front of you.

“I have to leave again,” he said quietly. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Please, just,” his voice caught in his throat, “please stay safe.”

He squeezed your hand gently before moving toward the tent’s exit. You quickly caught his wrist, yanking him to a halt. His eyes were confused and weary with exhaustion, but you didn’t second guess yourself as you threw your arms around his neck, desperate to keep him here with you. He leaned down to meet your embrace, his own arms snaking around your waist to hold you close. His face nuzzled into your neck as yours pressed against his chest, and you breathed in his cedar scent that made you feel closer to home than you had in weeks.

“I need you to stay safe too,” you whispered into his chest. A shadow brushed your cheek as you closed your eyes, willing this moment to last a little longer.

A heavy silence fell around the two of you, and your chest grew tighter as every second passed. “Promise me, Azriel,” you begged, voice rough with the emotions threatening to spill out of you.

He lifted a hand to the back of your head, his hand gently threading through your hair. “I’ll do my best.”

You pulled back to look at him, his hands falling to rest on your hips as yours moved to rest on his chest plated with armor. His fingers pressed into your hips as he said with more conviction, “I promise I’ll do my best to make it back.”

Your eyes stung as you accepted that was the best he could give you. You couldn’t even begin to process why you were so attached to a male you had known barely a month, but the thought of losing him to this dreadful war felt like someone struck your chest with an ax.

His face was rife with conflict and agony as his glossy eyes stayed glued to your face. You wished you knew what plagued him at that very moment, if there was anything you could have done to alleviate some of that pain and anxiety for even a second.

His throat bobbed, a muscle twitching in his cheek as the two of you stood there, still holding on to each other. Eventually, he slowly leaned down, and pressed a fierce, lingering kiss to your forehead. Your eyelids fluttered shut, and when his touch fell away, and you forced yourself to open your eyes again, you watched his lingering shadows slip out of the tent where their master had disappeared from your sight.

~ ~ ~

The first few weeks following the war were a strange form of purgatory that left you feeling unsteady and filled with an entirely new form of anxiety. You hated feeling that way, too. You and your friends had all survived a war, and you were left worrying about your immortal future in this land that was frankly still foreign to you. You resided in a court that had taken you in after your human life was a casualty of their war, but now that war was over, and you didn’t know how to operate. You didn’t know what your daily life should look like, what relationships with those around you would look like when you weren’t facing an imminent threat.

It didn’t help that you had not genuinely spoken to Azriel since he gave you his dagger in that war tent. You had silently handed it back to him in the hours after you and Elain had slain the King of Hybern with the weapon. His eyes were wide and limned with weary exhaustion mixed with a hesitant relief as he took it from you. Neither of you said a word though, and then he was quickly swept away into dealing with the aftermath of the war. You could not fault him for it. You couldn’t fault anyone for the limbo you had been stranded in, and part of you was ashamed for your growing anxiety, so you had resorted to staying out of the way while everyone scrambled to handle the fallout from the war.

Any progress you and Nesta had made seemed to vanish with the death of her father. She wasn’t speaking to anyone, as far as you knew, after vacating the House of Wind. Elain had moved in with Feyre at the Townhouse, so that left you here, alone in the House of Wind with occasional run-ins with Cassian at meal times, whose eyes were weary with his own anxieties. Part of you thought your missing friend might be the cause of much of his tension.

You didn’t know where Azriel was. Some nights you thought he might have been there, as you laid awake in bed and a sixth sense sent a wave of comforting warmth through your chest while the shadows of the night seemed to pulse around you. It always quickly faded, though, and he was never there the next morning.

Sleep started to evade you as your listlessness and uncertainty of your future grew. Your mind was churning with scenarios and possibilities for your future, for ways you could contribute to this foreign court and city you now had to call home. Usually, you would just lay with your thoughts throughout the hours of the night until dawn eventually broke, but that night, the walls seemed to be closing in as you wallowed in your loneliness and fear, as memories of the war started to flash in your head. You couldn’t stay in that room a second longer, so you meandered down the dimly lit stone halls until you reached the kitchen.

You put a kettle on, and then you started rifling through the cupboards until you found a mug and some tea. You didn’t recognize the herbs, but you figured Rhys’s taste in tea was as extravagant as everything else in his life. You placed the sachet in the mug before putting the rest in the cupboard, then rested your weight on the counter in front of you as you waited for the water in the kettle to heat.

“That’s an aphrodisiac.”

You screamed at the sudden voice behind you, whirling to find Azriel sitting at the small table a few feet away from you, his form barely illuminated by the moonlight leaking in. You rested a hand over your heart, your breathing heavy from the scare he gave you. “What are you doing?” you asked him, exasperated.

He stood up from his chair to move closer, his face slowly growing more visible in the dim faelight of the kitchen. “I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I realized you didn’t see me when you came in, and I didn’t want to scare you, but then I watched you pull out that damned tea Cassian bought last solstice and…” his voice trailed off.

You nodded, looking around the space awkwardly. You didn’t really know what to say to the male in front of you, but you did have one, nagging question that had plagued your thoughts these last few weeks. “Where have you been?” Your mouth was dry as you forced the words out, fearing you were overstepping, that you had no place to ask such a question.

Something indecipherable flickered in Azriel’s gaze, but you didn’t think it was irritation. “Everywhere,” he said quietly, as if he didn’t want to disturb the fragile silence the night surrounded you in. “But Autumn, mostly.”

You weren’t entirely sure what you were expecting him to say, but part of you didn’t expect him to have a genuine response. Shame curdled in your gut for the resentment that had started to simmer in you for his absence, when he’s been busy taking care of his home.

“Where have you been?” he returned your question almost playfully, and your heart hurt when you wondered if he didn’t feel the same longing you did during these weeks you’ve spent apart.

“Here,” you answered honestly, voice forcibly light.

Azriel blinked, his shadows stilling. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, leaning back on the counter as if you could create some more distance between the two of you. “Everyone has been busy dealing with the consequences of the war.” You gave him a small, self-deprecating smile. “I’m pretty much useless right now, so I’ve just been trying to stay out of the way.”

Azriel looked like you had struck him, and your stomach dropped as you realized you might have been too honest with him. You should be practically oozing gratitude for his court’s hospitality, and here you were whining to him, of all people.

He grabbed your hand, gently tugging you to follow after him toward the balcony. His scarred fingers laced with yours, and your heartbeat skyrocketed at the unexpected touch. The cool night air felt a bit harsh on your flushed cheeks, and Azriel’s warm hand in yours contrasted with the chill around you.

He stopped in the center of the balcony, pulling you close to him, and you reluctantly let go when he loosened his grip on your hand. “What are we doing?” you asked.

He grinned, and your stomach flipped. “Remember when you asked me if I could fly?”

Your cheeks heated. “Yes,” you mumbled. The thoughtless question was embarrassing, but you told yourself it was worth it to learn how much flying meant to him.

“Let me show you why I love it,” he told you, voice tender.

Your eyes widened. “You want to take me flying?”

He nodded, expression hopeful. “Do you want to?”

You bit your lip, glancing at the city of Velaris beneath you. “I’m a bit nervous,” you admitted, laughing a bit.

His gaze softened. “I promise you’ll be safe,” he assured you.

With a sudden, unwavering certainty, you knew that you would be safe with Azriel, so you simply nodded. His smile widened, and your heart soared for being the cause of it. He held his arms out a bit, palms up, and your body thrummed with anticipation when you realized what exactly flying with Azriel entailed.

You took a small step forward, shyness creeping in as you met his eyes hesitantly, but before you could overthink or question what you should do, Azriel swooped you off your feet, an arm under your legs and back. A small gasp escaped you, and your arms instinctively looped around his neck. You had only flown one other time, that first day you arrived in Velaris with Rhysand. During the war, you had been winnowed around to wherever you needed to go, and since then you had been stuck on this mountain.

You knew you could have asked Cassian to take you to the city. You knew he would have done it in a heartbeat, but you couldn’t muster the courage to leave the House, to face the new city you were supposed to build a life in. Somehow, the prospect of leaving here with Azriel made it all a little less daunting.

“Ready?” he asked, his breath lightly fanning across your face.

You simply nodded and tightened your hold on the male. Wind rushed around you as his massive wings pushed you up into the air, and you were quickly suspended high over the mountain. You kept your face tucked into him as you listened to the heavy beat of his wings.

“Are you okay?” he asked into your ear.

Goosebumps littered your skin. “Great,” you rasped.

You felt the vibration of his laugh against your face. “Then take a look around you.” Then, he added, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Reluctantly, you pulled your face from his chest, forcing yourself to look down at the city below you. The lights of the shops and restaurants glittered across the city, and bodies moved between buildings, with laughter and chatter faintly reaching your ears even all the way up here. Another heightened sense that came with being fae that you had yet to grow accustomed too. “Is it always so busy? Even in the middle of the night?”

“They do call it the City of Starlight,” was his coy response.

“Right,” you mumbled. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It is.”

The two of you stayed quiet for the rest of the flight over the city, with you resting your head on his chest and his hands clutching you close to him. You admired his wings that were near iridescent in the moonlight, and you wondered what they would feel like under your fingertips. You were nearing an outcropping on the side of the mountain when you asked, “Your wings…how do they feel?”

Azriel tilted his head toward you, studying your face a bit. “They’re delicate,” he said slowly, “but they’re also durable. Strong. They are uh,” he seemed to fumble over his words. “They’re also very sensitive.”

“Sensitive?”

“To touch.”

“Oh,” you murmured. “So it hurts to touch them?” You couldn’t deny the twinge of disappointment you felt.

“Not that kind of sensitive,” he corrected, voice thick.

You caught the hint of a blush on his cheeks, and your own quickly bloomed as you caught on. “Oh.”

Azriel cleared his throat, then abruptly dove toward the outcropping below. You squeezed him a little tighter, and when he eventually settled on the stone, you had to pry your hands from around his neck so he could set you down.

You looked up at the stars glistening through the tree canopies, mesmerized by their abundance and luminescence. Your gaze slowly moved to the shimmering city beneath you, taking in the view from a different angle that the House of Wind. You were much closer to the sea here, and you could smell the salt and surf that lingered in the air. A strange melancholy filled your veins as you stared down at the city you had resided in for months and had yet to walk to the streets of, that you had yet to integrate into because you were scared of failing to find a new purpose with your life. The only skill you possessed was dressmaking, and underwhelming ones at that.

“I’m not sure how much you’ve been able to explore Velaris yet—” Azriel said from behind you.

“I haven’t.”

A beat passed. “What?”

“I haven’t.” You licked your lips, your gaze fleetingly meeting his worried one. “I haven’t visited the city.”

“I knew you hadn’t when we were training,” he said, voice soft with disbelief, “But I thought, once we came back from the war…”

You didn’t answer him, and he didn’t say anything else, so instead you asked, “Why did you just disappear?” Azriel went still, but you continued, “Why didn’t you…talk to me?” You wondered if you sounded as pathetic as you felt. You knew he didn’t owe you anything, but you couldn’t deny the part of you that thought the two of you had at least become friends over the last couple of months.

Seconds passed before Azriel finally said, “I was trying to give you space.”

“Space?” you asked incredulously. You couldn’t help the laugh of disbelief that escaped you as you turned to fully face the male. “Why would I ever want you to give me space?” You met his eyes, shaking your head. “Azriel, you are the only one who—” You cut yourself off, unsure of where you were even going with your rambling.

His lips parted, and his shadows swirled around him restlessly, but he didn’t say anything.

“Ever since I arrived in this court, I have felt so alone,” you breathed out. “My best friend won’t speak to me, and I don’t know anyone else. But you,” you took a deep breath, trying to stabilize the tremble in your voice, “you made it better. You were my first friend. Maybe, maybe I misread—”

“You didn’t,” he rushed out, voice almost desperate. His eyes were wide and stricken, but you couldn’t understand what he was thinking or why he had avoided you for weeks to then suddenly take you for a midnight flight around the city.

You let out a breath, your exhaustion from everything weighing you down. “I feel so detached from everyone and everything around me,” you whispered. “I have no purpose here. I have no powers, I can’t fight, I know nothing about political strategy, I—”

“You’re my mate.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you processed the words that fell from Azriel’s mouth. Your lips were parted as you stared at him, his eyes glossy as he stared back. “What?” you asked, voice trembling.

“You’re my mate,” he repeated, breathless. “I—” He paused, licking his lips and rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t mean to imply that that’s your purpose, but it kills me,” his voice cracked, “It kills me that you feel this way, because you are my everything.”

A tear fell down your cheek as you listened to his words, as you understood their meaning. A mate. You were Azriel’s mate. The world felt like it was tilting beneath you.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t realize.” He took in a shuddering breath. “I let my own insecurities keep me away from you. I thought, when you didn’t talk to me after the war ended, that I had overstepped. I have never wanted to push myself or the bond on you, but during the war, when I was so scared of losing you—” He shook his head, running a hand over his face. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I stayed away. Had I known you had been so isolated, so lonely, I would have been here.”

“I, um,” you cleared your throat. “I don’t really know what to think right now.”

“That’s okay,” he said softly.

You held his gaze as you rasped, “I don’t really know anything about mates, except that Rhys and Feyre are each other’s.”

“I know,” he assured, taking a tentative step forward. “I don’t expect anything from you. I will take whatever it is you’re willing to give me, in whatever time it takes.”

You nodded, lips wavering. “Thank you.”

Your eyes fell from his glistening eyes to his soft lips, and while you knew you needed time before you could fall into being someone’s mate, whatever that entailed, you also knew you wanted to kiss the male that stood before you and had made you feel safe, at peace, every time he was near. You took a step closer, your chests nearly touching. You met his eyes shyly. “Can I…”

“Yes,” he breathed, his own head tilting down to give you easier access.

You raised yourself up on your toes to reach his lips, yours molding easily with his. A slow, comforting warmth flowed up through your chest as you pressed your lips against his, neither of you pushing for more than the chance to explore each other in this new and intimate way. Eventually, you pulled back, falling back onto your feet to stare up at Azriel’s reverent gaze.

“I don’t know much about mates,” you breathed, head still spinning, “but I would like to learn.”

A soft smile pulled at his lips. “I would be honored to teach you.”

You hummed, toying with one of the clasps on his leathers. “I suppose you are a decent teacher.”

Azriel’s hands rested on your hips, pulling you close. “Decent?”

You grinned. “Satisfactory.”

His eyes glinted. “I guess I have room for improvement then.” He pressed a quick, easy kiss to your lips, and your heart flipped when he pulled away, looking at you in awe.

“Yeah,” you agreed, heart tumbling in your chest. “I guess so.”

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 3 months ago

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it's the shadows

pairing: azriel x reader (heavily), cassian x reader, rhysand x reader

word count: 1.2k (i intended for this to be a drabble but i can't ever shut the hell up)

summary: reader is close friends with az, cass, and rhys, but is very obviously pining for azriel. the four of you are drunk and cassian just has to know which one of them would be the best in bed. sexual tension ensues. duh.

while this entire debate was absolutely ridiculous - one may argue even downright childish - you couldn't stop the grin that was spreading across your cheeks.

you couldn't remember the last time you'd laughed this hard. your stomach was aching, cheeks sore. dried tears were collecting at the corners of your eyes. there'd be a lull in the conversation, a period of time that allowed all of you to calm down and collect yourselves, before you'd inevitably meet one of their mischievous gazes and fits of laughter would begin all over again.

"seriously, y/n?," cassian inquired, voice booming. you snorted at his dumbfounded expression, at the fact that the four of you had finally calmed down, just for cass to loop back to the topic that had you all howling in laughter in the first place.

"azriel?," he continued, pointer finger gesturing towards the male sitting opposite from you in the sitting room. cassian had a half-full wine glass in his large hand, the liquid sloshing around precariously as he motioned in the shadowsinger's direction. "the motherfucker doesn't even speak!," he finished, causing you to erupt in another alcohol-induced fit of giggles.

azriel smiled warmly at the sight, shaking his head in mock exasperation at his brother's disbelief. az took a sip from the glass of wine he'd been nursing at a much slower pace compared to the rest of you.

rhys chuckled now, sitting alongside cassian on the plush sofa. he shoved the war general on his broad shoulder playfully, gesturing towards azriel himself, "he doesn't need to speak in this particular scenario, brother," he purred, his own wine sloshing within his grip.

azriel's cheeks tinted red at the implication, shifting his gaze down to his lap to hide a dimpled smirk.

"and see, that's what i'm saying," you added, throwing your hands up in agreement. you sat on the floor, upon the cushioned carpet that spread throughout the sitting room. you glanced up at azriel, a fond smile playing across your lips as you met his bashful gaze.

"he doesn't need to use words, cassian. i stand by my original statement: azriel is absolutely the most capable male in bed out of the three of you," you couldn't even finish the sentence without giggling, awestruck at cassian's ability to always turn the conversation back to this topic in particular.

you'd been close to all three of them for so long, and cassian - with his overly-competitive nature - just had to know, from a female's perspective, which male you thought would be the best in the bedroom. even though your answer was always the same: azriel.

was it because you may have been harboring feelings for the aforementioned male? perhaps. however, you didn't need to be pining after him to come to that conclusion; it felt like the obvious choice, regardless.

azriel glanced over at you with silent pride flooding his gaze, and you winked at him playfully in response. "i've got your back, az," you slurred, alcohol heavy in your veins. you reached over to poke him in the kneecap gently, and he huffed out a laugh.

"thank you, sweet," he spoke, tone gravelly, and you felt your chest grow fuzzy at the nickname he reserved just for you.

"oh, come ON," cassian scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. rhys barked out a laugh, tossing his head back against the headrest of the quilted couch.

you laughed along with rhys, sitting closer to azriel's legs now. az reached down, smoothing a section of your hair that had grown disheveled during your laughing fits throughout the evening. you were hyper-aware of his touch, and currants of electricity shot down your spine as the contact mixed with the wine in your system.

"i'm going to go out on a limb here," cassian started, pausing to take a sip from his glass. you rolled your eyes, bracing yourself for the familiar statement preparing to spill from his lips. "and i'm going to say that your opinion on this particular topic is heavily biased," he finished, knowing hazel eyes glancing from you, up to azriel, and back down to you.

you groaned in mock annoyance, flipping your hand in a dismissive gesture.

"yeah, yeah, cass, i know," you huffed out a breath, narrowing your eyes, "you're so convinced that i want to be in azriel's bed," you finished, pausing for dramatic effect before speaking further. cassian scoffed, his eyes widening slightly as if to say duh.

the alcohol was making you feel bolder than normal, and honestly, it's not like you were completely shy about your attraction towards azriel. it was a commonly known fact, one that all of you tended to play into from time to time - an inside joke, a bit.

however, while the attraction was known, you'd never confessed to any of them your very real feelings for azriel. that aspect wasn't a joke to you in the slightest.

"it's the shadows," you deadpanned, shrugging your shoulders sloppily.

cassian and rhys paused for a moment, absorbing your statement. then, they both erupted into howling laughter, and you weren't far behind them. you heard azriel's low chuckle from where he sat behind you, and he sent one of those mentioned shadows from within his twining orbit to twirl through your hair playfully.

cassian collected himself, shaking his head as he wiped his eyes.

"what kind of shit are you into, y/n?," cass wheezed out, and rhys laughed harder at his follow-up question.

you sniffled, wiping your own eyes before responding, "i mean, you really cannot blame me," you mused, gesturing towards azriel once more, "have you really not stopped to consider this at all?," you widened your eyes, stunned.

as if to prove a point, you turned your head towards azriel, locking your curious eyes with his amused ones.

"azriel, have you or have you not used your shadows on someone during sex?," you asked, extremely forward.

he almost choked at the question, cheeks turning crimson. cassian and rhys resumed their howling, but you peered at him expectantly.

he couldn't deny you an answer, not when you looked at him like that - innocent-looking wide eyes, cheeks pink from the wine. and was there a large, screaming part of him that wanted to entice you with his bedroom habits?

perhaps.

he nodded once, a dimpled smirk appearing across his pink cheeks.

"i have," he spoke, deep voice cutting through the laughter.

everyone paused at his words - you'd all half-expected him to evade the question altogether. but here he was, divulging life-altering, world-ending information that had your brain short-circuiting in one fatal blow.

the silence was deafeningly loud, and your expression shifted in a way that had azriel knowing exactly what you were thinking. your eyes had widened and glossed over, your mouth was agape. his smirk grew, forming into something more playful.

and to prove his point, he sent one more shadow your way to lightly twirl through your fingers and caress up your arm, looping around your neck gently.

cass sent a low whistle into the dead silence of the room, croaking out a laugh. "well, fuck, az," he chuckled, downing the rest of his drink.

"you win," cassian added, awestruck - shaking his head in defeat.

you didn't even hear what was happening around you, too focused on azriel - his darkened gaze as he peered down at you, and the feeling of that tendril of shadow tightening around your throat in silent challenge.

a/n: i'm so sorry. i'm spamming u with all of these ideas but hear me out, i have to get them out immediately. pls don't hate me. but this one had me sweating lmfao. sucker for sexual tension as always!!!

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 3 months ago

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Starborn, Fireheart & Lady Death - CC, TOG & ACOTAR

Artist: renata_watsonn

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 3 months ago

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+ PRYTHIAN’S PRETTIEST COUPLES ,

ART CREDIT — frostbite.studios

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 4 months ago

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"The Lost Queen"- Chapter 8

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: A magical incident causes Azriel to unexpectedly tumble through a portal into modern-day Earth. Confused and injured, he is discovered by a compassionate human woman with a hidden past. She takes care of him and helps him discover the complexities of the modern world, completely unaware of who she truly is. Meanwhile, Azriel struggles with his conflicting desires: his duty to the Night Court and his growing love for the woman who saved him.

Their journey unfolds amidst ancient prophecies and the looming threat in Prythian. As they uncover the truth about forces conspiring against them, they must confront their deepest fears and make choices that will change their lives and the world forever.

Warnings: language, heavy angst, character deaths (not main), mentions of torture, mention of miscarriage, seriously this is a dark one

Word Count: 5.4k

series masterlist

a/n: i am so sorry... *hides behind computer screen* i promise this story has a happy ending...

Enjoy!

Azriel opened his eyes slowly, his head throbbing as the memories of the night washed over him. He was lying on a cold, hard floor in a dimly lit room. Each breath he took sent sharp pains coursing through his body due to the tight ropes binding his wrists behind him.

Pain pulsed through his body as he struggled against the ropes, each movement exacerbated by a deep, throbbing ache in his abdomen. The hard surface beneath him drew the heat from his body, leaving him cold and shivering.

Azriel’s jaw was clenched in a mix of anger and pain, sweat beading on his forehead as he fought to control the agony and think clearly. Despite the overwhelming pain, his eyes scanned the room for any detail that could be used to his advantage.

He lay on the floor of what looked like a dining room. It was elegantly furnished, with a large dining table in the center. There were plates on the table, full of half-eaten food. Above the table, there was a simple chandelier, casting soft, scattered light across the room. He narrowed his eyes as he scanned the portraits on the wall above the table.

There were different portraits of a man, a woman, and a young woman, all smiling at each other. Some of them were of the man and woman together, while others were of the young woman alone.

Az forced his eyes to focus, grunting against his blurry vision. His heart stuttered as he realized the portraits were of Lou, Celeste, and you.

He was at your parent’s house.

He struggled against the ropes, his shoulders screaming in agony as he tried to free himself. Azriel’s mind whirled, trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Had your parents been the ones who kidnapped him? Had you told them about the paintings, making them so angry that they decided to take matters into their own hands? Did you know he was here?

Azriel was so focused on himself that he almost missed the sound of labored breathing to his right. He paused and turned his head, his eyes scanning the dining room, the room falling away into silence as he looked.

Celeste was lying on the ground against a bookshelf. Her leg was twisted at an odd angle, and her floral-printed shirt was stained with blood. Her pretty face was marred by bruises and dried blood, and her eyes were closed in a peaceful yet haunting semblance of sleep.

She was dead.

“Damn it,” Azriel groaned, dragging his body across the floor to reach her. As he got closer, though, he saw her chest rising and falling with labored breaths. “Celeste. Wake up,” he said softly. “Please wake up.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes. They were red and bloodshot, as if she had been crying. “Azriel,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Where is Y/N?” Blood trickled from the corner of her lips as she spoke.

Azriel leaned forward to look at the wound on her chest, careful to balance himself despite his bound hands. The wound looked like it was caused by a knife or dagger, and it looked like a mortal wound. “She went home,” he whispered, his voice laden with pain and guilt. “You told me to keep her safe. I failed you. I am so sorry.”

Celeste shook her head slightly. “She isn’t here, is she? If she were here…” she trailed off, taking a rough breath.

Azriel looked around the room, searching for her husband. “Where is Lou?” he asked.

She closed her eyes, and Azriel saw a single tear fall down her swollen cheek. “He’s dead. He tried to fight him off, but he wasn’t strong enough.” She tilted her eyes up, gesturing toward the hallway to their left. Azriel turned his head, and he gasped as he saw Lou lying there in a puddle of blood.

Even from here, Azriel could see that he was gone, that the life had left his body.

Icy rage filled Azriel, and he began to pull at the ropes again, not caring how badly they were biting into his wrists. “Who did this?” he snarled.

A low masculine chuckle filled the room, followed by lazy footsteps. “Look who’s finally awake,” the man said. But the voice was familiar to Azriel, and his vision went red with anger as he looked up at the man.

Matt stood at the doorway at the far end of the dining room. He was wearing a gray suit, and it was splattered with drops of blood. He held a silver hunting dagger in his hand, and he twirled it lazily between his fingers. “Sorry to ruin your evening, shadowsinger,” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe, “but it’s just business. I’m sure you understand.”

“You,” Azriel growled, still pulling at the bindings. They weren’t budging, and a small part of him wondered who the hell had taught Matt how to tie such pristine knots. “You were at the ball. I saw you.”

“I was following you,” Matt responded with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “I had planned on taking you earlier, but after what I witnessed between you and darling Y/N on the balcony…” He clicked his tongue before continuing, “I decided to wait and see what happened.”

Azriel’s body went numb as he mentioned you, and a horror he had never known filled his body at the thought of what this man could have done to you. “Where is she?” Azriel asked, afraid of the answer.

He normally wouldn’t be so straightforward. He was a spymaster, and he knew the dangers of revealing too much information. But he was desperate, and there were no other options.

Matt raised something in his hands. It was a cell phone, Az realized. “She should be here soon,” he said with a smirk. He looked over at Celeste, who was squirming uncomfortably on the floor. “The bond between a mother and daughter is truly something to admire.”

Celeste groaned. “Don’t you fucking touch her,” she said, her voice nothing but a whisper.

“What do you want, Matt?” Azriel asked. “Leave Y/N out of this. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Matt chuckled. “Well to begin, I would like you to call me by my real name, which is Mathias. But, unfortunately, Y/N is the one I came here for. And you, of course.”

“Then why did you do this to her parents?” He could have just taken Azriel and left them out of this. There was a special place in hell for Mathias, and if Azriel ever got the chance, he would make sure to be the one to send him there.

“They were just collateral. Wrong place, wrong time, as they say.”

Azriel gave up pulling at the ropes, his body filling with a heavy exhaustion. He glanced down to his pockets, and he felt a small sense of relief when he saw that his siphons were still there.

But they were still empty, and he still didn’t have his magic. He was weak. Completely useless.

“But this is all an easy fix,” Mathias continued on. “I will kill you, shadowsinger, and I will take your sweetheart with me back to Prythian.”

“Back to Prythian?” Az asked. “How do you know about Prythian?”

Mathias chuckled. “Did you really think I was human?” he asked. “Some spymaster you are if a measly glamour can fool you.”

Azriel looked at the male again, but this time, he saw a glimmer around Mathias, as if he had shielded himself with something. He looked human, but now that it had been brought to Azriel’s attention, he could sense a strange, otherworldly power radiating from Mathias. He had been fooled.

Just another failure to add to the list.

“Why are you here?” Azriel demanded, looking over his shoulder at Celeste. She was looking at him with pleading eyes, and he understood what she was asking. Keep my daughter safe.

Azriel didn’t know how he was going to keep you away from this male, but at that moment, he decided he would do anything to accomplish it.

Even if that meant giving up his own life for your safety.

He was saved from doing and saying something profoundly stupid as he heard a car pull into the driveway. He held his breath as he heard footsteps- your footsteps- running up the stairs outside. His mind went quiet entirely as the front door opened, and your sweet scent filled the room.

Azriel could do nothing but stare at you as you stalked into the dining room with eyes full of enough rage to bring down an army.

---

“What the fuck is going on?” you snarled, your voice sounding foreign to you.

The drive to your parent’s house had seemed to take forever, and you had nothing better to do but think. The more you thought about that strange text message from your mother, the more alarmed you became.

Your mother was a creature of habit, and you knew that she would never text you past 10 p.m., even if Azriel had shown up at their door. She was the type to deal with it and text you about it later in the morning.

Hell, the woman didn’t even sleep with her phone in the bedroom.

Your anxiety reached new heights as you drove up to the house. It was dark, save for a dim light in the dining room. Unease had filled your veins as you got out of your car, your legs taking on a mind of their own as they carried you up the steps and into the quiet house.

Now, you glanced around the room, your eyes stopping as you saw Azriel sitting on the floor. He was covered in blood, and his face and eyes were almost swollen shut. It was clear that he was in pain, and your nurse instincts took over as you looked at him. “Azriel,” you gasped, lurching toward him.

He shook his head, angling his body away from you. “Don’t worry about me,” he mumbled. “Go to your mother.”

Your entire world stopped as you looked behind Azriel and saw your mother lying in a pool of her own blood. Her face was pale, and her chest was shaking, as if she were struggling for each breath.

“Mama,” you cried, throwing your body over hers, not caring that her blood was soaking through your dress. You didn’t care that you called her Mama, which is something you hadn’t done since you were a child.

“My darling,” she whispered, reaching up to push your hair behind your ear. Her fingers on your cheek were cold, as if the life was already leaving her body. “Are you alright?”

You choked out a laugh as tears began to well in your eyes. “You’re bleeding on the floor, and you ask me if I’m alright?” you responded as you started to look at her wounds. You pulled her shirt down to look at her chest, and you gasped as you saw the hole there. Blood was pouring from it, so you reached down and tore off a large piece of fabric from your dress. You bundled it up in your hands and placed it on her chest, applying pressure as needed. “Where is dad?”

“He’s gone,” your mother said, her tone distant, her eyes empty.

“Gone where?” you asked as you continued to look over her body. Her leg was twisted, no doubt broken, and you quickly tried to think of all the things in this house you could use to stabilize it. There was nothing here, though, so you reached down to the pocket of your dress to grab your phone. “Damn it. I left my phone in the car. I need to get you to the hospital.”

Your mother grabbed the hand that was on her chest, her fingers digging into your wrist. “Your father is gone, Y/N. He’s dead. He died trying to fight him.”

The room around you started to spin as her words washed over you. Your father… the man who had raised you and loved you always, no matter the hell you had put him through. The man who had worked long nights and early mornings to provide for his family. The man who had taught you how to ride a bike and drive a car. Even now, you could hear his hearty laughter in your mind, and it was with a sharp pang in your chest that you realized you would never hear it again. But your mother had said he had died fighting someone.

Your body was numb, your mind silent, as you asked, “He died fighting who?”

From behind you, you heard a sinister laugh that made your entire body shiver. “The old man put up a good fight,” the voice said. It was masculine and strangely familiar. “But he was no match for me, especially when I shoved a dagger through his heart.”

Slowly, you turned your head to face the man who had killed your father. But it was no ordinary man that stood before you. It was Matt, dressed in a tailored suit. “You did this? All of this?” you asked, your voice cold. Deep in your bones, you could feel a tempest raging, like a storm on the ocean. “Why?”

Matthew laughed again, his head thrown back as if the two of you were talking about the weather. “For you, of course. I’ve already told your dear Azriel the whole of it. My name is Mathias, and I was sent here from Prythian to bring you back. I have been following the two of you all night. I was surprised to see you had left poor Azriel alone on the streets, but it gave me the perfect opportunity to lure you here, and to kill him.”

You glanced at Azriel. His head was lowered, his shoulders hunched, as if he were carrying the weight of the world on them. “I am so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “I couldn’t stop him. He knocked me out, and he did all of… this before I woke up.”

All of the anger you had felt earlier dissipated in a moment. Perhaps when you were faced with life and death, things were put into a different perspective. You slid across the floor to him, grabbing him gently by the shoulder. You leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “I forgive you, Azzy.”

He shuddered under your touch, his breath leaving him in a hiss. “If we survive this,” he said, turning his head to the side to look at you, “I will explain everything.”

“The two of you look so cute together,” Mathias drawled. He took a few steps toward you, and you felt Azriel tense under your hand. “Too bad your love for each other will be cut short.” He pulled a silver dagger from the inside of his jacket pocket, the blade gleaming in the light. “I’ve always wondered if the half-breed Illyrian warriors bleed red like the rest of us. I guess I’ll find out tonight."

You moved your hand down to the ropes binding Azriel’s wrists, your eyes on Mathias as he stalked toward you. “Can you fight, Azriel?” you asked as you started to undo the bindings. He was injured, but he was a warrior. An Illyrian warrior.

Whatever the hell that was.

Azriel sucked in a breath as his hands were freed, but he kept them behind his back. “Go to your mother,” he whispered, his eyes locked on Mathias. They were filled with predatory focus, a dark gleam that promised unending pain to anyone who hurt those he loved. “I will try to fight him off.”

You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “I expect an explanation when all of this is over, Azzy,” you whispered.

He didn’t respond, but you didn’t miss the slight smile that he gave you. Azriel braced himself on the ground and pushed himself up, standing to his full height. Even from where you were on the floor, you could see that he was taller than Mathias, his shoulders broader, his body built to kill.

Mathias looked down at you, his eyes full of hatred. “Conniving little witch,” he snarled. He lunged at Azriel, his dagger at the ready. Azriel stepped to the side, his body moving so fast he looked like a blur. He grunted in pain as he moved, but he stayed upright.

You pushed away the thought that plagued your mind, the one that wondered where he had learned to manage pain like that.

A part of you wanted to watch the two of them fight, but you had to take care of your mother. You scrambled back to her side, placing your hand once again on her chest. Her eyes were closed, her lips blue. “Mom?” you whispered. “Please wake up. Please don’t leave me.”

Slowly, your mother opened her eyes. Her pupils were blown out, which wasn’t a good sign. “Y/N,” she gasped, “I need you to listen to me very carefully.” She coughed, and you watched in horror as blood spilled from the corner of her mouth.

“Shh,” you cooed, running your hands through her blood-soaked hair. “Don’t speak. It will only tire you out.” You needed to get your phone to call for help, but you also couldn’t tear yourself away from her. A part of you knew that it was too late, and you didn’t want to leave your mother dying on the floor alone.

“Your father and I tried for a child for many years, but we were never blessed with one,” your mother whispered, her chest rattling. “We had many miscarriages before the doctors finally told us my body was not capable of carrying a child. Twenty-five years ago, we were sitting on the front porch when a woman dressed in black approached us. She handed us a child, a baby, and she told us to protect her. To keep her safe. We didn’t have to time answer any questions because she disappeared as quickly as she came… Y/N, that baby was you.”

You stared down at your mother, the room silent except for the sound of Azriel and Mathias fighting behind you. You wanted to turn around to see if Azriel was alright, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the woman on the floor in front of you.

What Mama Laveau had said was true. Your parents… weren’t your parents.

“I did not give birth to you, Y/N, but you are our daughter. You are the best thing that ever happened to us,” she said, her eyes moving to stare up at the ceiling. “I don’t have the answers to your questions, my love, and I am sorry for not telling you sooner.” She looked at you then, steel entering her voice as she said, “Stay with Azriel. He can protect you. Promise me you will stay with him.”

So many things raced through your mind. There was so much you wanted to say, so many questions you wanted to ask. But for now, you could only say, “I promise.”

Your mother smiled, that kind smile that had eased your mind for years. She kept her eyes on you as she closed them, death finally claiming her broken body.

“Mama! No!” you screamed, but you knew it was too late. You lowered your head to her chest, sobs wracking through your body at the silence that had replaced her once-beating heart.

Azriel’s pained groan caught your attention, and you sat up, turning around the watch the scene behind you. Mathias had Azriel in a chokehold on the ground. You caught Azriel’s gaze, and his eyes were filled with pain and sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he gasped. “Please forgive me.”

You quickly moved down and pressed a kiss to your mother’s cold forehead. “I promise I will stay with him,” you whispered to her, hoping she could hear you through death’s divide. “I promise to make this right.”

You stood and turned around, squaring your shoulders against the heartbreak you felt. You didn’t know how to fight, but there had been too much death tonight. You wouldn’t stand by and let Azriel fight alone. And if he died…

Well, he wouldn’t die alone, either.

But you weren’t fast enough. You turned around just in time to watch as Mathias shoved his dagger into Azriel’s heart.

The world went quiet. You didn’t even hear Azriel’s scream of agony. You could only watch as his blood poured down his chest and splattered onto the floor. He crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap, and Mathias tipped his head back and laughed.

“It seems you do bleed red, bastard,” he mused, raising the blade to look at the blood covering it. He turned to face you, his expression nothing short of evil. “Now that we have no more distractions, my dear,” he said, pulling something that looked like glass from his pocket, “let’s go back to Prythian. The queen has requested your presence.”

Azriel raised his head just enough for you to look at him. Blood was spilling from his mouth as he tried to speak, but he was unable to form the words.

Stay with Azriel. He can protect you.

From deep within, that tempest that had been raging rolled on. Fire spread through your bones, your body, and an otherworldly anger filled your heart. Mathias had taken your father and mother, and it would be over your dead body that he took Azriel from you.

The world narrowed down to a single ember that seemed to burn within your chest. You closed your eyes and reached down deep into yourself, coaxing it to come alive. The ember turned into a living flame, so bright that it seemed to burn through your chest. You snapped your eyes open, gaze locked on Mathias. Something like fear raced across his features as he stepped back, his hand gripping the glass. You smiled at him as that fire roared through your body.

There was a voice inside of your head, old and ancient. It said, Rise up, our queen. Rise up.

You exploded.

---

Azriel was standing in a stark, barren landscape from his childhood: the unforgiving terrain of the Illyrian camps. The sky was overcast, a heavy gray that pressed down, totally suffocating the light. In the distance, a woman appeared, her face more familiar to him than his own.

His mother’s figure was shrouded in mist, her face dark and unreachable. She stood on the other side of a wide chasm that split the earth between them, her hands reaching out towards him with a desperate urgency he could feel even from afar.

Azriel ran towards her, his feet heavy, each step a struggle against the cold wind that ripped across the barren land. Her voice called out to him, carried on the wind, saying, “Azriel, my son. Do not give up. She needs you. We need her.” Her figure started to flicker, like a candle struggling against a storm, and no matter how fast he ran, the chasm remained wide and insurmountable.

He called out to her, but the wind swallowed up his words, and her image dissolved into mist. He grasped at the air as pain surged through him, not just from physical wounds but from a deep, aching sense of loss. He heard the voices and screams of all of those he had tortured and killed in his five hundred years. He heard your voice telling him how badly he had failed and hurt you.

“If this is where it ends,” he said to himself as the world started to fall away, “let it be so.”

The world shifted, the landscape crumbling away, and he was left falling, the echo of the voices growing fainter as he too dissolved into the darkness…

Azriel’s eyes snapped open, wrenching him back to the harsh light of reality. He was lying crumpled on the ground, and for a moment, he couldn’t distinguish between the dream and the waking world.

He raised his head, desperately looking around the dining room for you. He remembered seeing you hovering over your mother’s dead body. He remembered Mathias’s dagger going into his chest.

His memories were murky, but he did not recall the room being engulfed in flames. And he definitely did not remember being engulfed in flames himself.

Azriel scrambled back as bright, orange flames licked their way up his broken body. For a moment, the pain was so blinding he couldn’t even scream. He was suddenly taken back in time, back to that dark dungeon in his father’s keep. He could hear his half-brother’s laughing. He could smell the scent of his burning flesh.

But as soon as the pain started, it ebbed away. Azriel looked down at his body as the flames wrapped around him. They were no longer wild and uncontrolled. Now, they licked up his flesh in soothing waves, calming him. Healing him.

As the strange fire enveloped Azriel, the hole in his chest began to close, the flesh knitting together. The pain in his face went away, and he felt his broken nose and swollen lips and eyes heal in an instant. Deep within his pocket, the siphons suddenly sparked to life in a pulsating wave of blue light. The sudden wave of power rushing through him was strong, flooding his veins like a river breaking through a dam.

He roared in pain as his wings forcefully erupted from his back. The fabric of his jacket tore with a harsh rip as he instinctively spread them wide. The sensation was excruciating yet exhilarating as his wings found their strength again, the muscles and sinews awoken by whatever magic was coursing through him.

Simultaneously, shadows began to gather around him, their darkness mixing with the healing flames around his body. They swirled and danced in the air, caressing his newly healed skin and wings with a familiar coolness, their whispers filling his ears with the sounds of hidden secrets and silent promises.

As the pain subsided, Azriel felt more alive than he had in ages. His connection to the shadows deepened, their presence reassuring and empowering. With each beat of his heart, power pulsed stronger, fueling his senses. The raw energy was intoxicating, filling him with a potent mix of relief and invincibility.

He braced his hands against the floor, pressing down to raise himself up. The shadowsinger and spymaster of the Night Court stood, the flames winking out as his shadows surrounded him.

Master, master, they urged, their familiar whispers calming him enough to focus. Y/N needs you.

As Azriel spun in a circle, his wings clipped the wall, sending a spray of dust into the air. Panic surged through him as he frantically scanned the burning room for you. His mind recoiled at the thought of finding your body consumed by flames. You were human, so the fire would be merciless to you.

He froze, his breath catching in his throat as he caught sight of a burning figure before him. His heart thundered, pounding against his chest as he took a tentative step forward. “Y/N?” he whispered, his voice raspy and strained from shouting over the roar of the flames.

Throughout his long life, Azriel had faced death and countless horrors that haunted even the bravest souls. He had stared down enemies and survived battles that would be spoken of in hushed, reverent tones for generations. But none of that, no terror he had ever known, could compare to the gut-wrenching fear clutching at him now.

Yet, as he stood there, something miraculous unfolded before his eyes. The flames that engulfed your body didn’t consume you; instead, they seemed to become a part of you, a blazing aura that radiated with intense heat and light. Your figure stood resilient, unharmed amidst the inferno, your eyes opening slowly to reveal a fierce, fiery gaze that matched the surrounding blaze. The room was illuminated brightly by the flames, revealing not a scene of destruction, but one of transformation

Your eyes were like liquid gold, flames dancing within them. That strange symbol on your chest was burning bright, like a powerful beacon. Your hair was moving in a strange wind, embers dancing around your head, almost like a crown. And at your back… you had wings. Great, mighty wings that were laced in fire.

You were truly a wildfire, powerful and untamed.

As Azriel’s eyes met yours amidst the swirling flames, a profound shift occurred deep within him. It was a startling sensation, a moment of recognition and connection that went beyond this realm, this world. The was a tightness in his chest, an ever-growing tension, like a cord waiting to snap. His heart, which had been pounding with fear, now beat with a new purpose, as if a missing piece had been locked into place.

He gasped as the cord snapped into place. You were his mate.

A sudden clarity washed over him. Every doubt and fear was swept away, replaced by a certainty that you were meant to be his, just as he was meant to be yours.

You were his mate, and you were burning, just like the world was burning. And Mathias…

Azriel searched through the flames for that traitor, that male who now posed a threat to the other half of his soul. “Mathias!” he roared, his voice dripping with venom. “Where the hell are you?”

He saw a flash of something through the flames, like glass, and he heard Mathias call out, “I’ll see you on the other side, shadowsinger.”

Azriel caught sight of Mathias for only a few seconds before he vanished into thin air, as if he had winnowed away.

“I will find you, you fucking bastard!” Azriel yelled, but Mathias was gone. Azriel’s mind was already whirling, thinking of all the ways he would torture that male when he got his hands on him.

Azriel reached out toward you, intent on grounding you from the maelstrom of power you were unleashing, but he recoiled sharply as your scream pierced the air. The sound was primal, full of raw energy, resonating with such force that the windows of the house couldn't withstand the vibration and shattered into a thousand pieces. Glass flew like crystalline rain, catching the light of the fire and twinkling in the chaos.

The room trembled, the foundations of the house groaning under the sudden, overwhelming force. A fierce wind whipped through the broken windows, howling like the spirits of the Whispering Woods themselves had been summoned into this small space. It swirled around you, the flames dancing wildly, coalescing into a vortex that centered on your figure. Azriel watched, his heart caught between awe and fear, as the air around you shimmered with the power of raw, untamed magic.

Suddenly, the space before you began to warp and twist, the air thickening as if struggling to contain the power you were channeling. A hole tore open with a sound like ripping fabric, revealing glimpses of another place—a hole like the one Azriel had fallen through a few days ago. Through the portal, he could see passing images of Prythian, his home. The energy pouring from you intensified as the portal stabilized, the edges of the tear glowing with the same fierce light that enveloped you.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, the storm of magic ceased. Your body, overwhelmed by the exertion, went limp, and you collapsed. Azriel, reacting instantly despite his shock, darted forward to catch you before you hit the ground. Cradling you in his arms, he gazed down at your exhausted face. The flames had left you completely unscathed, but your entire body was covered in sweat, and your dress was handing in tatters. Your wings had disappeared, and he held your shivering, small body close to his.

“Fyrvor,” he whispered, running a finger down your cheek, “let’s go home.”

Azriel adjusted your weight in his arms, ensuring you were secure and as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. The last time he had traveled through a portal, it had been intense and blindingly painful.

Azriel cast one last glance at the burning house, his eye catching on Celeste’s body lying on the floor. The flames were reaching her now, and it would only be a matter of time before she would be engulfed entirely. “I swear on my life to protect her,” he promised the woman, hoping she could hear him beyond the veil of death. “She is mine.”

He crossed the threshold into the portal, his eyes closing as the world he had come to know fell away for a few moments.

With his mate secure in his arms, Azriel went home, back to Prythian.

tag list: @starofanotherworld @lilah-asteria @melmo567

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 4 months ago

Text

Smoke & Light: Part 1 [Plug!Az]

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend gives you his dealers number, but you don’t expect for him to be so fine. And you certainly don’t expect him to be so goddamn flirty. (3.4k)

WARNINGS: descriptions and dealings of recreational drugs (weed), little bit of swearing, slight sexual themes and lots of shameless flirting. THIS IS A MODERN AU!!

A/N: the first part is here and I’m so excited!! Im still unsure how many parts this is going to be, but there’s a lot I want to happen in this series so probably (I’m guessing!!) six or seven, but we’ll see!! Anyway, I hope you enjoy <3

Your patience was wearing thin. Very fucking thin. Those three grey dots mocked you as they bubbled at the bottom of the screen—disappearing and reappearing again—until they were replaced with another less than satisfying message.

Brandon: are you taking the piss? Why didn’t you just ask when you were here earlier?

You scanned the message over, swallowing back the groan at the idea of another potential argument. You needed to nip his attitude in the bud, you weren’t entertaining his bullshit anymore. Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, your fingers quickly typed a response.

You: I didn’t realise I was out until I got home. Can you get any or not? Just lmk

The dots appeared again after a few moments of silence, and you prepared yourself for the snarky remark he was most likely to give you, and took a deep breath to compose yourself in advance.

Brandon: no. I can’t get you any. Sort it out yourself for once.

There was no way in Hell you were going to let your frustrations show. Despite the pure anger and annoyance that began to bubble even more within you.

Brandon could be a lot of things. A liar. A cheat. And a fucking asshole. In all honestly, the only thing he was truly good for was the occasional above par fuck and the fact that his dealer had the best weed you’d ever smoked.

But when they were the only two good things he had going for him, it was hard to justify the disgusting behaviour he showed throughout almost your entire relationship. You broke up every few weeks as it was, but if you’d known about the cheating before, you would’ve left for good sooner.

Instead, you found out a year and half into the relationship, coming to the deafening conclusion that he had, in fact, never been faithful for a single moment of his adult life.

Fuck him. And fuck his shit sex. The weed, you could get yourself.

You: lmao ok. What’s his number?

A heartbeat after he read the text, he was calling you. And the moment you answered the call, he was his usual, un-charming self.

“What the fuck do you mean what’s his number?”

“Hello to you, too.” You murmured, tucking yourself under the blanket on your couch.

His clipped tone didn’t startle you, didn’t worry you about any form of consequences. He wasn’t scary, even when he tried to be. He was just a douche.

“What do you mean what’s his number?” He repeated himself, that agitation growing thicker and thicker with every word he spoke.

“How else am I supposed to get any?”

“Find your own dealer.”

He was being bitter now, pathetically so. You picked at the aged edges of your book, a novel you’d read five times over but one you couldn’t get enough of. Your love for it could be seen by the fading print of the front cover and the severely broken spine—despite how careful you tried to be with your readings.

“Brandon, I’m not going to find a random dealer. Your Azriel guy has good stuff and I know it’s safe. Besides, me going to the same person as you is not going to affect you in any way.”

He was silent for a moment, mulling over your words. Despite his dreadful personality and lack of love and care and compassion, he knew how little you knew about marijuana. He was the one that taught you to roll, after all.

You’d barely smoked before you met him, and on the rare occasions you did get high, it was usually in the form of gummy edibles your friends had. And you weren’t addicted or reliant on it in any way. You just enjoyed a smoke every now and then if you’d had a long day.

Alcohol had never been your favourite, and you much preferred to feel the chilled buzz from a joint than cradle a hangover for two days after a soirée.

“Fine. I’ll text you his number. Say Marco gave it to you, it’s a code he made up—had cops on him a while ago. He can be a bit of an ass, don’t let him shit talk you. Ask for a 3.5, he usually charges 40 for it. It’ll last you a couple weeks unless you’re planning on smoking heavy.”

It was easy to be pulled back in when he was like that. When he did the bare minimum of offering advice on things he knew you weren’t too sure on. But you were better than that now, smarter. You weren’t going to fall back into your old ways again.

Not with him. Not with anyone.

“I’m not. Thank you.”

The line went dead as soon as the words left your mouth and a few moments later, he texted you Azriel’s number. You would’ve appreciated a reminder of what you were supposed to ask for but at least you got his number. Small wins. You weren’t his responsibility anymore.

It took you a few minutes to figure out what to say, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you typed and erased, typed and erased. Until you settled on ‘Is this Azriel?’ and finally sent the message.

Ten minutes passed and you didn’t get a response. Your nose was tucked back into your romance novel as you chewed on the drawstring of your hoodie. In all honesty, you could’ve quite easily slipped into a peaceful slumber under the warm golden glow of your lamps.

That was another thing Brandon couldn’t respect. Your No Main Light rule. The vibes were always immaculate with gentle warmth from lamps. The main light was not allowed on under any circumstances. You much preferred the cosy feeling of golden hues that accentuated the deep green leaves of your plants and vines that scattered the walls and crevices of your home.

Your phone chimed from your lap, a small surge of anxiety pulsing in your chest. You unlocked the screen and read over the message.

Azriel: depends who’s asking.

Ah, Brandon did warn you. You considered fucking the whole idea off. Maybe cracking open a bottle of wine and snuggling on the couch with a book or tv show would be better than having to meet this asshole, but the bottle of White Zinfandel wouldn’t give you the mellow buzz you wanted.

Not unless you had at least four glasses which was usually paired with a hangover the next day. Something you did not want to entertain. So, you bit the bullet and typed your reply.

You: y/n, got your number from Marco. You about?

The more you let your mind wander, the more you realised how little you knew. You had no clue how this sort of thing worked. Would he come to you? Your home? Would you meet at a location of his choice? Or would he just stash the weed somewhere for you to collect and you don't cross paths at all?

But the burning fire of the what-if anxiety was quickly trampled and extinguished when another text came through and instead of him deciding for you, you were given choices.

Azriel: sure, I can meet you at old tower in 20 if that’s good for you? If not I can drop to your location.

He didn’t seem as much of an ass now. No, quite the opposite. But you supposed that offer was something he probably gave to all new, female clients. If he truly was an ass or not, you couldn’t fault him for the consideration.

Old Tower was the old old watermill tucked slightly away in the centre of the city. It had been derelict for years, but due to its location—so close to all the necessities and right opposite the police station—no one ever tried to break in or set it alight like the many other derelict listed buildings had been in the past.

Even now, at almost midnight, that part of the city would still be bustling with city-natives and tourists alike. And you appreciated the safe and public meeting spot he suggested.

You: old tower in 20 is fine.

As quickly as you sent the message, you received another reply. A text describing his blue Mustang and his licence plate. You shook the nerves off as soon as they came. Azriel was respectful and well known. He dealt to make his money and that was that.

But the facts didn’t stop you from sharing your location with Brandon just in case, nor did it stop you from double checking you still had your little pepper spray clipped to your keychain.

The walk to the Old Tower wasn’t a bad one. There were many ways you could access it, most of them leading you through the city, but here were a few that hid you behind back roads and alleyways—those were routes you never took. Not on your own and certainly not in the middle of the night.

The air was still a bit sticky from the summer heat, and while the denim shorts you wore kept your body cool, you were grateful you kept on your hoodie—just that extra layer that protected your arms and shoulders from the chill of the breeze that your legs never seemed to experience.

It didn’t take long for you to reach the Old Tower, and it took even less time to spot the electric blue 2022 Ford Mustang. Small tufts of white smoke emitted from the exhaust as it sat in its standstill, headlights facing the opposite direction of what you came in, but you could still hear the engine humming from your short distance away.

You double checked the licence plate to the number Azriel texted you, and slowly made your way closer. While you didn’t know much about drop offs, deals, and weed in general, you did know the unspoken rules of picking up. And if you were picking up from someone in a vehicle, most people got inside for a few minutes before leaving.

Azriel must’ve noticed you from the rear view mirror because just as you approached the back of the car, the passenger door opened wide, inviting you in. You sucked in a breath but accepted the invitation, keeping your eyes forward as you settled into the warmth of the leather seat and closed the door shut.

You finally let your body shift and your eyes met his. And you were fucking done for.

You’d never seen a man so strikingly fucking beautiful before. He was tall, lean and muscular and oozed pure sex and charisma. Tan, golden skin and dark, luscious hair that swept loosely down his forehead and curled gently around the tops of his ears.

His face was chiselled not too sharply, a subtle gentleness to the stark contrast of the cold, brooding aura he carried. And those eyes. Christ, those fucking eyes. Hazel iris’ that dripped with a golden hue of honey.

You swallowed down the dry lump in your throat and willed your lips to part so you could finally speak. “Thank you for meeting me so late.”

And Azriel was absolutely hooked.

When you’d texted barely thirty minutes ago, he did not expect to be meeting with someone so fucking gorgeous. Your soft hair was twisted in a loose braid that hung over your shoulder, wayward strands having fallen from the updo and framing your face mesmerizingly.

Your eyes were the most captivating thing he’d ever seen; rich in colour and wide with slight anxiety, despite the sleepiness he could slightly notice beneath them. Your voice sounded like a fever dream. It wasn’t sickly sweet like most women he knew or dealt to. Perhaps it was just the sleep, but there was a rasp—a very slight ruggedness—in your tone and Azriel was certain he’d never heard something quite so sensual in his life.

He cleared his throat, that all too cheeky grin teetering on the corners of his mouth. “I was already out,” he shrugged, nonchalantly. “How much are you after?”

His voice was a perfect blend of sweet and rough. A deep depth to his tone that skipped hand-in-hand with a sweeter note. God, he was unreal, and the sound of him had you forgetting entirely what exactly Brandon told you to ask for.

You pulled your lips between your teeth and offered a very sheepish—but mostly embarrassed—smile. “Um… I’m sorry,” you found yourself apologising for the second time tonight. “My ex used to do this part, so I have no idea how this works.”

You couldn’t help the flush that rose to your cheeks at your own admission, couldn’t handle being the subject of his firm gaze, and you absolutely could not fucking handle the soft rumble of rich laughter that chuckled through him.

“Do you smoke a lot?” Azriel finally asked, a slightly amused smile on those full lips of his. His pink tongue swiped out to wet them and your heart thundered against your ribcage at the sight.

“Not really,” you cleared your throat. “Just every now and then. Semi-regularly, I guess.” There was no such thing as semi-regularly when it came to drugs and alcohol. To someone’s own self, sure. But not the general mass that consumed whatever it was they did.

Some considered three joints a day ‘semi-regular’, while others considered it as a joint every few days. Azriel had a feeling you were the latter, but he didn’t say anything about his thoughts or what you’d said.

Instead, he hummed and chewed at the inside of his cheek in thought. He wasn’t laughing at you or your lack of knowledge or understanding. Usually, he’d have kicked a new client out of his car by now and told them to figure it out on their own—he was a dealer, not a fucking private tutor—but with you, he didn’t seem to mind explaining or breaking things down so it was easier to understand.

Neither of you quite understood why he was happy to explain, but you didn’t complain. You’d much prefer this than the alternative version of him that you’d been warned about.

“A 3.5 would probably be best for you, then.” He decided.

Yes, a 3.5… that sounded very familiar. You nodded, slowly, considering your next words carefully. You had already disclosed the most embarrassing part of not having a fucking clue how this worked, one more probably wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous,” you chuckled nervously, scratching at the nape of your neck. “But can you break that down in joint terms?”

Azriel laughed again, softer this time, through a breath. It was odd, really. He wasn’t laughing to be cruel or to embarrass you further. It seemed to you that perhaps he found it endearing—your innocence on the matter—and maybe, just maybe, you reminded him of himself when he too at one point, had no idea either.

“It depends on how strong you have them. Do you smoke blunts or just joints?”

Your eyes widened animatedly. “God, no. Just joints. I think a blunt might wipe me out.”

A glint of warmth and light fluttered through his eyes for a split second. “So, a 3.5 would get you like seven joints.”

“Yeah, that would last me like a week, two weeks.” You nodded. “I’ll have a 3.5 then, thank you.”

Azriel hummed in agreement, and it was only when he reached for the centre console and flipped open a compartment that you saw his hands. His golden skin was marred beyond belief, etched in burns and an array of pigmented colours. Your stomach lurched at the sight. Not from fear or pity or disgust, no. Your stomach twisted in agony, your brain couldn’t comprehend a reason for scars like that.

You looked away as quickly as you clocked them, not wanting to stare and not wanting him to notice. You supposed he was used to lingering gazes, but you would not be a name added to that list of people.

Azriel did nothing but make you feel comfortable in the brief few minutes of meeting one another. He was kind enough to not laugh in your face and kick you out of his car after your admittance. You were not about to make him feel uncomfortable either.

He pulled out a small plastic baggie stuffed to the brim with forest green nuggets and handed it to you between two scarred, pinched fingers. You took it gratefully, a full and genuine smile on your lips now as you thanked him, reaching into the back pocket of your denim shorts for the cash.

“Did you want me to roll them for you, too?” Azriel’s teasing voice dripped with sarcasm and your eyes snapped to him with a stern look. “‘Cause that’ll cost you extra.”

“I know how to roll, thank you.” You bit back, and while your voice and tone held all the conviction, the amused glint in your eye and the corners of your mouth told him he hadn’t offended you in the slightest.

“It’s twenty-five.” Azriel chuckled from beside you.

Your brows furrowed as you pulled out two twenty’s, meeting his gaze again. “Isn’t it usually like forty?”

The air now smelt of that tangy, vile scent, something that you don’t think you’d ever get used to. Or enjoy. He shrugged, flipping down the lid of the compartment between you. “You’re a new client.”

You raised a brow now, a taunting smirk creeping at the corner of your mouth. “Do you always undercharge new clients, then?”

Azriel liked you. Very much. You didn’t shy away or hide your personality from him, even after only knowing one another for barely an hour in total. He had a feeling he was barely scraping the surface.

He matched your stare, only he wasn't teasing. “Only the pretty ones.”

There was no hiding the heat that crawled up your neck and sat heavy on your cheeks. It had been a long while since you received a genuine compliment. Let alone one so forward and from someone so unexpected. You averted your gaze from him, looking at the two twenty’s in your hand. Raising them, you pursed your lips.

“I only have two twenty’s on me. So you may as well take the full forty.”

Azriel didn’t listen. Instead, he pinched one note from your hand, his skin brushing yours but you didn’t falter, didn’t shy away. He was warm, and despite the scars and marred skin, his skin was softer than you expected.

You huffed, not ungrateful for the discount but this was his livelihood and taking away from that felt wrong to you.

“Let me know when you’re out.”

You smiled appreciatively and nodded, stuffing the bag and cash into your hoodie pocket and reaching for the door handle. “I will. Nice to meet you, Azriel.”

He watched you climbed out of the car, offering another warm smile as the cooler evening air kissed at his skin. He wanted to ask how you were getting home, if you’d be walking alone or if you needed a ride. But Azriel couldn’t cross those lines, especially not with someone he only just met.

So he bit his tongue and prayed to the Mother above to get you home safely. “You too, Y/N.”

He started up the engine again as soon as the door closed, but he didn’t drive away. He watched you through the rear view mirror until you were out of sight and when he finally looked down, he found his jeans tight around his crotch and a painful erection.

“Fuck.”

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 5 months ago

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"The Lost Queen"- Chapter 1

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: language, also kinda angsty, magic being weird

Word Count: 2.8k

series masterlist

a/n: hello, it's me.. the most impatient person ever. posting early because i have no self-control. enjoy!

Prythian, Present Day

Azriel stood at the edge of the Whispering Woods, his shadows swirling around his shoulders and wings. He listened intently to their whispers, knowing they would warn him of any sudden dangers. The Mother only knew what terrors could be lurking in these woods, and he needed to keep all of his defenses up to return to Velaris safely. He looked up, feeling somewhat small standing beneath the tall, ancient trees that towered overhead.

Nobody knew how the Whispering Woods were created. The legends of old said they were created by a powerful Fae guardian, long before Prythian even came into existence. Before this mission, he had read countless texts trying to uncover some information to help him prepare, all to no avail.

Still, he had decided it was worth the risk. His family and his court were in danger. Hell, all of Prythian was in danger.

The first sign of trouble had occurred a few months ago. It had started with a disturbance in the natural weather of the courts. A harsh winter had happened in the Spring Court, and a blazing summer happened in the Winter Court. Horrible thunderstorms, unlike anything Azriel had ever seen, had pounded Velaris, causing damage to the buildings in the city. In all corners of the world, the weather became unpredictable.

The blight hadn’t stopped there. It began to affect the plants, which in turn caused absolute turmoil in the agriculture of the courts. Az had heard rumors of plants growing rapidly, while others died altogether. Some people were starving while others were rejoicing.

The last straw had happened once it started affecting the magic. Azriel remembered the day Rhys’s power completely gave out, almost causing the Night Court to descend into utter turmoil. Suddenly, his power had returned in such an overwhelming wave that he had blacked out for a few moments. He could no longer use his daemati gifts because, sometimes, he would inadvertently project his thoughts into someone else’s mind, or he would get overwhelmed by the thoughts of others.

Azriel had never seen his brother in so much distress, not even when Feyre had been pregnant. His ability to lead the Night Court was being questioned, as he was unable to remain stable enough in his magic to rule.

This is why Azriel stood at the edge of this ancient forest, searching for an artifact that probably no longer existed. The Moonstone Amulet was rumored to have the ability to heal the land. Supposedly, it can harness healing magic, soothing whatever dark forces were at work.

The only problem: nobody had ever seen it. Its existence was all based on legend and hearsay, but Amren was convinced that it was placed in these woods centuries ago by an ancient Fae goddess.

Now, the trust had been placed in Azriel to find the damned thing. He had agreed, of course. He hadn’t questioned Rhys as his brother had borderline begged on his knees for him to start a search. If anyone could find it, it would be Azriel.

The Spymaster of the Night Court never failed a mission, especially when those he loved were in danger.

Azriel took a deep breath as he stepped into the thick mist of the woods. “You are immortal,” he murmured to himself, recalling the words that had gotten him through the darkest times. “You are very hard to break.”

Although it was dark, the air shimmered with a strange glow. The mist was so thick, it clung to every surface. Azriel squinted his eyes, struggling to see through it. He relied on his shadows to guide him, listening to their soft voice.

This way, they murmured into his ear. Follow the pulsing.

In the distance, Azriel could indeed hear a faint pulsing sound. It sounded like the beat of a war drum, only softer and less threatening. He felt a wave of unnatural calm wash over him, easing his nerves. He walked on, feeling like he was in a trance, but he couldn’t stop. The pulsing got louder and louder, and his heart started to beat in time with the rhythm. Even his shadows had calmed, content to lounge on his shoulders as he stumbled through the dead leaves.

Suddenly, the mist parted, revealing an opening in the trees. The pulsing beat stopped, and Azriel groaned as a tidal wave of ancient power washed over his body. He came back to himself, blinking rapidly as the fog cleared from his mind. He staggered back, unsheathing Truth-Teller from his thigh. He held the blade high and level, and he willed his mind into a cool calm. His cobalt siphon pulsed, preparing to strike against any danger.

Another wave of that power roared through the clearing, knocking Azriel down to his knees. His siphons winked out, the swirling blue in them turning black, as if they had been drained. It took his five centuries of training to keep his hold on his dagger.

His shadows swirled around him, preparing to winnow him back home. “No,” he snarled at them. “I have to finish this.” He stood on shaking legs, taking small steps forward until he stood at the center of the clearing. He stopped as a faint glow caught his eye. It had an iridescent sheen, and he could see the moonlight reflected in it, almost like a mirror.

The Moonstone Amulet.

Under normal circumstances, Azriel would have let himself feel a little prideful at his discovery. After all, he had just found a lost artifact. But these were not normal circumstances, and if he were being honest, he was about to shit himself in fear.

Without thinking, he ran towards the glowing light, reaching out his scarred hand to grab it. His shadows surrounded him once again, ready to take him far away from this gods-forsaken place once he had it in his grasp.

His fingers had barely touched it when everything went to shit.

His shadows dispersed, recoiling as a power he had never felt pelted his body. His skin turned to ice, and he was frozen where he stood. The wind stopped. All sound stopped. It was as if time itself stood still.

Azriel looked at the reflection in the stone, and a terror he had never felt washed over him. He could see figures, like people moving about. He saw great metal things roaming across the land. He saw massive buildings and bright lights. He felt as if he were having an out-of-body experience.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

Bright light seared from the stone, hitting him in the head. He fell back hard against the earth, unable to keep Truth-Teller in his hand. His wings were bent at an awkward angle, causing him to cry out in agony. A deafening ringing sound filled his ears, and he fought like hell to stay conscious.

He wouldn’t die like this. He had a court to protect, to defend. He had his friends, his family…

Reality warped and shifted, and Azriel dug his fingers into the cold ground as voices and whispers filled his head. They echoed softly, their words carrying a strange cadence. It was a language he had never heard, but he slowly started to understand. The words flowed over him, punctuated by an accent unknown to the world of Prythian.

His heart stuttered and his breath was sucked out of his lungs as he was pulled into the stone. He cried out as he heard a voice speak, so cold it was devoid of all emotion.

“Across the veil, in worlds apart,

A warrior's heart seeks its counterpart.

Where ancient blood and shadows meet,

The lost queen's reign, his fate shall greet.”

Maybe he would die like this.

For a moment, faces flashed across Azriel’s blurred vision. He saw Rhys and Feyre laughing as they watched Nyx. He saw Nesta and Cassian in the training ring with Gwyn and Emerie. He even saw Elain, working diligently in her beloved garden. He heard Mor and Amren laughing together, but the sound and sights were gobbled up by the throbbing pain in his head.

He had failed them.

As Azriel’s body was pulled apart, he sent out a quick prayer of forgiveness to the Mother. Protect them. Help them.

At last, he closed his eyes, welcoming the sweet darkness that overtook him.

---------------

New Orleans, Louisiana, Present Day

High above mountain peaks, you soar through the sky, wings ablaze with fire. Down below, you can see a battle raging, the forces of light and darkness clashing with brute strength. On silent wings, you descend into the chaos, igniting the enemy with the flames from your wings. You hear them scream as they burn.

You hear people cry out and cheer in a chant of victory.

“Rise up!” they roar as you fly overhead. “Rise up, rise up, rise up-“

You jolt awake, sitting up straight in bed. Your body is covered in sweat, and the sheets are tangled around your waist. You place a hand on your chest, forcing yourself to calm your breathing.

This was nothing new, so you didn’t know why these dreams still affected you. You have been having some variation of the dream since you were a child. At one point, your parents had been so distraught, they thought it was best to take you to a psychiatrist.

“She just has an active imagination,” the woman had said. You had laughed internally at the diagnosis while you were staring at the degrees lining the walls of her office. She had a lifetime of student debt, and the only diagnosis she could offer was an active imagination.

Apparently, you still had an active imagination twenty-five and a half years later.

Once your heart rate calmed, you looked over at the clock on your nightstand. Three o’clock in the morning, on the dot. For some reason, you always wake up from these strange dreams at this time. You laugh softly, remembering what the locals always said about “the witching hour.”

A time when supernatural activity is heightened, and the veil between worlds is at its thinnest.

You didn’t believe in all of that voodoo bullshit. Your body just hated you, and it always woke you up at the most ungodly hours.

With a loud sigh, you decided it was best to do what you always did when this happened: go for a walk. You still had a few hours before your shift at the hospital, and that was the only way to clear your mind. Plus, you knew it was better than any medicine that a phony psychiatrist would have given you.

You quickly threw on a hoodie, a pair of black leggings, and some tennis shoes. You didn’t bother doing anything with your hair, even though it was plastered to your face from sweat.

Who was going to see you at this hour anyway?

Making your way out of the front door, you breathe in the smell of the bayou. The air was thick with the scent of cypress and oak trees, and the earthy smell calmed your nerves. This was why you had decided to move out of the city once you were old enough.

Bayou St. John was located next to City Park and the bayou, but still close enough to the city for work. Overlooking the water, your cottage in the small town was the epitome of Southern charm. It has a front porch with hanging baskets of flowers and vines. It was traditional Creole style, but still modern enough that you didn’t feel old living there. You had saved for years to purchase the place, but all of that work had been worth it.

Making your way down the gravel driveway, you turned right at the edge of the water. You smiled at the sound of the cicadas singing their songs to the twinkling stars above. It was a calm night in the bayou, and you silently thanked your past self for moving here.

You took back your thanks when you felt a presence fill the air. You stopped walking, and even the cicadas went silent. Your breathing was loud in the now-silent night. You shivered as you felt an otherworldly cold come over you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, holding your hoodie close to your body.

“Fuck this,” you murmured to yourself, turning around to walk back to the house. The strange feeling in the air intensified, and the air started to shimmer around you.

What the actual fuck?

You broke out into a sprint, your eyes locked on your front door. You were so close. Only a few more seconds and you would be back inside the safety of your home. Your mind scrambled as you tried to think of what to do. Do you call the cops? Do you call your parents? Were you still dreaming?

Yeah, that’s it. You were still dreaming.

You started to shake yourself, trying to wake up.

From the corner of your eye, you saw something move in the water. You stopped running, slowing down to a jog. More than likely, it was an alligator or something, but your curiosity had you jogging over to it.

You started to walk towards the form, taking small steps until your feet almost touched the edge of the water. It was black, wrapped in something that looked like leather, almost scale-like. You bent down, turning your head to the side to get a better look.

You remembered laughing at horror movies with your friends, wondering how the main characters always managed to get themselves killed.

Well, this was how.

Despite the warning bells going off in your head, you reached down to grab onto the scales. Beneath your fingers, you felt warmth, as if it were alive. You pulled, leaning back against the damp earth for leverage. The form was dead weight, but it moved with you as you haul it out of the murky water. Once it is pulled free, you were able to get a good look.

You scream as you see a hand, a fucking hand, lying against the grass. It was covered in brutal scars, the swirled and smudged skin covering every inch. You covered your mouth as you saw black hair through the darkness, splayed in wet tendrils on the grass.

There was a body outside of your house.

You scrambled back, trying to get away. How did they get here? Are they alive? Do I need to call the cops now?

You stood up and started to pace, cradling your face in your hands. “Breathe,” you tell yourself. “Just breathe. It’s just a body in the bayou. Nothing weird about it.”

All right, it was really weird. But if you were honest with yourself, your whole life had been weird. Between the strange dreams and the constant feeling like you didn’t belong here, you had grown accustomed to seeing weird shit happen.

You decided it was best to at least haul the body the rest of the way out of the water. That way, when the cops got here, you could say you tried to help the poor soul.

You pulled at the person’s clothes, your muscles straining at the weight. He was definitely a man. Beneath your fingers, you could feel cords of muscle, and a part of you was sorry that you hadn’t met him while he was alive.

As you finished pulling him out of the water, he rolled onto his back, and you were stopped dead in your tracks as you took in the most beautiful face you had ever seen. He was all sharp angles, with full luscious lips that looked rather kissable.

“Stop thinking like that. He’s dead, you freak.” Still, he was rather pretty to look at.

You looked at his chest, taking in the straps crisscrossing over it. They looked like they were made to hold weapons or something. Maybe he was into cosplay? You knew many hot men who were into that. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you almost didn’t see his chest moving.

Holy shit. He’s breathing.

You fell onto your knees beside him. You started to slap his face as you said, “Sir! Sir, wake up!” You did nothing to hide the panic in your voice. Had he inhaled water? “I need to call an ambulance.”

You started to stand but were stopped by a hand wrapped around your wrist. Slowly, you turned around, and you were met with a hazel-eyed stare.

Eyes that were full of confusion… and utter agony. You met his gaze, and you filled your eyes with as much compassion as you could.

At that moment, there was an inner voice inside your head, telling you that your whole life was about to change.

I should have just stayed in bed.

tag list: @starofanotherworld @lilah-asteria @melmo567 @xxemmarldxx @a-frog-with-a-laptop @saltedcoffeescotch @that-one-bibliophole @happyt0exist

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 6 months ago

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absolutely humiliated to report that he cancelled the date and ghosted me after being one to reach out first so. that’s cool.

i’m actually so obsessed w this man, if i don’t marry him im going to need to be killed with a gun

#i’m actually so sad about it lolllll #we’ve been playing this back and forth game bc i loved so far from home for school #and he saw that i was back and asked me out and i was so fucking excited bc we have similar tastes and interests #so i was so sure this was gonna work out #and then God made an example out of me again so lmfao i guess

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 7 months ago

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HES TAKING ME ON A DATE LADIES THIS IS UR SIGN TO SHOOT UR SHOT

i’m actually so obsessed w this man, if i don’t marry him im going to need to be killed with a gun

#i’m going to tinkle myself #i have a fake tan soaking & oil in my hair it’s gonna be a good night 🤩#doing my nails as we speak #i literally baked him cookies bc i NEED to be a housewife

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 7 months ago

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Striking a Deal - Reader x Azriel

Reader is a demon, capable of granting information in exchange for things she wants. When Azriel summons her, she may be more than he can handle.

Warnings - ‘forced’ sex due to circumstance, bondage, unbreakable ties, choking, teasing, orgasm denial, HFO/hands free orgasm, cock milking, squirting, cum paly, g-spot and clitoral stim, fingering, mention of knot (no knotting), hand job, wing play, mention of blood ingestion (not super sexual, not in scene),

As always, skip to ++++++++++ for just the nasty stuff. <3

NSFW 18+ MDNI

Azriel was desperate. Fully, truly desperate for stooping this low.

Still, he chanted on, plowing through verse after verse of the summoner’s spell.

He had little regret over what he’d done. Scaring away fifteen priestesses hadn’t been hard, but finding the right tome had been. He should have asked for the book first.

“Of blood, and by this flame I summon you.” He finished, slicing a cut into his wrist deep enough to coat the pile of bones and herbs he’d gathered for this ritual.

And there was silence. He glanced around, taking in the painted walls of the temple and carved archways. The moon was little more than a sliver, the thing he’d summoned could be anywhere. He scented his own fear and clamped down on it, forcing his mind to ease.

To fear would be fatal, now.

“I expected someone more powerful than a shadowsinger.” Her voice was like honey dripping into his ears. His neck went stiff, as if a puppeteer was controlling him. His shadows lashed out into the darkness, quickly finding the owner of the voice and wrapping them - no.. her - in bindings.

Very much her. Gorgeous proportions and the hair, his mind went foggy with lust. He saw her now that his shadows had pinpointed her, and was wholly overwhelmed with the perfection of her. Something deep inside him rumbled with warning, though.

This was no witch or sorcerer, not even a Queen. This was something far more powerful and deadly, and he struggled to remember that.

“I may be more powerful than you know.” He said, attempting to put on the saam air of seduction the female radiated.

She walked through his shadows as if they weren’t even there, and again his mind quaked with unfamiliar fear.

“What is it such a powerful shadowsinger needs then?” She hummed, bending beside him and plucking a bone from the floor. She stuck out her tongue and lapped at the length of it, staring at Azriel the whole time. His cock surged, and he cleared his throat.

“I seek a weapon. Something to end a God.” Azriel began, gauging her unimpressed reaction.

“And?” She prompted, taking another lick of his blood. Goosebumps broke out along his flesh.

“Would you be able to help with something like that?” He his his irritation behind an easy smile, watching her tongue. At least her beauty made up for such informality.

“I suppose. It depends how much the asker is willing to pay for such a thing.”

“I have gold.” He supplied, not convince his lowest bid would be enough. Especially not with a demon this peculiar.

“I do too.” She smiled, and waved a hand. His vision went blurry for a moment, then all around him appeared as if he were in a vault of gold marks, gold pillars, stretching from the floor going up and up into the blackened sky. A hot breath fell on his neck, and when he whipped around, the golden eye of a massive beast greeted him.

He jumped backwards, knocking his ritual items over, sending them clattering through the temple. He whirled back around, facing the demon he’d brought here. She shrugged, casting the bone aside and approaching him.

“Show me what you’re really willing to lose, Shadowsinger.” She walked two fingers up his abdomen, to his chest and rested them under his jaw, forcing him to look up. “A weapon that powerful is going to cost more than anything I sense you carry.”

“What do you want?” He hissed, hating how much her touch turned him on. Her nails scratched down his neck, and it was like a branding iron on his skin. Chills raced along his arms.

She sighed, admiring the way his throat bobbed, the way the tendons in his neck stuck out when he was so tense. “I’ve been so… lonely, stuck in the Pit by myself.” She pouted, making his cock ache with the suggestion of what she was proposing. “No one summons us anymore. All you fae and mortals trust so much in your common magics and healers. No one is desperate enough to call upon us anymore.”

He took a steadying breath, his heart hammering in hsi chest. She leaned in, so close to his ear he could feel her hot breath against it. “I want you… to summon me. To bring me back to this planet and allow me to live. Even for the short while before they pull me back. Cast this same ritual, and bring me back.” She took his hand and brought it to her breast, squeezing his fingers tight around it. A groan fell from him, and before he could even think about the implications of striking such a deal, his mouth was on hers.

The deal had been struck.

++++++++++++++++++++++

The searing burn of his tongue upon yours was so deliciously delightful, so full of need and challenge that you could hardly feel the brand of the deal writing itself on your neck.

The kiss had sealed the bond, the rest of this would be just for fun.

“Your weapon-” You say between moans, pulling his tunic off and freeing his muscled body. “Will be found in the deepest lake on the highest peak-”

He rips your clothes off, tearing and urgent with need. “I didn’t summon you for a riddle.” He growls, dipping his head to catch a nipple between his teeth. A sharp gasp escapes you, and you squeeze his cock in your hand.

“You didn’t summon me as your whore, either.” You correct, yanking him back by the hair. He bares his teeth, and his shadows wrap around your ankles, thick and cool against your skin.

“You certainly act like that’s what you’re here for.” He grunts, and those shadows snake farther up your exposed legs until they’re massaging into your thighs. A ripple of want shoots through you at their closeness to your waiting cunt.

You’re too distracted by his hands and shadows on you to really give him a comeback. Truthfully, his filthy mouth could be saying anything at this moment and you wouldn’t care, not as long as he was touching you. It’d been a century since you’d seen anything other than the black pit of your home, and with such a gorgeous male before you, how could one resist? Your blood had been thrumming with need the second you’d crawled out of your home.

He pulls you forward, onto one of the short steps that leads to the recessed center of the room. “Now, what do I have to do to get you to bring me this weapon?” He rasps against your skin, biting your shoulder as he sat you down on the step. He pulls away, only to start lapping down your body until he is between your thighs, joining his shadows there.

“You want another deal, Shadowsinger?” You pant, leaning back on the step behind you and spreading your legs wide for him. He groans and the shadows ghost over your folds with teasing, almost-touches.

“Tell me.” He demands, and laps at you with a flattened tongue. “Such a pretty pussy.” He praises.

Your legs snap together, squeezing his head. “I cannot retrieve it for you, but I can take you to where it is.” You promise, and the half - truth of it feels sour on your tongue. You could retrieve it, but it’d take much more time than you had after you were released from the Pit.

He hums, seemingly content with the answer as he laps at you. His shadows join, dipping into your pussy and writhing there, fucking you softly but with ferocity. Your breaths are coming in shallow, frantic spurts as you focus on not coming on his face.

You want his cock for that.

A lick of your power lashes out, breaking his shadows away and freezing him in place with a leash of your own making. Magic bound, he straightens at your command and the sight of his surprise sets you giggling.

“You’re eager.” You critique. Sitting up, you take his cock in your hands and admire it, loosening your magic on him when you feel him relax and sigh at your touch. “Much too eager.” You observe the thick rivulets of pre-come dripping from his tip. You dip down and take a taste of him, humming at the sense of it. The salty, needy taste of him.

You wrap your hand around him and give him a long, slow pump and he shudders. His cock is magnificent. You can barely touch your fingers together around him with his thickness, and the knot at the base of him is hardly formed. Was he one of the fae able to change his cock at will? A ripple of excitement rolls though you at the possibility of it. You stroke him again, and another drop of precome wets his tip and you tap the tip of your finger with it, trailing it over his shaft and up his abdomen until you reach his lips. He takes it eagerly still, enjoying the taste of himself it seems.

You bind his hands to his sides, and ghost your fingers over his cock. Barely touching him, just as his shadows had teased you. He spits venom, cursing you with each delicate touch. You stroke him hard and through occasionally, but watching him be so needy for the touch is such a turn-on.

Your nails trail from his balls and up his shaft, then you circle the tip of him gently with the pad of your finger, swirling his lubrication there. He’s watching you the entire time, his brows pulled together and his lips a deep shade of red that matches the tip of his cock.

“I am glad that you were the one who’s summoned me.” You hum, getting up and going behind him. Even with him on his knees, he still reaches the height of your breast. He’s huge and lithe in his build, even his wings are a powerful kind. You touch them gently, humming when he hisses curses under his breath.

That gets your attention.

“Sensitive. Illyrian wings are different than the wings of other winged species, aren’t they?” You question, raking your nails over the arches of them. He cries out, lurching forward but your magic catches him, hauling him back up and in place before he can fold onto the step.

You kneel behind him, and wrap an arm around to take his cock into your hand again. He shudders and thrusts forward, into your grip. He’s needy and desperate and with you touching his wings he’s going to cum embarrassingly quickly. He hates how much he’s loving this, how the control you have over him is making him so fucking desperate.

He fucks into your hand, his precome wetting him enough that it heightens the experience further. Your hand is wet and hot and not nearly as good as your mouth had been but it’s better than the teasing touches you’d been giving him earlier, and he’s grateful. His need is rising and his muscles are working, his balls going tight with the need of release.

Then, you pull away. Your hand is gone and he’s left fucking the air like an animal, and he’s shuddering. “You fucking- bitch..” He grinds out, his abdomen flexing with how close he’d been. His balls tighten and relax, his cock twitching and slapping against his stomach.

You stand and go back to be in front of him, watching him twitch and writhe uncomfortably. His cock is surging and desperately seeking more stimulation, The angry redness of the tip a delicious strawberry color that makes you salivate.

You go back to tracing over him, and you can feel his power, his every fiber struggling against your magic. He’s close, so on the edge that you’re sure he’ll break with only a few more strokes. Good. You want him to. You want him to remember the only female who’d bested him at his own desires. You want him to fuck you endlessly, if that is the only time you have on this planet.

His balls are tight and heavy, and when you trace a finger along his ridge he shudders, leaning forward again. You allow it this time, catching his lips with yours and letting your tongue flick over his own. He groans into your mouth and snaps his hips forward when you make a loose fist over his cock.

His needy cries echo across the temple like a song.

You tighten your hand, allowing him to fuck into it for a few more strokes before pulling away again. But it’s too late. You pull back and watch as he thrusts into the air, his cock pulsing with his orgasm. He’s snarling and cursing as the pleasure takes him in a violent way. You watch in supreme pleasure as he gets what he finally wants. His cum shoots out and lands on your legs, your belly. The stone floor and steps. His spend is hot and dribbles from his tip when you release his bindings.

He wavers, and his shadows return slowly. His muscles flex as he leans forward, clearly exhausted with the experience.

His hands shake when he leans over you, catching your chin in his hand. “You are a horrible little thing.” He curses, then forces his tongue into your mouth.

He forces you back, so you’re arched against the steps, and the fingers of his other hand go between your folds, slickening them before plunging in. The most exquisite burn fills you, and is then eased by his curling fingers. He draws out your wetness, coating your clit with it and rubbing firm circles for a moment before pushing deep back inside of you.

He uses his entire forearm and wrist while he does it, truly fucking you with his hand. His fingers are thick and they do satiate a part of your own need, but it’s nothing compared to what his cock would be.

But this part of the game is up to him. You’d had your fun, and now it was his turn.

His tongue is aggressive in your mouth, fighting your own and showing you exactly what he’d been doing against your pussy before. He pulls away, leaving drool on your chin. His shadows go to your wrists, and you allow them to lock you in place, legs spread wide and wrists bound to the floor.

This is his turn. If you want him to stay true to his bargain not just for bargaining sake, you’ll let him have his turn. You could use him, sure, - force him in place and take him as you wanted - but where was the fun in that?

“Azriel-” You pant, and he takes your throat in a hand. Not hard, not dangerous, but certainly a silent command.

He’s working you deep and swiping against your g-spot with every stroke, and if he doesn’t stop you’re not sure if you’ll be able to either.

“Making me cum without even letting me really touch you first?” He scolds, punctuating it with his thumb stroking over your clit. Your yes clamp shut, your thighs desperately trying to do the same but his shadows - as weak as they are - won’t allow you to. You moan, the pressure of his hand against your throat a devious thing.

Your body is betraying you, reaching your high peaks so quickly while he rubs your clit. Your walls squeeze him, wanting more. Needing more than just two fingers. But his thumb is relentless and consistent, you try to fight the building orgasm but it only makes your g-spot more sensitive.

“Azriel please-” You whine, panting and squirming as much as you can under him. His hand leaves your throat and instead goes to the back of your head, knotting in your hair there. He forces you to watch his hands word, how spread you are for him, the way your wetness shines against this dark skin. He’s humming something in your ear but you can barely hear it over the mounting pleasure, the cascade of twitching need that writhes inside you, begging to be released. A dam too overflowed, your control slips, and slips.

You push against the heat, the pressure of the orgasm but again, he brushes into that spot inside you and your clit again, and you’re shaking - coming apart in his grasp. Wetness coats him, your own juices flowing out of you in an intense way, splattering against the floor and coating his arm. The wet sounds of his fingers still working you echo against the high ceilings and stone walls.

You’re shaking, shuddering and breathing hard when he gently removes his fingers then laps at them.

The sight nearly sends you into another orgasm.

“Safe to say you’ll be summoned often, little demon.” He says, offering you a finger wet with your own juices.

You take it greedily, sucking on his finger the same way you wanted to suck his cock.

“Next time I expect you to last longer.” You critique, earning a laugh from him.

“If I make that promise now, does that mean we get to fuck again and seal that bond?”

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 8 months ago

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i’m actually so obsessed w this man, if i don’t marry him im going to need to be killed with a gun

#personal post #azriel has not come to life and whisked me away to prythian so i must settle for a human 😔#he’s so FINE tho oh god #makes me wanna be a stay a home mom who cooks n shit #i’m gnawing at the bars of my cage DAILY over this guy

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 8 months ago

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i just fainted in the walmart parking lot

Hi! Omg so first I want to say I absolutely LOVE your writing, I am constantly on your page reading your work and get so excited when I see an update. So I was wondering if I could request something? It’s NSFW. Basically, reader is Rhysand’s sister and Azriel’s mate. She is a daemati like Rhys. Her and Azriel are having sex one day and he has her tied up and blindfolded, and in the middle of it she uses her powers to see through his eyes and watches as her fucks her, but she never gets to see him or his face until they’re done. Thank you so much!!

Mind Games | Azriel x reader

A/N: this is a fuck fest, you guys. I think I blacked out somewhere around the middle, I honestly can’t tell you. Tysm for requesting this, sweet anon! The ending's a bit bumpy but I hope you still like it! 🫶

Word count: 1592

Warnings: pure SMUT (18+) right under the cut!!

Her chest was heaving as she wrapped her fingers around the rope keeping her hands tied to one of the bars of the headboard. She felt him everywhere, felt the heavy drag of his cock as he pulled out almost all the way before rocking back into her with a hard roll of his hips. She felt his hands on her, his shadows, his gaze.

She felt everything, but she couldn’t see.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Azriel spoke in a low voice, though there was a breathless note to his words. His hands tightened on her hips. “Always taking me so well.”

She loved when he talked through it—when it got so good that even the quiet shadowsinger couldn’t hold his tongue.

The corners of her mouth curled, teeth finding her bottom lip to keep from grinning all to widely, but suddenly, Azriel leaned forward from where he knelt between her thighs, and her grin slipped at the change in his angle. A choked sound left her, but it didn’t travel far, as Azriel caught it with his mouth.

His lips claimed hers in a deep kiss, one of his hands travelling up her body to curl loosely around her throat, and when he pulled back far enough for his tongue to travel along the edge of her jaw, she couldn’t suppress a shiver.

A soft moan left her when his lips found the shell of her ear, hot puffs of breath forcing goosebumps to arise on her skin.

“I wish you could see what it’s like to fuck you, my love,” he whispered, teeth finding her earlobe. “It’s indescribable.”

She smiled at that. “Is that an invitation?”

Azriel gave another long roll of his hips, and she failed to suppress a moan at the depth of him.

This time, when he spoke, she could hear the smile in his voice. “With you, it’s always an invitation.”

She concentrated on his mind then, and as she reached out across their bond to run her lips along the solid mental shields he kept in place, she felt him shudder against her.

His shields opened just wide enough for her to slip through, and she felt a moan pass her lips as she wrapped her mind around his, weaving through his thoughts, tasting his emotions.

He kissed her hard, their tongues slipping against each other, and his groan vibrated though her.

It was when he retreated back to his knees that he shared with her the sight of what lay before him.

She breathed a moan at the sight, and she felt his desire burning through her like fire, mixing with hers, amplifying when he moved his hands back to her hips to hold her in place as he withdrew from deep inside her.

Her legs lay draped over his thighs, her arms stretched over her head to bare her body to him, wrists tied to the headboard. He wanted to run his hands over her body, wanted to bite the soft flesh of her breasts, and run his tongue down her front until it would find the sweetness between her thighs.

She tasted herself on her tongue as Azriel recalled the memory of what had happened earlier that evening, of her moans as he’d sucked on her, as he’d licked her and held her thighs open for pleasure to overwhelm her.

He’d loved every second of it, and she could feel his desire to repeat it after this. She always tasted a bit different after he’d fucked her.

He ran his palms up her body, and she marvelled at the contrast of scarred palms on smooth skin, of wide, rough fingers cupping the supple flesh of her breasts. She felt a wave of pleasure at the sight, at the way he held her, kneaded her—the way his fingers rolled her nipples. She couldn’t keep track if it was her own pleasure she felt, but she arched her back to push her chest deeper into his palms, and she saw the result through his eyes—her head tilted back to reveal the delicate curve of her throat, her lips parted in a moan he could feel in his loins.

You’re a work of art, my love, she heard him purr in his mind, the words wrapping around her like a blanket.Watch.

Her cheeks heated at the sight of his length gliding back inside, gliding deeper and deeper until their hips were flush. She thought she heard herself moan with the intrusion, but above all, she sensed Azriel’s desire to take her harder. He wanted to fuck into her over and over again, wanted to hear her skin slap against his, wanted to see her writhe in pleasure before him.

She watched her own hands pull harder on her restraints, the muscles of her thighs flexing at the images she found flickering through Azriel’s mind.

Do it, Az, she whispered into his mind like the voice of temptation. Take me.

At once, Azriel’s palms slipped down the length of her body to settle on her hips once again, and at the first harsh snap of his hips, his fingers dug into her flesh to pull her into his thrust.

Her back arched off the mattress, a guttural groan breaking from her throat as he set a hard rhythm that had her hands move to wrap around the bars of the headboard for more leverage.

Azriel’s mind began to grow hazy with pleasure, and as she watched through his eyes as he fucked her body, she fucked his mind in return.

She poured all her desire into him, set the bond aglow with her want, and laced herself into each of his thoughts until she couldn’t tell where she stopped and Azriel began.

When he closed his eyes to tilt his head back for a choked groan to break from his throat, Azriel cut off her sight for just a moment.

“Fuck, I love it when you do that,” he panted, his voice only a breath mixed in with the orchestra of their bodies, and she loved the note of desperation it held—like she alone had the power to drag him to the very edge of control.

When he looked back down at her, she watched the way her body fought to meet his thrusts, though her quivering muscles made it harder and harder the longer it went on.

The sounds were falling from her lips freely now, and she felt the little shocks they sent down his spine each time. He liked her whimpers most of all, liked when her back curled off the mattress and her hips began to twitch between his palms.

She watched through his eyes as Azriel moved his hand to the soft flesh of her lower belly, and when he pressed down just hard enough for her to feel the pressure of him deep inside of her, she came with a moan that bordered on a sob.

She clung to his mind as she writhed beneath him, and when Azriel followed her with a tight grip on her hips and a desperate groan, she could feel his own pleasure mix with hers until every last inch of her mind was glowing with it.

He leaned forward then, once again changing the angle as his hips urged closer to hers, and when his lips met hers, she gasped at the sudden contact.

He pressed her deep into the pillows, and she felt the way her body twitched against him, waves of aftershock rolling through her as he brushed against her most sensitive parts.

My love, Azriel’s voice rang through her mind as he trailed his nose along her cheekbone, brushing against the fabric of her blindfold as he did so.

She didn’t know how long they’d lain like that, but her breathing had calmed a bit, her muscles no longer shaking but rather deliciously sore. She felt his fingers move to untie the rope that held her, and when she was free, she lifted her hands to his cheeks and pulled him back into a deep kiss.

Bit by bit, she untangled herself from his thoughts, from his emotions, his innermost being, and as she retreated from his mind, she felt the last waves of love he sent after her before his mental shields closed and only the bond was left to thrum with what they’d shared.

Neither one of them wanted to break the kiss, but when Azriel gently tugged the blindfold from her face, she couldn’t help but pull back and meet his gaze. She’d longed to see his eyes. They were always the best part—the windows to his mind whenever she wasn’t wrapped up in him.

“You’re amazing,” Azriel said quietly, big hands framing her face as he breathed a sweet kiss to her lips. “To feel what you feel, it’s … breath-taking. No one’s ever fucked me like that,” he added with a teasing grin.

She couldn’t help the giggle that passed her lips when she wrapped sluggish arms around his neck.

“Glad to hear I can be of service,” she spoke softly, twirling one of the longer strands of his hair around her finger. “But I’m sure my brother would have done you a solid if you’d asked.”

Azriel growled deep in his chest, a pained expression entering his face. “Maybe don’t talk about your brother right after some of the best sex we’ve ever had.”

“Aw, the best sex?” She grinned up at him. “Stop, Azzie, or I might blush.”

#hey god it’s me again #just wondering when u will grant me daemati powers and azriel ‘the sex god’ shadowsinger #now if u will all excuse me i have to go jump into a frozen lake

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