missymae531

[missymae531]

[missymae531]

Henry Cavill | The Man from U.N.C.L.E | Promo Tour 💙

[missymae531]

He's so cute 🤣🥰

[missymae531]

Henry Cavill | Mission Impossible Fallout | behind the scenes 🔥

[missymae531]

Henry Cavill on Instagram 😍 Highlander hair is looking good so far 🔥

[missymae531]

Sin So Sweet: Part Six

Attn: This took me exactly 5yrs to write. I’m so sorry 🤦🏻‍♀️ I hope y’all enjoy it!

Word Count: 2,472

Pairing: Mike Collins x OFC Juliet Sherwood

Summary: Juliet and Mike go to the gala.

Warnings: 18+, smidge of angst, possessive Mikey, oral (female receiving), humping and coming in one’s underwear

Previous Part:

Part Five

“Doll,” Mike whispers, shaking Juliet softly. “Hmm?,” she hums before blindly wrapping her arms around him. She pulls him tight to her, making him chuckle. “I’ve got to go Sweets,” he murmurs, though putting his arms around her. “Where?,” she questions. “Work. Gonna be a bit busy the next few days,” he tells her. A sad sound leaves her, and it breaks his heart.

“I’ll be home in the evenings Doll. I’ve just got to help Dad with some things. Mom is excited to spend some time with you,” he tells her. “She’s so nice,” Juliet mumbles. “She is. Give me a kiss,” he then says. Juliet loosens her grip lightly before kissing Mike sweetly. When he pulls away he notices a light pout on her lips and groans. “Doll, you’re killing me,” he whines. “Sorry,” she says sheepishly.

“It’s okay. I’ll miss you too. You have fun with Mom. I love you,” he tells her before giving her another kiss. “I love you too,” she replies.

Juliet sleeps a bit longer before getting up and ready for the day. “Ah there you are sweetheart!,” Imelda says excitedly. “Good morning,” Juliet smiles. “How about a bit of breakfast before we start our day?,” she asks. Juliet nods in agreement before they sit down and dig in. “What are we doing today?,” she then asks.

Imelda rubs her hands together excitedly before speaking. “We’re doing a spa day! Full treatment. They even have a salon on sight if we wanted to get trims, but that’s totally up to you! Being that it’s Thursday though, and the gala is Saturday I figured we could freshen up a bit! Then tomorrow we can find your dress. I’ve already had my favorite shop pull a few items I think will be just perfect for you,” she tells Juliet.

“You don’t have to do all of this for me,” Juliet says. “Oh little love, you don’t know how exciting this is for me. I love my boys, but that’s all there is! A bunch of boys. Usually I have to do all these things by myself! I’m more than happy to do this WITH you,” Imelda insists. “Okay,” Juliet says, feeling a bit better.

They have their day out and have a blast. The spa treatment is so relaxing, and it’s exactly what Juliet needed. “Tomorrow after we pick your dress we should go grab lunch then come home and laze around the pool,” Imelda says on the ride home. “Won’t it be cold?,” Juliet asks. “Inside pool in the basement is heated,” Imelda says with a wink. “I don’t have a bathing suit,” Juliet comments. “Well we’ll just have to get you one!,” Imelda says.

That evening business runs late for Mike and his father, so by time he’s back Juliet is tucked into the bed. She hadn’t meant to doze off but after her long, relaxing day she couldn’t help it. The bed dipping under Mikey’s weight wakes her. “Go back to sleep Doll,” he coos. She quickly drapes her arms around his neck and pulls him close. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she admits. “You were waiting for me?,” he questions. “Mmhmm,” she hums before kissing his lips.

“You’re so sweet baby. Did you have a good day?,” he asks. “It was nice. Tomorrow we’re going dress shopping, and having lunch,” she says. “Yeah?,” he questions, letting his hands roam. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Let’s go to sleep then Sweets. Long day for the both of us tomorrow, huh?,” he says. “Night Mikey,” she mumbles sleepily. “Night Sweets,” he says with a kiss to the top of her head.

The next morning Juliet wakes up and gets ready when Mike does, despite his protests. “I want to have breakfast with you. Bedsides, your mom said we were leaving out earlier today,” Juliet tells him. Suddenly, he pulls her close big, tatted hands squeezing her bottom. “I can’t wait to see what dress you pick,” he says before brushing his lips over hers. He sees the blush dust over her freckled cheeks and chuckles. “H— hopefully you’ll like it,” she stammers. “It’s you Sweets, I’m going to love it,” he says before placing a heavy kiss on her lips.

“Let’s go get that breakfast,” he simpers. After breakfast Mike heads out with his dad, but not before giving Juliet a lingering kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs against her lips. “I love you,” she whispers. He gives her a big smile and another kiss before leaving.

“He really is smitten with you,” Imelda says as she drives the two of them to the dress shop. “I’m pretty… fond of him too,” Juliet admits shyly. “I know sweetie. It’s so sweet. I told my favorite sales associate here to pull a few things for the both of us. Let’s see if we can find something to really wow these men of ours,” she says excitedly.

“Oh Melly she really is a little doll! I’m Angelique! I’ll be helping you today!,” the sales associate tells Juliet. “Nice to meet you,” Juliet replies. After that Imelda starts trying on dresses. After several different choices she finally puts on this deep brown dress. Its form fitted and one sleeved. It’s perfect for her and Juliet can’t help but tell her. “Good. Now you dear,” she insists.

They start with pastels which is a no go, then more muted tones. “I’m not to sure about these,” Imelda comments. “Oh— there is one that may just be perfect for her,” Angelique says before leaving the room. Juliet goes back into the dressing room to get herself out of the awful grey dress when Angelique slips her a gown. After trying it on she already knows it’s the one she wants, but upon Imelda and Angelique’s enthusiastic approvals, it’s settled.

Before the gala, Juliet is whisked away to Imelda’s room, despite Mike’s protests. “But Moooom,” he groans. “No buts. This is going to be a surprise. Now deal with it,” she says before closing her bedroom door. Juliet can hear him continually groaning before stomping away, and can’t help but giggle. “Silly boy. Now… let’s get ready!,” Imelda says excitedly.

After what seems like ages Imelda goes downstairs and tells Mike to wait so Juliet can make her entrance. “Bu—,” he begins to protest. “Shh. Trust me,” she insists. When Juliet rounds the corner and begins her descend down the stairs Mike feels like he can hardly breathe. Her dress is a velvet, deep green, long sleeved gown with a modest neckline. The bodice is form fitting and the full length skirt fans out. She looks like a fairy princess, and before he’s realized Mike has told her as much.

“Fairy princess huh?,” she giggles as he tucks one of her soft curls behind her ear. Imelda’s styled it so that the top half is pulled back, only a few tendrils framing her pretty face. Mike looks at her lips longingly, but hesitates. “It’s smudge proo—,” she gets out before his lips are on hers. He cups her face tenderly while holding her close, arm draped about her waist. “You look so beautiful,” he breathes. “You look nice too,” she says softly.

In that moment she looks up at him from under her lashes and he goes through a range of emotions. First he can’t wait for everyone to see his pretty little doll on his arm, the next he’s thinking about how he’d rip out anyone’s eyeballs that dared to look too long. Now both hands are on her waist, fingers flexing lightly at the thought. “What’s wrong?,” Juliet asks. “Just potting a little murder,” Murphy chuckles. Juliet’s face scrunches up in confusion before meeting Mike’s eye.

That’s when she sees it, the absolute possessiveness. His eyes bore into hers, pupils blown as his brow furrows. “Mikey,” she says as she touches his chest. “I’m sorry Doll I just—,” he begins. “I’m yours,” she tells him simply. “Mine,” he says reverently before kissing her again. “Alright, alright. If we don’t leave now, Mikey boy here isn’t going to make it. Come on now,” Murphy says lightheartedly.

Juliet rides in the backseat, pressed tight to Mike’s side on the way to the gala. Nervous energy stills hums off of him, but he manages to loosen up a bit with a few kisses to his cheek for Juliet. She’s still not too sure what they’re actually doing here, but she spends her time close to Mike. They eat, before making their way around and schmoozing with important people.

Before she’s even introduced she recognizes Mike’s cousin, August. The dark chocolate curls, and crystalline blue eyes are a dead give away. “Well, well. Never thought I’d see the day,” he smirks as he takes Juliet’s hand in his. He places a kiss to the back of it, mustache bristling against her skin. “Alright fuck off with that,” Mike grumbles. “You really like her, huh?,” he teases. “I love her,” he replies honestly. August cracks a devilish grin, ready to tease again before they all get quite the surprise.

“This really what you’re doing now Julie?,” John asks, seeming to have come out of nowhere. Juliet should’ve known her family would be here catering as they often did for city events. “What else am I supposed to do? You kicked me out of the only home I’ve ever known,” she replies flatly. “Come back home. I’m begging you,” John pleads. “No,” she replies defiantly. “Look here—,” he starts while trying to grab at her, but not before Mike puts himself between them. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says through gritted teeth. “Unbelievable,” he huffs before he walks away.

“Your father?,” August asks. “Yeah. I’m done with him pushing me around though,” she replies. “Good for you little one,” August says with an affectionate squeeze to her shoulder. Juliet hadn’t realize Murphy had approached, talking to Mike in hushed tones before he turns his attention to her. “We’ve been here long enough, Doll. You ready to go home?,” he then asks. “Yes, please,” she agrees.

The ride home they’re quiet. Mike holding Juliet close as she rests against him. “You okay, Sweets?,” he asks as they come to a stop in front of the house. “I’m good. Glad to be back home with you,” she says, making him smile. “Come on,” he says before helping her out of the car.

Once downstairs Juliet is ready to remove her heels. She sits and before she can undo the strap Mike kneels before her. “Let me Doll,” he tells her. He pushes the front of her skirt up into her lap, fingertips brushing her thighs, before lifting her foot and letting it sit against his chest. He takes off the heel and kisses her ankle before giving the other the same treatment. Juliet feels her skin flame at the intimacy of it all.

Once he’s done he still sits, taking her foot in his hand again and massaging it and working his way up her calf. Kisses begin following his touches, and he repeats this with her opposite leg. When his lips land on her thigh she gasps as his tongue flits out against her skin. Mike’s not sure what’s come over him. He never goes down women, it’s too intimate for a simple fling, but he’s absolutely dying to taste more of Juliet.

“Are you going to let me taste you Baby Doll?,” he purrs. “I— I,” she stammers as he kisses her thighs some more. “Fuck. I can smell how wet you are. I just… I need it,” he breathes. “Yes,” she murmurs. Within seconds she’s up on her feet. Mike makes quick work of her dress and underwear before shucking his suit off. He’s down to his boxers and Juliet can feel how hard he is.

He gently lays her back on the bed before kissing his way down her body. The entire time her body trembles on anticipation. “Such a cute little pussy Doll,” Mike says softly. “Th— thank you,” Juliet stammers as he kisses her outer labia. He then dips down and lets his tongue slide through her opening and lets out a groan. Juliet shudders, never having felt anything like it before, but what really feels good is when he lets his tongue glide up to her clit.

“Oh—,” she gasps before slapping her hand over her mouth. Mike stops immediately. “Please let me hear you Sweets,” he says before gently moving her hand and going back to work. “Mikeeey,” she moans. “Mmm,” he hums against her. God, his cock hurts so bad… is leaking so much. Before he realizes he’s humping the bed, hips canting of their own volition. The feel… the taste of her in his mouth, the sight, and sounds she’s letting fall freely now he’s asked for them. It’s all too much.

“I— I’m gonna c—cum. Mikey… please,” she whines. He keeps licking her sweet little clit at the same pace but his body has a mind of its own as he watches her. One of her hands is tangled into his curl, the other fisting the fitted sheet. It’s too much. His hips jerk, making the headboard slam against the wall, as he moans into her pussy. Her grip on him tightens and when she starts pretty much fucking his face he loses it.

His cock strains to the point of no return before he explodes in his underwear, his thrusts never slowing. A moment later, Juliet’s body goes entirely rigid. “Ah— ahhhhh,” she keens as she orgasms harder than ever. He works the both of them through it, nearly delirious with pleasure. When she can’t stand the stimulation anymore, Juliet pulls at Mike until he gets the hint.

She pulls until he’s atop her, where she can crash her lips into him. He groans deeply against her lips, sending the vibration of through her. “I- I want to taste you now,” she tells him breathlessly. “Doll I— well I came in my underwear,” he says a bit embarrassed. “That’s so hot,” Juliet says before kissing him again. It’s taken him so by surprise but he likes it. “So hot huh?,” he teases. She nods as she bites her lip. “I think I’m a bad influence on you Doll,” he chuckles.

She touches his face gently. “I don’t care,” she tells him. He looks down at her, so full of love he can hardly stand it. “I love you,” he says… he has to. “I love you too,” she says before becoming shy again. “What is it?,” he asks. “Soon I— I want to taste you too. Then I want you to make love to me,” she admits. “Whatever you want Doll, whenever you’re ready I’m yours,” he replies. “Mine,” she says before kissing him once more.

[missymae531]

bound by love

a/n: part 2 of bound by fear! can probably be read alone but I recommend you read part 1 first :)

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: anxiety and panic caused by past trauma, allusions to past trauma and abuse, language, descriptions of injuries, descriptions of menstrual cycle/menstrual blood, finally some comfort for reader

word count: 12.7k

synopsis: You were falling in love with the mate you never wanted, and he was waiting patiently to catch you.

read part 1 here

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

“You’re not seeing her.”

“Az—”

“Rhys.”

Your eyes flew open, and you had to blink a few times to adjust to the golden sunlight streaming in through the gauzy curtains. Your breath caught in your throat as you focused on the voices that woke you.

“She comes from a rebel camp. Her memories—” An unfamiliar voice spoke calmly. A male voice that made your hair raise.

“I don’t give a fuck, Rhysand.” You knew that voice. You heard that voice in your dreams—but you had never heard it so feral. There was quiet lethality that laced the low growl of Azriel’s voice, and it sent a suffocating spike of fear through your chest. 

A beat of silence passed, then Azriel said quietly. “She’s awake, and she’s scared.” Gods, could he smell your fear from here? Were you that obvious? “You need to leave.”

“You both need to leave,” a third voice cut in. Female. Nesta, if you remembered right.

“I am not leaving—”

“Az—” she cut him off, “Go. Calm down, and then come back. Go bathe, eat, fly around the townhouse in circles, for all I care, but you need to calm down.”

There was some inaudible grumbling, followed by the heavy thud of footsteps. Then the door slowly creaked open and Nesta’s silver eyes met yours. You had to squint to make her out, your vision was still blurry and your head was pounding, but you could see the surprised tilt of her brows when she saw you.

“Well look at you,” she drawled as she shut the door. “You actually seem lucid.”

Your cheeks burned at her words. You wanted to argue, to quip back, to say something that made you seem less vulnerable than you were—but the truth was you didn’t even know what day it was. Your memories were hazy bits and pieces of Nesta and Madja poking and prodding at you, and brief moments where you awoke in the night, then listened to Azriel’s heartbeat in the hall to soothe yourself back to sleep.

He had yet to see you since he brought you here.

Nesta sat a plate of toast on your nightstand, then started digging around in the drawer. “Illyrian males and their egos,” she grumbled and sat some vials next to the plate. 

Your mouth felt dry as you asked. “Who was that?”

Her eyes flicked to yours, a bit of surprise limning them. She quickly went back to focusing on her task, but she still answered, “Rhys.”

The name was…familiar. Familiar in a way that left a pit in your stomach, but you couldn’t place it. Your thoughts felt jumbled and sticky, like someone had dumped a bucket of honey in your head and left you to pull bits and pieces apart one by one. “He’s Illyrian?” you asked. You hated how weak you sounded, how hoarse your voice was. Who knows how many days it had been since you even used it.

Nesta paused at that. Her eyes met yours again, and they assessed you with something raw and knowing—something akin to sympathy, but not quite. You shifted under the uncomfortable weight of her gaze.

“He’s the High Lord.”

You swallowed hard. You knew that. You knew the High Lord’s name was Rhysand, and you knew Azriel considered him family. Of course he would want to see you, to interrogate you.

You had not realized your breathing had turned shallow and frantic until Nesta placed a cool hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said, in a tone as gentle as you assumed she was capable of. “He’s not a threat to you,” she added, albeit begrudgingly. “Just a pain in my ass.”

She pulled her hand away, and the brief, casual touch left you feeling untethered. “Has Madja been here? Do we need to do your wing salve?”

Your stomach turned at the thought of her touching your wings. She likely already had touched your wings, but you couldn’t remember, and you didn’t want her to now. So you lied, “She already did it.”

Nesta didn’t even question you. “Are you hungry?”

You were starving, actually, but the thought of moving, of trying to sit up to chew the buttered bread on the plate beside you was revolting. You ignored her question, and instead asked, “How many days has it been?”

Her lips pressed together, and her eyes narrowed at your deflection, but she still answered, “Four.”

The number rattled around inside you, leaving you feeling bruised and hollow. Four days. You had been trapped in this bed for four days, vulnerable and injured and—

“Azriel has barely left the hall,” Nesta said quietly. “Only when I’ve been here, or Feyre. Do you remember her?”

You didn’t, and that left you feeling sick. If you didn’t remember her, who is to say someone else had not snuck in, or—

“Azriel would die before he let someone lay a finger on you,” she said quietly, her voice cold but eerily soothing. The sun was starting to fade, and you finally realized it was evening, not morning. “I know you don’t believe that, and that’s okay—but it’s true.” She brought a tiny vial to your lips, coaxing your mouth open to let a fruity liquid slide down your throat. It was alarming how pliant you were for her. Your subconscious trust for this new female was entirely driving your motions.

She sat the vial down with a soft plink, and she glanced at the hall when there was a soft thud. That familiar tug pulled at your chest, but it was gentle, and something settled inside you. That might be the work of whatever tonic Nesta had given you, though. “Sounds like your bat is back,” she mused with an eye roll. “Try to get some sleep,” she said as she moved toward the door, leaving you alone with your sticky tumultuous thoughts and the fading rays of sunlight as your only company.

Well, your thoughts, the sun, and your bat sitting in the hallway, apparently.

~ ~ ~

Turns out, skipping your wing salve had been a gross miscalculation on your part. Suffering through Nesta’s touch on your wings would have been a far better alternative to the agony you were in right now.

Painful did not even come close to describing the state of your wings. It had yanked you from your sleep so brutally—it left you gasping for breath. You were certain you were under attack, that you were back in that damned forest, until you recognized the silken sheets brushing your skin and the warm bed beneath you. Things that so sharply contrasted with the torment you were enduring it almost made you laugh in your hysteria.

The pain was paralyzing. You couldn’t move. How could you possibly still be in this much agony? Tears were streaming down the side of your face, and you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know how to soothe yourself, how to survive this. You didn’t even know where or what your wing salve was, and even if you did, you were certain you couldn’t apply it yourself.

You gasped when you felt that gentle tug in your chest again, and more tears fell as you instinctively clutched at the glowing thread coiled around your soul. You slowly registered Azriel’s presence outside your door—his scent, his breathing, his heartbeat—all things that tethered you slightly back to reality, and you didn’t even think before you rasped, “Azriel.”

The door immediately flew open, and Azriel was at your side within a second. His eyes were wide as they took you in, and you couldn’t stop the full body shiver that rattled through you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, words panicked. “What can I do?”

“My wing,” you whimpered. “I—” you gasped, “I didn’t let Nesta put on the wing salve.”

His eyes turned vicious, and a new wave of fear flooded over you. This was your fault. Your fault you were in pain, your fault you had to bother him—

“She should have insisted, or got Madja,” he growled. 

“I lied,” you cried, “It’s not her fault.” A sob broke free when you thought about him unleashing his ire on her because of you. “I just didn’t want her to touch my wings. I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” his voice was softer, and when you opened your eyes, the anger on his face was gone, and now only worry shined in his hazel irises. “You didn’t know. It’s your instinct to protect your wings, it’s okay—we’ll take care of it.”

You were still shaking as you stared at him, as you watched him dig around in your nightstand until he pulled out a silver tin. He unscrewed the cap hastily but not clumsily—you were fairly certain that Azriel would look graceful doing anything—and he scooped out a generous clump of a sticky, amber colored balm with his fingers. Then he froze.

His throat bobbed as his eyes met yours. “You need this,” he said quietly, but he didn’t move. “You have to have this—but I can get Feyre, or Nesta, or I can find Madja if you want but—”

“Just do it,” you gritted out, your voice unnaturally high as the pain radiated everywhere. 

“Okay,” he murmured, and he didn’t even question it. He didn’t wait or overthink it—he didn’t give you the chance to think about him touching your wings.

Until he was, and you cried out as his fingers spread the salve along the raw membrane of your wing that had been miraculously stitched together. “I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly, but his ministrations didn’t stop. The pain slowly ebbed away as he rubbed the balm over you meticulously, and you thanked the Mother for creating a fae as gifted as Madja that made such fast-acting remedies. As your pain ebbed away, the underlying anxiety you felt from Azriel hovering you, touching you, started to shine through.

Your chest felt tight, and even though he was helping you, he was taking away your pain, you still found yourself wanting to shove the male off the bed. You clenched your hands into fists at your sides, grinding your teeth together to fight the fear that was coursing through you. You asked him to do this. You were safe. You were safe.

You had never been safe in your life. You had never had someone you could trust. No one ever did anything for you out of the kindness of their heart. Any male that had ever shown you a smidge of kindness, of charm, only wanted to fuck you, and when you rejected them, that kindess flew out the window.

The Illyrian shopkeeper was probably the only faerie you had met who had shown you genuine kindness, but even that kindness was born out of desperation—of a shared disdain for the culture you were both subjected to. It was kindness born out of spite.

Azriel was just…different. Nothing he did made sense. It was confusing and scary and comforting all at once.

“There,” he murmured quietly, pulling his hand away and standing up from where he had knelt on the bed. “It’s done.”

You didn’t respond. You still felt like you were suffocating as you stared at him, and as if he could feel your anxiety, your glare, he went still as he was screwing the lid of the tin shut. His eyes slowly dragged to yours, and you hated how soft his gaze was. You hated the pity you saw in his eyes. 

“Is it helping?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed hard, and eventually nodded. 

He gently sat the tin on your nightstand, and the clinking of the metal against the wood made you flinch. Azriel clearly noticed, but he didn’t say anything.

You felt the tether on your temper snap when he looked at you again with those damned hazel eyes that always left you feeling conflicted and unmoored. “So what’s your plan?” you asked, and you knew your tone was abrasive—aggressive even—but you felt cornered lying there in front of him.

“My plan?” Azriel asked slowly.

“Yes,” you snapped. “Your plan. What are you going to do with me?”

~ ~ ~

Azriel was certain that his heart couldn’t break anymore. Not after he found you in that blood-soaked snow. Not after he ripped your father from your limp and battered body, and he felt your terror rushing at him in waves down the bond. His heart was in pieces for you, and they rattled around inside his chest every time he heard you whimper in your sleep or felt a trickle of fear run from your soul to his.

Then you woke up screaming. You woke up in agony, and you trembled in fear the entire time he helped you, because you were in so much pain you couldn’t bear to wait another second for someone else to do it. Then you asked that question. That fucking question.

“What are you going to do with me?”

It made Azriel just as angry as it did the first time you asked him that. Only this time, his ire was much closer to slipping its leash. If you weren’t lying there staring up at him with glossy eyes and tear-stricken cheeks as you desperately tried to appear angry, when all he could feel was your fear—he would be in the Hewn City this second, delivering justice to the male who hurt his mate.

Azriel wasn’t mad at you, though. Never. Mother, he sometimes wondered if all of this was his fault. If you had endured such suffering because you were destined to be his mate. It made him sick to think about the decades you spent in that camp, under a roof with such a wicked male, and he had no idea you even existed.

You didn’t trust him. He wasn’t sure you would ever trust him. Hell, he couldn’t blame you. He remembered what it was like when Rhys’s mother took him in, when Cassian and Rhys decided to stick to him like a thorn in his side. He constantly wondered when she would grow tired of housing the Illyrian bastard that talked to shadows, or when she would tire of his piss poor manners and impenetrable silence every time she spoke to him. He wondered when Rhys and Cassian would dig in too deep, when one of them might decide to breakaway, and leave him behind as dead weight—or even just outright kill him.

A fresh wave of terror  washed over him, sucking the breath from his lungs as his mind scrambled to parse apart his own emotions from his mate’s. Azriel’s mouth felt full of cotton as he met your red-rimmed eyes, as he watched you tremble on the bed in front of him, as he took in the bandages peeking out from your shirt and the freshly stitched membrane of your wings he had just slathered in salve. Your eyes were bracketed by the darkest of circles, and he had to fight to keep his own anguish, his anger, isolated to his side of the bond.

Azriel wanted to touch you. He wanted to feel your skin beneath his fingertips, to solidify that you were here, in Velaris, with him. He wanted to take away the pain and suffering and fear that was suffocating you.

He didn’t, of course. You were petrified of him, and he knew that the last thing his touch would do was bring you any semblance of comfort. It didn’t matter how loud his instincts roared at him to wrap you in his arms and swaddle the two of you in his shadows, away from the rest of the world that had brought his mate pain. He would never do that. He would never be another male in your life taking what was never his to take.

He swallowed hard, and he moved toward the low-backed chair in the corner, pulling it out slightly so he could meet your eyes as he sat on the velvet-lined cushion. “You want to know my plan?” he asked quietly, his voice steady and as gentle as he could make it with the anger still simmering beneath his skin. Anger that flared when he watched you curl into yourself further, your eyes wide with regret and trepidation. “It’s a work in progress, I suppose,” he said. He kept his eyes on yours, no matter how much your gaze bounced away from his and then back. “My first priority is letting you heal.”

He could see the confusion cloud your eyes, your skepticism momentarily diluting the fear coursing through you. “Then,” he said slowly, “We’ll decide what to do with your father.” Azriel couldn’t help the way he spat the undeserving title out, the word dripping with disdain.

Your throat bobbed, and your hands clutched at the sheets beneath you. You tilted your head away from him, opting to stare at the ceiling as you asked, with such a heartbreakingly small voice, “My father—is he—can he—” you shook your head slightly, your face twisting at the motion. “Can he find me here?”

And there went another piece of Azriel’s already shattered heart, another shard crumbling to dust. “No,” he promised, his voice thick with barely restrained emotion. You slowly turned your head back to face him, your eyes heavy with utter exhaustion. At least you had stopped trembling, and the fear coursing down the bond had slowly calmed. “He doesn’t know where you are, and even if he did, he couldn’t cross Velaris’s borders. He couldn’t enter this house. I promise.” You didn’t seem convinced, and again, Azriel couldn’t blame you. “Besides,” he added quietly, tracing a thumb over the siphon on his hand absently. “He’s indisposed.”

Your eyes widened. “Did you,” you sputtered, “did you kill him?”

Azriel’s eyes locked with yours. “No.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But I will, should you ask.” He could tell you didn’t know what to make of the lethal promise, and for a moment he feared he said too much, that he shouldn’t be offering to kill a male so easily while you're still wrestling with your own fear of him—but your shoulders seemed to relax a little with his words, and he didn’t feel another rush of terror. “We can talk about that later, though,” he murmured.

“And what about me?” you asked shakily, your voice nearly a whisper.

Azriel didn’t know where to begin. He knew one thing, though, and he knew it was what you needed to hear above anything else, so he said softly, “You will do whatever you want. You can stay here, we can move you to the House of Wind, we can find you your own place in Velaris, or—” Azriel choked a little over the words he knew he had to say, even if they felt like an axe to his chest. “Or somewhere else. Another court, if you wished.” He prayed to the Mother you didn’t.

Your blinks were growing slower as you observed him carefully. Your gaze made him nervous—he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this nervous with someone. He was quiet, reserved, and he flustered far easier than he cared to admit—but he was also the Spymaster. He had spent centuries mastering his nerves, but with you…it was just different. He also felt overwhelming pride and relief when his words seemed to lift a weight from your body, grateful that he was for once soothing your anxiety rather than causing it.

You pulled the blankets up close to your chin, and he winced as you did when the fabric brushed over your wings, but you eventually relaxed, settling back into the bed. “I’ve never been to a city,” you murmured, voice tired and heavy. “I never left my camp until—” your words cut off with a sharp breath, and Azriel shifted forward.

“Velaris is beautiful,” he said hurriedly, desperate to keep your momentary reprieve from the fear and panic and pain that had clutched you so thoroughly earlier. “We call it the City of Starlight, and it certainly lives up to its name. It’s beautiful during the day too, though.” He couldn’t stop his soft words from tumbling from his lips as you watched him with hooded eyes, listening silently. “There are markets and jewelers and tailors. Bakeries and diners and taverns. Artists have an entire quarter for their work. It’s vibrant, and full of life, despite the hardships they’ve faced. Velaris is resilient.” Like you, he almost said, then thought better of it. “I think you will love it.”

His rambling was met with silence, and when Azriel looked at you again, his heart stuttered. Your lips were parted slightly as you breathed steadily, your eyes shut and your face more relaxed than he had ever seen it. His chest swelled with even more pride that you had fallen asleep with him right there, that some subconscious part of you felt safe enough to let your exhaustion take over with him sitting just a few feet away.

He watched you sleep for far too long, far too many minutes passing with him staring at you in awe. His throat felt tight and his eyes burned as he finally tore his eyes from you—his mate. His mate. You were his mate, and he would die before he let anything happen to you again. He meant what he told you that night he brought you here, he was devoted to you. He never could have anticipated the overwhelming reverence he would regard his mate with, but it was entirely consuming in the best way. It was all he ever wanted, and he would be damned if he did anything to jeopardize it.

That meant another night of sleeping in the hallway, with his back propped against your wall, listening to your heartbeat from afar. He knew you would not want him to stay here tonight—you wouldn’t want him watching you while you slept. He was fairly certain you would spiral the next morning about leaving yourself so vulnerable to him, and he would be damned if he added to the impending panic.

He moved the chair back to the corner, his movements entirely silent, and he yanked his shadows back that had slowly migrated to hover near your face. He glared at the rogue tendrils, and then gave you one last onceover, confirming to himself that you were okay. He hesitated, though, standing there beside you, the bond begging him to just touch you. To tuck an errant strand of sweat-damp hair behind your ear, to brush his knuckles over your cheek, to press a kiss to your forehead—anything to physically connect with his mate.

He clenched his jaw, breathing deep, and told himself that it would take time. He had to give you time, and that if you never gave him more of you, if this was as close as he would ever get, he would make himself be okay with that. So, instead of reaching his hand out to brush his fingers along your bruised and mottled skin, he whispered another promise into the silent darkness, “Wherever you go, I’ll support you.” His throat bobbed, and he licked his lips before turning toward the door. “I will be in the hall. If you call for me, I’ll come. Always.”

~ ~ ~

“Are you and Azriel…close?” you asked Nesta, voice far too nonchalant when you were feeling anything but.

Nesta peered at you over her shoulder, her brows raised. “Close,” she repeated slowly, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes.

You hated the blush that crept up your neck and all the way to your ears. You were learning you were far too easy to fluster, and you hated it. It just felt like another vulnerability—another open window that anyone could peer through to see your emotions.

“Forget it,” you grumbled, tugging your breakfast tray into your lap.

“No,” Nesta said as she turned away from the vanity to fully face you. Why she had decided to braid her hair this morning here in your room was beyond you. Your eyes couldn’t help but snag on the Illyrian leathers wrapped around her as she sat on the foot of your bed.

“Azriel is my family,” Nesta said quietly, almost as if the words were foreign in her mouth. Family didn’t mean much to you, and you almost told her that before she added, “And not because he’s Cassian’s. Azriel is one of the few that gave me space to…heal—and he never made me feel guilty about it, even though I deserved to. I think he…” She licked her lips, looking at the wall across the room. “He gets it.”

You took a bite of the now lukewarm oatmeal, immediately gagging at the bland taste and gooey texture. You hated oatmeal. Nesta snickered, then gestured to the array of bowls on your tray. “Put some fruit on it.”

You glanced at the bowl of berries beside you, the bowl of honey and the bowl of nuts, feeling foolish for not knowing that’s how oatmeal is normally eaten. You rarely had access to such foods in Illyria, and the glimpse of the variety they had here in Velaris was overwhelming.

“Do you think…” You played with the hem of the duvet lying in your lap. This felt like such a juvenile question, but you needed to know. “Do you think he is a good male?”

Nesta’s eyes softened slightly, and you found yourself wishing you could stuff the words back in your mouth. Before you could tell her to forget you said anything, she said, “Well, I certainly didn’t bring you breakfast in bed. Nor have I been sleeping on the floor of a hallway for two weeks.”

Your eyes snapped to hers. “You didn’t make this?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “No, he insists on doing anything he can to help you. He just gives it to me to carry in.”

You swallowed hard, staring at the slightly elaborate but frankly minimalist breakfast. Something that he likely knew you would be used to eating, with just a garnish of something new. It was like that every morning. You rubbed at your sternum, feeling something squeeze tight in your chest.

Nesta stood up, her sudden motion making you flinch, and started rifling through the dresser against the wall. She tossed stretchy black pants at you, followed by a navy sweater that looked like it could swallow you whole. You pushed your tray to the side and picked up the sleeve of the sweater, a fresh and intense wave of cedar and salt rushing over you. You swallowed. “Is this—”

“The pants are mine,” Nesta said as she shut the drawer with a thud. “But I don’t have wings, so the sweater is Azriel’s.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

Nesta seemed entirely unimpressed. “Put it on.”

“But—”

“You have been here nearly three weeks now. Madja cleared you days ago to leave the bed, and yet you still have not left this room.”

“And where am I supposed to go?”

“Anywhere!” Nesta threw her arms out toward the balcony. “Even just stepping outside would be good for you.”

You looked away, heat creeping up your cheeks as you played with the sleeve of the too soft sweater that you hated loving the scent of. Why did the thought of wearing his sweater make you feel so…warm? Comforted?

Nesta sighed. “It doesn’t matter, because today, you’re coming to training.”

Your eyes snapped to hers. “What?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Get dressed.”

“Nesta.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You aren’t training, but you need to get out of this room. Feyre will take us.” She moved toward the door, calling over her shoulder, “She’ll wait for you on the terrace.”

Then she was gone, and you were left alone with your head spinning and your heart racing.

~ ~ ~

Azriel was terrifyingly beautiful. His movements were elegant in a way that promised death. You weren’t the only one to notice, either, if the moony gazes of the priestesses scattered around him were any indication. It was annoying. So annoying, that it distracted you from your still racing heart after Feyre winnowed the two of you to the House of Wind, only to let her wings flare out to catch you at the last second. You didn’t even know she had wings, and she only gave you a sheepish smile when you said as much.

More notable than the priestesses’ awestruck gazes, though, was that none of them seemed afraid of him. There were plenty that appeared timid, unsure of their movements or their place in the room, but there was no fear. Cassian was busy overseeing a group of females that appeared more advanced with their skills, while Azriel was guiding others through slow stretches with low-spoken instructions.

One of the females in his group twisted her ankle while shifting poses, the awkward motion sending her toppling to the ground. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight, and your chest felt tight as you watched Azriel move toward where she was splayed on the ground. Her face was red as she met his gaze, and you waited for the lecture, the berating, but instead he offered her his hand, and smiled so softly at her as she placed her shaky hand in his.

He didn’t touch her anywhere else. He didn’t yell at her, or make a spectacle of her. He said something in a hushed tone that made her smile shakily and nod, and she resumed her position with the rest of her friends. 

You could feel Nesta’s gaze burning holes in the side of your face, but you couldn’t look at her. You couldn’t pull your gaze from Azriel. You couldn’t find the words to describe his genuine display of kindness that left you rattled and breathless. It left you with a glaring and uncomfortable truth that you had been fighting tooth and nail to avoid since you met him—you still found yourself struggling to accept it, but you could feel it—him—starting to wear through your defenses.

Azriel’s eyes suddenly snapped to you, his hazel eyes locking with yours from across the room. You sucked in a sharp breath, and your face grew hot from being caught. You swallowed hard, forcing your gaze to finally turn toward Nesta, who was watching you and Azriel with an entirely too smug expression. 

You narrowed your eyes. “You are a conniving little—”

“Nesta,” another female voice groaned from behind you, growing closer as she walked. “Tell your menace of a mate that warm ups are meant to be warm ups.”

“Keep whining, Emerie!” Cassian called across the room. 

You turned around slowly to look at the female, stepping to the side to let Nesta speak with her. She met your gaze with a friendly smile, one that immediately melted off her face at the same time you felt your breath stall in your throat. She was Illyrian. She was an Illyrian female, and you knew her. She was the shopkeeper that had essentially kept you alive those first few months that you spent alone in that cottage.

Your mouth was dry and your heart was pounding as your mind raced to make sense of this female standing in front of you. Why was she here? Was she friends with the High Lord? Was she friends with Azriel? Had she told them you were living in that cottage in the woods?

Azriel never told you why he had suddenly returned to the safehouse he had left abandoned for so long. He never gave you any explanation, any indication as to why he was in that area. Was it because this female, Emerie, had told him you were there? 

You were going to be sick.

“H-hi,” she stuttered, rocking back on her heels as she stared at you with wide eyes.  “You’re here.”

She didn’t seem surprised to see you, only startled that you were here right now, as if she wasn’t expecting to have this confrontation yet.

“You know each other?” Nesta asked, but her voice sounded distant as your stomach turned and you stared at the one, single female who had ever come close to being your friend. The female who sold you out.

“I need to go,” you rasped, and you turned on your heel and ran for the door before anyone could stop you. You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t know where the winding hallway you turned down led, you didn’t care.

It was too much. It was all just too much. Everything that happened in that camp. The self-isolation. The unsolicited mate. Your father. Velaris. Now Emerie.

The weight of it all was suffocating. You wiped hastily at your cheeks, smearing your tears across your face as you neared a staircase. You crumpled to the floor at the first step, letting your tears go as you sat there with your knees pulled up and your wings splayed behind you.

You found yourself wishing, and not for the first time, that you had wings that worked. Wings that weren’t just some useless extension of yourself. You wouldn’t be trapped in this mountain, in this city. You wouldn’t have been trapped in the Illyrian Steppes for the last two years.

You closed your eyes as footsteps sounded, slow and deliberately loud steps that grew closer and closer, until familiar black boots stood in your periphery. You wiped hastily at your eyes, a desperate and futile attempt to hide your tears from Azriel. He could probably feel everything through that fucking bond anyway.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled as you pushed your hair behind your ear.

Azriel stepped down onto the first step, then slowly sat beside you. “Don’t apologize,” he murmured.

He was so close to you. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and his wings splayed behind him lied only inches from your own. As much as you hated him seeing you fall apart, again, his presence was settling—grounding.

He sat there next to you without saying a word, letting you stew in silence for however long you needed. He sat with you while your emotions simmered and bubbled, until they slowly pittered out and you were left with a bone-deep, aching exhaustion.

“Emerie told you about me,” you said solemnly, not really a question.

Azriel let out a breath, then admitted softly, “Yes.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your eyes suddenly stinging again with a fresh wave of hurt and frustration.

“She was worried about you,” he continued softly. You sniffed as you wiped at the tear that escaped from the corner of your eye, glancing at him briefly. “She said you came to her shop monthly, like clockwork. Never early, never late. You were a week late when she came to me.”

You blinked, thinking over the weeks leading up to Azriel finding you. You had been a week behind schedule, after staining one of your tailorings and needing time to fix it. It had never even occurred to you that the shopkeeper, Emerie, might worry about you. It never occurred to you that she would care. She didn’t even mention it when you eventually showed up two weeks later than usual, aside from a quip about tardiness.

“She told me there was an Illyrian female living alone in the woods. She thought you were in hiding, and she was worried whoever you were running from had caught up to you. She asked me if I could look for you.” He shifted a bit, running his scarred palms over leather clad thighs. You still didn’t know how he got those scars.

“That wasn’t her place,” you whispered, looking down at the stone beneath your feet.

“She was worried about you,” Azriel defended. “And she knew you would feel betrayed by her coming to me, if you were perfectly fine. But the odds are stacked against a female in Illyria. She would rather you hate her and be alive than dead—or worse—because of her silence.”

You absorbed his words, the truth behind them startling. No one had ever made a decision with your best interest in mind. No one had ever cared enough to check on you, to worry about you. Emerie did. Emerie cared, and she didn’t even know your name.

Azriel cared too. He wouldn’t be sitting next to you in this dim stairwell if he didn’t. You rubbed at your chest as you swallowed the realization. “How did she know where I lived?”

“She didn’t,” he said quietly. “I didn’t. I never even planned on going to that safe house. It had been decades since I thought about it. But as soon as I stepped foot in Illyria, I just felt…” His eyes flashed with something indecipherable, and you knew exactly what he meant.

“A pull.”

His gaze snapped to yours, and you forced yourself to hold his gaze, to face the raw emotion shining in his irises. “Yes,” he rasped.

“I felt it too,” you murmured, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve—his sleeve. “When I escaped, I just ran. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t know where I would stay or if I would survive in the Illyrian Steppes, but I just kept moving. I was following something. I thought it was pure desperation pushing me forward, but now I know….” You sniffed, meeting his eyes again. “I was drawn to that cottage, and as soon as I found it…I knew I was safe.”

Azriel seemed stunned for the briefest second, before he closed his eyes and masked whatever emotions were whirling inside him. For the first time, you wished you could feel him through the bond the same way he felt you. “I know you are upset with Emerie—”

“I’m not,” you said quietly. “I mean—I was—but—” You let out a shaky breath, struggling to find the words to explain the storm inside you. Azriel sat quietly beside you while you gathered yourself, his patience causing fresh tears to burn at the back of your eyes. “I’ve been alone my entire life. I’ve never trusted anyone—I couldn’t. Everyone was a threat. I don’t know how to accept kindness. I don’t know how to trust it.” You sniffed, wiping away more tears. “But I want to,” you whispered, trusting Azriel with the vulnerable confession, hoping it was enough to keep him here while you learned to trust him wholly.

Azriel was silent for a moment, letting your words float around the two of you, twining with his shadows that had creeped out of the corners and crevices of the hallway. One slowly slithered toward you, and when you didn’t flinch away, it gently brushed against your hand, curling up your arm until it stroked your cheek, then disappeared. Your skin was warm and tingling in its wake, and you wondered if you should feel pathetic for relishing in the touch of a shadow.

“My shadows came to me when I was a child,” Azriel told you quietly, startling you from your awe at the elegant tendrils. He held up a hand and let one curl through his fingers. “I was the bastard son of an Illyrian lord. He was a cruel and miserable male, and his wife was entirely suited to him. They kept me locked in their basement until I was eleven. They only let me out to see my mother once a week, if that.”

Your heart stuttered, and you didn’t dare speak—didn’t breathe—while you waited for him to continue.

“My stepbrothers were just as cruel.” He flipped his hands to face palms up, and a pit grew in your stomach as you stared at the scarred skin. “They lit my hands on fire. They wanted to test Illyrian healing.”

Your stomach soured as you stared at his hands. The pain he must have endured—the damage they must have inflicted for the skin to scar so extensively. He was just a child.

“My shadows came to me shortly after that. I was so lonely. I just wanted my mother. I wanted a friend. They kept me company—they kept me sane.” He dropped his hand to his lap. “When I moved to Windhaven, when Rhys’s mother took me in, I didn’t know how to trust anyone. Rhys and Cassian pestered me and we fought, but they weren’t cruel, and it didn’t make sense to me. All I ever wanted was a friend, but I didn’t know how to actually have one. I didn’t know how to sleep in a bed. I didn’t know how to sit at a dinner table and share food. I didn’t know how to talk to someone. I didn’t know how to fly.”

“You couldn’t fly?” you rasped, the words escaping you without thought. You almost apologized before Azriel shook his head.

“Sometimes I think that was worse than anything they ever did to me. Forcing me to ignore my instincts that were screaming at me.” His throat bobbed. “Rhys and Cassian taught me to fly. They weren’t gentle about it,” he said with a light laugh, “but they didn’t give up. They gave me time.”

You heard the words he left unspoken. I understand. I’ll give you time. They left you feeling raw and seen in a way you never had been before, and it scared you. You forced yourself to sit with that fear instead of hiding from it, and when it eventually ebbed away, you let out a shaky breath, pride simmering deep in your core.

Warmth rushed into your chest, and your face flushed as you glanced shyly at Azriel, who was smiling softly as he watched you. You bit your lip, looking away quickly. You felt him tug at your sleeve, and you glanced at your wrist to see the navy fabric pinched between his thumb and finger. He played with the fabric for a few seconds, and his skin brushed against yours as he pulled away, a shock rushing through you.

“Nice sweater.”

Your face was molten at this point. “Nesta gave it to me,” you rushed out, feeling both defensive and embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any other clothes—”

“We’ll get you some,” he cut you off gently. “But you can keep the sweater.”

You swallowed hard, staring at him with what you were sure was a dopey and wide-eyed expression. He stood up then, brushing his pants clean of any dust and his wings fluttering as he stretched them. Why was that so attractive?

He held his hand to you, and your brain froze. “Come on,” he said, an amusement dancing in his eyes. You shakily placed your hand in his, letting him pull you up from the ground. He squeezed your hand once before he let it go, and nodded toward the direction you came from. You followed him silently down the hallway, his arms brushing yours every once in a while, every touch sending your mind spinning faster and faster.

No one had ever touched you so casually before. 

No one had ever offered you their hand.

Azriel was the first, and he did it without hesitation.

~ ~ ~

“Good morning.”

Azriel was not proud of his reaction to your voice. The plate in his hand slipped from his grip and shattered all over the tile floor, and he knocked over a glass of juice in his desperate attempt to save it. He didn’t miss your flinch at the loud sound, and he had to close his eyes and count to three to calm himself down before facing you.

“Good morning,” he returned sheepishly.

Your eyes were wide as you took in the mess. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He waved you off, letting his shadows sweep away the shards of ceramic. It was their fault, really, for failing to warn him of your approach. “You’re fine. I just—I wasn’t expecting—” He shook his head. “I was going to bring you breakfast.”

“I thought I could eat down here, today,” you said quietly, hesitantly, as if waiting for him to send you back to your room.

“Of course you can,” he assured. He gestured toward the table. “Take a seat.”

You bit your lower lip, nodding as you released it and moved toward one of the empty chairs. Azriel turned back toward the counter, righting the overturned glass and wiping up the juice pooled on the granite. He refilled the glass and grabbed the plate with a stack of pancakes, drizzled with syrup and topped with berries. He set the food in front of you, and he couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips as your eyes widened.

“What—”

“They’re pancakes.” He pulled out the chair beside you, and placed it on the empty plate in front of you. He then took one for himself, taking a slow and deliberate bite so you could watch him. “Not the healthiest meal, but I love them.”

He watched you take a small and tentative bite, chewing slowly. There was no denying the pride that warmed his chest as he watched your eyes widen and you took another, larger bite. “Mother,” you mumbled. “You made these?” you asked around your food. Your cheeks instantly reddened, but Azriel thought it was adorable.

“Rhys’s mother taught me.”

You took another bite, closing your eyes in appreciation. “I think the food here might be my favorite thing about Velaris,” you murmured before continuing to devour your plate.

“I could take you to the city today,” he found himself saying without giving the words any true thought. Regret immediately curdled in his gut when you froze, and he hated himself for pushing you—

“You would do that?”

Azriel blinked. “Of course,” he said. “If you want to.” The momentary regret was replaced with giddy excitement. A giddiness that had lingered since you sat with him in that stairwell yesterday. “We could get you some new clothes. I can show you some of my favorite pastry shops. Anything you want.”

You glanced at your plate, then back at him. You nodded quickly. “I would like that.”

~ ~ ~

You had never seen so many faeries. They were everywhere. High fae and lesser fae alike, ambling up and down the streets of Velaris, weaving in and out of shops, moving to and from merchant booths lining the streets.

They were so lively—buzzing with energy and happiness. It was a far cry from the decrepit and dreary camp you grew up in. It was overwhelming.

Azriel handed you a blackberry tart from the paper bag of treats he had bought you from the store you just stepped out of. You took it absently, watching the movements of everyone around you. He nudged you gently with his elbow, raising his brows. You blushed and took a bite of the tart, a delicious sweetness flooding your mouth. You couldn’t believe you had been missing out on food like this for decades. You took another bite, and then another, until you heard Azriel lightly chuckle.

Your face was warm under his attention, and you knew you likely looked ridiculous, the sight of you devouring the pastry akin to a ravenous animal, but you still managed to glare at him. “It’s good,” you huffed.

“I can tell.”

You ignored him, polishing off the tart in silence, diverting your gaze back to the buzzing of the city street. You swallowed your last bite, licking the sugar and juice from your lips. “Is it always like this?”

“Pretty much,” he replied. “You should see it at night, though.”

You laughed nervously. “Maybe another day.”

Azriel’s face softened. “Of course.” Then he gestured toward the street. “Let’s find you some clothes.”

You nodded, following after him as he stepped into the throng of bodies. He glanced at you, then his gaze moved toward your wings. “We’ll probably have to have everything tailor-made.”

Your steps faltered. “Tailored?”

Azriel nodded, sidestepping a child that went running past. 

“I can tailor my own clothes.”

Azriel tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours. “You can?”

“I had to.”

A muscle feathered in Azriel’s cheek, and he faced forward again. “Well you don’t have to now.”

“What if I want to?” you challenged, feeling cornered. You didn’t want to depend on him, on anyone—

“Then you can,” he said softly. “You can work in the city or do it for fun, or not at all. It’s up to you—but you don’t have to anymore.”

Your hackles immediately fell. “I don’t want to—not right now,” you admitted softly.

“Then let’s find a tailor.”

You followed beside him as he weaved through the streets, the booths morphing from produce and baked goods to jewels and threads. Somehow there were even more faeries in this sector, and your throat felt tight as they bumped against you. A male stepped in front of you, holding a gold necklace with an overly gaudy pendant out to you. Your blood pounded in your ears as he stepped closer to you, his sales pitch warping in your ears as panic boiled.

Azriel had disappeared, and you couldn’t see around the sea of bodies you had been swept into. The male kept talking, kept pushing, his voice growing more and more agitated the long you stood there frozen in place. You murmured no thank you, but when you tried to step away, he followed, blocking your path.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe. You were trapped. Where was Azriel?

A hand curled around your bicep, and you immediately flinched away, but their grip only tightened. You turned toward them, panic driving your every move, and when you met Azriel’s eyes your shoulders slumped and you leaned into him.

“She told you no,” he grumbled at the merchant, who had the good sense to apologize and run back to his booth.

Azriel’s grip on your arm dropped, but you immediately grabbed for his hand, holding yourself close to him. Your heart was racing and everything was so loud. You couldn’t kick the feeling of danger, the sense of standing on an edge. “Don’t leave,” you rasped.

Azriel squeezed your hand, pulling you close. “I won’t,” he promised, leading you away from the merchant’s booth. Another faerie bumped into, sending you rocking into Azriel, and you sucked in a sharp and ragged breath.

“I want to go home,” you whimpered, hating that your panic was controlling you, that you couldn’t handle this. “Please.”

Azriel’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, the small ministration soothing. “Okay,” he murmured, without an ounce of annoyance. “We’ll go home.”

~ ~ ~

Your cycle had been sporadic and fleeting for as long as you could remember. You never knew when to expect it, and it was rare it followed the normal sixth month pattern other females had. More often than not, it only came once a year.

So when you woke up to pain piercing your abdomen, you immediately panicked. You weren’t expecting your cycle—but as soon as you felt the uncomfortable stickiness between your legs and smelled the iron in the air, you knew. Only then did you realize it had been just a little over six months since your last cycle, and while it wasn’t normal for you, it was for everyone else.

You supposed eating well and sleeping well for the last two months had prompted your body to revert to its natural processes. The panic resurfaced when you saw the pool of blood beneath you, seeping through the sheets and likely into the mattress. Then another sharp pain stabbed at your abdomen, and you tried to stifle your groan as you keeled over.

You somehow had to clean this up, but first you had to clean yourself. You stumbled to the bathroom, lifting the hem of your sleep shirt—Azriel’s shirt—to reveal the blood smeared across your inner thighs. Tears burned at the back of your eyes, pain and panic swirling together as you knelt to the floor to rifle through the cabinet. The tears fell as you found the cabinets bare, save for some spare towels and toiletries. You shakily reached for one of the towels, dreading staining that too, but you didn’t know what else to do.

You flinched when the bedroom door flew open, and you held the towel toward your abdomen as you leaned against the cabinet, watching as Azriel rushed to the center of the room.

“Y/N?” he yelled, his voice panicked. His hands clenched into fists as his eyes landed on the blood soaked cheeks, and involuntary sob escaped your lips. His head snapped toward you lying in the bathroom, and panic drowned his irises as he rushed toward you.

You flinched away as he came closer, your body trembling from fear and pain and shame.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice cracking. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, his face blurry through your tears. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasped. “I—I didn’t know I was due. I’m sorry. I’ll clean everything—”

Relief washed over Azriel, his shoulders slumping and his eyes softening. “You’re on your cycle?”

“Y-yes,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He crouched down to face you, and you could only imagine how you looked right now. You sitting on the floor with your hair a mess and only a t-shirt covering you as blood leaked down your thighs. “Why are you apologizing?”

You closed your eyes, hot shame creeping up your neck and to your ears. “It’s gross. No—no one wants to be around that.”

“It’s not gross,” he growled, and your eyes snapped open to look at him. “It’s just blood, and it’s natural.”

“Is it?” you asked shakily, fear creeping into your voice. “I’ve never bled this much.”

He looked pained for a second, the emotion gone as quickly as it came. “I think so,” he murmured. “I’ll check with Madja, and get you a pain tonic—but I think this is normal, as painful as it is for you.” 

You clutched the towel tighter to your chest, nodding slightly. “I don’t have any linens.”

“I’ll get some for you,” he assured. “Do you want to take a bath?”

You shook your head. You just wanted to curl up in bed and hide away, to forget Azriel ever saw you like this. To ride through the pain alone, just like you always had. Is that really what you wanted? To be alone?

He reached for you and you sucked in a breath, halting his movements. You met his eyes guiltily, hating that you were still so scared, so racked by nerves and anxiety that your subconscious couldn’t parcel out genuine threats. You knew Azriel would never hurt you. You knew that now, after spending months with the male, you knew he was good.

“Can I help you up?” he asked gently, like he was afraid one wrong move, one wrong word, would send you toppling off a precarious edge.

You nodded, the movement jerky and hasty. He reached for you again, his hands wrapping around your biceps so he could haul you to your feet. You whimpered at the pain that sliced through you, Azriel holding you upright as your knees wobbled.

“I’m sorry,” he cooed. He leaned down to grab the towel that fell from your hands, draping it over the toilet seat before guiding you to sit. He wet a cloth with warm water, wringing it out before coming over to wipe at your face. 

You sank into his touch, relishing in the tender care he gave to wiping the sweat and likely blood smeared across your face. He moved to your hands, cleaning each finger meticulously, dragging the cloth beneath your fingernails. No one had ever handled you so tenderly. No one had ever taken care of you. Warmth flooded your chest that made you nearly purr, and you tilted your head a bit as Azriel moved to your other hand.

“I like when you do that,” you murmured.

Azriel smiled softly, proudly. “I know.”

You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t in so much pain.

He finished cleaning your fingers, then rested his hand on your knee. Your heart immediately started racing, but Azriel soothed any anxiety before it could fester.

“Can you finish up? While I find you some linens and fresh clothes?”

You nodded, eyes wide as you watched him stand to his full height. He was in his leathers, and a pit of dread suddenly gnawed at you. “You’re supposed to be at training,” you whispered.

“No,” he said, rinsing the cloth before handing it back to you. “I’m supposed to take care of my mate.”

My mate. The words left you feeling warm and fuzzy, and you were certain Azriel caught the small smile that pulled at your lips before he left.

And when he returned, and he handed you a stack of linens and clean clothes that smelled like him, and then guided you to your bed with fresh sheets, and pulled the covers up to your chin after coaxing a tonic down your throat, you wondered if this was how life should be. If it should be filled with love and care and people who are willing to shoulder your burdens with you. You imagined the future, a future with Azriel, with a mate that took care of you, and wondered if he already treated you this well, how much better could it be if you just let him completely in.

~ ~ ~

The terrace of the townhouse had become your favorite place to sit. It was peaceful, serene, even if you could still hear the dull chatter of the faeries in the streets of Velaris. It was even better at night, with the city glowing and the stars illuminating the night sky—brighter than any stars you ever saw in Illyria.

You missed nature. You missed feeling connected to something separate from the rest of this world—but the view of the night sky from the terrace soothed that longing for the most part. Sometimes you watched Rhys and Cassian, or even Azriel, fly over Velaris, usually gliding toward the House of Wind, and you caught yourself envying them.

You always wished you could fly so you could escape—you had forgotten that it was something that should have brought you joy as well. Another thing your father and Illyria stole from you.

Cassian soared over your help, making you yelp as the wind whipped at your hair. You could faintly hear his fading laugh as he flew toward the House of Wind, waving at you in the distance. You waved back timidly, confused how someone you had yet to properly meet could be so comfortable interacting with you.

“I’m sorry about him.”

You spun around to face Azriel, his voice startling you from your thoughts. “How long have you been standing there?” you asked breathlessly.

Azriel grinned, moving to stand next to you at the railing. “Not long. We just got home.”

You nodded, leaning on the railing again. “How was it?” you asked quietly. He and Cassian had been in Hewn City all day.

Azriel shrugged. “Wretched as always.” He glanced at you, hesitating before adding with no shortage of disdain, “You father was pleasant as usual.”

You swallowed hard, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve been thinking,” you whispered, “And I know I never want to see him again.”

Azriel’s gaze was unwavering on your face, but you couldn’t face him while you said this. You didn’t want to see his face if he disagreed—if he was disappointed.

“I have nothing left to say to him. I don’t care what you do with him, so long as I never have to see that male again.” You finally glanced at him. “Does that make me pathetic? That I can’t even stomach facing him one last time?”

“No,” Azriel said immediately. “Never. Only you know what will bring you peace, and you have every right to take it.”

“Thank you,” you whispered. “You can decide what you do with him.”

“Are you certain?”

You nodded.

“Then consider it done.”

And that was that. A weight felt lifted off your shoulders, passing the burden of your father’s fate to someone else, someone you trusted to deliver proper retribution.

The two of you stood in silence for a while, staring up at the stars. A bat flew over the two of you, and you smiled softly. “I think about flying sometimes,” you admitted.

A beat of silence passed, heavy with your confession, the loss you carried every day. It was nice. For so long you had only yourself and the trees to share your thoughts with. For so long you had devoted all your time and energy to surviving, that you never let yourself dwell on the pleasures you had been deprived of. Some of those pleasures Azriel had reintroduced into your life, but some you would never get to have.

“I’ll take you flying whenever you want. All you have to do is ask.”

Your head snapped to him. “Are you serious?”

You thought his cheeks might be the faintest shade of pink, but you couldn’t be certain under the night sky. “I know it’s not the same—”

“You would really take me flying?” you asked, your voice wavering with disbelief and a bubbling excitement.

Azriel stared at you with something akin to wonder, and you felt a little childish for the briefest of moments, but then he said softly, “Of course I would.”

Of course I would. As if you shouldn’t be shocked that someone would do something so kind for you—that Azriel would jump at the chance to make you happy. You sniffed, pushing away the emotions slicing at your insides, and focusing on the budding excitement from earlier.

“Can we go now?”

Azriel’s eyes widened, and you immediately retracted. “Or not. Of course not right now. That would be—”

“We can go now,” he cut you off gently, but there was still hesitation in his eyes that made you wait for his next words with bated breath. “It’s just—are you sure you’re comfortable with that? I—I would be holding you. And your wings—I can’t promise I won’t touch them. I will do my best, but—”

“I trust you, Azriel.”

Your words made his own die on his tongue, his mouth held slightly agape as he stared at you in shock. Your heart was racing with your confession, with the power you just handed him on a silver-platter. It was terrifying—but you weren’t scared of him. If anything, you felt safest with him. Which was also terrifying, but you refused to let the fear your father instilled in you rule your life. You refused to let him keep you away from your mate when you were fairly certain having Azriel in your life was the greatest blessing the Mother could have bestowed on you—even when you tried rejecting it kicking and screaming at first.

Azriel’s eyes were glossy under the starry sky, moonlight glinting off his cheeks and sucked in by his hair. He was still wearing his leathers from the Hewn City, and he was decked out in all seven of his blue siphons—the sight would have left you anxious and trembling a few months ago—now it was…alluring.

He smiled softly, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and your stomach flipped at the genuine happiness shining on his face. You couldn’t help but match his grin. “What are we waiting for then?”

Your grin grew even wider as you moved toward him, letting him wrap you in his arms effortlessly, before he took off into the sky. The wind against your cheeks was cold and tinged with salt, leaving behind a delicious sting across your skin. You were smiling as you stared at the stars, feeling all the more immersed in them as Azriel weaved the two of you through the sky. 

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, his voice deep in your ear. His lips brushed the delicate skin briefly, and it sent a cascade of goosebumps down your flesh. 

You swallowed hard, ignoring the flush gracing your cheeks. “Anywhere.”

Azriel hummed his acknowledgement, and you relaxed in his arms as he carried the two of you over the buzzing city. He wasn’t kidding when he said you should see it at night.

He dipped low as you approached the Sidra, causing you to squeal and clutch to him tighter. Azriel laughed as you hovered inches from the water, before taking off back into the sky. His grip on you tightened when you glared at him, but the smirk on his face was unapologetic.

The tip of your wing touched his when he tilted slightly, the contact sending an unfamiliar rush of electricity down your spine. Both of you sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, and when you met his eyes with your own wide ones and reddened cheeks, he simply smiled softly at you before weaving through some tree canopies.

One of your hands around his neck relaxed slightly, and your fingertips threaded through the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Azriel seemed to lean into the touch, his lashes fluttering so slightly as your motions became more exploratory, deliberate.

You…you didn’t know what you were doing. You had never been this physically close to someone. You had never touched someone so tenderly—never wanted to learn what touches could make someone preen and purr. Yet, with Azriel, you were fairly certain you could spend an eternity tracing his body with your fingers if he let you. Did he feel the same way about you? Did you want him to?

He eventually landed the two of you on an outcropping of the mountain, high above the city and even the House of Wind. It was so quiet up here. A serenity you never could have imagined wrapping around the two of you. Azriel sat you on your feet, but he kept his hand in yours as you spun around slowly to take in the sky. 

You turned back to him, breathless from the flying and the view and him. “This is amazing, Az.”

Azriel’s throat bobbed as he stared at you. Eventually he squeezed your hand, joining you in looking up at the sky. “I’m glad you like it.”

You shook your head. “I love it.”

You looked at him again, and an overwhelming rush of gratitude and care and fondness went through you. Something else so raw and consuming it left your heart beating erratically as it flooded through you. You didn’t think before you flung your arms around his middle, pressing your cheek against his chest, holding tight even when he went rigid. His shocked stillness morphed into an easy warmth, and he slowly wrapped his arms around you, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. You both knew what this meant, that you both needed the comfort of being held in your mate’s arms, and neither of you wanted to risk fracturing this brief sanctuary you found with each other.

Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from whispering against his chest, “Thank you.”

Azriel only held you tighter.

~ ~ ~

Blinding terror ripped through you, wrenching you from your sleep as you struggled to catch your breath. The room was still swathed in darkness, moonlight peeking through the curtains. You looked around frantically for the threat, for the source of your fear, but came up empty. Then another wave came crashing over you, accompanied by overwhelming pain, and you clutched your chest as your mind raced to understand what was happening.

This wasn’t your terror. It wasn’t your pain. It was Azriel’s.

You threw the covers off you and bolted for the door, rushing across the hall to push his own door open, the briefest relief washing over you when you found him asleep in bed.

Then he thrashed against the blankets, a muffled groan escaping his lips, and you watched as his shadows circled him anxiously. They parted for you as you came closer, one even wrapping around your wrist and tugging you onto the bed. You kneeled beside him, your own fear meshing with his as you struggled to decide what to do.

When he groaned again, you lurched forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him softly.

He didn’t even stir, so you shook again, this time harder, as you said his name. You said it again and again, until you were practically screaming it, “Azriel!”

He shot up with a gasp, and his hand wrapped around your throat so quickly you didn’t even have the chance to react. You swallowed hard, staring at him with wide-eyes. “Azriel,” you whispered again, and you could see the dream-induced panic clear from his eyes, replaced with an entirely new pain as recognition dawned and his hand dropped away. “Y/N,” he gasped, his hands shaking as he ran one through his hair. “I’m sorry. I—I’m so sorry,” his voice trembled as he apologized, pleading with you not to be scared of him—to forgive him.

“Azriel—”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice thick and distraught as he looked at his trembling hands.

“Azriel,” you said again, voice his eyes to meet yours with a gentle hand on his jaw. His eyes were red and glossy, his cheeks wet with tears. Your heart cracked. “It’s okay,” you cooed. “You’re okay.”

He shook his head. “I—”

“No,” you stopped him, voice soft and gentle but holding no room for argument. “You would never hurt me. I know that. You were dreaming.”

His throat bobbed, and he sniffed, wiping one of his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Did I wake you?” he asked, voice low and steady again, but you could hear the exhaustion lacing it.

You nodded, your hand still cradling his jaw. “I felt you through the bond.”

His eyes widened. “I’m sorry—”

You immediately shushed him. “Don’t be,” you whispered. “I’m always the one needing your help. It feels nice to be needed by you for a change.” A fresh tear fell from the corner of his eye, and you wiped it away with your thumb.

Azriel’s face flushed crimson, his skin going hot beneath your touch, and Mother, if he wasn’t so vulnerable right now, so distraught, you would think it was the most adorable thing you had ever seen. It was precious. Azriel was precious, and he was yours. He was yours, and you would do anything to make him happy, you realized, as he leaned into your hand.

“I always need you,” he whispered, and the soft confession made your heart stutter. No one had ever needed you. But Azriel—Azriel did. It left you feeling warm and soft and glowing, and you pulled him into your chest to hold him close.

“And I need you,” you whispered. 

You shifted the two of you around, until you were lying on your side and Azriel was curled around you, his head pressed against your stomach and his arms circling your hips. You brushed gentle fingers through his hair, over and over until you saw his shadows settle down, and you heard his breathing even out. You ran your fingers through his hair even long after he was asleep, all the way up until you followed suit, holding your mate in your arms as darkness washed over both of you.

~ ~ ~

You woke up curled around Azriel, his breath coming out in hot and delicate pants against your skin. Your arms cradled his head to your body, and his wing draped over the two of you haphazardly. You glanced down to see your shirt had ridden up in the night, and Azriels hand was now splayed against the bare skin of your stomach, Your skin flushed at the sight, at the awareness of his touch, and at the realization that you didn’t want him to move.

Unfortunately, Azriel soon started to stir, and he nuzzled against your skin before pausing, and then dragged his gaze up to meet yours. His cheeks flushed bright red, you were certain your cheeks matched. You met his gaze with a sheepish smile, that seemed to instantly make him relax. “Hi,” you whispered.

His lips twitched. “Hi.”

You dragged your fingers over the back of his head slowly, Azriel closing his eyes as his head rested on you again. “How are you?” you murmured.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. When your fingers dug in a little harder, he huffed. “I am. I promise. I’m sorry—”

“I told you to stop apologizing,” you chided gently. 

Azriel’s eyes fluttered open, his head tilting to meet your gaze. His eyes shined with awe and reverence, and it made your heart clench. No one had ever looked at you like that. No one had done a lot of the things that Azriel did for you. No one made you feel the way Azriel did.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You slid your hand around to cup his face, guiding him to slide up so his head rested next to yours on the pillow, the two of you eye to eye. You brush your thumb over his cheekbone, your eyes taking in every detail of him—the slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the length of his lashes—it was all breathtaking.

Azriel’s throat bobbed as you stared at him, and you could feel the nerves simmering beneath his skin, the uncertainty he felt laying under your close gaze. You weren’t the only one that struggled to be vulnerable with others, that struggled to trust another enough to show them the most fragile parts of yourself and hope they didn’t break them. Sitting with Azriel last night, holding him after  his nightmare and falling asleep with him in your arms—it was as big of a step for him as it was for you.

You found yourself leaning closer to him, your breaths twining together in the soft quiet of the morning. Then your lips were pressed against his, and Azriel was still as stone. You pulled away quickly, embarrassment searing down your chest, and then Azriel pulled you back to him by your hips, and pressed his lips to yours.

You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t know what came over you that gave you the courage to just kiss him, but Mother, did his lips feel heavenly against yours. They were so soft, tender, and loving. You were swimming in euphoria as his lips moved slowly with yours, and you never wanted it to end—you never wanted this connection you felt with him to sever.

He eventually pulled away, squeezing your hips as he planted one last peck against your lips, and his bright eyes met yours. A smile slowly spread across his lips, and you couldn’t stop your own from morphing across your face. “Hi,” you murmured awkwardly.

Azriel huffed a laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Hi,” he replied cheekily.

“That was nice,” you said shyly.

“Really nice,” he agreed. “Heavenly.”

Apprehension slowly started to creep in, new anxiety unfurling inside you. You hated it, hated that you might let it sour this moment, but, “I still need you to be patient with me,” you whispered.

Azriel’s eyes snapped to yours. “I just—I’m not—this is all new—”

“It’s okay,” he murmured softly, his hand coming up to trace your jaw.

“Just—” You let out a shaky breath. “Please be patient with me.”

“Always,” Azriel promised, his eyes soft as they stared into yours. “Always, my love. I will always wait for you. You never have to worry about that.”

My love. 

No one had ever loved you. You had never loved anyone—but you were fairly certain you loved Azriel. It still felt too soon, to speak that aloud—too vulnerable. It would take more time, before you were ready to hand that to him, but you did—you loved him. 

You couldn’t tell him yet, so instead you sent all the warmth and gratitude, the reverence you felt toward him rushing down the bond. When his breath caught and his hand stilled, you knew he felt it. His eyes were glossy as they met yours, and then he wrapped you in his arms, holding you close to his chest as he sent his own wave of warmth, of love, down the bond to you.

You never wanted a mate, but you were damn grateful the Mother gave you one anyway—that Azriel was yours, and you were his.

~ ~ ~

taglist (anyone that asked for pt. 2!): @slytherin-pen @bellefleurs @crookedcrusadestranger @breathingstarlight @weepingw1dows @coolepowersthings @antisocial-architect @bbontenswhhore @crimsonandwhiteprincess @myvoiddreams @shinyghosteclipse @be-your-coffee-pot @lisaxx01 @dreaming-starlet @alimarie1105 @bruxa0007 @mich0731 @just-some-teenagerr-blog1 @triangleshapewinner @blonde-bansheee @velarisnightsky444 @writtenbypavani @audiaantonette @chaidove @ohemgeewhat @autumnwitch626 @greenmandm @ilovegrishaverse @barnesispunk

[missymae531]

hey neema! i was going to request a fic with azriel from ACOTAR, my brain has been cooking up some ideas and i wanted to see what you do with it! i was thinking something along the lines of some kind of tension finally hits a boiling point for reader and az. they finally act on it after what feels like forever. something smutty that ends with them figuring out they’re mates aswell? thank you!

Shadows and Fate

The tension had been unbearable for what felt like years. Stolen glances, the brush of hands that lingered just a second too long, the way Azriel’s shadows curled around you protectively whenever you were near. It was a slow, torturous dance—one that neither of you dared to finish.

Until now.

The mission had been grueling, the kind that left you both adrenaline-drunk and raw. You’d barely made it back to the House of Wind in one piece, every muscle in your body screaming from exertion. But the ache that truly consumed you wasn’t physical—it was the one burning beneath your skin, the one that had been festering for months, years.

Azriel was watching you again, his golden eyes darkened to molten amber, his jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard it creak. He was pacing, still keyed up from the fight, his siphons flickering with untamed power. The tension between you crackled, electric and undeniable.

“Az,” you breathed, stepping toward him.

“Don’t,” he rasped, though he didn’t move away. His wings flared slightly, as if his own body betrayed him, reaching for something it had been starving for.

But you were done pretending.

You surged forward, crashing into him with all the force of a battlefield. Azriel caught you instantly, his hands gripping your waist so tightly it bordered on bruising. And then his lips were on yours, all sharp desperation and unrelenting hunger. He kissed like a man starving, like he’d been waiting for this moment for so long it might shatter him.

Your back hit the wall before you even realized he’d moved, his body caging you in, shadows licking over your skin like they had a mind of their own. You gasped against his lips, and he seized the opportunity, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, deep and claiming. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your hips, your thighs—gripping, kneading, pulling you closer until not even air remained between you.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he growled against your neck, his breath hot, his teeth grazing sensitive skin. A delicious shudder wracked through you, and you let your head fall back, granting him full access. He took it greedily, lips and teeth marking a path down to your collarbone.

“I think I do,” you whispered, raking your nails down his back. His wings shuddered violently, a strangled noise escaping him as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.

“I won’t be able to stop,” he warned, his voice strained.

“Then don’t.”

Something inside him snapped.

Azriel hoisted you into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the nearest surface. His shadows tugged at your clothes, making quick work of the barriers between you. Every touch was frantic, every kiss bruising, as if he needed to map every inch of you before he lost his mind completely.

And then he was inside you, and the world shattered.

It was pure, unrelenting pleasure. He moved with a purpose, each thrust driving deeper, hitting the spot that had you gasping his name like a prayer. His grip was possessive, his lips never straying far from your skin—kissing, biting, soothing. He was everywhere, overwhelming, consuming, and you never wanted it to stop.

Your release barreled into you with the force of a storm, your body clenching around him as stars exploded behind your eyes. Azriel followed soon after, his name tumbling from your lips like a benediction. And as you both came down from the high, bodies tangled, breathing ragged, you felt it.

The bond.

It was like a golden thread snapping into place, something ancient and undeniable singing in your blood. Your eyes met Azriel’s, wide and disbelieving, his pupils blown wide with shock.

And then, a slow, wicked grin spread across his lips.

“Mine,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his voice laced with awe and possession.

Yours. Forever.

[missymae531]

Surrender

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel had spent centuries in the dark, wrapped in silence and solitude, convinced that touch, real, unguarded touch, was not meant for him. Then he met you.

Azriel had never been touched without reason.

Every brush of skin against his had been purposeful, wounds being stitched, a sword being passed, a hand yanking him out of the wreckage of war. Even among the people who called him brother, who claimed to love him, touch had always been a rare thing. A clap on the shoulder from Cassian after a battle. A quick squeeze of his forearm from Rhysand before a mission.

It had never been more than that. Never just because.

So the first time you touched him, it had nearly unraveled him.

It had been so casual. Unthinking. The kind of touch people gave without realizing they were giving it. You had been standing beside him in the House of Wind’s training ring, sweat still damp on your brow, laughing at something Cassian had said. And as you turned toward Azriel, still grinning, you reached out—just a small thing, a fleeting press of your fingers against his wrist, your thumb brushing over his pulse like it was natural, like it was nothing.

It was everything.

Azriel had gone still. So still it was a wonder his body hadn’t shattered from the force of it. His heartbeat had slammed against his ribs, his throat tightening as his mind scrambled to make sense of what had just happened.

You had touched him.

Not because you had to. Not because you needed something from him. Not because he was bleeding out or being dragged from the wreckage of a battlefield.

You had touched him because you wanted to.

And that terrified him.

Because the moment it happened, the moment your fingers met his skin, Azriel knew—he would want more.

It only got worse after that.

Because you kept doing it. And worse, you didn’t seem to realize what you were doing to him.

The way your hand found his forearm when you spoke to him, grounding him in the moment. The way you brushed your fingers over his back when you passed him in the halls. The way you linked your pinky with his beneath the dinner table when the conversation turned too dark.

Azriel wasn’t used to it.

Gods, he wasn’t used to it.

For centuries, he had believed he did not need touch, that it was something other people craved—people who were not made of knives and shadow. He had convinced himself he was fine without it, that his body did not miss something it had never truly had.

He had been wrong.

Because now that he had it, now that he had you, he didn’t know how to go without it.

It was a sickness, the way he hungered for it. The way he would find himself inching closer to you when you were near, his body gravitating toward yours like you were the sun and he was something desperate for warmth. The way his hands would twitch at his sides when you hugged Cassian, when you looped your arm through Feyre’s—jealousy, raw and sharp, at the way they could take your touch for granted, while he still ached at the very idea of asking for more.

Because that was the worst part—he didn’t know how to ask.

He didn’t know how to reach for something he had spent centuries pretending he didn’t want.

So he suffered in silence. Let himself drown in the feeling of your hands against his skin, your fingers brushing his, your body pressed against his when you leaned into him without hesitation.

He let himself starve, even as the feast was right in front of him.

One night, as the city slept and Velaris shimmered beneath the moon, you found him standing alone on the balcony of the House of Wind.

You had been looking for him, he could tell by the way you didn’t hesitate, by the way you stepped into his space as if you belonged there.

"Az," you murmured.

He turned, shadows curling at his feet. "Couldn’t sleep?"

You shook your head. "I could ask you the same."

His lips twitched, but he said nothing.

For a moment, there was only silence. Only the sound of the wind through the cliffs, the distant murmur of the Sidra below. And then—then, you reached for him.

Not just a brush of fingers this time. Not just a fleeting, casual touch.

You placed your hand against his chest, right over his heart, and stayed.

Azriel stopped breathing.

"Az," you whispered, your voice softer now. "Why do you always let me touch you, but you never touch me back?"

His hands clenched at his sides. "Because I don’t know how to stop."

The words left him before he could think better of them. Before he could bury them beneath his usual silence.

You exhaled, something flickering in your eyes. And then, to his utter ruin, you reached for his hand.

Not just to hold it. Not just to offer comfort.

You brought his palm up, pressed it against your own chest, against the steady, steady beat of your heart.

"Then don’t," you said simply.

Azriel made a sound, a broken, desperate thing. His fingers curled against you, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your shirt, as if memorizing the shape of you beneath his touch.

"I don’t know how to ask for it," he admitted, voice barely more than a breath.

You smiled, something unbearably soft. "Then don’t ask."

And you leaned forward, wrapping yourself around him.

Azriel broke.

His arms came around you fast, crushing, as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on. His face pressed against your hair, his shadows curling around your waist, twining with you like they knew. Like they had been waiting for this moment just as long as he had.

You held him just as tightly, your fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against his back, grounding him, anchoring him.

"I’ve got you," you whispered. "Always."

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling the scent of you, the warmth of you, the realness of you in his arms.

And for the first time in his long, long life, he allowed himself to believe it.

Taglist: @willowpains, @masbt1218, @antonia002, @bookishcait, @fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, @buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff,  @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch,  @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @kksbookstuff, @marina468, @tele86, @raccoonworld

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[missymae531]

Saturday Nights

PolySJM Week: Day Four

Prompt: Alternate Universe

Pairings: Mafia!BatBoys / Reader

Summary: You're a clueless waitress working in a mob restaurant, unknowingly catching the eye of its ruthless leaders. Surely a simple cut won't send them into a panic. Heavily, Heavily inspired by @ jacfrostisreal clueless waitress series on TikTok!!

Tags: glood, gore, stitches, gullible reader

Word Count: 2059

A/N: Y'allllll I tried rewriting it like six times but ended up here so don't be holding it against me.....

PolySJM Week 2025 Masterlist | Acotar Masterlist

I pressed the rag to my hand with a shaky inhale, watching as the white fabric turned pink from the cut, unable to stop the tears from spilling over. 

This was the worst shift ever. 

First I had to come in early to cover the host stand all because Esmeraie was having car troubles and I had a customer scream at me because I wouldn’t seat him and his wife as if I could magically make a table available. Then my very first table of the night ended up being absolutely horrendous. It was so damn busy tonight I’ve been running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I didn’t even realize I had cut myself on the plate I’d dropped until Chef pointed it out. 

I’ve had no time to even think, Sevenda’s was a high end restaurant known for excellent service and even better food. I usually thrived in high-pressure situations but tonight was another bad night in an awful week and I was reaching my breaking point. 

I let out another choked sob, my vision blurring with tears, I was hiding away in the thankfully empty break room. My coworkers had tried to help with the cut but I’d refused, snatching the rag out of Thane’s hand and running out of the kitchen before I started crying in front of them. 

God it hurt like a fucking bitch. My hands were starting to shake and I tried to focus on finding a first aid kit but my mind was buzzing with the weight of my emotions, overstimulation setting in and making my breathing hitch my nerves felt like they were on fire.

I let out a painful whimper, digging the rag further into my skin as if it would erase the prickling pain that was seeping down to my bones.

I stayed like that for a few more minutes until the rag turned fully red, trying and failing to breathe only to cry harder. It didn’t help that the sight of my own blood made me lightheaded. 

I didn’t even notice the door had opened until someone was standing right in front of me. Rhysand's citrus and sea scent invaded my senses and I tilted my head up to look at him. 

Mortification instantly washed over me upon seeing my boss, and I reached my free hand to wipe away the tears. Hopefully I didn’t look too much like a mess.  “H-Hi.” 

There was a dark look in his gaze as he took me in. “What’s happened?” He demanded, his silky voice making shivers run up my spine. “I’m Fi-Fine.” I stammered out, trying to stabilize my voice but speaking only made more tears burst forward, when I calmed down I was going to strangle myself for appearing like this in front of the freaking owner. 

My words seemed to have no effect on him and his large hands gently grabbed my injured one. I instinctively hissed in pain when he removed the rag from my palm. “I’m not gonna hurt you darling, I just need to see what’s going on so I can help you. Is that alright?” 

He brushed his thumb soothingly against the uninjured skin of my wrist and I nodded. Biting on the inside of my cheeks to hopefully keep the tears at bay. It was really sweet that he took such good care of his employee’s but guilt slowly crept in, he had been meeting with some of his friends in the back offices.

Before I even had a chance to apologize for ruining someone’s meal and hiding from my tables the door opened again and two familiar men walked in. Rhysand’s brother’s helped him manage the restaurant occasionally. Apparently thing’s must really be crazy because they’ve spent more time here.

“Marissa told us what happened.” Cassian said practically shoving his brother aside to take a look at my hand. I winced at his rough touch and Rhysand shot him a glare. “Be careful.” He snapped under his breath. 

Azriel was standing a few paces behind them, that intense stare settled on me and I wasn’t sure the male was even breathing. I could never get a good read on him. “I’m sorry for breaking the-the plate, I’m honestly fine, just need a bandage and I’m good to go.” I hiccuped, wiping my eyes again and taking a shuddering inhale. Doing my best to calm down and look presentable. These were my bosses afterall. 

“We don’t care about that.” Rhysand said, softening his tone as he shot me a charming smile that had my insides melting. Cassian’s brows furrowed as he inspected my wound. “She needs a stitch or two.” 

As soon as those words left his mouth it’s like someone doused my body in ice water. I snatched my hand from his. “No-No. It’s not that bad.” I spoke fearfully. Cassian stepped in front of me, blocking my view so it was just him and placed a new rag back on my hand, adding gentle pressure. The touch made my toes curl and I immediately banished those thoughts. They just didn’t want me to accidentally pass out, it was already bad enough I broke company property -again- was bleeding on the floor and hadn’t checked in my tables in fifteen minutes. “Really, it’s ok. I have tables. I promise I’ll get back to work- No hospital needed.” 

“You will do no such thing.” Rhysand said from my side, his eyes still on my trembling hands. His tone leaves no room for argument. “Don’t worry sweetheart.” Cassian said softly, brushing a piece of my hair behind my ear. 

His large muscled chest blocked my view so I didn’t see that Azriel had left the room but he returned with a small briefcase, setting it on the counter beside me and revealed what looks to be a small stash of high-grade medical supplies. I whimpered and stepped away, accidentally pressing myself to Rhysand’s side. 

“Y-You are…You’re gonna stitch me up. H-Here?” I squealed out, nausea rolling in my gut. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” 

“We have numbing tools, it’ll only hurt for a moment I promise.  Will you let us take care of you? We can take you to the hospital if you’d prefer. But either way you are not going to be walking around here with an open wound” Azriel finally spoke, that deep voice instantly soothing my nerves. 

“Not to be rude…But do you know what you’re doing?” I eyed the small army of supplies suspiciously.

“Yes.” The three brothers shared a look I didn’t fully understand but Cassian looked like I just kicked his puppy and Azriel’s confidence helped me calm down. 

“I didn’t know owning a restaurant was such a dangerous profession.” I quipped trying to distract myself. 

Rhysand chuckled underneath his breath, making me realize how truly close I was standing to him. I tried to take a step back to at least keep some of my dignity intact but he pulled me even closer, heart spread across my cheeks. “You’d be surprised.” 

Well.. That’s true I’d seen Roman with countless bandages, for someone who worked in the kitchen of a high-class restaurant you’d think he’d be better with a knife, he’d only told me it was ‘Part of his charm.’ 

A hospital scared me even worse, plus I would feel guilty. I nodded my agreement and Cassian lifted my wrist removing the rag. Both him and Azriel started cleaning it and I let out another whimper, black dots dancing in my vision at the sight of my own blood coming out of my body. 

Rhysand titled my chin to look at him, those dark blue eyes almost looking violet in this lighting. “Talk to me about something.” 

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, anything.” 

I paused, suddenly all my thoughts emptying when prompted. I opened my mouth to respond but suddenly a sharp burning sensation spread throughout my entire hand and I squealed in pain, pressing my head into Rhysand’s shoulder. He shushed me comfortingly, running a hand up and down my spine in soothing motions until all the pain just…disappeared. 

I pulled away to try and look at what they were doing to my hand. But he captured my attention with conversation once again. We talked about me losing my keys, my annoying neighbor playing loud music throughout all hours of the night, then eventually the rude customers at the host stand and the annoying tables I’d had. It was an easy conversation, making me forget all about my cut. Then I realized I was speaking badly about my job to the person who signed off on my paychecks. 

God this blood loss was making me lose my damn-minded. The way they were taking care of me softened something inside of me. It made my walls slip and I made stupid mistakes like thinking they liked me or telling my bosses bad things about my job. They were respectful to my coworkers and I tried to force myself to remember I was just an employee.

It did however warm my heart how much they cared about their employee’s well being and I tried to tamper down the jealousy that they might’ve taken care of my coworkers like this as well. 

We were extremely well taken care of here. Plus the tips were good which was surprising seeing as everyone knew rich people were monsters -Marisa told me it would be disrespectful to Rhys if they didn’t-. So they obviously had a good reputation for a reason.

So no, I was not going to risk a good job just because Rhys’ voice did things to my insides. That Cassian was making me laugh even as they sutured my hand and Azriel’s touch sent sparks down my spine. I tried to remind myself they were just good employers. Tried to not let it all get to my head 

This really was just not my night. 

Even if I would replay this moment in my head before I go to sleep every night in utter embarrassment, these were my freaking bosses and they had seen me crying and in pain. Not my best moment. 

“Sorry…This is your restaurant. I like my job. Don’t fire me.” I spoke, playing it off with an awkward laugh but Rhysand just gave me another of those dazzling smiles. “Trust me, we’re not going to fire you.” 

“All done.” Azriel spoke gruffly and I hadn’t even realized how much time had passed until I was staring at my newly bandaged palm. “Wow…Thank you guys! I truly am sorry about all of this. I promise to be more careful. It won’t happen again. I’ll get back to my tables.” 

“You’re not going back to work.” They all spoke at the same time, those dark eyes settling on me until I squirmed slightly. They really were too attractive for their own good. Maybe I really did need to find a new job because god the things I wanted to do to these men was anything but professional. 

“It’s a busy Saturday night, I’ve already been avoiding my tables for a long time. Marisa is going to kill me.” 

“Wasn’t negotiable Darling.” Rhysand said in that demanding tone again. 

“Rhysand, Sir-”

“We’ve talked about this. It’s Rhys.” 

“Alright…..Rhys.” I appeased him even if it felt wrong, the nickname tasted unfamiliar on my tongue and way too intimate. “I promise I’m fine. You don’t have to do that.” 

I had bills to pay after all, and as if he was reading my mind- “You’ll be reimbursed for the injury.” 

I bit my lip anxiously, of course I was excited to go home and rest, maybe catch up on some trashy tv show but I would feel horrible leaving my coworkers all alone on a busy night like this. “Are you sure? If you need me I’m happy to stay, plus the injury was my fault-”

“We’ll see you next in a few days, get some good rest.” It was Azriel who spoke this time.

I nodded, giving them a soft smile. “Ok..well thank you so much guys I really appreciate it.” 

After grabbing my things and going over how to take care of my wound with Azriel I left, thanking them again for their help. They really were great bosses. 

[missymae531]

Press Play — Series Masterlist

𝙒𝙀𝙇𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙋𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙎 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔 𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙎 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

SUMMARY: Scouted as a new camgirl, you’re thrown into the world of professional sex work. However, it very quickly becomes more than just you and your camera when directors notice yours and Azriel’s chemistry off-set, and invite you to film with him.

WARNINGS: This series includes foul language, very explicit content (a lot of smut, in-depth warnings will be at the beginning of every chapter), brief mentions of sexual harassment, mentions of anxiety and self-doubt. This series is set in a modern AU where Azriel is a very sought after pornstar and the reader is a camgirl. Minors DNI!

PAIRING: Pornstar!Azriel x Camgirl!Reader

STATUS: Coming soon!

Main Masterlist

Take One ** | New to the business but not the job, you’re going into Press Play Pornography with five years of home experience on your back. But despite how desensitised you are to a man’s peacocking, you can’t quite deny the allure of your new, well-seasoned coworker. (Coming soon!)

TO BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST PLEASE SEND ME AN ASK, I DO NOT ALWAYS CHECK MY COMMENTS SO MAY NOT SEE IT, YOU WILL ONLY BE ADDED TO IT IF YOU ASK VIA MY INBOX!!

[missymae531]

Prank Wars

(Azriel x Y/n)

Summary: The inner circle faces their next battle, a prank war. Cassian and Y/n conspire to beat Azriel, the reining champion. Will they succeed?

(just lots of fluff/fun and cute moments from the spymaster of course!)

“There are only two rules” Mor excitedly whispered, her arm intertwined with yours as she led you two through the busy streets in Velaris, toward the River House.

“Number 1: trust no one. And number 2: everyone works alone.” She practically squealed. Your arm was beginning to hurt from how hard she was squeezing it.

“Okay okay and you’re telling me that Azriel has won prank wars for the last SIXTY years, well since before — you know, Amarantha…” you trailed off.

It was still hard for you to imagine how difficult those fifty years were for your mate. You hadn’t know him at the time, gods you had no clue you even had a mate nevermind the High Lord’s trusted spymaster.

But Velaris still stood, as beautiful as ever and there was peace (for the most part) throughout the courts.

And now, for the first time since Amarantha’s reign, the inner circle, with you as a new edition, were going to compete in Prank Wars.

Mor sighed dramatically, feigning to be angry. “He always manages to evade every prank we try to pull and then at the end he manages to swoop in and prank the last of us who are still in the race to win. It’s quite frustrating, I swear he should be banned because of those shadows!” She grinned down at you, of course joking but you could see in her eyes she was still hoping to beat him this year. Gods, you wanted to beat him too just to make fun of him and hopefully get him all riled up in the bedroom. You smirked at the thought.

Mor raised her eyebrow, “Do I even want to know what you just were thinking?”

You laughed and shook your head no.

As you walked up the steps to the River House you could hear laughter and some yelling. You recognized Cassian’s deep voice vibrating through the halls as Mor and you walked into the large sitting room where the inner circle was relaxing with the fireplace lit and some soft fae light illuminating the beautiful room.

“Perfect! Y/n! You can help us with our disagreement!” Cassian bellowed when he saw you and Mor enter.

You glanced at your mate who was seated on a leather love seat, a glass of some whiskey or dark liquor in his hand, one of his legs crossed with his ankles resting on his knee. He always looked delicious.

Meeting your gaze from across the room he smirked and sent a wave of love and attraction down the bond. It made your knees weak.

“So I was telling everyone my new idea that we need to add a third rule to Prank Wars since Azriel is a cheater! Rule number 3: group pranks are allowed” Cassian explained to me.

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of rule two Cass?” You asked cocking your head to the side.

Feyre chuckled from the couch where she sat next to Nesta who was rolling her eyes at Cassian.

Cassian let out an exaggerated sigh “and that’s where I lost it with everyone else.” He mumbled.

“Because I am aware of how important this is to you brother, I’m willing to bend the rules this year just to still win and prove to you all that I am still the king of Prank Wars” Azriel stated, a smirk again on his face.

Cassian scoffed at Azriel’s confidence but before he could respond Amren cut in, “how about we allow partnerships, if two players wish to pair together on a prank against another they can but if or when the prank fails, they both are out. But if a solo prank doesn’t work you aren’t eliminated”

Rhys let out a low whistle from where he stood behind Feyre leaning against the wall.

“Let’s do it” Cassian grinned at Amren. Azriel chuckled and winked in your direction.

“So it is hereby amended rule number 3: partner pranks are allowed but if it fails both are eliminated immediately!” Mor announced with a clap of her hands.

“But he doesn’t get a partner, that wouldn’t be fair!” Cassian yelled pointed at Azriel.

Rhys rolled his eyes and declared dinner was ready.

—

The next three days were terrifying.

It was impossible to know when or if someone was going to prank you. Even in meetings of importance your gaze would search the room for possible exploding beverages or cans of paint falling when you opened doors.

Thankfully you and Azriel made a pact to not prank when you were at home in your cabin or at Wind Haven. Though it did cross your mind that someone else may try to prank you both while there.

You successfully eliminated Nesta by filling her most recent dirty book with glitter so when she opened it, it exploded and covered her in shimmer. She was not happy, not that she was ever very happy.

The following night you were able to eliminate Mor by convincing the bartender at Rita to let you switch her favorite fae wine with your own blend of bitter fruit and some pickle juice you had blended together.

Rhys had been eliminated by Amren the first day, she had somehow gotten him dunked in the Sidra though Rhys never explained how.

Cassian had eliminated Amren and Feyre the following morning. Amren woke up to all of her jewels gone. Cassian barely had time to enjoy the win because Amren almost killed him before he could point to where he had stashed them in his room.

Feyre had unfortunately walked into her studio to a bucket of paint falling on top of her … hence your newfound fear of doors.

Elain had chose to sit out of the prank wars, which after some back and forth everyone was convinced that she was not in fact pranking everyone and really did not want to participate.

There were only three of you left. You, Azriel, and Cassian.

You wandered through the house of wind waiting for Azriel to come get you so you two could go to the Rainbow and check out some new exhibits.

“Psst” a voice whispered behind you. Screaming you spun around holding the butter knife in your hand as a weapon.

Laughing loudly Cassian bent over holding his stomach.

“Tell me y/n, what were you going to do with that butter knife?” He asked wiping a tear from his eye.

Narrowing your eyes you flung the knife at his face, but the general was no amateur and swiftly dodged it, raising his eyebrow at you, impressed.

“What do you want Cassian, can I enjoy my muffin in peace or is it filled with worms from Elain’s garden?” You asked a hand on your hip.

“Now miss y/n, that is not a bad idea at all I will have to remember that for next year. No I am hear to speak about a scheme. To take your precious mate down once and for all.” He explained, walking over to you and grabbing half of the muffin you just sliced and popping it into his mouth.

“You want to partner up to prank Azriel? But if we fail, then he wins!” You shook your head.

“It’s our only chance y/n! Please I have the perfect plan.” He begged dramatically.

You contemplated your options.

Option 1: conspire with Cassian and likely get eliminated but maybe there was a slim chance of beating your mate.

Option 2: don’t conspire with Cassian and likely get eliminated anyway.

You shrugged and leaned back against the counter.

“So tell me General, what is your plan?”

Cassian grinned. And you realized you probably should have picked option 2.

—

You walked down the streets of Velaris hand in hand with Azriel.

You did your best to keep your end of the mating bond completely sealed off from your mate, which wasn’t particularly unusual given the nature of Azriel’s role as spymaster. Also it wasn’t odd because you were together right now and it wasn’t necessary to share every feeling.

Cassian gave given you very specific but simple instructions.

Walk down the Rainbow with Azriel and head toward Rita’s. Keep him close next to you and when you get just in front of Rita’s make up an excuse to slow down and as Azriel waits for you, Cassian, who would be quietly flying above you two, would pour honey all over your unsuspecting mate and then unload a bag of feathers to top it off.

It was fairly harmless, and besides who better to ask for forgiveness than an apologetic mate who can help the poor shadowsinger wash up tonight in your tub?

You could see Rita’s up ahead and you mentally prepared for being as nonchalant as possible.

“Oh Az I’m going to ask this artist when her gallery opens tomorrow, Feyre and I wanted to go, wait up for me at Rita’s I’ll be just a moment.”

Your sweet mate simply smiled at you, completely unsuspecting of your conspiracy with his brother to prank him. “Of course my love, take your time” giving your hand a kiss he walked ahead of you. You almost felt guilty.

But before you could even think of guilt you felt something warm and sticky completely drench you. Gasping at the ambush you looked up and saw Cassian hovering above you with the widest grin on his face, before he tipped a bag of white feathers right over your head.

“Oh my sweet, did you really think you could out-prank the master?” You heard Azriel say sweetly.

Wiping some honey and feathers off of your face you looked and saw Az and Cassian standing right in front of you. Azriel was at least trying to hide his laughter but Cassian was absolutely roaring, his laugh could be heard all the way to Wind Haven.

“You tricked me??” You yelled at Cassian, groaning at the state of your dress, now covered with honey and feathers.

“I didn’t trick you! Don’t you remember rule number 1?”

You groaned. “Trust no one” you grumbled, plucking a feather off of your nose.”

Cassian nodded. “Besides once it came down to us three I knew I could never beat Azriel, even with you. And did you really think I would let you get a free bee on your very first year playing?” Cassian grinned at you.

Wrapping an arm around Azriel he smiled smugly at you.

“Losing this year was well worth seeing you like this y/n, welcome to the family!”

Azriel glanced at you and sent a wave of forgiving and loving emotions down the bond.

You glared at me, pretending to be more angry than you were.

He winked at you and mouthed “I’m sorry.”

You raised your eyebrows, as best you could considering how sticky your face was and mouthed back “You owe me.”

Azriel grinned at you and lifted up his index finger, signaling for you to wait a minute.

You tilted your sticky and feathered head in confusion. A second later a yell from above had you all looking up to the sky.

Rhys was hovering above you all, well over Cassian.

Cassian cursed, realizing his fate too late. Azriel took a big step to the left and Rhys dumped a bucket of warm oozing honey all over Cassian, drenching his hair, his leathers, even his boots.

You started to giggle and Azriel was holding back his own laughter, moving to stand next to you.

Rhys then dumped a bag of feathers as the cherry on top, leaving Cassian standing in a state identical to you.

Azriel leaned over and plucked some feathers out of your hair.

“Am I forgiven my sweet mate?” He asked. You grinned up at him.

“You are. Except I do require assistance to make sure all of this honey and feathers is cleaned off of me. Do you think you can handle that Prank King?” You asked winking at him.

Azriel grinned back at you, taking your sticky hand and starting to walk towards your cabin.

“This isn’t over!!” Cassian yelled, while Rhys laughed from the sky above, swearing he would have to get Feyre to paint this scene for them to hang in the River House.

[missymae531]

Blue Jewels

azriel x fem reader

Summary: You’ve been helping the High Lady with paint classes when a mysterious handsome man stops by to speak with her. You can’t shake the feeling that he could be your mate, especially when his blue siphons look exactly like the jewels you had just painted.

Notes: 18+ only!!! Some smut (mostly kissing), fluff, tension & longing, slight angst, mating bond

Word count: 1k

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It was a regular evening at the High Ladies studio, teaching the last class of the day. Feyre had stayed this evening to join in on the class you were helping with tonight. Everyone had been painting for almost an hour now. You had been painting a silver crown with vibrant blue jewels on it. You weren’t sure what inspired it but the picture just popped into your head when you sat down, specifically the blue jewels you could not seem to get out of your head for some unknown reason.

Suddenly the front door opens and a tall dark mysterious man stalks inside, large wings barely fitting through the doorway. His eyes meet yours instantly and you stop breathing. He makes his way into the room and walks over to Feyre, your eyes staying intensely connected to his bright hazel ones the entire time. Small shadows seemed to follow and dance around him.

Once he reaches the High Lady his gaze averts to her, the tension in your chest slightly fades and your breathing resumes as you shake your head, trying to focus back on your painting. That’s when you truly notice the vibrant blue siphons on him, exactly like the jewels you had painted.

You watch as he and Feyre step out of the room, noticing his quick glance back to you before they dissapear having a hushed conversation. Soon they return to the room and you watch as Feyre goes back to her canvas and the man walks towards the front door. Once again, your eyes are intensely connected, the feeling of his stare was so overwhelming you begged yourself to look away but for some reason you physically could not pull your eyes away from his. You felt like you were in a trance, seeing nothing in the room but him. He pauses at the door as he holds it halfway open, you see the muscles in his jaw clench as he stares you down for another tense moment before abruptly leaving without a word.

The moment he is gone the tension throughout your body instantly relaxes and your mind comes back to earth. You remember the full class you are in, so many people in this room but for some reason his eyes had remained fixed on only you.

Not long after, the class finishes and everyone packs up and leaves the studio, leaving you and Feyre alone.

“Who was your friend?” You could not help but ask about him.

“Azriel? He is our spymaster, and one of my closest friends.” She explains casually.

You just nod your head in response, trying not to seem too eager about him.

“Why?” Feyre asks, catching you off guard.

“I- uh, no reason. I was just curious, that’s all.” You say awkwardly, your cheeks darkening.

“Mhm…” Feyre hums, a knowing smirk crossing her face that you don’t see. She was very used to women swooning over the shadowsinger.

**********

Azriel flew back to the house, his heart pounding in his ears the entire time. Who were you? Why did you feel so familiar? He knows he has never met you before, he was an expert with remembering faces, and he was certain he would have remembered yours. Gods, you were unimaginably beautiful. He could not help but think of your plump lips, how soft your skin looked even with small paint splatters across your high cheekbones. But what replayed in his mind the most was the way your piercing (e/c) eyes seemed to bore right into his soul.

He had felt creepy staring at you the way he was, but he could not seem to pull his eyes away from you. It took a lot of strength just to break your gaze to speak to Feyre, the whole reason he was in the studio to begin with.

**********

After locking up the studio and saying goodbye to Feyre you rush home, the urge to paint Azriel was pulsing through your veins. The moment you get home you throw your coat and shoes off before instantly walking into the other room to grab a blank canvas and your collection of paints.

You begin to paint in great detail, getting all of his sharp facial features and glowing hazel eyes. It takes extra focus to paint the small details of his large dark wings. The most important detail though, was the vibrant blue siphons that adorned his hands and body, exactly like the jewels you had painted before he entered the studio. Jewels you had never seen before but somehow had felt the need to paint.

You spent hours painting, ignoring your growling stomach and not realizing the time because you were so focused on painting the imagine of the man that’s been burning in your mind since the moment you saw him.

After you make the final touches you wipe the sweat from your forehead and put down your paint brush. You stretch your painfully cramped hand as you look to the window and your eyes widen when you realize the sun is already beginning to rise.

You look back to your finished painting, a masterpiece. Azriel standing boldly, wings resting comfortably as they had been when you saw him, his bright eyes fixed in an intense gaze. You stared and stared at the painting, at him. There was a strange ache in your chest, you weren’t certain because you didn’t truly know what it’s meant to feel like, but you could not shake the thought that he might be your mate.

The way he had stared at you made you wonder if he felt the same thing you did.

Eventually you take your gaze away from his painting and wash up before getting into bed. You did not have to teach today, though you would normally join the classes each day anyway, you were far too exhausted to do so today after staying up all night.

**********

Azriel had been up all night tossing and turning, unable to rid you from his mind. It was strange how his entire body seemed to react at just the thought of you. He eventually fell asleep after giving into his desires that he could not shake, especially picturing those beautiful plump lips of yours all over him, around him.

He makes some half-assed excuse to see to speak to Feyre again, he wanted so badly to see you. He frowns to himself as he enters the studio, his eyes scanning over the sea of faces, none were yours. Feyre raises a brow at him and they step to the side to speak of some random court matters Azriel had thought to bring up, though he could have spoken to Rhys about them.

Feyre notices his eyes searching around.

“She is not here today.” She says, the statement startling the shadowsinger. “Though, I think her painting from yesterday is quite interesting.”

Azriel raises his brow in question and Feyre jerks her head to one of the many paintings lined up along the wall to dry. His eyes instantly find your artwork and he takes in the painting of an intricate silver crown, with vibrant blue jewels adorning it. He looks down to his siphons which matched the jewels exactly.

“Those are…” Azriel begins, studying at the blue jewels on the painting.

“Your siphons? It appears so.” Feyre offers a casual smile. “She painted them before you had even walked in.”

“How?”

“No idea…” Feyre remembers her dresser back in her mortal home, the starry night she had painted on it that resembled the night court, long before she ever seen or even heard of such a place. “She did ask about you once everyone left.”

“Oh?” Azriel said casually, trying not sound too eager. “What did she say, if I may ask?”

“Just asked who you were.” Feyre shrugs.

Azriel didn’t understand why his heart was racing.

“She typically teaches in the evenings by the way.” Feyre winks at him, causing Az to stiffen.

He simply nods to her before leaving the studio.

**********

The next couple days you eagerly waiting for Azriel to return. You even came to the studio for the earlier classes before teaching yours in the evening. Every time you heard the door open your eyes shot up, disappointment crossing your face each time when it was not the shadowsinger. Feyre noticed and your cheeks would darken when she’d smile at you knowingly.

**********

A few days later Azriel tries another subtle attempt at seeing you again. He doesn’t know what he would even say to you, if he would say anything at all. He still felt too nervous to speak to you, which was such an odd feeling for the warrior. Just being able to see you again for a few moments while he spoke to Feyre was enough for him.

He walks into his High Lady’s studio, the sun already beginning to set. He remembered Feyre mentioning you typically taught in the evenings. After stalking his large frame and wings through the doorway, he takes in the room. Realizing it’s completely empty, a few lights still remained on. There’s some rustling coming from the back room so he walks towards it.

“Hello?” He calls quietly, before turning the corner to see you tidying up supplies.

“Oh, hi!” You say in a surprised tone, not expecting to see him.

“Hi.” He says back, serious features studying yours.

“Hi.” You say again shyly.

“Hi.” He says again, this time a small smirk forming in the corner of his mouth.

You chuckle and offer a soft smile. “Hi… what are you doing here?”

“I…” He tried to make himself lie and say he simply came to speak to Feyre again, but the words seemed to slip out beyond his control. “I came to see you.”

“Me?” You couldn’t hide the smile that spread across your face. “Why did you want to see me?”

He looks to the paintings on the other side of the room, his eyes easily finding yours. You follow his gaze to the painting of the dark crown with the vibrant blue gems, you both look back to his identical siphons.

“I think you know why.” He says plainly.

“My mate…” The words slip out in a whisper before you can stop them.

He steps closer to you, causing your heart to race faster, even more so when he cups your cheek with one of his hands.

“My mate.” He whispers back.

Your eyes meet and you lean in until your lips softly meet. Sparks shoot through your entire body and a gasp escapes you, causing you to break the kiss. The look of bewilderment that shines in his eyes when they meet yours tells you that he felt the same thing. The tension between you suddenly snaps as your lips meet again in a hungry, passionate kiss. Both of his strong siphoned hands now cup your face as you stumble back together crashing against the wall, nearby art supplies crashing to the floor. You feel his hardness press against your stomach and the need for him ignites inside you like a fire.

It takes every ounce of Azriel’s strength to pull away from you. You both wanted eachother, badly. The mating bond sparking a feral need between you. But you had only just met and he wanted to be a gentleman, despite the desperate aching of his member straining against his trousers.

“(Y/n)” He breathes and the sound of your name on his tongue sends a shiver down your spine. “I- I want to do this properly.”

“Me too.” You say quietly, hardly able to breathe in his presence. “Would you… will you let me cook you dinner?”

“I would really like that.” The shadowsinger says in a low rumble. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” You confirm with a vibrant smile that makes his heart swell.

**********

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[missymae531]

fresh out the slammer (azriel x reader)

Summary: Fresh off of a breakup, you seek out Azriel, searching for the spark you've been missing so much

Warnings: 18+, smut, light d/s dynamics, exes reuniting, cheating, no use of y/n

Word Count: 5,887

Author's Note: I've literally never written smut before. However, I have read a hell of a lot of it and I gave it my best shot! Thanks for reading <3

Another summer taking cover, rolling thunder He don't understand me Splintered back in winter, silent dinners, bitter He was with her in dreams

Being in a boring relationship was one thing. You told yourself that you’d been together for too long to walk away—that leaving would mean unraveling everything you’d built. For what? A lack of excitement? A dwindling spark? People would kill for this kind of stability, for the comfort of a partner who always came home at the end of the day. He didn’t understand you—not really—but he pretended to well enough. And you were tired. Tired enough to pretend, too.

But being cheated on? That was something else entirely.

There was no more pretending after that. No justifying, no rationalizing. And it wasn’t even the betrayal that gutted you—it was the relief. As if he'd finally said out loud what neither of you had the courage to admit. You’d both been miserable. He just had the gall to do something about it first.

So you packed the boxes. Called in the moving winnows. Signed a lease on the other side of Velaris. It all happened quickly, almost too easily, like the city was glad to see you start over.

The sting faded as you hung new curtains. Unpacked old books. Rearranged your kitchen three times just because you could. You played music louder, cooked dinner later, took long walks in the dark with no one to check in with. You were free.

And yet…

Some nights, when the silence stretched too long and the wine bottle tipped past half, your mind wandered—to shadows, to secrets, to the one who had known you even when you didn’t want to be known.

To Azriel.

You hadn’t seen him in years. Not really. There were moments, of course, across the Sidra, passing glimpses during court events, or half-hearted waves exchanged in crowded rooms. But you’d kept your distance. He had too. There was history there. Not all of it good.

So you definitely weren’t thinking about him when you pulled on a tight black dress and called your friends to meet you at Rita’s. You told yourself you just wanted noise. Music. A room where nobody knew your name or your heartbreak. Somewhere you could pretend, just for a few hours, that you weren’t newly single, freshly humiliated, and painfully alone.

The bass was loud. The wine was stronger. And the heat of bodies pressed together on the dance floor made it easy to forget everything that had driven you here. You let yourself sway, sip, smile when someone’s hand lingered too long on your hip. You were fine. You were free.

You were halfway through another glass of wine, half laughing, half pretending to listen to whatever your friend was saying, when your body stilled.

You felt him before you saw him. Like a chill across your skin, a shift in the room’s gravity. The shadows curled, familiar and electric, the air pulling tighter around your lungs. And then, across the bar—there he was.

Azriel.

Leaning against the edge of the counter, dressed in black and shadowed like always. His scarred hands wrapped around a drink he didn’t seem to care about. His eyes, those godsdamned eyes, already on you.

You froze. So did he.

Something flickered between you at that moment. Unspoken, unfinished.

Your breath caught. Your wine glass tipped a little too far.

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

And suddenly, the noise of the club, the ache of the last few months, the entire city of Velaris—it all narrowed to him.

He was still just as handsome. All shadows and sharp edges, wings tucked behind him like they were made of something dangerous and divine. His hazel eyes landing on you like they always did—like they knew you. The years hadn’t softened him. If anything, they’d only carved him deeper: the hard line of his jaw, the broad set of his shoulders, the cool composure that barely masked the tension underneath. And those shadows, they still clung to him like smoke, like secrets, like they were alive and watching.

Gods, he looked good. Unfairly good. And worse, he looked exactly the way he used to, like no time had passed at all.

You hated how easily it all came back. The way his gaze could hold you still. The way your body still reacted like it belonged to him, your spine straightening and a familiar heat growing in your belly. You took another sip of wine to hide it, to calm the flush creeping up your neck, but gods, it didn’t help. Because he was still Azriel. He was still him. And apparently, you were still hopelessly, stupidly, tragically not over it.

You should’ve looked away. Should’ve turned back to your friends, finished your drink, left him standing there like a ghost from another life.

But the wine was warm in your veins, and you were tired of pretending you didn’t care. Tired of feeling trapped.

So you moved.

Now pretty baby, I'm running back home to you Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to (Fresh out the slammer, oh)

One step. Then another. The crowd seemed to part for you, the music a dull hum compared to the drumbeat in your chest. And he didn’t look away. He just watched. Steady. Still. Like he’d known you were coming the whole time.

By the time you reached him, you could smell the scent of him—leather, cedar, rain. Familiar enough to make your throat ache. You stopped in front of him, heart pounding in your throat.

“Azriel,” you said, his name already tasting like regret on your tongue.

He said yours in return, low and steady, and gods, he still made it sound like you belonged to him.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here.” The words were awkward on your tongue, rushed and quieter than you meant them to be.

Azriel’s eyes scanned your face. “You came looking.”

He had always been able to see right through you, understand you with a single glance.

You huffed a quiet, bitter laugh. “Maybe I did.”

There was a beat of silence. A flicker of something old and aching in his gaze.

“You look good,” he said finally. “Different.”

“Different like ‘miserable and freshly dumped,’ or different like ‘you moved on without me’?”

He didn’t smile, just kept those pretty eyes set on your face. “Both.”

You looked down at your wine glass, swirling what was left. “He was stable. Predictable. The kind of male who got home for dinner and never forgot to buy milk.”

“Sounds… thrilling.”

You met his eyes. “It wasn’t. Not really. But it felt safe. After you, I needed safe.”

His throat bobbed, brow arching with the question. “So that’s what I was? Unsafe?”

The words weren’t angry, just edged with curiosity.

You hesitated for a moment. “You were everything. And that was the problem. You were late nights and secrets and war meetings and silence when I needed you most. You were the dream I couldn’t wake up from.”

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said, quietly.

“Don’t.” You stepped back, just a little. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

The wine burned in your blood. Your heart pounded, too loud in your chest.

“I do,” he said, voice low—almost a growl. “I meant it then. I mean it now.”

You let out a breath, shaky and uneven. “Why now, Azriel? Why tonight?”

“Because you’re here. Because the second I saw you, it felt like no time had passed. Because I never wanted to let you go, I just didn’t know how to hold on.”

The confession swept over you like a wave, sudden and relentless, leaving your cheeks flushed and your lips slightly parted, breathless from the force of it.

“Come home with me.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, before you could unravel what they might mean in the morning, when the wine had left your system and your sense of self preservation returned.

The moment they left your lips, regret crashed over you like a wave. You almost pulled back, almost tried to take it back—but the look in Azriel’s eyes stopped you, holding you in place like he’d always done.

He stepped closer, his voice low, but there was an edge to it now.

“Lead the way.”

And so you did.

His hand found yours in the crowd, and you nearly choked on the way it felt—so right, his scarred skin slotting against yours like it had never been apart.

How had you ever let him go? Let go of that feeling—the one that consumed you, the one that whispered there was no one else who could ever compare?

The two of you had never been ones for small talk, so the short walk was quiet but not uncomfortable. His hand gave yours a gentle squeeze before you pulled apart to unlock your front door, deliberately ignoring the slight tremor of anticipation that ran through you.

He had you pinned against the lilac wallpaper of the hallway before you could blink. His kiss was slow, but there was an underlying desperation in it—one you knew all too well.

"Missed this. Missed you," he murmured against your lips, his hands firm on your waist. You could only nod in response, feeling the scrape of his stubble against your cheek as your other hand tightened around his jacket.

"I bet you missed me too," he said, his voice low and gravelly as his lips trailed from yours to your jaw. "Missed having me this close."

You had.

You had thought of him in those quiet, aching moments—after being left unsatisfied, wanting. Had touched yourself to the memory of him, no matter how much the shame of it burned. You had locked those thoughts away in a vault, only daring to open it in the dead of night.

"Say it," he growled against your neck, his teeth grazing your jugular for emphasis, then soothing it with the flick of his tongue.

You couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t deny him. Not anymore.

"I missed you, Azriel," you whispered, your back arching as he pressed into you, his hardness unmistakable against you. The warmth of him made you squirm, your breath catching.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath ragged, chest rising and falling with the effort to steady himself. His gaze searched yours, dark and conflicted.

"Are you sure?" he questioned, voice raw, barely above a whisper.

There was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something you recognized as the same uncertainty that had haunted both of you when you parted. "I won’t be able to stop if we—"

You didn’t let him finish. You couldn’t.

His hesitation only made the heat inside you burn brighter. You didn’t care about the past. You didn’t care about the reasons you’d walked away before. All that mattered was the feeling of his lips on your skin, the way he made your heart race with nothing but a look. You gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him back to you with a need that was desperate, primal almost.

"I don’t want to stop," you whispered against his lips, breathless. "I need this. I need you."

His eyes darkened, lips curling into something feral. Without another word, he kissed you again, hard, fierce, like he’d been starving for this, too. His hands were everywhere at once, sliding under your dress, running up your thighs with a haste that matched the pounding of your heart. His fingers were rough, but every touch made you feel more alive, more aware of every inch of him.

You moaned into the kiss as he slowly lifted you against the wall, pressing his body against yours in a way that made everything else fade away. There was no past, no doubt, just the sensation of him—his warmth, his strength, the way he fit against you like he was meant to be there.

"Azriel," you gasped, hands tangled in his hair, your body already trembling with desire.

His voice was low, almost growling, as he trailed kisses down your neck. "You don't know how long I've wanted this… wanted you." His words were laced with frustration, with longing, as if he was finally getting a taste of what he’d been denied for too long. "I won’t hold back this time."

“Don’t hold back,” you answered, shaking your head like a mad woman.

"Bedroom?" he asked, his voice low, pulling away just enough to look down at you with that hungry gaze of his, but not letting your feet touch the floor.

"Down the hall, to the left."

Without a word, he carried you, the movement effortless. He set you down gently—far gentler than you expected—his eyes never leaving yours. The two of you were still breathing heavily, faces flushed with desire as you found yourself perched on the edge of the bed, your legs bracketing his, the space between you charged with anticipation.

He ran a finger down your temple, his gaze lingering on every inch of you as if committing you to memory.

“What’s our word, doll?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with a knowing edge. You didn’t need to ask which word he meant.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, the weight of the question hanging thick between you. You hesitated for a breath, drunk on the intensity in his eyes, the way he made you feel both exposed and wanted.

“Mountain,” you breathed, your voice unsteady as you blinked up at him.

He was a vision above you, the soft light casting shadows across his disheveled hair and the fire in his hazel eyes that burned straight through you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words slipping out like a promise—and a command.

With a gentle push to your shoulders, he lowered you back onto the bed, the quilt soft beneath you, contrasting with the heat rising between you both. The space between you seemed to shrink with each passing second, the air thick with the unspoken. He hovered above you, his presence overwhelming.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, then lowering himself to his knees. He ran a gentle hand up your calf, over your knee, and to your thigh. Each inch of skin only served to drive you crazier, the desire for him to touch you only growing.

You fought the urge to squirm, to move closer— to do anything to get closer to him.

“This dress is pretty,” he observed, “I think we’ll keep it on for now, yeah?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, his scarred hands pushed the fabric up to your hips, exposing the black lace of your underwear. You felt his lips press against your inner thigh, leaving soft, reverent kisses.

You let out a broken mumble of his name, your hands in tight fists at your sides. He didn’t move any closer to where you needed him, only clicking his tongue once, then twice, before saying, “None of that, doll. Be patient.”

A frustrated whimper left your lips, but you knew it was of no use.

Azriel would take his time taking you apart— each touch, each word meant to drive you mad with desire.

His thumbs hooked into the sides of your underwear, caressing the skin underneath, but not removing them. Your hips hitched, searching for any sort of contact. He was going to be the death of you, you were sure of it. And Gods would this be the way to go.

“So impatient,” he mumbled against your thigh, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to sting, “You need this, don’t you?”

He removed his hands from your hip, opting to run a single knuckle over your covered core.

A whiny, mhm, was your only answer.

“Poor baby,” he cooed, “How long has it been? Since someone’s had you properly satisfied?”

“I— I don’t know,” you answered, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. How long had it been? Months? Years? Since the last time Azriel had you?

Azriel shook his head, removing his hands entirely, “Try again, doll.”

“Not since..” you took in a deep breath, trying to exhale the sting of embarrassment, “Not since you.”

You wish you could prop yourself up on your elbows and catch the surely satisfied look on his face, but you stayed still, knowing he’d only prolong your pleasure further if you moved without permission.

Azriel hummed, a low, satisfied sound, and leaned forward, pressing his lips firmly against your core. Despite the barrier of the black lace, it felt divine— like he was made to be right there, in between your legs.

He pressed a kiss against your clothed clit, then he leisurely ran his nose against the length of your slit, inhaling you. The pressure was just enough to send heat up your spine, your toes curling with anticipation.

“Gods, you smell fucking heavenly.” He growled, hooking the fabric in one finger and pulling it to the side, exposing you to his hungry gaze,

“And this is still the most beautiful cunt I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

His tongue darted out, pressing against your entrance, running up to your clit, sucking harshly before running his tongue over it soothingly. You felt him pull away for a moment, a mewl leaving your lips at the loss of contact, but relief flooded you as he pulled your panties down your legs.

Then he was on you again, his mouth on your cunt, hands gripping roughly at your hips.

This is what you had been longing for— the way he knew you like the back of his hand. How he knew you preferred languid, slow strokes over your slit, a bruising grip on your hips, your legs over his shoulders, ankles hooked behind his neck, heels just barely grazing the spot where his wings met his back.

The relief of it all had your hand drifting to his head—not to tug, but to comb your fingers gently through his disheveled curls. They were just as soft as you remembered, like dark silk slipping through your fingers, a feeling you'd memorized long ago in the quiet moments between love and loss. He leaned into the touch, wordless as he devoured you but knowing, as if he remembered too—how comfort had always lived in the space between your hands and his skin.

A string of breathy moans floated from your lips as his tongue traced over you again, light and barely there— he was pushing you, you realized. Seeing how long he could get away with teasing you, pushing you to the edge of delirium, just to bring you back to him.

You weren’t above begging. Not when it came to him.

“P-please, Az. Please.”

He hummed against you, the vibration only serving to drive you closer to madness.

“I need you,” you murmured, your grip on his hair tightening in warning, “I’ve always needed you.”

That seemed to satiate him as he cracked a small smile against you, humming again. You gasped as he returned to your cunt with vigor, licking and sucking— playing your body like an instrument and he was a world class artist.

You were soaked, your hole clenching around nothing, leaking onto the blanket beneath you.

It was debauched. It was reverence. It was everything.

His name left your lips once, then twice, then again as you felt a finger nudge at your entrance.

Azriel pushed his middle finger in slowly, lips still attached to your clit. You could do nothing but stretch around him, keening under him. You knew the pressure was nothing compared to the way his cock would split you open, but it was delicious and mind numbing all the same.

Once his finger was fully seated in you, prodding at that sweet, spongy spot inside of you, he added another. You were slick enough that you gave no resistance to the intrusion.

“That’s what you needed, baby?” He asked, picking up his pace, bullying his digits into you.

“Yes, yes.” You whined, your hips involuntarily bucking against him.

“And you still need more, hm?” He tutted, his voice taking on a sardonic quality, teasing you. He beckoned his fingers in a way that made stars explode across your vision— your face fuzzy and numb, legs twitching around his shoulders.

And Gods, was he right.

His free hand moved to your lower belly, pressing there. The pressure only added to the pleasure his fingers brought, coaxing you so close bliss. With a few mere strokes and passes over your clit, he had you on the edge of release.

But he still held back, knowing exactly where your limits were.

Your name fell from his lips, somewhere between a prayer and a command, “When you finish, it will be with my cock inside of you, understand?”

“I understand,” you whispered, not trusting your voice, your face twisted in pleasure and eyes shut tight. He gave you one last thrust of his fingers, holding them there for just a breath. The sound you made was nothing short of guttural, coming from somewhere deep inside you— somewhere primal and wanting.

A whine escaped you at the loss of his fingers. You wondered how you survived all these years without him, without the ache of his closeness, the gravity of his touch pulling you back to where you were always meant to be.

Azriel moved over you with quiet purpose, his body a shadowed silhouette in the dim light. He settled at your waist, wings flaring slightly behind him. His face was all sharp lines and focus, a quiet fire burning in his hazel eyes as his fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt—slow, deliberate, like he wanted you to memorize every second of it.

His face, covered in you, might have been the most beautiful thing you’d seen in your immortal life.

You could hardly breathe beneath the weight of him, not from pressure, but from the unbearable anticipation that built with each slow flick of his fingers. Every inch of newly exposed skin felt like a promise, like the echo of something you’d been starving for in silence. His shadows curled along his skin as the shirt slipped from his shoulders, revealing the familiar sprawl of tattoos inked across his chest—markings you'd traced once with your fingers, your lips, like a map you could never forget how to read.

You were panting just watching him, your body betraying you, chest rising and falling in time with the wild, reckless rhythm of your heartbeat.

“Tell me what you want.” Azriel commanded, voice rough and low, his gaze locked onto yours with molten intent.

“You,” you whispered, the word trembling from your lips.

He tilted his head, the movement slow and deliberate, as his arms caged you in.

“Be more specific, doll.” Azriel whispered, his voice a tender hush against your skin, all patient hunger and reverent touch, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you gently.

“You inside of me.” You answered.

He nodded once, sliding off of you and dragging his pants and underwear down. His cock sprang free, hard and heady against his stomach.

“What inside of you? Hm?” He prodded in that same teasing tone, stroking himself once, then twice.

You swallowed hard as you watched him, propped up on your elbows now, your mouth watering at the sight.

“Your cock.”

The yearning in your voice was so evident, so raw, it even surprised you.

He stepped forward, eyes never leaving yours as his fingers found the edge of your dress. With a practiced slowness, he hooked the fabric and drew it upward, the hem whispering over your skin before slipping it over your head and casting it aside.

You were left bare before him, need roiling in your gut like a storm, slightly trembling with anticipation. He took his cock in hand and pressed it against your folds, rubbing the blunt head of it against you.

“This is what you wanted?” he asked, voice like smoke and sin, low enough to curl heat through your core. He pressed forward just a bit, his tip catching against your entrance.

Even the small pressure earned a whine from your lips, which he tutted at in return.

“Look at you,” he growls, “So wet for me. Is this all for me?”

You answered with a tilt of your hips, and “It’s all for you.”

“Is that so?”

He emphasized his words with another short thrust, teasing you.

“Az.” You huffed indignantly.

With his feet still planted on the floor, he leaned forward, one hand guiding his cock and the other planted next to your head. With a nip at your jaw, he pushed in again, just enough to make your hands clench against the mattress

“Don’t be a brat,” he murmured against your ear, each short word a spark against your skin, setting every nerve alight.

You thought, for just a moment, that he would tease you like this forever. Keep you right there at the precipice of experiencing that divine pleasure you knew he could give so well. Perhaps as punishment, or for his own satisfaction of seeing you squirm and stutter beneath him

He finally pushed into you fully, your heat welcoming him effortlessly and without resistance, despite the size of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his lips parted in ecstasy.

You were foolish to think he would ever deny himself of this, of you. He stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust, like the gentleman he is. His hand, now free with his cock seated inside of you, came to your clit, his thumb rubbing deft circles.

“M-move, please,” you pleaded, voice breathless and aching, like wanting him was the only thing you’d ever known.

Azriel obliged you, setting a slow and languid pace with each press of his hips, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, the force of his hips meeting yours growing with each passing second.

“I bet you fucking missed this,” he growled against you, his voice barely restrained, “Missed having me inside of you— filling you up just how you like.”

His cock hit a sensitive, sweet spot inside of you, drawing out a pathetic whimper. “F-fuck, Az,” you yelp.

His scent was everywhere, invading your senses like smoke through a keyhole—heady and dark, all cedar and wind and something so purely him. It clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and curled low in your belly.

The warmth of his skin against you is a whole other sensation, covering you, comforting you through the brutal pace he’s set as he pounded into you without ceremony.

Tears gathered in your eyes, spilling onto your flushed cheeks. He kissed one, then the other, the softness in deep contrast to the way he fucked into you roughly.

“Crying for me already, baby?”

You don’t answer.

You can’t answer.

So overrun by the feeling of him inside of you, on top of you. With a sharp pinch to your nipple, he ordered, “Answer me, doll.”

“Mhm,” you nodded, “For you. All for you.”

The words are broken, pathetic ones, but he accepts them nonetheless and soothes the sting with his tongue.

“You can take it,” he reassured you, his voice muffled by the skin of your breast, “I know you can. You’re doing so good for me, doll. So fucking good.”

Your loneliness became a distant memory with each thrust of his hips, his groans and heavy breaths against your clavicle coaxing you closer and closer.

“You gonna finish on my cock, huh?” He breathed, his voice losing its edge, sweeter and coaxing now, “Gonna let me fill you up?”

His hand came to the nape of your neck, pulling to lift your head just enough to set your eyes on the sight of him fucking into you.

“I want you to watch. Watch me fuck you.”

You couldn’t respond, nearly hypnotized by the display of his cock pushing in and out of you in quick, hard thrusts.

“Watch. And know that I’m the only one who can make you feel like this— so fucking cock drunk you can’t even speak.”

Your toes curled instinctively, your legs tightening with the force of your oncoming orgasm. You knew he could tell you were close. He had memorized every tell, every twitch, years ago.

“That’s it,” he cooed, “You can come for me, baby. I know you want to.”

Between his words, his hand in your hair and the relentless drag of his cock inside of you, you were already hurdling over the edge with a cry.

“Just like that. Fuck, baby. That’s it.”

A high, keening sound filled your ears—like the rush of wind through a mountain pass. The world narrowed to white heat and the thundering rhythm of him inside of you, everything else drowned out in the crescendo of your climax.

His breath stuttered, body going rigid above yours as a growl tore from his throat. Deep, raw, unrestrained. Shadows coiled tight around you both like a snare, and then he was unraveling, coming apart with your name on his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once. His wings flared, trembling, as though even they couldn’t contain the force of it. And when he finally collapsed, it was with reverence, his forehead pressed to yours like he was anchoring himself back to the world through you. You reveled in the way you could feel his seed against your walls, warm and filling.

He dropped beside you with a low, wrecked sound, his arms coming around you like instinct, like worship. You were pulled into the cradle of his chest, his heartbeat thunderous beneath your cheek, as if his body couldn’t bear to be separate from yours a second longer. Like the tether between you had snapped taut—and drawn him home.

He held you for what felt like hours, tenderly. The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. Just full. The kind of silence that said everything neither of you had dared to say out loud.

Azriel shifted beside you, propping himself up on one elbow. “So…” he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion and something deeper, “was this a mistake?”

You turned your head, meeting his eyes in the dim light.

Gods, he looked tired. Beautiful. Real.

“No,” you said softly. “It was a beginning. Or maybe a return.”

His brow furrowed, just slightly. “What does that mean?”

You smiled faintly, reaching out to trace the scars on his hand with your fingertip. “It means I’m not running this time.”

He watched you for a long moment, like he was memorizing the shape of those words. Then he leaned in, brushing a kiss to your shoulder.

“I waited,” he whispered. “Even when I told myself not to.”

You took a deep breath, your fingers curling nervously around the edge of the blanket. The weight of everything that had passed hung between you—old wounds, choices made, silence that had stretched too long.

Azriel’s gaze softened, as though he’d already sensed what you were about to say.

“I… I owe you an apology,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. “For everything. For walking away when it was hard, for not telling you what I needed. For running into something… easy.” You swallowed, the lump in your throat tight. “I thought it would be easier to forget. But I never did.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened as he looked at you, a mixture of pain and understanding swirling in them. He stayed silent, but his expression was an answer, one that said so much more than words could.

“I wasn’t strong enough to face what I really wanted,” you continued, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. “And I let myself get comfortable with something safe, even though I knew deep down… it wasn’t you. It wasn’t us.”

He reached out then, his fingers brushing your cheek, not with anger, but something gentler, something understanding. His voice was low, a touch strained. “You don’t have to apologize. Not to me.”

“I do,” you said, your voice cracking. “I hurt you, Azriel. I shut you out when you—when you always saw me. And I was too afraid to even admit I still felt it.”

Azriel’s expression softened even further, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “We’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah. I just hope I haven’t ruined everything.”

“Some things… are too strong to ruin.” He kissed your forehead gently, and when he pulled back, his voice was soft, but resolute. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You brushed your fingers over the back of his hand, grounding yourself in the truth you’d denied for far too long.

You had left the man who never really saw you. Packed your things, crossed the city, stepped back into a shadowed memory that hadn’t dulled with time. And now, lying here with Azriel—his scent on your skin, his heartbeat echoing in your ears—you felt it deep in your bones:

You were free. You were home.

And no matter what I've done, it wouldn't matter anyway Ain't no way I'm gonna screw up now that I know what's at stake Here, at the park where we used to sit on children's swings Wearing imaginary rings But it's gonna be alright, I did my time

[missymae531]

[missymae531]

A Barter 8

Warnings: dub/noncon, smutty smut, I am a dark blog and I write dark things.

Summary: You are bargained to be wife to the witcher if he can slew the beast in the village.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

**note, I am not a Witcher genius or aficionado and so I may get some things wrong.

As usual, I appreciate any and all feedback and enthusiasm. Please reblog and leave a comment. Love! 😍

In his absence, your husband's, you have peace but little energy to do more than sleep. You still find that word strange. Husband. And you are a wife.

You eat the rations he leaves and soak in the hot tub he has drawn on your behalf. It soothes but cannot heal completely. You crawl into the bed and nestle into the blankets and his scent. You doze without a twitch or thought.

You wake only as the door shuts. He is gentle as to not disturb you but even so, you stir. You are still unclothed. The remnants of your clothing were unsalvagable.

He has a bundle under his arm and basket in the other. He sets the latter on the table and brings the former to you as you drag yourself up to sitting. Your thighs and bottom pulse and your insides knot.

He lays the bundle on your lap. You touch in tenderly and examined the twine holding it all together. You tilt your chin up, "thank you, husband."

"Wife," he nods.

You look to the wool-wrapped gift. You untie the string as he looms. You push back the outer layer to uncover a dyed dress within. A shade of green like fir needles. A shift too, and belt, boots, and stockings. You marvel over it with curious fingertips.

"It is all very nice, husband," you praise.

He grunts and points to the mess of fabric strewn over your legs. You keep one arm tight to your side to hold the blanket over your chest. You take the stockings and unroll them. Within, there is a small wooden box.

You peek up at him before you wiggle the lid free. Within, a ring, silver and moonstone. A perfect oval with a frame of delicately wrought thorns, as if a crow's talon were cradling the rock.

You admire it and he cups your hand with his abruptly. He takes the band as he flips your palm down and forces it to your knuckle. You keep your hand still and force a smile.

"It is beautiful--"

"It will keep you close," he insists and lets you go. "As I would always have you."

He bends and gathers the clothing in his arms. He heaps it upon a chair and faces you again. He unclasps his cloak as his eyes shine in the dim light of the crackling hearth.

He is concise in undressing. He strips the layers away without faltering. He consumes you with a gaze before he approaches to do the same in body.

He pets your face and nuzzles into your cheek. He drags his touch to your shoulder and guides you onto your side. He reclines behind you, moulding his body perfectly to yours.

He tickles along your pelvis and traces your slit. He prods at your thigh until you lift your leg. You balance a foot on his calf and he rubs you firmly, swirling and swiping until you skicken.

He spreads you with two thick fingers and shifts to angle his tip between his knuckles. He pushes into you, no easier than the night before as your walls clench around him. He sighs as he thrusts up to your limit.

You arch your back but the pressure only shifts. You put a hand on his hip and squeeze, biting down on the stretch. You breathe through your teeth, little moans trickling out.

He puffs and pumps against you, faster and faster, his voice cloying around you as his grunts grow guttural. He ruts up into you until the bed shakes and scrapes on the floor. He spreads his hand over your pelvis, his middle finger toying with your bud until you spasm and squeak in release.

Still, the uncoiling of tension is not enough to assuage his intrusion. He pounds into you as the thunder of slapping skin deafens you to the noise of the tavern below. His breath blows over you like a tempest and he snares you in a cloud of pleasure.

When he is still, you drift back to the waking world. He caresses up and down your stomach as his skin blazes against yours. His chest presses to you and deflates in an even tempo. He trails up your neck and flutters across the top of your chest.

"We must away shortly," he grumbles. "And you will learn the road quickly. You must if you are to be my wife."

[missymae531]

Shining Armor

Knight!Azriel x Princess!Reader (Rhysand's Sister)

Summary: For @sapphirelunawolfie who said "Knight!Az x Princess!Reader" and inspired me 💙

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence.

Word Count: 1841

Notes: This eats I'm not even going to lie.

_________________________________________

Azriel doesn’t know why you’re here.

Here, in the middle of the Night Court King’s throne room.

Here, sitting on a throne of your own, placed slightly behind your father’s.

Here, where there is a noticeably absent seat on the dais.

He stands at your side, stiff as a board, hand perched on the hilt of his sword. He studies the room with rapt attention. How straight Rhysand sits on his own throne, instead of the usual blasé way he lounges during a ball. The longing glances you keep taking at the empty throne beside your father’s. The sharp jaw and angry eyes of the King. The way his golden rings dig into the wooden armrests of his seat.

The pale sliver of skin on his fourth finger where a ring used to sit.

The setting sun cascades through the stained-glass windows near the ceiling. Blots of color paint the walls. Azriel knows exactly which pane paints the room crimson. He memorized the tales behind each and every one of the eight windows lined perfectly beside each other long ago. This particular artwork always seemed to scream bad omens in his ears, and the hair at his nape stands on end.

Azriel blames it on the icy cold chainmail.

He doesn’t want you here. Not when you’re in mourning. Not when he can hear the soft sniffles you’re trying to stifle.

He hates the King for this, for summoning you, Rhysand, and his retinue when the entire Court is in misery.

Whatever is going to happen here tonight, it must be important.

King Dornan sits so still on his throne he looks like the gargoyles perched on every terrace of the castle. His violet eyes are hard, filled to the brim with bloodthirsty vengeance. His black cape drapes carelessly over his shoulder, spilling down the side of his throne as if he stormed in here twenty minutes ago and barked out orders to gather everyone closest to the family, and to arrive as quickly as possible.

Cassian stands beside Rhys, just as confused. Rhysand had been visiting you when one of the King’s messengers raced down the hall, startling the two knights standing guard outside your room. Azriel and Cassian had been conversing softly when the scrawny boy came running by. His steps echoed so loudly in the hall he heard you and your brother quiet on the other side of the door.

Their hands had found their swords quickly, and the boy would have been dead if they hadn’t recognized him the split second, he rounded the corner. Azriel and Cassian were the best trained knights in the kingdom with the exception of Rott, the King’s personal guard. The boy had been a panting mess, his blue eyes terrified as he delivered the summons.

The doors to the chamber swing open with an angry force that makes Azriel itch to throw himself in front of you, to protect you from the army of guards that whip into the room. The metal of their armor clangs loudly, but it’s the screams that pierce Azriel’s ears that really have him on edge. He wants you out of here, right the fuck now.

It’s not the first sentencing you’ve attended, but it’s the first sentencing you’ve attended since your mother’s murder only a few nights prior. You were supposed to be with her that fateful night, but she had convinced you to stay and keep your father company, sit with him in the lounge and challenge him in a game of chess while she went to visit Rhysand a few villages over.

She never made it. And you haven’t left your bed chamber since.

The guards drag two wailing men between them. Immediately, Azriel knows what’s happening. The lack of a public viewing, the quickness in which the King called for you and your brother.

These are the men that killed your mother, and the King is about to make his revenge a family affair.

Azriel fights the urge to whisk you through the secret door in the back of the room. You don’t need to see this, you’ve been through enough this week. You should be resting, mourning in your rooms while he stands just outside the door, his heart rattling behind his chest plate at every sob he pretends he doesn’t hear.

He’s wanted to burst inside and console you for days, but that is not his role. He doesn’t think about you, the Princess of the Night Court. He’s hardly even supposed to talk to you, but he can’t deny the magnetism that draws him to you. He’s intrigued, and as the knight from the top of his class, the one that holds one of the highest positions in the King’s eyes, should not be thinking of you more than a duty.

“Azriel,” the King calls. He doesn’t startle, but his breath shallows slightly in surprise. Not enough for anyone to notice.

You twist in your chair, brows furrowed in confusion. He doesn’t know why he’s being summoned, either, but he waits for one of the guards lining the walls to fill his place before he takes the few steps to join the King at his side.

It’s Bryaxis that takes his spot. Azriel doesn’t like taking leave from your side, but if there’s anyone who is as serious at his job as he is, it’s Bryaxis. He has the build, custom-made armor hangs from his large frame, nearly double the size of Azriel.

You want to reach out and snag Azriel’s hand as he passes. You don’t understand what’s going on, why your father is requesting his presence. You don’t like anything that’s happened this past week, and worry digs into your chest. You don’t want anything else to happen.

“Yes, my King?” Azriel answers once he reaches the throne. He stares straight ahead like a loyal soldier, awaiting his orders.

“Cassian,” the King calls, ignoring Azriel.

Despite knowing not to interrupt his father, Rhysand murmurers a confused, “Father?”

Again, the request for attention is denied. The King glares down at the two men who have been forced to their knees before the dais. A steady flow of blood patters to the stone beneath their curled forms. One of the guards behind the perpetrators digs his fingers into the matter black hair on the top of his head and yanks. With a sharp grunt, the man’s head is wrenched up, and all Azriel can focus on is your gasp of shock behind him.

Half of the man’s face is split open, almost right down the center. One of his eyes is completely gone, bludgeoned from its socket. Blood pours rivulets down his bare chest, stripped of everything except his raggedy pants. The blackening liquid dries in his chest hair.

The second man is face down on the floor. Azriel’s not sure if he’s already dead, but when the King demands him to wake and the knights closest to him begin prodding him roughly with the tips of their steel-lined boots, his lashes flutter.

These are the men that killed the Queen. Your mother. They’re poor excuses for men, trying to disguise themselves by rolling around in the dirt and thinking they’d blend with the villagers. King Dornan hasn’t let any of his soldiers sleep until they were found, interrogated, and executed.

And, well, the throne room is definitely dressed for an execution.

The King eases slightly in his chair, and with a flick of his jeweled hand, he orders Azriel and Cassian. “Avenge the Cunningham’s for the loss of our beloved Queen.”

Neither he nor Cassian hesitate. They step down the dais at equal pace, their boots thundering loudly, menacingly, with each step they take. Their swords croon a taunting lullaby as they unsheathe them, and the men on the floor beg and plead an infantile song in reply.

They should hold their breath. There is no changing the Kings mind.

The only person Azriel is worried about is you. He wishes he could turn around to see the look on your face, to see how you’re faring with this order. He wants to look you in the eye as he kills the man who did the very same to your mother. He’s doing this for you.

He and Cassian are fortitudes of marble. They’re been trained to feel nothing, used to slay enemies and traitors alike for the King, until he and his wife deemed their skillset perfect for protecting his children. King Dornan wanted nothing but the best for his family. Protection. Intelligence. Togetherness.

And these men took that from you.

The man on the floor doesn’t move, accepting his fate. Cassian stares harshly at the man, disgusted. He’d prefer it if her put up a fight, showed him what he was made of that night in the middle of the woods where they ambushed the Queen and her guards.

Azriel’s traitor tries. He fights against the wrought-iron chains that hold his arms behind his back. Even if he didn’t have them, Azriel wouldn’t care. He would be no match for the knight that stands before him, staring down at him like a Death God all his own.

Azriel knows why he’s been chosen with this task.

The steel of his blade meets little resistance when it hits the bone of the man’s neck. Blood splatters, and Azriel doesn’t make a sound. The man’s head teeters for a moment, as if it doesn’t know which way to topple to the stone. His face is frozen in shock. Within a second his head goes rolling to the floor, his body following with a wet thud.

Cassian’s blade is pulled from the lifeless man on the floor’s head with a slick noise.

Azriel watches, waits for the familiar shadowy slivers to slip from their bodies. No one in the room besides the King notices, which is why Azriel was chosen for this particular job. His fellow knights don’t know. You certainly don’t know why he stands over their bodies when Cassian has already spun on his heel and knelt to his King, but you are curious.

Finally, two razor-thin plumes rise from the bodies. Their souls.

Azriel summons the shadows from the corners of the room. They follow obediently, following the cracks and shadows on the floor, behind guards, beneath his boots to consume the souls of the men who have committed the ultimate act of treason.

Their screams still ring in his ears, but they’re silenced by the mass of other souls Azriel rules over. Now, they’re his. Should the King request it, he can pluck them out of the river of black that follows him everywhere he goes.

When the ringing stops, Azriel turns on his heel and lowers himself to the ground, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword and dipping his chin. “My King,” he says, and with those words, his King knows the deed is done.

“You may rise,” King Dornan says with the hint of a sinister smile on his lips.