#demon!azriel x reader

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon! Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 3[***]

A/N: you guys really shouldn’t be encouraging my monsterfucking habits but here we are. Also, sorry it’s late!

Summary: You get stolen away by one of his half siblings, and he nearly tips over the irredeemable edge. You’re running. He’s hunting.

Warnings: monsterfucking (yk), demon!azriel, kidnapping, gore/violence, blood, beast form!Azriel (no, you don’t fuck him like that), soft!Demon!az (in his own way)

-Part 2- -Part 4-

He doesn’t understand how he managed to lose you so effortlessly.

He’d been keeping you in his private chambers, locked far below ground. But then you’d started getting ideas in your head after the mating, ideas of your own independence being important. It set his ire blazing, the thought you would any sort of individuality to separate yourself from him. You belong to one another now.

Still, an unfamiliar part of him had granted your offending requests of freedom, returning you to the mortal worlds from time to time whenever you claimed to be struck down by a sickness for your previous housing. His lip curled whenever he thought of it.

He’d allowed you out, and you’d been snatched away. Ripped from his claws, leaving him wounded and tender. And furious. Black flame incarnate. The embodiment of wrath, his body sensing something fundamental having been torn from his inner energies. You.

He needs you back, or he might wither under the unyielding might of his rage.

————————

The marshy land squelches beneath your feet, the wet slap of your toes as they sink into the mud. Icy razor blades slice the soles of your feet as the cold bites into you. The skin is a raw pink, the swampy terrain containing little but festering small creatures that cannibalise one another for the sake of prolonging their pitiful but desperate lives.

The beasts dragging you along have no place in your heart, twisted with malevolent cruelty to the point of being unrecognisable. You can’t even begin to comprehend them, yet they continue stringing you through the bemired ground, no care for the burning pain that slices with every step.

Salty paths have long since dried on your grimy skin, wind whipping at your hair as it howls in the skies, thunderous. Rain lashes at your back, stinging in its persistence. A crack of lightening above has you jumping, stumbling as you fall into a stagnant bog of putrid smelling water. The creatures pay you no mind, continuing on their slouching way as your ankles are pulled out beneath you.

Your mouth opens to scream before you seal you lips as you’re dragged under, your weight sinking into the marsh. You thrash until your break the surface, gasping for air as you try to push the mud from your eyes. The best you can do is wait for the unkind rain to rinse your skin beneath it’s torrential rage.

How much further?

The question repeats in your mind until it’s a dull throb of pain, hair pulled out from under you as you slide through the muck, sludge caking your back. It becomes unbearable when you hit stable land, the cold ground biting at your skin, tearing at the thin robes you adorned before you were snatched away. Again.

The thunderous crack of lightening whips closer, more regular. A small part of you hopes it will somehow seek you out, strike you down where you lie, freeing you from the endless hurricane of events you seem to have been unsuspectingly caught in. Things were just beginning to look up for you and Azriel. He’d allowed you freedom you hadn’t been granted even in the mortal realms, the promise of safety, gifting you with the liberty to run wild in forests, bathe in streams without worry of prying eyes or snatching hands that wouldn’t listen to your cries of agony. How false those promises had been.

Perhaps he’d gotten bored of you.

He was a creature of hel, after all.

The wind beats down on your accepting features with all the force nature possesses. It harrows your skin, lashing at your cheeks, stinging your lips as the wind turns every strand of hair into cruel, half bitten whips, cracking against your tender skin with sharp, wet smacks.

And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to call him a beast. The things dragging you by your ankles were the monsters, though perhaps he was simply a master to the arts of deceit and mockery.

Sharp stones scrape against the raw flesh of your back, surely the same bitten-pink as your feet. Had he really, truly abandoned you? The side of your throat stings, your hands automatically flying to sense out the pain. The bite marks are pulsing, throbbing with a burning sensation, prickling at your bloodstream. Azriel.

Where are you?

You manage to crack your eyes open, gunk teeming at the edges where the rain couldn’t slither in. There’s a black spec in the sky, darker than the thunderous rain cloud. Lightening cracks, silhouetting the shadow.

You hiss as rocks drag against your should blades, splitting up your spine as they grind against the bone. Fresh tears spill as unceasing pain lances through your back, flaying your torso.

The shadow is larger - closer. It’s dropping, plummeting through the air, terrifying wings slicing through the atmosphere silently. Lethally precision in the set of it’s form. He’s a very quiet predator.

Your breath catches, choking on air as it clogs your lungs, tongue feeling rubbery against the walls of your throat. The words blurs but not from the sting of rain, neither the dark haze when your squint your eyes in desperation to shield from the wild onslaught of the elements trying to corrode your skin. Hot wetness warms paths along your skin, neck stinging as his glittering ire slices along that eldritch connection, zapping at your mind.

The utter fury blazing along the bond warms your from within, heart picking up to the beat of the wind that whips unforgivingly across the flat moor, fog rolling in thick, suffocating clusters, sprawling above the fen. Your lower lip trembles as he dives, swooping down, shadows wreathing him in unhallowed darkness.

He crashes into the beasts dragging your human body so carelessly across the boggy flatland, piercing screams tearing from their bodies as they’re crushed beneath his razed sharp claws. The Dæmon lands in a mess of splintering bones, dark blood spraying into the mud as jaws snap viciously, tearing at rough skin as their bodies are pulled apart.

“Azriel…” You’re disbelieving, finally coming to a stop on the biting floor. Power fills the air, frenetic static building, lightening cracking above. It’s his fury incarnate, imbuing the world with depthless wrath as it zaps across the wet fields. Beastly snarls rips from his chest.

You shakily push up, hardly able to move from the bludgeoning numbness. His wings are larger, the talons glittering at their peaks sharper. His arms and legs are transformed into crushing paws, decorated with slicing talons that could spear your entire body. His thick fur curls in the torrential downpour, changed from his bi-pedal form into moving as a predator would, enabling his lethal speed.

He’s hardly recognisable save for scar peaking through the matted hair on his corded throat, a matching pair to the bite marks on your own neck. There isn’t an ounce of hazel in his blacked out eyes, snout searching for life to rip into as he shoves it into the disembowelled stomach of one of the pitiful creatures that’d been crushed beneath his weight.

It happens under a second, one moment he’s a spec in the air and the next he stalks over the bloodied carcasses of the beasts that have been hauling your roughly through the dirt. The once firm land now withers beneath their weight, saturated with blood, their corpses sinking into the morass, swallowed by the land. Pickled.

“Azriel,” his name grates against your vocal chords. You know it’s him. He’s found you, he’s come to save you. Fresh tears wrack your body as shadows slither through the cloying fog, snapping the locks on your rubbed-raw angles as you pull them against your body.

You’re pushing forward on trembling limbs, onto your hands and knees as you crawl forward, rain washing away the grit from your excoriated skin. “Azriel,” you whimper, his body looking so warm and you know even with the wetness soaking his fur you’ll be shielded.

The metallic scent in the air evens out as he shifts into a more familiar form, his own features surfacing, sharp cheekbones splitting through his animalistic demeanour, the darkest shine of hazel breaking in his blacked out eyes. A snarling roar drags from his throat as his gaze settles on you, prowling forward.

The shifting halts, as if frozen. As if he’s struggling to return to his form. Black swallows his hazel as it’s sucked down, size doubling as he doesn’t transform back. His crushing paws sink into the marshland, wings flared wide as he stalks closer.

You still, suddenly scared. All over again.

Your name to scramble back but your abraded skin stings. You collapse back into the mud. “Azriel…” you rasp as he traps you beneath his titan-like body. A scream rips from your throat as his jaws drop open, fragments of bone falling out as they enclose over you.

You won’t even make a mouthful as the others had.

But his tongue unfurls, the wet muscle scooping you up tenderly, bringing you into the hall of his mouth as darkness writhes around the outside. A weightless sensation overcomes you as he rights himself, accompanied by the thunderous thump as leathery wings flare, shooting you into the sky as it’s blacked out.

It reeks of blood and flesh, but it’s warm. His tongue is soft, your weight sinking into the tough, slick skin, heating your bones as you melt into the cavern of his mouth. After the overpowering stench of the marsh, the scent of death isn’t that unbearable. Besides, you’re still caked in it, so you wonder who’s really got it worse as you lie on his tongue.

Fatigue weighs on your eyelids, the hotness of the muscle beneath you paired with the repetitive thump of his wings lulls you into needed sleep, darkness filling your vision as you melt into him, stiffness seeping from your bones.

————

You wake to the feeling of falling, your muscles screaming to tense as you slide from his tongue. Blinding light fills your vision, forcing your eyes to shut again. You’re plunged into a warm pool of water, the sensation oddly pleasant as you can already feel the mud being soothingly worn from your skin.

When you break the surface, you’re spluttering, hands trying to scrub your face free of muck. You dip back under, the water burning at your eyelids but it’s preferable to the gunk that’s caking your skin.

A powerful arm hooks beneath your own, lifting you effortlessly from the water, setting you on a submerged ledge that leaves the cleansing water lapping just above your collar bones. Something dry and slightly rough is pushed against your face. A towel, you realise, hands raising to scrub yourself off, to clean your eyes.

You take in your surroundings, limbs resting in the water as your strength completely drains. You’re in a warm coloured bathing area, the vast pool containing creamy looking water, thick bubbles lathering atop the surface.

Beside you, the pool shifts as Azriel settles down, shifting into a form you’re familiar with. Hazel returns to his eyes, colour dancing if you look deep enough. Your eyes trail to his mouth, noting the canines that protrude from his lips, tinted a dark red. Almost black.

He’s still far too big to be normal. You bet if you were stood beside him in his current state, his hips would line up with your rib cage. You look up at him with tired eyes, his own dark ones watching you silently. “Where were you?” You hear the break in your voice, the raspy crackle. Fresh tears fill your eyes, the events returning to you in all their blistering pain.

His brow narrows and for a moment you’re worried he’ll be angry, lock you back up in his room, take away the freedom you were afforded. But he’s brought your to this open space in favour of the washroom that connects to his chambers. Maybe it counts for something.

You grow scared when he doesn’t reply, only watching you. It feels like that’s all he’s doing. “Azriel,” you cry, softly, “where were you?” He remains silent, observing you keenly. Then, he reaches one taloned hand forward. You flinch back, water splashing as you push away from him. His lip curls at the action.

Azriel reaches again, shifting fully as his large hand wraps entirely around your legs, dragging you forward. He’s too strong for his own good, and you go under, water shoving itself into your eyes, stuffing itself into your mouth. You gasp when you’re lifted out, spluttering painfully. It’s only when he pushes the towel into your face again and your eyes are clear that you realise he’s set you between his legs.

Traitorous heat flushes your cheeks as you note his powerful arms are casually wrapped around your middle, keeping you against him. You want to be upset, angry even but all you can do is revel in the feeling of security he gives you. The press of skin against skin, solid warmth behind you. You’re pleasantly surprised by the soft brush of fur, made infinitely silkier beneath water. It’s so nice you lean back, making him grunt softly.

You stiffen. He’s completely bare. At least you still have your clothes on - dirty as they are. Initially, you’re shocked at the hard press against your lower back, then your realise he’s doing nothing to act on it. No attempts to lull you to sleep, no attempts to seduce you into jumping onto his cock. Just allowing you some peace and quiet, while keeping close by.

But you don’t want peace and quiet right now. You want to scream at him. You tip your head back, so it’s pressing against his chest - maybe your ass pushes against him a little - peering up into his dark eyes. “Back out there,” you begin, determined to get answers out of him, “my throat was stinging. Why?” He cocks his head, expression remaining blank, “your throat?” You don’t like the way he says it.

You swallow, and his eyes track the movement, following down to your chest, your nipples just hidden by the water’s surface. His hips shift behind you, legs widening - allowing you to slide against him, you realise. It’s probably pleasurable to him, you guess. Your head bobs in confirmation as you tilt your head to the side, fingers dancing over where you had felt the pain.

His pupils dilate as he takes in the expanse of your throat, the bite marks. His bite marks. His upper lip twitches, wanting to pull back from his canines in order to refresh the scars. Drink from you. Hear your blood sing for him. It doesn’t help, the way your lower back is pressing tight against him. He’d half hoped you would accept his invitation, when he’d widened the stance of his legs to allow you closer.

Azriel’s mind shudders as you shift between his thighs, lips parting to speak, “the marks. They stung.” That’s all you’re giving him. His claws twitch with the need to touch you, to feel that you’re returned to him. A grin lifts the edges of his mouth, “you were waiting for me to come find you.”

He revels in the way tell-tale warmth flushes your cheeks. You keep your gaze on his, embers slowly heating in your irises as you come back to life. “I had no such thoughts. I was convinced you were the one who had me—” you cut yourself off. It’s far too soon for you to repeat the burning pain you felt, even through memories. You swallow, forcing down emotion, “I thought you were trying to get rid of me,” you mumble, your head lowering, breaking the connection, “I thought I’d spent my use.”

You tense as his arms wind tighter around your waist, feeling as he leans over you, front pressing to your back. Cock pressing to your— You swallow. “And that made you unhappy,” he taunts, quietly beside your ear. Awareness lights your skin as his claws wrap around you, so sharp. “You didn’t like the idea of me losing interest in you,” he drawls, the tip of one razor-like talon slipping beneath the hem of your clothing. You grit your teeth, squeezing your thighs together, in attempt to make yourself smaller, shying away from his touch. “None of my kind - as you so affectionately tend to stress - would revel in abandonment. It means nothing about you.”

Your back cools as he leans against the marble edge of the bathing pool that’s large enough to easily contain a few squadrons of creatures like him. He laughs, darkly, hips shifting so he’s pressing into you from behind, “remember the night we mated?” He drawls, watching as tension lines your small body. “I told you in no uncertain terms, should you continue, you would not deny me,” he taunts, “you’d accept the joining, the breeding.” The talon slices up the inside of your clothes, splitting them in two, making it easy for him to slide them from your torso.

You gasp in shock, legs folding over one another as you frantically try to cover yourself. But his hands have dropped to your hips and you squeal as he lifts you from his lap, turning you to face him. Your cheeks flush hot as you’re torn between covering your breasts and trying to shove him off you. He has no right to hold you in such an objectifying way.

Seeing no point in attempting to push him off you, your arms wrap across your chest defensively. He raises a single brow as your hips wiggle, trying to slide from his grasp. “Let me go,” you demand softly, through your embarrassment. His mouth lifts into a mocking grin, “what will you do for me if I follow that request?”

Your lips drop open as you’re rendered speechless. He hums deep in his throat, a smug glint dancing in his eyes. Anger burns in the pit of your stomach, all the overwhelming emotions that had been tearing through you for the past few hours manifesting as seething fury, “you—” Roughly, he pulls you down into his lap, your thighs spreading as he pulls you tight against his front, breasts against his powerful chest, lower abdomen squeezing against his cock, the soft fur brushing invitingly against your stomach.

“What you need,” he drawls once your seated, forcing your head to crane upward to see him, “is a good fucking.” Your mouth drops open as his hips buck gently against your own, and you feel the mocking promise he’s giving you. You want to smack him, to scream at him. Why does he lack such a basic understanding of human emotion?

His hands have loosened around your hips, allowing you to push up from his lap, standing on weakened legs, somehow managing to keep your balance. He only laughs, shadows twining beneath your skirts and up your thighs as he keeps you where you are, “and where do you think you’re going?”

Rage gives way to despair, tears rolling down your cheeks as you tremble in his grip, “fine,” you snap, lip wobbling as you try to push his hands away. Your slim fingers catch on his claws, the razor like blades slicing into you, blood dripping into the pool. His eyes widen marginally with anger as he watches it, scents your blood on his talons. “What are you doing?” He snarls, furious with you for being so careless of your delicate human body.

But you don’t reply, you’ve already settled your thighs either side of him, hand guiding his cock to your entrance. More tears roll as you push yourself down into his lap, burning pain screaming in your abdomen. You look up at him, anguish clear in your eyes, “this is what you wanted, right?” You cry, the stinging only worsening, “so hurry up and get it over with, you beast. Fuck me. Breed me. Whatever it is you so need to do to me.” You’re hitting your fist weakly on his chest as his hands hurriedly move to your hips, so careful not to nick at your skin. “Just get it over with.”

He’s panicked, unaccustomed to the foreign feeling of tension in his throat, heart pounding as he lifts you off his lap. “Don’t,” he snarls at you, anger coating his words as his eyes flick to your hands, bleeding steadily. He shifts into the form he’d been in when you’d met in the forest, claws shrinking into nails, fur disappearing entirely as he frame smallens. “Stop hurting yourself,” he growls, pushing you away from him slightly, panicked eyes flicking between your hands and teary eyes. It’s disarming seeing you like this.

“You wanted it!” You cry back at him, shoulders hunching over as you move to bring your bloody hands to wipe away the tears. He grabs your wrists firmly, jerking them away from your face as he glared at you. “Calm. Down.” Something snaps inside of you. You thrash in his hold, violently writhing, sending water spraying into his eyes.

“Fuck off, Azriel! My back is in pieces, I’ve been dragged for hours across a freezing wasteland, you’ve— you keep doing this. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” You can feel your throat tearing as you scream the words, hot paths of water cascading down your cheeks heavily. You want to claw at him, want to punch him, rip his skin from his body with your teeth. He’s unfairly strong. You know you can’t do anything. Meanwhile he can restrain you without even touching you.

You don’t even notice as his hands release your wrists. You fall forward into his chest, sobbing as you slam your fist over his heart over and over, pounding on his cage as if it’ll open up for you if you knock loud enough. “I hate you, I hate you so much!” You collapse against him, sobs still wracking your body.

It’s as though you’re bathing in hot milk and honey, the warm water licking at your wounds, numbing their pain. He’s warm beneath your fingertips, solid warmth beneath your fists. Unshakeable. It’s so unfair. Why can’t you be like him? Why don’t you get to have skin seemingly made of the thickest leather, talons that’ll slice should anyone get too close? You sob harder, tears dropping to the pool. Why are you so weak?

His arms wind around you, almost gingerly. His hands span your shoulders, tucking you against his chest as his shadows skitter across your back, soothing coolness blanketing your skin. You sniff, peering up at him. You almost regret it. His eyes are hard, cold. Glittering malevolence sprawling in their depths. More tears roll as the spark in your chest douses itself. It’s clear he has no attachment to you, only having saved you because you’ve been mated and bred.

Then you freeze.

His hands pull away from you, one wrapping around your wrist as he lifts it to his mouth. His eyelids flutter almost imperceptibly as he uses his thumb to separate your fingers. It’s almost tender as his lips part, licking up the blood that’s ebbing from your slim digits, trailing up to the small cuts. You hiss instinctively, expecting pain, but instead you only feel a vague tingle. It’s kind of nice, actually.

Azriel’s tongue laps over each of your cuts, sealing them so there isn’t even a mark left in their place. When he’s finished, he doesn’t release your wrist. Instead he guides your hands to splay across his shoulders, forehead pressing against your own. “Your back isn’t in pieces,” he murmurs over your mouth, making your brow furrow. You guess it isn’t stinging as it had been, but you had chalked that up to numb adrenaline.

“I know it is,” you snap softly, “I felt every sharp rock, every piece of gritty mud that abraded me.” His eyes lose their harsh cut, the edges mellowing every so slightly. “I carried you in my mouth,” he reminds, lips brushing over yours, making your hairs stand on end, “your back was on my tongue the whole flight. I could taste you.”

Heat flushes your cheeks as you pull back suddenly. His hands automatically tighten on you but relax when he sees you’re not attempting to escape. I could taste you. How can he say that with a straight face. And even after everything that’s happened, you’re left with a singular thought circling your mind. Did I taste good?

You don’t have a chance to foolishly voice the question as his hands lower to your hips, lifting you with him as he stands. Instinctively, your arms wrap over his shoulders and you hiss at the movement, a stinging feel coming from between your legs. He sets you down on the edge of the bathing pool, the cooks tiles pleasant against your thighs. “What— Azriel?” You question, confusion prominent in your tone.

Carefully, despite his now shortened nails, his hands press against your shoulders. The tips of his fingers dip beneath your sodden, still grimy clothes - now the only part of you that was dirty. Finally, your skin can properly breathe as he guides the wet fabric away from your tender skin, slowly stripping you down until you’re completely bare. His eyes drink you in, brow narrowing as he notices a few bruises - ones that are not from him.

His eyes settle on yours as he pushes your legs apart, gently. You resist, scared. You’re stinging, and you don’t want him to hurt you. “What are you doing, Azriel?” You ask, mouth trembling at the looming threat of pain. At this, his demeanour shifts, sending your fear. His hands moves to your waist, thumb brushing over your hip bone, “you’re hurting,” he replies, as if it’s answer.

“I don’t want you to fuck me again,” you manage, your words soft and small, scared he won’t listen. That he’ll inflict more damage upon your already battered body. His lips quirk at the edges, “I won’t.” Then he’s lowering himself into the water, until he’s between your thighs, spreading them.

Oh.

Oh.

Saliva contains healing properties.

Carefully, he lifts one leg over his broad shoulder, then the other. Even now, your muscles tremble slightly, remembering the rigour they’ve gone through. You brace for canines, but are instead rewarded by the gentle lap of his tongue. You could almost cry at the feeling as your cunt tingles, the feeling that was zipping through your fingers when he sealed the cuts.

Almost immediately, you feel better, his saliva coating your heat as his tongue heals you. There’s still a vaguely piercing sting coming from inside, but it’s bearable. You wince when you shift your leg, pain prickling beneath your abdomen.

Inadvertently, you meet his gaze and you know he saw the reaction. His brow narrows. Swallow your tongue and be surprised when you choke, he’d once muttered to you. And now you can’t shake the urge to tell him. It’s like a strange compulsion. And he keeps watching you, with those dark, knowing eyes.

“Azriel,” you whisper, scared. He stops, giving you his attention, something surfacing in his black eyes. “I—… It’s still hurting,” you mumble. “Where? I can heal it,” he reassures. The second you articulate that emotion, you freeze, brow tightening in confusion. You swallow, shifting then stilling as you ache. “Inside,” you mumble, barely managing the word, shame crawling beneath your skin.

A grin lifts his lips, and suddenly he’s pulling away from you. “Stay there,” he orders, gently, as power thrums in the air, that same frenetic static as before. His eyes lock onto yours as he begins shifting, “don’t run from me.”

Then his eyes are swallowed by pitch darkness, wings largening, fur lining his body as he grows. His talons return, as long as you are, longer. His hands shift into those paws that can so easily crush things your size as his features are swallowed by more animalistic ones, snout protruding.

Oh.

You suddenly understand why this bathing pool is so vast. It’s built to house him in any form, including this one.

You realise he’s halted his growth, keeping himself from filling the room as you’re sure he would should he completely transform into that beastly body. Instead it a vague in between. He’s probably triple your size, if not more. Maybe a quarter of his true form. You fight against the instinctive urge to run, remembering it’s him.

His pitch eyes drink you in, prowling forward, all the while not making a sound. You keep still, scared but not feeling in danger. It’s an odd combination. He stops in front of you, your back arching as you peer up at him. It takes a lot of will power to not look at what’s most likely directly in front of you.

“Azriel?” You whisper, unsurely. His eyes glint, and you recognise him. Even with his usual features twisted into a more animalistic light, your body recognises him as an integral part of yourself - not something to fear.

Shadows swirl at your body, lapping over your skin like waves. He moves forward, dipping down to be between your legs. You still, “what are you—” He cuts you off when his jaw opens, the wet muscle of his tongue rolling out. Your eyes snap open, lips parting in shock. The end is tapered, but thickens the closer it gets to his mouth. Oh gods.

“Azriel,” you stammer, “you’re not going to…?” He releases a puff of breath over you and you’re the most taken aback that you’ve been this evening. “Did you just laugh?” You inquire, disbelievingly. His eyes spark and you squeal when his tongue moves, dragging down your chest, over your perky nipples, settling between your legs. He huffs again at your surprise, and the tension leaves your body.

The tip of his tongue presses against your entrance, and you brace.

Your cheeks heat when he slides in, embarrassingly easily.

All your thoughts melt away as he fills you, saliva already working it’s powers as that pleasant tingling feeling blossoms across your lower abdomen. Your lips part and his shadows guide you back so you aren’t sat upright: reclining into the darkness.

Pure pleasure sings in your body as he starts moving, tongue pulsing inside of you as it slides gently in and out. Your back arches in response, hands cupping your breasts as sensitivity lights you up. His shadows don’t allow that, though. They twine gently around your wrists, replacing your hands as they flick at your nipples, refreshing cool, like a breeze on a hot summer day.

“Azriel…” you pant, peeking your eyes open. He’s already watching. Of course he is. Your toes curl, knowing he’s drinking in every second of your pleasure. You bite the inside of your lip as arousal coils in the pit of your stomach, already about set to spring free. “I’m—” you pant as he grazes a spot inside of you, mouth dropping open as you melt entirely into his shadows.

A growl of pleasure rumbles through his chest, and it feels so fucking good. Silver lines your eyes, flying closer and closer to that high. “Azzie,” you squeak softly, hardly a breath. A scream tears from you as he growls again, tongue vibrating inside you, the base of it pushing against your clit as you hit your peak.

Your back curves as the growls lose their harsh edge, softening as he feels you fluttering around him. He’s purring. His tongue retracts after the last aftershock has faded, shifting into his more recognisable form.

You don’t even think about it as you reach your hands out, making to grab at him. His brow narrows as he slowly prowls forward, “do you need something?” He asks softly, curiosity lying beneath the bland tone. “Come here,” you snap. His brow raises but for once, he obeys.

The second he’s in reach, your arms loop around his neck, tugging him into your chest as your legs circle his torso, locking around him tightly. You bury your nose in his hair, inhaling that scent that is so inherently him, so deliciously soothing. The feeling of his strong body encompassing you sends a shivering thrill humming through you, lighting you with incandescence.

You press kisses into his hair and his eyes widen, muscles locking up. He’s not sure what you’re doing. But he likes it. He likes feeling your soft skin beneath his cheek, having your thighs hugging his waist while your arms keep him tucked against you. He likes the feeling of your mouth pressing tenderly against him, repeatedly.

He decides it’s a good sign. A display of human affection.

Something tingles in his chest at the idea.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

[theostrophywife]

the prince of hell.

my love is a mindless flight risk, never on time but god he's timeless he's a villain, he's a saint, he's a hero—he's a fucking renegade author's note: i've scoured high and low for demon!azriel fics and couldn't find any, so i thought why not write it myself? there will definitely be multiple parts of this. as always, thank @writingsbychlo for listening and participating in my rants about dark daddy az.

song inspiration: masterpiece by sam short.

The church bells tolled in the packed cathedral as you walked through the crowded pews. Each ring that reverberated against the stone walls mimicked the beat of your heart. 

One. Your father clutched your arm, his ironclad grip preventing you from bolting. The false smile he wore held no warmth. Only greed for what he stood to earn by pawning off his only daughter like a prized mare. 

Two. Your mother looked up from her seat at the front of the altar, and the words she had spoken to you before the ceremony echoed through your mind like a death sentence. You’ll learn to love him, she said. As I learned how to love your father. 

Three. Your betrothed leered at you, hunger dancing behind his cold, dead eyes. I will break you, his wicked smile seemed to say. Then I will mold you into a perfect, obedient wife. 

With each step, you came closer and closer to sealing your fate. The shaky breath you released fluttered through your lace veil like a ripple in the ocean. As the hem of your wedding dress kissed the marble mosaic floor, you screwed your eyes shut and prayed. 

Please, you pleaded. Please, save me.

Thunder rumbled through the church. Screams erupted from all sides. The ground beneath you shook as the earth cracked open to release mist and fog from the bowels of hell. 

In the midst of chaos, a winged figure emerged from the shadows. Your heart skipped a beat as you caught sight of the beautiful male. Cloaked in darkness, a pair of familiar glowing golden eyes locked onto yours from across the room. 

The Prince of Hell smiled. “Hello, my heart.”

He had a face like heaven and a voice like sin. A small voice in the back of your head warned you to be afraid, but your heart warred against logic. While everyone else in the room screamed in terror at the sight of the devil, you only saw salvation.

“Azriel,” you breathed. His name sounded like a prayer on your lips. 

You had never seen him before, at least not while you were awake. But you knew that face. You dreamt of him every night. 

Azriel was your favorite fantasy. The beautiful male that took you away from your monotonous life. A figment of your imagination that symbolized all the things that awaited in the world beyond, should you ever be afforded the chance to escape becoming someone’s simpering, obedient little wife. 

He wasn’t supposed to be real, but yet here he was in the flesh. 

“You’re here,” you said, hardly believing the words yourself. “You came.” 

The Prince of Hell pierced you with his gaze. “I will always come for you.”

From behind him, your groom-to-be flicked dust and ash from his doublet before glancing at Azriel with contempt. “Who the hell are you?”

The male was either exceptionally brave or extremely stupid. 

The Prince of Hell regarded Alaric as one would a cockroach—with thinly veiled disgust and the desire to crush the pesky little insect beneath his boot. 

“I am death.” Azriel purred, his voice laced with the promise of violence. “I am shadow and darkness, the monster that haunts your nightmares. I am the Prince of Hell and I have come to collect my bride.”

He held out a scarred hand towards you, barely sparing a glance at Alaric. The male bristled with pride and stepped between you and Azriel. 

Something dark and dangerous flashed in the Prince of Hell’s eyes as he came face to face with Alaric. The side by side contrast emphasized how otherworldly Azriel was. Though he took on a mortal form, there was nothing human about him. 

His ethereal features were slashed with fury, dark hair rippling in waves to frame his flawless face. Flecks of amber burned like embers within his eyes and the contrast against his golden-brown skin further illuminated his strange and cruel beauty. 

“You must be mistaken,” Alaric declared, puffing his chest. “She is my betrothed. We are to be wed this very day.”

Azriel glanced around the room, taking in the stained glass windows and rosewood pews of the crowded cathedral. The people that hadn’t managed to escape trembled in fear under his watchful eyes. The corners of Azriel’s full lips sloped into a frown as he dragged his gaze towards you, examining your white dress and wild expression.

“Your betrothed does not wish to marry you, mortal. ” Azriel declared, his voice barely above a whisper yet full of lethal cold. 

“She is promised to me,” Alaric replied. “I have paid the bride price.”

The humorless laugh that slipped past Azriel’s lips was devoid of emotion. His gaze cut to your father, who cowered behind the marble altar. With one glance, shadows wreathed through his limbs and yanked him towards the Prince of Hell. 

“Tell this male that he is mistaken,” Azriel commanded. 

Your father paled, fear and trepidation evident on his face. “P-p-please, my Prince,” his voice was high and desperate. “I assumed you had forgotten. Years had passed since our bargain, and you hadn’t returned so I—“

“Thought to deceive the Prince of Hell?” Azriel seethed and his shadows whipped violently, tightening their grip on your sniveling father. “Did you not think that this day of reckoning would come?” Shadows brought him to his knees before the dark prince. “A bargain is a bargain, mortal. I want what was promised,” his eyes were feverish as they landed on you. “I want her.”

Your mother blanched in horror as she looked up at her husband. “What have you done?”

“I was only doing what I thought was best!” your father cried. “When famine ravaged the countryside, I grew desperate. I prayed to the old gods, but none of them answered. The Prince—he offered fertile lands and a bountiful harvest in exchange for a bride.” 

“Then what?” you said bitterly. “The reward Azriel offered was not enough for your selfish, greedy heart, was it father? You weren’t satisfied, so you thought to sell me off once again?”

“I did it for our family. We have land! We have gold! We have riches beyond imagination! I have secured a match above your station so you may live comfortably for the rest of your life. I did this for you.”

Tears welled in your eyes. The realization that your father had traded you like some bargaining chip, not once but twice made your stomach roil. You’ve always known that he was a greedy bastard, but you didn’t think he’d go this far. 

“No, father,” you said with mirthless laughter. “You did this for yourself.”

Your father struggled against his restraints as he turned towards his wife. “Tell her,” he coaxed, his words full of despair. “Tell her that I only wanted what was best for her.”

“You promised our daughter to the devil!” your mother screamed, her voice echoing against the stone walls. 

You wanted to tell her that Azriel wasn’t a monster. That he’d held you in your dreams, comforted you when you cried, listened to every wish and whim that you whispered into the night, but she wouldn’t have understood. None of them would. 

“It’s okay, mother,” you said, attempting to appease her agony. “Azriel won’t hurt me.”

As his expression softened, you knew that you’d spoken true. Azriel nodded in agreement. “I would never hurt you,” he declared. His attention cut back to your father. “Him, on the other hand, I have no qualms about inflicting pain upon.”

Your father squirmed in place, shooting a pleading look in your direction. The shadows tightened around his neck like a noose. “Please,” he begged with wide eyes. “Please, have mercy.”

He sounded frantic and desperate, exactly how you had been days ago when you pleaded with him not to wed you to Alaric. Your father hadn’t listened to you then. With your roles reversed, it was tempting to let his pleas fall upon deaf ears, but you decided to be the bigger person.

Azriel waited for your cue. You shook your head and watched as his shadows receded. 

“Thank you,” your father said. “Thank you, daughter.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” you snapped. “I did it for me. From this day forth, I want nothing to do with you. I wish to be free. I am no longer your daughter.”

Hurt and anger flashed through your father’s eyes, but you didn’t care. This was your chance. You could finally rid yourself of this dreary existence. Feeling lighter than you had in years, you turned your attention back to the Prince of Hell. He smiled as you took a step forward.

“Not so fast,” Alaric hissed. “What about what I am owed? I paid for you. I own you.” You shot him a cutting glare as his fingers curled around your wrist. 

Anger bubbled up within you as you bared your teeth at the horrid male. “I am not a piece of cattle to be traded for gold.” Alaric glared as you shoved him away. 

His hateful beady eyes focused on you as he closed the gap between you. “And yet your father sold you like a fattened calf.” His grip on your arm tightened. “You should be flattered. I purchased you for a considerable amount of gold and I expect a return on my investment.” A blade shimmered in Alaric’s hand as he held it up to your throat. “Either from your father or your beloved demon.”

The Prince of Hell was rage and wrath personified. “You want payment, mortal?” Azriel asked, his eyes cold and hard and full of malice. “Very well, then. I will trade you my heart for yours.”

Alaric barely had time to react before Azriel was upon him. Shadows sheltered you from harm while the Prince of Hell slammed the foolish male to the ground. The floor shuddered from the impact as Azriel’s dark wings flared behind his powerful back. You watched in stunned silence as he plunged his scarred fingers into Alaric’s chest, tearing through flesh and bone with brutal efficiency. 

The scream that tore through Alaric’s throat was horrific. Cries of terror echoed through the cathedral once more and those who were able to flee did so with haste. But Azriel was deathly silent as he wrapped a fist around Alaric’s heart. Blood trickled through his wrists and pooled at his feet like crimson tears as he yanked the still beating heart out of the male’s chest. 

The carnage and gore incited a chorus of desperate pleas. Some retched, some clawed at their eyes.

But you simply locked gazes with the Prince of Hell.

As the male beneath him took his last pathetic breath, Azriel tossed his heart on the marble altar. It was sacrilege at its finest. A dark offering. A blasphemous statement to the gods above of the lengths he would go to for you.

“A promise,” he declared, addressing the petrified crowd. Azriel glanced down at the dead male crumpled beneath his feet. “This is what will become of anyone who presumes to come between me and my bride.”

You watched with bated breath as he walked towards you. With bloodstained hands, Azriel caressed your cheek with surprising gentleness. His touch was warm and soft, just as it had always been in your dreams. You closed your eyes, relishing the feel of him. 

“Are you hurt?” Azriel asked softly. His thumb stroked against your cheek, painting a streak of scarlet against your skin. Azriel frowned at the sight of blood and made a move to draw his hand back, but you only laced your fingers through his. 

You looked up to find him studying you. Searching for fear. Waiting for you to scream in terror and run in the opposite direction. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him and sobbed. Azriel was stunned for a second, but he recovered quickly and scooped you up into his arms. He seemed to understand that in this moment, all you needed was to be held.

“I’m fine,” you said through your tears. “I’m fine now that you’re here.”

The Prince of Hell placed a tender kiss on your temple as his wings wrapped around you like a blanket. “Come, my heart,” he murmured in a soothing voice. “Let me take you home.”

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[azrielbrainrot]

The Devil I Revel In - Part I

Pairing: Demon!Azriel x Priestess!Reader

Description: Your duties take you into the forest often but one day you feel compelled to explore further. What could go wrong?

Warnings: Injury, blood, nothing too descriptive

Word Count: 4935

Notes: I meant to write this as a one shot but it kept getting longer and longer so I guess I'm turning it into a series. Enjoy!

Part II

As soon as you start getting closer to the forest the air changes and it almost seems like you can breathe easier. These moments when you got to pick berries and wild flowers in the forest were some of the only ones you had to yourself.

You never had the chance to lose yourself in anything at the temple, always working or praying. If you told any of the other priestesses that you like to spend time like this, walking around the forest and breathing in the nature around you, they'd never let you out of their sight.

The forest can be dangerous which is why you're the only one who is allowed to come here. Sometimes you would appreciate the help for carrying your basket but asking for someone to accompany you would cut down on your alone time. The Head Priestess would rather give up on the wildflowers for the altar and have the pie recipe changed or cut off the menu than send anyone else into the forest. It's a miracle they allow you to come at all.

If the runes that held the wards together hadn't fallen during a storm about a decade ago this wouldn't even be an option for you. You still remember the fear in everyone's faces when they realized the wards could have been compromised, leaving the temple vulnerable to any monster to attack. The Elders decided that the runes had to be checked and prayed to regularly and, since you'd always felt a pull towards the beautiful woods, you volunteered for the job.

You suspect that they only agreed because - aside from being the only volunteer - you were one of the most expendable members of the temple, you didn't have a fixed role in the community and no family to miss you if you disappeared. This was a fact you had made peace with long ago so you were more than excited that it finally paid off.

As the years went by the reluctance everyone had felt in letting you go around the wards had almost disappeared, they'd assumed that, since you hadn't been viciously murdered or eaten by a monster, the Gods had liked your prayers and the attention the temple was paying to the gift They left behind for the mortals. With this you also started to explore more and more.

The first few times you went up to the wards you were a bit more terrified than you initially thought you'd be. You could count the times you went outside the walls of the temple in one hand, making the walk to the forest scary in itself. Though after a few successful visits your nerves evaporated and you started walking around the forest more freely. The wards covered a bigger area than the priestesses let on, leaving you with enough to see while keeping to the blessed grounds.

You'd soon discover wild berries growing all around the forest. The priestesses had been apprehensive at eating them at first, but, after explaining you had found them next to the runes, you managed to convince them they must have also been a gift from the Gods. The pies the cooks baked from these berries were a nice change from the apple pies you usually ate year-round.

Then you started picking flowers to take to the altar for some ceremonies or to decorate the Elders' praying room. They had decided that everything within the wards of the forest was a gift to the temple, for upholding the Gods' teachings in such dark times. After that you started taking a basket to the forest and bringing what you could. And, more importantly, you were given more time to roam the forest as your heart pleased.

The clouds ahead told you time was going to be limited in the forest today. This was a bummer since you had heard what you believed was a little creek nearby and intended on trying to climb to higher ground so you could at least watch it from a distance. Even after so many years you still found things to discover, the fact that you only came here once a month didn't help either.

There is a river that passes through a little town not far from where you live. The temple even bought fish from there, but you weren't allowed out of the temple so you never had the opportunity to see something like this.

Almost running the rest of the way, you quickly prayed to the runes and checked to see if they were all intact before grabbing the basket once again and rushing to get your berries. Ideally you would just use the limited time you had to explore but if you showed up empty handed they'd wonder what you were doing out here for so long.

Your time was already cut short since the winter was nearing. The cold made the trip more dangerous, even canceling it if the snow was too thick. There were also no flowers to pick so the priestesses expected you to take less time to bless the wards and pick the few berries that made it through the weather.

Leaving the now half full basket by the big stones carved in magical runes, you hike up your skirt and rush to the highest hill. Upon reaching the top, you can't help but let out a sigh. You can't see anything from up there but more of the same forest and the clouds getting darker in the sky, as if they were mocking you.

Even with the help of gravity the walk back is much slower than before. You had been really excited to finally see something new. The white walls of the temple felt like a cell more and more each day. You tried to play by the rules for years, doing everything you saw the others do and following their words but you could never understand how anyone could feel fulfilled living like this.

You yearned for a life to call your own. If what you were told at the temple was really true then The Gods’ gift of safety was being wasted by living like this. You weren't so naive to think the world outside of the temple was perfect, you heard the whispered stories from the occasional visitors, but you were more than sure that, even if you ended up with a terrible fate, you'd at least be thankful that you lived.

Lost in your self deprecating thoughts, you didn't notice you had walked beyond the protective stones, almost to the edge of the wards. You weren't very familiar with magic since it was something the temple believed only The Gods were allowed to yield safely, but, before sending you out to pray over the wards, the Elders had shared some information with you.

The big stones had been carved and blessed by The Gods, creating the wards that the monsters and foul creatures couldn't reach or break. There were more like these up from the north and all the way to the south of Prythian, covering the eastern edge of the forest that divided the island in two like a wall - the human and the monster side. Since the wards were reinforced from one stone to the other, if you walked west of them they would gradually get weaker as there were no other runes to strengthen it. The Elders had told you to never walk beyond the stones in any circumstances.

You studied the mark left on the tree ahead of you. It was left as a warning, if you kept walking the Gods' protection wouldn't touch you anymore. You had walked the forest so many times and never heard any suspicious noise or seen anything out of the ordinary, a few steps away from the wards couldn't hurt.

Moving slowly and as quietly as you could, you carefully made your way to the small clearing up ahead. You didn't know why but you had expected the forest to look different beyond the wards, however all you saw were the same familiar tones of green and brown. This made you relax.

You could hear the sound of water running much clearer now which meant you had to be close to the stream you were searching for. Following the sound, you made your way across the clearing and through the trees, slowly approaching the creek.

Just as you were brushing past the last row of bushes you heard a tiny clicking noise. You felt the excruciating pain before your brain even had the time to catch up to what happened. Your body fell to the ground and a sob escaped you as you looked down at your ankle caught in a trap. You tried to pry it off your foot in desperation but the metal contraption didn't even budge with your attempts.

This had to be a trap meant for a large animal or even a monster, your strength wouldn't be of any help. You close your eyes, trying to shut the pain off and focus on a solution. Calling out for help would only attract predators. No one from the temple would be able to hear you no matter how loud you yelled, and if they could they wouldn't be stupid enough to move past the wards like you did. You're on your own. Dragging the heavy trap all the way inside the wards wouldn't work either, you probably wouldn't be able to take even a couple steps with the pain.

Opening your eyes again, your frustration gets the best of you as you start trying to get the trap off again. This was all your fault. You had been told your whole life that the wards were the only thing keeping you protected from the harsh world outside. How could you have been so foolish to think that just because you took a few walks to the forest you could brave the dangers and monsters ahead.

The pain is too much to bear, you drop your hands and let the tears flow, your body shaking with your sobs. The sound of the water running felt like it was taunting you now, you were probably the first human it saw in ages. Who else would be dumb enough to walk this far into a forest full of monsters.

You had never felt so pathetic. Even if you felt like you didn't belong at the temple, they fed you and kept a roof over your head. This had to be a punishment from The Gods' for taking their existence so lightly.

After a while your body suddenly stood still, no more quiet sobs escaping you. The forest was too quiet. You couldn't hear anything besides the water. There were no birds or even butterflies flying by. Even the wind had stopped, no longer feeling it blowing at your wet face.

You look slowly over your shoulder and it's a miracle your heart doesn't stop beating all together. There, in between the tall trees and colorful bushes, was a tall figure covered in shadows. You don't even have the time to feel any hope at being saved for the only thing you could make out were blood red eyes. A demon.

As your eyes lock with scarlet ones, you try to think of any prayer but your brain comes up empty. If you weren't so close to dying you'd laugh at the absurdity. You heard them more often than you heard your own name but now, when you truly needed them, you were coming up empty.

You could hear your own voice desperately screaming at you to look away from the creature, to try to drag yourself closer to the water. If you were lucky you'd drown before it had a chance to viciously kill you.

After what felt like a lifetime, the creature started moving, walking away from the shadows to make its way to its prey. With every step it took, the more you saw and your heart threatened to beat out of your chest. It was easily double your size, clad in some sort of leather armor that seemed to only accentuate its powerful body. There were a few daggers strapped to its body in different places. You're certain it could crush your skull beneath its foot or between its hands. At its back were two powerful wings, if it were to stretch them they could easily take up your entire field of vision. They appeared to be featherless like how bat's wings were, with sharp talons at its peaks. You note how the shadows seem to follow it, as if under command. They hover around, covering most of its body and moving over the ground like snakes.

“Looks like you need some help, little priestess.” You take longer to register its words than you'd like to admit. Not expecting it to talk to you before snapping your neck or carrying you to its home like a sack of meat. But, as you let them sink in, your body finally listens to you. You move to crawl backwards. Drowning sounds like a dream compared to the horrific pain you're sure is going to follow the demon's taunt. You barely move an inch before the pain in your foot makes itself known. A cry slipping past your lips as you look back up at the monster.

“You're only going to make it worse,” the creature drawls as it studies your trembling form. You look back up into its eyes, feeling another shiver run down your spine. Its face is an unreadable mask, not letting any emotion show. Perhaps it can't feel any. You don't understand why it won't just put you out of your misery and kill you. As you remember its earlier words, your confusion only grows.

“Why would you want to help me?” Your voice was pathetically shaking with each word but you were more than proud of yourself for speaking the words despite the fear you felt in every fiber of your being. “Is this not your trap?”

“I don't have the habit of eating humans,” it tilted its head ever so slightly as it spoke, like you were supposed to know if it liked human meat or not. The demon kept talking as it slowly took the last steps to you, as if approaching a wounded animal, “This was probably left behind by a vampire.” It crouched down closer to you, making you lean back as far away from it as the pain allowed. “They were probably expecting to get a nice deer to drain,” the corner of its mouth quirks almost imperceptibly, showing you unnaturally sharp canines, “They could only dream of catching such a sweet treat.”

You start feeling some of your fear turn into annoyance. You couldn't tell if the creature was trying to trick you or not. There was no reason to lie but maybe it liked playing with its food, sadistic as all demons were. You couldn't think of a reason for the demon wanting to help. And if it truly did then why would it be wasting time like this while you're in so much pain. You think the emotion starts showing in your eyes as its lips almost turn into an amused smirk.

“Why would you want to help me?” you repeat the question from earlier, wanting to at least get an answer out of the demon. You were starting to feel lightheaded, the bleeding hadn't stopped and the pain was getting harder to ignore, but that was good. Focusing on the pain allows you to pull back from the fear a bit.

“Letting a priestess die on our side of the forest would only bring me unnecessary trouble.” It reaches a hand out to your foot and you can't help the flinch. The demon lets out a sigh.

“You can't walk back like that,” he explains slowly, as if he was talking to a child. It looks over your mangled foot like it was the most boring thing that happened to the creature all week, and not an injury that would likely never truly heal. This is going to be the last time you'll ever walk into this forest, might even be the last time you'll be allowed outside of the temple walls if you even make it back. You have to squeeze your eyes for a moment to hold the tears in, you want to keep your eyes on him but, after everything he's already seen, you refuse to cry anymore in front of a demon. The sick monster probably enjoys it.

“I can help you.” You don't believe it. Why would you? You've heard many stories about demons and in all of them you were the prey. It said that letting you die here would only bring the demon trouble, but you can't imagine helping you would be any less troublesome.

You study the demon once again. Letting your eyes roam now that you feel calmer. It showed no signs of lying. No. He. This demon was clearly male and, to your bewilderment, treating him like an animal was leaving a sour taste in your mouth. The creature was more than capable of thought and speech, perhaps even of mercy. The demon started speaking again just as your eyes met his again.

“You'll die out here if I leave you like this. Any creature will get to you before anyone comes and saves you,” he holds your gaze with a knowing look in his eyes before continuing, “If anyone even comes looking for you at all”. They wouldn't, you both know that. You had walked past the runes meant to protect you which meant you were already dead to them. The temple would never risk any more people just to save a single priestess, definitely not one who had broken the rules. Even if you showed up now you'd be punished for that, injured or not.

When he reaches his hand out again you don't stop him. Watching as he holds each side of the trap stuck to your ankle and easily rips it open. There's no time to be impressed by the show of strength as the pain doubles, a whine escaping you. You still manage to hold onto your leg and lift your foot off the trap, eager to be away from the foul contraption. He just tosses it aside without a care before grabbing your foot surprisingly gently. You could barely recognize the mangled flesh.

A small bottle suddenly appears in his hands, seemingly out of thin air, making you jump. Magic. Aside from being twice your size and having knives strapped everywhere on his body, you almost forgot demons could also use magic. You were completely at his mercy.

“What are you doing?” You find your voice again as he uncaps the small vial and its strong scent assaults your nose. It smelled like nothing you recognized and the liquid inside seemed to somehow glow.

“This will help heal the wound,” the demon explains with a bored expression. You were starting to think he only showed emotion when he was taunting you.

“Is it like a potion?” You already knew the answer. No herbal mixture could look like that without magic involved. He only nods, as if reading your thoughts.

“So it's magic.” Humans aren't allowed to use magic. You'd be tried for heresy if anyone at the temple found out about this. Although you'd never seen any of these trials, you knew the consequent punishment was getting tied to a pyre and being burned alive. In the face of that horrible fate, losing your foot seemed like a blessing. “I can't let you do that. They'll kill me”

“You have to walk back on your own,” he seemed almost disappointed as he spoke but you couldn't understand why, “Dropping you off at the temple is not an option. They would kill you or abandon you back into the forest after socializing with a demon.”

“They could kill you too.” You want to take the words back when he smiles down at you - if you could even call it that. Even without the massive canines poking out, it would be a bone chilling smile, a predator looking at his prey. You'd be a fool to think any of them could kill him. Thankfully he deems the look on your face enough and doesn't give you another response.

“Why not just kill me?” You hope you didn't sound defeated. This whole situation was just making you beyond curious. You would have never considered in your wildest dreams that demons, of all creatures, could show you mercy.

“Is that what you want, little priestess?” He knew you didn't want to die. Some of the amusement was back, knowing you were scared of the unknown. Your world had just been turned completely upside down in mere minutes. You prayed to the Gods that the twinkle in his eyes didn't mean he could also see how excited you were to learn all this, to see it in action. You opt for a shake of your head, not wanting to give anything away.

With this he finally tips the liquid over your ankle. It stings when it comes in contact with your exposed wound but you can see the results almost immediately. If you weren't witnessing this yourself, you might not have believed it was real. Not only had the bleeding stopped but your bone was reforming itself. A few moments later, your flesh was closing up right before your eyes.

“This is one of the strongest healing potions we have. It healed the wound but your foot will only truly be back to normal by the same time tomorrow,” he looks up briefly at your face, “Since you're human it might take even longer.”

“I can't stay here that long. I'm already late,” the words almost rush out of you as you remember how long you've been out here for, “I'm only allowed out for a few hours, by now I would already be halfway back to the temple.”

“You'll be able to walk in a few moments. The only problem is the pain,” it looked like his expression shifted into a grimace for a second but it was gone too fast for you to be sure, “You'll have to bear it.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” The pain wasn't nearly as debilitating as it had been before, but it was still impossible to ignore. You weren't entirely convinced you could put any weight on your foot without falling let alone make the whole journey back.

“I'll take you as close as I can without being seen. The pain will lessen with time.” It doesn't go by unnoticed that he avoided your question. It doesn't matter how but, if you want to survive, you'll have to hide the pain. Looking down at your once pristine white dress you spot yet another problem.

“What about the blood?” Even if you jumped into the stream the stain wouldn't come out and you'd be stuck trying to explain where you found said stream. But, just as he had done countless times in the last 10 minutes, the demon solved it with a flick of his hand. You had no more strength in you to even be shocked at his blatant use of magic on you, if the temple found out about any of this they'd have to come up with a new form of punishment.

He stands up and holds out his hand to you. You stare at it for a second, trying to wrap your brain around the fact that a demon is helping you once again, but as his fingers flex you note some discomfort. This is when you realize how scarred his hand is and, after witnessing what the healing potion did just now, you can't even imagine what could have done such a thing. His discomfort must come from any insecurity or bad memories these scars hold for him. You quickly take his hand, making sure to squeeze it as you stand up, not wanting the demon to feel bad. Gods, what are you doing?

The pain was almost unbearable and you were right in thinking you couldn't hold any weight on this foot. You have no choice but to lean on the demon for support. You feel him tense slightly but you don't have time to think if demons have different views on physical touch than humans as you would fall back down if you had to stand on your own.

Suddenly he pulls you closer to his chest and, before you can ask him what he's doing, the world starts turning dark around you. It was the shadows that lingered around him before. You had completely forgotten about them given your current situation. It seems like this is some sort of power he possesses.

You're not completely sure what happened in the meantime but, when the shadows started retreating, you found yourself at the edge of the forest. Confused, you look over to the stone you have been praying to for almost a decade, and then to the basket you filled with berries. The demon had taken you back, past the wards.

“How did you do that?” You look up at his face, which is frustratingly blank. This shouldn't be possible. The wards were specifically made so creatures like him couldn't cross them, but he'd just done it so effortlessly, in mere seconds.

“It's called winnowing. We just move from one place to the other-” If you weren't so focused on the issue at hand, you'd probably be curious about that too. You cut him off before he can continue his explanation.

“No. I mean…” You take a step back feeling the pain shoot up your leg immediately. But you press on, needing to understand what is happening. “How did you get past the wards? They're meant to protect us from you.”

“They don't work on demons,” he says, like it's a basic fact. Like he just told you water is wet and not that the only thing protecting you doesn't even work.

“That's not possible,” you try to level your voice in case anyone was close enough to hear you, “These were built by The Gods to protect us from the monsters.” Your entire reality seems to be shattering around you. If the wards didn't protect you from the demons then this meant you were completely vulnerable. “I need to tell them.”

He grabs your arm loosely and turns you back to him before you can take a step. When you look up into his eyes, you can see something there but you can't quite put your finger on what it means. You don't know if all demons are this annoyingly good at masking their emotions or if you had just been blessed with a particularly infuriating one.

“Careful now, little priestess,” he whispers closer to your ear, making his voice seem even deeper than before and chills go up your spine, “What would they say if you told them you were fraternizing with a demon?”

Despite the cruelty in his tone, you knew he was right. There was no way to warn them without revealing how you got this information. You'd have to tell them you went past the wards and then had a conversation with a demon. They also hadn't witnessed how the demon helped you, so there was a really big chance they wouldn't even believe you. To say the wards didn't work was probably the highest form of heresy and you had no concrete proof of it aside from your word.

“The wards have never worked on demons and nothing ever happened,” he lets go of you, noticing you were calmer than before, though defeated was probably a better word. “You need to go back to the temple and forget any of this ever happened.”

He moves to grab your basket and hands it to you. It seems he wants to end this conversation fast. You desperately need to start walking since you're already late, but that's probably not why he's trying to get you moving. He can't be scared of being seen either, they can't hurt him if they tried. The demon takes a step back and his shadows start moving to cover him again. He's leaving.

“Don't go over the wards again.” You think he means it as a warning, but the barely there smirk he wears while saying it makes it seem more like a taunt. Maybe even a challenge. And just like that he's gone, as if he didn't completely turn your world upside down. Not even a goodbye.

As you make the walk back your brain is so full of new information that your foot doesn't even bother you too much. The demon might have been underestimating humans when he said it would take so many hours for the potion to work. By the time you make it back to the temple you only feel numb.

You can't say anything of what you've seen to anyone, you'd only be treated like an insane person and nothing would change so why bother. He was right in saying nothing ever happened so there was no reason to think it would now. This would only leave you with more questions but, as you lay down in your bed to sleep that night, the only thought running through your overwhelmed brain is that you never got to thank the demon for saving your life.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Spooky Season Fic List

Indicates Smut 🌶️, Fluff 💖, or Dark Themes 🥀

Vampire:

Hunter's Prayer 🥀

Werewolf:

Werewolf!Bat Boys Head Canons 💖

Mage:

Demon:

Obsidian Salt, Pt II, Pt III-- A witch!reader and demon!Rhys fic 🥀

Eldritch Being:

[utterlyotterlyx]

Constellations

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - Azriel can't allow himself to stand on the side lines anymore and watch as yet another male tries to take you away from him.

Warnings - oblivious reader and Az, angst, pining, Az and Nes being cuties, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), lots of fluff, flirting

There were constellations in your eyes.

That was what everyone had said when they'd first met you, alluding to the clear fact that you were a deep daydreamer whenever you sprang to topic, which was more often than you'd think.

Prythian bowed to you, everyone in every nook and cranny in any court knew who you were. A shining star in a court of nightmares.

Every one of the High Lords held a special affection toward you, often asking you to leave Rhysand and the inner circle and join them instead. Helion had made a point of his fondness by making a comment about how other-worldly you looked in Day Court gold, and then later on teasing Rhys about how he would one day succeed in his desire.

Everyone could beg and plead for you as much as they wished, but none of their affection could rival how Azriel felt about you.

Azriel was your shadow. Wherever you went meant that the Shadowsinger stalked not too far behind. He would sit with you and hum whilst you ran your fingers through his hair, each touch sending lightening soaring through his soul. He would walk around Velaris with you endlessly if it meant that he could see that almost childlike wonder in your eyes when you looked at the same restaurant or bookshop that had surely seen a thousand times before. He would soothe away your nightmares, allowing his shadows to pepper your skin in sweet pecks as he held you, and he would let you get close enough to soothe him when his own demons plagued him.

That's why, when he stood to the side of the room with a whisky in hand, did he want to tear apart the male who dared to speak to you. Helion was no regular male. But, as you giggled at one of his flirtatious jokes and rested your hand on his chest, Azriel became sure that he could make him scream like one.

Helion was visiting from the Day Court and it was the last night of his stint, so Rhys had suggested that you all go to Rita's, to relax from the toll of the week. The High Lord in question needed access to a couple of special tomes in one of Velaris' archives, you and Rhys had agreed that the tomes were too valuable to allow outside of the city, so Helion had to come to you. Like all he wanted was another excuse to be around you.

Azriel couldn't blame Helion for it.

Azriel believed that you were the most precious thing on the planet. 500 years of friendship and you stunned him more and more each day with your anecdotes and the innocent chatter that always filled the room.

"He's really trying this again?" Nesta asked, appearing beside him at the railing, wanting to take a moment away from the family madness before Cassian dragged her to dance for the fifth time that night.

"Can you blame him?"

The top three buttons of his shirt were left untethered, exposing that rock hard muscle beneath that was ink kissed and shimmering. Azriel couldn't stop looking at you, you were wearing that dress that you loved so much, sheer white and glittered in fine crystals, a low scooped back that fell perfectly on your figure. It was the only thing that could truly take his breath away.

"When are you going to tell her that you love her?" Nesta gazed at you, she'd never admit it but you were definitely her favourite, she held a special spot for you in her heart, just how everyone did really. "You need to tell her," she turned to him and he peered down on her with a sincerity she'd never seen, "She's incredible, Az. She's not the kind of girl you let get away. Go and love her before someone else does."

"She deserves better than me, Nes," his sad gaze lifted to you, you were starlight and he was shadow, you were pure and he was horribly tainted, and he couldn't have his darkness snuffing out your light.

Nesta gently pulled his sight from the dancefloor, making him focus on her by keeping her palm grazing against his cheek, "You're not a very good spymaster if you can't see how she looks at you."

Azriel didn't know what to say, he just knew that he had to get to you. He rounded Nesta and descended onto the dancefloor, barging past the grinding bodies with you in his sight, sipping your drink and smiling brightly at Helion who was stood far too close to you. You always felt Azriel looming, his shadows curling around your ankles always being a tell-tale sign that he was close.

Your eyes followed the trails of his shadows until you found their owner, your brows furrowed at the urgency he wore whilst he kept glancing at Helion with a tight jaw. It was unsettling.

"I need to speak to you," he pleaded, taking a step closer to you and you had no choice but to look up at him, to let those rippling pools of hazel drown you.

"Az, is every-"

"Please," he cut you off, reaching for you but not quite touching, like he was waiting for your agreement so that he could whisk you away.

You had never seen Azriel look so pained, so pleading and desperate. Without a word to Helion, you nodded and Azriel's fingers slid around your wrists, pulling you into a whirl of colour until you stood on a floor that you recognised and Rita's faded away.

The cabin was warm, everything was in place and tidy, that scent burning wood and orange that clung to the cabin flooded your lungs and made you shiver with delight. You had always loved the place, how perfectly small it was for a lone escape, where you could watch the snow fall from the bay window with a hot chocolate in hand and blanket wrapped tightly around your legs.

It took you a moment to centre yourself, and when you turned, you saw Azriel stood there, head hung low and wings drooped but relishing in the comfortable warmth of where you both were, "What's wrong, Az?"

The only light illuminating the cabin was from the fire, that crackling beast that sent gold and orange light roaring across the space, it welcomed in the faint glow of the moon that spilled onto the floor like an old friend.

"You can't go with Helion," he told you, well, more blurted at you.

"Go with Helion?" You asked and he nodded, anger bubbled in your chest, "Why would I ever do that?"

"He's wanted to take you from us for so long," 200 years to be exact, "Who could blame him, you're the most incredible thing that Prythian has ever made. I thank the Mother every day for you."

"What?"

"Please let me finish," he hated cutting you off, he hated being the reason that you were silenced, "If you speak now, I'll never be able to say what I have to say, what I need to say."

Azriel watched your face soften, the anger that threatened to boil over now evaporated, he watched you move to the sofa and sit down, patting the empty space beside you. He didn't know how you did it, how you could make someone feel so comfortable and heard, he thought about it as he took the seat beside you and heaved in a deep breath, curling one of his wings around you as if he was scared that you'd bolt.

"I love you, Y/N. I love your kindness, how you've never been scared of me. I love the way your eyes sparkle when you're talking about something you're passionate about. I love how you scrunch your nose when you're deep in thought. I love the way you bolt through the streets of Velaris before solstice to make sure everyone is as spoilt as possible. I love you, Y/N. I love everything that you are and everything that we can be, I can't lose you, I don't know who or what I'd be without you."

"There is no one who knows you like I do. I know that you sneak an extra spoonful of sugar into your hot chocolate before Nesta can catch you and tell you off," you smiled softly, "I know that you secretly hate shopping with Mor but would much rather suffer than tell her and take some of her spark away. I know that you can never tell Cassian that Nesta is your favourite unless you wanted to see him sulk for weeks," a soft laugh flew from your lips, "I know you're the reason that Rhys, Cass and I turned out so well, you're the only person we couldn't bear to disappoint."

Not once did you stop looking at him as he spoke. He loved you. Azriel really loved you.

"You love me?" Azriel nodded gently, "But, what about Elain? I thought..."

"Me and Elain?" Azriel's eyes were frantic, "No, Y/N. Gods no. You're the only one I've ever wanted, I tried to love someone else, I tried to love Mor, and maybe on some level I tried to find that with Elain. But no one could ever compare to you, anyone who isn't you aren't worth it."

Silence filled the air, that warm, golden hued air. Azriel was trying to read your mind, to figure out what you were thinking when you started laughing, tears pooled at your bottom lids and one blink sent them flowing down your cheeks. Azriel shuffled closer to you, taking his thumb and wiping away your tears before they dripped from your chin.

"We're so stupid, Az," you sniffled, letting him cradle your face in his hands and continue to wipe away any tears that fell from your eyes, "How could we be so blind?"

"What do you mean?"

Tilting your head to the side, your eyes sparkled, just how they did when you looked at or spoke about something you loved, then you felt it, that tension that had always tugged at your soul snapping into place, clouds of grey became clear sunny skies, and a golden thread soared across it and thrummed with yearning delight.

"I mean," you tugged on that thread, you watched his eyes widen and fill with disbelief, "That I love you too. So much."

"You're my mate," he confessed in a whisper, the bond sprouting into full bloom around you, like you could both see the tendrils of thread sewing your souls together.

Azriel's breath fanned across your face, hot and laced with the scent of whisky, the tip of his nose ran down the slope of your own, and you felt his lips lie millimetres away from yours, you watched his eyes search your soul before flickering downward to the place he craved to touch. Anticipation pulled at your chest and swelled in your stomach, and every bit of doubt vanished when he closed the gap and pressed his lips to yours.

It was like everything fell into place, like the world only began to make sense in that moment. Azriel's lips moved against yours hungrily, the sweep of his tongue into your mouth once you had granted him permission to taste you was enough to make your knees go weak. Heat pooled between your legs and you scrambled to be on top of him, the hem of your dress hitched around your thighs as you rested into his lap.

"Please, Az," you breathed between starving kisses, "I need you."

Azriel's hands moved from the back of your neck and the small of your back, reaching around to grip underneath your thighs, so dangerously close to where you needed him to be. He lifted you, not once breaking the connection of your lips, locking your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom.

"I'm not making you mine on a couch," he lay you on the bed and climbed on top of you, running his fingers down the sides of your thighs, making your back arch as he peppered kisses down your neck, sucking and nibbling on the skin he found there.

You squirmed beneath him, itching to rip his clothes off and allow him to take every part of you, "Please," you whined into his hair, his hand palming your breasts and lips attached to your earlobe, making soft moans fall through your stumbling mouth.

"Tell me what you want," his voice was so deep that it made goosebumps rise across your skin, it was sultry and dark, it matched the shade of his eyes when he pulled away to look down on you with swollen lips and tousled hair. "I'll give you everything."

"I want you."

It was all he needed to hear in order to tear your dress in two and take your hardened nipples in his mouth, sucking and biting on them gently, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nubs of nerves that had you gasping and eyes rolling to the back of your head. You felt like your body was on fire as he kept moving downward, littering kisses down your stomach before resting between your thighs.

The cold air against your core made you gasp again, he ran a finger down your soaked folds and moaned, "You're so wet for me," his voice vibrated against the inside of your thighs, "So perfect," he mumbled before his tongue dragged a line up you, and then again, and again until you were a blubbering mess fisting your fingers through his hair.

Azriel flicked his tongue against that familiar bundle of nerves, curling his tongue around it and sucking on it gently so that he didn't overstimulate you. Stars crept in to the sides of your vision, that hot white heat building in the pit of your stomach, "Don't stop," they were barely coherent words but he heard you and kept his pace, teasing a finger around your entrance before slowly pushing it in an curling it upward.

It sent you toppling off the edge. That white heat burst from you, loud cries of his name flew from your lips and your hands gripped his wrists, stars poured into your eyes and Azriel pushed you through your high.

Too lost in the mind shattering orgasm he had just given you, you didn't feel his hands ran up your back and lock around the back of your neck, you didn't realise that your torso and head were propped up in his arms or see his wings flex above you, "Angel," he cooed, he clenched his hands into your hair and pressed his lips along your jaw, "Let me take care of you."

Azriel was bare before you, his length solid and resting against your thigh, "Make me yours, Az."

Azriel growled, his eyes darkened with possession, "Tell me if it's too much and we can stop," you nodded breathlessly and he kissed you again, harder this time as he pushed himself inside of you, your walls still quivering and pulsating around him.

Once he was pushed to the hilt inside of you, he groaned, it was deep and guttural, the most incredible sound you'd ever heard. Azriel gave you a moment, and you tapped his shoulder lightly to get him to move, you were needing him to move, it was getting too much. Your soul was burning with desire and you needed him to satisfy it before it completely ignited you.

Your mate thrusted into you, the roll of his hips reaching angles you didn't know existed, he took your nipple in his mouth again, growling as his pace quickened and the sound of slapping flesh and declarations of love filled the air.

"You're so beautiful, Angel," his lips found yours again and his movements became sloppy, "I'm so close," he felt your warmth tighten around him, ready to milk his cock as high pitched mewls exploded from your lips, "There she is, my perfect mate."

Azriel's fingers wound in your hair, pressing your forehead to his as he slammed into you, riding you both through those searing hot highs and continuing the long strokes as you both fell down, "I'm yours, Az. I'm all yours."

Authors Note

😌

[itsswritten]

Threads of Hazel

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: Angst, blood, gore, injuries, hints of death.

Summary: A mating bond can connect those who have not even met, but can it save them too?

All that welcomed you was the cold, splodges of darkness filtering in your distorted vision.

Time seemed to stretch and contract in the void, a dizzying whirl of uncertainty. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Perhaps even longer.

No one was coming.

Why had you dared to hope? 

It was that gentle hazel glow that danced behind closed eyelids that had stirred within you. A glimmer of something that felt worthy of holding onto. Something to believe in.

But it must have been a trick of the mind, a cruel illusion born from the depths of insanity. 

No one was coming. No one ever would.

Maybe it was time to give up.

Time to surrender to the abyss, to let go of the tenuous thread that bound you to consciousness. As you teetered on the edge of oblivion, a fleeting sensation brushed against your senses, a whisper of familiarity.

You could smell it, faint and distant yet unmistakable. 

Night-chilled mist and cedar. 

It was that scent again. But like a wisp of smoke on the wind, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving your senses grasping at shadows in the void.

Another wicked false sense of hope. Your mind must be creating delusions as it comes close to its end.

No one was coming.

It was time to let go.

***

This was the last location. And then they’d go home. 

Finally.

Azriel straightened his posture, rolling back his shoulders with a weary sigh. His wings unfurled and then tucked in against his back. He felt anchored, weighed down, by the silent burdens he was carrying. Even his shadows were slumped against him, as if they were also affected by his fatigue.

Azriel was utterly exhausted.

Despite Cassian's concerned pleas for him to stay behind and rest, Azriel couldn't bring himself to heed them. The ache in his bones and the weight of exhaustion pulling at his limbs were nothing compared to the thought of letting Feyre and his brother face this mission alone. 

He was Spymaster of the Night Court, he would fulfil his duties regardless of his own welfare. Regardless of the demons that weighed on him.

But these demons of his, had been plaguing him for months. Clear in the dark offset look of his gaze, and the purple shadows that sat beneath his eyes– he was a tormented soul. 

The aftermath of the war had etched its scars deep into Azriel. It was a sensation he was all too familiar with, the fallout of anguish and slaughter, had always defined his life. But in recent months, his demons seemed to be haunting him more fiercely than usual, their whispers echoing in the silence of the night.

For months, Azriel had been plagued by a recurring dream, a nightmare he assumed. Because as much as he tried he couldn’t recall the details. Each time he would wake from the depths of his sleep, finding himself drenched in a clammy sheen of sweat, his chest heaving attempting to draw in air as though a claw was clenched around his lungs. 

But that is all that would linger.

A feeling, no memory of what had caused this reaction within him. No clue as to why his body shivered in fear when he woke. 

It was a maddening cycle, the dream hovering just beyond the edges of his consciousness. Clearly haunting in nature and yet elusive. Each day felt like a puzzle with a missing piece, the memory of something crucial lurking just beyond reach.

So close, and yet not close enough. And it was driving him mad.

In a desperate attempt to break free from that grip, he tried avoiding sleep altogether. Yet, that feeling persisted. A restless energy coursing beneath his skin. It was relentless, a constant reminder– that he was forgetting something of importance.

And that feeling terrified him. Azriel had always known most, metalicus with his gathering of intel and information. Skilled in deciphering most people and their thoughts. But his own mind had him at a loss. He was no Spymaster of his own consciousness, simply a male who couldn’t sleep because of a nightmare.

Feyre, Cassian and Azriel had embarked on the final leg of their scouting mission. Despite the passing of time since the war's end, new pockets of Hybern loyalists still cropped up. The three of them were tasked with weeding out any lingering enemies. They had arrived at the last location Azriel’s intel had unearthed. A manor house on the skirts of the borders, had whispered rumours to be a base for some Hybern stragglers.

Derelict and crumbling, the building seemed to sag under the weight of its own deterioration, its once-majestic features now reduced to a skeletal framework of crumbling stone and splintered wood. The scars of fire marred its surface, meaning any valuable pieces of information that might have once resided within its walls had long since been burnt. Nothing but charred remnants and ash laid in their wake.

They had been too late, but they still had to check nonetheless. 

"All clear from up above," Cassian announced, his voice cutting through the silence as he landed beside Feyre, who had just reentered what remained of the foyer. She had meticulously scouted the left wing of the building, while Azriel had taken the right.

"Clear here too," Feyre confirmed with a nod, her eyes scanning the dimly lit space for any signs of danger.

Azriel soon joined them. His part of the search had also yielded no immediate threats. Cassian stood beside his brother, kicking some burnt debris with his foot while mumbling that it was a shame Hybern’s men had burnt this place. That it was such a waste. But Azriel wasn’t listening. 

Running his rough hand down his face, he let out a heavy sigh. A very clear tell that he was not okay. Something Azriel never showed. But he could feel it again, under his skin. Pinching at him. Something faint in this chest, weighed and sliced, only to subside to a dull ache.

He felt uneasy, as he had for months but there was something about this place that had shaken a deepness within his gut. Even his shadows fluttered nervously around him.

Maybe he would need to see Madja when he got home. Or maybe even relinquish his pride, and ask Rhys for help.

“Let’s get this checked over quickly, and then head home. It’s been a long mission,” Feyre spoke softly, offering both males encouraging smiles as she gestured towards the back of the building. 

Feyre’s eyes settled on Azriel, giving him a reassuring look. For a moment Azriel almost let her in, he had noticed the concerned looks and touches his family had given him. Growing more and more these recent weeks. Instead though, he nodded softly following the pair into the back room. 

They descended down grand stairs, into the lower levels of the house. Each step he took echoed through the empty remnants of the building, every move feeling heavier and weightier. They were hit with a chill when they reached the bottom. In the absence of natural light, Feyre conjured small orbs of illumination, casting soft, flickering light that bobbed across the dark space. The feeble glow revealed crumbling walls and decaying remnants of furniture, similar to what they had seen upstairs. 

The air was heavy with the scent of decay and mildew, but there was something metallic that lingered.

Blood.

They could smell blood. And there was something else too. Perfumy and chemical.

Faebane. 

Tensions rose as they all hesitated on their weapons, Azriel’s fingers gingerly hovering over Truth Teller as they stepped deeper within the space. Azriel's shadows flickered and swirled around him, their movements erratic and unsettling. They sensed something lurking in the darkness, something that sent a shiver down his spine.

There was this haunting apprehension washing over Azriel as if he had been here before. He couldn’t quite place it, couldn’t quite pinpoint why he didn’t feel like a stranger in this room.

As though he had been here many times before and yet this was still his first time here. That gnawing began deep in his gut again as his fingers gripped at his dagger.

He heard Feyre gasp loudly, before his eyes quickly scanned to see what her light had revealed. 

A figure, barely recognisable in the dim light, hung limply from chains fastened to the wall, body gaunt and ravaged by torture. Steel rods protruded from flesh, each one coated in the deadly poison of faebane, its sickly scent permeating the air.

Feyre's hands flew to her mouth in horror, her eyes wide with disbelief and revulsion. "Is she..." her voice trailed off, unable to voice the question that hung in her mind. She had to stop herself from gagging, as the contents of her stomach threatened to spill up her throat.

Even Cassian, veteran of countless battles and witness to nearly every injury imaginable, could not conceal the grimace that tugged at his lips. They all took a moment to absorb the sight before them, Azriel remaining motionless as he processed the scene. The sensation from earlier still persisted, but now intensifying as Azriel's gaze fell upon the steel rod protruding from the body's chest, a sharp pang jolting through his own.

Azriel staggered, overcome by a sudden wave of agony that seized him, breaths ragged and uneven. Feyre moved swiftly to his side, her hand offering comfort as she implored about his well-being, but his attention was elsewhere.

He wasn’t listening to Feyre, he was listening to his shadows.

Alive.

They were pulsating beside him, waiting for his orders, waiting to be released, begging to be released.

Azriel clutched his chest, mustering his strength to stand straighter, the pain subsiding for now as he took a hesitant step closer, 

Alive, alive, alive.

They whispered frantically this time, their urgency desperate.

Then Azriel saw it. The faint rise and fall of your chest, the subtle rhythm of your heartbeat still persisting against all odds.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat, his mind struggling to process the sight before him.

How? How were you still alive?

He wasn't the only one to notice. Cassian, wasted no time in springing into action, his voice commanding as he instructed them to release you from your chains, to get you the urgent help you needed. Both Feyre and Cassian, mentally calling to Rhys to be ready with Madja.

But Azriel was frozen in place, his senses honed in on the fragile thread of life that still clung to you. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched, his chest constricting with an overwhelming emotion.

He remembered. 

The sight before him wasn’t new. No, he had seen this. Seen you before. Felt this way every night for months. 

It was you whom he had been forgetting when he woke, the haunting echo of your desperate pleas vibrating in his mind. As he watched your body slump to the floor, freed from the chains that had bound you, Azriel struggled to push back the flood of visions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Visions of you, screaming, pleading for someone to help you.

Begging him to come save you.

How could he have forgotten? Your cries had pierced through the darkness, reaching out to him night after night.

A plea for salvation had rippled down the thread that seemed to connect you.

That thread.

That power that had subconsciously been connecting you both for months began to hum. Louder and brighter than anything Azriel had ever felt before.

It was a realisation, a confirmation to what he had been feeling for all that time. The golden warmth finally settled under his bones, consuming all his senses.

The mating bond.

You were his mate.

Something that was supposed to be so cherished, felt incredibly bittersweet as he watched your near dead form be pulled into Cassian’s arms.

He could feel your pain seeping through the bond, in fact that is what he had been feeling all those weeks. Your suffering leaking its way down to Azriel. Your pleas reaching him in the depths of his sleep.

He had a mate, finally.

And yet when he pulled gently on that faint thread that linked you to him, he could feel it fading.

Maybe he was too late.

***

A bright white light filled your vision, its touch lining your body slowly.

It was time. You were ready.

But just as you were on the brink of surrender, a golden warmth surged forth, wrapping around you like a protective shield. It tugged at you, pulling you back, refusing to let you go.

Not now, not yet. It spoke.

You resisted, clinging stubbornly to the edge of oblivion, but the pull of that hazel glow was undeniable.

Let me go. It hurts. I want to leave. Your soul cried towards the glow.

The hazel glow called out to you with a familiarity that stirred something deep within your soul.

I won’t let you go. Not now, not now that I have you. 

You couldn’t understand. You heard no voice, yet you felt every word.

I need you to fight, for yourself, for me, fight harder than you ever have done and I promise, after this, you will never have to fight again.

Why those words had some sway over you, you weren’t sure. But when your senses filled with that comforting scent you had smelt every night for the past months. It tethered you, anchoring you in the physical realm once more.

You could smell it again, night-chilled air and cedar.

You would hold onto it one last time.

***

Agonising screams filled the air as you writhed in pain on the makeshift table. Your body contorting, fingers clawing desperately at the gaping wound in your chest. Even in the dim light, Azriel could see the blood, thick and crimson oozing through your fingers as you had lurched up when Cassian had pulled the poison coated rod from your chest.

They had managed to remove some while you were unconscious, but the pain of this one, deep in your chest, had yanked you awake. How you were still alive none of them understood. Your injuries and body filled with enough faebane to kill a dozen fae. 

Your vision was still distorted. Just one of the injuries that ravaged your body. Only blurry shapes and figures filled your sight, and the lack of that sense only added to your fear. You couldn’t see who you were with, and although they didn’t sound like your captors, you didn’t know them. Didn’t trust them, and they were hurting you.

Even if they repeatedly told you they were helping you, their touch just brought more pain.

Madja flitted around Cassian, her hands hovering over the faebane-drenched wounds in a futile attempt to heal. Azriel stood at the head of the table, crouched down close as he firmly held one of your arms down. His shadows fidgeted uneasily around him, reflecting his inner turmoil. He had witnessed countless horrors in his life, some inflicted upon himself, but seeing his mate in such agony was a new level of torment. 

Feeling the pain trickling down the bond was tearing him apart.

“Stop, stop. Please…” Your plea was raw, your voice strained and hoarse from the agony that wracked your body. Azriel shuddered at your tone, your voice an echo of the nightmares that had haunted him for endless nights. 

He remembered it all now.

Each night, stumbling through darkness, trying to follow that golden bond to you. To your calls for him. And each time, he tried to figure out where you were, how to get to you, how to save you only to forget everything when he woke. His memory of you slipping through his fingers like sand. 

“Rhys, there must be something you can do,” he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation as he looked over your pained expression.

Feyre had diligently wiped the blood from your face, revealing slashes across your eyes. Remarkably, Madja seemed optimistic about their healing potential, though it was contingent upon your survival. He could feel your fear rippling down the bond, how frightened and in pain you were.

“Azriel…my power, I can’t penetrate her mind. The faebane has saturated her body, creating an impenetrable barrier,” Rhys responded. “I’m sorry brother…I’m truly sorry.”

Azriel couldn’t contain the small whispered sob that escaped him, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

When Cassian had carried you from that dark basement, Azriel had acted on instinct, snatching you carefully from his brother's arms and holding you close. He whispered into your ear, a litany of apologies for not finding you sooner, for the pain you endured. He begged you to fight, to hold on for him. And had clung to that faint glimmer of hope as he returned to the safety of the River House.

Rhys had prepared a table for Madja to work on, but neither of them had anticipated the extent of your injuries.

Azriel had laid you on the table, still unconscious as he nervously watched Rhys and Madja try their best. Cassian and Feyre joining them moments later to help. 

It was then they had all realised.

He was fussing over you, whispering frantically and his shadows had been skittishly tracing over your body and injuries. So unlike the usual calm and collected Spymaster.

Rhys had pieced it together first. Simply stating She’s your mate into Azriel’s mind. Although it was clear by the heartbreaking expressions on his family's faces, they were all aware of the significance you held.

Azriel felt helpless, he couldn’t lessen your anguish, couldn’t heal you, couldn’t do anything.

Your sobbing started again, while you writhed under their strong hands. Pleading for release. Instead, they responded with reassurances and hushed whispers, and there was one voice in particular that washed over you in a familiarity you didn’t understand.

You fought against them, resisting their attempts to restrain you, but they were stronger. Another wave of agony rippled through you as they worked to remove one of the steel bars embedded within your flesh.

“Focus, Shadowsinger,” Madja's voice cut through the turmoil, her gaze landing on him firmly.

“The best course of action is to remove these rods and then attempt to drain the faebane from her system. Her resilience is remarkable, but she won’t survive much longer without intervention.” Madja was speaking directly to Azriel now, he took a second to look down at you crying on the table. Cassian and Rhys holding you down, while they calculated removing the next impalement. 

Madja continued, “If you want to help her, comfort her, support her.” The instructions were clear.

Feyre spoke then, glancing between your pained form and then to Azriel. “Use the bond Az, she needs you.”

With hesitation, Azriel’s rough hand found yours. Holding it tightly. Grooves and lines were etched into his weathered skin, speaking of his own past battles. Instinctively you wanted to recoil from the stranger's touch, but as you felt another pull on your torso you clutched down on his hand tightly. Another sob racking through you.

You felt him close to you now, his presence enveloping you as his warm breath brushed across your face. He was close to you. But you couldn’t make out who he was. Only a blurred version of a male with tan skin and dark hair. His other hand grazed your cheek, offering you a comfort you hadn’t felt in months. 

“I need you to fight just a little longer,” the voice was deep and warm, there was something about it or maybe it was the words he had chosen that felt familiar. 

“It hurts..” you whispered, another sob leaving your lips.

"I know, I know it does...but not much longer, okay? And then you can rest, I promise," he reassured you, igniting a flicker of hope within you despite the overwhelming pain.

Then Azriel pulled gently on the bond sending ripples of reassurance and comfort down the link. So much that he hoped to drown any pain out you were feeling.

You felt that golden warmth fill your chest, that same feeling that had pulled you from the white abyss many times before.

"It's you..." Your voice choked with emotion, the realisation dawning upon you.

Azriel stood there, uncertain of how to respond, but he watched as you turned toward him, your brows furrowed in concentration. Though your vision remained distorted, blurred colours danced before you, and amidst the haze of black and deep tan, you saw it—the faint glimmer of hazel.

"You came for me..."

"Always..." Azriel's voice cracked with emotion, his unwavering commitment laid bare.

With the last of the rods removed, your body bled profusely. Madja urged caution, while Feyre urgently advocated to cauterise the wounds. But with this amount of faebane, they grappled with the best course of action. Their voices melding in a flurry of noise.

A soft, sad smile graced your lips, your hand reaching out to touch the figure before you, feeling the contours of his cheek beneath your fingertips.

Blood began to fill your mouth, the red liquid seeping through your smile. The bitter taste staining your words. Azriel began to shake his head, clinging to that fading bond with all his strength. With a pained slowness, he felt your hand slip from his cheek, leaving a blood-stained print upon his skin.

"You were real..." Your voice was barely a whisper now, breaths shallow. "My thread of hazel."

a/n: ngl I don't love this lol, doesn't feel like my best work but sometimes it's better posted than perfect! I had originally planned for this to be longer, but writers slump has me in a chokehold so this is all I managed! Anywho, hope you enjoyed the angst! <3 - Lottie Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

[flickering-chandelier]

Will It Patch Your Broken Wings?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader 

Summary: Azriel is feeling insecure one night and cheats on Reader. She is absolutely devastated and wants nothing to do with him, but he is determined to show her how much he loves her. 

Inspired by the love triangle in Taylor Swift’s betty/august/cardigan

Based on this request! 🩷

Warnings: angst, cheating, swearing

Word Count: 6.3k

Betty, I know where it all went wrong

Your favorite song was playing

From the far side of the gym

I was nowhere to be found

I hate the crowds, you know that

Plus, I saw you dance with him

Azriel tucked his wing in tighter as you led him through Rita’s, your hand in his, a bounce in your step. You loved it here: the energy, the dancing, the music. 

Azriel, on the other hand, really only went along because he loved you.

The music was pounding in Azriel’s mind, overwhelming his senses. He could normally block it out and will his body to be loose enough to attempt to dance with you, but today had been a particularly long day in which he had to… secure information from some traitors. 

He didn’t let his memory go past that, not when he was with you. But it had been a day. A terrible day. 

You were dancing now, like you were born to do it, like you didn’t care at all who was watching. You turned to him, a bright smile lighting up your face, and he couldn’t help but soften at the sight, feeling comforted by your effortless radiance. 

He would never understand why you had chosen him. He was thankful of course, but he was willing to admit the two of you sometimes seemed like an unlikely pair. You were bright and bubbly, lighting up every room -- a direct juxtaposition to his shadows, his darkness, his tendency to be stoic and silent. 

Watching him stay completely still in the middle of the crowd, your face fell, and you sidled up to him, craning your neck to look him in the eyes as you got closer, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Are you okay? We can go home if you want.”

Azriel smiled faintly at you, dipping his head to give you a quick kiss. “Long day. You can dance. I’m going for a drink.”

You nodded, but still eyed him warily for a moment, gaze lingering on his swirling shadows, before turning back to the dance floor. 

By the time Azriel got his drink (the strongest they had), you were fully engrossed in a song that he realized was one of your favorites. He watched as you writhed on the middle of the dance floor, swaying your hips, a bright smile on your face. 

A male came up to you then, taking your hand and twirling you under his arm. You laughed brightly before moving away from him, dancing on your own once again. 

Azriel couldn’t stop his heart from plummeting. That’s the kind of male she should be with, he thought. The kind that goes to a normal job and comes home without shadows or demons to chase away in his mind. The kind that can dance and twirl and laugh with you without a care in the world. 

He watched as you danced and danced, occasionally dancing with a random male for a moment before moving on.

She deserves better than you. She always has.

His breath was coming faster and faster now, the music pounding in his ears, through his skull, all that heat from so many bodies closing in on him. He had to get out, had to stretch his wings, had to get out.

Azriel shoved through the crowd and burst through the doors, out into the cool night, stretching out his wings and breathing deeply. He cursed himself. He was normally better than this, better at maintaining his emotions, his panic. By the Cauldron, he was the Night Court’s spymaster and he couldn’t handle an evening in a nightclub with his lover. 

Pathetic. That’s what he was.

“Are you okay?” a light, sing-songy voice broke through his rumbling thoughts.

He turned to see a very pretty High Fae woman. She was dressed a bit like Mor, he couldn’t help thinking, wearing a thin red dress that showed off all her assets, her light brown hair cascading down past her shoulders. 

She gave him a look that he hadn’t seen, or at least paid attention to, from a stranger in a very long time. 

He blinked. “Honestly? I don’t think so.”

Her lips slowly curved up into a sultry smile. “Anything I would be able to help you with?”

No. No, you cannot help me. I don't think anybody can.

She watched him, her eyes sparkling with mischief, before she tilted her head for him to follow. 

And Mother save him, he did.

---

And I can see us twisted in bedsheets

August sipped away like a bottle of wine

'Cause you were never mine.

Your heart had been pounding, your body trembling, ever since you realized that Azriel was nowhere to be found. 

Something must have happened to him. It was the only explanation. He wouldn’t just leave you without a word. 

But, what could have possibly happened to the shadowsinger, in Velaris, of all places?

Your hand shook as you raised it to pound on the door of the river house.

Rhysand was the one who answered, shirtless, hair a mess. He looked very unhappy to see you. 

“I need you to find Azriel,” you nearly shouted before he could scold you.

He sobered immediately, noticing your distress. “What do you mean?”

You explained to him what had happened, that he had seemed off at Rita's, that he told you he was going to get a drink, then vanished. You had assumed that he had been lingering on the outskirts of the dance floor, and didn't notice for quite some time that he had left completely.

“I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation,” he said soothingly. “Did you check your apartment?”

You nodded. He wasn't there, at the home he shared with you. “And the townhouse.”

Rhysand's violet eyes were contemplative. Hesitating.

“Can't you just…feel for him or whatever?”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Yeah. I can.”

“Then do it!”

Rhysand's eyes went unfocused after a beat, and when they widened again in surprise, you knew he had found him.

“What is it? Is he okay?”

“He's… at a random apartment. At least it's not one that I recognize.”

Your heart lurched. “What? Why?”

Rhys shrugged, his expression darkening. “Okay. Shit. Wait here, I'll go tell Feyre what's going on and take you to him.”

Rhysand came back a moment later, now in his normal black attire, and winnowed you in front of an apartment complex not far from Rita's. You had certainly never been here before. The silence was agony as you followed Rhys up the stairs, to the door.

He glanced back at you, a question in his eyes. You shook your head and he knocked, the sound rattling around in your skull.

You heard shuffling, giggling, and then.

Then.

A woman answered the door. A beautiful woman who was wearing Azriel's shirt.

A woman who was wearing your lover’s shirt and nothing else.

Your knees nearly buckled. You tasted bile in your mouth. You were going to be sick.

She cocked her head to the side. “Yes?”

Rhysand was deathly still, his power rippling from him, darkening the doorway. You remained behind him, but you had to know. Had to know for sure.

So you peeked around Rhysand's shoulder, further into the woman's apartment.

And saw Azriel, bare chested, lying in her bed, the sheets bunched up at his waist, his wings drooping on the ground, his hand tucked under his head, staring at the ceiling, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You barely had time to spin around before you emptied your stomach in the hallway.

---

The worst thing that I ever did 

was what I did to you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Az?” Rhysand's voice boomed from the door the woman had just answered.

Hearing such a familiar voice in such an unfamiliar setting was initially what shocked Azriel enough that he nearly fell out of bed.

Then it hit him.

Rhysand was here. 

No no no no no no--

Azriel scrambled up out of the woman's bed, frantically searching for his pants and tugging them on. 

“I-”

“Don't answer that.” Rhysand spat, and it was then that Azriel realized Rhys was holding you upright as both of you lingered in the doorway.

His heart stopped working. His mind stopped working.

He said your name, but it came out more like a croak.

You were trembling in Rhysand's arms, tears sliding down your cheeks.

What had he done what had he done what had he done--

Azriel took a step forward, but you recoiled, and he knew you would've fallen to the ground if Rhysand hadn't been holding you.

You looked… afraid of him. Not just hurt, not just disgusted, but actually afraid.

He said your name again, his voice and his heart breaking, but you turned to Rhysand and said in the smallest voice he'd ever heard, “Get me away from him.”

Rhysand shot you one last withering glance before he winnowed out of sight, taking you with him.

It was silent for a moment, until the woman said, “If I'd known you were such an asshole, I never would have done this.”

Azriel sank to his knees and wept.

---

You drew stars around my scars

But now I'm bleeding.

Back at the river house, Feyre was holding you as your body continued to shake, silent tears continued to fall, while Rhysand paced back and forth, rage radiating off of him.

“Azriel?” Feyre asked, wide eyed. “Our Azriel?”

“He's certainly not mine anymore,” you sniffed, and Feyre winced, shooting you an apologetic glance, holding you a little tighter.

“I can't believe it,” Rhys said, still pacing in the spare room where they had set you up for the night. “I cannot believe him.”

There was a knock on the door of the house and you froze. You all knew who it was.

You looked at Rhys, your eyes pleading.

“I won't let him in,” he said, his expression softening as he turned to you. “I'll ward the fucking house against him if I have to,” he growled, mostly to himself, as he retreated to send him away.

You leaned further into Feyre, grateful for your friends.

For his friends, you realized. His family.

They were on your side now, but you knew where their allegiance would ultimately lie.

In losing Azriel, you would lose your family, too.

Sobs racked your body then, and Feyre held on tight, settling her cheek on the top of your head. 

You thought of all the walls Azriel had broken down around your heart, all the promises he had made about love and forever. All the broken pieces of you that you had let him see, that he had helped you heal.

But it was all a lie.

You couldn't stop seeing it -- the woman, naked except for his shirt; Azriel, naked in her bed.

You wept and wept until there was absolutely nothing left of you.

---

A friend to all is a friend to none

Chase two girls, lose the one.

Azriel had come to the river house twice a day for the past three days. 

Each time, Rhysand opened the door, molten hot rage in his eyes, and told him to leave, that you weren’t ready yet. Azriel couldn’t blame him.

He knew there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say to make it better. To make you better. He could try to explain what he had been feeling that night, but it wouldn’t matter, not really. It was all excuses, and he knew it. 

Azriel had destroyed everything. And now he just had to watch as his world burned down. 

Letting out a shuddering sigh, he knocked on Rhysand’s door, expecting to see his pissed off brother again, but it was Feyre who appeared.

He had never seen his High Lady look so disappointed. He hated that it was directed at him. 

“How could you do it?” she said, crossing her arms, leaning against the doorway.

Azriel felt tears prickling his eyes, and willed them not to fall. “I never felt like I deserved her,” he said quietly. 

“Well you definitely don’t now.”

He winced. “I know. I just -- I want to see her. How is she?”

Feyre furrowed her brow, furious. “How is she? She hasn’t left her room since she got here. Elain’s been forcing water down her throat so she doesn’t shrivel up and die, that’s how she is.”

Azriel swallowed, trying to steady his shaking hands. He felt like he was drowning. He wished he would, if it meant that it would make you stop feeling like that. “Do you think she’ll talk to me?”

She studied him, her mouth a hard, thin line. Finally, she turned, heading inside and he followed her, his knees wobbling. 

When they made it to your door, she knocked softly, saying through the door, “He’s here.”

Azriel held his breath until the door opened, slowly. 

And when he saw you, he couldn’t breathe. You looked… devastating. Your eyes were red and swollen, you were pale, your hair was a mess. 

It was his fault. He had done this to you. He felt sick.

Your eyes were hollow when you looked at him, like you didn’t feel anything at all. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Feyre asked you quietly.

You shook your head, your eyes darting away from Azriel. Feyre shot him a warning glare before she reluctantly went down the hallway. 

You turned, moving to sit on the bed that looked like it hadn’t been made in days, every movement you made looking wary, exhausted. Destroyed. Your eyes were fixed on your hands in your lap, unwilling to look at him. 

Azriel lingered just inside the room, feeling uncomfortable in his skin. He longed to hold you in his arms, to kiss your pain away. 

He said your name, willing you to look at him. You flinched. 

It felt like a punch to the gut. Azriel wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“I am so, so sorry,” he rasped.

You shook your head, not looking up. “How could you do this, Az? How could you do this to me?” Your voice cracked when you said his name. 

Tears started to fall down his own cheeks as he said, “I… don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I saw you dancing with those males, looking so carefree, and I didn’t feel like I fit into that part of your life. I’ve always felt like you deserved someone better than me, someone… easier.”

Finally, you looked up at him, and he wished you hadn’t. Your eyes were full of fury. And hurt. He had never seen you like that before. “You cheated on me because I danced with some guys for two seconds?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Azriel tried. 

“You think I wanted somebody like them? Somebody easier?”

Azriel opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I thought--”

“I wanted you,” you spat, and he recoiled at the hurt in your voice, at the pain in your eyes that he had put there. “All I ever wanted was you.”

He couldn't breathe. His voice came out weaker than he had ever heard it, “I'm sorry. It was a mistake, I'm a miserable, miserable fool. I want you. You're all I want.”

You laughed, but it was a hollow, bitter sound. “How can you even say that after what you did?”

“I know, you’re right,” he sighed, raking a scarred hand through his hair, his shadows dancing around his arms. “It doesn’t make sense, what I did. It was stupid and awful, and the worst thing that I’ve ever done, and I am so so sorry,” he said, taking a step forward, reaching his hand out to take yours. 

“Don’t touch me,” you spat, wrenching your hand away.

He blinked, taking a step back, his heart in his throat. 

“You said you loved me,” you said, your voice now barely a whisper, as if all your energy had been completely drained. “You said you wanted to be with me forever. Did you ever mean any of it?”

“Of course I did,” he said softly. “I still do. I love you. I want you.”

You sniffed, putting your head in your hands. “Well. You should’ve thought of that before you fucked her.”

He blanched at your tone, at your language. He didn’t think you’d ever said that word before, at least not around him.

“Please,” he said, his voice breaking, as he knelt down in front of you, trying to meet your eyes. “Please, what can I do? What can I do to fix this?”

Your eyes rose to meet his. You took in the sight, the shadowsinger kneeling before you, begging for your forgiveness. “You can’t fix it,” you said, seething. “You left me. You abandoned me at Rita’s. Do you have any idea how that felt? I thought something horrible had happened to you!”

Azriel tightened his jaw. He hadn’t known, hadn’t even thought about--

“And then to see you. With her. In her bed,” you broke off, looking at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears from falling, he knew.

“I’m sorry.” It was all he could say. His tears were flowing down his cheeks now and he hastily wiped them away, not wanting to take his eyes off you for fear that you would vanish.

After a long moment, you leveled your gaze on him again. “Would you have told me? If I wasn’t worried sick, if I had just gone home, and waited for you to stumble on in, would you have told me? Or would you just keep acting like everything was fine, knowing that you had just betrayed me?”

Azriel swallowed hard. He thought about the guilt he had felt immediately, how he was contemplating what the hell he was going to tell you as he was staring at that ceiling before Rhysand had knocked. “I would’ve told you,” he said, his voice husky. “I was going to tell you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, looking anywhere but him. “I don’t even know why I asked. How can I trust anything you say?”

“I don’t know. But it’s true,” he said, shifting on his knees, wishing he could reach for your hand. 

Hiding your face in your hands, you said, barely audibly, “I hate you. I hate you for doing this to me and making me feel like this.”

Azriel’s heart finally shattered completely. He knew he would never be able to put the pieces back together, as long as he lived. He had done this to you, his beautiful, bubbly, happy love. Reduced to this. To hating him. And he couldn’t even blame you. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you.”

“Stop saying that,” you cried. 

“It’s true. It’s all I’ve got. I won’t try to make excuses, I’m just … I’m sorry. And I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.”

You sniffled, and took your hands away from your face, looking to the ceiling once again, like you were steeling yourself to say what you were about to. “I never want to see you again,” you said, weakly. “You can have the apartment. Elain and Nesta are packing my things right now.”

Azriel shook his head, his panic rising, “No, no, you don’t have to--”

“I do,” you cut him off. “It’s done, Az. We’re done,” you rose off the bed and went to the washroom, looking unsteady on your feet. “You can go now.”

You shut yourself in behind the closed door, and it was five hundred years of will and training that carried his legs out of the river house, and out of your life forever.

Azriel took to the sky, flying and flying, the wind biting at his skin, at his eyes. He kept picturing your heartbroken expression, the words you spoke to him.

He didn't stop flying until he made it to the depths of the Illyrian mountains, where he knew he would be well and truly alone.

Spotting a flat section nestled between several mountains, he landed in the snow, barely stopping long enough to punch the mountainside. It was stupid, he knew, he was more likely to break his hand than blow off any of this steam, but he had to do something to stop this pain, this panic, this despair that he could blame on nobody but himself.

He had lost you. He had lost the love of his life forever because he couldn't overcome his fears. He had been so scared that he wasn't good enough for you that he made sure that it was true.

Grunting, he punched the mountainside over and over again until his knuckles bled, and then he punched it some more. Tears froze on his cheeks, the wind chilling him to the bone.

Az was dimly aware of someone landing behind him, so hard it shook the ground beneath his feet. He kept punching.

“You're not going to solve your problems out here,” Cassian called to him.

Finally, Azriel halted, turning around to face his brother. “You know, we have better things to punch,” Cassian added.

Azriel scowled, sinking into the snow, exhausted.

Cassian strode over to him, plopping down a few feet away, hissing at the cold now sleeping through his pants. He studied Azriel, seemingly waiting for him to speak.

“She hates me,” Azriel whispered finally. “She said she never wants to see me again.”

Cassian sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Fuck.”

Azriel could only nod sadly.

“You know she didn't mean it. At least not the second part. She loves you.”

Sniffing, wiping at his eyes, Azriel groaned. “I don't know if she does anymore.”

“She does,” Cassian said quietly. “I know she does.”

After a beat of silence, Cassian asked, “What are you going to do?”

Azriel shrugged, watching his bloody hands start to heal. “Well. I could either hang around, keep apologizing, and piss her off more, or… leave her alone…”

“And piss her off more,” Cassian added.

A dry laugh escaped Azriel. “Exactly.”

Cassian was quiet for a moment, seemingly pondering how to help him.

“I’m not giving up on her,” Azriel finally said, with more conviction than he felt. “I just… I don't want to make it worse.”

“Az, I hate to tell you this, but I don't think it could get much worse,” Cassian said, grimacing.

Azriel just sighed, stretching out his wings behind him.

---

I knew I'd curse you for the longest time

Chasing shadows in the grocery line.

Seeing Azriel again, seeing him beg on his knees for your forgiveness, seeing how hollow his eyes looked, how his shadows were so unrelenting around him, had absolutely wrecked you. 

It was another few days until you had the courage to leave the river house at all. 

Azriel had come back to the river house several times, but you had your friends send him away. You couldn’t bear to see him again. 

Feyre and Rhysand had checked on you frequently during your stay at their house, consoling you, cursing Azriel’s name right along with you. Rhys had even loaned you what you needed to get your own apartment, on the other side of Velaris from the one that you once shared with Azriel.

That part seemed to make it final, somehow. You could almost convince yourself it had all been a dream until you made your way to your new, empty apartment, without a trace of the love that used to be yours. 

That empty apartment wrecked you all over again, and as you looked around it for the first time, your body folded in half, arms wrapping around your stomach as your body racked with sobs. 

You had started to regret insisting that you do this part by yourself. 

It was really over. Azriel really cheated on you and it was really done. 

You knew it was time to start distancing yourself from Azriel’s family. They had undoubtedly been on your side this whole time, but even Rhysand and Feyre were starting to change their tune slightly. You know he loves you still. You know he’s a good male. You know he’s so sorry.

You understood where they were coming from, really, you did. 

But that didn’t make it hurt less. What you needed was to hate him. It was the only way you could ever bring yourself to move on, to start living your life again.

You had been solemnly unpacking for a few hours when there was a knock on your door. You stiffened immediately. Rhysand and Feyre had said that they wouldn’t tell Azriel where you lived, but maybe he had figured it out?

“Relax sweetheart, it’s me,” Cassian said on the other side of the door, and you did relax, if only slightly. You hadn’t seen him since before this all started.

Reluctantly you let him in. He was sauntering, wearing that easy smirk he always donned. You couldn’t decide if it was comforting or annoying. 

Cassian whistled as he looked around. “Nice place.”

You settled on the couch, tucking your feet underneath you. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes softened as he walked closer to you, then perched next to you on the couch, not quite relaxed. “I wanted to check on you.”

“You can report back to Azriel that I’m just as pissed as ever,” you grumbled. 

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” Cassian said quietly. 

Skeptically, you turned to face him. You were sure he would be the most likely to take Azriel’s side. 

After a moment, Cassian said, “If it’s any consolation, he hates himself probably about as much as you hate him right now.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse,” you admitted.

Cassian sighed, leaning back into the couch. “Did you mean it? That you never wanted to see him again?”

You shifted, hugging your knees to your chest. “In the moment I did. Thinking about seeing him now… it breaks me apart. But, thinking about the rest of my life completely without him…”

“That breaks you apart too?” Cassian offered.

You nodded, tears stinging your eyes.

“Okay, look,” Cassian said, turning so he fully faced you. “I’m going to tell you something. You’re my friend and he’s my brother, and I love you both, so I need you to know I’m not trying to convince you of anything, I am merely giving you information. Okay?”

“O-kay…”

He took a deep breath, seemingly gathering his thoughts, before he continued. “Azriel has always felt like he was inferior. The way he was raised… he carries that around more than a lot of people think. He often thinks that he isn’t good enough for people, but especially you.”

“How do you know?” You knew that Az still dealt with a lot from his childhood, but he wouldn’t often voice those things to you. He had mentioned something about not feeling good enough when you saw him, but you weren’t sure what to make of it.

“He mentioned it to me a few times, that he didn’t feel like he was the kind of person you should be with. You’re so bright and bubbly, he felt like you deserved somebody who was the same.”

You rested your cheek on your knee, trying to digest the information. “But… he must have known I never actually felt like that, right?”

Cassian shrugged. “On a good day, maybe. But deep down I think he always had it in the back of his mind: that fear that he wasn’t right for you.”

“He should’ve told me,” you said quietly.

“I agree. And I’m not saying that it excuses what he did, but that day…it was a hard one for him. What he had to do in the Court of Nightmares.”

Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t even thought about that. 

“Well, he should’ve told me that too.”

Cassian nodded. “Yes. He should have.”

You groaned. “I hate this.”

“I know,” he said quietly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. “I’m sorry.”

Cassian let you cry on his chest for a long moment before he said, “hH wants to come see you, you know. He doesn't want to give up on you.”

When you didn't respond, he said softly, “Just think about it.”

Days later, all that Cassian had said was still ringing in your ears, even as you walked through the market when it was the busiest.

Despite everything, it hurt your heart to think that Azriel had ever felt like he wasn't enough for you. And you were still so hurt at what he had done and what you had seen, but it at least made more sense now.

You hated this feeling of loneliness that followed you around wherever you went now, rooted so deeply in you that you were scared it would never go away.

Azriel had been so good to you for so long. Was one mistake really worth throwing everything away?

Every time you had the thought though, you remembered the sight of him in her bed and wanted to scream or cry or kick something.

Suddenly, as you were nearing the edge of the market, you swore you saw the wisp of a curling shadow out of the corner of your eye and stiffened. This hadn't been the first time that you thought you glimpsed Azriel's shadows or wings in public since it happened.

But, no this time it was real. And he saw you too.

You willed your feet to move, but they wouldn't. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him, from this man who had loved and hurt you so completely.

Azriel approached you like you were an injured animal he was trying not to scare away. Your heart thundered in your chest.

“Hi,” he said in what you knew was his gentlest voice.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak. Still, after everything, you missed him. And seeing him now… it was too much to bear. Yet, too much to walk away.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly, his eyes swimming with pain and affection. His shadows were on full display, despite the fact that they usually shied away from the sun. 

“You've already said that,” you murmured, still rooted to the spot.

“I know. And I'll keep saying it every chance I get. If I knew where you lived, I'd send you flowers or a book or dinner from that restaurant you love every day and I'd tell you I'm sorry and that I love you.” His voice was shaky in a way you had never heard from the shadowsinger.

“You would not,” you said, trying to sound angry but it just came out weak.

“Of course I would,” he said, risking a step closer to you. “I would do anything to take your pain away. You have to believe that.” 

You did. You did believe that he meant it. But you didn't know if it would be enough.

For a moment you let yourself gaze at the man you once trusted with your whole heart. He looked thinner, like he hadn't been eating enough. His eyes were still hollow, dark bags beneath them. Even his wings drooped slightly. He might look even worse than you did.

And yet, you could still see the beautiful, sweet shadowsinger you had fallen in love with so long ago.

Finally you said quietly, “I'll tell Rhys he can give you my address.”

Those hazel eyes sparked with hope. And love. Definitely love.

---

The only thing I wanna do

Is make it up to you.

When you went out the next morning, there was a book left at your doorstep with a note attached.

It was the newest from one of your favorite authors. Your lips formed the tiniest smile.

The note read:

I couldn't start my groveling with something too cliche, so I went straight for your romance novels.

I've never told you this, but I always love when you tell me about the books you’re reading. Your entire face lights up when you do. And you know I love a fairytale ending.

I hope you have a good day today.

I'm so sorry for what I did. I'm so sorry for hurting you.

I love you so much. I always will.

-Az

You couldn't help but laugh a little by the time you got to the end. As if anybody else would be writing you this note.

The next morning when you stepped out your door, there was a pastry from your favorite cafe in a to-go bag. On the bag was a note:

I'm really hoping you'll find this in the morning so it's still good.

If not, you just come let me know and I'll drop everything to get you a fresh one. 

I miss you.

My life is a nightmare without you.

I'm so sorry.

I love you.

-Az

And so it went. Every morning, rain or shine, Azriel would leave something that he knew you would love, with a note, always ending in some version of I'm sorry. I love you.

It did warm your heart that had turned so cold. The dedication alone was enough to prove to you that he really was sorry for what he did.

Yet, every time a note would make you laugh or cry so much that you wanted to run to his arms, you were always stopped by that image that plagued your mind. By the fact that he did what he did and no amount of little gifts would change it.

Months passed, and to Azriel's credit, the gifts, and more importantly the notes, kept coming. Your bedside drawer was completely full of them. And there may have been a night or two when you missed him so desperately that you would read them over and over again until your eyes burned and you had no choice but to cry yourself to sleep.

You would sometimes lay awake at night, picturing him coming up to your door. Several times you wanted to wait up for him, to listen for his footsteps, to pull him into your apartment, forget everything that happened and just be happy again.

But you never had the nerve. You were terrified of going through it all again.

Until one day, there was no gift at your door. No note. No sign of him anywhere.

Your heart plummeted. Had something happened to him? Was he hurt? Injured on some mission Rhysand sent him on?

Or had he finally given up on you?

It wasn't until that moment that you were willing to admit to yourself how much you had been relying on those notes, those little pieces of him.

You went through your day in a daze, devastated all over again.

It was early in the evening when there was a knock on your door. For a moment, you hoped it would be Azriel. You hadn't actually seen him for months. But you quickly realized it was more likely to be one of your friends, who still came by, despite what you had initially thought.

So, the breath was knocked completely out of you when it was indeed the shadowsinger waiting on the other side of the door. 

His handsome face, his soft expression, on his face made you want to weep. You missed him so much.

Azriel smiled somewhat shyly as he gazed down at you, holding a paper bag in his hand. “I'm sorry it's late. Rhys has got me scouting out some things, and I didn't get back here until now. I brought dinner,” he said, holding it out to you.

You recognized it from your favorite restaurant. With shaking hands, you took it from him, spotting the note attached to the outside.

I'm sorry. I love you.

I'm sorry. I love you.

I'm sorry. I love you.

Over and over again it was repeated, taking up the entire paper. You placed it on a table inside before your gaze flicked back to him. He was watching you closely, his wings tucked in tightly behind him. 

“I thought you gave up on me,” you whispered.

His timid smile fell. “Never,” he said softly. “I'll never give up on you. I love you so much.”

Tears brimmed your eyes and all of a sudden, you knew you couldn't take it anymore. You didn't want to hate him, you didn't want to dwell on the one awful thing that he had done. You had a drawer full of wonderful things that he had done.

“I love you, too,” you murmured, the tears spilling freely down your cheeks now.

A sound that sounded distinctly like a sob escaped Azriel, and he wrapped his arms around you, crushing you into his chest. “I never thought I'd hear you say that again,” he sniffed, his hand cupping the back of your head, kissing your temple.

After a long moment, he took your face in his hands, gazing at you for a moment before he slowly kissed your tears away. You laughed lightly and he smiled, leaning in to kiss you so softly, like he was afraid you would break.

“I love you,” he murmured against your mouth. “I love you so much.”

You pulled back long enough to gently brush his tears away. “No more secrets. If you're struggling with something, you need to tell me.”

“I know. I'm sorry. No more secrets.”

“And nobody else. Ever.”

He winced. “I'm so sorry, love.”

“I know you are,” you said softly, cupping his cheek in your hand.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

You rose to your tiptoes to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

At last, you had found your way back home.

A/N: Want to see Azriel pay for his crimes instead? Go read the alternate angsty ending here!

[acotarxreader]

Pancake

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: Celebrating Feyre's 21st with a large party at the House of Wind proves to be quite triggering for you as you battle with the demons that followed you out of Under the Mountain.

Warnings: Panic attack (claustrophobia) followed by super fluff

A/N: This is really a cute fic, maybe one of my favourites. Reader has a panic attack so proceed with caution or don't at all if you think this may upset you! Let me know what you think!

P.S laughing that after Jilted I said I'd give you a more silly goofy fic and then produce this 👀 next one I promise!👀

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Fifty years. Fifty years you and Rhysand were separated from your family. Days dripping into weeks, into months, into years. Birthdays, Starfalls, and Solstices lost to the mountain. You had both been reunited with your family for a year now, your first Winter Solstice as a family again. You stood on the balcony watching your friends dance and drink and be free, Rhysand having thrown a large party for Feyre's 21st birthday. A genuine smile grew at the sight of such joy, all on their way to becoming whole again. Your eyes found Feyre and Rhysand drifting up the stairs towards a secluded balcony, your smile doubling in size at the mischievous grin plastering your cousin's face. 

“Don’t you look radiate YN” You turned to look down at Azriel at the bottom of the grand staircase. 

“Don’t I always Az” he nodded in agreement, closing in the distance between you, you had missed him deeply, never thinking you’d have the pleasure of dancing with your best friend again. Azriel had spent your time away from him in utter torment, echoed in his friend's mutual feelings of uselessness at the loss of the two of you.

“Azriel, there you are! Come watch the surprise with me, fireworks I believe” Elains little voice came from behind Azriel, he turned happily towards her, a pang of jealousy beating through you. Before the Mountain took you from your family you and Azriel were quickly developing into more but something cracked in you, you couldn’t find your way back to him when you were freed. He gave you the space you needed to recover and in that time found a new obsession in Elain and you accepted that you may never be fixed but Elain could be. 

“Would you like to come too YN?” you sensed the undertone of pity from Elain that Azriel would never see as anything other than her caring. You tried to keep the smile on your face, faltering for a moment before returning to full strength. 

“I’m actually going to get a drink from inside, but go ahead” You looked up at the night sky, such beauty you missed so much, Azriel looked at you with the same sentiment before following Elain back down the steps. 

You entered the House Of Wind through the gigantic doors, caterers frantically ran from place to place holding various trays and jugs. You ducked and dove avoiding the chaos, no one noticed you as you moved through the mayhem, your speciality. You took a flute of champagne from a passing tray before catching a glimpse of your face in a large silver serving dish. You looked tired, still not yourself a year later.

You headed into the closest bathroom in a service hallway, gently pining up fallen strands of hair. You sighed into the mirror of the small room, feeling the mask slip for a moment before you righted it again, forcing the fake smile so as not to make others uncomfortable.

Your hand moved to the door handle, shaking it gently when you found it did not give under your touch. You pushed the door, it solidly pushing back. You tried to squash the rising panic in your throat, this is fine this is fine this is fine you repeated over and over like a mantra in your mind.

You lowered yourself to look out the keyhole to find solid wood staring back at you. They had blocked you in with a large, solid, service trolley, wider than the door you tried to push through. You banged on the door with your palms, calling out for anyone, the shouts getting lost in the bedlam of the service hallway before it emptied entirely, the staff going to watch the show. 

You backed away from the oak, trying to catch your fleeting breath. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped. The word roaring in your head, dizzying dread coming to a boiling point in you. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped. 

Suddenly a loud bang was set off, and another and another. You found yourself collapsing to the freezing floor of the forgotten bathroom, screaming to match the pitch of the fireworks outside. You clung your knees into your chest before beginning to frantically paw your ears trying to stop the drumming. Your fingers matting into your hair, making it a knot in the chaos of trying to block the sound. You were hyperventilating as the fireworks came on with more fierceness. You were drowning. You were back Under The Mountain. You were back to being out of control. Back to being being kept deep within the earth, the sound of Fae being tortured mimicked in the booming fireworks.

“YN!” through the thick choking energy of your fear, a familiar voice came like a lifeboat in a storm but you were gone to the sea. Gone to the panic. Drowning. Drowning. Drowning. Steady, scared hands reached for your tangled hands pulling them from clawing your ears, out of blurry vision you saw the opened door, the towering service trolley smashed to the ground as Azriel clung to your hands. You tried to dive for the gap, off balance from the panic, unable to lift yourself from your seat, you fell onto your side on the tile, the thud of your chin echoing in Azriels ears. 

“YN! You’re okay you’re okay!” he pulled you upright and rubbed the back of your hands as your tormented eyes found him through the floods of tears. He counted quietly in rhythm, helping you to steady your breathing but the flashbacks of that horrid place and great loss ran through your mind like a runaway train. This was Azriel. Azriel. Azriel. This was home. Home. You were home. Another booming firework was set off, plunging you back to being drowned. Azriel stood, plucking you from the ground like a discarded rag doll before he dissolved you both in shadows. 

The two of you landed with control on the bridge that crossed the Sidra. The sound of the fireworks merely bursts in the distance. Your hands lay flat on the cold stone of the bridge and then you were violently ill, vomiting into the rushing river below as Azriel rubbed your back with one hand and held your hair gently in the other. You then sailed to the ground, your back resting against the freezing stone, waves of panic replaced with equal volumes of exhaustion. Silence swaddled you like comfort, shadows softly sweeping away stray tears as they fell. You found a small smile tug at the corners of your mouth at them, Azriel’s muscles relaxing at the sight.

“Thank you Az” you managed to breathe out.

“Please don’t thank me, it's my job to-to protect you” You rolled your head along the stone to look towards the shadowsingers soft gaze. You leaned into his side, gazing up to your beloved Velarian sky, your heart rate returning to softening levels. 

“YN ho-how often does that happen you?”

“More than I want to admit Az, I feel like I haven’t slept in 50 years” you admitted, his hand wrapping into yours.

“Go back to the party Az, Elain will be wondering where you ran to”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving you, c’mon let's walk home” he smiled, standing and pulling you up to meet him, his hand slotting in around your waist to support your weakened legs. You both began to stroll in the direction of Azriel’s disused apartment, more often than not he opted to stay in The House of Wind or the Town House rather than sleep alone in his house. But tonight, those places were in the thick of the loud celebration, his secluded apartment on the other side of the Sidra a haven from the revelry. You didn’t object to this knowing you hadn’t it in you to go back into the bustling city. 

You followed Azriel into his small studio apartment, and he immediately set about cleaning the space you hadn’t been in in 51 years. 

“Sorry for the mess” He threw stray clothes into a basket as you looked around the place you didn’t think you’d ever see again, the mess of forgotten projects and clothes a new feature for the normally regimented Illyrian. 

“I umm didn’t come here much when you were-when you were gone” he admitted before flicking his wrist and the sheets of the bed changed. 

“Why not? You used to love to brood up here” you grinned, sitting on the edge of the soft cotton sheets. Azriel threw his suit jacket over a chair and began rolling his shirt sleeves up, without taking his eyes from you, his own smile matching yours. You suddenly felt conscious of the mess of now matted hair and make-up down your face, your hand wiping the smudges of kohl away from under your eye. 

“To be honest YNN, it felt wrong here without you, the whole of Velaris did” he crossed the room to the dresser, reaching into the top drawer to pull out one of your night sets.

“I can’t believe you still have some of my things here”

“I kept them for when you would come back…I never let myself think that you weren’t coming back to me” You took the set from him, smiling softly before moving to change in the bathroom, leaving the door open as Azriel threw a pillow for himself on the couch, snapping his fingers and changing into his own night attire. He tried not to let his eyes linger on you as you moved towards his bed for the first time in forever before you layed down in the buttery sheets.

“Az-Can you-Can you sleep here next to me, I know it might be weir-” You didn’t get to finish as Azriel needed no further invitation, sinking into the bed alongside you. He merely snapped his fingers and the lights dropped only to have one in the corner of the room stayed lit for your comfort. 

“Are you feeling okay YNN?”

“Mmm, thanks for leaving the light on” you hummed in response.

"It's for me as much as you, I share you're sentiment about being kept in the dark" you nuzzled gently into his side at his heartbreaking words and for the first time in so long you knew you’d sleep with nothing but ease.

“I missed you so much my love” He whispered into your hair, sleep taking full hold of you as he kissed your forehead and found yourselves sleeping the best he had in 51 years. 

-

For the rest of the night you both stayed in cuddled bliss, the world going on around you but the only place that mattered was the world you had both made in his apartment. 

The light came through the slots of the blinds hitting his eyes as he woke and rested his chin on the top of your head as you were deeply cuddled into him, the clock showing 8:30am. He gently pulled from you as you groaned but still unable to open you’re world-weary eyes. 

-

You shot up in the bed to the sound of a crash, for a moment forgetting where you were only to laugh at the recoiling Illyrian holding a frying pan while wincing in the kitchen across from you, his wings coated in a thin layer of flour. 

“What the fuck Az?” you found yourself laughing before rubbing your hands down your face and glancing at the clock as it showed 10am.

“Don’t laugh at me, I’m trying to be be cute!” You raised an eyebrow, throwing your legs over the side of the bed and standing. Your mouth fell open at the full sight of the destroyed kitchen. Every single surface covered in various baking ingredients. You walked cautiously towards the floury disarray before looking into a bowl of what you presumed started as pancakes. You attempted to move the whisk in the batter, it stuck to the bowl like a stick in cement. 

“Az, what possessed you to try to poison me?” you laughed so heartily it made Azriels heart leap. 

“I was trying to comfort you” he genuinely seemed embarrassed, your hand going to his cheek, wiping away flour freckles. 

“I love that you’re such an adorable dork” You shook your head gently grinning. 

“I love you” Your hand slowly dropped from his face in almost shock at his words. 

“I love you so fucking much YN, I hated myself every day you were gone for not saying it and for the past year I wanted to but I didn’t want to add to any stress you might be holding on to-”

“-You could never make me stress Az…unless you make me eat this” you laughed and his eyes beamed at the sound he wished to only hear for the rest of his life. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he happily leaned into the kiss. Home. This was home and this was Azriel. 

“I love you too” you breathed against his lips, his hands meeting your hips before dropping to the backs of your legs and lifting you from the ground. Your legs wrapped around him as you caught hold of his t-shirt, deepening the kiss further, for the first time in a year you felt the deep crack in your soul begin to stitch together again. The kiss grew hungrier as Azriel angled you to hover you above the counter before gently putting you down. 

“ARGH!” you shrieked as the freezing cold pancake batter he put you down on soaked immediately through your shorts. You leapt from the counter with lightning speed, trying to pull the fabric from your skin as Azriel roared with laughter. 

“Something funny flour face?” you said through rising laughter as Azriel tried to collect himself. 

“If you get a chance do you think you could take some of the batter off your shorts and make breakfast” you lightly scoffed at his words before taking a fist of batter and clapping it right into his chest. 

“Oh you’re so dead YN!” he howled at the cold through tears of laughter, grabbing the bowl and proceeding to chase you around his house, your home. 

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Hehe, whatcha think!

[milswrites]

Something blue

~ Azriel X Reader

Summary: You and Azriel get married.

Warnings: Teeny bit of angst but then all fluff :)

Azriel couldn't hear the words his brother was speaking over the incessant pounding of his heartbeat which echoed in the depths of his ears. Not even his probing shadows could break him from his anxious stupor, the dark curling mists attempting to pull their master back to reality through their gentle nudges and soothing presence.

Azriel was sure that if he was aware of his families comforting words and his shadows warming embrace he would have been grateful. Yet all he desired was your reassuring company, your gentle aura having always been enough to ebb the rising doubts from his storming mind.

It was only when Cassian laid a heavy hand on his tense shoulder did Azriel allow himself to come back to reality. Permissing his faraway mind to return to it's earthly shell, rejoining him where he was stood at the end of the aisle.

It wasn't the prospect of marrying you which terrified him. No, Azriel couldn't think of anything sweeter than consolidating the love between the two of you. However, the invasive doubts that Azriel didn't deserve you pecked away at his brain. Worried that his monstrous past and his dark line of work made him unworthy of your love.

It was foolish to think this of course, you looked at Azriel as though he had hung the stars in the night sky, the male brightening the life you had claimed was once so dull. To you, Azriel could do no wrong and you had spent many sleepless nights reminding the male of this as you cradled his trembling form.

Which is why when Cassian asked him if he needed a moment to escape and gather his thoughts, Azriel stubbornly declined the offer. Not wanting to make even the smallest of mistakes out of fear that the one good thing in his life would slip away from him.

No, Azriel would wait. Patiently standing at the end of the aisle until you came to stand by his side. Your presence alone would be enough to melt away his insecurity and unease.

Which is why with this knowledge, he allowed himself to relax. The understanding that you would soon be with him was enough to loosen his taught muscles, enabling a steady breath to be drawn from his lips.

You were his home, his fortress, and Azriel needed only to think of you to instill him with the strength he needed to battle his demons.

He brushed Cassian's worried hand away, providing his concerned brother a smile overflowing with confidence. Teeth slightly bared in excitement.

"I'm fine Cas," Azriel promised, "I couldn't be happier."

He needn't lie when he spoke the words to his brother, each syllable laced with a welcoming truth. How could he not be happy, when you were the deliverer of his joy.

A soft melody began to hum from the harp beside him, an ethereal tune which sang the story of your love. Each harmonious note signifying a beautiful tale of your partnership.

But it wasn't the sweet tune which brought a silver tear to Azriel's eye. Nor was it the fact that he was surrounded by his friends, all sharing a smile of beaming warmth at the glorious occasion.

No, the reason for his joyous weeping was the angel who faced him at the other end of the aisle. His love, a vision dressed in white, who's arm was wrapped around that of his proud mother's.

Azriel cried as his entire universe walked towards him. As the two most important people in his life slowly made their way past his teary-eyed friends and family until they came to stop before him.

His doting mother came to wipe the wetness from his cheeks, face a picture of unbridled jubilation, before Cassian came to lead the exuberant woman to their seats as the last heavenly note from the harp was strung. The soft hum of the music still wavering in the air despite it's completion. And as Azriel's hazel eyes finally came to meet your own, a bond of love and passion was shared through your affectionate gazes.

You've always been beautiful, there was no debating that. But the god-like glow which the mother had blessed you with on the day of your wedding had rendered the shadowsinger speechless. The force of your otherworldly beauty almost being enough to pull the male to his knees before you. Azriel promised himself in that moment that he would spend the rest of his days worshipping you in all your glory until the day he died.

The trivial words of the priestess failed to register in his mind, Azriel's thoughts were consumed entirely by you. It wasn't until you began to make your vows, did Azriel's attention then turn to your enchanting voice. His mind, body and soul all enraptured by your tender words.

"I have loved you since before I even knew you existed. My heart has always belonged to you, and I finally found it when we first met. We were made for each other, you and I, two souls destined for each other. And even if we didn't have the cauldron's influence, I still would have loved you as deeply and passionately as I do now. You're my entire world Azriel and I consider myself lucky for the life I'm going to spend with you and I will continue to love you until we're the last stars in the sky."

Azriel was sure he couldn't have cried more than he had already done so, though it was clear his well hadn't run dry as of yet. Glistening trails of happy tears streamed down his smiling cheeks. His gentle shadows wrapped around his body under his clothes, their presence comforting him, reminding him that his feelings were natural, That he could allow himself to weep at his good fortune.

The male had planned his vows in advance, wanting to be prepared in case his nerves took hold of him and prevented him from saying what he wanted to be said. Yet being in the moment, standing here next to your ethereal form after hearing your impassioned promise, Azriel failed to find words worthy enough to be heard by your ears. And so, surprising even himself Azriel neglected the speech he had spent the past few days reciting and spoke from his heart.

"You are my strength and stability. My saviour and my undoing. You see me for who I am and yet you've never once shied away, you accept me in a way so few people have done so and I couldn't be more blessed than to have you as my partner for the rest of my life. I have never felt more loved, more accepted by anyone and I know that whenever the darkness overcomes me I need only to look to you for my salvation. And so I promise you this now, that I will never fail to be anyone other than the male who you know me to be. I gift myself you you with the oath that I shall love you forever as you deserve."

The exchange of your vows was done so in a moment of frozen existence. Despite the room full of your loved ones, it felt as though the promises were made in secret, a silent joining of your two souls morphing into one. You may as well have been the only people in the entire universe.

When the time came to present each other with the rings you had selected, you slipped the band onto his steady finger. A golden line etched into the silver metal, a constant reminder of the shimmering thread which tied the two of you together for eternity.

When the time came for him to slip the ring he had gifted for you onto your own finger, you marveled at the cobalt blue gem which stared back at you. A glowing piece of Azriel's siphon. A piece of your mate gifted to you.

"Your something blue" he whispered with a smile, voice low enough for only you to hear. Recalling the superstitious poem you had recited to him when you first began making plans for your wedding.

"It's beautiful Az,"you beamed at the male before you, at your husband, looking into his hazel eyes as you spoke, "But I already have my something blue and it'll take a lot more than a fancy ring for me to want to replace him."

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Chapter 11

Warnings: murder, general death, Azriel, gore

Word Count: 3,549

-Part 10-

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It’s been simmering away long before he turned you. Maybe even before he met you. Bubbling and festering deep in the marrow of your bones, suppressed and denied over and over until it became something awful and ugly, untameable and unstoppable once it’s leash finally snapped. Wreaking devastation with wide-grinning teeth, talons that snicker-snack through flesh, crushing corpses beneath its leather covered paws.

You can feel it cracking open an eye, a slimy, translucent film beneath its lid, opening blearily, fully fledged at last, and ready to wreak havoc on everything around it.

And you know just the place to begin your destruction, how to set the doomsday in motion.

The twisted fucker that got you into this situation in the first place.

—————

It’s been a long time coming, this selfish sense of justice that you need to bring.

How many other women and innocents have they murdered in the name of mild boredom. The devil makes work for the idle, and their palms are softer than cotton. Easier to shred through.

Night hasn’t even fallen when you crawl up the walls of the palace, built in the centre of the citadel, able to see the priestess’ temple from the high crenellations. In a fleeting thought, you wonder what she’d think of your actions, if she’d condemn them or turn a blind eye for the sake of your own suffering. But she won’t be spared either—she should have warned you. Not sat you down over a cup of tea and given out her own simpering story.

Your claws hook over the balcony, effortlessly hauling yourself into the boy-king’s chambers. Take in the gaudy and lavish spread, undeserved opulence at its finest, long past the line of decadence. Nobody needs a golden chamber pot beneath their bed, no matter how well they eat.

Heightened senses pick up the beat of two hearts outside the door, filthily-paid guards positioned at the entrance, and your forked tongue flickers out over dark, rubbery lips. Drool drips onto the floor, but you pay it no mind, snaking silently across the marble before flinging the doors from their hinges. Blood splatters and bone splinters beneath the force, glittering talons making a wretched mess of the spurting bodies, unthreading sinew as you crush their lungs beneath your paw, the steel of their weapons nothing against the raw hide coating leathery limbs. At your back, your tails thrashes, gouging slashes in the stone as spikes slice through marble, putting breaks in the castle that nearly broke you.

Your nostrils flare, picking up the scent of someone young, blood too sour to enjoy laced with the overripe flavour of age. The sag of skin practically a flavour in and of itself as you skitter down the hallway, scrambling up the walls, clambering along the ceiling as you spot a familiar pathway, ones you’d been forced up when you were human. A human woman with bare feet and scrappy clothing, still shot through with remnants of sickness.

The great hall looms before you, and your pulse spikes, screaming for you to loose hell on the people within. Your back arches in a stretch, easing your muscles into working condition, warmed from the earlier blood-bath.

With a flick of your great, thrashing tail, the massive doors cave in, being flung from the frame in a crash of dust and stone. It doesn’t even take a minute before the guards within are splattered upon the pristine walls, dripping blood and viscera onto pretty, marble floors. Staining the stained glass red.

The boy-king screams, a high pitched wail that grates on your ears as you slither through the hall, only to come to a stop at the foot of the dais, watching as an acrid smelling liquid drips from the too-large throne where he’s cowering. Blacked-out eyes flick through the room, but the advisor is no where to be found, fury lighting you ablaze, rage rippling through your soul as magic pulses through the room, shattering the glass, sending bloody fragments raining down on the gardens below.

You hardly feel his tiny bones crack beneath your palm, as simple as squashing a fly—the difference being you’d feel bad about the latter, stealing food from the spider. Hot flesh is crushed into the floor, leaving a mushy pile of indiscernible parts dripping from the throne, iron mixing with ammonia.

Again your nostrils flare, heart pounding with bloodlust as you search for the man who’d sentenced you. Who’d been responsible for casting you out into that forest, beyond reason.

A broken cry sounds from the entrance, and you whip around, rubbery maw sharpening into a grin as you find your meal, held upon narrow, shaky legs that wouldn’t make more than a mouthful. His eyes are round and terror-filled as they take in the hell-beast you’ve become.

Shadows writhe at your wings, crowing them in a corona of darkness, tail thrashing and tearing at stone.

The advisor stumbles back on doddery old legs, stumbling and tripping as he falls on his bony behind, hands scrambling as he frantically pushes back from you, like a baby trying to crawl away. Razor-sharp teeth glitter, kept clean and pristine, waiting to be used.

You prowl forward, excited to take your time stripping his skin from his skeleton, feeling it peel from his flesh. Claws click on the marble floor, ticking like the second hand of a clock as you revel in the rising scent of his terror, so many wonders afforded to you with this new body.

His mouth opens in soundless scream, a wet gasp rasps from dry, old lips, hot breath wheezing from sinking lungs.

You press your paw over his chest, pinning him to the ground as his skeletal hands weakly rub at your fingers, trying to remove the great things from spearing him entirely as they curl into his back, tearing at sagging muscle. You wish you could gloat, could tell him who you are, see if he remembers what he did to you. See if he remembers being the one to suggest leaving you to the devil you’d sold your heart to in order to be cured from the plague.

His eyes are wide and glassy…the old man with already fading hair and wrinkles that swallow his eyes beneath flaps of loose skin.

The memories pour in, the rope biting into your wrists, weakness coating your muscles…eyes as black as the devils. The look alone had been enough to have nausea roiling in your stomach, threatening to upend it right there on the marble floor you’d been shoved to. Eyes that had swallowed you whole—black like you’d never seen black. Dark as pitch.

(alarmingly void, more than anyone’s have any right to be…and lacking in definition. Just one solid layer glazing across the obsidian coloured surface. Depthless.)

Terror-stricken blue eyes stare up at you, watery and weak as they strain and bulge beneath the pressure on his chest.

Ice glazes through your veins, blood freezing over just as a wave of pure power slams into you, throwing you back through the hall.

Your head cracks back against the marble, spine aching from the shockwave and you slide down onto the floor, collapsing behind the throne before slithering back to your feet, snaking down the dais. Eyes locking with cocoa.

There’s a brief moment of sorrow that flashes. It’s hardly noticeable, and passes before you can fully grasp it, but it’s enough for her to slip in.

Elain raises her thyrsus, knocking its base against the floor, a thrumming wave of power gathering in a shield as your talons clack against the stone, warily prowling forward, mouth watering to sink into his flesh. Cocoa flicks through the room, finally taking in the carnage—the blood splatters, and splintered fragments of bone dripping from the dais you’re standing on. The warped and crushed corpse of the young king.

“What have you become?” She breathes vehemently, delicate brow narrowing over cold eyes, shields rising up and locking down, sceptre spinning in her hand as she sets one foot before her, the other behind at five o’clock, pointed outward. A snarl rips from your chest, watching as she takes up a defensive position between you and the exit—between you and the rasping advisor. Between you and your meal.

Before you can think properly, you’re darting forward, faster than a shadow, shooting across the floor as talons crack down on her shield of magic, the staff appearing as a way from her to convert her power into a weapon. Burning rage pounds through your skull, yearning to obliterate as magic gathers at your fingertips, rubbery lips stretching into a grin when it coats your claws, slicing through her barrier.

She’s thrown back in the room, robes skidding through cooling pools of blood until she reaches the threshold of the caved-in doors. Glee beats in your chest as you skitter forward, the sound of leather stretching as your grin widens, showcasing gleaming rows of razor-sharp teeth, ready to rip and shred to your pleasure. The staff has been knocked from her tender hand, and she grapples for it as you scuttle closer, speeding up the closer you get until darkness is building at your back and your wings are flared in a display of dominance, keeping her pinned to the bloody marble with shadows.

Incisors glitter in the light as your jaws part above her, preparing to bite down and end when steel wreathed in fire slides beneath your throat. “Step away from her.”

Eyes flick up, jaw locking as stinging, searing pain lances down your right collar bone, bleeding into your shoulder as your gaze locks with a whirring, mechanical eye. Golden and russet narrows with unforgiving fury, glowing like the flames from a forge as the blistering steel raises in warning before pulling back. Fire sparks across the floor, aiming for your limbs to burn you alive as he spins, making to slice the blade across your throat.

Darkness flares out of nowhere, colliding with rampant and furious fire, and you’re thrown back as another figure joins the fray. One that’s packed with deadly power, great wings wreathing his back as he looms over Lucien.

“Step aside, Azriel,” the male hisses, flame licking up the walls, heat sweltering.

“Put the blade away, and I’ll consider letting you keep your other eye,” he drawls lowly, syllables dragging like gravel from his throat. Fury gathers in the room, settling like oil over your skin, so heavy and greasy you can feel it practically weighing you down.

“Look around,” Lucien snarls, flame deepening with sizzling rage, held in check by a leash of thread. “Your mate has killed dozens of humans, as well as trying to murder mine.” His power flares on that last word, as if instinct is roaring at him to protect but he’s restraining it. “Put. Her. Down.”

Even through your haze of anger, the words clang through, reverberating across leathery skin, hackles raising at the threat.

Azriel shifts on his four great paws, wings flaring menacingly as a snarl rips from his throat, settling between you and the male. “You look after yours and I’ll look after mine,” he growls, darkness taunting flame, building steadily at his back.

A little further behind Lucien, Elain shakily pushes up from the pool of blood, a trembling, pale hand reaching for her staff, brimming with a pale light. With a flick of her wrist, the magic flares, beaming like a spear for the unprotected underside of his throat. Faster than thought, faster than instinct, you’ve shot across the marble, skittering beneath his front left paw, jaws snapping viciously as your own power grates against Elain’s before sending it careening off, gouging marble from the crumbling castle.

Tension ripples as the four of you are locked in on one another, senses keyed to the slightest movement, waiting for the coil to snap so the others can be torn to shreds.

The room explodes in glittering black, razor sharp talons clicking skittishly as power splits your two sides apart, blasting a wall of physical adamant between you, just translucent enough for Elain and Lucien’s figures to be wrought in shadow.

Azriel’s body lowers, both in a bow and in a circle of protection, paw shifting forward to keep you tucked beneath him. Instinctively you follow, curling back into his power, tail pulled tight—ready to lash out.

The darkness simmers away, revealing the tall, powerfully hewn figure of a male. Wickedness practically drips from his finery, raven-black hair pushed neatly back from his brow as sharp violet eyes settle coldly over the scene. A wave of dread ices across your skin, a weight dropping in your belly as you take in the immense power that’s rolling from his shoulders—a god.

Azriel doesn’t so much as breathe different, but his shadows gather beneath you, thick and lush like a rug of black wool, drawing his magic in closer as a circle of protection. A suggestion of defence.

“Azriel.”

The voice is deep and icy, dripping with malice, and the spines at your back prickle. Your own magic weaves through with his shadow, hiding in plain sight but ready to spring free as fear pools in your stomach.

Violet flicks through the room, taking in the splatters of blood, dripping viscera, then his gaze locks with yours. It’s a new kind of fear, you realise, being singled out by a being so much greater than you are, and you shrink away, pushing back into the protective power of the male above you. His stance broadens, covering more of you as great paws settle further apart, braced for sudden movement.

“What happened here?” The god doesn’t remove his attention from Azriel, but it’s clear the question is not addressed to him. The shadowy wall fades entirely, and your gaze shifts to the two figures opposing you, Elain having gotten to her feet, robes soaked in blood, staff gripped dismally in her hand with grim determination.

“Your brother let his mate run free,” Lucien replies lowly, tone like gravel—lined with restraint. “She tried to kill Elain.” Fire brightens before again banking, as if being soothed by the reminder of her presence at his side. Sharp, violet eyes once again cut to you, “is that right?”

You manage a quiet snarl, fear drumming in your pulse, paws shifting like a great cat preparing to pounce. Muscle coils tight with terror at being faced with the god, having his attention settle like ice over skin, preparing to rip away. His sharp eyes narrow on you, and you pull your magic tighter.

Is that right? He repeats, and you recoil into Azriel’s chest, flinching as the god’s voice echoes through your mind. Through your peripherals you can see as a frail body starts to life, gangly limbs trying to heave up his torso as the king’s advisor return to consciousness. Once again you shift on your paws, hissing viciously at the trembling man, blood and vomit coating his front as he takes in the four beasts before him. Five.

“She wouldn’t kill Elain,” Azriel growls from above you, shifting his paw to block your line of sight from the advisor. “I wasn’t asking you,” your god replies coldly, attention pinning you to the ground as violet bores into you. “She won’t be able to speak yet,” Azriel bites out, power thrumming at your paws, curling up your arms, brushing at the leathery hide you’ve been coated in. “She changed less than a week ago.”

“Then why weren’t you watching her?” Lucien growls sharply, eyes blazing.

The god casts a warning glance at the fiery male, but does no more than that, evidently also seeking an answer.

Azriel shifts above you, and you can feel the oiled gears of his mind clicking effortlessly, spinning his information into a silky web. “I was,” he growls, gaze turning to the god appealingly. “You know as well as I do everything is well warded. The only way she could have escaped is if someone let her out.”

“If someone let her out?” Lucien echoes disbelievingly. “Those wards are practically impenetrable. It would be impossible to unlock them from the outside.”

“Lucien’s correct,” the god drawls icily, gaze drifting to Azriel’s, warning glittering in their depths. A timer counting down as his patience begins to fray, the metallic scent heavy in the air. Azriel makes no obvious moves, but you can feel his frustration curving around your bones, wrapping you tight to him.

It seems the god senses his hesitance, pouncing on the second of indecisiveness. “Don’t try and hide things from me,” he bites out coldly, power weighing heavily in the air, so intense it sets your iron stomach churning.

A muscle feathers in Azriel’s jaw, before charcoal eyes raise to violet. “She wasn’t going to make it,” he growls lowly, resentment coating his tongue. “Elain can attest to that.”

Violet flicks to hardened cocoa expectantly, but the priestess is already watching you, peering beneath a strained brow. Her jaw is tight, but she gives a curt nod, fingers still bone white around her staff. “That’s true. We both saw her before,” she answers, gaze briefly meeting Lucien’s. “She was feverish and already going into delirium. It’s unlikely she was going to survive.”

The god’s attention returns to Azriel, the edges of his irises slightly thawed but remaining hard.

“She was going to die,” Azriel repeats, words pulled taut as they leave his tongue. “She had to go through the Pit, or she wouldn’t have survived.” The three figures stiffen preternaturally, colour draining as something cold and awful settles uneasily across the room.

“The wards were likely weakened from residual magic,” he grits out, still keeping you wrapped beneath his shadows, as if trying to keep you hidden from them. “Enough for someone to get through.” You press a little closer into the lines of his body, tension beginning to drip away, releasing its hold on your heart. “They’d already tried to take her once. They thought this would be their chance to get back at me.” Shadows writhe across the marble floor, flaring with concealed rage, fury manifesting in his power.

“You think your brothers caused this?” The god asks slowly, eyes once again touring the room, filled with drying gore. Azriel nods, and you begin pulling slowly at your magic, gathering it close to your skin, preparing to jump.

Tension and fear knots your stomach, twisting in vicious carvings as you keep yourself coiled tight beneath the solid frame of Azriel’s form, keeping pressed tight.

Cold violet flicks over the squashed carcass of the young king, distaste passing through his features. “You’re telling me your brothers created a gap in your wards, and she managed to do all this before you noticed?” The god drawls skeptically, voice clean-cut like glass. Azriel’s talons pierce the marble floor. “She went through the Pit,” he repeats lowly, “she’s much stronger than—”

The advisor starts in your peripherals, body jerking to life as the contents of his stomach is heaved upon the floor.

Your tail cracks like a whip, coil snapping free, splattering pieces of flesh against the already blood-caked windows.

Body obliterated in the blink of an eye, before curling back tight to your paws.

Silence buzzes across the room, four pairs of wide eyes watching as bits of intestine drip from the sill, pooling in a gouged-out puddle in the floor. Almost immediately Azriel’s own tail is curling around you comfortingly, shadows stroking at your sides as if to lull you back into a state of ease, soothing the wild drum of your heartbeat, tail twining with your own.

Cold power raises from the floor, darkness thrumming in warning as tension buzzes in your ears, having them flatten against your head.

“How much blood did you give her?” The god’s tone puts fractures into your bones, like rock grinding against rock, grating on your soul.

“As much as she would take,” Azriel replies quietly, and you feel his attention brushing affectionately over your leathery skin. Silence reigns heavily, stretching out as you huddle back into his power, wanting to escape from the immense power of the god.

“You did what?” Elain breathes, eyes wide as she stares at Azriel, grip tightening on her sceptre. She seems to be the only one of the three capable of formulating a response, something blazing in her eyes. “She was going to die, Elain,” he snarls protectively, body settling closer to you. “Because you neglected her,” she hisses, brown eyes cold and hard as they bore into the male. “You plucked her up out of her life, you refused to properly care for her, you were the one who refused to teach her anything because she wasn’t what you wanted.”

Azriel’s snarl is like thunder breaking across the heavens, marble trembling beneath your claws, and you settle against the sound.

Yet it doesn’t seem to bother the priestess.

“If she was the one who tore all these people to shreds,” she breathes, pale blue light blazing from her staff. “It is because you put that anger into her.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut

[theostrophywife]

the prince of hell | part two.

we might just get away with it, the altar is my hips even if it's a false god, we'd still worship this love

author's note: i have chosen violence today and i won't apologize for it. anyways, enjoy this soft fluff.

song inspiration: false god by taylor swift.

The underworld was nothing like you expected it to be. 

It was a land of perpetual night, but it wasn’t the frightening unending darkness of nightmares, instead it was moonlight and constellations, twinkling stars and violet skies. Never in a million years would you have predicted hell to be dreamy. 

But it was. Everything about the place was an absolute dream. None more so than the winged male carrying you in his arms. 

The Prince of Hell smiled softly as he cut through the cumulus clouds, flying towards an enormous castle perched atop an obsidian mountain. The peaks glittered like dark diamonds, the gothic spires and turrets spearing through the endless night as you floated through the sea of stars. The moon shimmered overhead as Azriel landed on the open balcony. 

Though his feet hit the chequerboard floor, Azriel made no move to release you from his grip. He merely continued carrying you through his home, past the moonstone walls and marble pillars, through countless rooms full of lavish furniture and extravagant paintings, and underneath a crystal chandelier that projected starlight onto the polished onyx floors. 

You gaped in wonder as he slipped past mahogany doors and into a bedchamber with a four poster bed. The sheets felt like silk to the touch as he carefully set you down. Across the room, you stared at your bewildered expression through a gilded mirror, your hair wild and unbound, your wedding dress smeared with blood and ash. 

Azriel’s brows furrowed in concern as he wiped a streak of dried blood from your cheek. “Are you sure you’re alright, my heart?” His fingers skirted over your hairline, brushing a stray strand behind your ear with surprising gentleness. “You’re shaking.” 

You gave him a watery smile. “I’m fine. Just a little rattled, that’s all.”

“I won’t apologize for what I did to that mortal, but I am sorry if it frightened you. The way he spoke about you, the way he grabbed you—” he released a shaky breath as if the memory still stoked his anger. “I wanted to do more than just rip out his wretched heart.”

You grabbed his hand and squeezed in reassurance. “You saved me.” Honey eyes dawned on you like sunset, disbelief dancing in Azriel’s gaze as though no one has ever said such a thing to him. “You saved me and I owe you my life.” 

“You owe me nothing,” Azriel declared with determination. “You will never owe anyone anything ever again.”

Those words released another floodgate of tears. As the Prince of Hell cradled you in his arms, his soft voice a soothing lullaby in your ears, the realization that you were free—truly free slammed into you. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but what you did know was that Azriel was a refuge in the storm.

As he had been in your dreams for far longer than you could remember. 

“I thought I’d dreamt you up,” you said, looking up at this stranger who really wasn’t a stranger at all. “How are you real?” 

There was something about the way those golden eyes softened that made your heart leap in your chest. Azriel brushed a tear away and took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a raven with a broken wing. It searched high and wide for shelter, but because of its injuries, the raven couldn’t fly very far. One day it landed in the countryside, half-frozen and half-starved, where a girl found it buried amongst the snowbanks. The girl took pity on the raven and brought the bird home, offering it shelter and mending its broken wing. As she nursed the raven back to health, he did something very foolish. He fell in love with the girl. The raven knew it was a mistake. She was beautiful and gentle and kind and he was a creature of nightmares. Eventually, he healed and she set him free. That should have been the end of the story, but the raven was a selfish bastard. It kept coming back—watching over her, leaving her gifts, and visiting her dreams.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you listened, realization slowly washing over you as Azriel spoke. “Then one day, the raven heard the girl’s father praying to the old gods. Heaven ignored his pleas, but Hell listened. The raven listened because he had never forgotten the girl’s kindness. What the girl didn’t know was that the raven wasn’t a raven at all. He was the Prince of Hell. The day she found him, he had been attacked by his step brothers who sought his throne for themselves. They held him down and drove a spear through his wing, nearly severing it.” 

His right wing flared out and you saw a large scar running through the underside of the red and gold membrane. “Before they could kill him, the Prince of Hell shifted into his raven form and fate took him to the small village where the kind girl rescued him. The raven would have died if it weren’t for her. When she set him free, he knew it killed her to do so. But the girl understood what it was like to be in a cage and she didn’t want him to have the same fate as her, so she let him go. As the girl watched the raven fly away with a heavy heart, he promised that one day, he’d set her free too.”

The room was silent as Azriel’s fingers raked through your scalp. “So the raven bided his time. Bargained with the girl’s father. Slaughtered his greedy step brothers. Reclaimed his throne. Then finally, the raven fulfilled his promise. The girl thought that he had set her free, that he had saved her, but what she didn’t know was that she saved him first. Before he met her, everyone always said that the raven had no heart and they were right because his heart was tucked away in that small, snowy village.”

The Prince of Hell brushed his lips over your temple. “That’s what you are to me,” Azriel said softly. “My heart.”

“Why me?” you asked. The memories flashed through your mind. Finding him in that snowbank. Bandaging up his wing. Your father had scolded you for it. Called you soft hearted. Always bringing in the strays of this world. The girl who desperately clung onto magic and fairy tales to escape the harsh reality of her own life. “I’m just a girl who has a weakness for the wild things.”

“Being kind is not a weakness,” Azriel said firmly. “I used to think it was. My father taught me as much and so did his father before him. But they were wrong. It was the kindness of a stranger that brought me back to life. A girl who gave me everything when I had nothing to give in return. That is true strength.”

Tears fell from your eyes like raindrops. It felt good to be seen. To have the whole of you reflected so clearly in someone else’s eyes. “You’re my freedom. You’re my salvation,” you stroked his cheek almost reverently. “I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

“As have I, my heart,” Azriel whispered softly, pressing his forehead against yours. “As have I.”

“You saved me,” you said once again.

“We saved each other.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as he traced the outline of your jaw, his thumb brushing against your lips. His touch was featherlight, but it set your entire body on fire. Azriel’s gaze marked you, burned you. It felt like he was embedding himself upon your soul.

“Azriel?” Your voice came out in a whisper, low and breathless. 

“Yes, my heart?” 

“Kiss me. Please.”

The Prince of Hell shuddered a breath. Then his hand slid into your hair, tilting you back. There was nothing but tenderness in his eyes as he closed the gap between you. Lips brushed against lips, tasting, testing—it was excruciating agony, it was sweet release. The kiss sparked a fire in you and you burned for Azriel, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling through his silky locks like you were trying to get lost in the dark paradise that was him with no desire to ever escape. 

Azriel pulled you into his lap, his lips never leaving yours. The way your bodies moved in perfect synchrony, melding together, melting together seamlessly made you think that maybe you were created just for this purpose. He was intoxicating; there was nothing more divine, nothing more sacred than the feel of his mouth against yours. Kissing him was an act of worship. 

You had the vague sense that you’ve never felt true hunger until Azriel’s tongue slipped past your parted lips and filled you with lust and desire so strong it made you feel like a depraved hedonist. There was Azriel and only Azriel. 

Desire was a lit match catching fire on a field soaked with gasoline. The need for Azriel was endless, like staring into an empty abyss and realizing for the first time in your life that you were finally seeing what lay inside this whole time. You were hungry. 

Azriel groaned as you rolled your hips against him. His hands found your waist, gripping you like his life depended on it. The gold dancing in his irises flickered to black. His eyes fluttered close as he nuzzled his nose against yours, reeling himself back to reality. 

Then, in a voice full of care and restraint, Azriel said, “We don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready to do. It’s your choice, my heart.” The words cracked your heart open, letting sunlight into the shadowy crevices. “From this point forward, it will always be your choice.”

You cupped his cheek, marveling at all that he was. “My entire life, every decision has been made for me. Other people have always told me how to dress, how to speak, how to act. Tonight is the first time that I actually get to choose something for myself. I want my first choice to be you, Azriel.” 

The words seemed to unleash something within the Prince of Hell. Azriel surged forward and kissed you, his mouth full of passion and heat. You arched into him and he took the opportunity to graze his teeth against the column of your throat before flicking his tongue over the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

“I choose you, too,” he said softly. 

You smiled, tugging him down until you both tumbled against the mattress. Azriel pinned you underneath him, taking his time to stroke your curves, his featherlight touch awakening goosebumps along your arms. He peeled the dress off of you gently, kissing your collarbones, your breasts, your stomach, and your thighs. You helped him out of his clothes, peeling layer after layer until the two of you were bare to one another. 

You had no idea where to look first. Azriel was a work of art, a sculpture carved out of marble, every inch of him perfectly crafted by the gods themselves. The forbidden fruit seducing you to taste, to bite, to savor. He shuddered as you pressed your palm against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart as if it were your own. 

“You will be my undoing,” the Prince of Hell declared. “I would worship at your altar tonight. You are my own little piece of heaven.”

“I don’t want to be your heaven,” you said, voice stern and unwavering. “I want to be your hell, because their god is the only one who has ever answered my prayers.”

Azriel looked down at you as though you were a god yourself. A treasure that he would give his life to guard and cherish. With your legs wrapped around his trim waist, Azriel hovered above you. His gaze was contemplative, searching for any sign of hesitation. 

When he found none, Azriel kissed you gently while easing his way in. You were wet, soaking with arousal, and the length of him stretching your walls was a welcomed sting. He kept his eyes on you as his cock filled you deliciously. You moaned into his mouth and the sound seemed to completely unravel him. 

It was ruin and restoration, life and death, pain and pleasure combined in one single act. Azriel twined your fingers together, holding your arms above your head as he made love to you. His wings flared behind his back just as his shadows swirled above his head, encircling him like a crown of smoke. The Prince of Hell was a dark god. He was night and mist and shadow. The space between the stars. 

You would pray to him a thousand times over. 

“Gods,” you moaned, the word falling from your lips like a solemn prayer. “It feels too good. You are too good, Azriel.”

He kissed you deeply, fusing your very souls together. A white hot heat seized your body and suddenly you were careening towards the cliffs, falling hand in hand with Azriel. The Prince of Hell growled into your mouth, his forehead pressed against yours as you both surrendered to release. 

For a moment, nothing else in the realm existed besides the two of you. 

Azriel opened his eyes and it was like staring directly into the sun after centuries of darkness. With a soft smile, he pulled you into his arms and kissed your temple. Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, your limbs locked and something within you just clicked. 

This was right. 

He was right.

You nestled against Azriel like you belonged there all along. “You never told me.”

“Told you what, my heart?”

“How the story of the girl and her raven ends.”

Azriel smiled, pulling you into his arms. “It doesn’t. They just find a new beginning instead.”

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Bonus Part — Fin x Reader.

Summary: A reimagining of how things would have gone if Reader had decided she wanted Fin — despite him being her friend’s father.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Heavy on the smut. 18+, minors dni. Some jealous and possessiveness. Mentions of forbidden relationships/affairs. If the choices Reader makes in this are something you’re against, I urge you not to read! 🫶🏻

Rita’s is like no other place you’ve been — or seen — before.

Is this what you’ve missed out on, trapped within the frozen maw of Windhaven? There is no place like this there, of such vibrancy and euphoria. The music, the coloured faelights, the energy — it all makes you feel…on top of the world.

Like there’s life outside the misery you’ve known.

Mor knocks a shot back, grimacing as she slams the empty glass onto the bar. A sudden burst of giggles leaves her as she says, “My father would have my head if he could see me right now. Literally.”

You don’t doubt that for a second, because Mor looks resplendent, not just in her natural beauty, but her joy. She has danced and drank and kissed and danced some more. And seeing her like this…it makes you glad that she convinced you to come out with her tonight.

“My father would have my head, too,” you tell her over the music. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

At that, she rolls her eyes, and she reaches for two more shots. “Here’s to saying fuck the males,” she knocks her glass against yours. “May they all perish.”

You’ll happily drink to that. With the alcohol that has you in its grip, you’re buzzed on thoughts of storming back to Windhaven and confronting all your demons. Confronting anyone and everyone who has ever hurt you and made you feel less than you are. Your father. Lord Devlon. Azriel—

You banish that thought as the liquid slides down your throat with a satisfying burn. You are in Velaris, not Windhaven. A new place with new people, where anything feels possible. The thought is heady and dizzying.

Someone calls Mor’s name, and she glances over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes lighting up again. You truly don’t know how often she’s able to escape the Hewn City and get away to Velaris, but judging by the amount of friends she’s introduced you to tonight, she’s certainly made her mark here.

“Let’s go dance with them!” Mor yells over the music, grabbing your hand.

You think that dancing might be the answer to everything you’ve never known, and so you gladly follow; gladly throw yourself into the thrall of the busy floor.

But that’s when you see him.

Something…some deep power…compels you to look up. Coaxes your eyes to that area a level above, where the city’s VIP guests spend copious amounts of money on copious amounts of alcohol and drink it from their cushy velvet booths. They’re reserved for associates of the High Lord, a not-so-formal place to meet to discuss not-so-casual things.

But none of that matters. There could be an entire circus up there right now, and still all you would notice is — him.

He notices you, too.

The High Lord’s eyes zero in on you from up above. You watch, rooted to the spot, as he takes in the sight of you, from your braided back hair, to your painted face, your dress and the legs exposed by them. He looks like…like he’s finally setting his sights upon an image that was merely fantasy up until now.

He braces his arms on the balustrade. And he just stares.

You want to know what he’s doing here. Whether he’s at Rita’s for business or…or for pleasure. You’ve heard that there are rooms upstairs for people willing to pay the price. Perhaps there’s a lover up there with him somewhere, waiting to explore every last inch of that glorious, sculpted body—

The bleating jealousy that makes your heart twist is…unexpected. And not ideal; not one bit.

He is Rhysand’s father. Things may have been fucked up royally with Azriel, and you may have been burned by the experience — but Fin is Rhysand’s father.

Your friend’s father.

Your friend’s father who has just so happened to help keep you feeling alive these past weeks. With his layers-deep allure, the sweet, sweet words that roll off his tongue. His hospitality, his generosity. His kindness. All of it, you’d attributed to him being a natural charmer, a High Lord who knows precisely what to say, what to do.

It strikes you in that moment — just how much it’s all sunk its way into your bones and made you feel…dangerous.

He watches you like a cat with a mouse. Watches as somebody grabs your hand and yanks you into the tightly knit dancing bodies. The music pulses through you from head to toe, a frenzied tune of strings and keys that somehow come together to create the feeling of being borne aloft. Being on top of the world.

As you become lost to the sensation of dance, you’re glad to forget all your thoughts about Fin. You don’t want to wonder what he’s doing here. You don’t want to imagine what those strong, rough hands might get up to, where they might venture.

You become sandwiched between two males who dance with you in a way that makes you forget your wings were ever stolen. They touch you and touch each other, and you welcome it all, happy to be someone, somewhere, else. At least for a while.

But there’s suddenly a foreign touch to your shoulder. That of a cold, meaty hand that stills your movements and draws your attention. The two males happily slink away and begin grinding on each other, and you spin on the spot to find a tall, stocky male who looks like he punches people in the face for the hell of it.

“Y/N?” He checks, and you nod. “The High Lord wishes to speak with you. Upstairs.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes searching for Mor and finding her just as she’s following a male and female to a cloaked-off area at the back. That’ll be her occupied for the remainder of the night. You’re officially going solo.

But not for long. Not as the bouncer juts his chin in the direction of the staircase and begins to lead you there. Perhaps it makes you a fool, but you follow without a word.

He pulls back a rope and gestures for you to go on up, and then he’s refastening it behind you and turning back to train a keen eye on the dance floor. It’s purely the alcohol that hits you with enough of an ego to climb those stairs like you belong amongst the chandeliers and velvet booths.

But you look good — amazing, even. You know you do. And looking like this, things like scars and other insecurities seem so trivial. You’ve taken back the right to feel as beautiful as you are. You wear your Illyrian features proudly, and you’re pretty and lithe and graceful—

And your heel catches on the top step of the staircase, almost sending you sprawling to the floor — if not for the warm hand that catches your elbow.

“Easy.” Fin rasps into your ear, setting you steady on your feet.

Your numbed, inebriated senses are not immune to the effect of his voice, it would seem. The deep baritone, rough as jagged rock, pushes its way into your skin, your veins, and spreads far faster than any alcohol could.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” you answer, and you’re unable to shove down the hysterical giggle that claws up your throat. “Fuck, you’re the High Lord.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “And you are drunk.”

“The whiskey they serve here is immense.”

“I’ll be sure to extend your compliments to Rita herself.”

Is that, you wonder, who he’s up here meeting? Perhaps the elusive Rita is a close associate of his. Perhaps they do deals in both business and pleasure.

And taking in your fill of the High Lord right now, in a dark button-up shirt and fitted breeches of a slate grey, you would not blame Rita one little bit.

Gods, he’s exquisite. Rhysand may resemble Roza more than he does Fin, but…with two parents of such stunning beauty, it’s no wonder your friend is as handsome as he is.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you make no secret of the way your eyes linger on him. Tonight is dangerous, and you’re enjoying it.

“Nor I, you,” he narrows his gaze down at you. “Imagine my surprise, considering that when I left the palace earlier this evening, you were curled up in the library with a book. And yet, here you are. Wearing…” mahogany eyes take in the short cut of your dress, “…that.”

“Mor surprised me with a visit.”

“My niece ought to be more careful not to press her father’s buttons too much,” a muscle in his chiselled jaw ticks. “And I think you ought to be more careful not to push mine.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Bold. So foolishly bold of you. You’ll regret it once sober, you’re sure. “Was there a particular reason you summoned me up here, my Lord? I was rather enjoying dancing.”

“I noticed. And I’m taking you home.”

“What—”

Before you can even finish the word, Fin’s gripping your elbow again, and darkness sweeps you away.

Being winnowed while drunk is not a fun experience.

You feel the cosmic, air-light step from one place to another. Your stomach lurches, your head spinning. You can barely get a hold of yourself as you cling to Fin and prepare your feet to touch solid ground.

And then the darkness is gone, and you’re back in the toasty, warm glow of the palace’s library. Your knees buckle, trying to drag you to the floor, but Fin keeps you upright.

“What the…” you gawp up at him. “Why did you bring me home?”

He ensures you’re able to stand on your feet before pushing away from you. Doesn’t even look at you as he commands, “Get to bed.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Just as those males were enjoying you, too. You’re drunk and you need to sleep it off. Get to bed.”

He strides towards the door, his knuckles white from how hard he grips the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. But sword or no, you refuse to give up so easily.

“No,” you say simply. “I will not.”

Fin stops. Goes still. And then he turns back to you.

His temper is clear on his face, but he doesn’t storm back over like you’re half expecting him to. Instead, his eyes shutter, and he seems to take a deep, soothing breath. When he’s looking at you once more, he flicks his wrist in your direction.

And immediately, gone is the haze of the alcohol.

Immediately, you’re completely lucid, completely steady on your feet. Not a lick of inebriation remains, as if you had, indeed, slept it off.

“Did you just sober me up?” you’re outraged by the mere idea.

“Yes.” Fin admits shamelessly. “Now you won’t fall victim to a hangover in the morning — a favour from me, to you, and I ask you in return to get to bed. And don’t even think about trying to venture back out. I’ll know.”

Your blood boils. And the anger isn’t simply because of your ruined fun, but because…because it stings, the way Fin is treating you with such contempt. Scolding you like you’re little more than a petulant child. He’s been nothing but wonderful since you came to Velaris, and yet now, he speaks to you like…like most of the males back in Windhaven do.

It makes you see red.

“What right have you to dictate how I spend my evening?” you snap. “I was under the impression that my free time is my own, and if I wish to go and get drunk and dance like a fool, that is up to me.”

Cold, beautiful anger hardens Fin’s face. He stalks closer, squeezing the hilt of that sword so, so tightly. “What right have I? This is my home. My city. My court. I am your High Lord, and you choose to behave in such a way when I’ve opened my home to you and offered you refuge? When I’ve given you a place to run to and left my resources at your disposal?”

You rock back on the heels of your feet, staring at him. Every word lands a hit — as good as if he’d nocked them in a bow and fired them right at your heart. It stings. Gods, it stings. You want the careless oblivion of the alcohol back.

Because you grapple daily with the pain, the anxiety, of feeling unwanted. And you…you had begun to think that Fin actually cared for you. Actually enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.

You’d begun to care about his thoughts and feelings where you were concerned. And begun to believe that it wasn’t just the hospitality and courtesy that he would dole out to any runt on the street.

His eyes seem to track the way your expression changes, your shoulders slump. You swallow. The anger is replaced, simply, by hurt.

“If I am a burden, my Lord, I apologise,” you rasp. “I don’t intend to be one. I appreciate your generosity, and I…I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

You hope you can keep your tears at bay long enough to escape to your room. You’re pelted with shame, embarrassment, hurt. You step forward and hurry past the High Lord, desperate to book it out of there, to get to bed.

But his hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to a stop. And he says, quietly, “wait.”

That hand on your wrist holds the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

You pin your gaze to the ground, unable to look at Fin. You hear him swallow.

“That isn’t—” his voice is gravelly. “I didn’t mean that.”

You don’t think you can speak. You remain a statue beneath his touch.

But so gently — such a contrast to the whirlwind of his actions before — he’s walking you backwards. Slow and careful. You feel your back hit the wall, and he lets go of your wrist and seems to curl his fists at his sides. There’s a desperation to the action that only then coaxes you to look up at him.

His expression is…pleading. For what, you’re not sure.

“You are the furthest thing from a burden,” he says, quietly, on an exhale. “Your presence here is very much welcomed, I assure you.”

You don’t dare breathe a word. Every last bit of your very sober courage is being thrown into maintaining eye contact. There’s none to spare for speaking.

But your lack of response seems to trouble Fin. His eyes rake over your face, searching for something. He swallows again.

And then his eyes shutter, and he whispers, “Mother above, what are you doing to me?”

You don’t know how to answer him — whether he’s even talking to you at all. He takes in a very slow, very deep breath, as though it’s the only thing that’s stopping him from…doing something. What, you’re not sure.

But you can feel it, sense it — the ferocity with which he’s swallowing down words and holding himself back. Like he wants so badly to say something, but can’t.

His eyes open, clearer than they were seconds before, and he says in a far gentler tone, “Get to bed, Y/N,” he inclines his head. “Sleep well.”

With tense, squared shoulders, he turns — and it’s you, this time, that stops him. You halt him with a hand on his arm, and you could swear you feel the muscles flex under his touch.

“Wait,” you say, not ready to let him go, not prepared to leave things between you like this. “Stay and talk with me for a while.”

His jaw clenches like he’s gritting his teeth. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why? We talk all the time, you and I. And there are clearly things you’re holding back from saying—”

Your words are cut short as he suddenly meets your gaze with the intensity of a blazing fire. You think it might burn you. You hope it will.

“It’s a bad idea,” he grounds out, gutturally, “not because of what I want to say. But because of what I want to do.”

“What—”

“You are my son’s close friend. You are Roza’s guest,” he tugs his arm out from under your hand. “You are far younger than I am. I am trying my hardest — I have been trying my hardest — to be a good male. And right now, a good male would take his leave and go to bed, so I bid you goodnight, Y/N.”

“Fin—”

“I hope you sleep well.”

“Fin,” you grab for him again. “What if I don’t want you to be a good male?”

Beneath your touch, he stops. Goes preternaturally still.

Words punch out of you with terrifying gall — and truth. “What if I want you to do those things—”

Quick as a flash, he’s pivoting, and he has the upper hand. Has you pressed so tightly up against the wall, his body boxing you in.

And gods, the feel of it might set you on fire. A brush of your hands, a kiss on the backs of your fingers — they’re nothing compared to the weight and press of his muscles against your body. You want your clothes to melt away, and his, too. You want your hands on his bare, hot skin.

“I don’t think you realise what you’re saying,” he growls.

“I do,” you breathe. “I am completely sober. Completely clear of mind. And I am telling you, Fin, I want you—”

A strangled noise is the only warning you get before the High Lord’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is pure power. It passes from him, into you, roils through your veins and makes you feel like somebody remarkable. It’s the cloak of darkness and the kiss of sin. Of somebody capable of very, very bad things.

And it’s immediately addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to get enough.

You claw at his shirt, tugging him closer, closer, and his broad hands cup your face as his mouth devours yours.

This kiss…it’s been building. The need for it has been working its way beneath your skin for a while. All the heated glances, the late-night conversations. All the thoughts, in the dead of night, of what Fin might be doing in his own bed. Wondering whether he was thinking of you.

It’s so, so forbidden. So wrong. But it feels so godsdamn right.

And the way Fin’s tongue slides between your lips and strokes into your mouth — it tells you that he feels it, too.

Your hands glide from his waist, round to his back, and you yank him harder against you. So desperate are you to feel him. Feel what you think you do to him.

He makes another low noise. And then he’s tearing his mouth from yours. But he lingers close, your foreheads touching.

“Better than I’ve been imagining,” he pants, his hands still clutching your face. “Much better.”

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” You know he has.

“I have imagined,” his thumbs sweep your cheeks, “doing all sorts of things with you, Y/N. Things that would make even the most salacious of a person blush.”

Such a relief — to know that it’s not all just some wild fantasy you’ve cooked up in your mind. That you’re not just some wayward, longing young female who craves the affections of an older male to patch her deep wounds.

No, it’s not that. It’s desire. It’s need. And it burns inside your veins until you think you might erupt into flames.

“I’ve imagined them, too,” you say, without a lick of shame.

Once again, his eyes are shuttering. Once again, he takes that slow, steadying breath. And as you watch him do so, you can’t bear the thought of him still grappling with right and wrong. You can’t bear the thought of him squaring his shoulders and walking out of here, leaving your lips bruised, your body aching, your heart hurting. You can’t bear it—

“I want you to do those things,” you lift your chin, gaze unflinching. “I want you to touch me.”

Fin’s eyes reopen.

He stares at you.

His throat bobs.

You have never seen somebody look so wild, so ravenous. There is heat everywhere, in his stare and in his taut body. His eyes flick down to your lips.

That mere glance at them is the deciding factor, it would seem.

He growls, the sound not at all one you’ve ever heard from a person, and he yanks you up into his arms and kisses you again.

So naturally, your arms twine around his neck, your legs locking around his waist. You can feel the strength of him against you, in the way he holds you. You can taste his crackling power.

He doesn’t falter in the kiss nor his steps as he carries you away from the wall, and you’re suddenly being placed down on the library’s desk, sending books and parchment and pens and ink pots flying. They all clatter loudly to the floor, and neither of you care.

But Fin does pull away to look at you, and there’s wicked, boyish charm in his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitch up. He merely says, “Oops.”

You surge up and kiss him again.

He sighs into it, like your mouth is the answer to all his questions. And when heated hands land on your thighs, you part them, allow him to slot his body in between. The mere feel of it has you pushing up against him, finding him hard—

But again, he pulls away. He scans your face and rasps, “Tell me you’re sure.”

You do not balk from his intensity. From the fact that this is the fucking High Lord of your court, who was changing this world and building a reputation long before you were a mere thought in your parents’ minds. You do not balk from the fact that there are a million different reasons that this is wrong.

You think only about the fact that it feels right.

And that translates into your voice as you say, firmly, “I’m sure.”

You think you see the words course through his body. They change something — forever.

“This isn’t about Roza,” he breathes — breathes heavily, like it’s taking everything to tamp down on the desire to devour you then and there. To say what needs to be said.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Nor is it about Rhysand.”

“No.”

“It’s about me and you.” He destroys what little gap exists between your bodies, his hardness pushing through his breeches, right up against your centre. His hands brace on the desk, either side of you. “And gods, I want you, Y/N. I want you so much, I can scarcely bear it.”

“Have me,” is all you manage — before he strikes.

You think, hope, that his mouth might find yours again — but he’s barely brushing it before his lips settle on your jaw. His hands travel up your legs, fingers biting into the flesh. They find your hips, thumbs delivering explorative sweeps. They tug your dress up as they climb, exposing more of you to the warmth of the room. Exposing more skin that you know he wants to lay claim to.

And when the hem of your dress is ruched around your waist, you smile — at your little wildcard exposed. That he finds no underwear hiding what sits between your legs.

Your choice to forgo a pair seems almost foretelling, now — like some part of you knew the night would end like this, and you wanted to be ready.

Fin’s eyes dip to your slick, exposed cunt. The hunger in them is almost intimidating. You open your legs just a little wider—

But his rough hand is gripping your chin, almost hard enough to hurt. And he snarls deeply, “It drove me to madness — seeing those two males dancing with you. Touching you.”

Pleasure bolts down your spine, and from the way his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your arousal is consuming him.

“Did it?” you stare back at him, welcoming the discomfort of his brutal grip.

“I wanted them dead. I wanted to draw my sword and gut them for even looking your way. For touching what I want to be mine.”

That pleasure again — skittering over your skin. His words do something to you. You bite down on a moan.

“It is yours,” you tilt your chin up to him, smiling when he immediately glances to your lips. “Take it.”

“I warn you,” he lowers his face to yours, “I don’t like to share.”

“And I warn you, High Lord,” you watch as your words land, drawing a deep, raw scent from him. “Neither do I.”

With a growl, he snaps. The kiss he gives you is not slow or sweet. His hand continues to grip your face, and his mouth attacks yours, his tongue sliding between your lips. You can’t help your moan, this time, as his taste overpowers you — a taste that you can only describe as pure thunder.

But it ends too soon, as he begins to leave a trail of heated kisses and bites and sucks along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbones. Your head falls back, and the touches are like little zips of lightning — lightning cleaving through the night sky.

“Pretty dress,” he hums against your skin — and that’s all the warning you get before that dress is ripped apart. Torn to ribbons.

No part of you is left to Fin’s imagination.

He tears his mouth from you and steps back to drink you in.

Instinct roars at you to curl in on yourself and hide. To remember that you are scarred, and flawed, and not to the liking of many — including yourself, a lot of the time.

But something about Fin’s weighty, scorching stare stops you from moving a muscle.

You lift your chin and hide nothing as he takes his fill. His eyes travel a journey from the top of your head and down — down your face, your neck, your breasts. Down your stomach, your waist, your hips. Down to that fine dusting of hair on your pelvis that tracks a thin path to—

Fin drops to his knees with a low noise. His hands wrap around your legs and prise them further apart.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he levels his face with the very centre of you, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight.

The sight of the High Lord on his knees before you — on his knees for you.

As though he senses the direction of your thoughts, his eyes flick up, and he smiles.

And then he dives in.

His tongue wastes no time in sinking between your folds, licking a broad stripe right up the centre of you. At the first stroke, your head falls back, your arms wobbling where they’re braced on the desk.

“Look at me,” Fin growls. “Only me.”

His voice of pure High Lord power drags your eyes back to him. And thank the fucking Mother it does.

You see everything in the way he feasts on you. His tongue laps at your wetness, and it coats his lips, his chin, coats him in you. The damp heat of his tongue is liquid fire. It promises to scorch you, end you, and rise you anew like a phoenix from the ashes.

Your fingers sink into the strands of Fin’s hair and tug. Judging by the noise he makes, the way his pace picks up, you think he likes it.

He utterly fucking devours you, like he’s fought a centuries-long wait to do so. And whatever magic commands his mouth — you know you cannot possibly last against it.

“Oh, gods,” your moan breaks from you, hips bucking up. You think your voice might be loud, but you don’t care. “Fuck—Fin.”

It all happens at once — his name falling from your lips, the growl rumbling in his throat, the flicking of his tongue against your clit and the finger he plunges into you, curls inside you. Every part of it is lightning strikes to your veins, and you come apart, utterly break.

Your climax slams into you and steals your breath. You’re nothing but a gasping, panting, trembling shell. Your mind is somewhere else entirely.

With your head falling back, eyes pinned to the ceiling, chest heaving, you don’t catch the swiftness with which Fin stands, licking your wetness from his lips. With which his clothes are gone in a blink of an eye.

But then he commands, “Look at me.”

It’s the second time he’s said it. Your head lolls forward once more.

You swallow the breaths you’re still trying to get down. Try to stop your body fucking shaking.

But it’s no wonder it does, as you look at him.

Your High Lord is nothing short of exquisite. He is art. Your fantasies have done him no justice.

That golden skin of his seems to attract the glowing light of the room. It bathes him, but it does not steal the attention. It outlines every fine plane of his body, the sculpted muscles on show, the nicks of injuries that have scarred and silvered over time.

There is not a single part of him that isn’t pure, refined power. And when your gaze drops to below his waist…a shudder wracks through you.

His cock stands hard and leaking at the head. You watch, your mouth watering, as he wraps a hand around its length and gives a long stroke.

“Fin—”

“When you look at me like that,” he prowls closer, “there is no way I can consider this forbidden.”

He’s within reach. Your fingers inch towards him. You want to touch him, taste him—

But he curls a hand around yours and stops you in your tracks.

“Not tonight,” he says. Pure promise is laced within the words. “No playing tonight.”

As if he hadn’t just played with you. You want to protest, to get your fucking mouth around that considerable length, but his hand tightens around yours.

And then he’s flipping you over, so fast that you don’t have time to even register it. You land on your front, your belly and breasts pressed against the desk. Fin lays his palm against your back and drags it slowly down. And in the wake of his touch, he leaves kisses. Kisses to your shoulder, your back. They’re…soft. Tender.

“Have I disappointed you?” he murmurs against your shoulder, folding his body over yours. You don’t think it’s an accident that the head of his cock nudges that sweet area between your legs.

It’s all you can do to breathe, “I wanted to taste you.”

“And you will,” he drops the brush of a kiss to your skin. “But now is not time for that.”

You don’t need him to tell you what now is the time for. Not as his hands find the flesh of your hips, and he yanks you to the very edge of the desk, moving with you. The feel of him so close to where you want him is downright cruel.

“Have you thought about me fucking you?” he asks, those hands travelling to rove your ass.

Your nails bite into the desk as you answer, “Yes.”

“Did I make you scream?”

You bite down on your lip at the feeling of him spreading you apart, opening you up to him. “Yes.”

You feel it — his cock sliding between your folds. Not pushing in, but dragging torturously against your sex. From your entrance, up to your clit. The head of his cock pushes against it.

And the moan that rips from you is downright filth, as he rolls his hips and allows your wetness to slicken his length. It feels so fucking good. To you, and to him.

A breath shudders out of him, and he purrs, “Are you going to scream for me now?”

“Fuck yes,” the words tumble from your lips. “I want you, Fin.”

Just like that, his restraint snaps. The High Lord strikes.

He drags his length through your folds and enters you with a single, powerful thrust.

A shout leaves you, and you’re clawing at the desk, trying to keep your grip against the pleasure that courses through you. Fin fills you and stretches you. He pulls out and slams back in to the hilt.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he growls, his hands sinking back into your hips. He begins a steady thrusting, sliding in and out of you with a drag that makes you feel every glorious inch of him. “Gods.”

“So good,” you pant. “Want you harder.”

The plea seems to make him groan, and he wastes no time in picking up the pace. His hands bite into your skin as he fucks you faster, harder, your moans and pleas and curses falling from your lips without any nudging from you. The pleasure is all-consuming. In seconds, it’s buried within your veins.

“You like that?” The grit in his voice has you clenching around him. He’s so fucking filthy, so fucking sultry, as he snarls, “you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

Gods, yes, you are. Already, release is coiling tightly within you, and it’s a force entirely of its own right, inching closer and cresting the hill, ready to sink its claws into you. Fin’s cock hits deep, and out of nowhere, his palm is flying through the air and making contact with your ass cheek. That is all it takes.

The pleasure of it all is too much — the sting of the slap, the depth and thrall of his thrusts, the way he growls and grunts as he lays claim to your body, your pleasure.

You cry out, your orgasm blasting through you with unstoppable force. The long strokes of Fin’s cock fuck you through it, through earth-shattering pleasure, through what feels like a mind-altering experience.

“My filthy girl,” he pulls out of you suddenly, and though your cunt still clenches and twitches, desperate for more, more, more, he flips your trembling body onto its back once more and tugs you up, slipping back between your legs. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how relentlessly I’ve thought about making you scream for me like that.”

Past words, you can only reach up and pull his head down to yours to capture him in a kiss. Your taste still coats the tongue that he slides between your lips. It spurs you on to deepen it, luxuriate in the feel of it. And you become so lost in it that you tug hard at the strands of his hair when he enters you again in one great, sweeping thrust.

His arm folds around your back, hand grasping at your shoulder, and it seems to afford him perfect purchase to pound into you. Sounds fill the air of his skin slapping against yours, of the breaths and moans you huff into each other’s mouths. You think the two of you, together, might be loud enough, forceful enough, to bring the City of Starlight to rubble around you.

Fin’s lips tear away from yours, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts are growing quicker, sloppier, reaching a feverous pinnacle that will surely break.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come, Y/N,” his sweat-slick brow presses against your neck. “Taking me so well like this. Squeezing me like this. You’re going to make me fucking blow.”

You want that — more than anything. To feel the power of him spilling into you.

You squeeze your thighs against his, dragging your free hand — the one not sunken in his hair — down the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his waist — to his ass, where you dig your nails into the tight, toned flesh and encourage him to pump into you harder, faster. The feel of it makes Fin shout.

“Come for me,” you choke around your pleasure. “Please, Fin…want you to come.”

An animalistic growl rips from him, and he slams into you one, two, three more times, and then stills, throwing his head back with a roar that shakes the library. Hot, thick ropes of his seed seem endless as they’re unleashed inside you.

The force of it shatters you both, you think. With his trembling as thorough as yours, your nails are still raking over his skin as his brow presses to the crook of your neck. Strands of hair stick to the back of his. Your fingertips smooth over them tenderly.

It feels like eons that you stay there like that, holding each other up from collapsing under the weight of your mutual release. You want to hold him like this, always. You don’t care what others may have to say about it, what they may deem to be wrong about it. You want him.

He pulls back, as though sensing the thought. Meets your eyes. For a beat or two, he simply studies your face, something like clarity on his own.

And then he dips down and drops a kiss to your brow. Such a tender act, in the wake of such passion.

 No words are needed. Not as he scoops you up into his arms, leaving behind the mess the two of you have created. There’s a flash, and he’s winnowed you to your bedroom. A fire roars to life immediately. Fin places you down on the bed.

You watch through hooded eyes as he makes his way into the bathroom. Moments later, he’s returning with a warm, damp washcloth, and he perches beside you.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispers, and you do.

The High Lord of the Night Court is gentle as air as he takes care of you, wiping between your thighs and delivering soft, soothing strokes to your skin. A pleasant soreness sits in your lower belly. He leans down and presses a kiss there like he knows just that.

And then he’s sitting up, and it frightens you — the thought of him walking away, of this ending here and now.

So you lay a hand on his arm, breathing, “Stay with me.”

He pauses, eyes roaming your face like he’s assuring himself you mean it. And then he dips his chin.

“I would be honoured,” he rasps.

And thus, the affair begins.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The need you and Fin have for each other is…insatiable.

Every moment he’s away, you’re thinking of him, longing for the moment he’ll appear in your room and rip your clothes off. If anyone else in the palace — staff, servants, associates — are aware of what’s going on, they don’t give it away. And that suits you just fine.

You can’t get enough. You’re giddy with it. Giddy from the multiple, interesting circumstances you’ve landed yourself in.

Like when you lured him out of a meeting and dropped to your knees in a fucking broom closet, taking his cock into your mouth until he was canting his hips forward and spilling down your throat. Or when he fucked you on the balcony of his personal quarters, your body pressed up against the balustrade, the two of you open to the elements and your moans loud enough to reach the stars above you and the city below you. Or when he took you to watch the ballet, and up in the cushy surrounds of your private viewing box, you watched the performance with him deep inside you, his fingers indolently playing with your clit, his low voice in your ear reminding you to keep quiet.

It’s…exciting. Enthralling. It changes everything.

And as he pulls out of you now, sweaty and panting, and collapses beside you in his bed, you’re not sure you could ever tire of this feeling.

He wants you. He wants you so ferociously, like nobody has ever wanted you before.

As you catch your breaths, he props his head up with his hand and stares at you through hooded eyes, glazed with lust. He leans down and grazes a kiss to your mouth.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he ponders as he pulls back, moving a hand to brush his fingers over your breast. “All this need — wanting you constantly.”

You lean up on your elbows, tilting your head, “Do you want it to stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never.”

Never. Never is a very long time. It makes your stomach flip — the enormity of it.

Fin circles the tip of his forefinger around your pebbled nipple, watching with predatory fascination as he adds, “But this will, inevitably, blow up in our faces at some point. We haven’t exactly been secretive — not that I want to be. But people will talk.”

You lean up to brush your mouth over his. “Let them talk,” you say, and kiss him.

Immediately, he melts into the kiss. Your mouth seems to have an effect on him that you never thought yourself capable of. Always draws a long, pleasured sigh from him as he sinks into it, welcomes it.

He kisses you and kisses you, so greedily, so desperately. His hand snakes up to cup your cheek. He’s already hardening against your leg.

But he pulls away, dropping his forehead against yours. And he breathes, “Make a bargain with me.”

You trace a thumb over his bottom lip. You’ve never made a Night Court bargain before; never had reason to. “What bargain?”

“When this blows up in our faces,” he grips your hand, folding his own over it, “we face it together. You and I.”

“You and I?”

“You and I” he kisses your hand. “I don’t claim to be perfect. I don’t try to be. I can be brutal and callous, and I can lie and play games,” another kiss. “But not with you. Never with you. I will look after you. Take care of you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

Words that you’ve always longed for someone to say to you. Words that should not be taken lightly, should not be said without meaning.

But you know he means them. You can tell he does.

You watch closely as your fingers interlace with his. And you whisper, “Together?”

Fin’s thumb sweeps over yours. “Together. We’ll face it together.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

A flash of splintering pain zips around your midriff. You glance down to find the tattoo now inked there. The black line that draws a perfect circle around your waist, like a trail of night-kissed lightning.

You look up at Fin to find a roguish smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I like that,” he hums.

And then he’s leaning down and pressing kisses to that circlet signifying your promise to one another. Kisses the entirety of it, flipping you on your front in the process.

And kisses lower, until you’re screaming for him again.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

[littlest-w01f]

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Happy Kinktober everyone! Enjoy <3 (not posting in order)

Heart (Autassassinophilia with Rheana (Oc) x Eris)

Summary: Rheana is jealous watching Eris charm a court female, she sets out to make sure he knows who his heart belongs to.

Shifter (Futanari with Feyre x Reader, Rhysand mentioned) pt 2 of Rita's

Summary: After taking you home, Feyre has more fun with you

Naughty kitten (Pet play with Sylus x Reader)

Summary: Sending a pic of yourself laying in Sylus' bed half naked to him gets you in trouble when he gets home earlier than planned.

Dark (Shadow play with The Darkling x Reader)

Summary: The Darkling uses a merzost creature to take care of you after an intense training session. Using you as practice for the magic.

Berkin (Gangbang with Cazriel x Elsie (Oc) x Feysand)

Summary: Elsie and Feyre get invited to join their mates in the berkin on their annual Winter Solstice traditions.

Cold (Temperature play with Zayne x Reader)

Summary: After suffering from a little heatstroke, Zayne takes on the responsibility of cooling you down.

Firsts (Parthenophillia with Tamsand x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhysand teach Tamlin how to give and receive pleasure.

Demonic (Monsterfucking with Sylus x Reader)

Summary: After hearing what the common folk of the N109 zone think Sylus truly looks like, you didn't believe them, then, you took him up on his offer to take his brooch the easier way.

Moonlight (Spectrophilia with Azriel x Reader)

Summary: No one sees him, no one feels him but you, and your mate is quite a jealous male over those who you can see

Sharing (Free Use with Cassian x Fia (Oc), Nesta mentioned, Feysand's partner)

Summary: While her partners are busy, Fia knocked on Cassian and Nesta's door for company, Cassian answered.

Ease (Blood play with Rafayel x Reader)

Summary: Missing his bodyguard, Rafayel decides to visit you and ends up comforting you through your cramps.

Shaken (Overstimulation with Stermhond x Reader)

Summary: Being unable to sleep at night on the Volkvolny, the Stermhond provides you with the perfect distraction.

Session (Role play with Zayne x Reader)

Summary: Your appointment with your doctor.

Ruined (Femdom with Rafayel x Reader)

Summary: Gem Affection Au, having a little peace and quiet with Rafayel after a long day socialising

Clubs (Triple penetration with Batboys x Reader)

Summary: Morden AU, working in a strip club, you got your fair share of customers who offered you payment for vip services even when you never did, until you finally chose to.

As you all can see, I did not post it soon... But still, here it is :)

Please comment to be added to the taglist <3

[starlightazriel]

necessities 4

series desc: modern day (fem) reader x classic prythian az

warnings: 18+, sexual tension, horny az, reader is ditsy

a/n: i know what i said i swear im trying to update bee series lol

wc: 2.4k

other parts will be on my az masterlist <3

four

No matter what you did, you couldn't sleep, despite your long stargaze on the balcony, and the heaviness you'd felt after dinner—you just couldn't sleep.

"Azriel? Are you awake?" You call out, biting down softly on your lip. There's a moment of silence where you think he's asleep. That was part of the problem it was too silent. No cars outside, no second generation hatch with ocean noises and a peach glow night light, no fan or ac.

"Yes, did you need something?" he finally asks, he had offered you the bed and made himself comfortable on the sofa he had in the other room. It was close by, but not close enough. And the dark corners of his room? Fuck no. You'd seen enough horror movies to know what kind of things lurked in corners.

"I'm scared," you respond and he couldn't help the amused smirk that found its way onto his lips. One thing he had observed in his short time knowing you is that even if you weren't the brightest, you were certainly the cutest. Something tugged in his chest— an urge to comfort you and make you feel secure. A human, he swallowed. "Can you come in here?" your next question caught him off guard, go in there? How was he supposed to keep his hands to himself? "Please?" you ask when he still hadn't said anything. He lets out a soft sigh and the next thing you know hes next to you, you jumped a little, you didnt think you could ever get used to that, the silence— the quickness in his movements.

"What are you afraid of?" he asks softly, the bed dipped gently with his weight as he sat, leaning against the headboard with his legs off of the side and his wings tucked neatly, draping slightly off of the side of the bed. You snuck a glance at him and your mouth went completely dry, your breath getting caught in your throat, he was shirtless and was it a sight. It was dark, but the soft glow of starlight from the windows and the balcony illuminated his lean muscular torso, gorgeous tattoos covered his body and arms. It made you feel self conscious about the girly little pink butterflies that were tramp stamped onto your lower back. His face was angled toward you, tipped back in a lazy way, a pillow between his neck and the headboard.

"Huh?" you mumble, forgetting what he had even asked, your heart was beating faster than it ever had. Even faster than it had your first time playing seven minutes in heaven and you'd ended up in the closet with Colin Taylor— who had been the hottest boy in the eighth grade at the time.

Azriel smirked down at you, but his eyes revealed nothing, his nostrils flared slightly as your sweet scent traveled up and tickled his senses making him hyper aware of the way his cock was pressed against the thin fabric of his sleeping pants. "I said," his voice was a bit lower now, more gravelly, because he was also hyper aware of your bare legs underneath the fabric of the blanket, wearing nothing but one of his shirts. "What are you afraid of?" he repeated his question and his voice travelled along your bones, warming you from the inside out, you swallowed thickly, your cheeks burning.

"Well I was afraid there was a ghost in the corner but now Im afraid youre some kind of demon with sex powers," you reply quietly, your heart was hammering, your legs were pressed tightly together underneath the blankets, and that familiar warm and fuzzy feeling was beginning to fill the pit of your belly. He was mesmerizing and the effect he had on you was infuriating.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, his eyes twinkling with amusement and desire. He liked this, he liked that all it took was a look and the sweet smell of your sex would fill his space, it would suffocate him in a way that he knew he was going to begin craving. Play with her. The shadows were begging.

"No powers, but Ive been told Im— gifted." Your cheeks burn at his words, your mind immediately going to the size of his cock, you had been forcing yourself not to look down. "I think you just like looking at me, I can smell it," Azriel surprised himself with his words, it wasnt often he was this bold with a female. Your cheeks flushed even deeper with his admittance and you were glad it was dark in his room.

"Smell what?" you demanded, suddenly feeling self conscious, your body felt so hot. You resisted the urge to throw the thick blanket off of your body.

Your sweet delicious little cunt that is aching and soaking just for me, but you can't tell if youre terrified of me or if you want to fuck me which makes it all the more exciting and delightful for me, knowing that youre just a little scared.

He cleared his throat and said instead, "Nothing Bubbles, you should get some rest," Azriel resisted the urge to tuck a loose piece of hair behind your ear, it kept falling over your eyes and it bothered him for some reason.

"Goodnight," you sigh, wishing you had the courage to press the question.

"Goodnight."

-

When you woke up the next morning Azriel wasn't next to you in bed anymore. He was sitting on the balcony— drinking tea, of all things.

You slid out of bed and stood there a few paces inside, peering at him for a moment, it must have been dawn because the sky was colored with oranges and pinks. There was an aura of shadows around him like the first time you met, it was so unnatural yet it seemed to match him well.

“Do you always stare this much?” he chuckled quietly without turning his head in the slightest, how did he do that? You felt your cheeks heat up, your throat going dry. Every time he laughed— or spoke in that deliciously gravelly voice it seemed to travel through your blood and warm you from the inside out.

“I wasn't staring!” you countered, scrunching your nose up at him, he turned his head to the side now, an amused smile pulling at his lips.

“There's tea, kettles hot,” he says softly, but he's still not fully facing you, his profile is breathtaking though. You could imagine a full page spread of Azriel modeling for Calvin Klein, the thought made your mouth water. Maybe on a balcony similar to this one just half naked—“Still staring,” he croons and your cheeks grow hot again.

“Oh shut it,” you snap and whirl on your heel to fetch your own cup of tea so you could join him on the balcony.

He still doesn't move when you take a seat in one of the ridiculously large chairs next to him, the backs designed to accommodate his wings. How could anyone ever sit so fucking still for so long? You certainly couldn't, not without your for you page.

“So like I'm guessing you don't have salted caramel cold brews here?”

“No, sorry Bubbles,” he sends you another glance, he definitely didnt know what that was.

“So what are we doing today?” you ask, your eyes traveling from one beautiful view to the other, you could see Azriels head turn in your peripheral vision. He was watching you take in the view of the sunrise, your heart skipped a beat. You remembered being nervous for various promotional events, when you had to meet people and make sure you didn't stumble over your words, when you had to make connections and brand deals and all that shit that had seemed so important just a day ago. Now, sitting here, in this other realm next to the most beautiful man— creature you had ever seen… It was a new kind of nerves that coiled in your belly and made heat creep up the back of your neck.

“I told you, I'm going to take you to my family. I may know someone that could help you get home, maybe, I asked yesterday but I only gave minimal details. My— You could call him a brother, also—” he paused, talking to you was difficult, he couldn't just say Rhys was the high lord, you wouldn't understand. “Hes also in charge of this land.”

“Like a king?” you ask softly

“Yes, but his title is high lord, and where we are now, where this city is, these lands are called the night court. These lands are what he rules over, anyway, hes the one who might be able to help you.” He tried to make it as simple as he could for you.

“It's all so complicated,” you sigh softly, it was tiring, all these new things you were learning. You also weren't sure if it was so bad here, considering you had spent all of your time with this sex god. “Google would come in clutch right now.”

"Google? Clutch?"

"An internet thing. And clutch means like— It would be super useful." You were realizing how difficult slang was to explain, did it even make sense?

"Clutch," Azriel repeated, his lips curling into a small smirk, "some breakfast would be clutch, then." His smile only widened when you laughed.

-

You checked yourself one last time in your little compact mirror from your bag and you winced. The only good thing about the robe Azriel had given you to wear was the giant hood that was attached to it. It hid the ugly cut on your forehead that you'd gotten when you landed here. You thought about all of the under eye masks sitting on your vanity at home, you needed them now. You weren't as primped as usual but you'd done your best, and you did look post worthy. Minus the stupid head wound.

“Ready?” Azriel asks softly, turning his head toward you. There was a mansion in front of you, and no you were definitely not ready.

“As ready as I'll ever be, did you tell them?”

“That I was bringing dinner? No,” he flashed his blinding smile at you and you returned it with a grimace.

“Not funny,” you narrow your eyes at him, your feet feel heavy and your heart is hammering against your chest.

“I thought it was,” he shrugs and opens the door for you, he could see completely over you, and the shadows lead him to the dining room, you followed closely behind. The house was gorgeous, it looked like it could have been straight out of a museum, you fought the urge to take out your phone and take pictures.

“Az?” there's a slight alarm in the smooth voice that speaks first, and you can feel his eyes on you. Az, he didn't mention a nickname. The other— Man or monster, whatever he was, was also handsome— but not like Azriel, not beautiful like him but still very handsome. And his eyes… Were purple. “Who is this?”

“My new friend,” Azriel says his eyes landing on you again. You blushed at his vague description and he nodded to you. You slowly pulled off your hood and a few gasps sounded about the room. “Y/n, also known as Bubbles,” Azriel looks again at you, and then back to the three sitting at the table. "Y/n, this is Rhys, and this is Feyre his—" he pauses, he was about to say mate, but he didnt know if you would understand. "His wife, and Nyx, their son," he continues, ignoring Rhys' curious, and also warning stare, the claws knocking at his mental shields, "and her sister, Elain," he finishes, and you make a mental note of each of their names.

“She's a human,” it's Elain, who speaks next, her voice is honeyed, but there's an edge to it and your eyes fly to her, she's not looking at you, but at Azriel. You see something flash in her eyes and you can tell— there was something there, you don't know why but your gut twists.

“Yes, she is,” the second woman, Feyre says, she's just as beautiful and she's holding the small boy on her lap, he has wings just like Azriels. She's looking back and forth between you and Azriel, and then finally settles back at the other man, Rhys. You notice their pointed ears, are these people fucking elves?

“And why… Why Azriel, have you brought a human here?” there is an edge in the man's voice, it makes you blush and feel quite unwanted.

“I'm—I'm really sorry for like, barging in on your dinner or whatever— Usually I would come with like a cute bottle of wine or something but I'm not from here,” you ramble and the three of them are staring at you now, normally you loved being the center of attention. Here? Now? Not so much.

"Any friend of Azriel is a friend of mine," Rhys responds and gestures to the empty chairs at the table. Azriel pulls one out for you before sitting beside you, you immediately begin nervous bouncing your leg. You held back a shriek when two plates of food appeared in front of both of you. You feel Elains eyes on you and you wonder why she was staring so intently. "Is this why you were asking about travelling to other worlds yesterday?" Rhys turns his attention back to Azriel, of course he would be able to tell she wasn't from this world.

"Yes."

"Where did you find her?"

"Spring court."

Feyres head snaps to Azriel, and you swallow, feeling the sudden tension in the air.

"And why were you in the Spring court?" Rhys asks, his eyes glimmering and the question is followed by a long pause.

"Passing through," Azriel says shortly, youre blushing now, because you can tell this conversation holds a weight that you don't understand, and you can tell that hes either being vague or outright lying. "Can you help, or not?" Azriel asks after another pause.

"We'll see what the library has to offer— tomorrow," Rhys responds thoughtfully, his eyes settle on you and yours shift to your plate.

You decided that you were not cut out for a world with magically appearing food— and you weren't exactly sure if you should eat it at all.

—

reblog and i'll give you a kiss ;)

taglist <3 : @velarisdusk @scorpioriesling @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @smalljasper289 @cherryinsalemverse @cleverzonkwombatsludge @serxndipity-ipity-blog @blessthepizzaman

[throneofsapphics]

against the contract, chapter 5

poly!Feysandriel x f!Reader

summary: If they were genuinely bad people, it would be so much easier to kill them. Signing a special contract to work with Azriel, Feyre, and Rhysand turns out nowhere near expected. You were a bit of fun that became their solace and escape, they were supposed to be an easy assignment that turned into your living nightmare

warnings: mentions of nightmares, smut

word count: 2191

a/n: I hope you all enjoy!

prev. part | series masterlist | next chapter (coming soon)

The same nightmare, that lovely one of your mother as a demon had returned, and you found yourself sitting up straight in bed, staring at the opposing wall for a good five minutes before you decided a moment longer would be all it took to make you lose your mind. 

Wrapping a robe around you, tying it in a neat knot, foregoing shoes, you made for your front door. A walk would do you some good, calm your mind enough you could fall back asleep again. At least you kept telling yourself that, and knew that if you manifested it enough it should come true. 

On auto-pilot, you wandered down the halls, back towards the doors where you’d first entered...you couldn’t call it a house, this estate or manor or palace or whatever term truly fit in. Hand brushing over the partitions in the windows, not the glass themselves, you reached for the handle. A little night time stroll couldn’t hurt. They had plethora of security for fucks sake, and nobody needed to know. 

“Going somewhere?” A voice, cool like night, echoed in the room behind you, bouncing over tiles and winding over walls right into your soul and freezing you in place. 

“No,” you said too quickly, and turned to face Azriel, instinctively tucking your hands behind your back. Like a kid with something to hide. 

“It sure looked like it, your hand was nearly on the door handle.” 

Instead of incriminating yourself further, you decided to remain silent, only in hindsight realizing that probably had the opposite effect to what you desired. 

A chuckle, and shoes barely thudded across the tiles, as if he was walking on a mattress. 

You kept your head ducked. He could kick you out for this, end the contract, release you. How could you be so stupid? There was so much more left to do – his tight grip on your chin raised your eyes to meet his. Whatever had produced the small laugh earlier was gone, left in its wake a darkness so consuming you wanted to let it drown you. 

“I don’t like liars,” he squeezed your chin, once. “But we’re calling that a one-off, aren’t we?” 

“It won’t happen again,” you swore, and meant it. 

“Good,” he released your chin and took your hand instead, guiding you back through the halls. It took too long for you to realize he wasn’t taking you to your rooms. Had he changed his mind about your lying? The walls grew familiar before your thoughts could spiral further, and he led you through the doors of the kitchens. The private one, designed just for night time wanderings like these. 

Minutes later, he ushered you back through the halls, this time with one hand on the small of your back as both of yours gripped the warm mug of tea. Your entire body was on edge from the encounter, adrenaline pumping through your veins strong enough you doubted the usually magical sleeping elixir would work 

Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, you curled up by the head with your mug, his gaze frequently flickering back to you, making sure you were still drinking. 

‘A man who liked to see things through’ you thought, and thought perhaps if you’d met in other circumstances, things could be different. Perhaps if you’d met the three of them another way. At the end, you had to remind yourself this was just an exchange to them. And to you? It was your damning 

-

Azriel was determined to make sure you were asleep before he left. They hadn’t been kidding about wandering the grounds at night, and he wouldn’t sleep well if he thought you were in any kind of danger. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, do it but he did have half a mind to lock you in your room. He’d have other things to tend to before he would be able to fall asleep, looking at how your sheer robe kept dipping to the side, exposing the swell of your breast and that sweet skin he was aching for a taste of. 

”I know this is supposed to calm me down, but I have too much energy now,” you placed the cup of tea on your side table.

”Need someone to fuck it out of you?” He didn’t know where the words came from, but enjoyed the way your skin heated, eyes widening and mouth parting. Azriel would've thought you were used to such vulgarity by now. Rhys hadn’t forbidden this, in fact he’d encouraged it. 

”Are you offering?” You asked once you'd recovered, probably not as smoothly as you'd hoped it would be but he found it endearing.

”Would you rather I wake Rhys? He does enjoy his beauty sleep.” Like hell he’d wake him. 

“No need to wake him,” you leaned back on your arms. Good answer. “If you're saying you want to fuck me right now, my answer is please.”

The word was so, so sweet from your lips. Need for you, desperation flew through him so quickly he didn't bother taking all of his clothes off. Not as your fingers were moving, scrambling to undo the tie on your robe.

”I'll take it off,” he said, perhaps a bit gruffly.

You froze, arms dropping back down to your sides. Azriel stood, taking a few steps up the side of the bed to you, a predator watching his prey, and you were such a sweet and willing sacrifice. The way you looked at him, doe eyes so wide, made him feel invincible. It was easy to see how Feyre and Rhys were already addicted to you. Easy to see how he could become the same way, in little time. If he wasn't already. Azriel wouldn’t delude himself, this was more than a fucking contract already. Anyone else he would’ve dismissed on the spot for trying to leave the house at night against explicit instructions. 

But you...he couldn’t quite get enough of you, not yet. If he had his way, you wouldn’t be going anywhere until he got his fill, and heavens only know how long that might take. 

He stood and took the few steps up the side of the bed to where you were sitting, his fingers easily undoing the knot tying your robe together. He pushed your shoulders back, gently, letting you fall back against the pillows, the fabric gathering at your sides. Your soft skin was perfect, curves just right for him to hold. He leaned down and caught the skin above your breast between his teeth, sucking a small bruise for Rhys and Feyre to find in the morning. 

He moved to kneel between your legs. Azriel, who’d only ever knelt for Rhys and Feyre before, would for you if you just asked, but that wasn’t what either of you needed right now. He wondered if you felt the craving for it as strongly as he did, for the connection. 

Hands running up and down your sides, his rough skin such a contrast against yours, so soft and delicate, unmarred except for the tiny bruise blossoming on your chest. 

With two fingers, you reached up and touched it. Pressing lightly, your eyes rolled back. 

Azriel didn’t think it was possible for his cock to harden any further, but it did. 

He didn’t bother wiggling the fabric out from beneath you, just pushed it to the sides to expose the rest of you to him. 

-

You watched with eager eyes as Azriel unzipped himself, not bothering to take off the rest of his clothes, his shoes kicked off, clattering onto the floor. He pressed one of your thighs up, lining himself up at your entrance. 

You keened towards him, urging him further and further, closer and closer, craving this. The joining of two souls in the night. You whimpered as he stretched you. 

“Fuck,” Azriel cursed, and you felt much the same. 

“Slow, please,” you panted, realizing this was the first time Azriel had fucked you. Rhys had. Feyre had. But him? It made you want more, and you pushed yourself further onto him. 

“What happened to slow?” He teased. 

“Fuck me, please,” you emphasized the last word and before your lips had closed from saying it Azriel slammed the rest of the way into you. 

He fucked you with long, brutally slow strokes, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Bite me again, please,” you weren’t above begging at this point. He lowered his head, hair brushing against your neck, teeth nipping at your breast, just to the right of the spot from earlier. 

You cursed violently, clamping down around him as pleasure thrummed through you, taking over ever inch of your being and transforming you into a panting, limp mess. He threw your legs over his shoulders and bent forward, effectively bending you in half, his eyes hovering just above yours. 

“Look at me,” he ordered, and the sheer dominance in his voice had you obeying his command, mouth parting in awe as you did. He was a sight above you, threads of sweat gleaming at his forehead, his breath heavy. Hazel eyes brimming with lust and something else. 

A handful of grunts later, he was coming inside of you. You felt him spill against your inner walls, and gods it was hot. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, and collapsed onto you, quickly rolling you over so you laid on top of him, his cock still inside of you. 

“Can we s-” you cut yourself off halfway. The request was ridiculous, and he’d laugh at you for it. 

“Say it,” he breathed against your neck. 

“Can we stay like this?” 

Silence. You buried your own face in his neck. Heat flushed your skin again, this time unpleasant. 

“You want to fall asleep with my cock inside of you, love?” 

“Yes,” you mumbled against him. 

“Fine with me,” he said, and it sounded as if he meant it. 

His steady breathing, and the strokes of his hand along your back, was enough for you to finally lull back to sleep. 

-

Rhys met you at the end of the next day 

“We're not in scene now.” Rhys balanced one ankle on his knee, a tumbler of whiskey in his other hand. “It's been one month. How are you doing?”

So many words filtered through your head, incredible, sensual, life-altering, etc, caged in by memories of softer moments, moments where you wondered if the ink on the contract was smudging. 

No scene, just you join us for cards,” Feyre shifted back and forth on her feet in your doorway.

”Let me get dressed,” you murmured and turned, leaving the door wide open. Changing in front of her wasn't an issue to you. You threw on your most comfortable clothes, leggings and an oversize sweater. It was always freezing in this damned house. Looking at the expanse of wealth surrounding you, it felt a bit selfish to miss your messy little apartment, but you did.

Azriel in the kitchen, his back turned to you as he flicked on the electric kettle. Upper back muscles flexing as he reached up for a small box in the highest cabinet, he turned to show it to you. Chamomile. A silent nod from you, and he finished fixing the cup for you, adding just a touch of honey, like he'd known on instinct that's how you always took herbal teas.

Rhys led you back to your room after breakfast, rummaging through your closet and holding up various articles of clothing. You perched back on the edge of your bed, biting back a smile. He settled on a rather small dress, but you didn't mind. You let him strip off the rest of your clothes, tugging the fabric above you head and over your hips. He spun you to face one of the mirrors. “Look how beautiful you are, darling.” 

Then a horrible memory snuck in alongside the more pleasant ones...the night before you arrived, that phone call with Ianthe. 

”You know what they say, an eye for an eye.” Ianthe’s voice purred through the phone. 

”You're asking me to kill three people,” you hissed, “I can't do that.”

”Yes you can,” she said coldly. “Or you can go to prison,” and proceeded to explain exactly how she would send you there, all of the evidence that framed you. “You know what happens to pretty girls like you in prison, don't you? And I know enough people to make your time miserable.”

”You've made your point,” you snapped, and practically heard her vicious smile through the phone.

”Good to hear,” she purred.

“Fine,” you choked out, realizing it took you way too long to reply to Rhys, sitting before you. 

“Fine?” He raised a brow, amusement in his voice.

“Great, actually,” you blurted out, cheeks heating. One month in, and you had no idea how you were going to manage to kill them, the only thing you knew was it had to happen. That, or your life as you knew it was forfeit. Despite the recent closeness, they were still too careful. You needed to figure out how to get under their skin.

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