#demon Azriel

[dimalry]

Second you in loving depressed, dark circle, chronic insomniac Azriel with demonic possession undertones. I feel like often he’s portrayed as very soft uwu baby or dark daddy dom when really he’s a workaholic grouchy introvert with a fucked up sleep schedule.

Do you think he has any connections to Hel in the larger Maasverse? I’ve had a theory for a while that he’s a descendant of one of the princes which would explain how he ended up with Truth-Teller.

Anyway, just want you to know that I picture your version of both Az and Gwyn when I write in canon, so thanks for the inspo!

Yes, absolutely! Though I’ve never thought of what kind of connection Azriel might have to Hel until now. Your ask got me to think…

What if Shadowsingers, rare as they are, were actually created by one of the Princes of Hel? I wish Truth-Teller wasn’t Gwydion’s twin, but rather a long-forgotten weapon once wielded by a long-dead Prince of Hel. Azriel could have discovered it eons later, feeling a strange connection to it, as it was the very weapon responsible for birthing his kind.

(Excuse my poor attempt at drawing shadow- soldiers/beasts. This is basically what I had in mind. This too)

Let’s say Shadowsingers were once a single shadow entity. But over time they split, with shadows becoming just one part of a person rather than their whole form.

A good number of them remain in Hel, but they've transformed into strange, nasty creatures. In Prythian, there are hardly any left, and Azriel may be the last. There are a few in Throne of Glass and Crescent City worlds, but they differ from Azriel.

It is very difficult to find any information about Shadowsingers. No one knows where they come from or how they came to be.

Who gave them the title 'Shadowsinger' anyway? What if it was simply a fitting name given by a mad scholar who first encountered someone with dark, shadow powers? What if these soldiers originally had a different name, given to them by the long-dead Prince of Hel?

And let’s give Shadowsingers the ability to shapeshift. I’ve always found it strange that Azriel is considered the best spymaster in the world, yet everyone knows he’s the Night Court's spymaster, which defeats the whole purpose of being a spy. It’s like imagining a Russian spy working in an American office, and everyone there knows he's a Russian spy. (Lol)

But what if Azriel could change his identity through his shadows? That would truly make him the best spymaster. He wouldn’t need to go through the trouble of creating fake identities; he could simply turn himself into one of Beron’s personal guards. People might know who the Night Court’s spymaster is, but they’d never know when or who he’s pretending to be. Additionally, he could winnow through his shadows instead of using the typical method. By commanding his shadows, he could transport himself anywhere, making him even more powerful than Rhys in terms of winnowing. He wouldn’t need to pause for breath like Rhys; he could take 10 people with him effortlessly.

Connect that to the shadow soldiers from Hel. They used to transform into whatever they liked (like this) and winnow with ease, which is why the war went on for like forever. The prince’s army was incredibly difficult to take down.

Shadowsingers still speak the language of Hel to this day. Azriel uses it to communicate with his shadows, and only Shadowsingers can understand this language—no one else. They don’t even have to learn it.

Okay, wait—can we consider that the winning side was the mother, leading her own army? That Gwydion was wielded against the Prince of Hel? Thus, the Maas universe was forged from the remnants of that eternal war ages ago.

And while Gwyn isn’t related to the sword like Azriel is to the dagger, nor to the soldiers who fought for the mother, as a priestess who worships her, she does have that little connection.

It would be quite amusing for the Fates to pair a descendant of those Hel creatures with a priestess who worships the Mother as mates.

Good god, I somehow pulled this out of my ass. Now I have to incorporate that idea into my story cause it‘s kind of awesome.

Anyway, I’d Iove to read your fic. It makes me happy to know that people use my art as inspiration 🥹

thank you for the ask! Have a lovely day 💕

[shadowsxgwynriel]

What The Shadows Hide

Synopsis: When Gwyn goes out on the night of Calanmai to search for a missing priestess, she’ll soon find out that something lurks in the shadows . . .

Word Count: 4,100

Read on AO3

Warning: Dubcon, Tail play, Shadow play, NSFW, Brief mentions of murder

This is a spin-off/loosely connected to @separatist-apologist demon series. A big thanks to her for allowing me to play around in her world for a little. 🤗

Also, thanks bestie @sunshinebingo for helping me settle on a name 😘

Snippet:

“You mustn’t go out right now, Gwyn,” Roslin cautioned.

The sound of drums beat faintly in the distance, like they were calling to someone. It was an ominous sound, but Gwyn wasn’t deterred. Several young women, some of them priestesses, had gone missing in the weeks leading up to Calanmai. There had been whispers of monsters, demons, stealing them away to feast on their flesh. Others had suggested that they had taken them in preparation for the yearly celebration.

Calanmai was a night that the demons supposedly roamed the lands freely. Apparently their magic was at its highest and replenished the earth every year. Gwyn had never really believed the stories about flesh eating demons or the ones that said the demons were sex starved beasts. It was all just an old wives tale as far as she was concerned.

“She’s right,” Deirdre agreed. “Come to the service with us.”

In conjunction with Calanmai, the priestesses held a service. A sort of celebration of their own, where they sang hymns and prayed all night. It was to ward off any evil and to bring forth good omens for the rest of the year.

[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.”

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 @navyblue-eternity @margssstuff

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x Reader: Teeth and Talons

Summary: you’re accused of witchcraft and sacrificed to the shadow creatures, only to be saved by their ruler who’s suspiciously in sudden need of a bride…

Warnings: demon!Azriel, drinking blood (more vampiric), mentions of cannibalism, sexual tension, rituals, monsterform! azriel?, biting

A/N: I do want to make a small note that @azrielscrown ’s Prince of Hell series made me want to write my own demon!Azriel fic!

-Part 2- -Part 3-

Visual Prompt here!

You’re a trembling mess, cold sweat slicking your body with sallow skin, temperature fluctuation from sizzling to so cold you feel you’ll seldom be capable of movement once the fit has passed. You know what the priests will say. Possession. They’ll say you’re being inhabited by a shadow creature, tie you to the bed and mist sacred water across you until your body shatters.

The fever isn’t subsiding, and you’re not the first to succumb to the strange plague sweeping through the citadel. Just one of many poor, unfortunate souls. You’ve heard they’ve taken to burning the bodies. Some not completely void of life before they’re set alight.

Is this really the end? It swept in so abruptly, seizing you firmly as it ravages you internally. You can only hope death will come silently.

————————

When you wake, your rags are soaked with sweat, a dark pool having formed beneath you, yet you are no longer being sieged by heat. Your brow is clear of sweat, your limbs no longer being wracked with tremors.

You’re struck by the peculiarity of the miracle. Nobody else has survived. Surely if the plague wasn’t fatal word of mouth would have carried the news to the emperor by now. Not as if he would know what to do. Not as he if was actually ruling.

Maybe some god had taken pity on you.

You should make an offering to Thesan.

————————

The following morning you were arrested. Witchcraft, they said.

Not miracle-worker. That was reserved for men.

The stories had willingly flown in. A woman without husband, living by herself, suddenly recovering from an absolutely fatal plague? Corruption. A pact made with the Lord of the underground. The king of Hel.

Devil worshipper.

Witch.

Whore.

The last you knew had nothing to do with the allegations and everything to do with your sex. It didn’t make the sting and less painful.

————————

You’re thrown to your knees at the foot of the dais, the boy-king sat atop the throne, lounging in a bored fashion. He only perked up when he was brought ‘visitors’, or rather, people for him to inflict punishment.

Candle-wic, he cries, clapping his hands in puerile manner, his young mouth lifting into a gleeful smile as he points at you. How a child could so joyfully sentence someone to being doused in scalding tarmac only to be then set aflame, you could hardly fathom, yet here the boy-king sat, dictating your fate with a flick of his youthful hand.

His advisor advises him. Something less flamboyant. More discreet.

It’s the first time you’re setting eyes upon the emperor’s advisor and you’re not at all surprised to see the old man with already fading hair and wrinkles that swallow his eyes beneath flaps of loose skin. But that’s what you catch on. Eyes black as the devil’s, black like you’ve never seen black. Dark as pitch.

They’re 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.

He suggests leaving you for the devil you sold your heart to in order to revive a remedy. There’s no use in proclaiming your piety, their minds are set. You’re a threat to their power, an unseen obstacle and must be dealt with accordingly.

————————

And that’s how you find yourself in the centre of The Blood Rite. The private ceremony is reserved for great warriors to prove their worth. Though apparently, it serves as a discreet method of elimination for unwanted - innocent or not - citizens.

The earth is damp beneath your knees, the bones sinking into the mud. Your wrists are bound painfully - a courtesy that would not be extended to a warrior. The ties are designed to hinder, to make an already inevitably gruesome death all the more horrid by removing any ridiculously self-indulgent notions of escape.

Your breath fogs as you exhale harshly, the night air freezing your lungs with every breath. How long had you been kneeling here, waiting patiently for your end? Because it’s coming for you. There’s no point of struggling. Movement would only catalyse the inevitable. Maybe if you remained still, calmed your heart and removed any sort of thrum from your body the unknown entity would leave you be.

Wishful thinking.

The night air presses in on you, goosebumps pebbling up your forearms, hackles rising at your back. There’s a presence to the forest you’ve been dumped in, a cloying madness that lies between the trees, stalking every silent breath of damp air.

A twig snaps to your right, tension rippling up your body, neck flushing with heat as terror seeps from your being. Your eyes dart around the forrest in a frenzied dance.

A shadow flickers in your peripheral vision, darting behind a tree. Pulses thrum through you, beating your blood melody loud and clear. How long would your death last? Would you unnecessarily suspended in those agonising moments that should be limited to mere seconds? Or would the dark beasts draw out your torture, playing with the shreds of your skin with carnal delight.

Something rustles to your left, like a hurried shuffle through leaves, only made to taunt and confuse. Made to misdirect.

Then something pounces on you, sharp claws biting into your shoulders as you’re slammed backwards into the ground. Maybe it would be quick, but not painless. A beast wreathed in shadow, four paws with talons the length of your forearm and rows of razor sharp teeth that glitter with wet saliva beneath the silver moonlight. It has an elongated snout, a flat nose sliding over the protrusion, skin around it’s eyes peeled back to be permanently bulging.

It shoves it’s snout against the spoonful of your abdomen, sizing up how big a bite to take. You pray, silver lining your eyes as your body trembles, petrified to the spot. You can easily imagine entrails decorating it’s teeth like the wreathing in temples. Your stomach lurches.

Then it releases an ear splitting scream, agony slicing down your ears as it howls to the sky. Hot, dark liquid splatters onto your torso, followed by a wet ripping sound. Its blood - you assume that’s the liquid - smells of damp clothes left in a pile beneath the sun: stagnant. Admittedly, not the worst scent.

The large creature goes lax, slumping forward, toppling on top of you. You’re crushed by the weight that slugs into you, knocking the breath from your lungs as you careen backward.

The beast is nudged aside by a large protrusion of shadow, flipping the creature onto its back, allowing you to see the viscera spilling from its soft, round belly. A cold sweat slicks your skin, hairs standing on end as inherent dread twists you round it’s sharp talons.

The humanoid shadow steps forward and you’re frozen in place, hardly able to even shift a muscle as it prowls closer. Until it’s stood in front of you. Fight or flight kicks in, everything kickstarting inside of you as you scramble to your feet, finding safe purchase on the forest floor.

You back up, paralysed with fear as you watch the creature, shadows flickering at its silhouette. Before you really have a chance to move, or even do anything, the shadows swarm forward and you feel rough hands gripping your upper arms.

The last thought you have is how abnormally elongated the creatures talons are, like those on a phœnix.

————————

Your mind can barely comprehend the information. Words turning to mush in your brain, thoughts slowing to a sluggish squelch as you sit across from the dæmon. Azriel.

Azræl? You had asked, trying to pronounce the word on your tongue, but the syllables simply bumbled together. He’d shaken his head, Azriel, he’d repeated. You’d kept you silence, deciding the chance of spelling it out in your mouth to his liking was low enough to class as a risk. Instead you’d swallowed and nodded. He’d looked as though he’d push, but his eyes flicked to the bowl in front of you, ordering you to eat.

All he’d told you was he was in need of a human bride. Not why. Or what your role was. Nothing. So you went on with nothing, deciding to follow his command to eat, despite the protests from your stomach.

You look down only to see there’s no cutlery. Your lips part silently in question, flicking about the table as he watches you from the opposite end, marking your actions. His gaze makes you squirm in your seat, discomfort pressing down on you.

Eventually you swallow, lifting your gaze to his nervously. That was another thing, his eyes: Eyes black as the devil’s, black like you’ve never seen black. Dark as pitch.

“May I have a knife and fork?” You request, voice hoarse and scratchy. His eyes bore into you, piercing your soul as they filter through your pupils. You swallow again, throat feeling dry. The table has a single jug - no glasses. The water is crystal clear, mist condensing over the glass, no doubt refreshingly cool. Your parched throat is desperate for reprieve, yet he gives you none.

You’re in Hel, he’d told you. That was becoming clear.

You try sitting in silence with him, but he keeps staring at you with those wild, pitch black eyes, pupils that swallow his irises - if dæmons have irises.

“You’re not going to inquire why I selected you?” He breaks the silence, his deep voice rolling across to you, encompassing your sentences.

“I’m not so conceited as to believe you intentionally chose me,” you reply, steeling your spine as your eyes flick to his. “You are clearly a creature of self-serving narcissism.” Is it wise to say that to a dæmon that technically saved your life? Either way, you hope he doesn’t hold that over you. Dæmons can be…unkind when it comes to their debts.

“Creature over beast?” He responds. Despite the casual tone he’s using, his sharp gaze reminds you it’s anything but. “Are you a beast?” You settle on.

“That’s for you to decide for yourself.”

You bite off some of the fluffy bread, “so there’s no definitive answer?”

He cocks his head, amusement sparking in his obsidian gaze. The movement makes you pause. You have close to zero idea what his intentions are.

You swallow. “You’re not going to eat anything?” You nod to his end of the table, void of any eating instruments. What do dæmons eat, anyway? Do they eat?

A slow smile lifts the edges of his mouth, the tips of glittering canines protruding beneath his lips. There’s nothing remotely kind about it.

Discomfort coils in your lower belly. You’re no longer hungry. Moving slowly, you quietly push the plate away a little, lowering your hands to your lap as you shift in the chair. Something gleams in his eyes and you wonder if he derives pleasure from the buildup of tension before a kill. Immediately, you regret the thought.

“I think I’m full,” you announce, softly, hoping you’ll be allowed to leave the chamber. “Not curious about my eating habits?” He drawls. You know you probably don’t want to hear the answer, but he’s not really giving you a choice. All you can hope for is that it won’t upend the contents of your stomach.

“It didn’t seem as though you were keen on answering,” you reply, watching your hands fiddle in your lap.

He hums, and you prepare yourself. But silence follows.

When you lift your gaze to see what he’s doing, he’s gone, seat empty. It’s unnerving being in his presence, but at least you have a vague sense of where he is. Now you feel as if he’s watching from every corner. You shift in your seat, heart pounding.

A hand wraps beneath beneath your jaw and you flinch, jumping in your seat. He pulls your head to the side, lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as your fingers turn white with how hard they’re biting into the wood of the chair arm. Your jaw tightens as you feel the menacing scrape of canines tracing your throat, every muscle in your body turning rigid as you shrink into the chair.

“How obedient,” he drawls, the muffled murmur making your hair stand on end. “I bet I could sink my teeth into you and you wouldn’t move a muscle.” Your breathing turns shallow as you try to limit your movement. “Isn’t that right, bride?” His razor sharp teeth scrape a little too close, a hot stinging sensation prickling your neck. You try to lean away from him but his grip tightens.

“You eat humans?” The tremble in your voice is prominent, and you’re surprised you don’t stutter with the fear that’s thrumming along with your heartbeat. “Among other things,” he drawls, inhaling your scent as you try not to move. Your breath catches as he opens his mouth over your throat, a whimper working it’s was from your own as terror climbs higher. A quiet squeak leaves you as his tongue swipes out, hot and wet, dragging over your skin as he tastes you.

“I can imagine how your skin would come apart beneath my teeth.” Another scrape, followed by that sting. He huffs a dark laugh onto your neck, “does that terrify you, bride?” White spots swim in your vision, dark blotches accompanying them as he squeezes on your throat.

Then he’s pulled back, the spot on your neck feeling cold and empty now his mouth is no longer latched onto you.

“Come, it’s time to retire.”

————————

I can imagine how your skin would come apart beneath my teeth.

The more you replay the words, the stronger the thrill they send spilling inside of you. You have to remind yourself it would be painful. Unpleasantly so. It wouldn’t the be sting he’d given you over the meal, it would be a frenzied shredding. Ripping and tearing as you’re pulled apart beneath his teeth and talons.

If he becomes bored of you, or you fail to meet any expectation of his, would he be free to replace you? Your brow furrows. Are you dead? Surely nothing alive can exist in the underworld. It’s a home for the damned.

Are you damned?

An adrenaline-fuelled smile cracks your lips. Maybe he’s your damnation.

What a silly thought.

At least the bed looks comfy. It’s circular - you hadn’t known they could be circular - and has a distinct lacking of pillows and blankets that you would have expected to decorate the mattress. Maybe that’s just another difference between your kinds.

“You don’t like it.” Displeasure drips from his words as you jump. He’s a very quiet predator. Automatically, you retreat a few steps, finding him directly in front of you when you turn to face his voice. He follows like a dance partner, hand gripping your jaw as he looks down at you, face blank. “Ungrateful,” he taunts, softly.

“I’m curious about the bedding,” you stammer, hauling yourself together. “The nest is fashioned after your own,” he replies, eyes remaining on yours as he pulls you closer, “you did not seem to value them in your own den.”

Heat flushes your cheeks, eyes snapping away from his, “they’re expensive.”

“Steal, then.” You bite back your reply, that if you were caught, you’d suffer a less than favourable death. His brow twitches, “swallow your tongue and be surprised when you choke,��� he mutters.

“What?”

He releases your jaw, stalking away, leaving you dazed and confused.

————————

He prowls through your thoughts that night, every scene you dreamt up tainted by a dark shadow lurking just out of sight. The presence grows more sinister as the imagery drags on, growing stronger with every second. He brings a flare of heat with him, every touch of shadow sending flame to lick between your thighs until the dreamscape shifts.

You’re lying on the circular mattress, darkness shrouding the surrounding room, lit only by candles. The milky wax melts to the floor, moving in circles until it forms a tight ring around the mattress. Then, the streams start looking toward your bed, rolling beneath you to inevitably join.

It’s an altar.

Your heart pounds as you look up, that dark presence returning, lurking at the end of the mattress. His pitch black irises take up the whole of his eyes, leaving the ball smothered in darkness. There’s no doubt he looking at you. Shadowy sinew runs beneath his skin, and you follow the lines with your eyes.

He’s naked. Completely without clothing.

Gorgeous. Crafted. Divine.

He’s different from earlier. The blotted out eyes and sinew aside, his canines are more pronounced, fur dusts his abdomen, thickening as you follow down. The same black veins pulse along his cock that’s hard and swollen. Begging to rut into something.

You’re desperate for water, throat parched as you tear your gaze away, dragging it over the rest of him. Scars lacerate his torso, decorating the corded muscle of his arms. Sharp talons split from the skin of his fingertips, curved and razor sharp. As long as your forearm, you would guess, if not longer.

You suck in a breath, raising your gaze to his blacked out eyes. He’s hungry. Ravenous. All of it piercing into you as you shift in the nest, trying to slowly shuffle backward. You catch sight of yourself as you’re doing so, clothed only in a white robe that’s barely concealing your breasts. The lace reaches just past your elbows before it cuts of, and the rest of the silky fabric does nothing to conceal your heat from him. He has the perfect view of you: your thighs are parted though you’re trying to squeeze them together, nipples peaking through the sheer silk.

But he doesn’t move. He just stands there, watching. Waiting.

He’s waiting on you. Waiting for you to come to him.

Heat spools between you thighs as a sinful curve tips the edges of his mouth, like he’s hearing your thoughts and giving you the confirmation you need. You’re not sure what will happen if you don’t adhere to whatever ritual he’s caught you in.

But you know you’re in a dream. You’re asleep; safe. He can’t hurt you here. It means nothing.

Maybe that’s why you shift onto your hands and knees when he beckons you toward him with the pull of his middle and index finger, crawling toward him, eyes trained on one another. It’s like you’re enraptured by him, everything around the male fading to negative space as he encompasses your conscious. He’s everything.

You stop when you reach him, tucking your legs beneath you as you kneel before him, hands in your lap. How obedient. His mouth splits open in a murderous grin, baring his sharp canines as he takes in your submissive form. Small.

How he’ll enjoy defiling you.

————————

You wake with a gasp, skin damp but clothed. You pant, fingers gripping the mattress as you haul down lungfuls of air.

“Bad dream?”

You scream, jerking away from the voice, scrambling backward but a hand wraps around your ankle. He pulls you toward him, making you scream harder, kicking as your night robe rides up until the silk is pooling at your waist.

He snarls at the noise, lifting from his stomach, muscle flexing with the movement, as he climbs on top of you. His hand covers your mouth, silencing you as he straddles your middle. The male sleeps naked. You silently thank his shadows for sparing you the humiliation of a shameful flush decorating you cheeks should you have seen him again, in such a short span.

Silver lines your eyes as those same shadows tie your wrists down.

Terror sets in and you open your mouth, biting down hard on his hand. He doesn’t even flinch. Only cocks his head in what seems like confusion, pulling his hand away to examine it. You still, not knowing what to do. You don’t want to provoke him any further. “You bit me,” he states, eyes flicking to yours, back to normal.

Then a dark laugh rumbles from his chest as one hand grips your jaw, the other thumbing your upper lip away from your teeth, “how adorable.” The pad of the digit runs beneath the blunt edge of your canine, pressing against the enamelled bone, “what were you expecting to do with these?”

You tremble beneath him, the true power imbalance dawning on you. His teeth broke your skin by grazing it, while he’s pressing against your own canine without so much of an ounce of pain showing.

I can imagine how your skin would come apart beneath my teeth.

Before you can manage anything he’s pressing his face into the crook of your neck, scenting you. He pulls back, nostrils flaring.

“You’re in heat.”

“I’m not an animal,” you breathe, a hot flare of indignation flushing your skin. Despite the denial, warmth envelops your body, settling deeper in the pit of your belly. “It just happens sometimes,” you hiss, hot embarrassment flushing your cheeks. “It’s not something I can help.”

“I can.”

“No.”

He tilts his head, lips curving into a malevolent grin, “you’re aroused. That’s what a husband is for.” Your breath hitches at his implication. “You aren’t my husband.”

“Not yet. But you’re still mine.”

“I am not.” His thumb brushes against the soft skin of your neck and you flinch, feeling the sting his canines left. “Maybe to you. But you’re surrounded by my kind. They’ll understand my mark.” Your eyes widen, “you can’t do that,” you breathe, “you can’t just lay claim to any human you want.”

He leans closer and you press back into the bed, “what’s stopping me?” The words brush over your mouth and you shiver.

You’re aware of the shadows thrumming around the bed, how his powerful arms are caging you in, but it’s taken you a while to realise there’s something hard poking into your middle. You squirm beneath him, trying to wriggle out of his dominating hold. “I said: what’s stopping me?” He growls, hand fisting in your hair as he yanks you upward, his mouth grazing leisurely along the lifeline in your throat.

A whimper claws its way up your throat and he laughs at the sound, canines searching for their earlier mark. “That’s right,” he purrs, lapping once over the scratches before he lines his teeth up, preparing to bite down, “nothing.” His fangs sink into your skin and you don’t even have enough breath to scream.

His shadows loosen and your hands instantly fly to his hair, nails raking over his scalp. He doesn’t let up and you grasp onto him desperately, clawing for something to grip, to tie yourself to for some form of safety. You go lightheaded as he feeds.

The myths you’ve heard about their drinking habits are false. In the tales they don’t leave a drop behind, needing every ounce to sustain themselves. For Azriel, it’s a display of decadence. He doesn’t need every drop. He’s drinking you up for his own enjoyment. You aren’t a necessity, or even a luxury; you’re a gluttonous indulgence.

Blood trails hot paths down your neck, sloping over your collar bone, trailing between your breasts as the liquid flows down your body. It spills over your back, saturating the bed with sanguine flavour. Then he pulls back, licking over the bite mark to heal it. You receive a metallic zap, and you’re sealed. Fresh as ever.

He looks down at you, soaking in your look of shock as he releases your hair, a blood-red slash instead of a grin. It drips from his lips, weighted droplets splashing on your chest, staining the silk night clothes. “My side is fulfilled,” he drawls. Your vision swims, fingers releasing their grasp on his soft hair, brushing over his shoulders before falling at your middle.

You manage a few shaky pants before he’s lowering his mouth, a surprised whimper being stolen from your lips as he settles over you. The blood mixes with his taste, tongue sliding over yours as his canines inadvertently slice up the inside of your lips. You lie there, passive, still very much in shock.

With the little strength you have left, you bite down on his tongue. Blood - not yours, this time - fills your mouth, gushing from the wound you’ve made. His eyes snap open angrily, hands brutally digging into your shoulders as he shoves away from you. Fury dances in his charcoal eyes before it’s smothered.

“If I’m going to choke on anyone’s tongue,” you hiss, words dripping with venom, “it’ll be yours. Not mine.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower

[animezinglife]

Maybe it's my age talking, but I do think the Azriel vs. Lucien thing is blown way out of proportion.

There's a difference between attraction and being in love with someone, and another difference still between having a crush and being in love.

TL/DR: I genuinely think the biggest piece people overlook in this Azriel vs. Lucien puzzle is Elain herself and the layers of her internal conflict. Personally, I suspect it's much bigger than them both.

Here's the thing:

Azriel is gorgeous and is basically described as looking like a dark, fallen angel. He went into Hybern's war camp and got her out of there alongside Feyre, took her in his arms and flew her to safety. He's been kind to her, too. He hasn't pushed her to talk and has a quiet, strong presence that I'm sure is quite comforting to her.

There is zero expectation with him--zero pressure that she would even be able to create in her own mind. There's no "mate" term dangling over them and no friends or family breathing down their necks at every turn, acting like they should be supervised for something they didn't do. They're the only two people in their current circle (exempting Mor, though that's a bit different) who are still single. They both are constantly bombarded with this idea of "mates" and being on the outside of what that means.

I don't think it would be a reach at all to call her and Az friends.

It's not odd or confusing to me at all that she would have a crush on him; be attracted to him, want him to kiss her, or even to sleep with him. It seems completely natural.

I would argue that Az has been a gentleman towards her (and I will stand by the fact that internal frustrations are very different than actions, and that something expressed in confidence to your brother is nowhere near the same as acting out of turn), but I also wonder, too, if there's a part of her that makes her think she doesn't want a gentleman right now.

That while she's handled her trauma very differently than Nesta (thank the Cauldron), there's a part of her that's taken that robbing of life to heart and Graysen's whiny bitch comments/rejection to heart. That it's impacted her self-worth to make her think she is something "other" that's beyond saving or isn't worth the kind of fairytale love she always dreamed of for herself.

If I read into it perhaps a bit too much, I think Az is a little off when he assumes Elain doesn't know about the types of things he's done, whether that be atrocities or something more private. She might even see her involvement in killing Hybern to be some dark thing outside her nature she's having difficulty coming to terms with.

I'm not at all saying Az isn't a good guy who's deserving of love too, but I don't think what Elain's looking for with him in that extra chapter has much of anything to do with love. I think she wants a distraction with someone she thinks understands.

I think there's a chance, too, she's overwhelmed by Lucien being in the same house. Overwhelmed by that strong, involuntary pull she feels towards him and that she doesn't know what to make of him at all.

I will say it until I'm blue in the face, but I genuinely think the only barrier--the only real issue--that prevents her from warming to Lucien in the same or a similar way is that heavy, life-altering M-word that got slapped onto them both on arguably the worst day of her life.

He hasn't had the luxury of being around her as part of her family like Az has. Hasn't had the luxury of Elain seeing him fully through her own eyes without the "mate" label being forced into their lives. Yet it doesn't lessen the pull she has towards him, and that combined with everything she's experienced of mates thus far can't exactly be easy to process, especially after a brutal rejection, lost love, and lost future.

She isn't able right now to see the bond as a choice.

She doesn't even get the chance to evolve naturally into seeing it as a choice with the way her family hovers and breathes down her neck. How suddenly the most un-purity culture people in existence magically start caring a great deal about Elain's choices in that regard and insert themselves into chaperone roles like Elain and Lucien are two teenagers who can't control themselves at a junior high dance.

How confusing and contradictory that must be for Elain, who's been condescended and told by her sisters (namely Nesta) that the Fae don't live by human customs when it comes to sex or anything of the like. How the one time she did take that chance with someone she thought she loved it only got thrown back in her face by both Graysen and Nesta?

And what do we know about Lucien? He's devastatingly beautiful. Elegant yet rakish. An intelligent, educated, trained courtier and the son of a high lord. Even Feyre--a happily mated female--can't go five minutes in her internal monologues without noting how attractive and sexy he is even when he's doing absolutely nothing and minding his own business.

She knows he's Feyre's friend. She's heard some of the stories there. So she is aware, then, of at least some of the qualities her sister sees and admires in him despite their current rocky relationship.

Lucien is, in every way, being respectful of Elain's wishes and giving her space even though her rejection hurts him. He's still warring with the guilt of his own lost love in his mind and with a sense of unworthiness. He's been achingly thoughtful towards her; the epitome of a gentleman.

Elain would know that especially with that bond she doesn't fully understand, he's not someone she could simply have a pleasant distraction with. That he's someone who could see through her in every way she wants to hide and that she would never be able to hide in the mere idea that he simply doesn't press her (in the way Az doesn't press her).

Az feels safe right now and someone still attached to her comfort zone. He's a place she can continue to hide without fully facing her present and future and all Prythian is.

She can't hide her pain or suffering from Lucien in the same way. She can't quietly stare out the window into the sunlight without him knowing and feeling exactly what she needs.

She knows--senses--that she won't be able to separate the most vulnerable fragments of herself from her bond with Lucien. Again, a bond she didn't choose, and doesn't currently see that she still has a choice in.

So, she turns away from it in every way she knows how and looks for new ways to do so.

The way people treat Elain when it comes to her love life is so predictably (to her) unlike how Feyre and Nesta have been treated. Elain has always been different from them both, especially when it comes to love and sex. She's more modest and more reserved; has never been the type to fall into bed with some random man or Fae male. She's more guarded; a bit more protective of her own heart.

Maybe, to some extent, there's something she feels she needs to prove to herself. That she can fit within this more sexually liberated Fae world and that she's not some outsider in need of being treated with kid gloves.

Az, in that capacity, is definitely not someone who will. He's also not someone she can't keep her guard up with and can't keep her vulnerability from.

It would not surprise me either if there's a part of her that wants to deter Luicen (thinking back to Mor's tactic of deterring Azriel when she slept with Helion), but more strongly and importantly, to deter and distract herself from the bond. She doesn't want to allow herself to feel anything towards him.

The fact that she does feel a strong pull and, more likely than not, an overwhelming attraction of some kind makes me think it wasn't fully coincidence that she approached Az on Solstice when Lucien was in the same house.

I think she very much wanted to tie someone else to what she's feeling and try to get Lucien, the bond, and that dreaded M-word out of her mind.

Running the risk of sounding crude, Az could probably achieve that at least temporarily.

But it'd come right back. It's always been interesting to me that everyone seems to note that their bond is strong despite nothing having happened between them yet.

Until Elain acknowledges that bond and Lucien one way or another, that internal conflict she's clearly feeling is never going to change for her.

Two things can be true at once: we can fully acknowledge that neither Elain nor Lucien had a choice in the bond snapping between them, and that until they face it, neither one of them are going to have much choice in anything else at all. Not beyond a meaningless tangle in the sheets with someone else.

I think it would've been worse in the long run for Elain to learn that the hard way.

I also genuinely don't think Elain understands that there's nothing wrong with her for being different than her sisters or being different than the Fae norms. That there's nothing wrong with her for struggling to process this or for being overwhelmed.

She's still healing. She still has wounds she hasn't addressed. She's still hiding and seeking distractions while growing restless about wanting more from her life and being frustrated by her sisters' low expectations.

Feyre and Nesta love her, and it's not the protectiveness from love in itself that's wrong.

But they're suffocating her.

Lucien is, in every way, a person who never could. He's something so different and "other" than what she's used to both as a human and as a Fae while also being a bridge between those worlds. He can function in both. He can thrive in both.

He can see, perhaps too clearly, all sides of her whether she likes it or not.

I think she also very much senses he's the type she could fall in love with. The type she'll never be able to fully distract herself from if she lets herself fall or take that leap.

Her heart's still wounded, and she's not ready to risk opening that again right now.

That doesn't mean she won't be later on, and that doing so won't be incredibly worth it.

She will never find herself or open that chance up to herself, though, if she also keeps hiding in only the channels she knows. The barriers--intentional or otherwise--set around her by her sisters.

I do think that's inevitably going to be the difference between them, though: Elain and Lucien are going to face their reality and find healing together and in each other, and in the process, are going to end up falling in love. Real, true, soulful love.

Lucien's love is the kind that will leave her wondering why she ever thought she'd known what love is in the first place, and what they could find in each other is the kind of love they both deserve.

I cannot wait to see Elain facing her fears when she's fully free to do so. I can't wait to see her getting to know Lucien without the IC watching their every move and making her feel like a caged animal. I can't wait to see her find her strength, her love, and the fullest extent of her freedom.

That's not to say that Az would not have many wonderful qualities he could offer her too, but the person she's going to find more of herself than she every thought possible with is Lucien.

Az, in my humble opinion, is likely going to end up with someone else. An actual mate where he'll find his own healing alongside.

[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.

[iftheshoef1tz]

what hath night to do with sleep

Summary: In 1968, Eris Vanserra is leading a double life. In West Berlin, he is a promising new doctor who frequents queer clubs, fucking his way through his friend circle. In his parents’ village, though, he walks the thin line between success and failure under his father’s brutal repression. Eventually, he realizes there can be no way forward unless he takes matters into his own hands.

He summons a demon.

(Title from Paradise Lost by John Milton.)

Rating: E

Pairings: Azriel/Eris, Eris/Nesta, Eris/Nesta/Cassian (and others but these are the main ones lmao)

Notes: I am so excited to start publishing this bad boy. It was supposed to be finished for Monstertober, but…well, it grew legs, as all my fics seem to. Special thanks to @poisonivy206 and @yanny-77 for their excellent beta skills, and most of all, special thanks to @queercontrarian , without whom this fic would be 69% less German. The cover art is by the apple of my eye, @krem-does-stuff

Please heed the warnings and the dead dove tag, as this fic is chock full of possible triggers. I will put warnings at the beginning of each chapter, too, but…you know, this fic is about killing Nazis. However, there will be no onscreen violence against Jewish people. For chapter 1, there are no warnings.

chapter one

The first vivid memory he has of his father is wreathed in flame. Beron’s face, hollowed by war and nearly obscured by plumes of billowing, acrid smoke, peers down into the heart of the bonfire.

He looks sick, Eris thinks. His small hand is nearly crushed in Beron’s bigger one, but he knows better than to pull away.

“People like us,” Beron begins, his voice grey and smoky too, “we have to hide who we are. What we’ve been.”

The flames are licking at the pile of fabric in front of them; their vicious fingers claw into the growing night.

[thevalkyriesshadow]

😈 Spicy content under the cut 😈

Later that night, I laid in bed, the sensation of my finger in his mouth never left me. His words played through my head over and over – 

“You taste delicious, Priestess.”

“You are the nectar I thrive on.”

“You let me know if you need to – relieve – yourself, Gwyneth. I'd be happy to oblige.”

I threw my blankets off of my legs. It was near freezing outside and I was sweating. I needed relief.

My fingers moved of their own accord, sliding across my flushed skin, sending goosebumps skittering wherever I touched. I shouldn’t. Azriel was only a few feet away…

I glanced over at my bedroom door. Normally I would close it, but I had left it open for some reason. 

All was quiet. No sounds. No movement. He was probably asleep. I sat up just a bit more to get a better look and sure enough, past the see-through gauze divider I set up for patient privacy, I could see Azriel’s sleeping form. 

Falling back against my pillow I let my hands wander…let my mind imagine.

I imagined hands that weren’t my own roaming my body. Touching the most sensitive parts of me. Squeezing my breasts.

A soft sigh escaped my lips as the sensation of my fingertips brushed over my pebbled nipples. What would scarred hands feel like on my skin? What would it feel like if they flicked and pinched my nipples? What would his tongue feel like as he took my breasts into his mouth –

No…

I couldn’t think of him that way. He was under my care. And I –

But he had taken my finger into his mouth so sensually. Licked and sucked as if he was telling me exactly what he would feel like.

Despite my hesitancy, my fingers continued traveling. Down and down until I was brushing the delicate fabric of my underwear. I was already soaked through. The smallest touch made my breath hitch, my back arch. 

I slid my hand beneath the dainty fabric, tickling and teasing my coarse hair until I was bucking into my own hand. 

My middle finger swirled around my clit – once, twice – I dipped into my wet folds, just enough to wet my finger, then dragged it back to my clit in one long, slow motion. I did it again and again, teasing myself until my own sweet nectar was coating my inner thighs and fingers. Until I was panting.

The next time I dipped a finger in, I didn’t take it out. I curled it up to meet that spot inside me, my thumb circling my clit in a delicious rhythm. My mouth fell open and it took every ounce of my willpower not to moan out loud. 

I covered my mouth with my other hand as a small mewl threatened to escape my lips. 

I rolled against my own hand, the primal need growing and radiating inside me. The sensation grew and grew, pushing against my skin, begging to be released. 

I backed off, wanting to build this as much as I could, because my hand alone would not quell the desire burning inside me. I just had to ride it out and make every orgasm bigger than the next until this heat passed.

Again and again I teased myself, until my hair was plastered to my face, until I was writhing against my own hand. Until I couldn’t bear it any longer. 

I sat up, grinding against my fingers, biting down hard on my bottom lip. Trying to keep quiet as my orgasm crested and gods –

I whimpered. My eyes squeezed together. My hips stuttered -- and I was coming – the coil of heat exploded inside me, filling me with satiated desire.

My chest heaved as I stroked myself down from the high. I loosened my teeth’s firm grip on my lip. 

Then a noise -- a slight, small rustle.

I whipped around to peer out my door. My slick walls pulsed around the fingers still sheathed inside me as I discovered the source of the sound...

The prologue of Claim Me will publish October 1st on Ao3. Chapters 1-4 will post every Tuesday after. Chapters 5 and 6 will be posted on October 30th and 31st! At least that's the plan! 😅

[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:

[damedechance]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐃𝐎𝐆

read on ao3

Pairing: Gwynriel Status: ongoing Rated: E (Explicit) Summary: After a rather abrupt end to his illustrious career as one of the most sought after demon hunters this side of the Mississippi, Azriel runs away to the Florida glades for some peace and quiet. He's just starting to come to terms with his new, unexciting life, when someone from his past comes to tear it all up and drag him back into the world of violence and destruction. He isn't sure what it says about his mental state that he doesn't really seem to mind. *CW: some non/dubcon, blood and violence related to the demon hunting, and Azriel desperately needs a bath :(

read snippet below:

A black cat, scrawny but with a shiny, sleek coat, comes from nowhere and ducks beneath the bend of his knee to begin to circle the bowl. Despite the rather persuasive display, Azriel stops. Narrows his eyes at the food still sitting in the bottom of the bowl. 

“Why should I give you more?” Azriel says, his indulgent tone at odds with his words as he allows the cat to butt its head against his knuckles. “You didn't even finish your breakfast.”

The cat is just another thing Azriel adopted from the old hermit. Like his reclusive habits, his taste in whiskey, and his surprising lack of revulsion at the strum of a banjo at the only bar in town–and the stray cat too small for how old she probably is, too skinny. She's filled out some since he got here, and Azriel is surprised at how concerned he is that she hasn't eaten anything today. Wondering if she might be sick.

Pressing his lips together, Azriel shakes out the canned food where it falls on top of the kibble left in the bowl. As she scarfs it down, he reaches down to scratch between her shoulder blades.

“Dry food too bland for your refined tastes?” He croons to her, knowing good and well that she was dining on swamp rats before him. “That it?”

The cat's response is a low, displeased rumble around the food she's shoveling into her mouth. She even starts to crunch the dry food at the bottom, and Azriel flicks her ear fondly before moving to stand up. He considers bending over the sink to dip his head under the faucet, in lieu of a real bath, but he's suddenly so exhausted. The cigarette didn't soothe his nerves like he'd hoped it would, and maybe it's the night or the heat, but suddenly all he wants to do is lay in bed until his bones melt and fuse together and he becomes a statue of himself.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Azriel leaves the cat to her meal and ducks under the doorframe to his bedroom. Hurriedly, he kicks off his shoes, one of them landing somewhere beneath the bed, and then sets the new pack of cigarettes right next to the old one on top of the overturned cardboard box currently serving as his nightstand. There's a worn paperback there, too. The old man left a lot of those–Hemingway and other stories of war, glory, and country. Azriel uses them to shut his mind off. 

The bed lets out a concerning groan as Azriel collapses onto the mattress face down. But when it doesn't break beneath his weight, he snakes his arms under the flat pillow, and searches for his dagger–the one momento from his life before that he had cared to keep. He grips the hilt tightly in his fist as the fingers of his other hand brush over the cool metal bars of his rickety bedframe. None of his demons can follow him this far into the swamp, he tells himself to fall asleep. Knowing, of course, that even if they can't find him in this house, he has no hope at all of outrunning them in his dreams.

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday

Tagging @inafieldofdaisies @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @voidika @socially-awkward-skeleton @shellibisshe @direwombat @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephseedismyfather @josephslittledeputy @imogenkol @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @adelaidedrubman @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @aceghosts @turbo-virgins @raresvtm @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @florbelles @titiagls @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @thesingularityseries @nightwingshero and @noodlecupcakes + anyone else who'd like to join.

Songs for The Silver Chronicles, Life, Despair & Monsters and Wings And Horns respectively. You can find the songs below the cut:

Elsa Omar is Silva's younger sister, they both managed to escape to America together along with an infant Persephone, where Elsa would have quite the reputation in Hope County, but they'd have around two or three years of peace before Elsa perishes in an accident. Ezekiel is Thomas Rush's future Captain in Security in Old Dusk, and has a rebel attitude towards authority he does not respect. However, back on the Archipiélagos, Elsa was the damsel-in-relative-distress lying and manipulating her piece of shit father as she shared info with the local rebellion about the Congregation's patrols and whatnot, while Ezekiel was an orphaned Tumultite street kid who looked up to the likes of Alvarich and Paul, despite being very anti-authoritarian in general. When these two first met... they hated each other. But hate turned to grudging respect. Respect turned to horrified crushing. Crush turned into deflecting by flirting. And that annoyed everyone else. Even 26 years after he last saw her alive, Ezekiel still yearns for his star-crossed love. And I think this song definitely describes how much their connection may as well have been fated, even if it was for a short time.

"I don't mean to be so uptight But my heart's been hurt a couple times By a couple guys that didn't treat me right I ain't gonna lie, ain't gonna lie 'Cause I'm tired of the fake love, show me what you're made of Boy, make me believe." "Whoa, hold up, girl, don't you know you're beautiful? And it's easy to see."

"If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be Baby, just let it be If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be Baby, just let it be So won't you ride with me, ride with me? See where this thing goes If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be Baby if it's meant to be

So come on, ride with me, ride with me See where this thing goes So come on, ride with me, ride with me Baby if it's meant to be."

"Maybe we do." "Maybe we don't." "Maybe we will Maybe we won't.

But if it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be Baby, just let it be ("Sing it baby")* If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be ("Come on") Baby, just let it be." ("Let's go!")

[*Changed the word to "baby" instead of leaving it as "Bebe"]

Cecil Royce is the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, conceived after a drunk night of hate sex. Cecil, unlike her cousins, does not hold any admiration towards her father. Throughout The Thorned Crown Of Iron Thrones, Cecil is particularly hostile towards Daemon, and pretty much rejects the Targaryen name and practices in favour of her mother's. Though after the "accidental" death of her mother, she is put underneath Daemon's care... and he honestly tries his best. Through many trials, and many errors, as well as very slow-paced bonding experiences and the apparent mutual agreement that Rhaenyra should be heir to the Iron Throne, they manage to get along, and find in themselves an actual father-daughter bond suited for two rogue Targaryens. Until of course Cecil learns from him that he murdered her mother... and unlike Daemon, Cecil actually loved and looked up to Rhea. A bond fractures and there's just this uneasiness between them that stays long after the first fic ends and the second fic begins. How does "Summertime Sadness" fit into all of this? While the song itself is a yearning for the loss of a lover, here the context is Cecil's conflicted grief and yearning after the loss of Daemon, when he buys her time to fight the Court King, where he is knowingly severely outmatched and slain in the encounter. Despite the fractures in their relationship, Cecil can't really get over the fact that, while Daemon was no where close to perfect, he was her father, and the bond they had combined with the sacrifice he made is something can't help but grieve over.

"Oh, my God, I feel it in the air Telephone wires above are sizzlin' like a snare Honey, I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere Nothin' scares me anymore (One, two, three, four)

Kiss me hard before you go Summertime sadness I just wanted you to know That, baby, you the best

I got that summertime, summertime sadness Su-su-summertime, summertime sadness Got that summertime, summertime sadness Oh, oh-oh, oh

Think I'll miss you forever Like the stars miss the sun in the mornin' sky Later's better than never Even if you're gone, I'm gonna drive, drive, drive

I got that summertime, summertime sadness Su-su-summertime, summertime sadness Got that summertime, summertime sadness Oh, oh-oh, oh."

Wouldn't It Be Nice if Metatron and Xiang could just sit down and get along for a few moments while looking past their species prejudices and work on agreeing that something needs to be done about the Soulmate System, because it's definitely malfunctioning? Said by Azriel and Jezebel as they "fight" while their caretakers are getting deep into that steel on steel, sword on bullet action.

"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? Then we wouldn't have to wait so long And wouldn't it be nice to live together In the kind of world where we belong?

You know it's gonna make it that much better When we can say goodnight and stay together

Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up In the morning when the day is new? After having spent the day together Hold each other close the whole night through

But happy times together we've been spending I wish that every kiss was never ending Oh, wouldn't it be nice

Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray it might come true And, baby, then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do Oh, we could be married (Oh, we could be married) And then we'd be happy (And then we'd be happy) Oh, wouldn't it be nice

You know it seems the more we talk about it It only makes it worse to live without it But let's talk about it Oh, wouldn't it be nice?

Goodnight, oh baby Sleep tight, oh baby Goodnight, oh baby Sleep tight, oh baby Goodnight, oh baby Sleep tight, oh baby!"

[dimalry]

Some more simple sketches of my little Gwynriel story

[areyoudreaminof]

Awake, Arise, or Be Forever Fall'n: A Demon Azris Playlist

Have you all read @iftheshoef1tz Azris fic what hath night to do with sleep??? Set in Berlin in 1968? I love it so much, I made it a playlist.

I researched popular music in Berlin at the time, which was mostly lots of jazz, and I decided to add some psychedelic rock that was gaining traction. Enjoy, and please go read the fic!

[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

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Chapter 10[*]

A/N: sorry this is up so late—I forgot to proofread it :’)

Warnings: smut, blood play, tiny bit of implied somnophilia, the transitioning of human to demon is similar to very extreme pms-ing, monsterfucking, almost pwp 😋

Word Count: 3,454

-Part 9- -Part 11-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

You’re aching all over. Bone deep need burning in your blood.

Can taste him on your lips, rich and slightly spicy, the metallic aftertaste lingering beneath your tongue.

Muscle tightens as you groan, hackles raising with hunger, starvation weighing in your mind. Slitted pupils seek him out instantly—you could have located him with your eyes closed. Tongue flicks over your lips, claws scratching at the sheets as you roll into him, all lethal power and deadly grace. Swallow your desire, mind numbing to the fantasy of broad, calloused palms putting their heat over your skin.

A growl rumbles in your throat, raw and tender, as you paw at him, roughly pushing him over. Hisses as his wings catch beneath him, but you’ve already hooked your leg over him, straddling his lap. Talons graze the rough hide of his chest, fur dusting his lower abdomen in a suggestive trail.

His scent dims your mind, vision dulling as you’re pulled forward by hunger, nosing at his throat. Hazel eyes flick open, muscle turning rigid as newly formed fangs slide from your gums, stinging as they do so. Scratch over his throat, practically able to taste him already, listen to the pulse of his blood, how it becomes heavier now he’s aware of you.

Swallow thickly, trembling with need, halted by curiosity. Lips seal over a spot below his jaw, tongue lapping thickly over him, tasting his skin, drinking him down. Canines scrape to his shoulder—matching where your own mark lies. Snarl lowly, pulling away. Hazel pierces into you, and the craving triples. Having his attention on you…skin prickles.

Hips swirl atop his own, slick dampening the silky fur between you, already so eager to take him. Snarl again with impatience as he takes his time resurfacing from sleep, drags it out as he slowly raises those rough palms to your waist, holding you still.

“So eager,” he drawls, amusement gleaming in his steadily darkening gaze. Move to buck your hips, but the grip he has on you is like iron. A low buzzing sounds in your head, urging you to take him. Hiss with impatience, starvation burning in your lungs, craving him like stimulation. Lip pulls back from bloody canines, tongue already littered with small slices.

Frustration bubbles when he refuses to let you move, so you dip down. Teeth carve up his mouth, thick and rich liquid spilling across your tongue as his mouth opens, tongue flicking against your fangs for the stinging pleasure of pain. Hips buck over his own demandingly, rubbing over his arousal, groaning as a small part of your need is satiated. Though it’s nowhere near enough.

Snarl hungrily, crawling further up his body, straddling his middle. Claw-tipped fingers pin down his shoulders, your back aching slightly. Keeping him still as you swirl your hips over the powerful muscle, stomach ridged as you glide across the tough skin. A moan drags from your lips as thighs part wider, settling more heavily over him, sinking down—riding his middle. A strained laugh rumbles from his chest, nipples peaking at the sound, becoming breathless and flushed as he watches you.

“Look at you,” he growls, hand skimming up your side, spanning over your ribs. Thumb grazes your nipple, his other joining the play. Back arches, demanding more as you swirl your hips, clit gliding over the now sopping fur of his lower abdomen, shuffling back, working your way down to his cock. “So hungry, aren’t you?” He breathes, “finally understand the shit you’ve put me through.”

Lips part as you grind down on his cock—hard against his stomach—looking ready for you. A snarl rips from your throat, needing to sink your weight over his lap, bite into his skin, taste him as you reach your high. Blood in your mouth, cum in your heat. Salivate with desire. Stare down at the feast beneath you.

He groans roughly, understanding the look in your eyes. “Finally feeling a shred of the hell you forced me to endure,” he snarls, pupils dilating, pinching at your nipples. “Does it feel good?” He asks, hand dropping to your hips, raising you up so he can align himself. “Feel good to not get what you need? To not be able to touch something that’s yours?” His tip presses flush against the soft dip between your thighs, but goes no further.

Need pounds through your brain, demanding pleasure, right then and there. Writhe beneath he grip, shadows constraining and binding, dragging your arms behind your back, wrapping your forearms together. A pained snarl tears from your lungs, thrashing with rage, his tip just below you—ready to have you. Lip part; fangs flash, fury and blistering need murdering your mind.

Power ripples off you, talons piercing from your fingertips, tearing through his shadows. Claws hook over his shoulders, breaking free as you sink down, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. Lips part in a silent moan, back arching as he completes you, cock touching those perfect spots that hadn’t even existed before. Breathing becomes heavier, cursing lowly as you roll over him, chest rising and falling as pleasure takes control.

Azriel hisses, caught off guard from the display of strength—unnatural strength. Growls roughly, lip curling back from his teeth with displeasure. He doesn’t like not being in absolute control, least of all in his own bed. Yet the moment your hips roll, calloused palms are gripping your waist, undeniable need stretching taut between you as the frenzy begins.

Beastly snarls and groans resound through the dim chamber, white sheets stained with red as you bind together, teeth and talons scraping viciously. The opening movements to a punishing symphony. Canines pierce your lip, arousal bleeding across his tongue as he slams you down atop him, hips smacking up against the backs of your thighs, control forcefully submitted to baser instincts: bite; feed; fuck.

Head tips back as you straighten, breathing heavily as you ride him, grinding against his cock, taking him as deep as your body will allow you to. Peer at him through dizzy eyes, the sweat gleaming on his chest, scars flecking his tough hide. How lovely it would be to add your own mark.

Azriel hardly has a chance to register what you’re doing before talons flash, slicing down his chest, their point dragging down his sternum, splitting skin to the base of his rib cage. Exquisite pain blossoms across his torso, blood erupting like a burst damn, spilling down; saturating the sheets. He roars with madness, fucking into you harder, twitching when you run your fingers through the swiftly healing wound. Hips stutter as your tongue flicks out over bloody digits, decadently raising them above your head, droplets splashing upon your tongue as you drink him down.

Blinding pleasure crashes across his skin, a gleaming thread finally snapping into place, glittering with tangible warmth—no longer muffled by your mortality. Hand snakes to the nape of your neck, dragging you down forcefully, teeth latching onto his chosen spot, piercing scar tissue, putting his pain deeper.

You clamp down on him, fluttering wildly as hips buck and stutter frenetically, following the innate instructions ingrained into your blood. Mouth parts in a ragged mix between a moan and a snarl, roaring out your possession. Claiming the male beneath you as your own, canines flashing with animal propriety.

It takes moments to rest, arousal burning at your skin, commanding movement, demanding pleasure.

He flips you over, giving your back a chance to rest as the great wings splay limply across the mattress. Thumbs hook over your front, fingers splaying at your back as he draws back only to slam in. Blood drips from the wound on his chest to splatter against your skin, your free hand raising to cup your breast, palming as he pounds into you, shadows encouraging that pleasurable arc of your spine.

It almost seems effortless on his part, the pleasure surging beneath your skin in response to his thrusts, lips parting wide as your head pushes back into the bed. Claws cut and scrape over the muscle of his back, talons slicing lightly at your collar bones as he holds you down. Snarl your need, his hips bucking sharply in punishment, mind dumbing as he sends you reeling. Wings flare in an open display of dominance, fucking you deeper into the mattress.

Canines stab at your lip, blood blossoming, trickling down your jaw. Hazel eyes latch on, dilating wide before leaning down, the rough flat of his tongue licking up to the puncture mark. Swallow thickly as you stare at one another, his hips slowing to a gentle lull, grinding between your thighs.

Growl in warning, breath mingling as your eyes narrow, hands fisting in his hair, forcefully crushing his mouth to your own. Lips part: soft, wet sounds being intimately exchanged, teeth catching and clinking with rushed laziness, carelessly encouraging the bloody mess between you. Bite his lower lip painfully, rolling your hips up sharply, commanding him to move.

He snarls lowly, hand moving to your throat to make clear who’s in control. Anger flickers in your chest, shadow smacking his claws away, legs wrapping tight around his hips. Tug him closer, cock driving deeper as you keep his mouth to your own, talons piercing the hide of his back, scratching dangerously close to the base of his wings, rippling with sensitivity.

A rough moan drags from your lungs, hooked claws digging beneath his skin, blood rupturing from his back as it pours from the wounds, trickling down his ribs to drip onto your chest. Your own darkness flickers, palming your breasts, thumbing across the peaks of your nipples—painting yourself in his colour.

Lips part as your high hits again, teeth flashing as you snarl, wings twitching on the bed as pleasure spins your world. Your release sets the bond ablaze, ecstasy gleaming across it as it blasts into the male above you, sending him into his own high. Hot cum fills you up, hips bucking against him, demanding more, needing him to empty every last drop of release into you, until the slightest movement will send his seed spilling out.

Pant heavily, trying to cool off but you can’t. There’s no time.

Already you’re aching all over again. Hungry. Starving.

Make to rise from the bed, but his palm presses against your sternum, shoving you roughly back into the mattress. Breathe heavily, relaxing beneath him, spreading your thighs wider in invitation.

Hazel flicks down, a muscle in his jaw ticking from how you’re squeezing him—like a taunt. Mocking him for his lack of action. Tongue slides over his lips, glaring down at you. “You should rest,” he manages, voice much thicker than usual. “Eat and sleep to ease the transition.”

You buck your hips in response, hand wrapping around his wrist, pulling it from your chest as you glide up to his shoulder. Arms lock at his neck, dragging him lower. “Then feed me,” you breathe, squeezing him tight.

His nostrils flare delicately, eyes glazed from your scent, taking in your arousal. Re-wets his lips, panting softly as he tries to keep a level head. But as always, you’re making it difficult. Plump lips inviting him to put his teeth into, nipples perky and in need of pinching, sex warm and wet—perfect for his cock.

Hands curl into fists, a growl building in his chest but he swallows it down, forcing himself away. You snarl, making to surge after him, raising up from his bed. Shadows lock over your shoulders, straining around your waist and forearms, pinning you down. “I said, you need to rest,” he growls, arms folding over his chest, glaring down at you.

Arousal burns beneath his skin, instincts latching onto the rise and fall of your chest, the milky gleam on your inner thighs, the intensity that you’re eyeing him with. The perfect fucking scene, and he has to walk away. Get some food. The transition’s always tougher on females, and you were weak enough beforehand. He doesn’t need any of that bleeding over into your eternal life because he couldn’t fucking keep it to himself.

He expects more resistance from you, considering how dominant you’d been minutes before—back still slightly stinging from your blades—yet you’ve settled into the sheets, watching him silently. Something brewing in your mind.

Nod your head to the door, pupils narrowing into slits. “I’ll be here, then,” you hiss, lips twisting into a self-deprecating smile. “Here to use when you feel like fucking something.”

Hairs raise at the nape of his neck, urging him to snap back, but that would be entertaining your mood, and he has no time to deal with this new insolence the transition has awoken. He’s sure a few more rounds will mellow you out. Have you in a more digestible form.

So he turns, leaving you shackled to his bed, shadows adorning him with clothes.

That unnerving gleam in your eyes haunting him long after he’s left the room.

————

It takes him minutes to steady himself for the scent that will hit him as soon as he steps inside, already threatening to bring him to his knees upon the threshold to his own chambers. Still, you need food, and he’s brought it. You just need to eat, then he can fuck you until you’re begging for rest.

Cock twitches in his leathers at the imagery. How he would remind you that he’d instructed you to rest, and you hadn’t listened. He wonders whether you’ll be tired enough by then to simply collapse, or whether you’ll protest. Fight back like he’s been aching to see you do.

Yet when he enters, every muscle in his body locks to prevent him from splattering the food on the walls.

You’ve coaxed your way out of his bindings, shifted onto your stomach, hips held aloft by two stacked pillows. Legs are parted, another cushion tucked comfily beneath your torso, clutched beneath crossed arms, head lulling peacefully atop it. Spine curves with entitled demand, shadows snaking up your thighs, building over your heat.

A hum purrs in your throat, darkness moving independent from his will, tracing up the knuckles of your back, a pleased sound breathing from your lips as shadows soothe the ridges of new wings—stroking their base, grazing to their peaks. He watches, frozen, as you shudder on his bed, hips grinding against darkness, rolling your hips. Watches as your lips part in a moan, pleasure having your muscles seizing, soft sounds of enjoyment rolling from your tongue.

Whine gently, rolling onto your back. Thigh parting as eyes lock, lips curving into a smug smile. Arousal bubbles beneath his skin, instinct roaring for him to dismiss the food, instead stalking forward to handle your legs over his shoulders so he can fuck you dumb.

Teeth prod your lower lip sultrily, peering at him as shadows draw away from your wet heat, strands of slick dripping onto the sheets, stringing between your thighs. Begging for him to attach his mouth to, bury his tongue in your cunt like you let him all that time ago. It feel like centuries. Worlds apart.

“You brought food,” you drawl, eyes greedily trailing down his chest, drinking in the obvious shape of his arousal. Frustration fritzes his brain as you have the audacity to lick your lips—openly taunting him. The urge to shift into a more beastly form hits him like a kick to the stomach, baser impulses turning feral in your presence. Unbearably urging him to slam into you, to fuck you until you’re full, abdomen inflated with his release.

Grits his teeth as he stalks forward, shadows carrying the platter to the edge of the circular mattress. Shadows hastily depart from your body, meekly returning to wreath him. You grin a little as they leave, as if sharing a secret that he’s excluded from. What the hell kind of transition consequence is this? He expected fatigue, and raised libido. Not this…heaven.

“You were supposed to be resting,” he grits out, arms folding over his chest, cutting an imposing figure as he looms at the far end of the mattress. Leg bends at the knee, hand cupping your breast. “I was resting,” you counter, smirking, “I hardly lifted a finger.”

Blood boils in his veins, half out of frustration—you should have been sleeping, replenishing your strength—and half out of arousal. “You’ve seemingly woken up with an attitude, wife,” he growls, lips twitching. Prowls forward onto the bed, arms caging you in as you settle primly upon the pillows—his pillows, marked with his scent. “We’ll get that fucked right out of you, won’t we?”

Legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking as you urge him toward you, feeling the heavy weight of his cock atop your heat, resting upon slick-coated skin. “You’re welcome to try,” you muse, clawed fingers grazing the muscle of his back, tracing over freshly healed skin. Teeth clasp your lip, as if you’re considering breaking it apart again, slicing into muscle just to revel in your power. He silently prays you will, aching to feel the sting of your pleasure. “But you reap what you sow, Azriel.”

The words don’t fully register in his mind as you put your talons into his flesh, hands fisting the sheets as gleaming pain blossoms across his back, wings shuddering as it lances through muscle. Groans as he drags his hips back, tip nudging at your entrance. Thighs tighten around him, pushing him forward as he slides in to the hilt—hips flush with your own.

Watches as he always does while enjoyment blooms across your features, contorting with the ecstasy he’s serving you. Finally allowing yourself to accept it instead of shying away from what you deserve. A purr rumbles in his chest at the blissed out expression, pulling upright to gently drag his thumb across your clit.

A shaky moan rewards his efforts, legs pulling him deeper. “Move,” you breathe, hands wrapping around his wrists, sliding up to his shoulders, revealing in the powerful muscle contained beneath his rich, warm skin. A growl tears from his throat at the order, surprised at how ready he is to obey. “So demanding,” he taunts, dragging back only to push back in.

Back curves upward, shadows flicking over your breasts, pinching at your nipples as one of his arms wraps beneath your back. One moment, you’re laying flat on his bed, and the next he has you splayed over his lap, flipped so you’re straddling his hips, pushing his cock deeper as you sink down.

His pupils expand, white of his eyes swallowed within pitch darkness, fangs protruding from his upper lip. Moan loudly as you clench around him, cock broadening beneath the tip, pressing against delicious spots that have you craving him. Hips buck and roll, urging him to move.

The rough callouses of his palm rasp against your throat, splaying over the toughened skin as he directs your gaze to his. “Move,” he taunts, grinning as you writhe, snarling viciously as he refuses to give what you both need. “Azriel,” you snarl, syllables ripping from your tongue.

He grips your jaw, holding you still as lips graze your own. “You wanted to laze there, on our bed, not lifting a finger?” He growls, arousal blurring his mind. “Then you’re going to sit there, and you’re going to fucking take it.” Hands grip your hips, claws biting as he raises you to his tip and slams you down, bucking sharply in to target the spot that will have you screaming.

Your body goes limp, defenceless even with all these new reparations instilled. He pounds up into you, abusing the spots that have tears blurring your vision. Reducing you to a helpless mess all over again, only able to cling onto him as he takes what he wants. Tears spill from your lashes as it’s snatched away. Fight back the only way you can by stabbing your claws into his back, ripping at muscle, scraping away at carefully cultivated power.

The high ripples across your skin, mouth parting as you bite into his shoulder, fangs piercing the tough hide as you reopen the wound you’d stamped earlier, torn between inflicting pain for what he’s done to you, and pleasure for what he is doing to you.

He may think you’re finally his—one of his kind now you’re slashing and biting like he’d inadvertently taught you to—but these claws are yours, and this magic thrums with restless need.

He doesn’t even understand the hell he’s released upon himself.

The world of chaos that’s been unleashed.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @vanderlinde

[chunkypossum]

Ch. 26 Changing Course

Read Kerosene Ch 26 on Ao3 A couple days early because I can ...

More angst...

He had spent nearly an hour sitting on the bathroom floor, wings curled in around him, just gently stroking the bond, letting Eris know he was still there. At one point, something tugged back, and it wasn’t Eris.

If I told you I was sorry would you believe me? Good, you're learning. Were's in the last 100 pages of every SJM book ever written so ... buckle up because it's not getting better yet!

If you want on or off the tag train just holla at ya boi ... @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @pathfinderofnight @acourtofladydeath @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @pippsmcgee @secret-third-thing