#slightly unhinged azriel

[azsazz]

Coal Lined Lens

Modern!Azriel x Reader

Summary: You’re Azriel’s muse.

Warnings: Mentions of insomnia.

Word Count: 2,183

Notes: Living for this.

_________________________________________

You look as beautiful as you always do.

Lying on his bed in nothing but your skin, he wishes the evidence of last night still marked your body, but like a gentleman he’d helped you clean up before tucking you in close to his warm chest, where you fit like puzzle pieces, right where you always belonged.

He’d watched you all night, unable to sleep with his everything in his arms, so gorgeous and sated. It wasn’t even fair to all of the other girls, your beauty. You truly were one of a kind, and you were all his.

Creative, was what he called it, insomniac others called him. But he wouldn’t dare sleep a wink when you were there to draw his attention. Much like you are now, sleeping prettily, the sun cascading across your body from the light colored curtains like a blanket of gold, making your eyelashes shine in the morning light and casting shadows across the rest of you in the most interesting way…

Azriel slips out from his bed, silent as a mouse. He searches his room for a notebook and quickly, before the sun moves too much, jarring the flawless picture you paint in the early hours of the new day. 

He has minutes to get this down. If that.

He finds the sketchbook shoved between two others, one for his figure drawing class and the other for the graffiti he’s trying to teach himself because Rhysand and Cassian want to start working full scale instead of drawing concepts in their notebooks.

They have their tag finalized after filling two sketchbooks with ideas. Three mountain peaks with three matching stars. Rhysand, Cassian, and him: the mountains with their adorning stars, Feyre, Nesta, and (Y/N). Their beacons of happiness that brighten even their darkest nights.

The sketchbook’s cover is worn with love, the spine cracked because of how much he’s used it. The corners of the hardcover book are bent inwards, even though he tries to take the best care of it he can, as the contents are precious.

He snags a kneaded eraser, blackened with use. There’s shards of charcoal strewn about his desk, pushed to the sides because you’d tried to clear a space so that you could work on that paper that was due in the upcoming weeks.

There had been so much of the sooty chalk that it had turned the entirety of your forearm black. Even though you complained Azriel’s heart had picked up double, the pounding of it was almost painful because of how you looked with the essence of his art, of him, on you.

His fingers had twitched. Either to draw you or to take you straight to bed he couldn’t decide.

You should’ve been used to it by now. The black fingerprints you’d find on your clothes, on your skin were reminders of him in the best way. You could imagine Azriel with a pencil clenched between his teeth, charcoal in hand as he drew messy lines that would somehow turn into an incredible piece of work. 

He didn’t even have to try. His strokes were so sure, so confident that it made your thighs clench together tightly. He had that thing about him, covered in tattoos and never smiled at anyone except for you, but in reality he was quiet and docile. He’d do anything you asked.

Azriel plants himself on the stupid bean bag chair that Cassian had gotten him for his birthday. Something he swore he’d never use, he didn’t want, but his friend had only grinned, unbothered by Azriel’s unimpressed response. He was used to it by now and loved him for it anyway. He had let Azriel know that it would be his special chair that he’d sit in when he came over.

Azriel couldn’t throw it away, no matter how ugly the thing was.

But it’s comfortable, and that’s something he would never admit to Cassian.

He tucks his legs under him, scrambling through the book to a fresh page. It’s filled with drawings of you. Images from your first date when he’d memorized exactly how you looked when he’d made you laugh for the first time. He skips past the page with the drawing of tears running down your face, a side profile from when you’d forced him to watch that movie that always made you cry. He still didn’t understand why it was your favorite if it made you upset.

There’s a sketch of you grinning wildly, eyes glossy from the night out you’d spent with him and his friends. You’d forced him into a selfie, but he hadn’t drawn himself. This book is all you, all for him. 

It’s fascinating, his infatuation with you. Some pages hold multiple, smaller drawings, while others are portraits that seem to fall off of the edges of the page. 

Each one is both different and the same. Lazy, languid strokes. Harsh lines when he’s rushing, trying to get something down quickly before you move or he forgets. Loose sketches from moments he wants to draw but doesn’t have the heart to. Like when you’d had your first fight. The utter devastation on your face isn’t one he’d ever forget, never wants to see again. His thumb swipes over the lines of the face that’s barely there, like if he does it enough it’ll erase that crease between your eyebrows, or separate your lashes from how they’d clumped together with tears.

The smooth cream paper he turns to is fresh on both sides and the blankness should calm him, make his aching eyes fall shut so he can get a little bit of rest before you wake up, but his mind is racing with a thousand different images he has yet to add to the rapidly filling book.

He doesn’t dare look over to where there’s two more exactly like this hidden in the bottom desk of his drawer, also filled with artworks of you.

Azriel takes a deep breath, lets himself bask in the picture of you again, sheet pulled down, just barely covering your sex. He hadn’t been so fortunate that you kicked off the thin sheet while you slept. Maybe next time.

He’s quick to get your shape. Your face, a quick little circle for your cheek where it’s pressed into the pillow. A line marking the bed. A box for the window so he can draw the rays of sun washing over you. Maybe he’ll add a halo to your messy hair.

The curve of your body is drawn in such a fluid motion he doesn’t even have to look up. He memorized that a long time ago with his blackened fingertips, and subsequently, his mouth. It spans across both pages. He needs it to fill both this time. One wouldn’t be enough to capture the beauty of this morning, though he might have five other sketches of you sleeping throughout his books. This one is different. He always tells himself that.

He doesn’t even have to think, years of practice and admiring you have trained him for just this. Azriel draws the swell of your breasts, your hand, relaxed at your hip, just getting the general shapes of you down before you shift. Realize that he’s missing from next to you.

There’s two quick drags of his chalk and there are your eyelids. His hand is moving on its own, he does nothing to control it. He almost doesn’t draw the lines of the sheet, instead there’s a fleeting moment in his exhausted brain where he thinks about drawing that sweet little cunt of yours but it’s gone in a flash, draping the bending lines across your hips before filling them with color. He uses his eraser to make the highlights and smudges the lines with his finger until they’re buttery smooth.

Azriel hates his hands. Hates every pink little scar of marred flesh on them. Hates that you say that you like them and when you press kisses to them because he feels like you’re lying. No one could ever love them. How could they? 

He, however, loves the way his preferred medium sticks to his skin. The onyx dust coats his hands and covers the blemishes adorning his hands. He loves it because he can’t see the tainted flesh and you won’t press your lips to the dirtiest part of him, the part that makes people stare and ask questions.

He shuts it down before he can think too much about it, tracing the lines of your fingers, adding in the finer details now that he has the base. His mind always tends to wander through the self hatred shadows coloring the corners of his brain dark when he’s tired. Which seems like always.

He studies the way the light highlights certain areas of your body and hides the others, filling in the paper with the thick stick of charcoal in his hands. The eraser is in the other, ready to really pull out those highlights from the chunk of black he’s just colored in.

Occasionally he blows the soot off of the page. It lifts, swirling around in the rays of the morning sun and he’s distracted by how pleasing it looks. Reminds him of the whorls of swirling black ink across his own shoulders.

Scrubbing the chalk powder into the grains of the paper. His hands are a mess. Kneading his eraser into a point so he can carve out your nipples peaked from the chilly air. The eraser is filled with the dark powder he reminds himself to get a new one today. He looks back up at you. Maybe he’ll ask Rhys to steal one for him while he’s working at the art shop.

It’s a shame that you haven’t woken up yet. He’s done with his picture and he doesn’t know what to do, what to draw because you haven’t shifted in your sleep. He thinks about climbing into the bed behind you because every blink is like there’s sand in his eyes.

He knows that he needs to sleep. Knows that there’s dark circles around his eyes and that his skin is getting that sickly look that his mother used to tell him about when he was in high school and stayed up all night studying anatomy on the internet.

Instead he pulls the chair closer to the bed. He could move behind you and draw your back, but he thinks better of it, wanting to sketch the more intimate parts of you like your face or where the crook of your arm is barely covering the curve of your breast.

He focuses on one thing at a time. Your hand. Specifically the fourth finger of your left, where he’s tempted to draw that ring he saw the other day in that display window in town. He’d stood there for so long staring at it that the security guard had come outside and told him to scram. 

He draws that breast and the love bite he’d left on it last night. Chalks up that scar on your shoulder that you got from when one of the neighbor kids had thrown a dart at you at a barbecue and it stuck. The curves of your ear and the piercings shoved into them. Sketches the column of your throat, also mottled with marks from his mouth. It’s the weekend so he’s allowed.

The page fills quickly and with the rest he draws thick twisting lines that remind him of the shadows he sees sometimes when he’s so deprived of sleep he starts seeing things. It’s the ones he’d had inked on him permanently, a reminder of the dark side of him, the side that he didn’t ever think anyone could love, or show him how to.

Azriel looks at you again. Watches you for even longer, hand frozen on the page. He’s staring again but he knows that you don’t mind because you’d caught him before, when he didn’t even know your name but saw you sitting down the row from him in some class he couldn’t give a shit about. You’d noticed and you had smiled when anyone else would’ve looked away from the brooding art student with dirty hands.

For the first time, instead of ducking his head to pull out his sketchbook, he’d smiled back.

Your body comes alive like a work of art. Long, even breaths turn rutty, your pretty colored eyes moving behind your eyelids as your brows twitch at the incoming light pooling across your face. He should’ve pulled the heavy curtain shut so the room would stay dark, is what you’ll probably say when you’re fully awake. Right after you ask if he’s slept.

The sigh you let out is his favorite song. All of the noises you make are. You shift, searching for him behind you, eyes fluttering open when you realize that his body is not beside yours.

They immediately meet his own, sharpening to focus on him before you melt back into the bed.

And he wants to draw you all over again.

[solbaby7]

I loved Blurred Lines!! Do you think you’d ever want to do a part 2 for when Rhys shows up? 👀 👀🔥

[ part one ]

Rhysand hears you before he see’s you.

Unhinged shouts and the rhythmic smacking of skin on skin pulling him closer, beckoning him inside. The concealed safe house reeks of sex, clothes scattered around the floor from the moment he walks in; chairs are tipped over, rugs askew and there’s a dent on the hallway wall.

He doesn’t bother calling out for you, certain that you probably wouldn’t hear him anyway through the drug-induced haze. The traces of it lingers in your scent, spiking sweet honey and brown sugar with strong notes of spicy cinnamon that settles thick in his throat. “Swear, I can take it, Az.” Desperate whines and choppy breaths coupled with deep grunts and a husky swear at the sound of your plea. “Just a little harder.”

Rhys knew it shouldn’t have affected him the way it did. The blood that rushed between his legs at the sound of Azriel complying, doing everything you’d asked for and more. Neither of you even notice him, shadows too distracted in squeezing at heaving breasts and gliding up the length of your neck. A soothing cool to combat the overwhelming heat that Azriel had spent hours trying to quench.

It would work for a little while before the need grew again, demanding more tongue and teeth biting into your shoulders. Blazing for the harsh grip of Azriel’s hands on your hips as his cock nudged in as far as your body allowed. “Rhys will be here soon,” He’d mutter into the shell of your ear when you’d clench around him, hips stuttering and tears streaming down your cheeks from the sensitivity of yet another orgasm.

And yet, still your body commanded more.

“It won’t stop,” Sweat beads at your hairline, hair tangled and lips swollen as your body holds onto Azriel like a lifeline. Filthy sounds squelch between where you begin and he ends, arousal dripping like a leaky faucet. “Why won’t it stop?”

“Rhys,” Azriel sighs in relief when the High Lord comes into view, exhaustion evident in tousled inky hair and droopy lids but he’s too lost in the feeling to stop. The spymasters wings are splayed out behind him as your hands wander freely along the leathery texture, hips rocking and tongue dragging along the side of his neck. “You’re here.”

Rhysand nods once, easing you off and into his arms. You find instant relief with his touch, face buried in his neck as he guides you into the bathroom. The water in the tub had long since ran cold and yet it’s perfectly warm when he rests you inside. “Took you long enough,” You whisper weakly, voice raspy from overuse. “I nearly broke him.”

His jaw clenched, unreasonable jealously tickling at the edge of his mind at the sight of Azriel’s marks on you. “I can see that,” Rhys pushes damp hair from your face, cupping at flushed cheeks to stare into your eyes. At the bright specks the shade of lavender dotting the iris, a stark contrast from pupils blown with lust. “Amren said it sounds like you were drugged with a strong mix of herbs; mostly meant to disorient but a natural side-affect is debilitating arousal.”

“She say how long it’ll last?”

Rhys grimaces slightly, hesitating before answering. “Depending on how much you ingested? Roughly a few hours, possibly less.”

Your heart plummets. So much time had already passed. How much more could you possibly endure?

More. More. More.

Every bone in your body screams as you watch the High Lord undress, exposing sun-kissed skin and mouth-watering tattoos. The water trickles when your thighs shift, searching for friction as a fresh wave of need rises. “In that case,” Your hand trails down beneath the water, hyperaware of the violet stare tracking every move. “I hope you brought your stamina.”

He’s quick to join you in the tub—even quicker when he tugs you on top of him, pressing claiming kisses to your mouth and he slides in with ease, hushed curses falling from full lips from the near unbearable heat of your cunt. “It’s not my stamina you should be worried about,” Rhysand’s deliberate in the way he slowly lifts you off him, watching more of his length come into view until only the fat tip of his cock is inside. “I’ll spend all night fucking the smell of him off you if I must.”

[cressidagrey]

The Witching Hour - The Samhain Special: Bound by Blood

Summary:

Azriel's witch has some very smutty plans for Samhain.

Warning:

This is literally pure smut people, so NSFW applies. Otherwise: Ritual Magic, Witchcraft, Ritual Sex, Rough but consensual sex, Biting and blood Drinking, a deer is slaughtered, Blood is smeared everywhere...I think that's it? Azriel and Cate are as unhinged as always.

(Spooktastic dividers thanks to the lovely @tsunami-of-tears)

"Gods, you're going to be the death of me," Cate whispered, her voice wrecked.

Azriel couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound warm and amused. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his own voice hoarse from where he had collapsed on top of Cate. He lifted off her, just so managing to land next to her.

Granted, she wasn’t the only one. He was pretty sure msot of the muscles in his body where still trembling. 

"It was most definitely meant as one," his witch assured him, her eyes closed as she stretched out over her black silk sheets. Her pale skin glinted in the moonlights, her rose tipped breasts heaving with her breaths.

She was so beautiful.

Azriel's gaze dragged over her, tracing over every inch of the beautiful female spread out next to him on the bed, his heart thudding in his chest. They had spent the entire night together, the sounds of their lovemaking still echoing in his ears.

His gaze roved over her bare form, her lovely red hair spread out across the dark sheets, his eyes catching on the marks of his mouth across her pale skin. His gaze darkened as a low growl rumbled from his chest, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder, his fingers tracing lightly over her skin.

He was insatiable. 

Her eyes opened at his touch, their gazes meeting through the dimly lit room. He could see the exhaustion on her face, her skin flushed, her lips kiss-swollen. She looked beautiful, and her body trembled slightly under his touch.

"I swear, one of these days, you'll kill me with too much pleasure,” Cate mumured.

Her voice was rough, still recovering from all the moans and gasps that he had pulled out of her the entire night. He could see the faint purple-red marks that he had left on her skin, and the primal part of his mind purred at the sight of them. 

He hummed in agreement, unable to help himself, and attaching his lips to the marble column of Cate’s neck. "What a glorious death that would be," he murmured, his mouth gently nipping at the sensitive skin.

She gasped softly at his words, her body arching slightly as she tilted her head back to give him better access to her neck. His lips pressed against her skin, his teeth gently scraping over her pulse, sending shivers down her spine.

"You're insatiable," she accused, though there was no real irritation behind it. Only fond amusement.

"When it comes to you," Azriel agreed, his mouth curving into a smile against her skin. His fingers lightly traced over the marks he had already left, his lips following them. "When it comes to you, I can never seem to get enough," he admitted.

He pressed his mouth against a particularly dark bite mark, his tongue swirling over the abused skin, his fingers moving to gently press into the mark, relishing in the way that she trembled slightly in response. Her body was so sensitive, so open to his touches, and it made his blood run hot. Gods, he wanted her again. And again. And again .

"One would think that you would at least be tired after doing this all night," Cate said, her voice still breathless, her body arching as his mouth continued to work over her skin, his fingers continuing to trace over the sensitive flesh. "But apparently not."

"Never," he promised, his voice hoarse, his mouth moving to another mark on her collarbone. "Not when it comes to you."

His fingers continued their exploration of her body, gently dancing over her skin, tracing over the marks he had made, exploring every inch of her. His mouth continued its torturous path, moving down her collarbone, her chest.

The rain continued to fall, its sound a steady beat in the background of their room, the only other sounds than the soft gasps and moans that continued to fall from Cate's mouth. He could feel her shuddering under his touch, her body arching into his hands, her skin hot to the touch.

To say that the last few weeks had been… difficult…that was an understatement. Cate had biweekly lessons with Elain, who seemed to do much better with her Prophecies…but which had done nothing to endear Cate to most of his oldest friends.

Oh well.

There were a lot of things Azriel was willing to compromise on…but Cate was not one of them.

As long as she was willing to be his…he would protect that ferociously.

She was his, and nothing would get in the way of that. His body continued its path down hers, his fingers tracing over her flesh softly, his lips continuing to work over her skin.

“There is this…one thing that I wanted to talk to you about,” Cate said, nearly hesitantly. She had not been hesitant one day in her life. It made him pause. “You can say no and we’ll never talk about it again.”

That got his attention. Azriel lifted his head from her, his eyebrows raised slightly. “What is it?”

“Samhaim is soon,” Cate said softly. “I was wondering…I was wondering if you wanted to make some magic with me, love.”

He swallowed.

He knew what she was asking. Knew what she was offering.

A Witch’s Ritual Circle was the most private thing she had. And if Cate was offering to share it with him… “What kind of magic?” he asked her softly.

She smiled up at him, her eyes soft. "There is this ritual…" she explained softly. "On the night of Samhain, a couple can pledge themselves to each other in a bond as old as magic itself."

His eyes widened. "A marriage bond?" He questioned, his heart thundering in his chest, his stomach flipping nervously.

"Not necessarily a marriage bond," she explained, lifting her hands to gently run her fingers through his messy hair. "It's...complicated. It's an ancient ritual, older than history, older than the fae themselves. It involves a few...interesting steps," she admitted. "But at the end of it," she continued, her eyes soft, "we will be eternally linked to one another. It is a bond that no one can tear apart."

His heart was pounding in his chest at her words, his eyes wide. The idea of them being linked, truly linked, for eternity...Azriel wanted that. He wanted it more than anything he'd ever wanted in his life. But...

"What are the...interesting steps?" He questioned, his voice quiet, his mind already racing through every possible thing that he would be willing to do for her if it meant they would get that bond.

"The ceremony itself will take all night long," she explained. "There will be…a few fun things to do," Her voice was mischievous.

"Whatever you want," he agreed.

She chuckled at his quick response, her fingers running through his hair again. "You didn't even pause to think about it," she said, amused. "Not even a second thought?"

"Not even one," he promised, his voice rough with the intensity of his agreement. He would do anything to have that bond, that connection with her, that link that would tie them to each other, forever. "I'll do whatever you want," he promised.

***

She was pretty sure that if her mother would still be alive…She would kill Hecate just for even contemplating doing this. Granted, her mother had been dead for nearly a millenia, and Cate was all grown up, Thank you very much…but it was still…A risk.

A risk that she was more than willing to take.

There wasn’t a risk in her world that she wasn't willing to take when it was about Azriel.

The bond she was proposing was an ancient, powerful thing. It was unbreakable, eternal in its intensity.

And it was a risk. A risk that many witches kept to themselves, because it would make them vulnerable…but it was a risk that she was willing to take, regardless of every protest her heart screamed at her.

Because she wanted that bond, that connection, that link that would tie her to him, completely

Gods, she really was a hopeless romantic.

But with Azriel, it was impossible not to be.

With him, she was constantly falling deeper and deeper. Drowning more and more with every single look, every smile, every sound, every taste of him.

With Azriel, there was no other option.

With Azriel, she was giddy and in love, and behaved like a teenage witch.

Even after all these centuries, she still sometimes felt that dizzying rush of giddiness and attraction and infatuation every time she thought of him. It didn’t matter that they had slept together more times than she had ever thought possible, that every touch of their bodies was etched into her mind, that they had known intimately every inch of each other’s bodies, minds and powers.

Nothing could quell that rush of pure excitement and wonder at the very thought of him.

Nothing at all.

She knew she was being a complete idiot. She knew that the way her heart kept skipping at the sight of him was a little ridiculous.

But gods, all she could think of, when he was looking at her like she was the only female in the word, like there was no one else in his mind than her at that very moment, was…

She was in love with him. Completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with him.

So really...binding him towards her for eternity...it was a selfish thing to do. And she couldn't help herself.

Sshe couldn’t bring herself to feel even the slightest bit of guilt.

Azriel was hers, and the thought of tying him to her completely, of having that bond, that connection, that link that would tie them to each other forever... Gods.

She wanted it more than she had wanted anything in her life.

And if it was selfish? If it was a little possessive?

Well. Cate had never claimed to be a noble female.

All she knew was that she wanted this. She wanted him, she wanted that bond, and she was going to do whatever it took to make that happen. To hell with the consequences

And if the rest of the Night Court disapproved? Well, they could deal with it. Cate couldn’t find it in herself to care.

So if she started planning that ritual...well.

She had a time (Samhain, which practically fell on a full moon that year, making it absolutely perfect for a ritual that would bend fate to her will) and a place (an old ritual circle in The Middle...) which meant that planning the actual ritual...well that was easy.

It was a little bit frightening, how all of the pieces were just falling into place.

But at the same time…it felt like Fate was on her side. That every piece in this puzzle was meant to be exactly where it was at that moment.

The entire thing was both terrifyingly scary and absolutely exciting at the same time.

But then again, that was her relationship with Azriel in a nutshell: terrifying and exciting, with a lot of heat and passion thrown into it

So, a few days before Samhain...when she had it all figured out...she presented Azriel with her plans.

“You want me to do what?” he repeated, his eyebrows rising into his hairline.

“Kill a stag," Cate repeated easily. “I need the blood.”

“This is sounding more and more like some weird version of Calaimai in the Spring Court,” Azriel told her drily. "For what do you need the blood?"

"I'll need to cover both of us in runes." Cate explained.

A pause. “Runes that involve deer blood?” he questioned, his voice still dubious, raising an eyebrow at her.

She nodded. "Deer blood, along with a few other...ingredients."

“And you're drawing these…runes…on us?” he clarified.

She nodded again. He studied her for a moment.

"What will these ‘runes’ do, exactly?” he asked quietly.

"Well," she drew out the word..."It's going to help your performance."

His eyebrows rose at her words.

"My performance?" he echoed, a hint of huskiness in his tone. "In what areas, exactly, do I need to...perform...better?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes on her.

His gaze roved over her body, his expression heating

And for a moment, Cate was tempted to give up and ask him to just skip the ritual entirely and jump straight into the fun part, but...

No. She could wait. She could be patient. Just one more day, the she would have this gorgeous male completely to herself forever.

"You don't. Usually," she clarified. "These runs...they'll...they'll keep you erect even after you have spend yourself...multiple times," she answered. "That ritual is gonna take a few...hours."

Azriel's eyes widened at her words, his gaze flickering to hers, the heat in his eyes intensifying. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze darkening. "Hours, you said?" he rasped, his voice rough.

She nodded. "Hours," she confirmed. "With no need for...recuperation, in between."

His eyes widened.

A pause, and then: "Gods," he swore, his voice low. "You do know how to sweet-talk a male, don't you, witch?"

Cate chuckled at his words. "Why, am I tempting you, Shadowsinger?" she teased playfully, her voice sultry. He looked like he was going to pin her down on the nearest flat surface and worship her body right then and there.

He took a few slow, measured breaths, like he was forcing himself to regain control, and Cate could only raise an eyebrow at him, amused.

"You do realize you don't have to exercise this amazing level of self-control and iron will, right?" she said breezily. "I am yours."

He swallowed. Hard.

"You’re mine," he repeated quietly. His eyes glimmered possessively. "And I plan on enjoying that immensely."

****

Gods, the things his witch did to him…

He wanted to tie her up, lay her down on the nearest flat surface, and worship her and her body for hours, until both of them were too sated to do anything but sink into sleep in each other’s arms.

But he knew he had to control himself.

And Azriel didn't care if that meant that he was going to have to kill a fucking stag naked and with his bare hands. 

"And you are sure I need to do it with my bare hands?" he asked her with a sigh that day. 

She shot him a smirk. "Is the big, bad Shadowsinger afraid of getting his hands dirty?" she teased, raising an eyebrow. He shot her a glare, which only seemed to amuse his witch more.

Cate leaned closer to him, her voice lowering to a murmur. " “I can do the hunting too, if you would prefer to be the one being mounted on a stone altar…” He stared at her - her voice sending a visceral stab of lust through him.

"Gods." He murmured. "Are you trying to drive me insane?" he asked her, his voice rasping.

Cate shrugged her shoulders, her smirk sharpening. "Maybe," she said airily.

He stared at her for a moment before closing the distance between them, drawing her flush against him, one arm wrapping around her slender waist.

“Is that what I will do?“ he asked her.

“We’ll enjoy that part, I think,” Cate said with a laugh. "Now...Let me show you where we'll be."

He let her winnow them straight to The Middle, and for once in his life, Azriel was surprised by how welcoming it...seemed.

Probably helped by the warding net that Cate had thrown over a rather broad area.

"You've warded a whole lot of acre here," he noted, his voice quiet.

Cate nodded as she started to pull out a few tools from a bag she had winnowed with them. "It's...safer. We wouldn't want any interruptions."

Azriel's eyes widened at her words. "Interruptions?" he repeated slowly. "How long is this whole...ritual supposed to take exactly, witch?"

Cate gave him a wicked look from hooded eyes. "Longer than you've ever lasted before," she purred, her voice suggestive.

It felt like someone had just punched him.

"Longer, you say,” he repeated, his voice strangled.

"Till Sunrise...well, unless you have somewhere to be," Cate answered. Even if he had, he wouldn’t care. "We'll wait until Sundown to start...Let me show you the ritual space."

She led him over to an old, weathered stone altar, with a few tallow candles already burning around it.

"Right in here," she said, nodding towards the altar. "You will be placed exactly here...like so." She patted the top of the slab, her fingers stroking the stone. "The runes will mostly be drawn on your chest and face...and a few more...intimate areas," she smirked.

Azriel felt his heart rate quicken - and he wasn’t sure if it was due to nerves or excitement. He swallowed as he stared at the stone altar before him, imagining himself laid out on it.

He had agreed to this, and he had no intention of backing out now. Not when she was willing...eager.

He stared at the stone surface, his mind going blank as his imagination tried to provide images of what would happen to him here.

He took a deep, slow breath.

He was going to experience everything she was willing to give him - and he had a feeling he was going to be completely and utterly spent by the time this ritual was over.

Cate drew closer, as if sensing the direction of his mind, her hand coming up to rest against his hip.

"Nervous?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him, as if she knew what was running through his head.

He shot her a crooked smile. "A little," he admitted quietly, even if he was far more excited that he was nervous.

She looked at him with a smirk, her eyes glimmering and a playful expression tugging at her lips. She leaned closer until her body was flush against his, her hand sliding from his hip to caress the line of his jaw.

Her hand was cool as she traced the planes of his face, her touch almost reverent like she was mapping out every single line of him and committing it to memory.

He leant into her touch, like he was completely unable to resist her, drinking her in like a parched man would drink water.

Gods, he was so gone for his witch.

Her gaze darkened as she stared at him, her eyes trailing over his face, as if admiring and memorizing every inch of him.

She stepped closer, her body molding against his, as her hand continued to caress his skin, sending trails of fire wherever she touched. Her lips were only mere inches from his, their breath mingling together

“I love you.” She whispered.

His heart stuttered at her words.

Gods, he had never heard anything more beautiful.

"I love you too," he rasped. She was everything to him, and he'd be damned if he let anything or anyone take her away from him.

“Then go and kill that deer for us, love,” she told him, and he snorted.

“I just want you to know that the fact that I need to do this naked is fucking ridiculous,” he told her as he started to strip out of his clothing. She just smirked at him. 

"Love,” she shot back, her voice sweet, but edged with an undertone of steel “I did not make the rules.”

“I bet these are your rules,” he muttered under his breath, and she laughed at him. 

“Go on,” she told him, her voice still amused. “Prove to me what a big, bad, male warrior you are and go kill a deer - bare hands only - for your witch. Bring me blood to cover both of us in runes so I can bind myself to you for eternity. Then come back here to me and let me worship every inch of you.”

Azriel stared at her, her words sending a visceral, possessive stab of lust through him.

“You're a damn tease, you know that?” he swore, his voice low. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and take her right then and there.

But at the same time, he knew he didn’t have time. He had to go - hunt, kill the deer, and return to her - so that he could experience all that she offered.

He stepped forward, bending down to press his lips against her forehead. “I'll be back soon,” he growled, before stalking toward the forest surrounding them.

*** Cate watched him go, that possessive, feral need and lust welling up in her.

Gods, when he was bound to her for eternity, she was going to wreck him.

She took a deep breath, trying to get herself under control. She had a ritual to prepare for.

The first thing she did was throw more wards over the already existing net. The more protection, the better.

She also lit a few more candles around the stone altar, white wax dripping down onto dark stone. She pulled the athame, her ritual knife, from the pocket of her dress...Then and only then, she stripped out of the dress she wore, bare before her own magic.

The sun was slowly dissappearing behind the horizon

The night was slowly falling over the small clearing, the trees surrounding them casting shadows on the stones of the altar and the grass.

The candles around them cast a gentle glow, as if creating a spotlight for what was going to happen.

The moment the sun disappeared completely...she cast out her magic.

Power flared and crackled through the clearing, invisible to sight but tangibly present.

The air seemed to buzz with magic, the air so thick with energy it was almost tangible - as if it was clinging to every inch of her bare skin, almost like caressing her.

She had always trusted her own magic with her life. It had welcomed and cradled her like a favoured child from the start.

Over the years, her magic had become an almost living part of her, entwined with the very energy that ran through her veins.

Even now, she could feel it...almost purring in the air, like a satisfied companion.

"Bella?" she asked aloud, the jaguar appearing out of thin air, tail swishing through the air, prowling around her ritual circle.

The great cat, so black that even in the candlelight she was almost impossible to see, prowled around Cate like a restless, watchful guardian, her muscles taut and powerful, her green eyes fixed on the surrounding area.

"There you are," she breathed.

The jaguar huffed at Cate, a soft, almost purring sound as she padded closer to the witch, her tail still twitching in the air.

Cate reached out a hand and gently ran her fingers through the silky, smooth fur of her familiar.

Bella shoved her head into Cate’s touch, the act almost like an affectionate cat asking for attention. Cate smiled at her familiar, giving her a few more pets before returning to her ritual preparations.

And at that moment, she felt Azriel. Her magic held steady, even as she watched him stride towards the clearing, the deer slung over broad muscular shoulders.

"Just in time," she told him, a smile stretching over her face.

He stalked towards her, every single step powerful, his eyes on her. His eyes raked down her naked form, taking her in in a way that made her skin break into gooseflesh, lust coiling low in her belly.

He didn't hesitate as he stepped into her personal ritual circle.

It was an intimacy she had never allowed another person. But the moment he stepped over the boundary...it just felt right.

The moment he stepped past the wards...her magic seemed to surge and flare, almost like it was welcoming him. She felt it almost caressing his powerful, naked form, his dark shadows twining with her power, almost like a familiar seeking out its owner.

There was an energy in the air, palpable and electric. It was like the air was vibrating, filling them with a kind of energy that seemed to make the atmosphere heavier, thicker... like the air was full of promise and anticipation.

He brought the deer over to her, the neck broken.

"Just for the record, I could have used a knife," he told her drily.

She gave him a cheeky smile. “Oh come on, love, where’s your sense of drama?” she teased him, her voice low and sweet. “Bringing me the deer you killed with your bare hands is more romantic, isn’t it?”

“You just like the idea of me all feral and wild, don’t you?” he asked, his lips curving into a cocky smirk. “All dirty and naked and covered in blood and your pretty little runes.”

She just raised one eyebrow, lifting her ritual knife.

It was the work of nothing to cut the deer’s throat and catch the blood in a stone bowl.

"Onto the altar with you," Cate said quietly.

He moved forward, laying himself down on the smooth stone of the altar.

Even in this light, he was a vision, all rippling muscles and scars and ink that he had never bothered to hide away.

Cate approached the altar, the bowl of blood clutched in her hands. She placed the bowl on the surface of the altar, her eyes skimming over the planes and valleys of his skin, the smooth, muscular expanse of his stomach, that V at his hips….

"Now is the moment to tell me you don’t want this," she told him quietly. She could still change the ritual now. By the time the first rune would be drawn onto his body…well, that was going to be rather impossible. 

He chuckled, the sound hoarse and deep in the silence that surrounded them.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my whole life,” Azriel promised her fiercely. 

The night air crackled with the energy that filled it, like a silent thunder that promised power and passion and more ecstasy than he had ever known. He watched her, his gaze never leaving her as she settled on top of him and straddled his bare thighs with her own.

"I have waited a millennium for you," she said quietly as she dipped her hands into the warm blood.

He shivered lightly as her hands, covered with blood, dragged across his bare chest, the fluid and heat of the blood spreading over his skin, whispering the spells that would bind him to her. 

“And I’ve waited a lifetime for you,” he murmured back, his voice guttural and deep as he met her gaze with his own.

She drew the second rune, her fingers sliding over his skin, his wings twitching underneath him.

Her touch was precise, but reverent, as she traced the lines and symbols onto his chest and abdomen, her fingers gliding over his skin.

"Cate," he groaned, his voice strangled.

"Hush," she told him, her voice almost a little breathless. She didn't know how she was staying so calm...he was laid out in front of her and it was taking all of her self-control not to just take him then and there, to claim and mark and taste him until he belonged to her completely.

"I am nearly there." She promised him, even as she could see his cock harden. "This works better if you are aroused anyway."

He huffed out a laugh, his voice strained. “Of course it does,” he rasped, his eyes fixed on her as she worked. "I am pretty sure you just want to torture me.”

"I always pay my dues," she promised him, finished another rune at the V of his hips and then swallowed down his prick without any preamble, as one hand finished painting the rune on his thigh.

His reaction was instantaneous. He jerked against her, a noise that was something between a gasp and strangled moan slipping from his lips.

"Cate," he groaned, his voice guttural and raw, "Gods...Cate, I need-"

She didn’t give him time to finish. She wanted him gone, unravelled, ruined. She wanted him under her, undone, marked and claimed in the most intimate way. Every rune she made seared his skin, a claim that would be with him for days yet.

She finished the last rune. Cate could feel it herself...could feel the magic swell up inside her, like a hook anchoring right there in her chest.

It had started.

She could feel it

The air crackled and filled with power, her own magic swelling like a living thing, as the last of the runes settled onto his skin.

He jerked again, a noise of pure desire torn from his throat.

He was taut and strung-out underneath her, like a bow ready to snap. Every muscle was tensed and coiled, like a predator right before it took its prey. His eyes were fixed on her - wild, burning, desperate with need - as his hips jerked up against her.

She lifted her mouth of him, dunking her hand in the bowel of blood again, taking his hand and smearing it all over his own...using his hand to come up to her chest, writing the rune over her own heart.

He watched her, entranced, as she smeared her own chest with the blood, his fingers trailing over her skin, leaving bloody trails wherever they went.

He stared as the rune spread across her chest, marking her just like she had marked him, the sight making something possessive flare to life inside him.

One, two, three...seven...And then it was done.

Seven runes to bind them together for eternity.

Seven runes that made her blood sing and her skin feel like it was burning.

She pulled him up to sit up with her, his chest flush with her own, the blood that covered them both smearing between them.

"First part is done," she told him breathlessly. "Now comes the fun part."

*****

Gods, he wanted her.

He wanted her so badly his brain was almost mush, like his body was on fire, completely overwhelmed.

He’d never felt like this before, like he was so desperate and so wild with need that all he could do was grab her and pin her to the altar, pressing her down into the cold stone.

Cate turned around...presenting her back to him, her back arching...on her hands and knees before him.

He almost growled in the back of his throat. The sight of her like that sent a rush of possessive lust through him, like a savage animal claiming his mate.

Something inside him snapped. 

There was nothing carefuly, nothing but animalistic need in him as he covered his body with her own, as he plunged into her body. 

He couldn’t hold back a guttural, feral noise that escaped his throat.

She was tight and hot around him, her body taking him in like it fit perfectly - like she was made for him. One hand wrapped itself around her throat, squeezing, while the other wrapped around her waist. 

“Mine,” he hissed, his voice almost guttural. “My witch.” His other hand tightened on her hips pulling her back against him, like he was trying to press her into him, his movements almost desperate. “You feel like you were made for me,” he panted in her ear.

She mewled in response, her voice high and desperate, her body clenching around his. “Azriel,” she gasped. “Please-”

Somehow it was the sound of his name on her lips...somehow… he felt Cate's magic deep in his bones, seemingly trembling all around them..and also felt...felt that unfurling of a golden bond deep in his chest, crashing into him with no finesse at all, leaving him gasping as he spilled into her, before he even had the chance to…

The moment the bond snapped into existence, he felt like he was drowning in sensation.

He felt it in every nerve and muscle, in every vein and bone - a thrumming, golden magic that now ran through him like living, liquid metal. He gasped against her skin, shuddering with the overwhelming influx of sensation and power. It was like - like he was now part of her soul, like the magic that now thrummed in him was her very life’s force, her light and energy and passion.

He tightened his grip on her, his nose buried in her hair, his breaths laboured and harsh against her skin. He’d never felt such an overwhelming surge of emotions and sensations before, like he’d suddenly became hyperaware of everything around him, everything and everyone around him. He could feel Cate - her emotions, her sensations, her very magic and soul, could feel her body, clenching down around him, felt every muscle tremor that shot through her…

He had never, in his life, felt closer to anyone before.

It was an overwhelming feeling - the feeling of the bond between them now permanent and powerful, a thrumming, golden connection that tied them together at a deep level that even he couldn’t explain.

He pressed a shaking, desperate kiss to her shoulder, his teeth grazing against her skin. “Cate,” he breathed, his voice strangled.

Her body trembled underneath him, high whines leaving her throat.

"Mate..." she whispered.

He pulled her against him, rolling his hips into her, desperate for more skin-to-skin contact. “My mate,” he answered huskily.

He’d been with someone before - he’d had plenty of partners before - but nobody had ever made him feel like this before, like his very soul had found its missing piece.

He wanted to devour her - to mark her and claim her until she wore his scent and nobody else’s. He wanted to leave an indent of his teeth on her neck and everywhere else, so that the whole world could look at her and know she was his. His and his alone.

He growled, the sound guttural and feral. He wanted the whole world to look at her and know she was taken, was claimed, was owned by a male who wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who would dare to touch her.

He ran his tongue along the slope of her neck, his teeth grazing over her skin, the scent of her driving him almost wild. He was consumed by the need, primal and intense, to claim her in the most basic way possible on every level.

"Azriel.." she whispered. her body was trembling in his grasp, as she moved, pushing back against him, and he understood the unspoken question, moving back, pulling out of her, grounding his teeth at the lost of contact. It wasn't for long though.

Cate pounced at soon as she could, straddling him. She stared at him, green eyes wide and unguarded...so beautiful. "Azriel. Mate ."

He stared back at her, his chest heaving with his harsh breaths. He’d never seen her look so beautiful before - her face flushed, her hair messy and tangled, skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. He’d never seen her look so unguarded, so open and vulnerable.

He ran his hands up her thighs, his own eyes wide and hungry. “Mate,” he agreed, voice hoarse and low.

***

This wasn't supposed to happen.

This hadn't been what she had expected to happen. She had never thought that Azriel would turn out to be her mate. Not because she didn't want him to be...she would have given nearly everything to have this with him but...but because she didn't deserve him.

But now there they were

Together. Bound for eternity. Two halves of a whole, connected in a way that was deeper and stronger and more powerful than any other connection on earth.

He ran his hands over her skin, his eyes never leaving her face, drinking in the sight of her. She could feel the power of their connection thrumming between them, like a living thing that grew stronger with every beat of their hearts.

His eyes were wide and intense, almost like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening, like he was taking in every single part of her and committing her to memory. She had never felt so seen before, like his gaze was a physical thing that ran over her skin, like he was able to look into her very soul.

She couldn't help herself as she sank down onto him, taking him back into her body.

This wasn't how this ritual was supposed to work. Not when she could still feel the magic thruming in the very air, not when she could still feel her very core pulsing.

He groaned in response, his hands gripping her hips almost bruisingly hard. The feel of her around him was almost electric, like every nerve ending was on fire, every cell in his body aware of her - her skin on his, the heat of her body, the sound of her breath, the feel of her pulse.

He rolled his hips into hers, like he was trying to get impossibly closer, like he was trying to push himself inside her and never leave.

She could feel the power of their bond growing with every move they made, like a golden thread that bound them together with every breath, every beat of their hearts. Cate couldn't help but gasp as she felt it grow stronger and stronger, like it was a living thing that grew with every passing moment.

She didn't even know it was possible to feel such a connection with another person. 

He looked into her eyes as she rode him, her body moving with a primal, steady rhythm. He didn't speak, but he didn't need to. She could feel everything he was feeling - desire, love, possessiveness, passion, devotion...everything.

She could feel it in the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way he breathed against her skin.

She could feel it in the way his breath hitched as she moved on top of him, in the way his fingers gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, in the way his eyes burned with heat and desire as he looked at her.

Their breaths were coming fast and hard now, almost matched. She could feel the bond growing and growing with every thrust of their hips, every gasp of their breaths. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge - knew Azriel could feel it too.

She came with a cry, her body shuddering with the force of her release, Azriel’s name on her lips as she felt him follow her over the edge, spilling into her with a broken groan.

She wasn't sure what possessed her...wasn't sure what made her lean forward and bury her teeth in the skin between his shoulder and neck...but the moment she bit down and tasted his blood in her mouth…he reciprocrated. And as her blood flooded his mouth he jerked underneath her...and the magic surrounding them turned into a cyclone.

If she had thought the previous sensation of their bond forming was intense, it had nothing on this one.

She could feel it coursing through her body like liquid fire, like the bond that now grew between them was burning a path through her veins. It was like she was a channel for his magic, like every part of her body was humming with the power of it.

She gripped Azriel’s shoulders like a lifeline, her nails digging into his skin and leaving marks. Mine. Mine. Mate.

The bond thrummed between them, a golden thread that bound them together so intrinsically that she didn’t know where she began and Azriel ended.

She felt the bond settle, thrumming between them like a living thing - connecting them body, mind, heart, and soul.

The magic surrounding them heaved. There was no other word for it. heaved and swirled and tightened...and then in one long, warm rush...it pulled together and rushed right inside her. She couldn't help and arch her back, her whole body trembling 

The rush of magic was almost overpowering - a wave of power and sensation coming over her like a tidal wave. She felt like she was drowning in it, like she was being consumed by the sheer force of it.

She could feel it coursing through her veins, filling every single part of her, like she was a conduit for it. She felt like every nerve ending in her body was alive and singing with the power of it, like she was a lightning storm in human skin.

Azriel was holding onto her as the magic swelled, his arms tight around her, his lips pressed to her shoulder. He was trying to ground her through the experience, to help her ride out the wave of magic and sensation that was flooding through her. She could feel his own magic, cool and calming, wrapping around her like a soothing balm, countering the almost overwhelming surge of power that was threatening to swallow her whole.

She could feel their new bond strengthening with every beat of their hearts, the golden thread that tied them together growing stronger and stronger. 

She collapsed onto him, boneless and exhausted. She could feel Azriel’s heart pounding in his chest, his heaving breaths against her skin.

They were mates. Completely, irreversibly mated.

Mates. Soul bonded for the rest of their lives. A male and a female tied together for eternity, through life and death, and beyond.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that, clutching each other like they were each other's lifeline, their bodies still tangled together. But when she finally stirred, her voice was raw and hoarse.

"Azriel..."

“I am not done,” he whispered, rolling to bury her underneath her again. 

No. No, he wasn’t done. 

She wasn’t even sure what had triggered it. Later she would wonder if the taste of her blood had replaced the need of offering her food…or if it had been something else that triggered the mating frenzy. 

Later, she would worry about all of that. 

But right now…right now the only thing she could do was to hang onto him, while he wrecked her. 

Not that anybody would hear even a syllable of protest from her. 

***

“Was this how it was supposed to work?” Azriel asked her hoarsely. The sun had just come up. Leaving them to survey the damage. 

"I have absolutely no clue," Cate admitted weakly. His witch, his mate, was covered in bruises and lovebites where he had gotten his teeth into her. Her hair stood up in every which direction and she had never looked any more beautiful to him than now. 

"We did manage to reduce the forest to rubble though," he told her as he stared into what had once been a forest. Now…now it wasn’t. 

Actually everything looked like a complete and utter mess. White wax dripepd all over the ground…the trees were broken and fallen and upended every which way…they were both absolutely smeared in dried blood…

He didn’t even have a memory of half of what they had done onto that altart during the night. It had all gone…rather hazy after the 5th or 6th time of spending his seed all over her… drily. 

Cate’s head snapped up at his words. She swallowed nervously, and he could feel a flicker of uncertainty run through her. "Did I...did it hurt you?" she asked, her voice trembling.

He shook his head. "Not even a little bit," he told her, his grip tightening around her, reaching out to cup her cheek. "You would never hurt me."

She closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest.

She relaxed against him, laying her head against his chest. 

He could feel the bond that thrummed between them, in the way her very heart seemed to settle into a steady, comfortable rhythm when he was close.

He had never felt this way before, not with anyone. He felt like he was finally home - like he belonged, like he was finally where he was meant to be.

There was a newfound sense of peace that settled over him as he held her close.

He had never known comfort like this before - the easy, effortless way that he felt at home with her in his arms, like nothing else in the world mattered. It was a new and unfamiliar feeling - but one that he could definitely get used to for the rest of his life.

His witch. His mate. His everything. 

[thelov3lybookworm]

Pretty, isn't it?

Day 6: Song of the wind.

Summary: He made a fool out of himself, but it seemed worth it.

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Word Count: 1313

Warnings: fluff, azzie being a shy baby 🥹

A/n: hehehe i hope yall like this as much as i do 🥹 this one doesnt have hazel and kaden because its mostly az trying to impress yn with his peacock feathers (that is me trying to be funny, az doesnt have peacock wings 😭)

@azrielappreciationweek

ANYWAY ENJOYYYY 🥳

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I would be the luckiest male to ever exist if you decided to give me the time of day.

Azriel could not believe it, but that letter had been the one that had convinced Y/n to spend time with him, to get to know him. He had given up after having sent almost fifty letters over the time of two months since he’d seen her first.

He had begun to wonder if he truly was that undesirable that even after those letters and shitty poetry, Y/n did not care.

To her credit, Azriel would have rejected himself too after his pitying attempts at poetry.

In the last letter, he had written everything he could come up with. It had been all over the place, written in the middle of the night after having a dream of Y/n with another male. Maybe Azriel had begun suffocating her, maybe he was pushing her away rather than making her like him. He had told her how the past two months, he had been looking forward to seeing her more than he ever has anyone else in his life. How he cared for her without knowing anything about her, and how he was glad for her existence no matter what.

He had told her that it would be his last letter, and that he would let her be free. He had imposed enough.

But to his surprise, the next morning when he woke up at his desk, back sore and neck bent at an unnatural angle, he was greeted by the sight of a white envelope, sealed with soft pink wax.

The paper inside only consisted of only nine words. Nine words that were able to make the spymaster grin wide, giggle like a schoolgirl and jump around his room, hurrying to get dressed for the day.

Meet me at the bridge over Sidra at noon.

He had only been standing for a few moments before she showed up, in another one of her flowy dresses, small pink flowers printed onto the soft material.

Just the sight of her slightly tilted lips had Azriel’s ears turning red.

She had greeted him normally, like he had not spent the past two months following her around like a lunatic, begging for a moment of her day. And Azriel had been all too happy to go along with it.

Well, he was happily going along with that plan, until he realised the sun was setting and panicked, realising he did not have longer before she decided to go home and he did not yet know whether she liked him enough to decide to bless him by spending another day with him.

So, in his hurry to impress her, he had dragged her to the riverbank.

"I come here when I need to get away from my family. They can be a lot at times."

Y/n smiled, humming. "I hadn’t really thought about them being… I don’t know, like us? I guess I had this image of them being very professional and serious."

Azriel smiled. "They’re the most unhinged people I’ve ever met. Like you know the other day, Cassian jumped on one foot trying to impress his mate, like this-" Azriel did the same thing Cassian had done, hopping around on one leg and spreading his wings to balance himself- "and then he fell into the river."

Y/n chuckled, her eyes sparkling. Seeing the tilt of her lips, Azriel couldn’t help but grin back. The wind picked up, the song he was so familiar with blowing gently around the two of them.

Azriel did not close his wings, too busy staring at the way the wind lifted the edges of Y/n’s hair, the way she closed her eyes for a moment, as if to savour the feeling of it. He didn’t close his wings. He should have. But it was too late.

The membrane of his wings caught the air, sending him stumbling back. His eyes widened, meeting Y/n’s concerned ones before he rushed towards the ground, skiing tingling with the cold river water that enveloped him not moments later.

He sputtered as he resurfaced, frantically searching around for Y/n. He found her bent over herself, eyes closed as laughter erupted from her lips.

His lips twitched in response even as the red of embarrassment took over his features.

At least I could make her laugh. Who cares if she won’t want me after I made a fool of myself?

Azriel struggled to his feet against the strong current, ears filled with the melodious sound of Y/n giggling.

"Are you okay?" She questioned as he finally crawled onto dry land, her eyes sparkling.

Azriel nodded. He did not have words to say. She spared him the struggle.

"It’s getting late. I should go." Perhaps she noticed the way Azriel’s face fell, because she hurried to add. "Do you mind flying me home?"

Instantly, Azriel perked up. "Not at all, I would love to."

Y/n only smiled, stepping closer to him.

Moments later, the two were in the air, despite Azriel’s worries of getting her dress wet. She had assured him that she did not mind.

The instant they were airborne, Azriel realised that Y/n’s eyes were clenched shut, as were her fists against his shoulders. It made him want to giggle in giddiness, but he forced himself to focus on the gentle wind whispering in his ears and not the way she felt in his arms as he squeezed Y/n tight.

She felt like home. She felt like she belonged here, and if she agreed, Azriel would never let go of her, content to spend the rest of eternity holding her.

She opened her eyes, looking at him for a long while before glancing down. A soft gasp of wonder escaped her, and Azriel let himself chuckle.

"It’s pretty, isn’t it?"

She nodded distractedly before glancing at him.

"Does this shock you every time you fly?"

Azriel pondered as her home came into view, a sense of longing beginning to take root in his chest. "I can never get used to the beauty, if that’s what you mean." he paused. "I was not allowed to even spread my wings for the first decade or so of my life, so now every time I take to the skies, I take my time cherishing the sights, the smells and the sounds."

Y/n swallowed as Azriel began descending, her eyes unwavering from his face. She did not avert her eyes, even as he set her down on her porch.

"Thank you for today, Azriel."

Azriel dipped his head, the warmth of his cheeks no longer stemming from embarrassment.

"It was all my pleasure."

Azriel wanted to ask her if she would want to meet with him again, on another outing for just the two of them, but he did not want to force her hand. He already wondered if this one day out was because she pitied him, maybe wanted him to leave her alone. He could not bring himself to ask for more of her precious time. He felt blessed as it was.

But Y/n smiled wide, seeming to have other plans. "Will I see you again?"

Azriel stared back at her, stunned. "I- if you want to see me. I mean I want to see you, but if you don’t want to see me it’s completely fine, I won’t bother you more-"

A soft laugh tickled his ear before he felt her soft lips at his cheek, silencing him effortlessly.

"See you next week then, same day and time. Goodbye Azriel."

She was through her door and into the house before Azriel could recover from the shock.

"Goodbye…" He mumbled, gazing at the painted door.

But no one except his shadows were there to hear his response.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[utterlyotterlyx]

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Eight

Summary - Eris and your court grapple with the realisation that you left in order to protect them, whilst in Velaris, it becomes clear that you aren't as clueless as you seem.

Warnings - angst, depression, slight fluff, mentions of wing clipping, manipulation, slightly possessive Eris, unhinged Rhys, soft Az and Cass.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

The morning light drifting through the pulled back curtains was the catalyst of Eris' groan, he threw an arm over his face to shield himself from the pale yellow light fluttering through the room, a room that felt off somehow.

Frowning, Eris removed his arm from his face, squinting through his sleep-ridden eyes to peer at the person who was supposed to be curled into his side, head resting on his chest, and palms idly drifting over his skin. No one was there.

Had the night before been a dream?

Had he not basically confessed his love for you whilst you confessed that despite the distance that separated you, that you had knowingly chosen to soothe him Under The Mountain despite your own pain?

Eris tugged on that golden thread in his chest, wincing as it withered back to him, shivering in pain within his soul. Rubbing the spot over his heart, Eris realised that the bond hadn't snapped for you like it should have, like he thought it had.

Throwing the sheets from his frame, Eris' gaze darted about his former chambers, searching for any sign of you. He inhaled deeply, expecting your scent to flood him, but found his heart in his hands when only the faintest of trances of you lingered in the air.

Before Eris could truly lose his mind, he glanced toward the vanity, to where a singed square of parchment lay propped up against a bottle of perfume with his name delicately inscribed on the face.

He didn't need to read it to know what it said, but he had to, he had to see it for himself.

I can't let him hurt you. I'm sorry.

The page had wrinkled and darkened in places, and droplets of your tears stained the parchment in his fingers. The words on the page told him the answer to his previous thought, that the bond hadn't fallen into place for you, which in a way was better, it meant that everything you had felt and admitted was because you wanted it, not because you felt like you had to accept something.

Shuffling sounded from below, a smash of glass and a screech for Nesta, he moved to the noise, quickly fixing his briefs from the night before around his waist, his bare feet padding against the wood as he headed toward the commotion.

He heard Elain's words, he heard her mutter something about her vision, about snow-capped mountains and the dress that had vanished from its place draped over the mirror in your room. Red shrouded his vision like thick mist, his entire soul was threatening to rip itself apart, hating itself for not only letting you get away, but for also for not being able to feel you.

Every single fibre of his essence was searching for you, holding onto any speck of your scent that lingered in the air. He didn't even see Lucien through his haze, he only focused on the one person who knew for certain where you had gone.

Eris knew, but he needed to hear someone else say it.

The fox prowled ahead, fists clenched and eyes low, his molten bronze pools swimming with tamed fury as his soul remembered the touch of your lips against his, how you tasted of midnight skies and honey, it was peaceful. It was perfectly you. Dark but beautiful.

Nesta had frozen in place, the eldest Archeron surprisingly void of any words. Apparently you hadn't told a soul, that much was clear from the shock and hurt on their faces.

“Where is my mate?”

Eris’ palms lay flat against the countertop, the same one where he had held you only hours before, kissing you and telling you how badly he wanted to be worthy of you. It dawned on him that throughout that entire conversation, from your joint confessions to the kiss that confirmed everything he already knew, to sleeping in the same bed, you had already known that you were leaving.

Pain and sadness radiated on Elain’s features, her bottom lids pooled with unshed tears, and she fell back into Lucien who had crossed the room after Eris had brushed past him, “Wait, your mate?” Nesta took a step forward, her eyes growing wider as her mind span with the news.

Eris hummed softly, his eyes still cold and stoic, “I thought it had snapped for her last night, after we spoke, after the kiss,” his gaze softened slightly, “She’s gone back, hasn’t she?”

Nodding, Elain answered, “Yes. In the night,” after Eris had fallen asleep with you wrapped up in his arms, leaving him to wake up alone with a spot beside him void of life.

"Hold up. Your mate? Since when?"

Eris rolled his eyes at Nesta, running his hand over his face, "I think I've always known, but it was Under The Mountain when I accepted it. When she was walking the halls singing to herself," when in actuality you had been singing to him.

None of them could be angry or upset with you, you had done it to protect them, to make sure that they stayed alive and safe, away from any form of war or conflict.

“I can invoke the Blood Duel.”

It wasn’t an act that was taken lightly. The Blood Duel was a rarity, but it was also made for situations just like the one they found themselves in. Rhys thought that you were unmated, it was his main argument of focus, but he had no idea that your mate was itching to tear him apart. Eris could invoke it, and maybe, just maybe, Rhys would have no choice but to honour the bond and set you free before it was too late.

Lucien inhaled sharply, “She wouldn’t want that.”

“I can’t leave her there, Lucien.”

“We won’t,” Nesta moved to stand before the arched window, peering out at the pond which was shimmering in the sunlight, glittering even, “If I know her well, which I do, she wouldn’t have gone back without some kind of plan in place. That woman is the best tactician that Prythian has ever seen.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell us?”

Nesta turned to Elain who was equally as confused, they had left Velaris to follow you blindly, they were devoted to you, “She didn’t want us to get caught up in it,” a guess, but probably true. Nesta turned to Eris, “Don’t invoke the Blood Duel yet. I know it’s not ideal but maybe she knows what she’s doing.”

They could only hope that Rhys’ greed would glamour his senses, “And if she doesn’t?”

Eris couldn’t imagine it, what they’d do to you in that prison of a city. That other part of you had retreated each day, the darkness bowing to the warmth and light of him.

Nesta felt Ataraxia call to her and she flexed her digits in return as if she was holding it, “Then we go to war.”

“It’s for your own good, y/n.”

Rhys was waiting with open arms the moment you had stepped up to where Autumn met Winter, Azriel must have told him of your movements.

Your heart ached in your chest, everything was screaming at you to turn back and find another way, but you had to protect them from the monster stood before you.

The winter chill caused you to shiver, the skirt of your dress tugging you backward, willing you to move away, to go back to where you were safe and loved, “Promise me that you won’t hurt them.”

Smiling, Rhys extended a hand toward you, “If you cross that line, they will be spared.”

“Promise me. Promise me that you won’t hurt them, and if you do, the price will be your life.”

Rhys wasn’t stupid, he knew what you were doing, “I promise,” a familiar burning coiled up your right forearm and you glanced down to see a fresh tattoo inked on your skin, “Now, come.”

A shuddering breath moved through you, you stepped over the threshold into Winter and his hands were on you immediately. They were cold and calloused, there was no softness or love in his touch, just pride to have won.

“I apologise,” you frowned slightly, “I had to take some precautions.” Before you could ask about what he had done, you felt cold rings lock around your wrists and neck, you felt the power evaporate from your body, and you fell to your knees.

Clawing at the collar moulding with your flesh, you whimpered, “What is this?”

“A gift from a friend,” Rhys crouched down to your level, taking your chin on his fingers, “I told you that your power was unnatural, now you can’t use it at all.”

The voices in your mind had wailed, they screamed in protest as the power of the collar consumed them, the air fell still and you felt weak, almost mundane as Rhys’ power pulsed around you, relishing in being the strongest thing to now walk the earth.

“It’s a blessing,” he cooed to you, ignoring the cries coming from your lips, you tried to hook your fingers under it, to rip it off of you, but you had no strength, and the collar was already embedded into your flesh, “We can be happy,” his eyes shimmered and yours dimmed, “No more fighting.”

Drowning. You were drowning and no amount of air that you were gulping down was saving you. You were lifted from the ground and cradled to a cold chest, and all you could do was glance backward at the border, at where Autumn called to you before the world before your eyes vanished in a swirl of colour and you found yourself looking upward at a sky full of stars.

Nothing felt real.

Every step he took filled you with dread, you recognised the incline of the path, you’d know it with your eyes screwed shut. Shuffling entered your ear shot as well as the sound of gasps, you were sure you must have looked tiny in his arms, your face was stained with tears, your skin had gone pale, your eyes had darkened and stared blankly downward to your hands bundled in your lap.

Black veins snaked from the stone cuffs melted into your wrists, angry and poisonous, devouring you with each passing moment.

“Az. Take her will you?”

The room stiffened, but the Shadowsinger moved to you, he slid you from Rhys’ grip and held you delicately. The change of your scent was undeniable, and Azriel was sure that Rhys commanded that he take you so that he didn’t have to smell Eris for one moment longer than he had to.

Velaris could do nothing to soothe you, the looming mountains could only watch sadly as Azriel carried you to your room at the River House, the stars blinkered away entirely at the solemn atmosphere that coated the city in your silent fury. The princess had returned, but she was powerless, a lone bunny stalked by wolves.

Cedar used to be your favourite smell, but all it did was make your stomach churn and twist in agony, everything inside of you wanted that scent to be one of pine and cinnamon, they wanted it to belong to the person who had never been afraid of you even when you had given him every reason to be.

The knots in your shoulders writhed, your scars screamed as your power depleted, but you couldn’t bare to soothe it, it was the only thing you could feel aside from nothing.

“It’s alright, y/n. Everything is going to be okay,” Azriel kicked your door open as softly as he could, and his heart shattered into a million pieces when a single look inside sent you struggling against his embrace.

Nothing had changed, it looked the exact same as it had the night you had left, like it was waiting to you.

“Please, don’t do this. Take me back to him. Please.”

You knew that he couldn’t defy Rhys so openly, so foolishly. Azriel set you down on the comforter and knelt before you, his fingers drifted along the edge of the black stone collar, where the stone met the newly marred flesh beneath it, “I didn’t know that he was going to do this, I swear.”

So that explained the gasps. It wasn’t due to just seeing you in the flesh again, it was because of the collar and cuffs burnt into your skin. None of them knew of what Rhys had planned to do, that being to drain the life from you bit by bit, starting with your power, until you bent to his will and became his submissive monster.

Hazel connected with your own, and Azriel saw nothing but a wilting rose inside of you, broken with no chance of springing back to full bloom. Sat before him was a shell of the woman he used to know, and he had dealt a hand in your state, contributed to it, and it disgusted him.

“Get away from me,” your words struck him like Truthteller had become lodged in his heart, you had never asked Azriel to go away, you had always welcomed him with open arms and soothing words.

But the captured animal in front of him wasn’t y/n anymore, it was the frightened creature that Rhys had plucked from the forest and condemned to a life of solitude.

“Please, y/n-“

“Don’t say my name,” your eyes welled, “You don’t ever get to say my name. You’re not him, you don’t get to call me that.”

Hold on.

A shudder flew up your spine, the first bit of comfort you had experienced in what felt like a millennia, “Get out.”

Sighing, Azriel rose to his feet, he knew that there was no consoling you, no words that he could muster to make the situation better. As soon as Azriel left the room, closing the door with a soundless click, you found yourself staring out of the window at the stars that used to lull you to sleep but were now glowering in warning.

The valley sang with golden light, it drifted along the streets where childish laughter blossomed, it should have been comforting, but nothing about the moment was good. Nothing about Velaris felt safe. Gone were the days where you would stroll along the Sidra with Azriel by your side, gone were the days of harmony.

Hugging your knees to your chest, your mind floated elsewhere, wondering how Nesta, Elain, and Lucien would react once they realised that you had left. How hurt they would be by your abandonment. And Eris, you were sure that he would be feeling the worst out of them all, wondering why his words and admissions weren't able to convince you to stay.

All that mattered was that they were safe, protected by the bargain inked upon your flesh.

The reflection in the window wasn't of anyone that you recognised, she was pale, her eyes a shade of almost onyx bar the circle of wildfire in the irises, black veins protruded from the collar embedded into the flesh of her neck, her hair was loosely strewn over her shoulder. The life had been sucked from her soul and she had been left empty.

"Don't think about it," a shaky whisper racked through your body and you hugged yourself tighter. You couldn't allow yourself to crumble at the pain and grief, "You can do this. They're safe. You can do this, for them."

For Eris and the Autumn Court, for your friends, for the continent, you could confine yourself to Velaris if it meant sparing them all.

Time passed, time where the world beyond the window darkened and the golden hue of the valley evaporated into the night air, and it was during that time when another soul deemed itself worthy enough to find you.

You didn't feel him at first, for you were too dumb to feel anything, all of your fae senses had depleted, you couldn't feel anything. It was as though Rhys had locked you in a prison of darkness, where no feeling resided, where there was no knowing of who was coming to see you or what was coming next. A prison of solitude that even the fire couldn't touch.

Cassian sucked in a harsh beath as he stepped into the room, the entire space was freezing, soft whisps of air flew from your lips, and you shivered on the bed as you held yourself tightly in your arms. The Lord of Bloodshed crossed the room, perching on the edge of the bed, wincing when you angled your body away from him.

In that moment, Cassian knew that Rhys had lost his gods damned mind.

"I'm sorry," he wasn't looking to you, no, he was peering out of the window, wondering at what point life had gotten so fucked up. Anger bubbled inside of him as the stone collar around your neck sang with the power it had trapped inside of it. A monumental act that proved exactly how far Rhys would go to contain you.

"Is this how it's going to go? Rhys sends you in one by one to apologise, do you think that's going to wash away everything that's happened?"

Heavy eyelids greeted him just as the scent of you mixed with another had the moment he had stepped foot into the room. "Rhys doesn't know that I'm here."

Interest piqued, you glanced to him, noting the slouch in his shoulders, the messily thrown together low bun on his head, how his wings drooped lower than they had before, you noted the paled hue to his skin and how he sat with his elbows resting on his knees and staring at the floor, "Nesta misses you. She says she doesn't but I know that she does."

"Is she alright?"

"She's safe. I made sure of that."

Unlike you, you seemed to say, and your eyes confirmed the message.

"If it helps, none of us knew that Rhys was going to do this. Feyre is horrified."

"It doesn't help me at all actually, but thank you for wasting your breath."

It was astounding how a voice could be so vacant, like the last of the autumn breeze before the winter pierced through it. Cassian wanted to know more, he wanted you to tell him about Nesta, about everything you had found, but he knew that you wouldn't tell him, because you no longer trusted him or saw him as anything but one of your captors.

"Did you know that he threatened to kill her? All of them?"

A low growl emitted from him, "He told me of the others," and left out the threat on his own mates life, "That's why you came back. To protect them from him."

"When are you going to realise that the real monster is the one that lurks under your own roof and not the one who ran away to be free of it?"

The silence was enough, Cassian wasn't blind to the information, his hard gaze softened and he tentatively placed a hand on yours, his rough fingers coiling around trembling bone. You wouldn't survive whatever Rhys had planned for you, you were going to die in Velaris and Cassian would have to stand there as Rhys explained to the world how the darkness had consumed you.

It would be Cassian who would have to stand across from his mate and the people you had come to recognise as your true family whilst Rhys told them of your demise. He could see their faces in the forefront of his mind.

"I think I already am," no one could deny how the ways of the Night Court had shifted since you had chosen to leave. Rhys had become a feral beast prowling in the night on his hind legs, obsessing over the thing that had run away from him. "I'll find a way to get you out of this."

Cassian rose from his perch without another word, his calloused fingers slid from your own, and he left. Silence fell on you, but you looked back to the reflection in the window, to the woman that was undeniably you, and smirked.

Playing too many games might get you in trouble, Fawn.

Rising from the comforter, you drifted over to the glass, lifting the latch and opening it a few inches, allowing the songs of crickets and rippling waters to flow to you.

The rich tone of the voice made you shudder, and you could have sobbed at the sound, at how close it felt to the shell of your ear, so close that the ghost of his breath fanned over your shoulder.

I wondered how long it was going to take you to figure it out.

You could hear his smirk through his words, Nesta. A pause. Are you alright?

Swallowing hard, you replied, I'm holding on.

You're not going to tell me what he's done, are you?

No.

The stone of the collar shone in the moonlight, the shrillness of the night air brushed along it and cowered at the ward placed on its surface.

Has he hurt you?

Finding your reflection, you exhaled shakily, struggling to find the mask you had become so accustomed to wearing, Yes.

The place that you had folded Eris into began to unwind, Y/N.

I can do this, Eris. I can survive one last performance.

Eris was no doubt pacing the length of his bedroom, hair wild and eyes simmering with leashed violence. It was a blessing that Rhys was clueless to the carranam bond between you and Eris, a bond that not even his collars could touch or absorb, it was other-worldly and transcendent, something moulded to your very soul, not your power.

Pushing the rumbling pain back inside of you, channelling it to be something much more monstrous, you felt the talons of your other mind rise from the well inside of you, water sloshing over the edges and flowing through your veins like a disease.

It was the only way to do what you needed to do, what had been so masterfully done before. The mask settled onto your features and you rolled your shoulders, welcoming the monster back to the forefront of your essence, grinning at the demon that had come to say hello once again.

The kindred spirit. The one who pitied you enough to instead harmonise with you rather than take over entirely. The one who gave her power to you to wield, who was now shaking angrily inside of you by the mere act of having such power stripped away.

You have set the stage so well, my pure thing. The talons scraped against your mind, breaking through the cracks and seeping into the emptiness inside of you. Let me take it from here, let me tuck you away into the brightest part of us where no one can hurt you.

Did they really believe that you had no idea what Amarantha had done to you all those years ago Under The Mountain?

It had been your greatest kept secret.

Smiling, you let the Queen take control, you let her guide you to the warmest place of you, where the people you loved most rested and you watched on as a bystander as she got to work.

The monster wasn't just you and never had been. You shared your body and consciousness with a queen of sorts, a demon contained in a small onyx stone that had been sewn into you whilst your body had tried to heal itself from the clipping of your wings. And instead of taking over completely like it should have, instead of devouring you, the demon sought to mould with you, it sought to become one with you, and you had let it.

And all you could do was hope that there would be enough of you left to bring back once you were both done.

Authors Note

Also realised that I really need to update my master list oops xo

Enjoy! Love you all 🫶🏻

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[jasmineandcedar]

Death glares at family dinners | Pathetically obsessed 3

An Elriel rom-com one shot (Azriel’s POV)

Before I joined the fandom, I always headcanoned Elain to be a bit of an embroiderer, crocheter, or knitter (and Azriel being the lucky recipient of her creations...). Since joining the fandom, I've seen a lot of other readers have headcanoned the same thing, like @nikachansstuff and @ramoneida’s headcanons here, or @bloomingdarkgarden's headcanon here, for example. So, this very chaotic one shot is in honour of and inspired by our collectively headcanoned Elain – the crafter, and Azriel– the lucky recipient.   

Summary: In ACOWAR, SJM describes Azriel’s “lethal gaze” as he arrives at the Illyrian war camp. What happens if that death glare is locked onto a target for insulting Elain's knitting? On top of that, what happens when a slightly unhinged Azriel in spymaster mode is falling in love but can't quite identify what he is feeling? It would seem Elain might have him wrapped around her finger... (or in a figurative chokehold).

Warning: sexual content (fantasies)

-------

Whoever thought looks could kill had clearly never been on the receiving end of Azriel’s death glare. The word “kill” didn't quite encompass the full, devastating effect of that lethal gaze. When Azriel locked eyes with his target, it was like anti-matter colliding with matter.

Poof!

Gone.

Utter annihilation.

Such was the dire fate of any poor soul who dared provoke the wrath of Azriel’s death glare, perfected and honed over centuries of silent brooding. That infamous gaze had been weaponized on battlefields, at high-level meetings with High Lords and other pretentious pricks, and in holding cells in the darkest corners of Hewn City.

Currently, it was locked and loaded at a family dinner.

“Isn’t he adorable?” Elain cooed, her voice as bright as the first rays of sunlight on a spring morning.

Azriel’s notorious death glare was locked onto Cassian, who, Azriel noted with some irritation, seemed to have built up a level of immunity over the centuries.

Cassian was biting his bottom lip so hard it was a wonder he hadn’t drawn blood. His chest shook with the force of stifled laughter before he collected himself enough to let out a shaky exhale. He took a deep breath, evidently summoning every ounce of willpower his warrior training had instilled in him, and had just opened his mouth to speak when a laugh threatened to burst out of him with such vigour, he was forced to fervently bite down on his lip again.

Azriel sat across from Cassian at the dinner table in the river house, his expression as though carved from stone, save for that lethal gleam in his gaze. Next to him sat Elain, glowing with pride. The source of her pride was perched atop Azriel’s head: a fluffy, hand-knitted hat in pastel pink, complete with floppy puppy ears and two fluffy strings tied in a neat bow under Azriel’s very clenched jaw.

Elain had presented the knitting project to the dinner table with glowing delight and Azriel had watched the inner circle squirm in their seats at the prospect of one of them having to don the creation. But Elain had simply turned in her seat and directed that glowing delight towards Azriel, who thanked the Mother he was already seated because otherwise his knees would have buckled.

“Pastel pink contrasts beautifully with his dark hair,” Elain had declared with absolute certainty, making Azriel the lucky recipient of her handiwork.

The hat was a valiant attempt, if one were feeling generous. If one were more inclined towards honesty, the quality of the hat was, truthfully, debatable.

If one had a proclivity for bluntness, it looked god-awful.

One floppy puppy ear hung slightly lower than the other, the stitches were uneven, and the strings were of different length. Particularly the last of those flaws caused an uncomfortable itch in Azriel’s need for order, and he had to blink hard to ignore it. Which he did. Because to Azriel, that hat was nothing short of a masterpiece. It was as precious to him as the still-unused headache powder she had once given him, sitting untouched on his nightstand.

It was a token of something far rarer than practicality or aesthetic beauty.

Azriel had nearly melted into a puddle when Elain's nimble fingers had brushed the sensitive skin of his neck, tying the fluffy creation in place with painstaking care. The preternatural stillness with which he usually held himself had crumbled into disarray immediately, his wings twitching ever so slightly as he shifted under her delicate ministrations. There was nothing accidental about his fidgeting. As with all things he did, it was intentional–just to have her linger, her fingers deftly working the strings into a perfect, unnecessarily neat bow.

She had said nothing, of course–Elain was all too kind for that–but the faint, knowing curve of her lips hadn’t escaped his notice. Neither had the way he shamefully bit his bottom lip in response escaped hers. The glint in her eyes of molten chocolate was all the evidence his observant eye needed of that. That glimmer of mischief and quiet challenge in her eye was enough to make his stomach twist into knots, much like the strings she took a damn long time tying under his jaw. Azriel might have fidgeted again, like a wayward boy caught stealing moments he had no right to claim.

He claimed them, nonetheless.

These moments of quiet, unspoken daring between them had become more frequent, each one a thread tugged loose from the fraying edges of his restraint. That restraint he had once considered as unyielding as steel but which now felt as fragile as cotton–unravelling with every stolen glance and lingering touch. Not even centuries of self-loathing could stop him from seeking out that gleam of silent daring in her eye.

Elain Archeron had Azriel well and truly wrapped around her finger. And now, she had wrapped that light pink, hand-knitted and very, very fluffy creation of hers around his head and Azriel was yanked back to reality.

He felt his cheeks flush under the weight of the Inner Circle's attention.

One didn’t need to be Spymaster of the Night Court to pick up on the fact that the entire table was teetering on the verge of laughter. But Azriel just clenched his jaw even tighter, a feat one might have thought not physically possible, and focused on maintaining his death glare on Cassian–or anyone else foolish enough to comment on the hat’s questionable aesthetics.

Azriel didn’t give a damn about being the cause of their amusement, because Elain was beaming up at him as if he were wearing a crown rather than a misshapen, fluffy, pastel pink hat with puppy ears.

To Azriel, he might as well have been wearing a crown.

“The hat is lovely, Elain,” said Mor with a smile, rocking Nyx in her lap.

Clever, Azriel admitted. With a single comment, Mor had subtly shifted the focus to the knitwear itself, from the undoubtedly peculiar image of Azriel donning fluffy knitwear that wasn’t even black. It was a degree of finesse that Cassian had clearly not mastered.

Cassian, who appeared only moments away from self-destruction, opened his mouth again, visibly shaking. “He… looks…” he managed, his voice trembling with the effort of holding back his laughter.

Don't push it, Azriel’s death glare warned menacingly, zeroing in on Cassian like the finely tuned weapon it was. It was a look that could put any Illyrian warrior in their place, freeze enemies in their tracks, and–if Cassian had any shred of self-preservation left–stop him from finishing that sentence.

That death glare was a vow.

A silent warning to the entire room, that Azriel would sooner unleash his annihilating death glare at a family dinner than allow a single soul to so much as snicker at the fluffy handiwork of sunshine incarnate sitting at his side.

His shadows gathered in the corners of the room, ready to strike. Azriel threw a quick glance at Elain. That should impress her, he thought, very pleased with his display.

Should he flex his wings too, just to really hammer the point home?

He tested the idea briefly, giving his wings a slight twitch. Just enough to catch the light in a way that highlighted their span.

Yes. That was subtle enough.

He was just about to throw another quick glance at Elain to reap the reward of his subtle peacocking, when a strangled sound erupted from Cassian and yanked Azriel out of his strategizing.

Cassian looked like he was attempting to swallow a burst of laughter and speak at the same time. Why he had taken it upon himself to act as spokesperson for the group was a mystery. His skills lay firmly in his fists and evidently not in his rhetorical prowess.

“… adorable!” Cassian squeaked at last, his voice a full two octaves higher than usual. His face had turned an alarming shade of red from the effort of holding back his laughter.

“I know, right!” Elain exclaimed proudly, giving Azriel a beaming smile.

Azriel froze.

Just like that, his death glare disintegrated with the speed of his wildly fluttering heart. That beaming smile–bright enough to rival the sun itself–left him defenseless and dazed.

Adorable.

Elain Archeron found him adorable.

He was suddenly overcome by the urge to throw her over his shoulder, bend her over in the nearest vacant room, and thoroughly demonstrate just how adorable he could be with his clothes off. Elain might have a rather unconventional definition of adorable, but who was Azriel to argue? Especially when her definition seemed to describe him.

He could be adorable. He suppressed a smirk as a dangerous heat flared low in his gut.

If Elain wanted adorable, he would provide.

Resisting the urge to adorably throw Elain over his shoulder and make good on the mischief sparkling in her eyes, Azriel forced himself to refocus. He turned to sinisterly survey the room for potential targets of his death glare, like a predator selecting its prey.

Next to Cassian, Nesta was stone-faced, her hands folded neatly in her lap. A calm mask of composure, save for the rhythmic rise and fall of her shoulders. Ah, breathing techniques, Azriel thought. A clean and efficient way to hold back laughter. Nicely done. Strategic. Azriel was certainly one to appreciate a methodological approach. He had come to expect nothing less from Lady Death. She even had a fine death glare of her own, and a menacing index finger to match it. Respectable.

Amren, meanwhile, was giving the hat her signature death glare, as if it had personally offended her. Since resting death glare was her default expression, Azriel let it slide–for now. No need to be hasty. Family dinners weren’t the time for rash decisions. There was no immediate need to annihilate Amren over his fluffy pink hat.

For now.

“Feyre helped pick out the colour,” said Elain modestly, a faint blush spreading across her lovely cheeks. Azriel suddenly found himself gripped by the entirely inappropriate urge to put his mouth to that delectable blush.

These urges were becoming a problem.

As a shadowsinger known for his legendary restraint, Azriel was alarmingly unfamiliar with the sensation of not thinking clearly. He simply didn’t know how to handle it. Except, when it came to Elain, it wasn’t so much a lack of clarity as it was an overwhelming sharpness of focus. Because that rosy blush had him thinking all kinds of things very clearly–just not the kind of vivid thoughts one should be having at family dinners.

Elain Archeron, wearing nothing but that blush while Azriel poun–

“What do you think, Rhys?

Elain’s question shattered Azriel’s increasingly pleasant thoughts like a hammer hitting glass. He was once again dragged–unwillingly–back to the present. He blinked dazedly, feeling heat rise to his own cheeks, his pants starting to strain uncomfortably. He shifted slightly in his seat, thankful for the concealment of his shadows.

Perhaps he should feel guilty. His fantasies weren’t exactly… proper. And if there was one thing his mother had taught him, it was to act proper around the females in his life. But any feelings of guilt eluded him when Elain kept throwing him those wicked sidelong glances when no one saw them. The kind of ravenous glances that made him wonder if she could read his thoughts the way it always seemed she could. If she, perhaps, knew exactly how wild they were.

And then there was the way her fingers lingered a little longer than necessary whenever they found an excuse to touch. How she seemed to revel in his helpless reactions to those brief, fleeting touches that seemed perfectly innocent to everyone else but sent sparks skittering through his body.

Yes, Azriel was growing increasingly certain Elain wouldn’t mind his wicked fantasies at all.

In fact, he had a growing suspicion hers might be equally wicked.

He was hoping they were even wilder than his.

Tucking those wicked fantasies away for later, Azriel shifted his death glare to Rhys.

The High Lord was undeniably more composed than Cassian, but only marginally. Rhys’ eyes sparkled with suppressed amusement. After five centuries together, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of Rhys’ mouth was enough for Azriel to tell that he was bursting with witty remarks. Likely something about how perfectly pastel pink contrasted with Azriel’s well-maintained dark and broody aesthetic, or how the colour of the hat was about as aggressively cheerful as Azriel’s jaw was aggressively clenched.

Thankfully, Azriel knew Rhys had a soft spot for Elain that wouldn’t allow him to ever insult her.

Poking fun at Azriel, on the other hand…

Narrowing his eyes, he threw a swift glance towards Feyre, noting how she was staring intently at the ceiling and pressing her lips together so tightly they had turned pale. Her formidable determination to avoid looking at Azriel directly was a dead giveaway.

The pair of them were definitely laughing at him through their bond.

Azriel could live with that. What he couldn’t live with was even the faintest shadow of disappointment dimming the light in Elain’s beautiful eyes. He threw her another quick glance. She was still beaming up at him.

Noted.

No need for immediate action.

Yet.

Still, his death glare remained locked and loaded, ready to be unleashed should anyone push their luck.

Rhys looked worryingly tempted to do just that, biting his lips as if itching to make a mockery of Azriel’s peculiar predicament.

Azriel sighed up at the ceiling, as if pleading to the Mother herself to just give him a break. He tried to rub his temples, but his fingers tangled in the uneven stitches of the fluffy creation on his head.

“He looks…” Rhys began, his gleaming eyes locked on Azriel's and his voice trailing off with a deliberate and dramatic pause.

Azriel’s death glare swung back towards him, sharp as a blade.

Don't push it.

“… positively murderous,” Amren’s voice cut through the air like a dagger before Rhys could deliver his undoubtedly witty remark.

“What?” Elain asked, her alarmed gaze flickering to Azriel.

“Marvellous!” Feyre interjected hastily, her words tumbling out in a tone just a tad too enthusiastic.

“Vicious, more like it,” Amren murmured, the faintest smirk curving her lips.

Don't. Push. It.

“Sorry?” Elain asked, her brows raising as she glanced between Azriel and Amren, locked in a battle of death glares.

“Precious, Elain dear,” Rhys cut in smoothly, shooting his own death glare at Amren. “She said precious!”

“Or homicidal, take your pick,” Amren muttered under her breath, leaning back in her chair and looking thoroughly pleased with the simmering drama she had so effortlessly stirred up.

SWIFT AND CERTAIN RETRIBUTION.

That is what Azriel’s death glare promised Amren as he levelled its full, annihilating force at her.

Or so he intended.

Except, nothing happened.

Not so much as a flicker of discomfort crossed Amren’s smug face. If anything, that satisfied smirk grew wider, practically daring him to try harder.

It seemed all his time spent with sunshine incarnate had Azriel's annihilating death glare malfunctioning. Or perhaps it had lost some of its edge. That thought was mildly concerning, but less concerning than the alternative: that Amren was made of anti-matter too.  Azriel hadn't considered that. A tactical oversight, he admitted internally. He was getting lax.

He'd need to get on top of that.

He glanced over at Elain again, who was luckily too busy admiring her handiwork to notice Amren’s snide remark. Azriel’s worry faded instantly. Her gaze locked on his, her face lit with quiet pride, eyes sparkling as though she had found a way to knit joy itself. Feeling a sense of peace wash over him, Azriel allowed himself a moment to simply watch her.

He’d like to get on top of her, too–

“He is precious, isn’t he,” Elain said, her voice soft and dreamy.

Her eyes, hazy and warm with affection, made the rest of the room disappear from Azriel’s consciousness. Everything–the relentless banter, his looming headache–faded into irrelevance. His heart thumped unsteadily, his chest tightening with an unbearable ache.

Precious.

Elain found him precious.

Azriel simply stared at her, feeling his resolve unravel even further. Precious wasn’t a word anyone had ever used to describe him. Efficient, yes. Useful, dark, ruthless–death and terror–those were recurring. But precious?

For Elain, he could be precious.

For Elain, he would be anything she wanted.

Being wrapped around her finger didn’t really capture how well and truly done for he was. No, sweet Elain had him in a damn chokehold. And, although Azriel would never admit this aloud as long as he drew breath, he liked it. Thoroughly. From the blushing of his cheeks and the fluttering of his heart to the straining of his pants.

But why was she looking at him like that at the dinner table? That soft, affectionate gleam in her eyes, the faint blush still dusting her cheeks–it was simply too much. Azriel’s restraint was already fraying, the threads coming undone with every passing second.

Azriel felt the instincts of the spymaster within him take over. With expertise, he swiftly scanned his surroundings. Four walls. Solid. Sturdy. He nodded to himself, pleased with his finds.

Each wall a prime candidate for pinning her against, should the opportunity present itself.

He would unravel the threads of fate itself to have that opportunity present itself.

He’d let her choose which wall she preferred, of course. Ever the gentleman. He’d even take her wearing nothing but the hat if she liked that. Who was he to deny her preferences? Between his daggers and his shadows, he had some unconventional ones of his own.

“You’re scaring the children, shadowsinger,” Amren drawled, that dagger of a voice cutting through the increasingly improper fantasies Azriel had been spiralling into.

Nyx was staring at Azriel with an impressive death glare for someone so tiny. The babe had certainly captured the essence of menace.

Azriel’s chest swelled with pride. Internally, of course. Now was hardly the time to break character. Persistence was key to a well-crafted death glare. Azriel would lead by example. Teach them young, as they say. By the already determined clenching of his little jaw, Nyx was clearly a natural.

“Nonsense!” said Elain brightly, undeterred. Se leaned forward slightly, her curls of golden brown catching in the light as she beamed at her nephew. “Right, Nyxie?”

The instant Nyx heard her voice, his scowling little face transformed, his death glare melting into a brilliant little grin. Azriel couldn’t help but think that, despite being Rhys’ son, Nyx was shaping up to be a fine specimen. There was always the risk of Rhy’s loud and extravagant tendencies rubbing off on him, but he had potential to embrace the broody lifestyle.

“I’m making one for Nyx too,” Elain added cheerfully.

Nyx’s death glare returned in an instance. Azriel suppressed a chuckle. Give him another two centuries of silent brooding and he would get the hang of it. Fine-tuned intensity, sharper aim, better target selection. Azriel would personally see to it that Nyx mastered the subtle art of brooding and annihilation by death glare.

“How does it feel, Az?” Cassian asked, nodding towards the hat with a wide grin.

Azriel turned his head in a carefully practiced move, slowly and menacingly, before he spoke, in an equally well-practiced, low voice.

“Feels like there’s only one of these and it’s mine,” he said lethally. His eyes narrowed and his shadows swirled around them as he once again levelled his devastating death glare at Cassian.

Infuriatingly, Cassian simply bit his lower lip again, unable to hide his amusement.

Feeling slightly sorry for himself, Azriel’s eyes fell once more on the peace and quiet sitting next to him. His heart gave another traitorous flutter as his shadows receded, dissipating as though bowing to her light.

He froze, throat bobbing.

He was well and truly done for. This was not just some measly chokehold. This was annihilation on an entirely different level.

Elain’s radiant beam of death was aimed squarely at him.

How was he supposed to keep his composure when she looked at him like that? That softness in her eyes, the gentle curve of her lip–it was a weapon. And she wielded it with a precision that made the Spymaster of the Night Court want to fall to his knees. Because how could he be expected to not rip off his clothes, drop to the floor, and worship every inch of her right here at the dinner table when she looked at him like that?

She truly had a knack for torture, this one. Sweet, devastating torture.

Azriel couldn’t help but smirk at that. Of course, he knew a thing or two about the sweet kind of torture, as well. Something stirred inside him indecently, as Elain bit back her own smirk, turning away from him to once again face the rest of the room, leaving him desperate for more.

Naughty little thing.

Azriel’s hands flexed at his sides. A broody Spymaster with a yearning heart could only endure so much, and Elain Archeron was nudging him towards the edges of his restraint. Sweetly and deliberately, with seductive smirks and lingering touches, all the while gazing innocently at him.

Azriel nearly whimpered.

“So, you like the colour, Az?” Rhys asked casually, but that familiar glint in his eyes betrayed his mischievous intent. Azriel was yanked–once again–from his increasingly wanton fantasies.

“It contrasts beautifully with my dark hair,” he replied venomously, somehow making it sound like a threat.

Elain nodded vigorously, with a smile so radiant it lit up even Azriel’s shadows, still gathering in the corners of the room. Azriel’s chest swelled with pride anew, the ridiculousness of the situation evaporating by the sheer force of her approval.

“It what?” Nesta blurted out, her concentration on her breathing exercises shattering at last. Her voice broke slightly, and Azriel caught the tiniest flicker of mirth in her steely eyes.

Across the table, Feyre was battling what looked to be a losing war. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together even harder, exhaling shakily through her nose.

“It contrasts beautifully with his dark hair,” Elain repeated, with that sweet, unassuming, and utterly lethal smile on her face, as precious as a perfectly aimed dagger straight to Azriel’s heart.

Before he could gather what little was left of his legendary composure, Elain reached out a delicate hand and gently swept a dark strand from his forehead. The casual ease with which she touched him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, caused a rush of heat to cascade through his body and across his cheeks.

“I’m knitting a matching sweater to go with it,” Elain said, gazing deep into his eyes. It sounded like a declaration of love to Azriel. He almost fell to his knees and declared his undying love and devotion for her right there at the dinner table. He shut the urge down with all the strength he could muster, opting instead to mentally draft elaborate plans on how to secretly propose to sunshine incarnate.

“I think it will really bring out the warmth in his skin tone,” Elain continued with a soft sigh so enchanting it might as well have been a spell.

Azriel swallowed hard.

And then Elain leaned in closer. Azriel nearly groaned as her sweet scent enveloped him. Her wide, chestnut eyes locked onto his, that death beam striking with pinpoint accuracy, obliterating the last remnants of his restraint. It was devastating. Flawless. Expertly executed. The kind of precision that would have any spymaster on their knees.

And Azriel was completely and utterly in love.

“Don’t you think so?” she asked, her voice so soft it felt like a caress to Azriel’s ear drums.

Azriel opened his mouth, intending to respond, but all that came out was a sound that most closely resembled a gurgle.

“Exactly,” Elain said with emphasis, as if Azriel’s gurgle had been even remotely intelligible. “I knew you’d understand.”

Azriel blinked.

His knees felt weak.

Was this what annihilation felt like? Did it start by disarming the target through immobilization of the knees? It would certainly make sense. He had immobilized many knees over the centuries. Efficient. Clean. Only now all his bones seemed to have left his body. Was this stage two of annihilation? Dissolution of the bones? A gradual disintegration of the skeletal structure? It seemed a bit macabre and excessive, even for his tastes, but it would certainly get the job done.

Elain’s warm eyes softened even further, becoming almost glazed, as if lost in a vision.

“The light pink will really emphasize the way the gold flecks in his eyes glow in the afternoon sun,” she continued dreamily, “right before twilight when the sky is painted orange and pink, and he is silently brooding in his favourite chair by the fire, next to that window in the sitting room in House of Wind…”

Azriel stilled.

His beloved brooding chair.

Elain had noticed his favourite brooding spot.

He could certainly brood. For Elain, he would brood harder than ever before. He would furrow his brows and clench his jaw tighter than the laws of nature allowed.

Azriel blinked hard again, willing his bones to return to their rightful places. He’d need them intact if he were to survive this dinner.

Except, now Azriel’s head spun so wildly he thought he might lift off the ground. Was this the next stage of annihilation? Dissolution of all coherent thought? A gradual disintegration of the intellect? It seemed plausible, given how his usually sharp mind suddenly was reduced to a swirling, incoherent mess. And why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? Was this part of the process?

Those couldn’t be wingbeats in his stomach, could they?

“…And the way his tattoos ripple over his muscled form with every movement when he’s training with those beautiful daggers, and the sun hits those magnificent wings just right, highlighting the reds and golds…” Elain’s voice was growing softer, more breathy. Her beautiful eyes were dazed, glazed over.

Azriel’s breath hitched in his chest.

His daggers.

Elain liked his precious daggers.

And Azriel was about to have a raging hard-on at a family dinner, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“…And when he looks at you with those hazel eyes,” Elain’s voice was turning downright husky now, “with that quiet, smouldering intensity, like he’s seeing straight into your soul…” Her words faltered, her eyes going half-lidded, as if she were the one being annihilated now.

“… I think a fluffy pink sweater would just really…” Elain’s voice trailed off into something most closely resembling a gurgle.

Across the table, Cassian dropped his fork with a loud clatter. Nesta crossed her arms over her chest, smirking knowingly. Feyre and Mor clutched their hearts in unison. Rhys clutched his pearls.

Amren yawned.

But Azriel noticed none of it. His pulse thundered wildly, the rhythm frantic and entirely out of sync. He suddenly seemed to lack the coordination to inhale and exhale properly. Annihilation really was no joke, he thought, as he neared the point of hyperventilation. But wasn’t this a bit overkill? A swift zap to the brain would have sufficed.

And why did his face tilt to the side and his lips part in perfect sync with Elain’s? Was this the final stage? Dissolution of all inhibition?

“If you want it, of course,” Elain breathed, her voice suddenly sultry, any trace of innocence gone from her eyes. Her lips hovered mere inches from his, and her large brown eyes gazed into his with an intensity that shattered every last shred of coherence in his brain.

And that smirk. That barely-there curve of her lips.

Oh, she thoroughly enjoyed having him in a chokehold, didn’t she?

Naughty little thing.

If this was annihilation, Azriel decided, he didn’t stand a chance. Annihilation simply felt too good to resist.

So, the Spymaster of the Night Court simply surrendered.

“Please,” was all Azriel managed to breathe back, his voice a husky whisper, before his eyes fluttered shut.

And just as the space between them was about to vanish, when her warm breath mingled with his and he could practically taste her on his lips–

“Get a room,” Amren snickered from across the table.

Azriel’s eyes snapped open, his death glare shooting straight to Amren.

Don't push it.

-------

This is part three of pathetically obsessed.

They are standalone (one shots), but they are written in the same style (romantic comedy) and on the same theme (Azriel being nothing short of obsessed...)

Part 1: He had seen the light  (where Azriel obsessively fantasises about Elain during an intel meeting with Rhys)

Part 2: An out-of-body experience (where Azriel finds himself with Elain straddling him)

Part 3: Death glares at family dinners (where Azriel death glares at anyone insulting Elain’s knitting)

[tsunami-of-tears]

Love Drunk

Poly+ ACOTAR Week 2024 - Day 3 (Secrets)

Cazriel x Healer Reader

Summary: Feelings are growing between Azriel, Y/N and Cassian. The only people who can’t see it are them.

Pairing Masterlist

A/N: This part is dedicated to @daycourtofficial because of our shared love for aphrodisiacs ❤️ I think this fic takes the cake for being my most unhinged.

Wordcount: 1.7K

Warnings: aphrodisiacs; sexual themes; very angsty; everyone is so clueless.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･

After her rescue, Y/N quickly became a vital part of the Inner Circle and she had grown quite fond of her new friends. Especially Cassian and Azriel.

Both males were equally as smitten with Y/N, often bickering about who would get to carry her while flying and racing to sit beside her at family dinners. They only stopped injuring themselves after Rhys gave them some stern words. 

These affections had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the group. Everyone had clued into the growing feelings between Azriel, Y/N, and Cassian. Everyone except them of course. 

Though the males fought over her, they were both content enough with their friendship and didn’t want to ruin that. 

While Y/N enjoyed the flirtations and the distraction this offered, she didn’t allow herself time to dwell on her feelings. Instead, she opted to keep as busy as possible, in an attempt to fill the empty hole inside her. 

She could mend a broken bone in her sleep, but a broken soul… That was something she hadn’t quite figured out for herself. 

————

Months had passed, and everyone was getting increasingly frustrated with their friends. No amount of pep talks was making a difference. No one would make that first move.

So, the Inner Circle was bracing themselves for another evening of watching Azriel, Y/N and Cassian tiptoeing around the obvious. It was another typical family dinner since Y/N’s arrival, except it wasn’t.

“They look delicious, Elain,” Y/N gushes, slightly tipsy from the faewine. “Oh look! Mine is yellow. How did you know my favourite colour?” Y/N grabs the plate as Elain passes it to her and takes a bite. “Gods, you’re an incredible baker, Elain.”

Both Cassian and Azriel nod, agreeing with Y/N as they tuck into their cakes. 

Slowly, their expressions start to soften and their eyes start to glaze over. 

Y/N hiccups and starts to giggle uncontrollably.

“What’s so funny?” Elain asks.

Y/N pauses, considering. “I’m not sure,” she says before bursting into another fit of giggles. 

She doubles over, clutching her stomach. “I think— we’ve— been drugged,” she says breathily, trying and failing to regain control. 

Azriel and Cassian’s eyes meet and they too burst out laughing.

Wiping tears from her eyes, Y/N leans back, rolling off the lounge and onto the floor  

Running a hand through his hair, “Cauldron spare me, you guys go, I’ll look after them for now,” Rhys sighs.

Mor pats Rhys on the back. “Are you sure you don’t want backup?” she asks. 

Rhys waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”

The rest of the Inner Circle leave swiftly. Rhys pours another glass of wine and takes a seat at the dining table, preparing himself for a long night of babysitting his friends.

————

Reader

Bliss. 

That’s what you felt. 

Every cell in your body feels so light. Like you’re made of air, floating through space. 

It’s so peaceful. 

Your vision is slightly blurred, like a fog has settled in the room, curling around you. And yet, despite the haze - your head feels clear. 

You know what you want. 

You look at the two males before you. Gods. How did they get more beautiful? Your eyes flit between them, soaking in every detail. 

You lean forwards, to where they are sprawled on the floor in front of the lounge, empty glasses discarded beside them. 

You reach your hand out, meeting the force pulling you towards them, feeling the deep urge to— touch. 

Your fingers gently graze Cassian’s cheek. He turns to look at you, hazel eyes drinking in your entire being. 

“So beautiful,” you whisper, unable to hold the words back. You turn to Azriel, “Isn’t he?”

Azriel just nods, all words lost to him as he takes in your face. His expression is hungry. As if he could devour you whole. 

You inhale, and their scent hits you. 

Pure, unadulterated lust.

You exhale slowly as desire grows between your thighs. You know they can smell it on you, too. 

The Illyrians look at each other, predatory smirks on both their faces. They turn back to you, moving as one. Cassian licks his lips and Azriel moves forward, placing a hand on your knee.

The heat from his palm radiates up your leg and your core throbs. Your heart pounds in your ears, your breath quickens and you start to give in to the raw need swelling inside you. 

Your eyes go straight between Azriel’s legs, and the growing bulge. Your mouth goes dry and you let out an involuntary squeak as he trails his hand further up your thigh. Inching closer to your sex. 

Cassian leans forward, his breath hot against your ear. “You smell divine, I wonder if you taste just as good,” he whispers, his hands too light as they tease along your body.

You inhale sharply, heat rushing to your cheeks. You glance down to his crotch, where his hard length strains against his leathers.

“Our sweet girl,” Azriel purrs, “You always take such good care of us. Can we return the favour?”

You let out a soft mewl, shocked by their forwardness tonight, though every part of you yearns for them both. 

“I want you so bad,” Cassian murmurs, “Only if you want it too, angel.”

You resign control of your body over to your lust, the growing ache between your legs becoming too much to bear. 

You nod at the males before you. “Yes, please,” you beg. “I can’t take it any longer.” You stroke Azriel’s cheek and you reach for Cassian’s thigh. They both move closer until their lips make contact with your neck. They leave a trail of passionate kisses down each side. Your head rolls back as you’re overwhelmed by pure desire. 

You feel strong arms beneath you, lifting you off the floor. “Let’s go somewhere more private,” Azriel whispers. You nod, biting your lip and he carries you to his bedroom, with Cassian following close behind. 

————

You can’t recall the last time you slept that well. 

The bed is soft and warm and you’re surrounded by a red glow. The dream you were having slipped away, but left you with the feeling of safety and love. 

As you regain awareness, you realise someone is holding you. Not just one male, but two. And that red glow… That’s the sun is filtering through wings. Illyrian wings. 

They look so beautiful up close. The wings.

The membrane shines in the morning light. With each vein illuminated you can see the intricate paths across the surface, like the many branches that make up a forest.

You reach your hand up to touch one but pause before making contact, recalling what Cassian told you about them being sensitive. 

Cassian lifts his head and looks at you with a sleepy smile. “Good morning,” he says groggily, “What happened?”

From your other side, Azriel stirs slightly in his sleep. You feel his arm tighten around you before retracting completely. He jolts back in the bed as he looks over your bare form. 

You try your best to hide your wince at his movements. You clear your throat before answering Cassian’s question. “I believe we were drugged with a love potion last night, a rather strong one.” 

 “Am I that ugly you need to be under the influence to share my bed?” Cassian teases you.

“Actually… That’s the thing,” you say with a nervous laugh. “Love potions only intensify feelings that already exist.”

“Oh,” Cassian says.

You lay in silence for a few minutes, until Azriel dares to break it. 

“So,” he starts, his voice taking on a nervous edge, “You have feelings for both of us?”

You look at Azriel, and then at Cassian before covering your face with your hands. You groan into your palms, utterly mortified by your predicament. 

Not only did you share a bed with them both, but they were now aware of your feelings - thanks to your big mouth.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you both in this position.” 

Cassian laughs nervously, “It’s not like it’s the first time we...” he trails off and both males shift awkwardly beside you, unsure what to say. 

You start to fidget with your hands as the anxiety builds and you’re unable to look them in the eye, to see whatever is it they are feeling. “Um, well, I’ve got things to do this morning, I’d better get up,” you say quietly.

Azriel slides out of the bed to let you up without a word. You grab your clothes that were strewn across the room, throwing your dress over your head. 

The tension in the room is palpable, and you wish your friends would say something. Anything to reassure you. 

You pause in the doorway, unsure if you should speak your mind. 

You turn your head towards the two silent males. “I’m really sorry,” you whisper, rushing out of the bedroom.

————

In the privacy of your room, you allow your tears to fall. Your chest heaves as the sobs wrack your body. 

How did I mess this up so badly? I can never look at them again… I’ll have to move courts.

You let yourself cry for a few moments before willing your body to be calm, pushing all your emotions down inside you to get on with your day.

You feel absolutely mortified that your friends now know what’s in your heart. 

The one thing you don’t consider is that both Azriel and Cassian feel the same way. 

————

Rhysand

Rhys swaggers into the kitchen where his family are seated having breakfast. He walks straight to Feyre, giving her a kiss on the cheek and ruffling Nyx’s hair, who is sitting in her lap. 

���Good morning, it seems our little potion worked some magic,” he smirks. 

“How mad do you think they’ll be once they find out?” Elain asks.

“Oh they’ll be thanking us,” Mor says, “Illyrians can be such dumb brutes, they never would’ve gone for Y/N without the push.”

 “Ouch, thanks Mor,” Rhys winks.

“You,” she says pointing at Rhys, “are the dumbest brute of them all!” He responds by sticking his tongue out as Feyre and Elain chuckle.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *

Tags ♡ @littlestw01f @impossibelle @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @the-wall-willow @xasael @lilah-asteria @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe

[violetasteracademic]

Chapter 12: Without Ever Touching His Skin

Summary:

How can I be guilty as sin?

Warnings: Shadow penetration, mutual masturbation, rough sex kink, explicit sexual content

Read the chapter here on AO3

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Preview:

Elain's mind tangled as Azriel stood still as a statue, staring at her. What did he want from her?

Why wasn't he leaving?

Why wasn't he moving closer?

She straightened her spine, refusing to feel any more guilt or shame. Azriel was an adult. Mother above, Azriel was centuries older than her. She did not seduce him into her room against his will. He barged in. And if he wanted to leave, he could leave. She was not chaining him. She was not keeping him here. He had interrupted her, and it was his responsibility to walk out the door if he didn't want to be there while she finished.

Like a woman possessed, she let her legs slowly fall open.

Azriel's eyes widened in alarm. "What are you doing?"

Elain flushed, but held firm. "What are you doing still standing there? You're the one who just appeared in my room, Azriel."

He could winnow out whenever he wanted. Whatever he decided to do, she would wake up in the morning and refuse to hold this burden any longer. She was not pushing him. She was not making demands. She just wanted relief from the unbearable ache pulsing between her thighs.

Azriel nearly dropped to his knees. "I can't," he choked out, running his fingers roughly through his hair. "I can't touch you. I promised, Elain."

There was enough genuine pain in his voice that Elain halted.

His eyes were still on her, dark and wrecked. And she couldn't help but feel a prick in her heart at the agony pulsing off his massive frame in waves.

His words echoed through her mind. I can’t touch you.

This wasn't about whether or not he wanted to touch her. He had promised he wouldn't. He looked sick to death when he broke that promise before. A second time might well and truly kill him.

She felt like a rabbit caught in a snare. Perhaps she was the worst sort of fool for it, but she didn't want him to leave. It seemed that he didn't want to, either. She felt insane for thinking it, but perhaps after everything that happened that day, they needed to give themselves a break for not wanting to be alone. And Azriel… perhaps needed a new chance to keep his promise.

"So don't touch me, Azriel," she nearly whispered, voice quivering. "But I don't want you to leave."

"Elain—" he growled.

"Stay," she breathed. "Stay with me. And touch yourself."

The silence hung in the air, nearly suffocating as Elain waited for Azriel to respond. She'd settle for a blink, or even for him to recoil in disgust or anger. But he had gone so still, so vacant, she wondered if she had broken him.

It was unbearable, but she would not cower. She would not take it back. Azriel was still in her room, eyes on her body like he wanted to see her like this. Like he didn't want to leave.

She'd extended her offer. He could stay or go.

She shifted slightly, not quite so brave as to keep her legs spread open while he decided what he wanted.

That seemed to wake him up. He took a few steps closer, his breath sawing through his chest. "You are going to kill me, Elain."

Her eyes went wide. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but Azriel continued, "We don't touch each other." It was both a statement and a question. His brows furrowed as if he were trying to arrange the pieces of a puzzle in his mind. He nodded slowly. "We don't touch each other," he said again, this time more firmly.

Elain's skin began to grow hot once again. "That's right," she replied. "Only ourselves."

She couldn't help but bite her lip as Azriel's hand drifted towards his hard length and began stroking himself over his pants.

"Alright," he said, eyes settling on her. "I'll stay."

*Fam, sorry for this late night random drop. I am honestly too anxious about this weeks election in the states to mentally fathom dropping an unhinged smut chapter next week without any idea of where we will be at as a country.

I truly hope you enjoy this early release if you are still awake! I also have put this into the notes of the chapter, but I am pausing on having a set posting schedule. I have come into this fandom trying to be consistent and reliable with my posting, but at this time I have too many projects to balance (in good news, I have some surprises I am insanely excited for coming up) and I have been encouraged by many of my friends and readers to not put so much pressure on myself and focus on maintaining quality of work and not burning out. So thank you for your support!

Stay kind out there this week. And stay strong.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x borrower!reader: The Secret World of Borrowing - Part 2[*]

A/N: I’m so sorry about how unhinged this is 🫣 also, don’t take this one too seriously

Warnings: size difference, macrophilia, masturbation (mutual?), cum play

Word Count: 4,046

-Part 1-

“Just piss off already.”

“This is my bedroom.”

You scowl up at the male. He’s been antsy all evening and it’s putting you on edge. An orgasm would soothe that particular ache, but he insists on keeping you within his sights at night—whatever that suggests. The thought has passed through a couple of times of simply seeing to your needs and getting it over with. What’s he going to do anyway? Confine you to the jar for longer?

“Well I’d like some privacy tonight,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest, foot tapping impatiently on the glass. Hazel eyes flick to you, easily seeking you out on his bedside table, the faelight long since gone dim, casting his room in dark blues and greys. “Planning on stealing something else?” He asks, edges of his mouth lifting into a taunting smirk. “I think I keep you rather well fed. Don’t you?”

Upper tip twitches to curl back from your teeth, but you clamp down on the urge. Instead raise your hand to inspect your nails, cleaner than they’ve been in weeks thanks to his surprisingly attentive care. “I have other needs beside food and sleep, you know.” Hold out your hand, squinting your eyes—the nail of your fourth finger is slightly longer than the one on your second. At your back, wings twitch with restlessness, almost fully healed now. You’re able to lift and move each one independently again, but it’ll be safer to remain for another few days at least to make sure the muscles are healthy and properly exercised.

He shifts, settling down atop his mattress, front pressing to the sheets while he rests his cheek on a pillow, peering at you intently within the darkness. Nose wrinkles, moving your weight from one foot to the other, done with your examination. “What?” You snap, “my kind desires sexual release just like yours does. Nothing special about it.”

At that he quirks a brow, the smirk again gracing his soft mouth. “Nothing special,” he echoes, a gleam in his eyes. “I would have thought something would happen,” he drawls, “you expect me to believe there’s no eruption of light? No crackle of ancient magic?” He lifts from the pillow, muscles flexing as he leans closer to the jar, peering down at you with playfully narrowed eyes. “No burst of fairy dust?”

You hiss at him, fists flaring with power at your sides, anger bubbling beneath your skin as you seethe. “That’s none of your business, Azriel, and it never will be,” you snap, nails piercing your palms. Eyes pointedly rove over him, all sculpted muscle, smooth and supple. “There’s no point of even entertaining the idea, so put it out of your mind before I knock it out.”

As usual, he doesn’t seem deterred, instead shifting back to his bed, wings shuffling as he rearranges himself. “Not even for my own pleasure?” He asks, smirking in the darkness, knowing just how the comment will squirm beneath your skin. “I find the idea rather interesting. Would it match your size?” Indignant heat washes over you as you shoot him a scathing glare.

“Orgasms are orgasms,” you snap, lip curling at the taunt. “Why would they be any different between our kinds?” He quirks a single brow, the edge of his mouth twitching as he drinks in your tiny reactions, magic flickering at your fists. “There aren’t many of you, are there?” He asks, making you stumble in your indignation. Quick for anger to return full force. “No. There aren’t. No thanks to your ilk,” you spit, eyeing his much larger body. So much power contained within his vessel.

He’s unperturbed by your rage, mouth twitching as he takes in your words. “When was the last time you slept with a male?” He drawls in a tone he’s learned makes you see red. “I’m almost inclined to allow you your pleasure just to relieve myself of your temper.”

Your fist slams into the glass with unyielding fury, fractures spiralling around where you’d hit. Brows raise in surprise, having not anticipated the possibility of your container shattering. “You should watch your damn mouth,” you snarl, hand lighting again, preparing to bring it down on the glass, magic finally able to begin restoring now your wing is on the mend.

Unfortunately for you, shadows have snuck in from above, lightly wrapping around your forearms, keeping you from slamming into the jar—likely to break it.

Azriel sighs, shifting in the bed, turning onto his back, wings pressing into the pillows. The cover was already low on his back, but with the movement it’s been dragged lower, resting on the muscle of his abdomen, highlighting the V of his hips. For a moment you stumble in your attempts, thoughts traitorously skipping to imagining how his warmth would feel. What it would be like to lie atop another living creature with no worry. It might be quite nice.

Distantly, his words float into your head. What could I ever do with you? He’d laughed. Have you run up and down my skin with those tiny, bare feet of yours?

Throat rolls, heat cooling in the pit of your abdomen. This night would be much improved if he simply allowed you time to see to your needs. The bubbling tingle between your thighs is becoming harder to ignore, and you certainly don’t want him getting the wrong idea. The thought of dancing across his skin may be appealing in the moment, but it would be regardless of who. Pleasure doesn’t care who gives, so long as it is received.

Snarl at the shadows as they retreat, releasing you from their tentative hold. Maybe you should forfeit dignity entirely. Sort the problem out yourself. Surely that wouldn’t be so bad. He’s probably seen enough of a female body before to not become flustered or uncomfortable. Worse comes to worse he might shut you in a drawer for the night to spare himself, but at least then you’d have some damned privacy.

“You’re brewing something, aren’t you?” He asks warily, pulling you from indecent thoughts. Eyes narrow on him, arms folding. Lip curls in superficial disgust as you glance at the male. “Either give me privacy, or I take matters into my own hands.” Triumph beginning to ignite in the pit of your belly as you lay out the ultimatum. You are not above stripping off every last scrap of clothing if it’ll get you what you need in that moment.

Besides, as much as you despise to admit it, he’s proven to be a reasonable male, the jar aside. Even then, you can’t entirely fault him for it—you’d do the same if some strange creature appeared in your home seemingly out of nowhere. You have no worry he’ll take advantage of you, and it’s a surprising realisation.

Azriel’s lips quirk on a soft but taunting grin. “What could you possibly achieve with hands as tiny as yours?” He drawls. “I can’t imagine you succeeding in rewarding yourself with anything particularly spectacular.”

Your lip curls, turning away as you peel off your shoes, settling on your knees as you reach for the ties of your bodice. The threads—while thin and dainty to something his size—are thick and slightly stiff, making it difficult for you to slip the knots out. Slowly, you begin working them free, tie by tie until you’ll be able to pull the strings loose at last.

Sheets rustle at your back, and you imagine he’s probably turning his to you by now, giving space now you’ve forced his hand.

Speaking of, you jerk when rough-skinned fingers dip into the large jar, squealing as he picks you up, shoes forgotten at its base. “Azriel!” You scream, wings contracting as you hastily re-tighten the threads. “Put me down this minute.” Steady yourself as he moves you, pressing against his digits as you’re carried through the air to who knows where.

He lowers you, and you swiftly tumble out of his grasp, rolling onto—

Spine goes rigid as you peer along the powerful expanse of skin, thrumming with life just beneath the surface, rippling with muscle. Fingers deftly tie a bow with the threads at your top, making to get to your feet. He chuckles as your wobbly state, and you quickly lower back to your knees, shifting to face the right direction from how you’d fallen. Beneath you, the muscle of his stomach practically burns into your shins, bare skin against bare skin. You wonder if you’re even large enough for his nerves to register, whether he can also feel the heat of your skin atop his own.

“Either give you some privacy or you’ll do it yourself,” he paraphrases, smirking like the wicked bastard he is. He sweeps his hand out, almost tauntingly gesturing the powerful expanse of muscle that lies just beneath your tiny feet. “Then go ahead.”

Lips part on a sharp exhale, surprise lining your features as well as—and something stirs beneath his skin at the expression—slight bashfulness. Glee sparks in his chest, eager to push you further as he settles deeper into the pillows that he’s arranged to prop him upright. “Look at you,” he coos, with surprising sincerity, “don’t get shy now. Where’d all the bluster go, huh?” He playfully prods at you, careful not to be too rough. He doesn’t want to accidentally injure you.

You practically hiss at him. “You can’t just— Don’t you ever scoop me up like that again, Azriel,” you snap, attempting to get to your feet, but he’s chuckling again, making you regularly loose your footing. “I’m serious,” you snarl, managing to begin making your way across his stomach, muscle soft beneath your hands and feet, muffled by hot skin. “You wouldn’t like it if something handled you around with such entitlement.”

He laughs, and you press flat against him, too worried about toppling over and making a fool of yourself to be embarrassed about clinging to him so tightly. You’ll show him.

“Where on this realm are you going?” He asks, mirth lacing the rich timbre of his voice—which you can now feel reverberating all the way from your toes to your head. Passing through your middle. “Think I’d give you a free show?” You spit out, making it to his chest, walking the line leading between his pectorals. If he’s going to force your hand in return, you’ll simply do it right beneath his nose, where he won’t be able to see. No way in hell you’re spreading your legs so openly on his stomach—you’ll get to his chest, where you’ll be at least a little obscured.

His laugh deepens, and you again lose your footing, pressing flat against him. Shadows wrap around your ankle, and you gasp as he drags you back down the muscled slope you’d so bravely traversed. “That’s exactly what I think,” he rumbles, amusement gleaming in his hazel eyes, as well as something else. Something a little darker. Hungrier.

You swallow.

His brow raises. “Or were you bluffing?”

Traitorous heat buzzes beneath your skin, and you tug your ankle free of his grasp, pushing back up onto your— You don’t want to properly sit on him, what if he can feel your… Settle for an awkward half-sitting, half-kneeling position. “I wasn’t bluffing,” you grit out, sending a sharp glance at his shadows that are lingering, curiously. Lip curls as you snarl at them, but still they watch on, hanging back just out of reach. “But now you expect me to just strip off in front of you?” You snap.

“Feeling a little nervous all of a sudden?” He drawls. “Orgasms are orgasms,” he recites back to you, “nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“You wouldn’t be acting even half as cocky if you were the one being told to strip,” you almost spit, distracting from the task as you try to come to a decision.

His eyes gleam with something sharp and starving, growing darker as his attention pierces into you. “You say that like I have something to be shy about,” he drawls, tone taking on a lazy drag. Lips twist as he smirks faintly.

Your brow narrows, and then you’re turning around, crawling down his stomach, passing onto his abdomen as you near the edge of the duvet. Feel as muscle tenses beneath you as he notices your path. “What are you doing?” He sounds a little restless, lungs taking in more air as he watches you make your way down his skin, following the direction of his hips. Toss him a glance of your own, “I thought you said you have nothing to be shy about,” you taunt, reaching the covers. “Or are you all bark and no bite?”

Undeniable arousal sparks beneath his skin as you move to squirm beneath the duvet. His throat rolls as the heat curls down his spine, wings twitching as you make your way halfway beneath the covers. Teeth push into his lower lip, brow narrowing. His cock is larger than you are—but he can’t deny how arousing it would be to see you realise that. To set you atop it and make you…

Shadows again capture your ankle, tugging you out from the covers which you were struggling to navigate. Triumph lights your skin as a grin stretches your lips, poised to crow at your victory.

But then they’re turning you around, holding you by the waist and thighs as sheets rustle.

“I told you not to,” you snap, anxiously gripping the darkness as he begins to lower you. Stretch your feet out so you can properly balance, but the skin below you is much softer than before. Hotter too, thrumming with— You glance down. Breath catches in your lungs as he sets you on his cock, feet slipping either side, straddling the thick length of him. Tiny palms splay across the sensitive skin, just below his head.

Wild heat flushes your body.

You’d been expecting him to be large just from his size alone, but this? Throat rolls as your fingertip press into his skin, shifting lightly, thighs clamping on him to keep from rolling off.

“Happy now?” He asks cockily, though his voice is deeper than before. Rougher.

Lips part as your eyes lock, taken aback by the blatant hunger now dancing in his hazel gaze. How his shadows are darting closer, as if daring one another to touch you. Tongue pokes out to wet your lips, finding them suddenly dry as arousal ravishes you whole. “You—” you splutter softly, completely thrown off as desire clouds your brain.

He raises a challenging brow. “Yes?”

Mouth snaps shut indignantly. Muttering under your breath a variety of exquisite curse words. “I don’t trust you to keep your hands to yourself, Azriel,” you manage to grit out, hands hesitantly raising to the threads holding your dress up. Keeping you hidden from his hungry gaze.

Hazel eyes darken, arms raising to settle pointedly behind his head, muscles rippling with the movement. “You mean you don’t want me to press you against my cock while you get off?” He muses, sounding huskier. You snarl at him, but you’re secretly relieved. You’ve never slept with a creature with such a vast size difference. Yet you find excitement is thrumming beneath your skin, anticipation gathering between your thighs. “Arrogant male,” you snap, not quite managing to glare as the strings come undone.

With slightly shaky fingers, you pull the ties free, lifting the dress over your head. Hair shifts with the movement, brushing against your cheek as it falls back into place. Revealing you entirely to his starving eyes, licking over your naked form like he wants nothing more than to put you on his stomach and rub one out just to cover you in his cum.

You’re surprised the thought doesn’t disgust you.

“Move when it pleases you,” he drawls, watching you with those piercing eyes of his. Feeling as though he could see you bare long before you peeled away your clothes. You hiss, muttering something under your breath before turning your attention to his cock. Heartbeat spikes, heat seeping into your bones as you firmly settle your hands over him, and ease your hips into motion.

Arousal has long since dampened your underwear and is quickly soaking him, too. You roll gently, slowly settling into your pleasure, gliding back and forth, trying to keep your noise to a minimum. Breathe become heavier, finding your tempo, a slow grind as you find the movements that please you the most. His scent surrounds you, clouding your mind as you give yourself over to the feelings, allowing instinct to guide your swirls. Tongue flicks out to wet your lips, one hand raising to cup your breast, a soft sound spilling as your fingers graze your nipple, back arching as you continue the motions.

Eye fly open as something silky wraps around your middle, causing you to peer down, halting. “Is there a problem?” He drawls, but the strain is evident in his voice no matter how he attempts to disguise it. The shadow tentatively hugs your waist, sliding over your hips as they urge you back into movement. Darkness grazes your front, slipping up over the weight of your breasts, pinching at your nipples. Lips part in a moan, spine arching as you return to using both your hands for leverage, grinding over the thick length of him—precum drizzling from his tip.

“I know you wouldn’t be able to keep from touching me,” you manage, playing along. You sound breathless even to your own ears, pleasure building in the pit of your stomach as the coil tightens. A rough laugh drags from his chest, and something dark and syrupy melts in the pit of your belly, turning hot and liquid as his shadows experiment with your body.

Gasp as they bite into your hips, most likely putting in a bruise.

“If I recall,” he drawls roughly, no longer even attempting to conceal his own desire, “you simply said I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.” Open your eyes wide enough to see that damned smirk on his mouth, dripping with male arrogance. “I believe I’m adhering to that?”

Mouth opens to snap out a response but the shadows are roughly pushing you forward, tipping you over the edge as you tumble down onto his stomach. Arousal spears through your middle, and they’re on you in a second. You’re still facing toward the male, but he’s pushed you onto the muscle of his abdomen, soaking you in the droplets of precum that have beaded there. It takes all your willpower to resist the degradation of licking it off your hands.

The truth is you’re struggling to move with the way his shadows have you pinned, wrapping over your stomach as they shove between your thighs. Gasps are pulled from your mouth as they move over your heat, slipping beneath the band of your underwear, roughly tugging it away in their rush to explore over your cunt.

The sound of your moan has his discipline slipping, hand fisting his cock now there’s no longer any danger of him crushing you in his need for pleasure. Blood boils, watching as you writhe, shadows having their fun with you at last—they’ve been practically begging for another round since you last got the better of them with those magic fists. He can feel their excitement, how they darkly revel in having you beneath them, and pulling such lovely noises from you, too.

Azriel can’t help the low groans that drag from his chest, stroking himself as heat flushes his skin, teeth almost piercing his lip as he imagines the mess he’ll put you through when he cums. The mental image alone is enough to have him slowing his pleasure, anxious to last with you. The Mother knows you’d be relentless in your mocking should he find his release before you. Your ego doesn’t need that particular boost.

Your mouth parts as his shadows at last move higher, skating across your breasts, pinching at your nipples as they play with your clit, rubbing tenderly as they pull those marvellous responses from your arched form. He can tell you’re at the edge, just needing that little push to finally make you topple. Tongue flicks out over his lip as his thumb swipes across the slit in his head, gathering the moisture there before releasing himself in favour of paying you more attention. Your hips are bucking against his shadows, eyes partially closed in bliss, and he gives himself a moment to drink you in. Then he’s dragging his thumb lightly down your body, between your breasts to your stomach, pausing at your abdomen. Lightly rubs over your soft skin that’s now taken on a milky sheen.

A louder moan drips from your mouth as you tip over the edge, his hand returning to his cock, twitching at your cries. How pretty you’ll look, soaked in his release. Another lash of arousal whips down his spine, memorising how you arc as your orgasm hits, taking no prisoners as muscle seizes. It’s enough to have him letting go, spurts of cum shooting from his tip, splashing down onto his stomach, painting you with his release.

Head tips back into the pillows, riding out that last high, skin flushes with pleasure as his hips buck into his hand.

Shadows gather his release, washing it over your body until there’s hardly an inch of you that hasn’t been marked or covered in him. Teeth bite into your lip with surprise at how arousing it is, being submerged like this. Having him mix with the release between your thighs, sitting upright only in favour of gliding across the muscled skin of his stomach, bathed in cum. Easing down from your high.

Azriel’s eyes peek open, immediately finding you, gently rolling your hips over him with your own gaze half-lidded. The sight’s enough to have him considering another round, but you’re small, and certainly tired. Another time. Maybe.

Your own gaze finds his, ire and arousal twining together as you give him a heated look. “I hope you’re planning on finding me some new clothes,” you snap, though you’re too breathless to put much anger into it. “A shower would be nice, too,” you add, “did you think of that before you yielded to your messy fantasies?”

His cock twitches at your description and he has half a mind to put you back atop him, if only to feel how smoothly you glide with the aid of mixed release between your thighs.

Instead he grins, once again lifting you into his palm. This time you don’t squirm and his thoughts are confirmed: you’re definitely tired. His tongue pokes out, carefully licking over the skin of your stomach. Feels as you gasp, wriggling half-heartedly beneath his grip.

“Azriel…” you mumble, flushed with embarrassment. It’s a look he likes seeing on you, he thinks. Almost as much as seeing you bathed in his cum. Lips quirk upward, pupils piercing into you while his thumb wraps across your hips, keeping you from moving too much. “Weren’t you just complaining about being filthy?” He asks, offering a wicked smile. Mouth parts on a quiet exhale, then your eyes are flicking away, thighs opening a little wider in invitation. “Dirty male,” you mutter under your breath, though he can tell it’s a lie.

His tongue drags over your heat, and you tense, thighs weakly squeezing as he licks over you. Tasting himself on your skin. Becoming more aroused with every stroke. “You’re enjoying this more than I am,” you manage to get out, spine arched and legs parted to allow him more access. A low sound rumbles from his chest, almost a strained laugh as his mouth seals over your lower body, the hot, wet muscle making you feel like he’s brought you to paradise.

“Hold still,” he orders softly, wary of how loud he might sound from your proximity.

He refuses to let you up until he’s gotten you to come on his tongue.

Taste your release as it is, with the intrusion of his own.

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

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

tswob taglist: @naturakaashi

[lanitalay]

One day : Chapter 1

Azriel x Reader

a/n: I saw the netflix series, bawled my eyes out then thought it would make a great Az x reader story.

warnings: anxiety, drinking

word count: 1555k

Masterlist

Summer Solstice was your favorite holiday. Each year you look forward to celebrating the longest day of the year in the most beautiful city in the world. This year would be slightly different, as you were no longer a student, having recently graduated to proper healer. So, for the first time in years, you were able to stay up until the sun set and came back out because there were no readings to do, no papers to write and no seminars to attend the next day. You had informed Madja that you would not be coming in tomorrow and she had understood. “I was young and capricious as well, long, long ago.”

The day was spent at the Sidra, lounging and playing in the sand and the water. It was packed, thousands of fae clamoring to the shore to watch the High Lord’s ship pass by. Cheering for it. When the sun set your friends dragged you back to their apartment to get ready for the night ahead. The Rainbow would be filled with street vendors, music and art. 

“I can’t possibly drink more” you gagged as more sparkling wine was shoved in your hand. “Suck it up!” Nomi laughed and poured a glass for herself. Bec did your hair, curling it in loose waves. Fran did your makeup, smoking out dark shadows in your eye lid. Nomi gave you a short, short dress. The four of you admired the collective beauty in the mirror, even if not one of you could see straight. 

“Onwards!” Fran called and opened the door to let everyone stumble out. 

A few hours after drinking, eating and dancing in the street, Bec insisted she needed to sit down. You were looking around to see where you could take her when you spotted a familiar sign. “Let’s go to Rita’s, she’ll let us sober up in there” you guided your friends through the crowd, weaving in between all kinds of fae until arriving at the sanctuary. 

Rita recognized you and waved you in, sitting you down in one of the booths. The place was not quiet by any means, but the seats were cushioned and Bec sighed in relief as she took off her heels under the table. “These shoes rubbed my feet raw,” she hissed. You waved your hand over her feet and channeled some of your healing powers to her blisters. “Oh my gods, thank you, y/n.” You laughed and announced to the table “I’m going to get more drinks.” 

It had been ten minutes of standing by the bar, trying to get someone’s attention. “Hey! I need liquor!” You heard a low laugh behind you and turned around to see a looming figure, wings tight against his back, biting back a smile. “What’s so funny?” Always confrontational when drunk. He shook his head “nothing, can I order something for you?” 

You considered his offer. He was much, much taller than you. If he wanted, he could reach through the bar and grab a bottle of wine. There was a cloudiness to him, or maybe you were far too drunk. You nodded and told him what the table wanted. He waved the barkeep down and placed the order. “Are you the spymaster?” He nodded once. “I’m y/n,” you stretched a hand, as much as you could within the multitude of party goers. He shook it gently with a calloused hand “nice to meet you, y/n.” 

In a few minutes the four drinks were on the bar, Azriel helped you carry them back to the table. When your friends saw who was behind you their jaws practically unhinged. “Thank you, Spymaster.” “Azriel is fine” he said with a smile, and gods… that smile.  “Thank you, Azriel.”

You wanted to drown yourself in the Sidra when Nomi, ever fearless, shouted over the music “does the Spymaster dance?” 

“I could, with the right partner” he turned his head to look at you. “Are you inviting me to dance?" 

“Yes,” now it was him who had a hand stretched your way. You did not have to convince yourself to dance with him. Putting the glasses on the table, you turned and took his hand, letting him lead you right to the dance floor. 

It must have been hours that you spent dancing that night. At one point your friends came over to let you know they were going to call it. Azriel asked if you wanted to leave as well but his hips were grinding against your behind and his arms were firmly holding your waist. So you shook your head “no.” When the song changed he spun you, slotting your legs together, keeping you impossibly close. So close his nose nudged yours. By then, last calls were being made and you asked Azriel if he could walk you back to your apartment. 

He led you out of Rita’s and you pointed in the direction of your place. Azriel did not let go of your hand until you stopped in front of a building and said “this is me.” He looked at the stone building, decorated with flower boxes on the windows “it's nice.” 

“Can I get you some water? Something to eat?” The night could not end like this. You didn’t want this night to end at all. So when he nodded you beamed and opened the door, walking up the three flights of stairs to get to your apartment. “I have bread and…” you looked through the cabinets and were embarrassed that you had not stocked up on any groceries in weeks “chocolate chip cookies, but they are probably stale.” 

“I’ll try a cookie” he bit into it and grimaced “it’s very stale, throw that away.” You giggled and threw the cookies in the trash. When you turned back to face him he was right in front of you. A hair's breadth away. “You know you’re quite beautiful,” you gulp, “you’re very handsome too.”

His hands come up to graze your cheek, “I really want to kiss you.” 

“So kiss me” it doesn’t take him more than a second to bring your lips together. You hold onto his shoulders and he pushes you pack until he helps you jump on the counter. Your legs spread, wanting him to get closer, closer. He pulls back to ask “where’s your room?” You point to the door behind him and he grabs your thighs, carrying you towards a proper place to bed you. 

Ever so gently, he lays you down on your bed but you stand, turning so your back faces him. “I can’t reach the zipper,” with a feather-light touch he grabs the tiny piece of metal and slides it all the way down. You pull off the straps and let the fabric pool at your feet. Turn again to face this, this time completely bare.

“Your turn,” you start to undo his buttons but he quickly takes over, throwing his clothes on the floor next to yours.  Now you lay on the mattress and he settles on top of you, latching his mouth to yours once again. “Are you alright?” You notice his heart is beating erratically and place a palm on his chest to assess. “Yes, I’m-” “You’re having heart palpitations, lie down, let me do something” you push him on his back, hand still on his chest as you try to soothe the distressed organ. 

“I’m a healer, I’m going to send some magic to your heart to calm it down. It won't hurt but it might feel tingly.” You bring all your concentration to his heart. “It’s really fine-” “Shh, be quiet.” 

A few minutes go by and you are satisfied with his pulse. “Does that happen often? How much did you drink tonight?” 

“Sometimes and a lot.”

“Well try to limit your drinking to water for the next few weeks, I’ll tell Madja to check up on you soon.”

“Perfect, now can we get back to-”

“Absolutely not, you are going to sleep right now, stay here.” You hop off the bed again and throw on a night gown, and throw him pajama pants an ex had left behind. Azriel looks defeated on the bed. “Sorry to kill the mood, but I vowed to put my patients' health first. It's not something I can turn off.”

“Now I’m your patient?” 

“Everyone is a potential patient,” you say and fluff a pillow for him to lay on. “You don’t need to do that,” he grumbles. 

“Just relax.” You fluff your own pillow and lay down next to him. “It happens to me too. Madja calls them panic attacks, they can happen for no reason or a million reasons. It sucks.” 

“We didn’t need to stop, you know?” 

“Yeah, yeah. We can try again some other time.”

“So you want to see me again?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“The Spymaster of the Night Court doesn’t scare you?”

“Ha, good one. I can’t be scared of a patient and don't flatter yourself. You're too pretty to be scary” you teased. 

“Come here,” he said and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards his chest. His heart steady.

“Tomorrow I’ll regret not drinking any water,” you mumble, words spilling into each other as the  weight of the day crashes into you, sleep taking over.

[throneofsapphics]

For the 2k celebration, this is unhinged hehe so please feel free to ignore lol but uh

Can I order a hazelnut + gingerbread + pistachio cold brew with whipped cream please ❤️ maybe a spoonful of cinnamon if you have any ❤️

(help i don't know why this trio came to me in a dream)

absolutely I will NOT be ignoring this, this pairing was so so much fun thank you <3

summary: azriel, ruhn, and lidia established relationship, with spice and fluff

warnings: smut

coffee bar celebration

You laughed as Ruhn tumbled after you on the bed, both of you literally rolling in the sheets. His laugh echoed through the room, especially as he caught you, straddling your hips to pin you in place, his hands bracing your upper arms and planting you firmly on the bed.

“Caught you,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You tried to turn your head and catch him, but you were too slow. “I have to say, I love this view,” He mused and released your arms.

Tension built in your stomach.

“Then do something about it,” you told him, eyes dancing.

“Oh?” He trailed one finger down your chest, around the swell of your breast. “And whatever shall I do about it?”

“I have a few ideas,” a female, lidia's, voice said from the back. You craned your neck around Ruhn to find Azriel standing behind her, shadows swirling around his ears. He met your eyes, and you found … something you couldn't quite describe in the hazel.

”You can start with taking off her shirt,” the shadow singer said, voice cool. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“You do it or I will, Ruhn,” a hint of dominance in Lidia's voice set you on a beautiful edge.

Ruhn's finger gripped the bottom of your top, slowly, tantalizingly, revealing you to the room. He even paused halfway to rotate you slightly, allowing them a better view.

“Naughty,” he murmured as he lifted it above your breasts, baring you to the room.

”You knew I wasn't wearing anything,” you chided, but lifted yourself enough to help him get it off. His hand braced your upper back, sparing your muscles the effort.

“I don't think anyone in this room minds,” as if it was a queue, Azriel and Lidia moved closer, but not quite to a place where you could touch them. The Hind leaned back against the Shadowsinger, his arms wrapping around her middle.

“I believe we were enjoying our show,” she drawled.

Ruhn laughed, but lowered you back to the bed before peppering kisses across your chest, light and barely there. You growled, gripping the back of his head and directly his mouth exactly where you wanted, no needed it.

It didn't take long for you to find yourself on your hands and knees, Lidia still giving instructions from the side, Azriel her silent shadow behind her.

You braced yourself on your forearms as he slid inside, your breath catching as you stretched to accommodate him, whimpering and pushing back, wanting, craving, needing more. It was always like that with him, every taste left you hungering, aching for me. Always like this with all of them.

“Fuck her harder,” Azriel growled “she can take it.”

Hours later, after all parties had participated, you found yourselves outside in the hot tub, stretching out your still shaking legs, you back pressed against Lidia's chest, head leaning back lazily against her shoulder.

You tilted your head up for a kiss and she obliged, the meeting of two content parts.

Ruhn carried four mugs, two per hand, and the scent of chocolate hit you before you could see the contents. You leaned forward, hands making grabby motions.

He was good at that, at knowing exactly what you needed. He passed the others out to the rest of your little group, and you thought you could spend the rest of your night in this contented bliss.

[azsazz]

Might Bite Back

Vampire!Azriel x Human!Reader

Summary: Anon Reqs: "how do you think vamp az would react it he lost control of his blood thirst and accidentally hurt reader?" and "OMG a fic where Vamp!Az loses control and accidentally hurts reader and then he realises what hes done!! I LIVE for those fics, we need more vamp az!!!!!!!"

Warnings: Biting, blood, vampire things.

Word Count: 2,544

Notes: This belongs on the vampire Azriel timeline.

_________________________________________

Something startles you awake.

It isn’t a noise, it’s the lack thereof that startles you awake. 

There’s an eerie silence to the black consuming the room. You curse yourself for falling asleep when you’ve been so desperately aware of the fact that he lurks at night, watching, waiting.

Your body is rigid, heart stuttering loudly in your chest, and the only part of you that moves is your eyelids as you blink wearily, sleep still clinging to your body, your mind searching through a hundred scenarios, trying to pinpoint what is going on. 

This is different from the silence you’ve slowly become accustomed to, when you were taken in the dead of night by the undead. His fangs had gleamed in the moonlight and you’d screamed so loudly that the trees surrounding the secluded home shook. Crows cawed in warning, flocking from trees and night creatures startled from the woods. Your blood wooshed in your ears like the wind pulling your hair from your nape, carrying your sickly sweet scent to his parted, hungry lips.

Your heart pounds in your chest exactly like that night. When you had felt like nothing more than prey.

Turning your head slowly, as if the slightest movement might make the darkness snap, you look towards the door. The chair you’d stuffed beneath the knob is still in place, and though you know the flimsy construction of wood would not withstand an ounce of his force, it serves as a piece to make noise should it shift, in case you’ve fallen asleep, much like you had tonight.

You force your rampant heart to calm, ears straining over the waves of blood rushing through them as you listen for the silent entity sharing the home with you. You’ve picked up on the noises that you could, trained your ear to hear the signs of the vampire that has locked you in this gothic tower. The whisper of fabric on cold skin, since his silent steps are impossible to pick up. The shifting of the air in the rooms as he moves, growing colder with his menacing presence. The rustle of his wings when he stretches them in frustration. The shivers crawling up your spine whenever he’s near.

But right now, there’s nothing. 

“Azriel?” you ask into the darkness, and you sound nothing more than a terrified child. There are no monsters lying beneath your bed, waiting to snatch you up by your ankles. No, this monster roams the large home freely, sharp teeth on display so that you know exactly what he can do. The only time you’re even a smidge safe is when the sun blinds through curtains you force open daily, but even the sweltering rays are not here to help you now. You are petrified beyond all belief, despite the softer instances you’ve seen of the slightly unhinged vampire who’s trapped you in what you know will be your grave.

There is no answer to your call, but you don’t expect one. He’s a predator first and foremost, and he thrives off of the quickening pace of your heart, the sound of your blood rushing through your body, the shuddering of your bones as you tremble. You catch him sometimes, when you quiver before him, how he licks his lips, fangs pressing into the soft skin of his unfairly luscious lips.

Your mind is screaming at you not to move, not to get up and find out what’s awoken you and has you feeling this unease. Surely, Azriel cannot be in danger. He is the danger. 

No one has tried to breach your room, the chair hooked up against the door, and you wince at the scrape it makes when you pull it away and turn the knob.

The door gives easily, almost swooping in on a phantom wind. It’s not him. Your body is too accustomed to his presence by now. And the lack thereof a darkness that rattles you so deeply it makes your thighs clench, you know he is not near.

The hall is long and dark, freezing cold. So much so that you can see your breath puffing before your face. Azriel doesn’t understand that you need heat to survive in your inferior human body, and you won’t tell him. Maybe it will become so cold at night that you’ll fall into a peaceful slumber, each shallow breath icing over until your heart freezes in your chest. Then, you won’t be trapped anymore.

But there’s a part of you that’s driven down the hall, seeking him out. A part of you that you shove away when you wonder if he’s alright. A part of you that likes knowing that he’s there, watching you when you’re doing the most mundane things to keep yourself from getting bored to death in this hell. When you read in front of the window, or cook yourself something in the kitchen. When you put on a particularly expensive dress for what? For…for him.

Your footsteps are silent against the carpets but to him you know you sound as if you’re stomping around the corridor, making as much noise as possible. It’s normally your tactic during the days, wanting him to know your displeasure for this place. The thought of him being able to hear your soft steps, your hardly there breaths makes you quake in both fear and excitement, knowing how he always knows your location, and can seek you out no matter where you run.

“Azriel?” you call again, softly. It’s hardly a whisper at all, and there is no response.

Your fingers tremble where they’re pressed to the wall, following the darkened corridor. They brush over the frames of artwork curling at the edges, paint dusty and faded with time. You caress the wooden railing, following it down the staircase, ignoring the nagging in your mind that’s telling you to run.

A fire crackles in the hearth and you pause, confused. All this time Azriel has never kept a fire going, not even per your request with chattering teeth and bluish fingers. He doesn’t like them, and you don’t ask why. You don’t care why. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

You don’t know what possesses you to move closer to it when the popping of logs is a clear warning sign.

Pausing on the last step, foot hovering before the floor, the hair at the nape of your neck prickles. It winds down your spine like an icy rope, settling into the very marrow of your bones. It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right.

Before you can whirl around, race back up the staircase to your room, a voice sounds softly in your ear. “You smell impeccable, crow.”

You whirl, a scream tearing from your lips as you tumble from the stair. You catch yourself on frozen toes, staring up at Azriel with wide eyes, who is shrouded in shadow. He’s standing with preternatural stillness, spine tall. His wings are tucked tightly behind his back, and the talons stick high above his head like horns. 

“Azriel?” you ask, taking a step back. Two.

He doesn’t answer, he follows. Azriel takes one step forward for every one you move away, towards the sitting room with the fire. Orange light bathes him, and you can feel it roaring hot at your back.

As the firelight washes over his stoic face, your stomach roils in horror. This is not the Azriel who had stolen you away, who had given you dresses and your own space, who tried to make you feel less like you were robbed of your former life and more like this had been a choice.

But none of it has been a choice. And you are reminded just what he is capable of at the sight of red-rimmed eyes, the lack of color, the baring of sharp fangs that call your name. 

Bloodlust.

His pupils have swallowed the stroke of hazel completely. You watch as his fingers curl and his nostrils flare when your heart triples in pace. His unfocused gaze sharpens on the column of your throat where your pulse pushes through your skin. 

“Please,” you beg, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. Azriel is no longer there, instead, the very beast that lurks inside of him has taken control and is thirsty for blood.

Azriel lunges and you scream, pivoting on your heel. If you can make it to the iron poker by the fire you may be able to slow him down, stun him as you claw at the front door to try and get away. It’s no ashwood, which would kill the vampire who is much too fast for you to even take a step, grabbing you and pulling you back into his chest.

You thrash, screaming, but your efforts are futile. No one can hear you in the depths of these woods. Your strength is no match for him.

Azriel must be in there somewhere, as he is not crushing your body into dust. No, he wants you otherwise unharmed except for holes in your neck. That, he doesn’t mind seeing, tasting. It’s exactly what he’s taken you for, isn’t it? Just when you’d begun thinking that he might not be as bad as the stories you were told when you were young, tales of bloodthirsty creatures who would tear your throat out to taste your pretty blood.

Now is your time.

His grip is strong around your wrists. You kick back with your leg but can hardly reach him. He is immune to your weak hits. You can feel him leaning over you, closer and closer until his fangs are a whisper against your skin, a tease pinpricking right over your thrumming pulse.

“Devine,” he whispers, and the sensuality of it rips through your body like a lance. As you part your lips to exhale another beg, he bites. You scream.

You tremble in his iron hold. His fingers feel like icepicks as they dig into your flesh. Your scream melts into something long as heat courses through your body, the adrenaline and sting of his teeth burning you to your core. It feels…good. 

It feels like you’re walking on flames, yet they aren’t burning you. They’re caressing you in the best way, holding you, cradling you like a babe. For the first time since you’ve arrived at this horrible place, you feel warm. Like Azriel is embracing you, and he is, because you’ve stopped fighting. His hands are around your waist, holding you tightly, and yours are buried in his thick hair. Heat courses through your bones, pooling between your thighs. Your mind whirls with pleasure as he suckles, the hot press of his tongue lapping your skin, mirrored in the pulse of your throbbing clit.

You relish in the feeling. His body pressed tightly to yours, the strain of his cock through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You can feel the way his muscles loosen the longer he leeches from your neck. 

And you enjoy it until you become woozy, when the euphoria seeps from your blood back into his mouth. When his grip feels like each individual finger is imprinted on your bones. Your neck throbs painfully, and your vision is blackening with shadows in the corners. Your head lolls a little, unable to keep it up.

“Azriel,” you choke, but it’s hard to get your lips to form the words. It’s difficult to do anything except lean into him, to let him take his fill. But you have to try, because this is not how you want it all to end. “You’re…” you huff a painful exhale, “You’re hurting me.”

He goes still, bones popping with the effort. His hold on your falters and you sway, and as badly as he wants to pull away, to run and hide in a whisper of darkness, he catches you, because he’s harmed you and the bloodlust has been wiped away by your words alone. Words he swore he’d never pull from you. Words that will haunt him for centuries.

You’re hurting me.

His vision clears, goes sharp, staring right at the two holes in your neck, thick, red blood still dribbling from the punctures. The beast in him rages to lean down and lick you, keep sucking at the marks until your already slowing heart stops completely. He wants to feel the last beat of your heart beneath his hands, his lips, but he forces himself to do the one thing he hadn’t been able to do tonight: focus.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in horror, when his mind catches up to what he’s looking at. You, looking so broken and fragile in his arms, pale. Your head rests against his chest, eyes fluttering with the strain to keep them open. Your mouth parts but no words come out. 

Azriel wants so badly to drop you, to get away from you, because he’s so stupidly allowed his bloodlust to consume him. He selfishly thought that he would be okay for a few more days, that he wouldn’t have to hunt in the aftermath of a brutal storm because all of the animals would be hidden away. He’s been stupid to think that, and the worst has happened.

He shoves the couch closer to the fire with a shove of his boot. The logs pop and he winces, hating the sound. He’d started the fire as a way to lure you down, the warmth calling to you. It was as much of a present for you as it was a distraction for him. A warning he was giving himself, not to enter the room with the fire roaring in the hearth. He hates the way the flames taunt him. You hadn’t made it to the room before your scent had stuck in his throat and his beast caught a whiff. 

Your body looks frail when he sits you down. Your eyes have closed and your lips have lost color. Azriel knows that if his heart was capable of pulsing, it would be a pounding drum in his chest, beating with worry. He races to your rooms, ripping your blankets from your mattress and is back by your side in a matter of seconds. He tucks you in tight, worrying over you as if you are a sick babe. But you’re not, you’re a pretty little thing that he’d taken in the dead of night for his own selfish reasons. For company, for your heart. But never for your blood. 

This is not how any of this was supposed to go.

Azriel’s mind races with thought. The wounds on your neck have stopped leaking, and they’ll close up quicker if he just licks over it one more time but he can’t force himself, not when he’d violated you like this, hurt you. He needs to leave. He needs to get as far away from you as he can. 

The lethargic beating of your heart tells him that you’re going to be okay. You will be wobbly for a few days, throat in pain, but you’ll live. He didn’t go too far tonight. He didn’t drink you dry.

So Azriel does the only thing that he can. The only thing that he’s ever been good at. 

He leaves.

[shedoessoshedoes]

as always, I have songs (!!) to recommend in honor of elriel month. these are only from the 1975 because truly there is no other group that I think can articulate azriel's (slightly unhinged) thoughts quite as well! the lyrics that make me think of them are in the final parentheses after each song. let me know what you think! (& which artist to do next!) @elriel-month <3

sex (she's got a boyfriend anyway)

fallingforyou (i don't wanna be your friend, i want to kiss your neck)

a change of heart (about mor) (you used to have a face straight out of a magazine, & now you just look like...anyone)

somebody else (trying to convince himself he's fine after solstice) (i'm reminded that i should be getting over it)

the sound (fuckboi az as rhys intended him to be in matty healy's sarcastic tone) (you say i'm such a cliche, but i can't see the difference in it anyway)

this must be my dream (let me tell you about this girl, the one to rearrange my world...this must be my dream (wide awake before i found you))

paris (and oh, how i'd love to go to paris again (and again and again))

be my mistake (after solstice if he tries to drown his feelings) (you do make me hard, but she makes me weak)

it's not living (if it's not with you) (and all i do is sit and think about you and if i knew what you'd do: collapse my veins wearing beautiful shoes, it's not living if it's not with you)

me & you together song (i've been in love with you for ages)

all i need to hear (it all means nothing, my dear, if i can't be holding you near. so tell me you love me--that's all that i need to hear)

happiness (THIS SONG IS THEM) (i'd go blind just to see you. i'd go too far just to have you near...and i'm never gonna love again, hey, no)

about you (after solstice reconciliation) (i know a place, it's somewhere i go when I need to remember your face. we got married in our heads, something to do while we try to recall how we met...do you think that i've forgotten about you?)

when we are together (the only time i feel it might get better is when we are together)

[profound-imagination]

Ruhn Dannan / ACOTAR Cross Over Theory!

Okay, so this is slightly unhinged but stay with me!

Rhys' sister is alive and in Cresent City, she's Ruhn's mother and Azriel is his father - let me explain myself.

During A Court of Frost and Starlight, Azriel goes to get a woman we don't know a gift and Rhys tells him to get her something on his behalf. This to me says that Rhys can't go wherever she is.

What if Azriel's shadows allow him to move through the shadows of the world's? And he's been visiting her in Cresent City for years?

We know that Ruhn looks like his mother but is the spitting image of Rhys, when Bryce meets Rhysand she thinks he's her brother.

What if Azriel doesn't have a mate in ACOTAR because his mate for her own safety is living in CC?

Ruhn and his shadow powers anyone??

Ruhn and his mind speaking anyone?? His mother had such a reaction to this because of Rhys, her brother.

What about the wings you ask? Rhys' sister had them and obviously so does Az - the only way I can explain that is that Ruhn, like Rhys can hide them away, I think Ruhn has never learned how to use his wings due to fear of his " father".

Rhys' sister got pregnant and Azriel hid her in this otherworld when he found her with her wings cut off and her mother dead. Rhys and Tamlin were in on it. We know that even when his power is limited, Tamlin could transform his centuries into wolves, so, is it so far fetched that he could transform someone to look like Rhys sister and killed them for his best friend, to keep his sister safe (let's not forget Tamlin and Rhys were besties at one point)

Rhys' sister rushed into marriage with the Autumn King to hide the fact she was pregnant with another male's child.

In short - Rhysand's sister is still alive, she's Azriel's mate, Ruhn is Azriel's son and she married the Autumn King to cover it all up and keep her son, the son of the male she loves safe. The Autumn King sucks but he'd never kill Ruhn, his "heir" and that's the best she could've hoped for in a world she doesn't really understand.

[the-lonelybarricade]

MORGAN I AM SCREAMING

This fic has made SO feral. I have to put this beneath a read more because I needed to properly appreciate this masterpiece in its entirety

dealing with the other man had been a true test of Eris’ patience. He was huge, he was even ruder in person, and who the fuck needed that many muscles in the first place?

Eris, uhhh, I think you may have lost sight of your point there. agiluharegi;suh;gh we're seeing him process his "OH NO HE'S HOT" reaction in real time and I am loving every second. Also I get it, sometimes I get mad that Azriel's hot too 😭

I don't know how to express with words how unhinged this made me feel. The one bed trope is already so delicious and with the added tension of it being AZRIS? AHHHHH. I can't get over Eris immediately resorting to bribery when he found out they needed to share a room😂

“But I’m glad you think I’m worth at least five hundred dollars.”

Do you hear that? It's me SHRIEKING all the way from the UK. The flirty jabs are SO good.

“Eris,” Azriel said seriously. Azriel so rarely said Eris’ actual name that it made it more difficult than Eris cared to admit to stay focused.

I'm uh... I think I'm having trouble focusing too, actually 😩

“Don’t tell me you’re that mad about having someone in your bed,” Azriel responded, his tone turning slightly mocking. “I know it’s rare for you, but surely it’s happened before.”

I'm sorry I can't help pulling out these lines. The banter is just SO delicious

God, didn’t he realize how he looked, sitting there with his legs spread wide enough for someone to crawl in between them?

THIS. THIS IS A CRIME. HOW DARE YOU MAKE AZRIEL HAVE SO MUCH SEX APPEAL. I'm with Eris on this one 😩 I'd be debating crawling between his legs too

And he certainly didn’t take another look at the way the other man’s thighs flexed underneath his loose shorts.

ANOTHER CRIME. YOU STOP IT RIGHT NOW (Please don't)

“I don’t care what’s on your mind. Stop fucking moving around so much before I make you.”

NOT THE 'BEFORE I MAKE YOU' THREAT 😩 You really put all of the good shit into this

Eris could think of something that was going to be hard if Azriel kept this routine up

MORGAN STOP I CAN'T 😂😂

"You can’t decide whether you want to hit me or fuck me" really is the definition of Azris and one of my FAVORITE things about this ship lmao. I personally think that Eris should try doing both. At the same time 🥵

Fading to black was ILLEGAL but I forgive you for the best concluding sentence to ever be written 😂 Thank you SO much for this. This did good things for my soul 🙏

there are two ways we can do this (i know which would be more fun)

Happy day 4 of @sjmromanceweek, everyone! Venturing a little outside my comfort zone with this one and I hope you enjoy<3

shoutout to @c-e-d-dreamer for the title and @creativepromptsforwriting for the prompt!

Summary: Eris and Azriel are traveling for work, but the hotel they’re staying in has a mixup with their rooms, and they’re forced to share a bed.

Read on AO3 here!

♡♡♡♡♡ Eris

“There’s no way that’s possible,” Eris said. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Azriel said at the same time. 

Eris and Azriel worked for the same consulting firm — Night Industries — and had been forced to travel together for the project they’d been working on for half a year. It had been bad enough dealing with Azriel’s snark mostly through a computer screen, but dealing with the other man had been a true test of Eris’ patience. He was huge, he was even ruder in person, and who the fuck needed that many muscles in the first place?

Whatever. Eris had very much been looking forward to decompressing in their very much separate hotel rooms, but through some kind of mistake, it appeared the hotel had placed them in the same room. 

“I’m very sorry, sirs,” the man working the front desk replied. His name tag read Kallon, and he did not sound very sorry. “There’s been a mix-up with the booking, and there’s nothing I can do.”

“I will give you a hundred dollars to make this go away,” Eris offered, ignoring the dirty look Azriel threw his way. 

“I can’t accept that,” Kallon responded, bored. “But even if I could, there aren’t any other rooms available. There’s a convention going on—”

“Five hundred,” Eris interrupted, more than ready to be done with this conversation. He wasn’t above flaunting his wealth to get what he wanted, and what he really wanted was to be away from Azriel’s brooding presence. 

Kallon’s hands continued moving across the keyboard as if he hadn’t said anything at all. “Like I was saying, you’ll be staying in room 902. Breakfast starts at 8, and you have full access to all our amenities. Here are your keys.”

“Thank you, Kallon,” Azriel told him. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” Kallon chirped back with a self-satisfied smirk. 

Eris scowled at Azriel, but took the other hotel key anyway. If he couldn’t get a night’s peace, at least he could take a nice shower and relax in the hotel bed while pretending Azriel wasn’t there. 

“You know, it costs nothing to be kind,” Azriel said once they were in the elevator. Eris saw the way Azriel was smirking and braced himself for the incoming dig. “But I’m glad you think I’m worth at least five hundred dollars.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Velasquez.” Eris leaned against the elevator walls and resolutely ignored the way Azriel filled out his dark blue suit. “The only reason I offered that much is because money isn’t a concern.”

Azriel snorted. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Vanserra.”

They didn’t speak again until they reached the hotel room, and Eris sped up so he could be the one to open the door. Azriel snorted from behind him, but Eris didn’t care what that smug bastard thought about his admittedly-petty antics. As long as Eris came out on top, anything Azriel had to say about it didn’t matter. 

The room was gorgeous as usual, and Eris was pleased to see they’d been placed in one of the suites. The second he stepped into the bedroom, though, any goodwill he’d managed to build up in the last thirty seconds disappeared as he realized there was only one bed. 

Granted, it was a king sized bed, but it was only one bed. For two grown men to share. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Eris exclaimed at the sight. He let go of his rolling suitcase and turned on his heel, fully intending on marching back down to the front desk to complain even though he knew it wouldn’t accomplish anything, but Azriel’s body stopped him from leaving the room. “Are you seeing this?”

“I see it,” Azriel replied coolly. He looked down the few inches that separated them and raised a dark eyebrow. “Are you really going to go complain about it?”

“Yes,” Eris hissed, ignoring the incredulous look on Azriel’s face. “This is absurd—”

“Yeah, but it’s damn near midnight,” Azriel cut him off without missing a beat. Eris scowled at the interruption but allowed him to keep talking anyway. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been ready to get out of this suit for hours. We can get it fixed in the morning.” 

“But—” Eris spluttered, still riled up.

“Eris,” Azriel said seriously. Azriel so rarely said Eris’ actual name that it made it more difficult than Eris cared to admit to stay focused. “Just take a shower and get in the fucking bed. We’re grown men. We can handle sharing for one night.”

“I’m going down to complain first thing tomorrow morning,” Eris grumbled. He turned and reached for his suitcase, bringing it over to the right side of the bed. “And I’m complaining to Rhysand about this.”

“Don’t tell me you’re that mad about having someone in your bed,” Azriel responded, his tone turning slightly mocking. “I know it’s rare for you, but surely it’s happened before.”

Eris contemplated throwing one of his very expensive shoes at Azriel’s head, but he didn’t think it was worth scuffing the leather. “Of course it’s happened before. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Granted, it had been a while since Eris had let someone warm his bed, but Azriel didn’t need to know that. He decided to retreat to the bathroom before Azriel could come up with another way to insult him, detaching his briefcase from his carry on and rolling the tiny suitcase into the bathroom with him rather than waste time digging through it for his toiletries.

Once he was safely behind a locked door, Eris took his time in the bathroom just to be a dick. The shower was huge and the hot water was endless, and by the time he finally emerged in a cloud of steam, a muscle in Azriel’s jaw was working overtime. 

“Took you long enough,” Azriel muttered. He’d loosened his tie and taken off his jacket altogether, and Eris had to force himself to look away from the borderline obscene way he was leaning back in his chair. God, didn’t he realize how he looked, sitting there with his legs spread wide enough for someone to crawl in between them?

“It’s been a long day,” Eris said cheerfully, forcing himself to pay attention to the conversation instead of letting his mind wander further. “I earned it.”

Azriel’s expression suggested he exactly what he’d thought Eris earned, but he just rolled his eyes before disappearing into the bathroom. He took just as long as Eris had, if not longer, and Eris used the opportunity of the empty room to get himself situated. He hung up his clothes for tomorrow, organized his nightstand just the way he wanted it, and even went to fill up the ice bucket so his water would be cold.

When Azriel came out of the bathroom, Eris was doing his best to appear nonchalant while he relaxed against the headboard. He definitely didn’t notice the way Azriel’s thin undershirt clung to all that golden-brown skin, and he certainly didn’t take another look at the way the other man’s thighs flexed underneath his loose shorts.

“Let’s just go to bed,” Eris said shortly before Azriel could. Azriel thankfully just nodded, and after a few minutes of Azriel shifting around his side of the room, he motioned for Eris to turn off the lamp.

Eris shifted under the covers while Azriel did the same, the two of them laying in complete silence for a few minutes. Eris felt like his mind was traveling at a million miles per hour between all the things he had to get done tomorrow and the way he was sharing a bed with someone he honestly didn’t know very well outside of their limited, albeit snarky, interactions. 

“Stop moving,” Azriel growled from his side of the bed. 

Eris stopped his fidgeting, stunned into compliance for a few moments before he regained his composure. “Fuck you, I have a lot on my mind.”

“I’m trying to sleep,” Azriel snapped. “I don’t care what’s on your mind. Stop fucking moving around so much before I make you.”

“What are you going to do?” Eris snapped right back. Even though he could feel those hazel eyes on him, it was much easier to be bold with the lights off. “Cuddle me into submission?”

To Eris’ complete shock, that’s exactly what Azriel did. Eris cursed under his breath the entire time, but that didn’t stop those ridiculously muscled arms from reaching out and physically dragging him to the other side of the bed. Eris let out a completely undignified noise at being manhandled so easily, but Azriel either didn’t hear it or didn’t care.

“Was that so hard?” Azriel practically purred into Eris’ ear.

Eris could think of something that was going to be hard if Azriel kept this routine up, but he thankfully had the presence of mind not to embarrass himself further. “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” Azriel tightened his grip across Eris’ waist, his hips grinding into Eris’ ass as he tried to make himself more comfortable. At least, that was the only reasonable explanation for what Azriel was doing. “Stop thinking so loud.”

“I’m trying,” Eris ground out, “but it’s a little hard with your dick on my ass like that.”

Azriel just chuckled lowly, the sound doing way more for Eris than he cared to admit. “Sounds like you’d rather it be somewhere else.”

“I never said that—” Eris stammered out, his face burning. Azriel was ridiculous, that was absolutely not what Eris was intending, and he was just trying to rile Eris up as per usual. “What are you even—”

“You think I don’t notice the way you look at me?” Azriel interrupted Eris’ protests. “You can’t decide whether you want to hit me or fuck me. It’s adorable.”

“That’s idiotic,” Eris snapped, ignoring the low chuckle Azriel issued in response. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I don’t?” Azriel asked. He sounded like he was enjoying this way too much. “Tell me to stop, then.”

Eris choked on his next breath as the hand Azriel had wrapped around his waist began a slow descent toward the waistband of Eris’ pajama pants. “Azriel.”

“Eris,” Azriel replied, teasing. His hand slowed as he played with the waistband of Eris’ pants, fingers dipping shallowly underneath. “If you don’t want this, tell me to stop.”

Eris did no such thing, and if anyone noticed Azriel walking funny the next morning, they were at least too polite to say anything about it. 

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @charming-butt-insane | @oversizedbats | @melphss | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @autumnbabylon | @live-the-fangirl-life | @julemmaes | @that-little-red-head | @jmoonjones | @sayosdreams | @thewayshedreamed | @hiimheresworld | @brieq | @houseofcalores | @swankii-art-teacher | @nerdperson524 | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @imsointobooks | @nesquik-arccheron | @sweet-pea1 | @champanheandluxxury | @dustjacketmusings | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @goddess-aelin | @arinbelle | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @duskandstarlight | @letstakethedawn | @vidalinav | @c-e-d-dreamer | @dealfea | @katekatpattywack | @burningsnowleopard

[ellievickstar]

Chocolate

A/N: Soooo, I am emotionally unhinged during my period. and I am on my period. This is my one shot for Az. I need chocolate but I ran out and it’s 1 am someone help me. This is also my really, really late 50 followers special I am currently at 72 followers.

Warnings: Period = blood. Boys get out of here.

ships: Azriel x reader. Cassian’s sister!reader

Summary: Your in pain and the shadow singer knows just what to do. And maybe has too much fun taking care of you.

I winced in pain as I curled up on the bed.

Azriel had gone out for work earlier and I was currently bleeding my insides out as Mother Nature announced her arrival — with several painful punches to the gut.

I whimpered as another sharp pain echoed through my body. Sobs wracked my soul as the ache was too much for me. A flutter of wings caught my attention and there was my High Lord.

“Feyre mentioned you didn’t train with her, I decided to check on you, do you need Azriel?” His eyebrows raised as I shook my head. I did not need to disturb his work because of something that is meant to be normal. “Your mental shields are down and your basically shouting your thoughts. Azriel wouldn’t mind if he needed to take care of you, you know that,” I shook my head and Rhys just sighed as he muttered something about stubborn females.

The High Lord spent the rest of the day disturbing me, making jokes and bringing company like Feyre or Mor but he did not go against my wished to not tell Azriel. What was doing must have been really important and I had no intention to make him come home and take care of me.

Eventually I had managed to fall asleep but was awoken again by the sharp pain in my stomach. I cried out as I curled up on my bed, my body aching. The movement of shadows caught my attention and there was Azriel.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” He asked as he approached me. I stayed silent, afraid to say anything because of the immense pain in my gut. He scooped me into his arms as he soothed me silently. His shadows were carrying a box of chocolate, my favourite, that I had not been able to get a hold of because I had run out just the previous day.

Once the pain subsided slightly, he fed me small amounts of chocolate before helping me to the bathroom and back.

As we snuggled in the sheets he held me tight, whispering sweet nothings into my hear and before I slipped into darkness I could have sworn I heard water running again.

A/N: As I finish this it is 1pm in the afternoon, soon to be 2pm.

tag list: @moonfawnx @bankerfrog @younxii @starlit-terror @hideing @flightlesslittlebirdie @menagerofmischief @famousbasementpainter @owllover123 @bookworm-nerd6 @gigisssz @bethany-bee0128 @cityofidek