#demon!azriel x reader smut

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 9[***]

A/N: idk even know what to say about this one. I think I traumatise myself a little more with every chapter (in a good way…?)

Warnings: blood—like a lot of blood, obviously unsanitary but ✨magic✨, biting, blood play, smut, 5.7k words

-Part 8- -Part 10-

He’d breathed power into you. Power that your human body is not meant to carry. And while you can feel the tips of your fingers, the nails pressing onto your toes, and every tooth in your mouth, you know it won’t last. The sun is setting within you, and when the last ember of his magic dies in your womb, you’ll go with it.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask, padding quietly over that stone floors of the dormitories, hidden deep within the temple’s nest. Crypt is more like it.

He’s still wreathed in shadow, appearing no clearer than a reflection in muddied waters. His form ripples as he moves, keeping his gaze ahead—knowing you’re following on his heel. He’s keeping an eye out for something—someone.

That someone is waiting for you at the steps that lead out from beneath the holy building.

Robed in white and pale blue, silver circlet perched on her brow, Elain watches you with hard eyes. No—she’s staring at Azriel. He stops a little way from her, just out of reach of the carved, wooden thyrsus. Slender, pale fingers tighten around the staff, knuckles pressing out beneath the constraint of skin. “You have made your choice, then.”

It’s no question, but you nod. Cold, hollow eyes flick to you, “remember what I told you,” she says quietly, that strange glow appearing about her again. Brown melts to cocoa, mouth softening from its hard line. “You will always have a place here, remember that,” she says to you, “no matter what form you take. Do not forget yourself. Do not forget the human woman inside of you.”

————

Elain’s words are little more than a low buzz in the back of your skull as Azriel brings you to an outcropping on a weathered mountain ledge.

There’s no light in the sky tonight, the stars seemingly taking shelter within the darkness. The air is still, humid, but you’re on the wrong side of tepid. Your temperature has been rising gradually, in almost unnoticeable increments, but sweat is dampening your hair, trickling down the notches of your spine.

Azriel prowls forward to the flat rock face, canines slipping out as you hear a distinct ripping sound. He presses his taloned hand to the hewn stone, and lightening crackles in the air, fizzling in your ears, sizzling your skin. The mountain rumbles in response—Ramiel, Elain had called it—and strange symbols glow on the stone, as if lit by the light of a forge. A mix of runes and sigils that are too old to be recognised by any of your kind—perhaps even by his.

Then the wall gives way. Simply disappears. Revealing a looming passageway, sinking downward.

He turns toward you, eyes the colour of the descent that’s patiently awaiting. Why would it be eager? It know you’re going into its mouth one way or another, there’s no need for hurry.

A warm breeze licks up your spine, reminding you how your night robe is sticking uncomfortably to your skin, suctioned on by sweat. A shiver wracks your stomach, muscles seizing and spasming in the night. You take a shaky step toward him, toward the cave mouth, waiting to step foot on its cold tongue, but he stops you.

Instead, he takes you by the jaw, a razor-sharp claw presses in your mouth, a metallic liquid flowing across your tongue followed by a dull warmth. His canines press into his thumb before he pushes its pad to the incision on your wet muscle, blood mixing in your mouth. Your senses go dim, the cold biting into your feet little more than a slight pressure, the sweat on your skin little more than a light brush of misty fog, the night a little more than varying inky splotches.

A deep shadow towers over you, leaning down as you’re lifted from your feet. “Hold your breath,” he orders, softly. You follow the command, rasping in a ragged huff of night-warmed air. He steps into the rock’s mouth, and the mountain seals.

Cocooned within the damp passages, you curl into yourself, keeping air tight in your lungs. The walls press in, smelling of mildew and tilled soil. You keep tucked into him, instinctually recoiling from the passage way, the darkest grabbing at your ankles; tugging at your hair. Shadowy nails rake down the bloody chambers of your heart, eyes squeezing shut as Azriel pulls you tighter to himself.

“Release it.”

You exhale softly, feeling dizzy with the strain, like your torso will collapse with the slightest breeze. Like your ribs are full of cobwebs and dust. You head pounds the deeper he takes you, the temperate dropping steadily until you’re shivering. “Azriel…” you whisper weakly. He shushes you, fingers gently squeezing your skin, “a little longer.”

You swallow down the whimper, nestling closer, delving into his warmth as silky shadows encase your bare legs, wrapping over your arms; flowing over your chest like a thin blanket. Elain had warned you of this, had told you what to expect; how to prepare yourself for the crushing intensity of Ramiel’s stomach. How to cope with the insane pressure that’s strangling your bones of life.

Taking in a breath, you cast your mind back to the conversation, recounting the description she’d given you of her own Ritual.

————

“What happens in the Ritual?”

The tea is piping hot, almost scalding your throat as you swallow your first gulp. You gasp for air to cool your mouth, and Elain smiles softly, offering a glass of water which you take gratefully.

She sighs, leaning back in her chair, eyes going a little cloudy with memory. “It wasn’t…I struggle to speak about it,” she begins, hands cupping her mug as she peers into the milky tea. The edges of her mouth droop, shoulders sloping, “even with Lucien, it’s difficult.” She raises her head a little, meeting your gaze, something sad and remorseful flitting through her cocoa eyes.

“I thought I loved him at the time. Azriel, I mean. And I think he thought he loved me, too.” Her brow wrinkles, lips pursing as she tightens her hold on the cup. “They have a sacred mountain. It’s the only place the Ritual will work, though I never learned why. Something about a build-up of power, every Ritual performed requires a small sacrifice which infuses the mountain with magic. I don’t— I don’t know much about it, nor do I have an interest in learning.

“Even under his thrall, I knew there was something wrong with it. Like Ramiel was rejecting the very essence of my humanity. It was a discomfort deep in my bones, like something ancient and unseen was pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.” She sucks in a deep breath, straightening, taking a sip of her tea. You don’t miss the shake to her delicate hand.

“I have no time frame to offer you; everything was so distorted I have no hope of untangling it. I’m not sure what happened, just that my mind was scrambled the second he took me inside. I can recall vague impressions: some runes on the passage walls, pathways leading away—deeper into the mountain, fractals spinning in the damp rock. What I’m trying to express, is it’s unlike anything created by man. Entirely other. As if fashioned with darkness in mind; forged for the occult.

“After the descent, the narrow passage opened into a vast cave that smelled damp. Musty and unused. I can’t remember the cave in great detail—it was very dark, you see. So dark only a creature like him would be able to navigate the chamber.

“I do, however, recall being set on a raised, stone platform. It was circular, and had no end I could feel within my immediate reach. That being said, I didn’t have much control left in my body at that point so my area of mobility was severely limited.” Her eyes are milky white.

You don’t dare speak, in case it washes away the last scraps of memory she’s dredging up.

“The Ritual… As I said before, it’s not something I care for. I have no interest in understanding how it works—I’m not entirely sure any of them know what happens, or how it was set up. I remember my younger sister telling me what she knew, but it was all rumour and myth passed on tongue, predating written language.

“He warned me it would be unpleasant. He gave me a choice of how it could happen, just two options.”

You hold your breath, tea forgotten.

“I could endure it as I was, experience the change on my own. Or I could…” she stammers, features becoming a little paler. A hint of colour dusts the crests of her cheek, though she refuses to lower her head. “Or he could relieve the intensity by taking it with me.”

Your brow furrows, “what do you mean, taking it with you? I thought the Ritual…” you trail off. You don’t really know what you thought. “You said something about becoming stronger? I thought that meant being changed into one of them,” you say, swallowing. “One of you.”

She nods. “The Ritual will make you immortal, so you can live like them; exist in the Underworld and the Holy Lands.”

“What’s…? That sounds…good.” You say, slowly, considering your words. “What’s the… I mean, I can’t see an obvious reason why not to take it?” Her brow narrows slightly, and you worry you’ve said something wrong. “Living forever is not as wondrous as you might think. Watching those you love grow old while you remain young? Watching their bones crumble with the weight of the world while yours stay strong? It is not a pleasant experience.” Her voice is sharper, terser than before, and you realise this might still be an open wound for her.

You open your mouth, “exactly how old are—”

“You’re getting off topic.”

You snap your mouth shut.

She releases her grip on her teacup to take a sip, drinking daintily. “He will most likely offer you a similar choice. It is up to you which path you take. I most certainly will not fault you for either.”

You wait, fingers fidgeting in your lap, but she doesn’t continue. You shift, “is there anything else?”

Milky eyes begin to darken, returning to their colourful state of warmth. Elain shakes her head, “as I said: I remember very little. Though I would advise you to take his offer, when he gives it to you.” She shivers, but there’s no breeze. “I imagine it would be quite unpleasant without the distraction.”

————

He takes you down further, runes decorating the rock wall.

He carries you by winding passages that seem to have breezes blowing inward, as if trying to suck in wanderers. He remains steady. Fractals spin at the edges of your vision, disappearing when you try to look directly at them.

Stairs wind down, going deeper into the mountain, until you’re surely below ground level. And still you go deeper.

He carries you down until the passage opens up, revealing a vast cave, a flat stone altar at its centre. The place Elain spoke about.

You’re here.

Azriel takes a step forward, then halts. Even with your poor eyesight, you can feel the weight of his gaze. Goosebumps prickle over your skin, and you nestle into him, greedily sucking in the warmth and power that’s humming around his person.

“Isn’t this it?” You croak, feeling like death. Sweat beads on your brow, perspiration slicking your already damp skin. His eyes narrow on you, judgement weighing heavily in your stomach.

Then he turns from the altar, grip tightening on you, lips pursing.

Desperation trickles down your spine, fingers trembling as you hold him tighter. “Azriel…” you rasp, “what…? Where are you…?” Breath catches in your throat and you manage a weak cough. Shadows swirl over your torso, wrapping tighter, as if keeping you together.

“You’re weaker than the others,” he says quietly, a soft growl dragging form his throat. Shame tightens in your gut at the reminder, and you look away from him. “You’re going deeper. Where it will be more concentrated.”

Darkness writhes at his back, building over his wings as they flare, magic crackling in the air. The rock trembles, then gives way, revealing another passageway. Leading down.

You whimper, pushing into him, away from the opening. “Azriel…” you pant, “please…I can’t—” Another round of wet coughs bubble from your throat, barely enough force to dislodge whatever’s getting stuck there.

His dark eyes flick down to you, then he shifts you in his arms, lifting and moving you so your legs are tucked around his waist, arms guided gently over his shoulders. If you had the energy, you could purr. Nestle closer into him, feeling the firm press of his chest against your own, the strong muscle lining his body, the soft, silky locks at the nape of his neck.

“Hold on,” he murmurs to you, one arm beneath you to keep you up, the other around your back, pressing between your shoulder blades then trailing down to grip your waist. Your spine arches, dipping as his forearm brushes the bone, holding just above your hip.

“I just want it to be over,” you whisper onto his skin, head resting on his shoulder, tears blurring your vision. “It will be,” he replies quietly. “Just a little longer.”

Tremors skitter over your skin, limbs going limp in his arms as you weigh onto him, relaxing into his strength. Feeling each smooth step as he takes you deeper. Darker still.

The air grows thicker; more stagnant. As if previously untouched.

You shiver in his arms, only focusing on where you’re connected, the shadows soothing your skin. “How much did she tell you about this?” He asks into the darkness. You know who he means.

“A little,” you rasp, feeling weakness sink into your muscles, turning them to mud.

He nods, probably for your benefit. “This is going to be different,” he murmurs, and his hands might have tightened on you just there. You have no energy to inquire, so you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t.

“You’re going to be fine.”

It doesn’t reassure you like you had hoped.

Silence swallows your senses, and you’re pretty sure you pass out for a little, because when your eyes next open, things have changed.

No longer in the passageway, but within the mountain’s stomach—wide and cavernous. A quiet splash sounds as Azriel moves, a faint metallic smell wafting about, a suggestion of iron. Light flickers on the walls, dimly registering in your eyes as he continues forward. Carrying you to your end point.

“You’re doing this with me, right,” you whisper. Your voice breaks at the end, betraying your quiet terror. Muscle stiffens beneath you, but he continues moving.

“Yes,” he says at last, equally softly, coming to a stop. His hold lessens on you, giving you the chance to pull away. You try and sit a little straighter, weary and tired. A fatigue that’s settled into your very bones. Even sleeping forever wouldn’t get rid of it.

You peer at him through the darkness, his arms supporting you as you do so. “What’s going to happen to me?” You whisper again, tongue trembling in your mouth, feeling at once dry and like lead. Your lower lip wobbles, but you bite down, keeping it stiff. Eyes flick across his features, searching for a hint.

Something passes through his gaze, but it’s gone too quickly for you to read. Instead, one of his hands cup your cheek, pushing away the damp hair that’s plastered itself to your skin. “I’ll make sure it feels good,” he says.

Then his mouth slants delicately over yours, and you recognise the feeling it brings in.

It’s like that first time with him all over again.

Heat sings in your blood, making it boil and bubble. Scorching your skin. His name whispers through your mind, lips forming shapes of letters you’ve forgotten.

The cave is vast, a dark liquid coating the floor, and he’s taking you deeper. Red washes the stone, fire burning in tall stacks at five different points within the chamber. Humid air washes down your throat, filling your lungs, smelling faintly metallic but everything’s so dim and dark it’s impossible to tell. How bright is the flame for your eyes to pick it out?

Heart pounds in your chest, and you curl into him, needing to feel his skin. Need to feel his touch, the soft dust of fur grazing your thighs and stomach, the scratch of claws through your hair. A small sound drags from your lips, sweat beading on your brow, head twisting to bury into him.

His hands tighten around your legs, pressing your shoulders closer, tucking you into his heat, his scent wrapping around you. If you had the energy, how wonderful it would be to have him. Taste, lick, swallow, gulp. Take, need, have, own.

“Azriel…” Letters rasp from your tongue and he’s doing something—moving you. “Azriel…I need you.”

Sweat slicks your robes, dampening further as he sets you down, breasts dragging over his chest, body dragging against his own, until your feet touch that wetness. Up to your ankles. Up to your calves. Metal and iron.

Blacked out eyes find yours and breath whooshes away at the raw sight of him. Some kind of veil has been ripped off, fire and shadow burning in his pitch black gaze, an intensity thrumming beneath his skin like a heart beat, loud and clear to your ears.

The flames burn hotter, glowing brighter, pale bones holding the massive fire bowls. Blood bubbles around your feet, the cave floor flooded with the dark liquid, the vastness of some past slaughter vaguely dawning in your mind. How much life is contained within the dark lagoon, the immense strain of power that’s glittering just beneath it.

“This isn’t…?” You look at him weakly, his hands on your hips, keeping your pressed to his front. “…where am I?” He blinks, and you catch the thin layer of film that slides across his eyes just before his eyelids snap shut, and open. “Undress.”

You stare at him, too sickly to muster up a reply. You just stare. “Where am I?”

When he leans down, fingers hooking in your robe, making to pull it off, you don’t have the will to protest. The scrape of his talons up the backs of your thighs setting the liquid heat in the pit of your belly bubbling. A reminder of his touch, how it feels to have his hands on you. How it feel to have him on you. It’s what you’re craving.

So you melt.

Eyes roll to the back of your skull and you stagger, shadows winding up your legs, sliding up your spine, bracing your torso as the arousal slams your mind into a stone wall. Hands grip onto him, nails stabbing at his tough skin as you cling for stability. “Azriel…” you pant, panic twining with your plead.

His eyes gleam in the ruby light, orange and gold flickering across his skin, “yes?” Fangs glint under the flame, catching the sparks on the white enamel. Grinning.

Your vision tilts, and your grip tightens, skin pressing onto him, arms winding around him, fingers dragging over him as you begin to push yourself into his body. You nose at him, taking in his scent and you can feel him shifting beneath your finger tips. Liquid arousal gathers between your thighs as leather dissolves to soft fur, the constraint of clothing turning to nothing. Warm, sturdy muscle surfacing. Should you look up you would be met with a beast. Fangs to slice into your throat, talons to dig into your flesh, eyes to pierce into your soul.

A moan spills from your lips, breaths becoming shallow as that incessant itch becomes deeper and deeper and you need him, need him, need him.

He laughs, deep and dark, tipping you upward by a hand to the throat. Feels you swallow. “Want me?” He asks. The ghostly brush of his lips over your own. Your brows curve upward at the cruel question.

Of course you want him. Can barely think of anything else.

Eyes flutter shut, tilting toward him. Elongated fangs graze your lips. Press closer, and they slice.

You tip over the edge.

Hands slide up over his shoulders, hooked talons wrap around your waist, trapping you against him. Mouth opens up, teeth slicing at your lips but blood tastes good. Thick and rich. Aches blossom on your tongue, stinging dulling and healing then reopening as his saliva heals and his canines create those delicious incisions as you kiss him. Tongue flicks out, pressing up the razor-sharp canine, hot, spiced liquid bursting between you, dripping down your chin.

You moan loudly into his mouth, his name playing on repeat in your head as you plead for him, arousal thrumming and humming and buzzing across your sin, zapping the sensitive space between your legs.

Nails drag through his hair, pressing up onto your tiptoes to be closer. His hands slide down over your rear and you moan into his mouth, blood and pleasure mixing and his claws rip through the white robe. Skin is bare and wonderfully free. Fur soft and silky and you could cry at the sweet sensation.

Azriel snarls into your mouth and you want to give him more, want him to bite into your flesh and take you apart in the most appetising way possible. With great control, you pull away, only in favour of moving his hot lips to the soft expanse of your throat. Urging him to bite, to drink, to feed.

The wet muscle laps out, pleasure and pain singing down your spine seconds later as he buries himself in you, hot, thick blood spilling down your shoulder, saturating the remains of your dress. Head tips back, lips parting in silent euphoria. He growls at the taste, pushing deeper, drinking more and more, until you’re swaying on your feet.

Hands release you, blood swallows you.

Falling back into the sanguine pool.

You moan as the rich liquid warms your skin, coating you, bathing you in power. Darkens your hair with wetness. Spine arches at the sheer immorality of the scene. The darkest depravity as you bathe yourself in blood. Gleams on your teeth, colouring your lips as you smile, tongue flicking out as you stare up at him.

His grin is like none other he’s given you. Pure beast, pure animal. Too wide, and too eager to be anything remotely human. You don’t care.

He steps forward, and you move back, pushing away from him slowly—teasingly. It’s never a good idea to taunt a wolf, but here you are, a lamb wandering into the butcher’s hands, trotting up and pleading for the carving knife. Bowing her neck for the severing slice.

The rock shifts beneath you, blood growing shallower, beast drawing closer. Herding you to the butchering block. You follow his guide, moving to be atop the hewn stone, where the hot liquid laps at your sides instead of swallowing you whole.

Dark lines pulse beneath his skin, veins of blackness thrumming beneath the fur lining his stomach, mapping a pathway down his abdomen. He reaches the foot of the slope, and begins prowling upward, slowly closing in on you. There’s not a single part of you that’s afraid of him, every inch of skin craving to be adored and devoured. Absolutely massacred.

His clawed hand encases your ankle roughly, pulling your leg toward him, blood dripping from your calves down into the pool. Teeth open over your flesh, bitting and kissing his way up as your spine arches at his own form of worship.

When you have fangs like his, you’ll return the favour.

Dark eyes pierce into you, your legs bend at the knees, flickering with interest. Your grin doesn’t belong to a lamb. He know that, too.

Starving hunger blazes in his gaze, a quiet moan exhaling from your lips as you open wider for him. Lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl, and he pounces. One hand slams down on your shoulder, rock biting into your back as he snarls, low and viciously. Blood drips off your chest, nipples peeking beneath his ravenous attention. Teeth bite into your neck, and you know he’s hitting that first scar mark, setting it deeper, making sure it sticks.

Rough stone slices into your skin, but you don’t care. The blood from the cave seeps into your skin, but you don’t care. Something powerful and wicked, ancient and entirely malevolent claws at your insides, rendering you anew, and you just. Don’t. Care.

You moan louder when you feel the weight of his length over your slick heat, a growl rumbling through his chest, and you could swear deep whispers fill the vast cave. Chanting, speaking in tongues. He pays them no mind, so neither do you. Not even as the blood really does begin to bubble, or as the fire drips from the golden bowls, beginning to form a ring.

Nails dig into his back, wings flaring in a display of dominance and ownership as the tip of his cock presses against your entrance. Your hips wind against him, begging for him to push in, to fill you so full there’s no room for anything else. Until everything is out of you, and you’re left empty and gloriously silent.

Azriel’s fingers thread through your hair, thumb smearing the blood across your cheek, and you catch the tip of his talon on your tongue. He groans at the action, pressing the plushness of your lower lip, angling the digit so his claw can slide inside. The wet muscle flicks over the pad of him thumb, eyes latched onto his as you slice and carve yourself upon him.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your eyes roll back with pleasure, knowing what’s coming. So caught up in his web of sin you don’t notice as the sickness burrows deeper, curling within you, painting you in his self.

“Azriel…” you pant, “deeper.”

His eyes gleam with satisfaction and something far more sinister but you have no care to examine it in detail. All you care about is how big he is, how he’s filling you up as he presses in, keeping you pinned to the bloody floor of the dim chamber. His lips twist into a hellish smile, teeth slicked in red as they gleam with golden firelight. Fire that’s still spilling from the bowls, tightening the ring until it’s trapping you both inside.

Slowly, they begin to carve a five-pointed star through the pool.

The two of you at its epicentre.

His hips press tight against your own, and whimpers ebb from your lips, flowing to his ears as your iron-tinged scent wraps around him, keeping him locked in a haze of pleasure. He basks in the wet heat of your cunt, the soft press of your thighs tightening around his hips, urging him to move. He dips down once more, mouth opening over your own in a messy kiss—messy from the razor-like teeth. A mouth filled with tiny blades.

The world spins a little as his hips drawn back, then push in.

The dark cave pool heats, steam rising from its surface as the fire blazes brighter, finally completing its symbol. Trapping you within. No matter this is nothing like what Elain described. This is so much better.

He slams in to the hilt, and fire crackles in your heart. Lightening sizzling your bones, scorching your skin. Cooking you from the inside out. Pain blares in your marrow, inner lips stinging as your gums ache from tiny lacerations, splitting.

Splitting as fangs force their way through your flesh, ripping at tissue as teeth grow. Teeth matching his. Two canines protruding from your upper lip. You can hear his hearts beat, tripping in a triple rhythm of three.

You open your mouth over his shoulder, still pounding into you, and you bite.

He howls, the roar sending ripples through the bubbling blood, making the flames flicker. He coats your tongue, spilling into your mouth, filling your stomach as your bones and muscle shift. Tighten over one another, bonding to become stronger. Other.

The cave becomes lighter, snapping from blinding colour to pitch black, until they finally settle. The smell you’d be veiled from finally hits you, and you gag. The metallic stink shoves itself up your nostrils but magic crackles in the air and it’s gone. His magic.

Azriel pulls away, and pleasure tightens in your belly as you mark the puncture wounds stamped onto his shoulder. His hips slam up against yours and claws rake down his back.

His pupils dilate, and he’s shoving you down into the pool, one massive paw splaying across your chest, talons hooking you in place. A scream rips from your lips as the transformation passes over your lower body, unimaginable pleasure crashing into you, bludgeoning your brain as it’s sizzled and scorched. Vision blurs as euphoria rips at your skin, head tipping back, saturating your hair in the liquid magic.

There’s hardly time for breath before your muscles are acting for you, guiding you to what you need.

Claws dig into him, sinking into flesh as he’s flipped onto his back, allowing you to straddle his hips. You snarl down at him, revelling in the pulse of power that’s gliding through you, filling you with life and energy and anger.

So much fury that had the cave not been cast in red before, it would become bloodied to your eyes. All the repressed rage that had been slowly building, every snap of jealousy, every burn of envy. Everything gloriously sinful, awakens.

The mountain trembles as ire glitters in your blood, keeping Azriel trapped beneath you as you finally take. You take, and steal, and rob, just as he had done to you.

He snarls in fury but there’s so much power within you now, binding and raging at the sight of freedom he remains floored.

Your hips wind over his, cock buried deep inside of you, and the snarl cuts to a blissed out moan. Hands grip your hips, talons unable to slice your leathery skin as he helps lift you up to his tip, then slam you down. He bucks upward simultaneously, spurred on by the sharp jerk of your hips as you grind onto him. Pleasure sings and your head falls back, allowing him to use you—to give you the world.

Snarls and growls rumble in your chest, tongue flicking over your blood-coated teeth. His blood. And you smile.

Wild. Feral. Unhinged.

You look down at him, the red, toothy grin on your lips as claws slash out from your fingertips. Moans flow as you bring them down upon him, slicing into his skin, crimson droplets beading in their wake before the lacerations heal.

His eyes gleam with pride as you raise your nails to your mouth, tongue flicking out to taste him, pleasure buzzing in your head, fluttering between your legs. His satisfaction curls deep in your chest, sharpening the edge you’re riding.

Your hips swirl over his and it’ll only take a few more…

A few more and then—

You scream.

An otherworldly, beastly howl.

His eyes widen with hunger and awe as your head tips back, and you come on his cock, nails stabbing into the muscle of his stomach, burying in the soft fur that trails to his abdomen.

Words once again rip from your mind, leaving only feeling and wonder as he continues slamming up into you. Overstimulation wracks your body, but you can’t summon the will to order him to stop. Spasms tense your muscles, everything going taut then supple, Flashing so quickly between the two that it’s absolute heaven for him. Pounding up into your heat as you flutter and tighten around his cock, urging him to spill into you.

Your hips move of their own accord, as if able to sense how much he wants to fill you up, how desperately he needs to pump you full of is cum until you’re unable to move or breathe without some spilling.

You urge him on as you squeeze him, hips winding and bucking even as your mind goes blank, world spinning and tripping with the overload.

The pentagram flares with power, zapping your skin until you’re tingling all over and he roars. Hot, thick cum spurts into you and you moan. Vision blurs with pleasure, fangs biting into your lower lip until blood trickles down, dripping from your chin onto your breasts, splattering across his stomach.

The muscles flex as his hand slides into your hair, dragging your mouth to his as your fangs collide, carving up one another in the frenzy. You groan as his cock shifts inside of you from the movement, body answering as you grow, fur dusting the soft skin between your legs in luscious, thick swirls.

His lip pulls back from his teeth with pleasure, matching your shift, cock widening beneath the base as you continue roughly winding over him.

You’re still so dizzy and so dumbed out—tunnel vision leading you to the next high.

You grip him back, hands brutally gripping his silky, blood-slicked hair as you eagerly devour him, breasts dragging over his chest. Nipples grazing his skin, bodies pressed so tight against one another you could pass for one single, hellish creature.

Soft snarls bounce off the cave walls that had been previously untouched for centuries, smelling slightly damp but now filled with arousal.

Claws click together as you grip and grab.

Teeth and talons snap, biting and scraping over skin.

Humanity shredded to pieces.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

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[theostrophywife]

the prince of hell.

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

song inspiration: masterpiece by sam short.

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

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

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

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

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

Please, you pleaded. Please, save me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The male was either exceptionally brave or extremely stupid. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you simply locked gazes with the Prince of Hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#demon azriel is going to be a ride #which is great cause i would like to ride him #azriel #azriel fic #azriel smut #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel spymaster #azriel/reader

[utterlyotterlyx]

Constellations

Azriel x Fem!Reader

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

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

There were constellations in your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel couldn't blame Helion for it.

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

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

"Can you blame him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Az, is every-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Authors Note

😌

#fanfiction #imagine #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #azriel x reader #cassian #maasverse #mor acotar #rhysand #nesta #nesta x cassian #nesta x azriel #fluff #angst #elain archeron #helion acotar #helion x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger x reader

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Bonus Part — Fin x Reader.

Summary: A reimagining of how things would have gone if Reader had decided she wanted Fin — despite him being her friend’s father.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Heavy on the smut. 18+, minors dni. Some jealous and possessiveness. Mentions of forbidden relationships/affairs. If the choices Reader makes in this are something you’re against, I urge you not to read! 🫶🏻

Rita’s is like no other place you’ve been — or seen — before.

Is this what you’ve missed out on, trapped within the frozen maw of Windhaven? There is no place like this there, of such vibrancy and euphoria. The music, the coloured faelights, the energy — it all makes you feel…on top of the world.

Like there’s life outside the misery you’ve known.

Mor knocks a shot back, grimacing as she slams the empty glass onto the bar. A sudden burst of giggles leaves her as she says, “My father would have my head if he could see me right now. Literally.”

You don’t doubt that for a second, because Mor looks resplendent, not just in her natural beauty, but her joy. She has danced and drank and kissed and danced some more. And seeing her like this…it makes you glad that she convinced you to come out with her tonight.

“My father would have my head, too,” you tell her over the music. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

At that, she rolls her eyes, and she reaches for two more shots. “Here’s to saying fuck the males,” she knocks her glass against yours. “May they all perish.”

You’ll happily drink to that. With the alcohol that has you in its grip, you’re buzzed on thoughts of storming back to Windhaven and confronting all your demons. Confronting anyone and everyone who has ever hurt you and made you feel less than you are. Your father. Lord Devlon. Azriel—

You banish that thought as the liquid slides down your throat with a satisfying burn. You are in Velaris, not Windhaven. A new place with new people, where anything feels possible. The thought is heady and dizzying.

Someone calls Mor’s name, and she glances over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes lighting up again. You truly don’t know how often she’s able to escape the Hewn City and get away to Velaris, but judging by the amount of friends she’s introduced you to tonight, she’s certainly made her mark here.

“Let’s go dance with them!” Mor yells over the music, grabbing your hand.

You think that dancing might be the answer to everything you’ve never known, and so you gladly follow; gladly throw yourself into the thrall of the busy floor.

But that’s when you see him.

Something…some deep power…compels you to look up. Coaxes your eyes to that area a level above, where the city’s VIP guests spend copious amounts of money on copious amounts of alcohol and drink it from their cushy velvet booths. They’re reserved for associates of the High Lord, a not-so-formal place to meet to discuss not-so-casual things.

But none of that matters. There could be an entire circus up there right now, and still all you would notice is — him.

He notices you, too.

The High Lord’s eyes zero in on you from up above. You watch, rooted to the spot, as he takes in the sight of you, from your braided back hair, to your painted face, your dress and the legs exposed by them. He looks like…like he’s finally setting his sights upon an image that was merely fantasy up until now.

He braces his arms on the balustrade. And he just stares.

You want to know what he’s doing here. Whether he’s at Rita’s for business or…or for pleasure. You’ve heard that there are rooms upstairs for people willing to pay the price. Perhaps there’s a lover up there with him somewhere, waiting to explore every last inch of that glorious, sculpted body—

The bleating jealousy that makes your heart twist is…unexpected. And not ideal; not one bit.

He is Rhysand’s father. Things may have been fucked up royally with Azriel, and you may have been burned by the experience — but Fin is Rhysand’s father.

Your friend’s father.

Your friend’s father who has just so happened to help keep you feeling alive these past weeks. With his layers-deep allure, the sweet, sweet words that roll off his tongue. His hospitality, his generosity. His kindness. All of it, you’d attributed to him being a natural charmer, a High Lord who knows precisely what to say, what to do.

It strikes you in that moment — just how much it’s all sunk its way into your bones and made you feel…dangerous.

He watches you like a cat with a mouse. Watches as somebody grabs your hand and yanks you into the tightly knit dancing bodies. The music pulses through you from head to toe, a frenzied tune of strings and keys that somehow come together to create the feeling of being borne aloft. Being on top of the world.

As you become lost to the sensation of dance, you’re glad to forget all your thoughts about Fin. You don’t want to wonder what he’s doing here. You don’t want to imagine what those strong, rough hands might get up to, where they might venture.

You become sandwiched between two males who dance with you in a way that makes you forget your wings were ever stolen. They touch you and touch each other, and you welcome it all, happy to be someone, somewhere, else. At least for a while.

But there’s suddenly a foreign touch to your shoulder. That of a cold, meaty hand that stills your movements and draws your attention. The two males happily slink away and begin grinding on each other, and you spin on the spot to find a tall, stocky male who looks like he punches people in the face for the hell of it.

“Y/N?” He checks, and you nod. “The High Lord wishes to speak with you. Upstairs.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes searching for Mor and finding her just as she’s following a male and female to a cloaked-off area at the back. That’ll be her occupied for the remainder of the night. You’re officially going solo.

But not for long. Not as the bouncer juts his chin in the direction of the staircase and begins to lead you there. Perhaps it makes you a fool, but you follow without a word.

He pulls back a rope and gestures for you to go on up, and then he’s refastening it behind you and turning back to train a keen eye on the dance floor. It’s purely the alcohol that hits you with enough of an ego to climb those stairs like you belong amongst the chandeliers and velvet booths.

But you look good — amazing, even. You know you do. And looking like this, things like scars and other insecurities seem so trivial. You’ve taken back the right to feel as beautiful as you are. You wear your Illyrian features proudly, and you’re pretty and lithe and graceful—

And your heel catches on the top step of the staircase, almost sending you sprawling to the floor — if not for the warm hand that catches your elbow.

“Easy.” Fin rasps into your ear, setting you steady on your feet.

Your numbed, inebriated senses are not immune to the effect of his voice, it would seem. The deep baritone, rough as jagged rock, pushes its way into your skin, your veins, and spreads far faster than any alcohol could.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” you answer, and you’re unable to shove down the hysterical giggle that claws up your throat. “Fuck, you’re the High Lord.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “And you are drunk.”

“The whiskey they serve here is immense.”

“I’ll be sure to extend your compliments to Rita herself.”

Is that, you wonder, who he’s up here meeting? Perhaps the elusive Rita is a close associate of his. Perhaps they do deals in both business and pleasure.

And taking in your fill of the High Lord right now, in a dark button-up shirt and fitted breeches of a slate grey, you would not blame Rita one little bit.

Gods, he’s exquisite. Rhysand may resemble Roza more than he does Fin, but…with two parents of such stunning beauty, it’s no wonder your friend is as handsome as he is.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you make no secret of the way your eyes linger on him. Tonight is dangerous, and you’re enjoying it.

“Nor I, you,” he narrows his gaze down at you. “Imagine my surprise, considering that when I left the palace earlier this evening, you were curled up in the library with a book. And yet, here you are. Wearing…” mahogany eyes take in the short cut of your dress, “…that.”

“Mor surprised me with a visit.”

“My niece ought to be more careful not to press her father’s buttons too much,” a muscle in his chiselled jaw ticks. “And I think you ought to be more careful not to push mine.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Bold. So foolishly bold of you. You’ll regret it once sober, you’re sure. “Was there a particular reason you summoned me up here, my Lord? I was rather enjoying dancing.”

“I noticed. And I’m taking you home.”

“What—”

Before you can even finish the word, Fin’s gripping your elbow again, and darkness sweeps you away.

Being winnowed while drunk is not a fun experience.

You feel the cosmic, air-light step from one place to another. Your stomach lurches, your head spinning. You can barely get a hold of yourself as you cling to Fin and prepare your feet to touch solid ground.

And then the darkness is gone, and you’re back in the toasty, warm glow of the palace’s library. Your knees buckle, trying to drag you to the floor, but Fin keeps you upright.

“What the…” you gawp up at him. “Why did you bring me home?”

He ensures you’re able to stand on your feet before pushing away from you. Doesn’t even look at you as he commands, “Get to bed.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Just as those males were enjoying you, too. You’re drunk and you need to sleep it off. Get to bed.”

He strides towards the door, his knuckles white from how hard he grips the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. But sword or no, you refuse to give up so easily.

“No,” you say simply. “I will not.”

Fin stops. Goes still. And then he turns back to you.

His temper is clear on his face, but he doesn’t storm back over like you’re half expecting him to. Instead, his eyes shutter, and he seems to take a deep, soothing breath. When he’s looking at you once more, he flicks his wrist in your direction.

And immediately, gone is the haze of the alcohol.

Immediately, you’re completely lucid, completely steady on your feet. Not a lick of inebriation remains, as if you had, indeed, slept it off.

“Did you just sober me up?” you’re outraged by the mere idea.

“Yes.” Fin admits shamelessly. “Now you won’t fall victim to a hangover in the morning — a favour from me, to you, and I ask you in return to get to bed. And don’t even think about trying to venture back out. I’ll know.”

Your blood boils. And the anger isn’t simply because of your ruined fun, but because…because it stings, the way Fin is treating you with such contempt. Scolding you like you’re little more than a petulant child. He’s been nothing but wonderful since you came to Velaris, and yet now, he speaks to you like…like most of the males back in Windhaven do.

It makes you see red.

“What right have you to dictate how I spend my evening?” you snap. “I was under the impression that my free time is my own, and if I wish to go and get drunk and dance like a fool, that is up to me.”

Cold, beautiful anger hardens Fin’s face. He stalks closer, squeezing the hilt of that sword so, so tightly. “What right have I? This is my home. My city. My court. I am your High Lord, and you choose to behave in such a way when I’ve opened my home to you and offered you refuge? When I’ve given you a place to run to and left my resources at your disposal?”

You rock back on the heels of your feet, staring at him. Every word lands a hit — as good as if he’d nocked them in a bow and fired them right at your heart. It stings. Gods, it stings. You want the careless oblivion of the alcohol back.

Because you grapple daily with the pain, the anxiety, of feeling unwanted. And you…you had begun to think that Fin actually cared for you. Actually enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.

You’d begun to care about his thoughts and feelings where you were concerned. And begun to believe that it wasn’t just the hospitality and courtesy that he would dole out to any runt on the street.

His eyes seem to track the way your expression changes, your shoulders slump. You swallow. The anger is replaced, simply, by hurt.

“If I am a burden, my Lord, I apologise,” you rasp. “I don’t intend to be one. I appreciate your generosity, and I…I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

You hope you can keep your tears at bay long enough to escape to your room. You’re pelted with shame, embarrassment, hurt. You step forward and hurry past the High Lord, desperate to book it out of there, to get to bed.

But his hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to a stop. And he says, quietly, “wait.”

That hand on your wrist holds the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

You pin your gaze to the ground, unable to look at Fin. You hear him swallow.

“That isn’t—” his voice is gravelly. “I didn’t mean that.”

You don’t think you can speak. You remain a statue beneath his touch.

But so gently — such a contrast to the whirlwind of his actions before — he’s walking you backwards. Slow and careful. You feel your back hit the wall, and he lets go of your wrist and seems to curl his fists at his sides. There’s a desperation to the action that only then coaxes you to look up at him.

His expression is…pleading. For what, you’re not sure.

“You are the furthest thing from a burden,” he says, quietly, on an exhale. “Your presence here is very much welcomed, I assure you.”

You don’t dare breathe a word. Every last bit of your very sober courage is being thrown into maintaining eye contact. There’s none to spare for speaking.

But your lack of response seems to trouble Fin. His eyes rake over your face, searching for something. He swallows again.

And then his eyes shutter, and he whispers, “Mother above, what are you doing to me?”

You don’t know how to answer him — whether he’s even talking to you at all. He takes in a very slow, very deep breath, as though it’s the only thing that’s stopping him from…doing something. What, you’re not sure.

But you can feel it, sense it — the ferocity with which he’s swallowing down words and holding himself back. Like he wants so badly to say something, but can’t.

His eyes open, clearer than they were seconds before, and he says in a far gentler tone, “Get to bed, Y/N,” he inclines his head. “Sleep well.”

With tense, squared shoulders, he turns — and it’s you, this time, that stops him. You halt him with a hand on his arm, and you could swear you feel the muscles flex under his touch.

“Wait,” you say, not ready to let him go, not prepared to leave things between you like this. “Stay and talk with me for a while.”

His jaw clenches like he’s gritting his teeth. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why? We talk all the time, you and I. And there are clearly things you’re holding back from saying—”

Your words are cut short as he suddenly meets your gaze with the intensity of a blazing fire. You think it might burn you. You hope it will.

“It’s a bad idea,” he grounds out, gutturally, “not because of what I want to say. But because of what I want to do.”

“What—”

“You are my son’s close friend. You are Roza’s guest,” he tugs his arm out from under your hand. “You are far younger than I am. I am trying my hardest — I have been trying my hardest — to be a good male. And right now, a good male would take his leave and go to bed, so I bid you goodnight, Y/N.”

“Fin—”

“I hope you sleep well.”

“Fin,” you grab for him again. “What if I don’t want you to be a good male?”

Beneath your touch, he stops. Goes preternaturally still.

Words punch out of you with terrifying gall — and truth. “What if I want you to do those things—”

Quick as a flash, he’s pivoting, and he has the upper hand. Has you pressed so tightly up against the wall, his body boxing you in.

And gods, the feel of it might set you on fire. A brush of your hands, a kiss on the backs of your fingers — they’re nothing compared to the weight and press of his muscles against your body. You want your clothes to melt away, and his, too. You want your hands on his bare, hot skin.

“I don’t think you realise what you’re saying,” he growls.

“I do,” you breathe. “I am completely sober. Completely clear of mind. And I am telling you, Fin, I want you—”

A strangled noise is the only warning you get before the High Lord’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is pure power. It passes from him, into you, roils through your veins and makes you feel like somebody remarkable. It’s the cloak of darkness and the kiss of sin. Of somebody capable of very, very bad things.

And it’s immediately addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to get enough.

You claw at his shirt, tugging him closer, closer, and his broad hands cup your face as his mouth devours yours.

This kiss…it’s been building. The need for it has been working its way beneath your skin for a while. All the heated glances, the late-night conversations. All the thoughts, in the dead of night, of what Fin might be doing in his own bed. Wondering whether he was thinking of you.

It’s so, so forbidden. So wrong. But it feels so godsdamn right.

And the way Fin’s tongue slides between your lips and strokes into your mouth — it tells you that he feels it, too.

Your hands glide from his waist, round to his back, and you yank him harder against you. So desperate are you to feel him. Feel what you think you do to him.

He makes another low noise. And then he’s tearing his mouth from yours. But he lingers close, your foreheads touching.

“Better than I’ve been imagining,” he pants, his hands still clutching your face. “Much better.”

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” You know he has.

“I have imagined,” his thumbs sweep your cheeks, “doing all sorts of things with you, Y/N. Things that would make even the most salacious of a person blush.”

Such a relief — to know that it’s not all just some wild fantasy you’ve cooked up in your mind. That you’re not just some wayward, longing young female who craves the affections of an older male to patch her deep wounds.

No, it’s not that. It’s desire. It’s need. And it burns inside your veins until you think you might erupt into flames.

“I’ve imagined them, too,” you say, without a lick of shame.

Once again, his eyes are shuttering. Once again, he takes that slow, steadying breath. And as you watch him do so, you can’t bear the thought of him still grappling with right and wrong. You can’t bear the thought of him squaring his shoulders and walking out of here, leaving your lips bruised, your body aching, your heart hurting. You can’t bear it—

“I want you to do those things,” you lift your chin, gaze unflinching. “I want you to touch me.”

Fin’s eyes reopen.

He stares at you.

His throat bobs.

You have never seen somebody look so wild, so ravenous. There is heat everywhere, in his stare and in his taut body. His eyes flick down to your lips.

That mere glance at them is the deciding factor, it would seem.

He growls, the sound not at all one you’ve ever heard from a person, and he yanks you up into his arms and kisses you again.

So naturally, your arms twine around his neck, your legs locking around his waist. You can feel the strength of him against you, in the way he holds you. You can taste his crackling power.

He doesn’t falter in the kiss nor his steps as he carries you away from the wall, and you’re suddenly being placed down on the library’s desk, sending books and parchment and pens and ink pots flying. They all clatter loudly to the floor, and neither of you care.

But Fin does pull away to look at you, and there’s wicked, boyish charm in his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitch up. He merely says, “Oops.”

You surge up and kiss him again.

He sighs into it, like your mouth is the answer to all his questions. And when heated hands land on your thighs, you part them, allow him to slot his body in between. The mere feel of it has you pushing up against him, finding him hard—

But again, he pulls away. He scans your face and rasps, “Tell me you’re sure.”

You do not balk from his intensity. From the fact that this is the fucking High Lord of your court, who was changing this world and building a reputation long before you were a mere thought in your parents’ minds. You do not balk from the fact that there are a million different reasons that this is wrong.

You think only about the fact that it feels right.

And that translates into your voice as you say, firmly, “I’m sure.”

You think you see the words course through his body. They change something — forever.

“This isn’t about Roza,” he breathes — breathes heavily, like it’s taking everything to tamp down on the desire to devour you then and there. To say what needs to be said.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Nor is it about Rhysand.”

“No.”

“It’s about me and you.” He destroys what little gap exists between your bodies, his hardness pushing through his breeches, right up against your centre. His hands brace on the desk, either side of you. “And gods, I want you, Y/N. I want you so much, I can scarcely bear it.”

“Have me,” is all you manage — before he strikes.

You think, hope, that his mouth might find yours again — but he’s barely brushing it before his lips settle on your jaw. His hands travel up your legs, fingers biting into the flesh. They find your hips, thumbs delivering explorative sweeps. They tug your dress up as they climb, exposing more of you to the warmth of the room. Exposing more skin that you know he wants to lay claim to.

And when the hem of your dress is ruched around your waist, you smile — at your little wildcard exposed. That he finds no underwear hiding what sits between your legs.

Your choice to forgo a pair seems almost foretelling, now — like some part of you knew the night would end like this, and you wanted to be ready.

Fin’s eyes dip to your slick, exposed cunt. The hunger in them is almost intimidating. You open your legs just a little wider—

But his rough hand is gripping your chin, almost hard enough to hurt. And he snarls deeply, “It drove me to madness — seeing those two males dancing with you. Touching you.”

Pleasure bolts down your spine, and from the way his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your arousal is consuming him.

“Did it?” you stare back at him, welcoming the discomfort of his brutal grip.

“I wanted them dead. I wanted to draw my sword and gut them for even looking your way. For touching what I want to be mine.”

That pleasure again — skittering over your skin. His words do something to you. You bite down on a moan.

“It is yours,” you tilt your chin up to him, smiling when he immediately glances to your lips. “Take it.”

“I warn you,” he lowers his face to yours, “I don’t like to share.”

“And I warn you, High Lord,” you watch as your words land, drawing a deep, raw scent from him. “Neither do I.”

With a growl, he snaps. The kiss he gives you is not slow or sweet. His hand continues to grip your face, and his mouth attacks yours, his tongue sliding between your lips. You can’t help your moan, this time, as his taste overpowers you — a taste that you can only describe as pure thunder.

But it ends too soon, as he begins to leave a trail of heated kisses and bites and sucks along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbones. Your head falls back, and the touches are like little zips of lightning — lightning cleaving through the night sky.

“Pretty dress,” he hums against your skin — and that’s all the warning you get before that dress is ripped apart. Torn to ribbons.

No part of you is left to Fin’s imagination.

He tears his mouth from you and steps back to drink you in.

Instinct roars at you to curl in on yourself and hide. To remember that you are scarred, and flawed, and not to the liking of many — including yourself, a lot of the time.

But something about Fin’s weighty, scorching stare stops you from moving a muscle.

You lift your chin and hide nothing as he takes his fill. His eyes travel a journey from the top of your head and down — down your face, your neck, your breasts. Down your stomach, your waist, your hips. Down to that fine dusting of hair on your pelvis that tracks a thin path to—

Fin drops to his knees with a low noise. His hands wrap around your legs and prise them further apart.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he levels his face with the very centre of you, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight.

The sight of the High Lord on his knees before you — on his knees for you.

As though he senses the direction of your thoughts, his eyes flick up, and he smiles.

And then he dives in.

His tongue wastes no time in sinking between your folds, licking a broad stripe right up the centre of you. At the first stroke, your head falls back, your arms wobbling where they’re braced on the desk.

“Look at me,” Fin growls. “Only me.”

His voice of pure High Lord power drags your eyes back to him. And thank the fucking Mother it does.

You see everything in the way he feasts on you. His tongue laps at your wetness, and it coats his lips, his chin, coats him in you. The damp heat of his tongue is liquid fire. It promises to scorch you, end you, and rise you anew like a phoenix from the ashes.

Your fingers sink into the strands of Fin’s hair and tug. Judging by the noise he makes, the way his pace picks up, you think he likes it.

He utterly fucking devours you, like he’s fought a centuries-long wait to do so. And whatever magic commands his mouth — you know you cannot possibly last against it.

“Oh, gods,” your moan breaks from you, hips bucking up. You think your voice might be loud, but you don’t care. “Fuck—Fin.”

It all happens at once — his name falling from your lips, the growl rumbling in his throat, the flicking of his tongue against your clit and the finger he plunges into you, curls inside you. Every part of it is lightning strikes to your veins, and you come apart, utterly break.

Your climax slams into you and steals your breath. You’re nothing but a gasping, panting, trembling shell. Your mind is somewhere else entirely.

With your head falling back, eyes pinned to the ceiling, chest heaving, you don’t catch the swiftness with which Fin stands, licking your wetness from his lips. With which his clothes are gone in a blink of an eye.

But then he commands, “Look at me.”

It’s the second time he’s said it. Your head lolls forward once more.

You swallow the breaths you’re still trying to get down. Try to stop your body fucking shaking.

But it’s no wonder it does, as you look at him.

Your High Lord is nothing short of exquisite. He is art. Your fantasies have done him no justice.

That golden skin of his seems to attract the glowing light of the room. It bathes him, but it does not steal the attention. It outlines every fine plane of his body, the sculpted muscles on show, the nicks of injuries that have scarred and silvered over time.

There is not a single part of him that isn’t pure, refined power. And when your gaze drops to below his waist…a shudder wracks through you.

His cock stands hard and leaking at the head. You watch, your mouth watering, as he wraps a hand around its length and gives a long stroke.

“Fin—”

“When you look at me like that,” he prowls closer, “there is no way I can consider this forbidden.”

He’s within reach. Your fingers inch towards him. You want to touch him, taste him—

But he curls a hand around yours and stops you in your tracks.

“Not tonight,” he says. Pure promise is laced within the words. “No playing tonight.”

As if he hadn’t just played with you. You want to protest, to get your fucking mouth around that considerable length, but his hand tightens around yours.

And then he’s flipping you over, so fast that you don’t have time to even register it. You land on your front, your belly and breasts pressed against the desk. Fin lays his palm against your back and drags it slowly down. And in the wake of his touch, he leaves kisses. Kisses to your shoulder, your back. They’re…soft. Tender.

“Have I disappointed you?” he murmurs against your shoulder, folding his body over yours. You don’t think it’s an accident that the head of his cock nudges that sweet area between your legs.

It’s all you can do to breathe, “I wanted to taste you.”

“And you will,” he drops the brush of a kiss to your skin. “But now is not time for that.”

You don’t need him to tell you what now is the time for. Not as his hands find the flesh of your hips, and he yanks you to the very edge of the desk, moving with you. The feel of him so close to where you want him is downright cruel.

“Have you thought about me fucking you?” he asks, those hands travelling to rove your ass.

Your nails bite into the desk as you answer, “Yes.”

“Did I make you scream?”

You bite down on your lip at the feeling of him spreading you apart, opening you up to him. “Yes.”

You feel it — his cock sliding between your folds. Not pushing in, but dragging torturously against your sex. From your entrance, up to your clit. The head of his cock pushes against it.

And the moan that rips from you is downright filth, as he rolls his hips and allows your wetness to slicken his length. It feels so fucking good. To you, and to him.

A breath shudders out of him, and he purrs, “Are you going to scream for me now?”

“Fuck yes,” the words tumble from your lips. “I want you, Fin.”

Just like that, his restraint snaps. The High Lord strikes.

He drags his length through your folds and enters you with a single, powerful thrust.

A shout leaves you, and you’re clawing at the desk, trying to keep your grip against the pleasure that courses through you. Fin fills you and stretches you. He pulls out and slams back in to the hilt.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he growls, his hands sinking back into your hips. He begins a steady thrusting, sliding in and out of you with a drag that makes you feel every glorious inch of him. “Gods.”

“So good,” you pant. “Want you harder.”

The plea seems to make him groan, and he wastes no time in picking up the pace. His hands bite into your skin as he fucks you faster, harder, your moans and pleas and curses falling from your lips without any nudging from you. The pleasure is all-consuming. In seconds, it’s buried within your veins.

“You like that?” The grit in his voice has you clenching around him. He’s so fucking filthy, so fucking sultry, as he snarls, “you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

Gods, yes, you are. Already, release is coiling tightly within you, and it’s a force entirely of its own right, inching closer and cresting the hill, ready to sink its claws into you. Fin’s cock hits deep, and out of nowhere, his palm is flying through the air and making contact with your ass cheek. That is all it takes.

The pleasure of it all is too much — the sting of the slap, the depth and thrall of his thrusts, the way he growls and grunts as he lays claim to your body, your pleasure.

You cry out, your orgasm blasting through you with unstoppable force. The long strokes of Fin’s cock fuck you through it, through earth-shattering pleasure, through what feels like a mind-altering experience.

“My filthy girl,” he pulls out of you suddenly, and though your cunt still clenches and twitches, desperate for more, more, more, he flips your trembling body onto its back once more and tugs you up, slipping back between your legs. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how relentlessly I’ve thought about making you scream for me like that.”

Past words, you can only reach up and pull his head down to yours to capture him in a kiss. Your taste still coats the tongue that he slides between your lips. It spurs you on to deepen it, luxuriate in the feel of it. And you become so lost in it that you tug hard at the strands of his hair when he enters you again in one great, sweeping thrust.

His arm folds around your back, hand grasping at your shoulder, and it seems to afford him perfect purchase to pound into you. Sounds fill the air of his skin slapping against yours, of the breaths and moans you huff into each other’s mouths. You think the two of you, together, might be loud enough, forceful enough, to bring the City of Starlight to rubble around you.

Fin’s lips tear away from yours, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts are growing quicker, sloppier, reaching a feverous pinnacle that will surely break.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come, Y/N,” his sweat-slick brow presses against your neck. “Taking me so well like this. Squeezing me like this. You’re going to make me fucking blow.”

You want that — more than anything. To feel the power of him spilling into you.

You squeeze your thighs against his, dragging your free hand — the one not sunken in his hair — down the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his waist — to his ass, where you dig your nails into the tight, toned flesh and encourage him to pump into you harder, faster. The feel of it makes Fin shout.

“Come for me,” you choke around your pleasure. “Please, Fin…want you to come.”

An animalistic growl rips from him, and he slams into you one, two, three more times, and then stills, throwing his head back with a roar that shakes the library. Hot, thick ropes of his seed seem endless as they’re unleashed inside you.

The force of it shatters you both, you think. With his trembling as thorough as yours, your nails are still raking over his skin as his brow presses to the crook of your neck. Strands of hair stick to the back of his. Your fingertips smooth over them tenderly.

It feels like eons that you stay there like that, holding each other up from collapsing under the weight of your mutual release. You want to hold him like this, always. You don’t care what others may have to say about it, what they may deem to be wrong about it. You want him.

He pulls back, as though sensing the thought. Meets your eyes. For a beat or two, he simply studies your face, something like clarity on his own.

And then he dips down and drops a kiss to your brow. Such a tender act, in the wake of such passion.

 No words are needed. Not as he scoops you up into his arms, leaving behind the mess the two of you have created. There’s a flash, and he’s winnowed you to your bedroom. A fire roars to life immediately. Fin places you down on the bed.

You watch through hooded eyes as he makes his way into the bathroom. Moments later, he’s returning with a warm, damp washcloth, and he perches beside you.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispers, and you do.

The High Lord of the Night Court is gentle as air as he takes care of you, wiping between your thighs and delivering soft, soothing strokes to your skin. A pleasant soreness sits in your lower belly. He leans down and presses a kiss there like he knows just that.

And then he’s sitting up, and it frightens you — the thought of him walking away, of this ending here and now.

So you lay a hand on his arm, breathing, “Stay with me.”

He pauses, eyes roaming your face like he’s assuring himself you mean it. And then he dips his chin.

“I would be honoured,” he rasps.

And thus, the affair begins.

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

The need you and Fin have for each other is…insatiable.

Every moment he’s away, you’re thinking of him, longing for the moment he’ll appear in your room and rip your clothes off. If anyone else in the palace — staff, servants, associates — are aware of what’s going on, they don’t give it away. And that suits you just fine.

You can’t get enough. You’re giddy with it. Giddy from the multiple, interesting circumstances you’ve landed yourself in.

Like when you lured him out of a meeting and dropped to your knees in a fucking broom closet, taking his cock into your mouth until he was canting his hips forward and spilling down your throat. Or when he fucked you on the balcony of his personal quarters, your body pressed up against the balustrade, the two of you open to the elements and your moans loud enough to reach the stars above you and the city below you. Or when he took you to watch the ballet, and up in the cushy surrounds of your private viewing box, you watched the performance with him deep inside you, his fingers indolently playing with your clit, his low voice in your ear reminding you to keep quiet.

It’s…exciting. Enthralling. It changes everything.

And as he pulls out of you now, sweaty and panting, and collapses beside you in his bed, you’re not sure you could ever tire of this feeling.

He wants you. He wants you so ferociously, like nobody has ever wanted you before.

As you catch your breaths, he props his head up with his hand and stares at you through hooded eyes, glazed with lust. He leans down and grazes a kiss to your mouth.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he ponders as he pulls back, moving a hand to brush his fingers over your breast. “All this need — wanting you constantly.”

You lean up on your elbows, tilting your head, “Do you want it to stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never.”

Never. Never is a very long time. It makes your stomach flip — the enormity of it.

Fin circles the tip of his forefinger around your pebbled nipple, watching with predatory fascination as he adds, “But this will, inevitably, blow up in our faces at some point. We haven’t exactly been secretive — not that I want to be. But people will talk.”

You lean up to brush your mouth over his. “Let them talk,” you say, and kiss him.

Immediately, he melts into the kiss. Your mouth seems to have an effect on him that you never thought yourself capable of. Always draws a long, pleasured sigh from him as he sinks into it, welcomes it.

He kisses you and kisses you, so greedily, so desperately. His hand snakes up to cup your cheek. He’s already hardening against your leg.

But he pulls away, dropping his forehead against yours. And he breathes, “Make a bargain with me.”

You trace a thumb over his bottom lip. You’ve never made a Night Court bargain before; never had reason to. “What bargain?”

“When this blows up in our faces,” he grips your hand, folding his own over it, “we face it together. You and I.”

“You and I?”

“You and I” he kisses your hand. “I don’t claim to be perfect. I don’t try to be. I can be brutal and callous, and I can lie and play games,” another kiss. “But not with you. Never with you. I will look after you. Take care of you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

Words that you’ve always longed for someone to say to you. Words that should not be taken lightly, should not be said without meaning.

But you know he means them. You can tell he does.

You watch closely as your fingers interlace with his. And you whisper, “Together?”

Fin’s thumb sweeps over yours. “Together. We’ll face it together.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

A flash of splintering pain zips around your midriff. You glance down to find the tattoo now inked there. The black line that draws a perfect circle around your waist, like a trail of night-kissed lightning.

You look up at Fin to find a roguish smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I like that,” he hums.

And then he’s leaning down and pressing kisses to that circlet signifying your promise to one another. Kisses the entirety of it, flipping you on your front in the process.

And kisses lower, until you’re screaming for him again.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

#practice on me #pom #daddy fin #acourtofwhatthefuck #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar au #azriel #acotar fic #rhysand’s father #high lord of the night court #high lord #acotar x reader #fin x reader

[redr0sewrites]

What would you all want to see me write first?

Heres just a simple poll to see what yall would like me to write next, i really want to write no nut november hcs lmaooo

Sorry if this is a lot, i just. want some feedback!!! feel free to rb/comment/send in reqs ab anything you want to see!!

#acotar #acotar x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #the dragon prince #tdp x reader #aaravos #aaravos x reader #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #kny x y/n #no nut november #polls #poll #tumblr polls #demon slayer enmu #enmu #sanemi #giyuu #eris vanserra #acotar azriel #azriel #sampo #sampo hsr

[lilcutieana]

Masterlist

~ OneShots ~

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════

~ Fluff ~

Forget Me Not || Park Jimin x Reader | Fluff

Bittersweet Memories || Jeon Jungkook x Reader | Fluff and Angst

Just One Wish || Kim Namjoon x Reader | Fluff

Pure As Snow || Taegi | Fluff

Inked Yours || Jeon Jungkook x Reader | Tattoo AU | Fluff

The New Package || Psrk Jimin x Reader | Fluff

~ Smut ~

You belong with me || Jeon Jungkook x Reader | Friends to lovers | Werewolf AU | Fluff | Smut

Lethal || Min Yoongi x Reader | Demigod AU | Smut | Filth

Passion || Kim Namjoon x Reader | Smut

Dark Desires || Jeon Jungkook x Reader | Demon AU | Smut

~ Angst ~

Nobody Compares || Park Jimin x Reader | Angst

Waiting For You || Jikook | Angst

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════

~ Series ~

PANACEA (Angel / Fae/ Demon AU) (Completed) (M)

Kim Taehyung is a very loved and adored by many, ten-year-old boy who has big dreams and a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts.

One chance encounter with the angel of death herself, Azriel, seems to be more than just a chance encounter.

PANACEA / 1 || PANCEA - 2 || PANACEA -3 || PANACEA ~ 4 || PANACEA  ~ 5 || PANACEA~ 6 || PANACEA~ 7 || PANACEA~ 8 || PANACEA~ 9 || PANACEA~ 10 || PANACEA~ 11 || PANACEA~ 12 || PANACEA ~ Epilogue

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════

OBLIVION (Hybrid Min Yoongi )  { Completed} (M)

Min Yoongi, a beautiful and rare snow leopard hybrid, struggling to survive under the care of a ruthless owner who sells him for underground fights and sex. In a world where mistreating hybrids is a natural and where hybrids have been seen as worse than animals and treated beneath humans, would he make it out alive?

Oblivion ( Hybrid Min Yoongi) - Part 1

Oblivion ( Hybrid Min Yoongi) - Part 2

Oblivion ( Hybrid Min Yoongi) - Part 3

Oblivion ( Hybrid Min Yoongi) - Part 4

Oblivion ( Hybrid Min Yoongi) - Part 5

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════

SAFE HAVEN ( Hybrid Baby Bangtan/ ot7 ) ( PG)

Abandoned as kids, they finally find a safe haven in your home. How long would it last? As they grow up, will jealousy, territoriality, and love come in between, or would it make you stronger as a family?

Safe Haven 1 || Safe Haven 2 || SAFE HAVEN 3 || SAFE HAVEN 4 || SAFE HAVEN 5 || Safe Haven 6 || Safe Haven ~ 7 || Safe Haven ~ 8 || Safe Haven ~9 || Safe Haven ~10

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════

Summer Love ~ Kim Taehyung (mermaid AU)  (M) {Completed}

It was Summer when he lost his whole world, his family and his identity. And it’s summer again when he comes across the girl he swore was his enemy. 

Join Taehyung, as he tries to find his true identity– as a human and as a merman, along with the mystery of his parent’s demise.

Summer Love || Summer Love 2 || Summer Love 3

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════

ALIVE ( Robot Kim Seokjin )   (M)

A world where hybrids are no longer seen as pets and have been replaced by robots instead. Where robots have feelings, emotions and adapt just the way you need them to. 

So… Which robot would you like to order?

Alive ~ (Robot Kim Seokjin) || Alive 2 ~ (Robot Kim Seokjin) || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter Six

Chapter seven || Chapter eight || Chapter nine || Finale 

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ═════════════

#masterlist #mobile masterlist

[tadpolesonalgae]

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

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

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

Word Count: 3,454

-Part 9- -Part 11-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The world of chaos that’s been unleashed.

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

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

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

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x yn #azriel acotar #demon!azriel #azriel smut #teeth and talons

[tadpolesonalgae]

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

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

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

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

-Part 2- -Part 4-

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

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

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

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

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

————————

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

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

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

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

How much further?

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

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

Perhaps he’d gotten bored of you.

He was a creature of hel, after all.

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

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

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

Where are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You still, suddenly scared. All over again.

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh.

Saliva contains healing properties.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your cheeks heat when he slides in, embarrassingly easily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something tingles in his chest at the idea.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

#Azriel x reader #demon! Azriel #demon!azriel x reader #Teeth and Talons #Teeth and Talons part 3 #[***] #Azriel smut #Azriel fluff

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 6[*]

A/N: demon!Azriel just rubs me right. Also I’ve had this idea for this chapter for a little under a month by now so I decided to finally put pen to paper!

Warnings: handjob, a bit of oral (m receiving), smut, fingering, mosterfucking, kind of exhibitionism?, blood-drinking

-Part 5- -Part 7-

Azriel nearly groans when he opens his eyes.

He was gifted a few precious hours of sleep, having found the drop itself quite difficult. To a level that even his meticulous breathing cycles found it tiresome to deal with. And now he’s awake again, and his trouble is right before him.

You’re lying neatly on your stomach, blankets pooled around your waist while your arms hug the plump pillow beneath you. Your eyelids are slightly puffy from sleep, your lips smooth and—

The need thrums beneath his skin, instincts roaring at him to flip you on your back and slam inside, rut into you to relieve the incessant itch beneath his skin. You’re the bane of his existence in that moment. The perfect image of taunting purity, robed in white—he’d found it humorous at the time of giving them to you, knowing how quickly you’d be defiled—features peaceful, breathing even and deep.

He has to steady himself when you shift, sending a wave of your scent over to him. He wonders for a moment what you’re dreaming about; you seem like someone who dreams.

He hadn’t shifted last night. Had worried the need would be too unbearable—his instincts becoming a screaming tangle of curses and pleas inside his head, far too loud for him to manage sleep. Even if he knows you like it when he does. Which is vaguely amusing.

You act so prim and proper in almost every way. Even when he’s been inside of you, drawing those unholy sounds from your throat… And yet you seem to enjoy him the more dæmonic he is. He’ll often wake to find you curled against his side, back pressing into him with a pillow clutched to your front, between your thighs. It’s possibly the most unguarded you’ve been around him.

It’s as if his thoughts summon you awake, eyes peeking open, almost instantly latching onto his own. As if sensing that silent bond between you—even if, as a human, there’s no way for you to know.

“Hungry, Azriel?”

He growls low in his throat as he snaps his talons back in—having protruded while he was thinking about you, about your heat: being inside it, lapping over it, coming on it. He wants your mouth on him.

He needs to feel that pleasure.

You watch him quietly. On edge.

His eyes are fully black, which isn’t usually a good sign. And you would never admit it to him, but the dream you’d had was one of your more…lewd ones. That may or may not have involved him in some manner. Maybe concerning your shared trip to that river about a week ago. How he’d…

His nostrils flare, body stiffening, canines twitching, as if debating sliding out further but being kept in. You force yourself to swallow; calm yourself. “I am. What’s for breakfast today?”

Azriel’s blacked-out eyes stay locked on you as he rolls onto his front with beastly grace, muscles rippling with the smooth movement. This time, it’s you who tenses up. He prowls forward, and you have enough sense to keep still. You feel like any sort of movement will send him into fluid motion—whatever that motion is.

You stiffen, heart rate spiking, as his hand lands on your shoulder, ordering you to roll over. You silently debate disobeying him, pushing to keep still—you shouldn’t allow him to push you around like this. But when he gives another gentle wave of pressure, that’s firm enough you don’t think it wise, you follow him.

His hand goes with you as you’re turned onto your back; you suddenly feel cold on your front.

“Azriel?” You murmur, attempting to keep your voice level.

It’s as if his eyes have somehow become darker. They’re piercing into you, moving to be atop your body and traitorous heat starts gathering in your lower belly. He’s moving with that lethal grace of his, caging you in as he lowers himself to your neck and you’re certain he can hear your heart pounding.

Your breath hitches as he noses at your throat, scenting you. You wring your fingers together across your waist nervously as he takes you in, his heat practically melting into you.

His grip tightens on you, and you inhale sharply as his tongue presses against the side of your neck, dragging upwards slowly—so slowly. It’s lazy—leisurely. He’s taking his time…

No.

He’s savouring you.

When his canines scrape over your throat, your hands twitch, considering the merits of pushing him away. But he nudges your legs apart, and you flush, heart pounding wildly in your chest. “Azriel…” Something like a rough purr sounds, reverberating into you—deep and raw.

“Azriel…” you repeat, setting your hands on his upper arms. “Azriel, stop.” He growls slowly, barely raising his head as he opens his mouth over your neck, canines beginning to press in against the soft skin.

You try to squirm away, hands now pushing against his chest but he doesn’t budge. You begin to panic. You don’t know how dæmons work, whether they truly thrive off sin—maybe he needs this from you? Your teeth find your lower lip and you turn it over in your mind. Maybe if you give him a bit, it’ll help relieve some of the strain. You don’t think the gods will be angry if it’s done out of a will to help.

So you relax, arms snaking over his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair and he groans, his hips rolling into your own.

“Just a little,” you murmur. “You can have a little…just to help.”

He snarls at the permission, arms wrapping beneath your waist, forcing you to arch into him, head falling back on the bed as you bare your throat—eyes wide at the abrupt movement. Then he’s biting, marking you with the print of his teeth, nipping and sucking. His hips buck against you, and you can feel him pawing at your night robe, shoving it out of the way and—

You gasp as you feel him against your bare heat, the hard length of him rubbing against your slick.

You shove away from him, trying to scramble back, but he snarls, lips curling back from his fangs. “Azriel,” you plead, “stop it. I don’t want this. Please, stop…” He doesn’t.

Instead he pulls back, forcing your legs apart as he slots himself between them, the tip of his cock pressing into the soft dip between your thighs. Fear pours through your blood as he prepares to push in.

You don’t let him, shoving your hand between your bodies, gripping him tightly.

He gasps, eyes widening as he stares at you. You’ve never taken him so tremendously by surprise before. He’s off kilter.

You shuffle away, shoving at his shoulder but keeping your hand wrapped around him, until you’re both on your knees before one another. He growls, beginning to reach for you but you shift your hand and he inhales deeply, gaze remaining on yours.

And suddenly you have power. Suddenly, you’re in control. And it feels good. Is this what he feels like? This heady, crackling undercurrent of untapped energy?

“Show me,” you stammer. “Show me what to do.”

His skin is buzzing with lightening. Thrumming with an incessant pull.

You’ve got your hand around him. You’re touching him. You’re doing the initiating. He wonders if this is what it’s felt like for you whenever he’s started. But you’re still human, so maybe those senses are blocked off.

“I’ve never…”

You’re saying something, but he’s finding it difficult to focus.

“I’ve never really…helped, before. Not like this…”

Your heart is thumping in your chest, arousal coalescing between your thighs. He can scent how wet you are, how easy it would be to slide home. Settle into his nest.

“So tell me what you like,” he hears you stammer, “and I’ll do my best.”

A low growl sounds, and he realises it’s come from him. He hastily tucks his claws away, sealing them beneath the knuckles of his skin as he settles his hand over your smaller one. Much smaller. You struggle to grasp him.

His mind is going blank—relaying over and over that your hand is atop him.

He’s struggling to keep his composure beneath the humming pleasure.

“Azriel?” You manage, nervously.

He might be furious with you for taking such liberties. Maybe you should release him… But then you’d be giving up the power you’ve suddenly found over him.

Hesitantly, you squeeze him tighter, dragging your hand up until you’re grasping below his tip. Something milky looking has beaded at his slit, and you swipe the pad of your thumb over it. The creamy coloured liquid smears, and he hisses, trembling. You repeat the action, lowering your hand before raising up to his head again.

His eyes are still black as pitch, but colour is flushing his cheeks, breathing deeply as he begins guiding you. His gaze remains latched on yours the entire time. Up and down, down and up. Over and over. He squeezes, encouraging you to hold him brutally…what you would have thought was painfully. But he keeps going, and you’re too nervous—enraptured to stop. The twist of his wrist, how his hand fits around the length of him perfectly, the milky sheen at his tip. You wonder what it tastes like.

A heady flush warms your body, a kick of desire so strong that, for a second, you want to push him on the mattress and take him in your mouth. Like he’s done for you. Maybe it’s his own way of showing affection… Making you feel good in a way he knows will satisfy you. The thought hadn’t occurred to you before. You’ll ask about that, later. Maybe.

Azriel growls low in his throat, twitching beneath your soft palm. He’s panting, blood heating steadily as he gets closer and closer. Quicker than he would have liked, quicker than usual, but you feel so good. And you initiated. You wanted him. It would be enough to catalyse any male’s release.

He’s so close now. Just a bit more…

You know he’s near. You don’t know how, but you can sense it. Sense that edge rising up to greet him. His eyes are closed in pleasure, having fluttered shut moments ago. So he can’t see you. The thoughts flashing through your mind as you again peer at that slit in his head, licking your lips. Maybe just a bit. If it really is how he shows affections, then possibly… You don’t let yourself doubt. You lean downward, continuing with the movements.

Parting your lips ever so slightly, you press them just beneath the head of his cock. A strangled sound comes from his throat, and you can feel his eyes on you. But he twitches again, which must mean he likes it. When your tongue flicks out over his slit, he releases a snarl in warning. One that—were you his kind—you would have understood. But you’re painfully human before him, and don’t understand, delivering tentative laps to his head as he releases.

You squeeze your eyes shut, features heating with embarrassment and… You shiver, aching between your legs. You can feel exactly where the creamy liquid has landed, spurting onto you, dripping slowly over the crest of your cheeks. You bite your lip against the urge to moan, tucking the desire deep inside of you.

Pulling away, you manage to slip your hand out from beneath his. He’s still panting. Staring at you. The whites of his eyes visible. You probably look…You won’t finish that thought for him. But as you meet his gaze, you see the familiar hunger, the need to have you, and something flutters deep in your belly.

Your hand raises gingerly to where his come is dampening your cheek, finger catching it on their pads as you pull away to look at it. Slightly shimmery, milky in its colour, still hot. Your eyes flick to his as he watches you keenly, strain evident in his jaw as he hold himself back from…whatever wicked intentions he has. You don’t think about much else, only his release on the pads of your fingertips as you peer at him with stark curiosity.

“Is it…can I eat it?”

His head goes quiet, arousal thrumming like a war drum in his blood, singing at your words. He manages nothing more than a nod. He’s not one to pray to the gods, he knows they don’t listen to creatures like him, but if he were any other being, he thinks he may have fallen to his knees at the nearest temple.

You raise your fingers to your mouth. Tasting him.

He can do nothing besides watch. Totally bewitched. Enraptured and enchanted so thoroughly he questions your mortality. You hesitate, then scoop more from your cheeks, steadily cleansing yourself as you deposit each drop in your mouth, eyes closing shut in concentration, trying to mark his flavour.

It’s only when you lean forward, making to wrap your mouth around him that he’s spurred into action, gripping you gently by the shoulders as you peer up at him nervously. “Can I not…Do you not want me to?”

Gods damn him he wants you to. Wants it badly. So badly, but—

“Rest.” The word is rough, and surprises even him. “Go have breakfast. We’re going out.”

————

Had you done something wrong?

You would have expected him to want more…unless he didn’t enjoy it. For some reason, the thought doesn’t sit well with you. You should ask him, but how would one even go about prying like that…?

You sigh, and instead focus on your surroundings. It would be a waste not to seize the moment, especially when he seems to have actually attempted to do something for you. Something nice.

A cool summer breeze swishes through your hair, playing with the wisps that have escaped their binds, floating on the slow wind. The sun beats down on the rolling grassland, earth warm beneath your thin soled shoes, tempting you to remove them—as unkempt and errant as it would be. Despite your time with him, the experiences he’s served to you whether aware of it or not, you still have a modicum of womanly restraint within, and will not yield to the hedonistic ways of those religious zealots who claim the god’s favour. As much as you wish to run bare-footed, unbind your hair, frolic in the summer’s sun. Even if you’re burning with desire to leap and soar. Even if you know he would have no complaints. It’s not like he’s ever shown appreciation for human customs—quite the opposite. They seem to be nothing more than puerile hindrance.

A surge of wind crests through the knee-high grass, making your light cotton skirts billow in the breeze, whipping at your hair again, tugging more of it free.

In the near-distance you can make out a forrest, trees bedecked with luscious green leaves, ranging from the lightest sea-foam green, to the deepest tyrian purple, to the reddest of burnt paprika. Carried on the breeze is the twittering of bird-song, the tweeting and whistling of those melodic voices that coast along the feathery clouds. Near the tops of the trees you can make out how some of the green leaves are already fading to raw sienna, readily yielding to the crisp touches of autumn.

From the crest of the hillock you peer down the side that’s bathed in buttery sunlight, lush moss coating the outcroppings of rock that would normally be dangerous to bare-footed folk. At the base of the small hill you can spot a splattering of colour—wild blues that border on indigo, blossoms that are too smooth a blend of orange and red, like bursts of vermillion, small buttercups dotting between shoots of pale yellow and purest magenta.

The breath steals from your lungs as you take in the sheer beauty of the scape, noticing the brook that winds its way down the hillside, babbling with the breeze in a flurry of words your human ears can’t yet decipher. The sun has long since seeped into the very marrow of your bones, warming you as if you’re bathing in a heated pool of gilded water.

“This is…” How would you even begin? You’ve never seen a sight like this, too accustomed to the burning sting of dust and the drying-out crust of sand as it whips and nicks at exposed skin. A landscape like this…it makes you breathless. Deprives you of words and thought. Just the billowing clouds dancing over the grassland, temperate and perfectly lovely.

“I couldn’t in my wildest dreams create a place like this…” you manage hoarsely. You turn to look up at him, “are we even in the human realm, or is this place blessed with divinity?” His eyes narrow at you, “if you’re asking whether or not we’re permitted to be here…” Your throat closes up. “I was not asking that. I did not think even one of you would dare set foot on holy grounds.” He rolls his eyes, and you stiffen. “Would you…?”

This time he snorts, descending the slope of the hill, moving toward its base.

“Azriel?” You ask, but he keeps to his fluid movement. “Azriel!” You repeat shakily, stumbling after him until you reach his side and step in front of him—not your wisest choice. But all he gives you is a rueful little smile, and vanishes—to appear behind you. He continues walking even as you twirl on your feet. You’re rooted to the spot. You can’t be here. You’re mortal, and if these truly are the holy grounds, then…

“Take me back.”

He smiles to himself internally before turning, features neutral as he takes in your stand of defiance. “Take me back right now.” Again, he offers that smarmy, little grin, “I didn’t say we were in your so-called holy lands.”

“Azriel,” you murmur, eyes wide with sincere fear, voice lowering, “tell me you would not.”

You sound desperate, as if it would be such an awful thing for a mortal to enter the ‘blessed lands’ of the gods, he thinks. “Your soul will not be forsaken, despite what your tampered-with scriptures proclaim,” he replies smoothly, watching keenly. You pause, then “that’s not what I asked.” He bites back a smile at your misplaced terror. Oh, how he would delight in taunting you further! How many ways could he deceive you with your limited and mostly incorrect knowledge of the gods? How he will laugh when you begin to discover their truths.

Instead he speaks calmly, if a bit coldly, “you are indeed in the mortal-labeled holy lands. But as I have already said, your soul will not be forsaken nor damned, nor will you rot alongside the Underking. As much as your liar- priests and priestess’ love to profess it as truth.” Your eyes widen at his bold claims, the brazen statements he’s making. “You understand the severity of heathenism, don’t you? To make claims such as yours…to make assertions like that will damn you to hell.”

He doesn’t remind you of your belief that he’s forced you to reside with him in hell. That would cause too many questions, and he quite likes knowing you won’t try to escape, if only for fear of what lies beyond the castle floor which he holds you in.

So he simply laughs at your fear-spurred actions. How many joys have you refused because of your misplaced faith? Never mind that, you’ll have plenty of time to live out whatever joys you wish to indulge in. You have a long life with him. He doesn’t dare consider potential complications with the Ritual.

“Your false scriptures claim that should a mortal man set foot on sacred lands, he will be struck down where he stands.” His eyes flick to the clear skies, not a thunder cloud in sight, “I see you’re still standing. By logic, they must be untruths.”

Your lips purse, but you remain rooted to the ground, refusing to take another step. Good.

His lips lift in a feral grin as he stalks toward you until you’re cast in shadow, wings flaring, “you refuse to move forward?” He asks, eyes gleaming with sinister promise. Just aching to rip into you, you think. But he is his own kind, and has been designed to lure humans like you to break the laws of your religion, to seduce you into failure and destruction, brought about by the hubristic nature of mankind. The kind you refuse to bow to. Even if he can shred you apart, you will trust in your gods—they have never failed you.

They’d never failed you until that night you’d been dumped in the forrest, bound and left for the beasts to fight over.

Then again when you’d been stolen.

Then again when you’d been dumped in that frozen wasteland, a new side of Hell.

Maybe they have abandoned you. Maybe you were supposed to die that night, yet he’d come swiftly in their place to fill the void the holy creatures had left when they deemed your time to be up.

But those are sweeping assumptions you’re jumping to. Maybe this is their way of testing you, to see if you’re worthy of those Elysian Fields, where only the bravest and noblest of souls may rest. A step above Heaven.

There must be a step below Hell, too.

The thought doesn’t sit well with you.

“I will not be coerced into failing my gods,” you reply firmly, planting yourself stably into the grassland, “I trust in their power, and their words. If they told me to leave my homeland and travel, I would follow obediently, without question or hesitation.”

“And what if one told you to obey me?” He asks mildly, teeth flashing in an animalistic grin that sets your hairs raising. He’s pleased when you falter on your self-righteous proclamations. “They wouldn’t do that.”

“Humour me.”

Your brows narrow as you peer up at him, arms folding over the front of your creamy coloured dress. What trick is he up to now? “I don’t think you know the meaning of the word,” you shoot back instead. Unsettlingly, you think his lips twitch in a smile. Unsettling indeed.

He looks down on you in that judgemental way of his—like he knows every thought that passes through your mind. It doesn’t make you laugh as you had expected. Instead, a strange sense of unease floats across your chest. You wouldn’t like if he could just peer inside of you. But you know so little about his kind’s powers.

“So you would disobey your oh-so-dear gods if their requests did not align with your own sense of right and wrong?” He asks, amusement dancing in his charcoal gaze. Charcoal—not hazel. “They wouldn’t do that,” you repeat again.

He merely shakes his head, “you are blinded by your misguided faith.”

“That misguided faith as you so brazenly call it is what will separate us in the afterlife, Azriel.”

He laughs. It’s cold and heartless. “And what have I done to make you believe I deserve those silver flames? What makes you believe death will claim me—or any of my kind?” He questions, something honed and merciless glittering in his eyes. “You are what you are. Death will claim all of us. Only the Mother is beyond its cold clutches. Even gods yield before that carver’s scythe.”

Darkness writhes around him, a stain marring the beautiful landscape. A smudge of evil amongst this sacred nest of divinity. A wolf in a children’s nursery.

“Careful,” he warns, smiling vaguely, “you’re starting to sound like one of those heathens you so despise.”

“My words are not an affront to the deities. I recite what is written in our holy books,” you defend, even if a shiver spider walks down your spine at his accusation. Men had been turned to candle-wicks for less. “You speak of the death of a god. Such a thing is not taken lightly.”

“Is that a drop of reverence I detect? I thought you had a particular distain for those divine beings,” you reply, staring up a him with half-wild eyes. You will not be pushed from your faith. You will not waiver or tremble.

“I find myself quite close with one of those divine beings,” he drawls, watching as you flinch, trying to sort whether he’s telling a truth or attempting to deceive you, “and I do not think he would be pleased to hear someone—a mortal, no less—discussing his eventual ending.”

Your blood runs cold beneath the blazing sun, leaving a sense of nothingness in the absence of your life’s heat. “I don’t believe you.” But even to your ears it lacks the bite it needs. The unyielding conviction you had spoken with before.

But instead of pouncing on the obvious soft spot, he takes a different approach, returning to the conversation that had started the heated debate. “Your belief aside, you think I would put you in a position of danger? You seem to be in possession of a somewhat sound mind. You should understand I do not wish to have a corpse for a bride. Or a wife. Even I could not reach you once you passed over. I believe you would make a rather dull accomplice.”

The chill deepens, but you raise your chin, staring him down. “I will not take another step. These are sacred lands not yet meant for me.”

It seems to be the answer he was waiting for.

He grins, an animalistic flash of teeth and fangs and then he—vanishes.

You feel the shift deep within your bones. Somehow the veil between your beings has thinned—maybe the holy grounds play a hand in it. Either way, you’re caught off guard as his snout shoves beneath your legs, making them buckle as you’re tossed high into the summer’s air, enough to make you breathless.

And then you’re plummeting back down, landing atop a powerful back, corded with beastly muscle that shifts and ripples with languid grace as his wings snap open, flaring as he moves to shoot high into the heavens, you still seated atop him.

“Azriel!” You gasp, enough sense about you to dig your hands into the thick fur at the meeting point of the tip of his spine with the slope of his nape with the broad width of his shoulders. And the very breath whooshes from your lungs as you’re launched high into the blue as those great wings snap downward, capturing the wind beneath them as you soar to the clouds.

You grip tight, hauling your body flat against him as the wind beats at you, accompanied by the thunderous booming of his wings as they propel him higher and higher—

Those are clouds he’s coasting. Clouds he’s surfing up and over and around. He reaches the base of one, spiralling upward in a tight circle, cutting at its edge as he flies, soars further and further and then he’s at its peak. A wide expanse of pale blue lies before you and your stomach lurches as he begins the deadly plummet.

“Azriel!” You scream, words snatched away by the wind as his wings tuck in. Your heart rate spikes, thundering like an echo of the leathery beat that had pulled you so far from the safety of land and earth. Blood rushes in your ears, pounding through your body with wild intent and he plunges.

The earth is so small beneath you, and you’re unable to pick out the hill you came from as he dives—mostly because you refuse to look. Your eyes would probably tear up anyway. Then you become aware of the weakness of the wind, how the cold is no longer biting at the skin of your calves, catching in the pools of your dress. But he’s dropping—you can feel it in the spasming of your thighs as the end rushes up to greet you.

You clutch tighter to him, nestling into the heat of his silky fur and you pray. Pray to every god you know. To the Mother, to your parents, to the king, to every force you have comprehension of that he’ll pull up.

Blood pounds and you feel yourself losing grip. Silver lines your eyes as you’re dragged down through the atmosphere—a millstone dropped into the ocean of skies, plummeting, sinking, dragging you to its depths. You’ll splatter. Faced with your own mortality.

“Pull up,” you mutter under your breath, not even a whisper. Your stomach spasms with the plunge, the effort of keeping yourself intact. “Pull up,” you beg quietly, hands trembling as you fall, the hill coming into sight—the mossy outcroppings, the splatter of wildflowers, the babble of the brook. “PULL UP!” You scream at him, tugging at his fur because one more second and it’ll be too late.

His wings snap open, catching the wind beneath them, leathery skin going taut but holding. You’re jerked on his back, grip being shaken free, and you lurch, as if about to be sent careening from his back to plummet the rest of the way. But shadows snake over your thighs, hug your waist, fastening you to him as he evens out, shooting across the grassy flatlands as he coasts the green sea.

He’s so close to the ground; you’re certain should he wish it, his talons could till the earth. He’s going so fast, hurtling through the open fields, moving with lethal motion, propelled forward by the powerful, beating muscle that binds his wings. Colour blurs by as you pass over dotted patches of wildflowers, leaving only gusts of wind in your wake, crystal-like water spraying to a fine mist as he shoots across a stream.

A laugh—young and wild and reckless—bursts from your throat. His shadows wrap slightly tighter as your grip loosens on him, allowing you to sit upright—that shield that he’s put in place blocking you from the air that would surely knock you clean from his back.

The caged woman inside of you breaks free, tasting the wind and the air and seeing the vivid whirls of colour, smelling the freshness of green grass, the crispness to the summer breeze, edged with the floral sweetness of wildflowers and the earthy tones of the forrest. Everything around you is alive, humming with unspoken life, moving to that unheard melody that keeps the harmony in nature.

You want to bathe in it. To unbind your hair, tear your shoes from your feet and throw your arms to the wind. You want to dance through the clouds as he does, want to shred the dress from your body if only so the essence of the world can fill you up, to shower your senses in the force of nature. Feel the heated grass between your toes, rinse your skin in the crisp and clear water from the spring, roll down the grassy slopes and sleep in the wildflowers.

You sit upright, and raise your hands from his fur, letting the weightless spiralling feeling grip your soul, feeling the billowing air breezing by. Joyous laughter spills from your lips, bright and sun-filled as you allow yourself to forget—just for a moment—about the world you come from. Forget about being a proper woman, forget about duties of piety, of obligations to honour your household. Instead, you exist. You are. You be. It’s wondrous.

More, more, more—

His wings flare, pulling him to a glide downwards, flapping as he lands smoothly on the grassland, not too far from your take-off point.

What?

“What are you doing?” You ask breathlessly. “Why are you stopping? Go again,” you push, but he remains grounded. “Azriel?” You question pleadingly. You want to go again. To soar higher and higher until the air is stolen from your lungs. To make the drop again and again. To feel the lurch of the world beneath you. To have the earth ripped from your feet.

But he shakes his shoulders in a gesture you take to mean get off.

“Just once more,” you breathe, fingers tightening in his fur as you lean closer to him, “one more ride. Please.” His head cocks, tilting to the side, eye curving round to see you on his back. What will you do for me?

Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline thumping in your blood. So many bargains, so many deals. Always one thing in return for another. But you need that high again. He’s given you a taste of the summer winds, how pure the air can be, how the world can tip as you dive and you need it again. Need to feel that insignificance—the unity with something greater.

So you make a reckless decision.

Your lips pull back from your teeth in a feral smile—one he’s given you before—then you’re swinging your leg over his shoulder, sliding down his silky fur as you drop to the mossy grass: spongey and soft. You turn to look at him, almost trembling with energy, sparking at the seems with inherent need and vivacious life.

As soon as your feet touch the ground he’s shifted, and you don’t allow yourself to fear him—only think of the skies and the clouds and that drop. You grab him by the hand, grin still splitting your lips as the sun shimmers in your eyes. You turn, tugging him along, moving as quick as you can as you drag him over to one of those patches of splattered colour, a section of wildflowers.

“You want me, don’t you?” You breathe, peering up into his dark eyes, writhing with darkness and malevolence and—hunger.

No second guessing, no room for doubt, you turn and step into him, hands snaking up his chest as you press against his body. He leans into you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you tight against him, taking in your scent as he growls—half beast. “You’ll let me bed you in a field?” He asks, a taunting undertone to his low drawl.

You don’t let his words summon that flicker of shame as you shake your head. You look him in the eyes, peering up at him as his heat seeps into you—warm despite the chilly upper airs. “Lie down.”

His pulse stumbles at your words. Your command. The feral wildness reflected in your gaze. He can hear the thrumming of your heart against your ribs, how it’s pounding in your chest with a need to be free. “Lie down, Azriel,” you repeat, hands tightening on him with need. Barely hiding his reluctance, he settles in the grass, watching you silently for your next move.

That melody is still living inside of you, strumming your heartstrings; playing on your ribs, but it’s fading. You need to hear its symphony again, that cluster of chords that will make you feel the fire of life. You straddle his thighs, fingers working deftly on his ties to set him free and you hear his breath catch at your intent. Then a rough laugh sounds in the back of his throat, wetness gathering between your thighs in response. “You want to have it here?” He growls lowly, eyes piercing into you.

“Yes,” you breathe, gripping him in your hands.

He doesn’t get much warning as your mouth descends on him, tongue lapping over his head as you had wanted to do this morning, wet heat encasing him. He hisses an inhale at the sudden sensation, taloned hands fisting at his side as he feels blood drain from his head with such dizzying speed.

You’re tempted to keep licking at him, but you’re aching, and want to feel the wind on your skin as you ride him. It feels good, like there’s a greater current tugging you toward him, urging you on in your movements. It feels right.

So you scramble up his body, mouth opening over his own as you slant your lips against him. A sound rumbles in his chest as his hands grip your hips brutally. Your own hands drop to the hem of his leathers, pushing and pawing in attempts to remove his top as you moan against him, letting your heart-beat guide you to what you want.

“Azriel,” you pant between the flashes of teeth and the flicker of his tongue. You again grope at his shirt, pushing it up and he finally follows, removing it and you take him in, mouth practically watering as you actually take him in. Every scar, every swirl of ink, whorls of shadow decorating his skin with ancient marks that beckon and call to be licked and inspected.

“You’re look at me as if you haven’t eaten in days,” he purrs darkly and you can feel him against your thigh. Something fractures inside of you, splitting down your spine and lashing at the inside of your skin, flaying you raw with need so great it threatens to obliterate you.

He senses it, the war drums inside, sitting upright as he grabs you roughly, your arms snaking over his shoulders. You moan when he kisses you, a deep, wanton sound. Your hips roll, pressing against him and he groans at your desperation—for him. Thoughts begin to eddy from his mind as primal need slowly seeps through him, weakening his restraint.

To his surprise, you lift your dress, pushing aside your underwear as your fingers find your pleasure-centre. The loudest moan yet spills into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, hand tangling in your hair as the wind whips around you, sun still high in the sky. Two fingers press inside, and you curl them. You know you need to prepare yourself for him. He was gentle before—or you were ready for him. But this time you’re taking him of your own accord, and you need to be fully equipped to deal with him.

Your breath catches when one of his hands slides possessively down the curve of your back, squeezing your ass before slipping beneath your dress. Talons scrape menacingly against the soft skin of your inner thighs and you whimper with pleasure. His claws retract and the air is pushed from your lungs as you feel one of his fingers join your own. “Azriel…”

He growls over your mouth, tongue flicking your roof as his grip tightens in your hair, drawing more pleasing sounds from you for him to devour. “Is this why you prefer your dresses? For ease of access?” He manages between breaths. “Yes,” you pant, his fingers curling inside of you. He doesn’t believe for a second you’re actually paying attention to what he’s saying, but it sends an overpowering wave of fire lighting his spine regardless.

“Yeah?” He chuckles as you roll your hips against him, getting wetter by the second—he can feel it. Feel you. “You want me to start taking you whenever I want?” He growls, mouth leaving yours as his teeth graze your neck. Your breath catches, one hand tangling in his hair as you tilt your head to the side with primal need, “bite me.”

He snarls, pupils dilating at the whispered command. He follows obediently, fangs scraping over the scars, before sinking down. You whimper, gripping him tighter as he laps at your life that spills on his tongue, drinking down every damned drop he can before his saliva seals you away again. He’s tempted to take another bite.

But you’re tugging at him, and your mouth opens over his, the metallic flavour coating your tongue as you taste him. Then you’re pulling back, taking your fingers from between your legs, too—more room for his own that he presses inside. A groan drags from his throat as you push your fingers between his lips, whimpering as his tongue laps at your flavour, heat raising to his skin as he stares you down, the wet muscle in his mouth flicking and twining over and between your digits as he sucks that taste from them.

“Do it,” he growls, retracting his hand from between your thighs, guiding his tip to your entrance. You pant breathlessly, settling your weight over his head and you know you can just sink down and have him inside of you filling you up making you spill—

“Azriel,” you cry, burying your face in his neck, teeth pushing at his skin desperately, “Azriel…” You repeat his name again and again, chanting it as if it were an ancient spell to relieve you of pain and bless you with unending joy and life. Over and over you say his name as a scared mantra, whimpering and whispering it against his skin with aching reverence. Lower and lower, inch by inch, until you’re sat in his lap and the world spins.

You remain still, basking in the fullness, bursting with energy. Your hips wind softly over his, and you hiss at the pleasure, white spots dancing in your vision like feathers or blossoms on the breeze. Your nails press again his tough skin, raking at his back as you lift, then slide down.

More. You need more. You need that symphony to sing to your bones, need to melt into him, break under him, yield and reforge into molten pleasure until your screams turn to song.

Your hands find the hem of your cotton dress as you pull away. Then you’re tugging it up over your hips, over your stomach, over your breasts, throwing it to the grassy floor. Press against him, bare skin on skin, heat and life and beauty flowing freely between you but you need more.

You guide his hands to your hips, hooking his fingers beneath the cream fabric. His talons slice without you having to ask, and you pull it away, kicking off your shoes and toeing off your socks until you’re completely bare.

Tears brim at your lashes at the feeling, of being utterly naked to the world. You can feel the heated grass beneath your shins, the wildflowers caressing your skin, the sun beating down on your form, the summer air—crisp and clean—filling your lungs. And him. Him filling you from within, filling you until you’re about to burst, laying upon you gift after gift of experiences. So many you would never have touched had he not stolen you away.

You manage to raise yourself from his lap—then sink down, settling yourself on his cock. You moan, loud and unrestrained. One hand raises from your hip to cup your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your lashes, pushing away the dampness. You’re not sure if you’re anymore capable of movement. Of breath, of thought, of anything other than being entirely with him. Of being entirely his. With every bone, every breath, every thought. If it’s all his, will it ever be enough?

His hips buck and a silent moan spills from your lips, cock touching a sensitive spot that has you finally spurring into action because you want more and more and more and it isn’t enough. You raise up, and drop down, pushing him deeper inside of you, so deep you’re winded from the fullness.

“Azriel,” you whisper over his lips, tipping your head upward as you wind over him, finding your pleasure in his body, “Azriel, please.” You need him in that way of his, need him to obliterate you. Your nails claw at him, grazing the base of his wings and he hisses. Repeat it, gentler. He groans. More pleasure.

“Azriel,” you beg again.

He pulls back to look at you, something raw in his eyes, “what?”

“Shift.”

His head goes quiet, almost silent, and there’s nothing left in him to resist your request. His features sharpen, fangs protruding beneath his lips, eyes slitting to slivers of darkness then his iris’ turn black, swallowing the whites. Talons push from his knuckles, thick fur dusting his abdomen and then—

Your back arches, curving up into him as you cling on desperately. His cock shifts, expanding below the head to rub against that spot inside of you, to drag against it whenever he—yeah. That’s it. Your eyes have gone wide and glazed, winding over him with fluid ease, as if you’re following some innate rhythm inside of you that’s perfectly synchronised with his roar of harmonies.

“A little more,” you breathe, staring up at him, “just a bit more, Azriel.” He shifts further, fur raising to his stomach, finger merging to form three-toed paws, accented with razor sharp claws. His cock grows inside of you, swelling, and you think you could die. Right there. You could be peaceful. So happy and content.

He grips your hips, urging you to move, to find your pleasure. To give him his own, too. But you can hardly move with the sheer size of him, one shift of your body will likely send you— He lifts you up and slams you down. You scream, gripping onto him as your hips buck wildly, and he’s pounding into you, canines scraping and nipping to deliver that edge of pain that has stars and moons colliding in sprays of silver and gold inside of you.

He keeps going, raising your hips and slamming you down and the breath is knocked from your body as you free-fall through ecstasy.

And you shatter.

He feels you fluttering around him, clamping down and he can’t help himself—his teeth sink again into your skin. Bursts of lightening buzz beneath your skin as pleasure sings to your blood, sparking and fracturing and welding and reforming. Heaven spills on his tongue, finest ambrosia put to shame as he’s swallowed by his senses. Indulging in your divine decadence until he’s lost what he is.

It takes minutes for the both of you to come back down from the highs you’d flown to. To glide back down and fully settle takes longer, and when you’re finally able to crack your eyes open, and push up from his body to meet his gaze, you’re not quite sure what to do.

Something changed. You’d been working in tandem, flowing from the same beginning to the same end, blending at some point as you blurred and melted.

You barely manage the energy to pull back a little, to put some space between your bodies so you can peer down. You’re startled by the sight of the bump in your lower abdomen. He just watches quietly as you lower your palm to it and press curiously. Both of you hiss as you press his cock against you through your skin. He’s so big. So big you can see his mark from the outside. How full did he make you?

“I…” You rasp, but don’t know what to say. Instead his eyes gleam, though there’s still something raw in those dark hazel depths, “still want that ride?”

Both of suck in a sharp breath as you tighten around him at the kick of need in response to his double-edged question.

It takes a while before you’re able to ease off him, and you feel empty once you’ve slid out of his lap. Empty enough you’re tempted to scrap the ride through the skies and instead hop back on top of him.

He probably wouldn’t mind.

But instead you manage to make it to a stream, both of you bathing in the waters. You dry off quickly in the sun—even if small blades of grass litter your body. With a little reluctance, you re-adorn yourself in your crumpled cotton dress, though your underwear is done for. You attempt to tie the sliced pieces together over your hips, but Azriel only re-slices them once you’ve managed. You can’t tell whether it was accidental or intentional on his part.

The ride isn’t as intense as the first, both of you seemingly in need of something soothing and calming to replenish yourselves with after the frenzied coupling.

The winds are still pleasant, the weather delightfully temperate, and he flies until your stomach growls in protest. You would have asked him to fly more, if you hadn’t thought maybe he might be in need of food as well.

So you spend the afternoon lazing in dappled shade, gorging on berries and weaving wildflowers—you haven’t done so since you were a child, and take great joy in seeking out the colours and stems you want.

Azriel lazes at your back, shifted into a four-pawed form to settle at the base of a towering oak. He keeps his eyes shut, but you get the feeling he’s watching silently as he always seems to do for you.

It’s only when you approach him gingerly from the front that he cracks his eyes open. His large head raises from the sun-warmed earth, peering down at you with a blacked-out gaze. His attention runs over you, going from the crown of your head—where a corona of flowers sits woven into your hair—to your still-bare feet.

Hesitantly, you hold up the circlet of wildflowers, beginning to approach. He growls lowly when you set it on his snout—unable to reach his brow. With a heavy huff of air, he blows the small crown up high, letting his shadows guide it lower to rest atop your own wreathed head.

You blink, touching the crown inquisitively. He waits for you to kick up a fuss, to start crying or to stomp away, but you stay where you are for a moment, watching him warily—as you should. Then walk away.

His eyes close, settling his large maw down atop his paws until he feels a small weight press into his side. Shadows swirl to find you dosing against him, the sinking sun bathing you in orange light as you press into his side with a yawn. The second crown tilts slightly as your eyes close, head tipping to the side. You continue slumping until you’re laying flat against the ground, still nestled to his side as you usually do when sleeping.

It’s somehow good to know that behaviour isn’t limited to when you think he’s unaware. It’s good to know you’re settling into some more animalistic habits. Hopefully when the Ceremony comes, it won’t be too demanding of a change.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel smut #azriel fluff #shadowsinger #teeth and talons #demon!azriel #demon!Azriel smut #demon!azriel x reader

[theostrophywife]

the prince of hell | part two.

we might just get away with it, the altar is my hips even if it's a false god, we'd still worship this love

author's note: i have chosen violence today and i won't apologize for it. anyways, enjoy this soft fluff.

song inspiration: false god by taylor swift.

The underworld was nothing like you expected it to be. 

It was a land of perpetual night, but it wasn’t the frightening unending darkness of nightmares, instead it was moonlight and constellations, twinkling stars and violet skies. Never in a million years would you have predicted hell to be dreamy. 

But it was. Everything about the place was an absolute dream. None more so than the winged male carrying you in his arms. 

The Prince of Hell smiled softly as he cut through the cumulus clouds, flying towards an enormous castle perched atop an obsidian mountain. The peaks glittered like dark diamonds, the gothic spires and turrets spearing through the endless night as you floated through the sea of stars. The moon shimmered overhead as Azriel landed on the open balcony. 

Though his feet hit the chequerboard floor, Azriel made no move to release you from his grip. He merely continued carrying you through his home, past the moonstone walls and marble pillars, through countless rooms full of lavish furniture and extravagant paintings, and underneath a crystal chandelier that projected starlight onto the polished onyx floors. 

You gaped in wonder as he slipped past mahogany doors and into a bedchamber with a four poster bed. The sheets felt like silk to the touch as he carefully set you down. Across the room, you stared at your bewildered expression through a gilded mirror, your hair wild and unbound, your wedding dress smeared with blood and ash. 

Azriel’s brows furrowed in concern as he wiped a streak of dried blood from your cheek. “Are you sure you’re alright, my heart?” His fingers skirted over your hairline, brushing a stray strand behind your ear with surprising gentleness. “You’re shaking.” 

You gave him a watery smile. “I’m fine. Just a little rattled, that’s all.”

“I won’t apologize for what I did to that mortal, but I am sorry if it frightened you. The way he spoke about you, the way he grabbed you—” he released a shaky breath as if the memory still stoked his anger. “I wanted to do more than just rip out his wretched heart.”

You grabbed his hand and squeezed in reassurance. “You saved me.” Honey eyes dawned on you like sunset, disbelief dancing in Azriel’s gaze as though no one has ever said such a thing to him. “You saved me and I owe you my life.” 

“You owe me nothing,” Azriel declared with determination. “You will never owe anyone anything ever again.”

Those words released another floodgate of tears. As the Prince of Hell cradled you in his arms, his soft voice a soothing lullaby in your ears, the realization that you were free—truly free slammed into you. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but what you did know was that Azriel was a refuge in the storm.

As he had been in your dreams for far longer than you could remember. 

“I thought I’d dreamt you up,” you said, looking up at this stranger who really wasn’t a stranger at all. “How are you real?” 

There was something about the way those golden eyes softened that made your heart leap in your chest. Azriel brushed a tear away and took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a raven with a broken wing. It searched high and wide for shelter, but because of its injuries, the raven couldn’t fly very far. One day it landed in the countryside, half-frozen and half-starved, where a girl found it buried amongst the snowbanks. The girl took pity on the raven and brought the bird home, offering it shelter and mending its broken wing. As she nursed the raven back to health, he did something very foolish. He fell in love with the girl. The raven knew it was a mistake. She was beautiful and gentle and kind and he was a creature of nightmares. Eventually, he healed and she set him free. That should have been the end of the story, but the raven was a selfish bastard. It kept coming back—watching over her, leaving her gifts, and visiting her dreams.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you listened, realization slowly washing over you as Azriel spoke. “Then one day, the raven heard the girl’s father praying to the old gods. Heaven ignored his pleas, but Hell listened. The raven listened because he had never forgotten the girl’s kindness. What the girl didn’t know was that the raven wasn’t a raven at all. He was the Prince of Hell. The day she found him, he had been attacked by his step brothers who sought his throne for themselves. They held him down and drove a spear through his wing, nearly severing it.” 

His right wing flared out and you saw a large scar running through the underside of the red and gold membrane. “Before they could kill him, the Prince of Hell shifted into his raven form and fate took him to the small village where the kind girl rescued him. The raven would have died if it weren’t for her. When she set him free, he knew it killed her to do so. But the girl understood what it was like to be in a cage and she didn’t want him to have the same fate as her, so she let him go. As the girl watched the raven fly away with a heavy heart, he promised that one day, he’d set her free too.”

The room was silent as Azriel’s fingers raked through your scalp. “So the raven bided his time. Bargained with the girl’s father. Slaughtered his greedy step brothers. Reclaimed his throne. Then finally, the raven fulfilled his promise. The girl thought that he had set her free, that he had saved her, but what she didn’t know was that she saved him first. Before he met her, everyone always said that the raven had no heart and they were right because his heart was tucked away in that small, snowy village.”

The Prince of Hell brushed his lips over your temple. “That’s what you are to me,” Azriel said softly. “My heart.”

“Why me?” you asked. The memories flashed through your mind. Finding him in that snowbank. Bandaging up his wing. Your father had scolded you for it. Called you soft hearted. Always bringing in the strays of this world. The girl who desperately clung onto magic and fairy tales to escape the harsh reality of her own life. “I’m just a girl who has a weakness for the wild things.”

“Being kind is not a weakness,” Azriel said firmly. “I used to think it was. My father taught me as much and so did his father before him. But they were wrong. It was the kindness of a stranger that brought me back to life. A girl who gave me everything when I had nothing to give in return. That is true strength.”

Tears fell from your eyes like raindrops. It felt good to be seen. To have the whole of you reflected so clearly in someone else’s eyes. “You’re my freedom. You’re my salvation,” you stroked his cheek almost reverently. “I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

“As have I, my heart,” Azriel whispered softly, pressing his forehead against yours. “As have I.”

“You saved me,” you said once again.

“We saved each other.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as he traced the outline of your jaw, his thumb brushing against your lips. His touch was featherlight, but it set your entire body on fire. Azriel’s gaze marked you, burned you. It felt like he was embedding himself upon your soul.

“Azriel?” Your voice came out in a whisper, low and breathless. 

“Yes, my heart?” 

“Kiss me. Please.”

The Prince of Hell shuddered a breath. Then his hand slid into your hair, tilting you back. There was nothing but tenderness in his eyes as he closed the gap between you. Lips brushed against lips, tasting, testing—it was excruciating agony, it was sweet release. The kiss sparked a fire in you and you burned for Azriel, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling through his silky locks like you were trying to get lost in the dark paradise that was him with no desire to ever escape. 

Azriel pulled you into his lap, his lips never leaving yours. The way your bodies moved in perfect synchrony, melding together, melting together seamlessly made you think that maybe you were created just for this purpose. He was intoxicating; there was nothing more divine, nothing more sacred than the feel of his mouth against yours. Kissing him was an act of worship. 

You had the vague sense that you’ve never felt true hunger until Azriel’s tongue slipped past your parted lips and filled you with lust and desire so strong it made you feel like a depraved hedonist. There was Azriel and only Azriel. 

Desire was a lit match catching fire on a field soaked with gasoline. The need for Azriel was endless, like staring into an empty abyss and realizing for the first time in your life that you were finally seeing what lay inside this whole time. You were hungry. 

Azriel groaned as you rolled your hips against him. His hands found your waist, gripping you like his life depended on it. The gold dancing in his irises flickered to black. His eyes fluttered close as he nuzzled his nose against yours, reeling himself back to reality. 

Then, in a voice full of care and restraint, Azriel said, “We don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready to do. It’s your choice, my heart.” The words cracked your heart open, letting sunlight into the shadowy crevices. “From this point forward, it will always be your choice.”

You cupped his cheek, marveling at all that he was. “My entire life, every decision has been made for me. Other people have always told me how to dress, how to speak, how to act. Tonight is the first time that I actually get to choose something for myself. I want my first choice to be you, Azriel.” 

The words seemed to unleash something within the Prince of Hell. Azriel surged forward and kissed you, his mouth full of passion and heat. You arched into him and he took the opportunity to graze his teeth against the column of your throat before flicking his tongue over the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

“I choose you, too,” he said softly. 

You smiled, tugging him down until you both tumbled against the mattress. Azriel pinned you underneath him, taking his time to stroke your curves, his featherlight touch awakening goosebumps along your arms. He peeled the dress off of you gently, kissing your collarbones, your breasts, your stomach, and your thighs. You helped him out of his clothes, peeling layer after layer until the two of you were bare to one another. 

You had no idea where to look first. Azriel was a work of art, a sculpture carved out of marble, every inch of him perfectly crafted by the gods themselves. The forbidden fruit seducing you to taste, to bite, to savor. He shuddered as you pressed your palm against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart as if it were your own. 

“You will be my undoing,” the Prince of Hell declared. “I would worship at your altar tonight. You are my own little piece of heaven.”

“I don’t want to be your heaven,” you said, voice stern and unwavering. “I want to be your hell, because their god is the only one who has ever answered my prayers.”

Azriel looked down at you as though you were a god yourself. A treasure that he would give his life to guard and cherish. With your legs wrapped around his trim waist, Azriel hovered above you. His gaze was contemplative, searching for any sign of hesitation. 

When he found none, Azriel kissed you gently while easing his way in. You were wet, soaking with arousal, and the length of him stretching your walls was a welcomed sting. He kept his eyes on you as his cock filled you deliciously. You moaned into his mouth and the sound seemed to completely unravel him. 

It was ruin and restoration, life and death, pain and pleasure combined in one single act. Azriel twined your fingers together, holding your arms above your head as he made love to you. His wings flared behind his back just as his shadows swirled above his head, encircling him like a crown of smoke. The Prince of Hell was a dark god. He was night and mist and shadow. The space between the stars. 

You would pray to him a thousand times over. 

“Gods,” you moaned, the word falling from your lips like a solemn prayer. “It feels too good. You are too good, Azriel.”

He kissed you deeply, fusing your very souls together. A white hot heat seized your body and suddenly you were careening towards the cliffs, falling hand in hand with Azriel. The Prince of Hell growled into your mouth, his forehead pressed against yours as you both surrendered to release. 

For a moment, nothing else in the realm existed besides the two of you. 

Azriel opened his eyes and it was like staring directly into the sun after centuries of darkness. With a soft smile, he pulled you into his arms and kissed your temple. Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, your limbs locked and something within you just clicked. 

This was right. 

He was right.

You nestled against Azriel like you belonged there all along. “You never told me.”

“Told you what, my heart?”

“How the story of the girl and her raven ends.”

Azriel smiled, pulling you into his arms. “It doesn’t. They just find a new beginning instead.”

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria

#i am so emo over this #prince of hell az is such an angel but the demon will come out in the bedroom soon hehe #azriel #azriel smut #azriel fic #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel x you

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x Reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 5[*?]

A/N: Baby steps, Azzie. Baby steps.

Warnings: degradation, sexual tension, almost smut, 6.9K words

-Part 4- -Part 6-

You wake to the feeling of a wet snout pressing into the crook of your neck.

Azriel.

You jerk away from the large creature, deep hazel shining through the darkness of his blacked out eyes. “I’ve told you not to do that,” you snap groggily at him. He ignores you. Typical. You shift away from him again but flinch when his tongue lolls out, flicking over the bare skin as he tastes you, shoving tighter against your body. Your fingers thread through his fur for purchase, gripping him as you tug lightly, ordering him to get off you.

“Azriel…I’m trying to sleep, can you not?” The male merely growls softly in response. You huff, then yelp when he shifts—more toward his humanoid form—one powerful arm wrapping beneath your torso as he smushes you against him. You hesitate. He’s never this affectionate. The only time he particularly cares to touch you is while he’s fucking you—or breeding you, as he so detachedly calls it. Your nose crinkles at his wording alone. It makes it sound so unemotional. You suppose fucking isn’t exactly any better.

You sigh. The bathhouse had been nice, in a way. He’d seemed to care about your pain, though you were unsure if that was due to you being his bride or not. Perhaps it was a proprietary instinct. You sometimes wondered if he had any attachment to you or if it was just that you held the title of bride. The name had become a weight, as of late.

“Get ready,” he says, finally pulling from your body, allowing you to flop unceremoniously back into the plethora of pillows—you still don’t know where they had come from, they just sort of appeared one night. You peer up at him, fingers still laced in the fur that dusts the corded muscle of his upper paws. “For what?” You narrow your eyes at the male, his features completely blank, save for the light reflecting in his mostly onyx gaze.

He growls softly at the questioning, but relents. “Out.” You stare up at him—glare up at him—silently willing him to understand how unhelpful he is. His brow dips when you don’t release him. You wonder why he doesn’t just pull away, it wouldn’t be too much effort. You both know he’s far superior to you in terms of, well, everything…

“It will do you some good to go outside again. It’s been a week.” Since you were dragged through unending marshland, cold biting at your soggy skin. You shake your head, “I don’t want to.” The light in his eyes sharpens to something more lethal, more dæmon-like. “Either you prepare, or I take you as you are.” Almost entirely unclothed. “It’s for your own good,” he adds when your fingers loosen their grip, “your kind shouldn’t go long without the light of the world.”

Your lips twist in a satiric smile, “I would have thought your kind would detest the sun.” It had become a game of sorts—to yourself, you doubt Azriel derives any sort of pleasure from humour—to see how many passive aggressive comments you could make before he finally picks up on them.

He doesn’t deign you with a response.

“I need you to get off me in order to change,” you deadpan, unthreading your hands from his fur, albeit reluctantly. His brows narrow but he removes himself from you, shifting to stand at the edge of the bed, waiting silently as you move to the chest that holds your clothes. “Where are you taking me?” You don’t look at him as you speak, though you feel his gaze stabbing between your shoulder blades. “Out.” He repeats. You drop the clothes in frustration, spinning on your feet, “I need to know more than ‘out’ so I can dress appropriately.”

His arms fold over his chest as his features morph into what can only be described as a grimace, his eyes glazed. They sharpen again, as if he had come out of thought. “By a river.”

“By a river…” you repeat, trying not to show your exasperation. Your fingers find your temples as you rub lightly, then move to the bridge of your nose. You take a deep breath, returning your gaze to him, “and the temperature? The weather?”

“Fine.”

“I need more than fine, Azriel.” His brow narrows—he’s getting impatient.

He prowls across the room on lethally silent feet. You take a step back slowly, your thighs bumping into the chest, making you stumble. Hastily, you right yourself, in time to see the male pull an ankle length dress from the wooden box. He forcefully pushes it into your arms, his inhuman strength having you yield a step with the momentum behind it. Then he’s grabbing you by your upper arm, pulling you tight against him, free hand gripping your hip as shadows and darkness swarms around you. Just like how they had when he had first found you.

A horrifying weightlessness overtakes you, and you grip onto him in any way you can as something like wind howls in your ears. And then it’s over, and you’re stood on grass. You blink; he releases you. Immediately, your arms crisscross over your body, stepping into the large build of his body.

He watches you keenly—you’re panicking. His hands grip your shoulders, steadying you. “What is it?” You glare up at him, fury and fear blazing together in your eyes. “‘What is it?’” You seethe, “I’m practically bare!” You hiss, eyes jumping about as you scan for other people that would inevitably be around. “What is—” you cut yourself off, “why did you do this? What did I do wrong?” Ire lights your eyes as they return to his, “what if someone sees me? Do you not understand human dignity?” You snap, angrily.

His fingers tighten on your shoulders in silent reprimand. “You think I would bring you somewhere other eyes could see you?” Azriel growls, displeasure shining through his usually bland tone. You tilt your head at that, confusion marring your features. “What’s that supposed to mean? And what does it matter if people see me?” You retort. When he opens his mouth to respond, lips twisted down at the edges, you hurriedly beat him to it—which he does not appreciate. “With clothes on.”

“You’re my bride,” he says simply, voice rough around the edges, as if that clears everything up. You furrow your brows at him, still skittish from the idea of someone seeing, and it makes you jumpy. His wings flare at his back, furling around you as you’re hidden from sight, despite him knowing there’s not another soul anywhere nearby.

Contemplation flashes through your eyes at the action, making you pause. You clear your throat, tension slowly seeping from your body, “calling me your bride doesn’t explain anything to me.” Your voice has evened out. It seems you’ve calmed now that your imagined threat is held at bay. A kernel of satisfaction sprouts in his chest.

“Until the ceremony, you are to be kept under my watch from now on.” Your head tilts, like a curious animal. You’re picking up on some less-human mannerisms, and it pleases him. The less human you appear, the easier he can forget about the Ritual.

“What ceremony? Why only now?”

“Stop asking so many questions. They bore me.” Your fingers tighten on the dress he’d shoved in your direction. “I’m so sorry they bore you, Azriel.” His brow dips at your tone, sensing you want to argue. “Get changed if you’re uncomfortable. You have clothes.”

“Where am I supposed to change?” You bite out, clutching the dress closer to your torso. “Here.”

You stare up at him, taken aback. “In front of you?”

“Does it bother you?” Your eyes widen, lips parting in shock.

“We’re in public,” you beseech, “can’t you use those shadows or something? I’m not having you watch while I change!”

“You would like my hands on you as well as my eyes?” It’s impossible but you manage to look positively scandalised. You splutter up at him, while he watches silently. “You can feel? With those shadows?” You murmur.

Azriel nods, pleasure warming him as you flush. All you can think about is every quiet brush they’ve given you, every small push to get you out of bed, every touch as you fall asleep, every lick between your thighs. You swallow, “oh…” He waits. “I didn’t…I didn’t know that.” You clear your throat at a poor attempt at modesty.

Heat always seems to twist inside him whenever you try to appear dignified. The promise he’ll get to spoil it.

You realise he’s waiting for you to change, and you tug your lower lip between your teeth, “can you at least close your eyes?” They seem to sharpen at your comment, taking you in with renewed interest. “You seemed to like my eyes on you when I had my tongue between your legs.” You suck in a sharp breath, cheeks heating as you freeze, mouth open at his salacious statement.

“There is a time and a place for everything,” you manage, primly, locking your eyes on a space below his jaw. “When’s the time and place for breeding you again?” He drawls casually, silently revelling at the heat radiating from your body. Maybe he said that simply to get a rise out of you. You take a step back from him, but his shadows glide up your legs—up the backs of your bare thighs—to keep you in place as they twine about. He can scent the arousal that’s alight in your belly, the beast inside of him wishing for nothing more than to pin you to the ground and fuck you into the dirt.

He knows you would enjoy it.

Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, watching the moment his pupils dilate, the only sign of his own arousal your human senses can pick up on. Fear and heat twine together, making a mess of your insides. “Strip.” Your mouth goes dry at the quiet command. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips that are suddenly dry, but regret it when his blown out eyes mark the movement.

“I…” you stammer, his gaze flicking up to yours with arrogant expectation. “Not now…” you request softly—fearfully. “I don’t— Not after…” Not after the everlasting fields of freezing mud you were dragged through, thinking every breath was the last before you were pulled beneath the stagnant pools of water. “I’m telling you to change,” he drawls, and shame heats your body, looking away hurriedly. You hate it when he misleads you like that, plays his games with you that leave you stumbling blindly after him, in a mix of fear and confusion. A mess of emotions.

You try to push your embarrassment down, but you know he can sense every sign your human body reveals to him, leaving you stripped bare before him. As though you’re strapped to a dissection table for him to examine at his pleasure. “Go on,” he encourages, dark amusement underlying his tone as his eyes pierce into you.

Swallowing, you turn away from him, sliding the straps of the silky night vest off your shoulders. “You think it wise to turn your back to me?” He drawls. You freeze when his shadows wrap around your waist, slipping beneath your top. He can feel all of that. “Azriel…” you breathe, shakily, “why did you bring me here? Really?” You turn your head, peering at him demurely from over the bare slope of your shoulder.

The dim hazel of his eyes is cold; hard. Despite the sun in the sky, hairs raise across your body beneath his icy gaze. “Because you need it.” He replies, mouth set in its usual bland line.

“Who are you to say what I need?” You murmur quietly, watching him through your lashes. His shadows thicken, beginning to blot out the sun. The male prowls closer, wings tightening around you, “do you believe differently?”

“I believe I would like to have my agency returned, and not have you lord over me.”

“You’d like me to leave you alone?” You dip your head. Yes, that would be perfect. “That ended well the last time, didn’t it?” He drawls, words bladed with a lethal edge.

Heat ravages your body, “you’re not putting that on me.”

His wings circle tighter, and with a final shove, you’re sent stumbling into him, his hands snaking round your waist, brushing over your hips as they choose to set themselves at the small of your back. “If you hadn’t been so set on remaining a lone creature, then no. It wouldn’t have happened,” he growls.

“So what? I’m supposed to remain locked in your chambers until…? When? You were the one who stressed how my kind need to feel the outside world every once in while, yet now you’re trying to take that away from me?” Anger freezes his eyes, warmth seeping from the hazel as they’re swallowed by blackness.

“If you would just learn to obey me, you wouldn’t find your life riddled with such suffering,” he snarls softly, shadows completely blocking out the sun. “Obey you?” You utter quietly, staring up at him in horrified disbelief. “And why would I ever do that?” With each word, his hands raise higher, until they’re set on your waist. “Because you chose to submit to me, remember?” He snarls, lip curling. “I made it very clear. Gave you every opportunity to pull away. But you were the one who came to me, the one who crawled on her hands and knees to me, every night.” One hand leaves your waist, only to wrap around your throat. “Or do you need a reminder what you were crawling for?”

You bristle at his owning touch, wanting to shrink away, knowing how easily he could snap your neck. “You don’t own me,” you tremble, feeling the squeeze of his fingers, the press of his hips—and something else you dare not acknowledge—as he pulls you tight against his body. “You can’t—…you can’t tell me what to do. Or order me about like that. That’s not how—” you cut yourself off, before you lay more of your aching heart bare to him, “that’s not right.”

A terrifying silence echoes between you, freezing ire blazing in the depths of his pitch black eyes. He jerks you closer, squeezing your neck as he curls down, features sharpening, turning beastly. “What’s stopping me?”

Heat wells behind your eyes as the extent of his power dawns on you. No one’s going to stop him, and between him and the beasts that stole you away, he knows that to you he’s the lesser evil. So you’ll remain with him until he’s done with you, because he’s the best that you have. “That’s right,” he murmurs over your mouth, “you can’t do anything against me. If I want something from you, I’m going to take it.”

He releases you, suddenly. So suddenly you don’t have a chance to realise how dependant you’d become on him until he removes his support. Your knees buckle as you stumble, crashing to the floor, bare knees hitting the grass. “Now, why don’t we start on getting you properly trained, and have you change out of those damned clothes?” He growls quietly, not an ounce of amusement to be found, getting off on how far he can push you. How low he can shove you.

The dress is still clutched to your chest, both straps of your vest spilling off your arms. Shakily, you move to stand, so you can follow his orders, like he wants.

Azriel lifts his boot from the ground, pressing it down on your shoulder painfully. You wince at the heavy pressure, collapsing back onto your knees. “I think you should stay down there a little longer,” he drawls, sadism shining in his charcoal gaze, “help you learn your place.”

Shame weighs heavily on you as you bow your head, too hurt and embarrassed to look at him. He’d been so gentle before—asking you where the pain was so he could stop it. How are you supposed to resolve the polar opposites of his character?

You choose to further repress the part of you that wants him to push you down into the dirt.

He removes his boot, allowing you to follow through with his orders. You refuse to look up as you kneel in front of him—the Mother knows where it would lead. You peel away the silk of your top, and you suck in a sharp breath of air between your teeth when his shadows grow at your back. They build, their cool caress like whispers over your skin as they wrap around your middle, flowing across your stomach before branching upward, cupping your breasts.

Azriel releases a pleased growl when you don’t attempt to move away from them, allowing his shadows to brush your skin, flick gently over your nipples. He sees you biting your lip but says nothing about your silence, just content you’ve finally obeyed him and adorned yourself in the dress.

Ever so slowly, you raise up onto your knees, and it takes a surprising amount of effort on his end to not grab your oblivious form by the hair and pull you against his hips. He can only imagine what you would look like, lips swallowing his cock, tongue licking over the tip, tears rolling down your cheeks. He grits his teeth as he imagines how you would look with his come decorating your cheeks, the erotic liquid like a smattering of freckles. Maybe you’d swallow him down. Open your mouth wide with a smile to show him how obedient you’d been.

One day, he swears to himself, one day he’ll have you trained well enough you’ll do that unprompted.

The perfect, superficial symbol of innocence for him to have fun with.

You manage to get to your feet, and flush when you look down at yourself. The dress is cream, light and breathable, as modest as any dress you would normally wear out. Sleeves down to the wrist, hem down to your ankles, the neck concealing your collar bones. It feels like a small snippet of home, and you allow your fingers to graze the crisp material.

“Thank me.”

You peer up at him, arms wrapping across your chest, keeping your nightclothes in your hands. “‘Thank me’?” You echo, voice shaking. “For what?” You swear something like amusement gleams in his eyes as he leans down, so he can stare at you. “For bringing you to a river instead of dumping you in some frozen wasteland for the beasts to fight over.”

Then his wings are pulling away, shadows retracting back to him, light returning to your skin.

You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and feel yourself fracture. The tiniest break, splitting along your vertebrae. Your lips part slightly, vision blurring with painful confusion. He’s so…volatile. You can never tell what mood he’s in. Whether he’ll be nice to you, let you nestle into his fur when he shifts to sleep, or whether he’ll snarl and snap, degrade and punish you until your pieces are lying scattered across the ground.

“Why must you say things like that?” You ask weakly. Keeping yourself together in front of him. He’d enjoy your destruction, no doubt. You won’t give him the satisfaction. Not this time, at least.

“I will not repeat myself to you.”

You hear the words loud and clear. I will not repeat myself to a human. The edges of your mouth wobble, but you straighten your spine, raising your chin. “Do you find them funny?” Your voice trembles, but you dig your nails into your palms as you lower your fists to your side. “Does it entertain you to torment my people? To be so cruel to me?” A muscle feathers in your jaw as you try to maintain your stance, but it’s difficult to do when you’ve seen the carnage he can wreak.

“Do you find amusement in belittling me? Hope to push me until I crumble before you, like the weak human I am?” Your mouth is set in a sad line, turned down at the edges while your pupils are blown out with fear. You take a small, trembling step forward, craning your neck to stare him down, baring your throat. He could rip it out before you even know he’s moving. It’s a quiet taunt on your part, perhaps the only act of rebellion he will tolerate. One where you’re put at his mercy.

“I will weather you, Azriel. And I will not crumble. For some reason, the gods have thrown me to you, but I trust in them to guide me, so until my last breath, I will stand against you, and use my every skill to push back.” You silently pray you haven’t been abandoned. That some entity watches over you, still.

A small kernel of hope lights in your chest as you move to walk past him, and he does not reach to murder or maim you.

A shudder passes through your body as your feet carry you farther and farther away, enjoying the distance they give you as they move you to the river bank.

You hadn’t had a chance to admire it’s beauty, the pebbled land beside the babbling river. The willow trees that line it’s edge, swaying with the breeze. You could sigh with contentment as the light wind catches at your dress, playing with its hem. You make your way toward the edge of the grassland, and a slight drop down onto the small shore has you crouching to make the jump.

Some distance away, Azriel watches you. He feels disturbed; ruffled. He should be splattering you on the stones, drowning you in a muddy field, but he can’t find so much as a spark of anger. Instead, he feels strangely calm.

You’d spoken so softly to him, and though he hadn’t liked what you had to say, you’d been so understated he’d been left with a yawning pit inside his chest yet nothing was filling it. Rage should be pouring in, lighting his skin, but he just feels empty. Itchy, almost skittish.

If you had spoken at him with fury, or hatred, he would be able to retaliate.

A low growl sounds in his chest with grim frustration at your strategies. He’s not familiar with your quiet warfare. He wants to get under your skin, make you spark up like he does, wants you to bare you fangs at him and show your talons but you insist on keeping them hidden.

Maybe he’d misjudged you.

Maybe you don’t even have any claws to bare.

————

You feel jumpy with him being so silent.

You sneak a peek at him from the corner of your eye, crouching beside the shallow river. He’s shifted into a more beastly form, fur covering him, snout resting over the powerful muscle of one of his paws, wings tucked into his sides while he lies on his stomach.

You do your best to ignore him, but he’s been surprisingly docile, snoozing peacefully in the dappled shade of a willow tree. Sometimes you think you feel his eyes on you, but they’re always closed when you turn to check.

The water looks delightfully cool, and you consider dipping your feet in, only to be reminded how inappropriate that would be. Especially with male company.

A butterfly flutters up to you and you yelp, falling backward with surprise as it remains in your face. You stiffen, squeezing your eyes shut. Something tickles the bridge of your nose, and when you open your eyes, you see it’s settled down.

You scream, reeling back as you frantically brush it from your face, heart pounding as you feel the flutter of it’s wings against your palms. It leaves you in peace, thankfully, as you shudder, wiping down your hands on your dress, trying to rid them of that spasmodic sensation.

Azriel growls lowly, displeased at your racket, cracking open a single eye to peer at your form. You quickly turn away when you see he’s watching you, freezing where you are, waiting for him to inevitably prowl up behind you, poised to rip you apart. But he just huffs, settling back into his dozing.

Maybe he likes it here.

You suppose it wouldn’t be unreasonable. You used to see creatures lazing by the riverside before you were snatched away. How they would bathe in the water then dry off on the large, flat rocks. They looked so peaceful and calm, relaxing in the sun, made drowsy from the heat.

A bead of sweat slides down your temple and you hastily brush it aside. It’s getting quite hot.

Well, it’s either settle beside him in the limited shade, or wander to the river. The willow trees provide a small amount of shadow on the opposite side, which is perhaps six large steps across from you. One look at the sleeping beast has you getting to your feet and gingerly tip-toeing to the water’s edge.

You lift the hem of your dress, so it comes to your knees as you take a small step into the cool stream. It’s shockingly cold, considering the heat, and you quickly remove your toes from it’s freezing current. But you’re still to hot, so you try again.

It takes you a while before you’re able to wander deeper, the peaceful water raising to your ankles. You sigh with contentment, eyes sliding shut for a moment as a breeze blows past you, ruffling your hair as it spins the wisps from your face, pleasantly cooling your heated skin. You take a few small steps farther, entering the dip in the riverbed.

The water rises to your calves, and you raise your dress higher, bunching it so it’s just below your hips. The shade washes over you, now up to the tops of your thighs in the babbling stream, the deepest it goes. Perfectly safe, and calm. Surprisingly tranquil.

Until that damned butterfly.

It’s returned with a pair, and they flutter straight into you, dancing around your head as they twirl and flap. You flinch, foot slipping on the slick river stones, and you drop.

The water swallows you, freezing cold shocking against your skin as your eyes squeeze shut, lips sealing against the invasive pressure of the river. The iciness seeps into your bones too quickly, cooling your sun warmed skin in an instant, and suddenly you’re back in the marshland. Like you never escaped in the first place.

The rain is lashing against your skin, wind whipping your hair as it cracks against your muddied cheeks, lightening and thunder sparking in the sky as it booms across the clouds. Your fingers sink into thickened, sludgy water as you claw for air, heart slamming against your ribs as the bed gives out beneath you.

It feels as though there’s no bottom, and you can’t tell up from down, and you need air dear gods you need air and—

In the back of your mind, you hear something from the outside world splash. And then something is hooking beneath you, hoisting you from the water and you splutter, gasping for precious air. The world’s swaying slightly when you manage to open your eyes, collapsing against the sturdy warmth beneath you.

You swallow, looking down as you use your hands to push your upper body straight. You choke on saliva in surprise as you realise you’re perched on his snout, legs hooked either side it’s bridge, your hands resting on the space between his eyes. You’re in his blind spot.

You yelp as he begins to move, flattening yourself against his wet fur as he shifts out of the water, disrupting its flow as if cutting through butter that’s been left in the sun. Your legs squeeze him as your grab at his fur, tensing as he prowls out of the water, so quiet despite his large form.

A thin branch of willow traces over your spine with how high he’s raised you and you flinch, shuddering as the wind begins to freeze your water-soaked dress. He growls as he brings you into the sun, leaping up onto the grassy bank, lowering to a crouch for you to slide off as he begins to shift.

It catches you by surprise though, and you tighten your grip in his fur, trying to keep from slumping to the ground. It doesn’t do much to help you—you end up flat on your back, eyes squeezed shut, hands still fisted in his fur.

“Get off me.”

He’s looking more familiar, hazel eyes returned, humanoid features peaking through against the natural sharpness of his dæmon complexion.

Your heart is still pounding, but you can feel the breeze, can feel the grass beneath your back, and you’re inhaling the clean air that’s void of any stagnant smells. Your vision blurs as you stare up at him, pulling your hands away.

You feel wrecked.

You curl up into yourself, rolling onto your side, covering your face with your hands as tremors run through your skin. Your lungs spasm as your breathing increasing, turning to startling gasps, quick and hurried. You grit your teeth, muscles contracting across your body as your brow furrows, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you try to block out the onslaught on memories.

With a frustrating amount of effort, you roll onto your stomach, crawling out from under him, but his hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you back. You grunt as you hit the ground, his shadows rolling you over so you’re facing him.

“What was that?”

He’s watching you intently, and you feel a spark of anger toward him, but quickly smother it. It wouldn’t be wise to piss him off, not when he just hauled you out of that river.

“What was what?” You manage, mouth trembling. His lip curls as you feign ignorance. “That.”

You exhale a shaky breath, pushing up onto your elbows. He doesn’t yield any space as you prop yourself up, your faces inches apart. You try to shuffle back but he prowls after you. “You can’t swim.”

“I can swim perfectly fine,” you breathe, trying not to let his proximity overwhelm you. “I just slipped.”

“You were scared.”

“I was not.” You insist.

“I can feel it. You’re still scared.”

“I am not.” You don’t think it’s a good idea to let him know your fears. “Is it me?” He growls, lowering closer to you, “do I scare you?”

“Not one bit.” It’s an obvious lie, but one said to protect yourself. He knows it as well as you do.

“Liar.”

Piss off.

“You don’t scare me.” You lift closer to him, praying your arms don’t give out as your mouth brushes his. “You can’t kill me. I’m your bride.”

“I can do worse than kill you.”

“If you wanted to, you would have. If you wanted to, you wouldn’t have come to get me when I was—” You swallow, pushing away the memories as they invasively press against your mind. “You wouldn’t have saved me,” you admit, refusing to back away, calmly standing your ground as he bares down on you.

Fuck, you’re so close to him. If he just lowers his mouth, just shifts a little closer—

The river water has soaked your dress, highlighting every dip and line of your body, showing off the shape of your breasts without revealing anything. And you’re beneath him. If he just lifts your dress, he could get to you. You’re practically begging for him to take you, with that scent of yours, those quietly determined eyes…

“You wouldn’t have helped me out of the river just now, either.”

Azriel zones back in, eyes lifting from your body to return to your face, and your mouth.

“I don’t know if it has something to do with my supposed ‘perfect compatibility’, but so far, you’ve managed to keep from hurting me. Even if you’ve been wildly unpleasant during the course of my stay.”

He curses silently. There you go, acting all prim and proper again, letting foolish human dignity guide your actions. Heat coils down his spine, boiling beneath his skin. Your prudish nature, the cream gown that’s accentuating the inherent eroticism he finds in you, the firm set of your eyes as you steadily take him in— He feels himself hardening.

“‘Wildly unpleasant’?” He snarls softly, moving forward, forcing you to yield ground or else his mouth will connect with your own. “I’ve been nothing but generous to you,” he grits out. His pupils are dilated, pulse picking up as he again imagines you in all sorts of positions you would surely wish to slap him for picturing.

How good your mouth would feel, how perfect you would look kneeling. His shadows whisper to him, repeating how you’d moaned his name.

‘Azriel’

‘Az’

‘Azzie…’

“You stole me from my home,” you accuse, softly. His breathing seems shallower, and you wonder if he needs to move into the shade. The sun’s been beating down on his back for a while now. Even your own clothes have more or less stopped dripping. He must be boiling.

A harsh breath hisses from his teeth. “You seem to conveniently forget that it was me who saved you.”

“In that frozen wasteland, yes.” You repeat his words back to him, with a little more bite that you had intended. His lip pulls back from his teeth, gritting them against the urge to wrap his arm beneath your back to pull your chest tight against him. Just to have you touching him in some way. Not this taunting game you’re playing, keeping him just out of reach.

“You were going to be eaten in that forest. I took you from those creatures. They would have shredded your soft skin with the gentlest brush of their teeth.”

Your lips purse. He’s got you there.

“Nothing to say against that?” He taunts quietly, moving so you have to look at him. He needs to get this conversation wrapped up so he can put his own teeth on you. It’s been so long since he last tasted you, and his tongue flicks against his canines with anticipation, mouth watering.

He watches as your eyes dip away from his, body stiffening as your gaze lands between his legs. Heat flushes your cheeks and he needs you. You move backward, raising a hand to press against his shoulder as he inevitably follows. Something like a mix between a growl and a purr sounds in his chest, and your lower belly heats.

“Azriel…” You warn, pressing harder against him as you try to crawl away. His arm snakes around your back, smushing you against him but he needs more, needs to have you riding him. He needs you to need him.

“I don’t believe you’re hurt when I pleasure you.” He growls, and you feel every letter on your lips, the aroused drag of his voice as his hand trails lower, settling on the swell of your ass. “In fact, I think you rather enjoy me. As much as you try to deny yourself.” You shake your head, attempting denial. But then his large palm scoops beneath you, lifting you up and you have to grab onto his neck to keep from falling backward.

He pulls back, so he’s kneeling on the grass, keeping you tight against him, not an ounce of space between your chests and finally he feels himself begin to relax. He indulges in the decadent feel of your body over his, the elegant sweep of your arms, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your thighs tense with how close you are.

You gasp, hurriedly untangling your arms from his shoulders as you attempt to pull your dress down that’s ridden up to your thighs. Azriel growls, gaze dropping to between your legs as he thumbs the front of your dress up further, revealing you to him. This time you swear he purrs, shadows gripping your hips as he raises you to perch atop his cock.

“Azriel, stop.” You bark with surprising force, palms splaying across his broad shoulders in attempts to leverage yourself.

His large, near-black eyes bare into you, and it’s a struggle to keep his gaze. You realise his pupils are dilating. No, not dilating. Almost splitting— seeping across his irises and they begin to fill the whites of his eyes.

Oh.

“Azriel, do not—”

He’s already shifting, eyes dimming to pitch black, carnal features sharpening as his canines protrude from his upper lip. In another situation, you might have been in awe as you feel him shift, actually feel how the skin grows to accommodate the transformation. Traitorous heat flushes your cheeks as you feel his fur brush against your legs, your inner thighs—

You can feel his cock at your entrance, and you think you might already be dripping down onto him.

A large, taloned hand lifts your chin as his hips press upward, making to guide himself deeper into your heat. “Just the tip,” he taunts, that lazy drawl of his setting something fluttering between your legs. “You can manage the tip, can’t you?” Your nails bite into his skin but he doesn’t even feel it. “Don’t you ‘just the tip’, me,” you whisper, finding it difficult to speak properly with the knowledge that you could just sink down—

No, you can’t let him do this. He has a mastery over lulling you into a state of submissive arousal, using his temptation to seduce you in obeying him.

What were you talking about again?

Satisfaction glides down his spine as he notes your glazed eyes, how you’re becoming more pliant beneath his touch. Just a little longer, and you’ll be sinking down into his lap, and he can feel as your heat swallows him, wrapping snuggly around his cock. He nearly groans from pleasure.

He can scent your arousal, feel how slick you are. How easy it will be to slide in, bury himself inside of you.

“No. You always do this.” You say, pushing out of his lenient grip, quickly stumbling backward as you shove your dress down to your ankles.

What?

He blinks away the haze that you’d manage to cast him under. Witch.

Your cheeks are still flushed, but awareness is sparking in your eyes as you take him in. Damn you.

He begins to prowl forward, shifting his arms to paws, his features sharpening further as he rises into a quadrupedal form.

You root yourself to the ground as he stalks forward, your hands fisting in your cold dress. Before he can start anything however, you speak first. “I want you to listen to me,” you manage, shakily. You have to do better. If he senses uncertainty, he’ll pounce.

Azriel snarls, snout nosing roughly at the mouthful of your belly, running up between your breasts.

“You’re capable of reason, just like I am. So act like it.”

He shifts in the blink of an eye, startling you, but you refuse to yield any ground, even as his shadow spills onto you. He’s trying to intimidate you, you realise. You’d seen animals do it countless times: making themselves appear larger to scare off— Predators.

For whatever reason that he’ll inevitably hide from you, he believes you to be a threat of some kind. Something he doesn’t know how to deal with.

“You have rationality, and a conscious, don’t you?” You meet his blacked out gaze, and feel your courage draining. Why are you trying to pick a fight with a dæmon? “I can take whatever I want from you, human.” He growls softly, reaching for your hips.

“No, you can’t.” His fingers pause a little away from your clothed skin.

“What’s stopping me?” He growls, stepping closer so you can feel his presence.

You clench your hands into fists as you look up at him steadily, “maybe you should be asking yourself that, Azriel.”

He stiffens, and you’ve gotten him. You don’t need him to concede, or for it to be a clear win—you know you’ve gotten him.

Finally, you take a step away, and his pupils shrink with the movement. “I’m going to lay in the sun, and dry off. Don’t try anything while I’m resting.”

Maybe you could have done without the niceties, but you seemed to have found somewhat stable footing, and you aren’t going to squander that by suddenly trying to push him around.

It’s progress, you remind yourself as you step out of his reach, walking back toward the bank. It seems like progress is being made.

You settle down a little way from his previous spot in the shade, so he won’t be as on edge. Maybe it would be worth thanking him for saving you—he does have a point about that. You would most definitely be dead had he not taken you from those woods.

Azriel said he wouldn’t bring you to a place where other eyes could see you, so you decide to show him you’ll trust him—this once. Work on that tenuous bond that’s slowly forming.

It’s probably not much by dæmon standards, but you undo some of the buttons of your dress, creating a V that shows the top of your chest, and loosening your sleeves to reveal your forearms a little more.

You hear him prowling by, moving to settle beneath the dappled shade.

You wonder if he made the noise for your sake.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#Azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel smut #shadowsinger #teeth and talons #demon!azriel

[tadpolesonalgae]

Teeth and Talons

A/N: I thought it would be easier to group these ones together instead of listing them all out on the main masterlist :)

Side note: this is work in progress so I will be steadily adding parts to this until it reaches a natural stopping point (I don’t have a plan for this)

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

Part 1

Part 2[***]

Part 3[***]

Part 4[*]

Part 5[*?]

Part 6[*]

Part 7

Part 8[***]

Part 9[***]

Part 10[*]

Part 11

#teeth and talons #demon!az #demon!azriel #demon!azriel x reader #Azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 4[*]

A/N: woah (don’t worry, he’s very mean in the next chapter)

Summary: Juice melting like raspberry pomegranate it’s so scary how my aura got him howling at my moon cycle, baby

Warnings: period sex, periods, blood?

-Part 3- -Part 5-

You wake at the feel of hands gently wrapping around your thighs, smoothly shifting your body into a downward position. You start, hands slamming down as you push yourself upright. Beneath you, the bed sighs, followed by a deep groan. No— no, that’s Azriel. “Go back to sleep,” he urges quietly, hands lifting to your hair, encouraging you to settle back down.

You blink, eyes growing accustomed to the dark, but you can feel well enough. Your thighs are spread over his lap—serving as a gentle reminder that he sleeps naked—hands resting on his fur dusted stomach, a sign he’s still partially transformed. “What…?” you breathe, moving to lift from his hips. There’s only a thin slip of silk between you, and you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“I said, go back to sleep,” he growls, fingers fisting in your hair as he brings your head to his chest. You try to shift, uncomfortable with how close you are to the dæmon. He growls again, louder this time. It seems you’re somehow quick to irritate him. “You fail my orders again and you will sleep on the floor, at the foot of the bed. Like those hounds your puerile kings keep.”

It’s enough to convince you to go with him, resting your head on the muscled planes of his chest. You want neither to jab him nor to drool while you sleep, so it takes a while.

“Do you usually put your hands on me when I’m unaware?” You manage, voice small and scared to his ears. “Sometimes,” he answers. When he feels you stiffen, he grins to the darkness. “When you’re about to roll of the edge,” he adds.

“I do not,” you insist quietly, ear pressed to hear the triple beat of pulses. The both of you are riddled with fatigue, desperately in need of sleep. “The next time you’re about to fall, I’ll let you.” Strangely, a smile lifts your lips. He feels the soft huff of air that indicates your amusement, and his hand settles more comfortably over your hair, free hand tucked beneath his head.

“Cruel as ever,” you slur in your half-awake state, his heart thumping regularly. He hums in response and you can feel it in his chest. You find you like the sound. You wonder what it would be like to be this close to him when he purrs. You’ve only really ever heard him do it once, and you try not to think back to how he acted in the bathhouse, lest he sense your thoughts and get the wrong impression.

Still…

You wonder what it would sound like if he laughed, but you quickly dismiss the thought. The dæmon’s probably never smiled genuinely a day in his life.

Instead of making you chuckle, you feel vaguely sad.

What was life without laughter?

————

You wake to thin threads of sunlight spearing through the black out curtains, one beaming directly into your eye. You groan softly, lifting slightly to turn your head but you hiss. You can feel the jarring sting of pain in your lower belly, as if someone has strung out your abdominals and begun plucking at them. Shit.

Fisting your hands, you stiffly roll off the male, getting to the edge of the bed. You need to find something to line your underwear with. Maybe some perfume too. You didn’t want to take any chances, not with the dæmon’s preternatural sense of smell.

Another wave of cramping seizes you and you lean heavily on the chest that contains your clothes. You pant, trying to haul in deep breaths to calm yourself. You swallow. Inside the chest isn’t anything helpful, though you don’t really know what you’re looking for. A scarf that would be easy to fold?

Your breaths are becoming more ragged by the second, and you drop to a crouch, pressing your thighs together. Fuck. Any second, and you’ll start bleeding. Your heart is pounding in your chest, you need to find something, quickly.

“Looking for something?” His displeasure is clear, and you can practically hear the downward twist of his lips. You try to turn, but you can’t. Just focus on breathing. Breathe, and then you can move. You haul in a steady breath, holding it, then releasing it. A soft snarl sounds from just behind you, and you startle, tumbling over from your unstable crouch. Pain stings through your thighs, lancing up your back as you curl into a ball, hands pressing to your lower abdomen.

“Come back to bed or I’ll drag you back.”

When you don’t manage a reply, his canines latch into the nape of your night clothes, moving to pull you backward. You gasp at the feeling, his breath sending shivers spider-walking down your spine. In the back of your mind, you think you manage to move a hand in poor attempts to bat him away, but then you feel the ground sliding out beneath you.

“Azriel!” You hiss through your gritted teeth, muscles going taut in your body with tension. He stops, and you hear him sniff. Your stomach rises to your throat but you shove it back down, managing to scuttle away from him a little when his jaws releases you. Shuffling back—trying not to use the muscles in your lower stomach or thighs—you prop yourself against the chest. Heavy pants blow from your lips and already you feel exhausted.

He watches you silently, then prowls forward on his silent paws. You tense as he draws closer, squeezing your legs together as you turn slightly, hiding away from him. He sniffs again when he’s beside you, and his brow narrows. One hand lands on your knee, and it’s so warm, so delightfully heated. The tightness in your muscles relax, melting beneath him as he demandingly pushes your legs apart.

Pure mortification flushes your cheeks as he presses his head between your legs—more specifically, onto your abdomen—scenting you. Your fingers thread through his hair, attempting weakly to push him away. You make a few tries at lifting your legs to kick against his shoulders but your body is already so drained. You exhale heavily at the effort it’s already taken to get this far.

“Azriel…” you manage, shakily, still trying to push him away. His head lifts, and you’re staring at charcoal black. Black as pitch. No hazel to be found. “I’m sorry…” you breathe, so viscerally scared that your pain is momentarily forgotten. Your arms clutch tighter, your whole body going taut with fear as he gazes down at you. His shadows build at your back, and you try not to flinch as they flick softly at your skin, whispering over the uncovered areas.

He shifts, prowling around your body, then his arms hook beneath your legs and under your shoulders, lifting you smoothly into the air. You take a sharp intake of breath at the movement, hands clutching your abdomen. The shadows again brush at your skin, flicking at your cheeks and neck. You squirm at the feeling but stop when he crawls onto the bed, setting you down near the middle.

The male pulls away, and you start as strips of linen appear at your side. Thick ones. He stands at the edge of the bed, arms folded as he watches you. You don’t move, too scared and confused. His eyes flick from the linen, to you, commanding. Your skin heats, “you’re not going to look away?”

His lip curls, “put them on.” Another twinge of pain strings through your abdomen as you curl over yourself. “I already know what you look like. Why are you hesitating?” The pads of your fingers press into your skin as you bite back a whine at the prickling feeling beneath your skin. You fail fairly badly, a whimper coming from your lips as you feel the weakness in your body increasing.

The bed dips and you want to crawl away as he prowls closer, in that vaguely humanoid form of his, fur dusting his body while talons protrude from his finger tips. “What are you doing?” You pant softly, trying to lean away from him as he slots himself between your legs, in that entitled way of his. A dull throb of heat eases the pain at the action and you grit your teeth.

“You need the linen to soak up the blood.”

You still entirely, mouth parted, eyelids stuck to your skull as you stare up at him in mortification. “W—…What did you say?” You manage, hardly a whisper. His brow narrows in displeasure, “human hearing isn’t that bad.”

“No…I know…but, repeat it. Please?” You breathe, trying to understand what he’s said because there was no way you’d heard correctly. Irritation shines in the blackness of his eyes, “you’re on your moon’s blood.”

No—you’d heard right.

“That’s not— You can’t—…” you stare up at him, bewildered. You lick your lips that have gone dry, “you can’t talk about it.” This time he scowls, “is this another one of your foolish human customs? You’re going to bleed all over yourself. Move.” Your face feels like it’s been set aflame, leaving you petrified. “Are you somehow incapacitated?” He growls, and despite the obvious taunt, there’s an underlying tone of serious question.

When you remain in stunned silence, his talons snap in, leaving the tips of his finger bare as they hook beneath your underwear. You suck in a breath, struggling with the little leeway you have before pain stings your insides. “What are you doing?” You breathe, attempting to wriggle out of his hold. “Azriel!” You scream at him when he pulls your underwear from your hips gently, placing folded linen inside. You try to snap your legs shut but his shadows keep them just enough apart. Then you try to kick him but again his shadows lock you in place.

You want to smack him.

His brow narrows, and you swear you might reach the grave when his shadows push your legs wider. His thumbs land either side of your heat, softly spreading the skin. Your jaw drops as you watch him peer between your legs with analytical curiosity—if it can be described as such. He looks up from between your thighs, “all this fuss and you aren’t even bleeding yet.” One of you has to die. You can’t live knowing he’s seen you like that. Changed you like a child.

Embarrassment heats your features. “Do dæmon women not experience pain before…bleeding?” You stammer the last word, hardly even breathing it from shame. “Females.” He corrects, staring you down. “Your kind is the only one that rejects the terms. And no, they do not cramp before bleeding.”

“Okay…” you manage, weakly, “some of my kinds women do.” His nostrils flare, eyes flicking to yours. “You’re starting.”

You jolt, raising your hips and hurriedly pulling your underwear up hastily, finally concealing yourself from him. Another wave of cramps over take you, and you still, relaxing your lower body as you grit your teeth. Your hand presses over your abdomen as you wince, eyes squeezing shut.

Azriel watches you through glazed eyes. He can practically scent all the changes in your body. When you bite your lip again, nearly hard enough to draw blood, he grips your thighs, gently spreading them. You hiss as he moves your legs to his pleasure, feeling as he settles between them. You crack your eyes open, wide enough to look at him. “What—…are you doing?” You manage, breathing softly.

Your breath hitches as he places his large hand over your covered heat, warmth spilling over in your lower stomach pleasantly. Your eyes flutter momentarily at the comforting hotness, muscles melting beneath his touch. “You’re hurting.” He states, and you freeze as his mouth meets your inner thigh, eyes snapping open. Your gazes latch onto one another, and you feel as though you can’t breathe as he moves closer to your cunt.

Dæmon saliva possesses healing properties.

You try to quickly push away from him but his shadows are snuggly wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place. “Azriel…” you breathe, beginning to panic when his fingers hook beneath the fabric clinging to your hips. He begins to pull them away, but you press your ass down into the bed, refusing to let him strip you down.

The male shifts, growing in size, features sharpening into a more beastly form, power thrumming beneath his fur covered skin. Those talons tap gently at your waist, over your stomach, waiting impatiently. “What do you think you’re doing?” You pant, the heat of arousal softening the aching cramps.

His lip pulls back from his teeth in a quiet snarl. “Relieving your pain.” His tongue unfurls from his mouth, lapping over your stomach, moving lower until it’s over your abdomen, meeting the offending line of fabric. “Azriel do not,” you snap pleadingly. He stops, eyes narrowing as they flick to you. “You enjoy the pain?” He asks, sincerely, watching as your cheeks heat.

Hesitantly, you shake your head. “No…but I don’t want you to—…do that…” His brow quirks, shifting back in the blink of an eye as he prowls up your body, caging you in. His lifts lift in a taunting grin at the edges, “do what?” You grit your teeth at his antics.

“…What you did in the bathhouse…” you manage, eyes flickering away from his. He smirks, “you liked what I did in the bathhouse. Very much.” Heat encompasses your body, setting you alight with embarrassment. “That was different.” You flush under his gaze.

He stares you down for a while, and you’re about to look away when he speaks. “It goes against my instincts to let you be in pain when I can solve it.” You swallow, warmth spreading across your chest at his admission, “I’m not your responsibility…in that way. I’ve had many before and I will be perfectly fine once the week ends.” His lips curl back from his teeth in a snarl, “a week?” You nod, tensing at the response.

A growl rumbles in his chest, so deep you can feel it from beneath him. His talons slice into the sheets as his fingers tighten in the material. “You’re a pain to take care of,” he practically spits, the talons zipping back into his knuckles. You fight against the instinct to lower your head in shame, but instead your attention is caught as he raises his fingers to his mouth. You still as his tongue laps over his middle and forth finger, absolutely coating them in saliva.

Hot humiliation burns through you at the feelings the image drags from you, the distinct soothe of arousal softening the edge of pain. “Open your legs.” He drawls. You shake your head adamantly. His brow narrows, “I’m being very generous and finding a way to work around your absurd belief in human dignity, now shut up and open your damned legs.” He growls.

Tears spring at the edges of your eyes, squeezing your thighs shut tighter. You don’t need him being so harsh at the moment, it’s too much to deal with. Azriel watches, irritated, as you refuse his help. Do you not understand it will relieve your pain? Foolish woman.

His shadows curl at his back, whispering into his ear, bringing memories from the bathhouse. At first, he tries to bat them away, he doesn’t need to be aroused right now, it will cloud his judgement. But then they bring him images of how your arms had wrapped over his shoulders, thighs hugging his hips tightly. They bring him the gentle press of your lips in his hair, relentless and soft, as if you needed to complete the actions for some reason. He’d chalked it up to being another strange human custom he was neither interested in, nor cared for.

But he looks down at you, tears brimming at the edges of your gaze, about ready to spill. Yes. They whisper. Copy. Reciprocate. Reluctantly, he lowers to be closer to you, hands bracing either side of your head as you move to wipe away the salty water. He clasps your wrist, pulling it away as his lips press against your cheek. His shadows replay the memory: the marks started with a firm press, the gradually lightened, fading to a quiet whisper, an erotic imitation of their previous glory. So he copies.

Your heart stutters as he presses harsh kisses to your cheek, softening when he brushes his mouth over your eyelids, tongue flicking over your damp lashes. His lips press over your brow, your nose, the corner of your own mouth, capturing your lower lip with his teeth as he tugs. He senses progress as you become pliable beneath his hands, your arms again sliding over his shoulders as you pull him closer. You raise to him, kissing him back, desperate for a soft touch from the male.

He calms more at the familiarity. He knows how to kiss your mouth. His canines nip, tongue shoving into your mouth as he tastes you, remembering how you keened for more the last time he did this. Yet you whimper, fingers tugging at the thick strands of his hair. Slower. His shadows whisper. He nearly growls, but manages to swallow it down, forcing himself to gentle. Wait. They instruct. For what? He wants to snarl, but he pulls out of your mouth anyway, resorting to slanting his lips over your own.

Your hold lessens, hand sliding to the nape of his neck, one arm wrapping over his shoulder while the other cups his jaw. He could groan with relief when your tongue flicks out, so small and gentle compared to his slash of teeth. Reciprocate. The shadows chant, and he presses against you. He makes the mistake of scenting you, and nearly bites down on you when he catches the strength of your arousal. He loses control momentarily, canines catching on your tongue, making you whimper.

But instead of pulling away, your thighs part, curling around his hips; he nearly loses his mind when you put the blunt edge of your teeth over his lip, copying the way he tugged at yours to the best of your ability. His eyes nearly roll.

Azriel takes a chance—something he’s unaccustomed to—and rolls his hips gently between your thighs. You moan into his mouth, thighs tightening. He pulls away, before he loses control on your body, and his. A strand of saliva connects your mouths, your cheeks warm from the intimacy. His gaze latches on your half-lidded one, your pupils blown out in a way that emphasises your harmlessness. His muscles lock in place however, as you lean upward, tongue flicking over his lower lip to catch the silvery thread of saliva.

Try again. His shadows urge. Try again.

He shifts, one hand cupping your jaw like you had, thumb brushing beneath the coarse flutter of your lashes. He watches, enthralled, as you lean into his warmth, pressing your cheek into the inward curve of his palm, slotting perfectly against one another as you preen. “You’re my female,” he breathes, and he’s surprised by how rough his voice sounds against the softness of your pants. “My human Woman,” he corrects gently. “So let me take care of you.”

You swallow, and he marks the roll of your throat absently, thoughts trailing away to less wholesome things. Your lips part, and he can feel your uncertainty. “Okay…” you breathe quietly. He stills. He hadn’t really expected you to comply. Huh. That’s all it takes? Just a few presses of his mouth and you’ll do as he asks? Good to know. He’ll be exploiting that later.

“Just…” you add, when he begins to move down your body. He looks up at you, and you feel the full weight of his attention. And maybe you bask in it for a moment or two, delight in the press of his eyes against your skin. “Please be gentle,” you murmur, heat warming your cheeks as you touch the pads of your fingers to your lips, replaying the warm kiss of his lips. He nods, moving lower, hands settling against the insides of your thighs.

“And…please don’t use your tongue.” His brow narrows. That’s how his saliva works. He needs to use his tongue. You sense his resistance, biting your lip. “…directly. Please…don’t use it directly. On me, I mean,” you mumble, fingers twining together over your abdomen. Compromise. His shadows whisper. Compromise. He thinks your requests over. ‘Directly…don’t use it directly.’ Okay, he can work around that. “Fine.”

He rewets his fingers, coating them in his healing saliva, before pulling your underwear to the side. He rubs his middle and forth finger slowly around your entrance, pushing in one set of knuckles at a time. Your back arches slightly, too scared to move as your body asks for fear of that pain. You’re tense with fear that it’ll hurt, that he’ll start getting rougher, that he won’t remember he has to be delicate with your human body. If his talons come out, you’re dead.

You shove the thought away.

Azriel can feel the resistance, how you’re uncontrollably tight around his fingers, hesitance lining your body even as you pant out slow, hot breaths from behind your hand. “Relax,” he orders, making you shoot him a look, but you try to relax your lower body. He growls inwardly, it’s not enough. He knows you can sense his displeasure, and it’s making you hesitant to open up for him.

His dark eyes latch onto yours, “not directly, right?” He feels you tighten around him—from pleasure. You nod, heat warming your face, trying to maintain a normal conversation while he has his fingers knuckle deep inside your increasingly slick cunt. You observe warily as he settles lower, his head right between your legs.

His tongue lolls out, and you swear your muscles seize as he presses the flat, wet, heat of the silver-tipped muscle over your clit. Even through your underwear, you can feel that firm stimulation, the hotness melting your lower body, drinking the strength from your muscles. He sees this, and moves your legs over his back, your thighs pressing against the broad width of his shoulders.

You relax, allowing him to move his fingers in slow, languid strokes, simply in and out, no curling or prodding that would normally stimulate you. He knows you’re too sensitive for that at the moment. His mouth continues to work through the offending fabric that clings to your hips. You wince when he pushes all the way in, a small sting of pain echoing along your abdomen.

It’s second nature as he pulls his fingers out, moving to rewet them with saliva, not at all bothered at the substance coating them. Your breath catches, “Azriel…!” You gasp softly. His fingers still a little way from his mouth. You shake your head meekly, “please, don’t…” He sighs roughly, but lowers his fingers. He supposes you aren’t a dæmon, so in a strange way it makes sense how uncomfortable the idea makes you. One day, he’ll change your mind. If it goes well.

Instead, he settles for spreading your entrance a little wider, spitting between your legs as his thumb soothes over your clit. Your back fully arches, hips shifting as you tighten around nothing. The sequence of actions is followed by your hand hastily covering your mouth, embarrassed over your reaction. He gives you a smug look that lets you know he’ll be pressing you on that later.

For now, he simple return his fingers to your entrance, scooping up the saliva as he pushes in. You already feel looser; more relaxed. Once again, he lower his mouth between your thighs, latching onto your clit seamlessly, effortlessly locating your pleasure centre.

Within moments, you feel your high approaching. All you can focus on is the gentle press of the lads of his fingers, and that wet heat of his tongue as it laps over your clit through the soaked material. “Az…” you pant, not able to finish his name through your melting mind. You swallow, pushing up ever so slightly in order to latch your gaze onto his, “Azzie…” You try to tell him how close you are, even if you want nothing more than to sink into the bed, indulge in the pleasure of his mouth and fingers.

He does something wicked with his tongue, seeing how high you’re soaring. His shadows sneak beneath the silky robe of your night gown, flicking over your nipples as they play with them. Your mouth drops open as you flutter around him helplessly, taking every wave of euphoria as it washes over you, rinsing your bones of their ache. A high pitched moan spills from your mouth, making the male growl possessively. You nearly cry at the vibrations that sing down his tongue onto your sensitive clit. “Azriel…!” Your eyes screw shut as you arch, winding your hips subconsciously against him.

Azriel pulls away when the aftershocks fade, fingers sliding out gently—cleaned with half a thought—as he looks down at you, basking in your bliss. Bliss that he’s brought you to on only his fingers and mouth. Satisfaction warms his chest as he sees you satiated, hands no longer clutching your abdomen in pain.

Your tongue wets your lips as you shuffle into a vague sitting position on the bed, reaching for a large pillow. Shadows wrap beneath the cushion, dragging it to you as they push you back down, forcing you to relax. He shifts, making to move off the bed, but is stopped by your hesitant voice. “Are you going somewhere?” He turns to look at you, body still radiating heat, this straps of your night gown spilling over your shoulders, allowing him to take in your perky nipples. He licks his lips at the sight, before his gaze raises to your flushed one, knowing where he looked. “Do you want another one?”

You’re slightly startled at the phrasing. Want not need. As if he cares about what you might desire that isn’t an absolute necessity. You manage a shake of your head. He nods, mouth set in that bland line again, “then I’ll be leaving.”

“Wait.” You say, suddenly. With some effort, you move onto your hands and knees, crawling across the large expanse of the bed. His eyes light with vague amusement at the action, watching you though with slight wariness.

You push up onto your knees, hands settling on his shoulder before you can second guess yourself. Maybe if you show him how much you like it when he’s gentle, he’ll do it more often. You press a kiss to his brow, lingering before pulling away to peer into his black eyes. “Thank you…” you mumble, the words brushing over his mouth. You press a kiss to the top of his nose, and he blinks, the only reaction he gives.

Reciprocate.

He looks at your lips, plump from attention.

Reciprocate. They urge.

He leans forward, interested in your human affection. It’s fascinating. From a learning perspective. It’s good to know what weapons will work to manipulate you, where your deficiencies are, even if you’re a walking weak spot.

His mouth laps over your own, a smooth give and take. Compromising.

Your hand trails down over his chest, splaying across where a human heart would lie. You pull away, and he notices you’ve shifted closer to him, skin pressing into the strong lines of him. “That’s twice I’m indebted to you.” His eyes flick to yours as his hands brush up your thighs. There’s something different about the tone of your voice.

It’s almost…sultry.

He swallows.

“Whenever you’re ready to call them in, Azriel…” you breathe softly, a hot glint in your eye as you stare down at him. Your fingers trace delicate patterns over his skin, and his attention narrows on you. Perfectly compatible indeed.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#demon!azriel x reader #teeth and talons #Azriel smut #Demon!Azriel smut #moon cycle #acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel fluff

[tadpolesonalgae]

Demon!Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 2 [***]

Warnings: demon!az, mentions of rituals, arguably monsterfucking, sadomasochism, bdsm themes, slight blood play, ovipositor, dark!azriel, dubcon, mentions of somnophilia, cockwarming

A/N: 6.6k words

-Part 1- -Part 3-

Sleeping hasn’t gotten easier. Every night he prowls the halls of your unconscious mind, driving deeper and deeper into you until he forms a nest. Then he starts devouring you from inside out. It’s the same every time. It starts as a normal night, the usual frenetic dreams zipping and zapping through you, morphing from riverbeds and dandelion fur into melting with the sun on an afternoon stroll. He’s always just behind you. About to pounce.

Tonight is no different.

You’re seated in his nest, wrapped in a white silk robe that parts down the middle, exposing you to his hungry gaze. His eyes are blotted out, dark, pulsing veins running below his skin. He becomes more animalistic, anthropomorphised into something vaguely humanoid. Dæmonoid. Fur dusts his lower stomach, thickening when you inevitably follow the dark trail to his cock. Every time a zap of arousal licks between your thighs.

Tonight is no different.

He beckons you forward, glittering claws grazing your mind, tugging you forward on a metaphorical leash. Not as metaphorical as you would like it to be. You lose control of your body - that’s what you tell yourself when you wake - following his command obediently.

Tonight is no different.

You crawl forward slowly, eyes glued to one another as you drag one hand in front of the other. Until you’re seated in front of him, scars and all. Your hands settle primly in your lap, back straight, nipples peaking beneath his piercing gaze. You look up at him beneath your lashes, waiting for the dream to fade to darkness. It doesn’t.

Tonight is different.

Tonight he pounces.

His mouth splits in a grin, razor sharp canines splitting from beneath his lips. Your own part in surprise, a hushed breath passing between them. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his blacked out eyes rippling down your body, silently feeding off your form.

“You got too comfortable, bride,” he drawls, tilting your head to peer up at him, your hands lifting unsteadily from your lap, taken by surprise. He leans in, the mark on your neck stinging as he brushes his canines over the scar, “you made the mistake of letting me inside.”

You shake your head, trying to pull away from his bruising grip, claws bracketing your cheeks, nearly slicing into your skin. A stray droplet careens down to your jaw, splashing onto the virginal robe. “You aren’t real,” you breathe, “this is my realm.” He grins, and you can practically see your own blood gleaming on his lips. “Is it?” He drawls.

Doubt sparks in the pit on your stomach, “you’re in my mind. I’m asleep. You can’t hurt me here.” The words are more for you than for him. His grin widens, presenting you with a view of too many gleaming teeth. “What’s stopping me?” He taunts and you still. Your breath catches as he leans closer, canines brushing over you lips.

“You’re nothing,” you tremble, forcing the words against his mouth, “you’re a filthy figment of my imagination. Nothing more. You can’t hurt me.” He releases a dark laugh, muscles flexing in his forearms as he tightens his grip, shoving you back on the bed, stalking up your body.

You’re too scared to scream.

“A dirty fantasy, huh?” Again, his teeth drag over the scar in your throat, your back arching at the change in sensitivity. “Then you’ll be fine if I get started,” he growls, moving down your body, the robe concealing nothing as it drapes at you sides, baring your chest to him, nipples peaked. He gives an appreciative lap to one as he passes, making you flinch, his canines catching on the skin, nipping.

Tremors run through your legs, spiralling in the pit of your belly as he pushes your thighs apart as his eyes ravish you. Hot shame flushes your cheeks as he finally sees the slick glossing your heat, coating your thighs. He chuckles, as if he’d expected it, knowing you better than yourself.

Black eyes flick up, “such a waste,” he mocks, one large hand wrapping around your thigh, swallowing it, “the next time sin grasps you, find me.” He lowers himself between your thighs as your breathing quickens. “You’ll find infinite pleasure in kneeling before me than trying to resist.”

And with that warning, he opens his mouth over your inner thigh, biting down into the soft flesh, teeth piercing your skin as you moan. Your palm smacks over your mouth as you hear the sound, legs desperately squeezing together as he works his sin into your body, the euphoria making your insides glow.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so awful to be eaten by him.

————————

You wake with a gasping breath, jolting upright, sweat coating your skin. Your whole body is trembling. You already know he’s watching you. It feels as though he’s always watching. Hardly a moment of privacy spared.

It’s only when you move to push the new covers back do you have to bite back a whimper. The skin on your inner thigh is burning. Hands scrabbling in the sheets, you push away the material, only to find a second set of bite marks already freshly stamped.

Beside you, the dæmon shifts, pushing up to see what you’re staring at, bewildered. A laugh is pulled from his throat as his attention spears into you, “already?” Teary eyes flick to him as he has to remember not to pounce, “what are you doing to me?” Your lower lip quivers, shrinking beneath the pleased glint in his eyes at your helpless confusion.

“Warming you up,” he replies, moving toward you as he pushes you to the bed, one large hand splayed across your chest, “preparing you.”

“For what?” You manage, the pleasure from having his teeth piercing your skin still leaving hot flushes branding you.

He grins, “for when you’re ready to submit.”

————————

The heat isn’t going away.

Ever since that one dream - you’re not sure if it even was a dream - there’s been a constant need thrumming beneath you skin. Like he’s set something off inside of you. And it’s slowly consuming you, becoming more and more intense with every passing day.

You can already feel slick dripping down your thighs.

You look up into the mirror, halfway through changing, seeing yourself clad in the taunting white silk with only a narrow slip of fabric concealing your heat. You can’t go to bed like this. He’ll surely take advantage of you.

You look away from the mirror, tears welling in your eyes as you attempt to take in deep breaths.

A powerful arm curls around your waist, another hand biting into your jaw. Your eyes flick back upward as Azriel pushes your hips into the edge of the sink with his own, his arm pulling your lower body flush against his as his chest presses into you, pushing you forward, practically bending your over. Your breath hitches as you brace your forearms on the counter, meeting his pitch black gaze in the mirror.

“What are you waiting for?” The words brush sensually across your neck, his hips rolling surprisingly gently into yours. “Find me. Seek me out.” The commands are deceptively smooth off his tongue, his hand snaking lower, slipping easily between your parted legs. “Release yourself.” His fingers reach the apex of your thighs, just barely brushing over where you need him so so so badly, before he vanishes again. As if he were never there in the first place.

You don’t know what to do.

He’s set you alight, and you don’t know how to douse the flame.

————————

The moment you enter the bedroom, his eyes are on you, the entirety of his attention pinning you down. From the lack of proper night robes, he knows something’s snapped. The white robe hangs open as you move defeatedly toward the bottom of the bed. Arousal spikes in his abdomen at your expression.

You’re far from your true breaking point, and he knows this. He knows what it would take to shatter you irreparably, and it would be much more. Which is why he delights in the drag of your feet, you’re failure to meet his gaze. You think you’ve already reached the worst of it. How wrong you are.

“Look at me, bride,” he drawls, his body thrumming with pleasure as you obey. Torn, hungry eyes lifting to his own. He tilts his head, as if in sympathy, “you held out longer than I expected.” You swallow, and he traces the roll of your throat with open anticipation. His shadows deepen, thickening as they roll off the bed, dropping to the floor as they wrap around your thighs.

“Are you finally ready?”

Your shoulders slump, head drooping to stare at the floor dejectedly. How foolish of you to look away from him, he thinks. Even after all this time, you don’t understand his threat. How easily he can snatch your life from you.

You don’t want to give in. You don’t want to submit to him. He stole you from your home, trapping you in his realm, taunting and mocking you endlessly. You’ve had enough.

For once, you wish you could act unapologetically. Wish you were strong enough to take what you want without fear or worry for others’ thoughts. But you’re not like that. Your mind turns fuzzy as another wave of arousal washes over you.

Make him pay.

There’s no way for you to kill him. No way for you to ever get him the way he’s got you. You can’t take what you want from him, force him to give you whatever you desire. But you can take whatever he gives you. You can take all of it.

Burning hel, you want all of it. Everything. All of him. Devour him until there’s nothing left. Take everything he gives until he’s run dry.

Biting your lip, you crawl up the bed, eyes settling on his as you drag your body upward. His gaze is latched to yours, gulping down every move you make until you’re perching atop his lap. Male arrogance is seeping from his skin as he keeps his arms tucked beneath his inky mess of hair, piercing gaze trailing up your body. The thin silk hardly covers your breasts.

The heat between your joining points is surprisingly immense as the pads of your fingers splay across his toned stomach, settling yourself nervously above him. “You said…” You swallow, “you said I should come find you, should I ever…” His eyes are already undressing you, thread by thread, torturously slow for both of you.

Black eyes flick to yours, hunger growling in their depths, “should you ever…?” He echoes, a silent taunt in his honeyed voice. You bite your lip as you look down, breaking eye contact, “should I ever…want company.”

A wickedly arrogant smirk plays on his glorious mouth, “you want me to fuck you, bride?” Heat spools in your stomach at the title, eyes returning to his. You swallow your pride as you nod, just a small dip of your head.

He laughs. A slow, mocking laugh.

Fire burns across the crests of your cheeks. He was the one who offered in the first place. Was this all just a cruel joke to degrade you? Let you know your place?

“You think you can take it?” He drawls, malevolence dripping from his sin-touched mouth. You just swallow nervously. You have no answer to that.

His gaze drags deliberately slowly over your form, the curve of your stomach, the exposed skin of your breasts. “If I fuck you, you’re mine. Do you understand?” His words settle in your stomach, an ultimatum laid clear in the sand. “No going back; no hiding behind your so-called morals. You ask me for this and you’re mine.”

Are you going to cross it?

Your lips part, pads of your fingers pressing into the firm muscle beneath you.

You nod.

Muscles ripple as he lifts an arm from behind his head, a single finger tapping against the pulse point on his neck, his claw catching on tough skin, splitting it open for blood to swell. You cock your head, confused, and you feel something shift beneath you. “Stake your claim,” he commands, the dark lilt of his voice so enticing as he tucks his arm back beneath him.

Arousal flutters in your pussy, nipples peaking beneath the too-thin silk. His piercing gaze marks every reaction, amusement and pleasure dancing in his coal-black irises. Your hands pad up his body as you lean over him, breasts brushing over his chest.

You hesitate, breath fanning over the hot, sensitive skin. Even if he isn’t showing it, you can feel the tension building beneath his surface. Power boiling as it strains to be released upon you.

All it takes is the time of one exhale. Then your mouth is hesitantly latching onto his skin, lips parting as your tongue slides out, lapping up the metallic flavour that’s so distinctly him. Your teeth sink against the muscle in his shoulder, as if you’re biting into a ripe fruit, dying for liquid to coat your parched mouth. Your tongue laps over the skin as you suck, hard, bruising him until colour blooms.

The rise and fall of his chest is more pronounced, his whole body thrumming with heat under your touch. You get greedy, moving your mouth to the space beneath his jaw, nails biting into his skin as you nip at the sensitive area.

He indulges for a little, allowing you this small experiment; then one hand is roughly tangling in your hair, yanking you back, painfully. Charcoal eyes pierce your own, spearing into your mind as his brow arches. “Very eager.”

Shame flushes your body at the same time as arousal licks between your thighs. You don’t have time for the former. You want. You need. Subconsciously you press down against him, a groan rasping from his throat as his fist tightens, forcing you to bare your neck to him.

Then he’s hauling your mouth to his, crushing you against his open lips as he shoves his way into your mouth. Entitled. Arrogant. Dominant.

You whimper, your own hands cupping his jaw as you try to keep up with him. It’s sloppy: inexperience on your part and uncaring for mess on his. His hands slope down your back, settling on your ass as he squeezes firmly, your hips keening over him desperately. Then he draws his palm back and you whine helplessly at the cool space he’s left. But his hand is smacking down, a startled moan flying from your mouth to his as your back curves, breasts dragging over his chest.

He growls at the sound, canines nipping at your lips hungrily. I can imagine how your skin would come apart beneath my teeth. You shiver.

When your hips wind over his, he pushes up from the bed, hand gripping your hips as he drags your centre over him. A growl rumbles in his chest as he repeats the movement, bucking up into you, making you moan.

Azriel pulls away from you to admire his work, how your lips are nipped raw, an arousing flush to your cheeks while your eyes are glazed. He chuckles, swiping his thumb beneath your lower lip, enjoying how you preen under his touch.

The male leans back, leaving you chasing for warmth but the stern look he gives you instructs you to stay where you are. “You want me to fuck you?” He drawls, selecting a crude choice of words to revel in the way it sends more heat to your cheeks. “Take the reigns,” he orders, voice lowering an octave, “I’m not going to give you a single excuse to hide behind once this is done,” he grins, and it’s just teeth. “You’re going to wake up from this knowing you chose every single step, and hate yourself for it.”

He’s right. You know he is. And yet you can’t find the will to care. Not when you can feel him straining against you. Not when he’s looking at you like you’re just another game for him to work through.

You flush, but refuse to break eye contact, lest he decides to change his mind, “I don’t—” you begin, uncertainly. “How do I…?” He cocks a brow. He’s going to force every uncomfortable thought from your mouth. Every silent question you’ve never voiced. He wants all of them.

“Got to figure that one out for yourself, now, don’t you?” He drawls, sick arousal purring within you at his condescending tone. You catch the way his eyes flick down to your pussy. You’re almost certain there’d be a damp spot were you able to see.

Still, you swallow, shifting over his lap as your hands drop to the ties in his trousers. The smirk remains on his mouth as he watches you clumsily fumble with the strings, hands trembling too much. He eases a sigh of relief, a quiet moan, as you push the leather away along with the stretchy fabric hiding beneath.

He makes sure to mark your expressions when your eyes land on him. How they widen, you suck in a sharp breath, hands fall back a little, taking him in. Then your fingers slip beneath the fabric blocking him from your pussy.

You gather an embarrassing amount of slick on your hand from one go alone, swallowing as you wrap your glossy palm around him. Azriel grits his teeth as he silently basks in the feel of your slick hand and the softness of your tummy. He bucks his hips, commanding you to hurry along.

Feeling impatience curling in your chest, you return to your glossy heat, lathering him with more of your slick. On shaky thighs, you raise to be above him, lining yourself up so you can begin the quest of sinking down on him.

He’s fucking big though.

Your eyes only close for a moment, but you feel the familiar catch of skin between your thighs. You jerk hard as his thumb presses painfully on your clit, a command to hurry the fuck up judging by the look in his eyes.

You don’t want to know what he’ll do should you fail an order. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you shouldn’t have allowed lust to cloud your mind, soften what he is. His thumb begins oscillating sharply when you don’t take any more of him. It’s painful, too much pressure to such a delicate part. Even if it turns you on.

“Don’t do that,” you hiss (plead?)

“Doesn’t feel good?” He taunts, mouth brushing over your own, knowing damned well you felt the sparks he set alight by stimulating the nerve endings. “You need some help taking me. Or do you want me to fuck you raw?”

You bite your lip, eyes angrily flicking to his, his crude words overwhelming your prudish ears. “It would feel better if you weren’t trying to strum me like an overzealous lute-player,” you snap. Your eyes widen as you replay what you just said, and to who, hands covering your mouth as if it would hide the words you spoke. He seems mildly surprised by your outburst, having not expected any kind of aggression from something like you.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe from behind your clasped fingers, “I didn’t mean—”

His hand returns to tangle in your hair, forcefully pulling your head back. You whimper, then freeze. Hot breath fans across the skin of your neck, followed by the threatening scrape of canines. A warning and a promise wrapped in the guise of a kiss.

…how your skin would come apart beneath my teeth.

Is he about to bite down? Sink his canines into your throat as he turns you into a blood feast for him to fuck and feed off? You almost sob as arousal slams into you at the depraved thought. Maybe it was the idea of him consuming every piece of you, so thoroughly not even a drop was left.

“A-Azriel,” you pant, his tip pressing against your entrance after you lift from him, “it’s not going to fit…” He can sense your fear, yet does nothing about it. It’s not his problem. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’s getting off on corrupting you.

His hands bite into your hips, pulling you down as you squirm desperately, anxious to get away. “Stop,” you plead, tears lining your eyes as you place your hands on his chest in desperate and humiliating supplication, “you’re going to break me.”

The male’s mouth fashions itself into a merciless grin, “I don’t give a damn,” he whispers so adoringly over your mouth. “You’re the one who came to me, remember?” He lifts you up a little, before pushing you down further, forcing you to take more of him, “so you’re going to take every fucking inch I have to give you. And I don’t. Care. If it kills you. You’re swallowing all of it.”

He gives one more sharp tug to your hair before he releases you, his expression relaxing into one of nonchalance, the malevolence fading so quickly you feel as though whiplash has lacerated your spine. You know he won’t be as forgiving next time, so you push down on him. You’re surprised when there’s little resistance, heat flushing your face as your eyes helplessly flick to his before darting away.

There’s a knowing glint, one you could pinpoint in a second. He knows how much he turns you on, and like he said, you’re already hating yourself for it. And yet you have both parts shame and arousal in equal measure. Maybe arousal is the slightly more prominent, actually.

You peer down your body, steadying your breathing as you lift your hips a few inches, preparing to sink down as far as you can take. All of you is aware of his narrowing gaze, piercing into you even as you refuse to meet it. His hips shift beneath you, and you know it’s the last warning you’ll get for not keeping up with him.

Wetting your lips, lower one trembling, you shift your weight from your hands and thighs, allowing you to settle on his cock. Unwillingly, your mouth drops open as he fills you in every sense of the word. Your thighs tremble, eyes rolling back, breaths becoming uneven and spasmodic. Fuck.

A strained moan slips from your lips, nails biting into his stomach as you softly grind your hips, winding them over his cock. The strength seeps from your body as he presses against you. He chuckles darkly, “struggling, bride?” You tighten around him at the sonorous drawl, your nails biting into his abdomen.

Gathering your conscious, you raise from his cock, slowly sliding up and down as you push your weight onto his lower stomach, raising and lowering onto him while you clasp your lip between your teeth. His hands brace your hips, helping you to fuck yourself.

Help definitely isn’t the right word. He’s not doing it for your sake, he’s doing it for him.

His hands slam you down and your eyes roll at the explosion of pleasure blazing through your body. You gasp, grappling for his arms in attempt to push him away. He snarls and you freeze, paralysed at the malevolence thrumming from the male beneath you. “Don’t,” he growls. You swallow, silver lining your eyes as he lifts you by your hips until you’re perched at his tip. “Azriel…” you plead, hands settling on his chest as you attempt to leverage yourself.

Pitch black eyes flick to yours, the pupils dilated to take up his irises. “Please, I can’t—”

He slams you down, raising his hips to meet your own as he hits a spot deep inside of you, your arms giving out so you’re braced on your forearms. A growl rumbles in his chest, reverberating through you as you meet his gaze, “quit complaining,” he snarls, hand gripping your jaw, harshly tugging you until you’re within a breath’s reach. “I’m going fucking easy on you since you clearly haven’t taken time to prepare yourself for this, despite all the nights I’ve given you by yourself, despite all the opportunities I’ve given you while you’ve been asleep.”

Arousal spikes in your tummy as well as mortifying shame. Had he really been expecting you to pleasure yourself to him? Hot indignation rises at his arrogance, “are you serious?” You huff, mouth dropping open in surprise. He raises a single brow, unimpressed by your attempted retaliation.

Gathering your remaining strength, you furiously push away from him, sitting back on your thighs as his cock sinks deeper with the shift. “You’re the one who stole me from my normal life! You could have picked anyone else and now you’re getting pissy over the fact that I didn’t read your mind and know I was supposed to prepare myself for you - whatever the hel you meant by that.” You take in a sharp breath, attempting desperately to tamp down the aroused flush that’s heating your cheeks. “So you’re in no position to be getting grumpy with me, you dæmon prick.”

You breathe heavily, both from finally releasing your pent up anger toward the male, and from having his cock buried so deep inside of you, the slightest movement sending trembling pleasure zapping through you. He twitches inside of you as you finally show some backbone, and you think his pupils dilate even further, expanding over the white of his eyes. They flicker a little, as if struggling to keep their formation.

Then he pushes up from the bed, shifting inside of you making you tighten around him, hands bracing on the mattress until you’re chest to chest. You’re aware of every breath you take has your breasts brushing against him, nipples dragging over the corded muscle of his torso, though you refuse to lean back, yield any more of yourself to him, even as arousal is dripping down from you.

His expression is neutral on the surface, but you can feel his displeasure at being spoken back to, the anger that’s swimming in his black gaze, hunger intensifying. “I would have thought the messages were clear, bride. You were just too dense to realise.” Your eyes flick to his angrily, “and what ‘messages’ are those?” You snap, quickly becoming sick of his cunning words.

This time, he grins, glittering white teeth being bared to you. Your neck aches in response, but it’s different from last time. Before it was a stinging sensation; painful. Now, it’s a dull, heated throb. An arousing itch. You think of how it felt to have his canines spike your skin and pleasure sparks at the thought, excitement running rampant.

“The nightmares you’ve been having,” he drawls, eyes locked on yours. You freeze, breath catching, “what about them?” Helplessly your gaze drops to your inner thigh, where another set of bite marks lay, stamped into your skin. His grin broadens, “they weren’t simple dreams,” he drawls, “just like I didn’t simply pick the first female I saw.” A dark laugh rumbles through him at the way your eyes widen; mouth parts. “A dæmon taking a bride is no small matter,” he smiles, again showing off those glittering canines, “it takes time to select a compatible human, and even more to find one that will be continuously satisfying.” His hands lift to the bone of your hips, thumb brushing over the swell in your abdomen from having you seated atop him.

“Wh— huh?” You’re speechless, struggling to find words to express your complex confusion, “but you said anyone would do, that you picked me because I was there. And what do you mean compatible?” You chose to sweep over the continuously satisfying part.

His hands lift to your back, pulling you harshly against his chest, your arms coming up defensively to have some sort of block between you and him. You gaze up at him, his mouth inches from your own as he keeps you tight against his body. “Most would turn and run at the slightest hint of dark powers,” he drawls, “yet each night you would allow yourself to crawl to me, despite every sign of malevolence that would ward any normal human far away.”

Confusion mars your features, “what signs?”

He laughs, “exactly.”

Your brow dips, “what signs?” He cocks his head, seemingly sizing you up.

Then the air shifts.

His features sharpen, black swallowing the whites of his eyes, canines becoming razor sharp as they push from beneath his lips. His shadows densify, and you feel the soft brush of fur against your lower abdomen. Talons break from the skin of his fingers, sharpening until they dwarf your waist.

Your mouth involuntarily drops open as his cock shifts, expanding beneath the tip, pressing so appetisingly against a spot inside of you that has you helplessly winding over him, desperate for more of the mouth-watering stimuli. Your thighs tremble as light tremors wrack your body, shamefully lowering your head as you give out, slumping into his solid warmth, face dipping into his shoulder.

He laughs, the sound dark but pleased. He knows you’re at a tipping point. One of his hands raises to your head, settling over your hair as he keeps you comfortably enveloped in his warmth. Your own hands ball into fists on his chest, nestling against him, delighting in the animal brush of fur softly sweeping over your abdomen with each breath, melting into his power as your body loses it’s tension, becoming pliable to his will.

“Are you ready?” He asks, and it sounds more gentle, not as carefully sharpened as his previous remarks. You pull away to look at him, take in his dæmon form, the one that isn’t softened for the world, harsh angles and sharp teeth. You swallow, heat racing beneath your skin, “ready for what, exactly?” You manage. After all, you know nothing about dæmon rituals, if the joining ceremonies are at all likeable to human ones.

He grins, hips shifting, evidently enjoying the way it has you sucking in a breath, biting the inside of your lips. “Ready to be taken.” You tighten around him, the words slicing down your spine with lethal precision. You take in a breath, “is it going to hurt?” The words are muted, quietened with fear.

Azriel cocks his head, “the mating or the breeding?” Your mouth drops open, cunt clamping down on him involuntarily. “The what?” You pant, hands splaying open over his chest, feeling the frequent thump of a pulse. A few, actually. He smirks.

You shift, pushing away from him slightly. His hands tighten on your hips possessively at the movement, brow narrowing. “The mating and the…breeding?” You repeat incredulously, staring at the male. “You’re trying to get me pregnant?” Anger seeps through your words as your gaze burns into him. He just laughs, and you bite your nails down into his chest, even if you know he’ll hardly feel it.

“It’s not dissimilar from your human methods,” he growls, an amused lilt to his deep voice, hand moving to brace your lower back. Then he’s flipped you over, your back pressing hard into the spongy mattress as his powerful frame cages you in. “It won’t result in the pain your females are accustomed to during the process.” Your females, you repeat in your mind, as in, humans.

His gaze drops down to your joining point hungrily before his blacked out eyes flick back upward, “that should be enough time for you to adjust,” he drawls, drawing his hips back only to push into you again. Your back arches at the delicious drag of the swell of his cock against your sensitive walls. “There you go.”

Azriel’s large hands land either side of your head, the tops of your shoulders pressing against his wrists, in order to keep you in place for when he begins. Out of the corner of your eyes, you’re able to see those talons of his slicing into the sheets, the threat of having them so close to you sending a sick throb of arousal sparking in your lower belly.

He’s more rough this time, pushing in harshly, sending you bumping into his arms with the force, yet you receive nothing but pleasure, despite how large he is. You manage to look down, enough to see the bump in our abdomen. Curiously, you press your palm down atop the skin, both of you releasing sounds of pleasure at the pressure as he thrusts back in.

You curse beneath your breath and he chuckles, your eyes skating up to his, “already using the devils tongue,” he laughs.

You move to reply but he slams back in, your eyes rolling back as he fills you up, pressing tight against every space available until it’s hard to breathe, basking in the euphoria of having him inside of you. Shadows slip beneath your ass to angle your hips upward and you scream when slams in again, pleasure lighting your nerve endings. “Azriel,” you plead, tears forming at the edge of your eyes as you hit your peak, thighs spreading for him, latching around his hips as you attempt to pull him closer, having him drive his cock deeper inside.

He doesn’t stop for you, even as you cry for him to slow down, the pleasure overwhelming you as you babble. He doesn’t speed up either, keeping up with the rough pace he’d already set. That was something, at least. “You take what you’re fucking given, bride,” he snarls, and your back curves at the animalistic rumble, the beastly timbre of his voice.

“Every drop. Every egg. Swallow all of it.”

Your body goes lax, melting beneath his overpowering heat, allowing him to use you just how he wants. He snarls suddenly, twitching inside of you, head dipping to your neck as he noses at the sensitive skin. You tip your head to the side, gathering enough strength to thread your fingers through the thick, silky locks of inky hair, desperately pulling him closer.

His mouth opens over your neck, canines lining up with their mark as they sink down. He snarls again as he releases inside of you, thick, hot cum spilling. It feels strange. Deeper. Far deeper. The consistency is different, you can feel all of it, pumped so full you’re sure when he pulls out there’ll be a swell to your lower belly.

His teeth pierce your skin, and euphoria seizes your body, doubling…tripling. “Azriel…” you breathe, weakly, already so drained from the mating. You know he’s feeding off the gash in your neck, but with the aphrodisiac coating his canines, you feel nothing but sizzling pleasure. He laps up every drop, sealing you clean when he’s satisfied with his meal, not a mark to be seen.

The male pulls away, cock still pressing into you when he pulls away. One look at you has a possessive growl rumbling through the room, shadows thickening, becoming more frenzied at the air thrums, power pulsing in the air and you’re almost certain the feeling is not limited to the chambers you’re in.

You attempt to move away from him but he snarls down at you, nostrils flaring as he scents you, “where do you think you’re going, bride?” You involuntarily tighten around him, amusement dancing in his eyes as the white returns. Nothing else shifts, though. You’re kind of pleased. “Aren’t we done?” You pant, fatigue heavy in your voice.

His lips purse, “for now.” His gaze drags over you hungrily and you consider the possibility he’s holding himself back at seeing you so exhausted. Your eyelids flutter as you become aware of the weight gilding them.

Azriel’s hands carefully glide beneath your back, wary not to slice your skin as he pulls you against his chest. You suck in a breath as your weight is pulled down onto his lap, his cock driving languidly against your already oversensitive walls. A small whine is pulled from your lips, releasing beside his ear, your arms tiredly wrapping beneath his shoulders.

“I��m beginning to think you don’t want me to give you time to recover,” he drawls, in answer to your needy sounds. And you can’t help it, your body moves by itself as you softly buck your hips against his, moaning as you feel his cum being pushed deeper. “Azriel,” you pant, continuing to grind your hips over him as he lays back into the mountain of pillows, “more.”

He groans, settling his hands over your hips, stilling them as you whine. “Your body needs to rest. You’re human, you need time to recover.” Your brow narrows, attempting to move over him but his grip is like iron, clamping down as he smirks knowingly. “I can take it,” you breathe, hands trailing curiously over his skin, lifting to his jaw as his gaze follows you with interest and amusement.

You lean forward, breasts dragging over his chest as your mouth brushes his, “you want to, don’t you?” You goad, eyes latching onto his as heat flares in the pits of blackness. “Careful,” he growls in warning, brow narrowing. You ignore him, opening your mouth over the skin of his neck as you press kisses up to the space below his jaw, “you want to go again, right, Azriel?” He twitches inside of you, fingers biting into your hips, “come on, I think your cum is leaking out,” you breathe beside his ear, “so fill me up again, yeah?”

“You can hardly sit upright,” he bites out, his words clipped and hard. He’s so hard. Pressing against you; you feel like you might pass out from the pleasure. Your breaths deepen, tightening around him. A muscle feathers in his jaw at your actions. “You can tie me up, right?” You pant, “your shadows.” Your eyes flicker from the darkness back to his, “you can use them to keep me upright. Then you can go again. Doesn’t matter if I pass out.”

A growl rumbles in his chest as you spill your mind to him, “bride—”

“If you don’t want to, why haven’t you shifted back?” He stills beneath you for a moment, eyes snapping to yours. Then a grin splits his elysian mouth, “perfectly compatible indeed,” he mutters.

He grips your hips, shadows twining roughly around your wrists and torso as they pull you upright, supporting your weight carefully as he perches you at the tip of his cock, slamming you down before any of his precious cum can slip out. Your head falls back as you scream.

Then he’s pounding into you, fucking you within an inch of your life as his eyes split to pure darkness, dark as pitch, shadows writhing on the bed as he takes you roughly. Moan after moan spills from your lips, prayers ranging from please, don’t stop to Azriel please! I can’t take it to incoherent babbles. He works you through it all, fucking you until he comes as you flutter around him again.

Your eyes roll backward as you nearly pass out, drowning in pleasure at the feeling of him spilling inside of you, filling you to the brim. Then his shadows are releasing their support on your upper body, allowing your weight to help you sink down on his cock, the final wave of euphoria knocking you out as you fall forward on his chest.

His arms circle you possessively as he keeps you seated on his cock, pulling you into his warmth as he tucks you against the powerful lines of his body, shadows swirling over your form so he can keep you for himself, greedily swallowing your body in a blanket of velvety night.

You’re his.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

#demon! Azriel #demon! Azriel x reader #Teeth and Talons #[***] #demon! Azriel smut #Azriel #demon! Azriel x reader smut #monsterfucking #acotar #acotar au

[tadpolesonalgae]

Teeth and Talons - sneak peak

I’m really hoping you guys like Mean!Demon!Azriel as much as I do because I’ve made him more than a little unhinged

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

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

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

#Azriel #demon! Azriel #mean! Azriel #dark! Azriel #Azriel smut #Azriel x reader #acotar #Teeth and Talons

[tadpolesonalgae]

Teeth and Talons pt. 2[***] - Sneak Peak

Melting on the floor 😵‍💫🫠

‘ You’re seated in his nest, wrapped in a white silk robe that parts down the middle, exposing you to his hungry gaze. His eyes are blotted out, dark, pulsing veins running below his skin. He becomes more animalistic, anthropomorphised into something vaguely humanoid. Dæmonoid. Fur dusts his lower stomach, thickening when you inevitably follow the dark trail to his cock. Every time a zap of arousal licks between your thighs. '

‘ “What are you waiting for?” The words brush sensually across your neck, his hips rolling surprisingly gently into yours. “Find me. Seek me out.” The commands are deceptively smooth off his tongue, his hand snaking lower, slipping easily between your parted legs. “Release yourself.” His fingers reach the apex of your thighs, just barely brushing over where you need him so so so badly, before he vanishes again. As if he were never there in the first place. ’

‘ You whimper, your own hands cupping his jaw as you try to keep up with him. It’s sloppy: inexperience on your part and uncaring for mess on his. His hands slope down your back, settling on your ass as he squeezes firmly, your hips keening over him desperately. Then he draws his palm back and you whine helplessly at the cool space he’s left. But his hand is smacking down, a startled moan flying from your mouth to his as your back curves, breasts dragging over his chest. ’

#Azriel #demon! Azriel #azriel smut #demon! Azriel smut #Azriel x reader #Teeth and Talons