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lili-of-the-wildfire · 6 days

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Striking a Deal - Reader x Azriel

Reader is a demon, capable of granting information in exchange for things she wants. When Azriel summons her, she may be more than he can handle.

Warnings - ‘forced’ sex due to circumstance, bondage, unbreakable ties, choking, teasing, orgasm denial, HFO/hands free orgasm, cock milking, squirting, cum paly, g-spot and clitoral stim, fingering, mention of knot (no knotting), hand job, wing play, mention of blood ingestion (not super sexual, not in scene),

As always, skip to ++++++++++ for just the nasty stuff. <3

NSFW 18+ MDNI

Azriel was desperate. Fully, truly desperate for stooping this low.

Still, he chanted on, plowing through verse after verse of the summoner’s spell.

He had little regret over what he’d done. Scaring away fifteen priestesses hadn’t been hard, but finding the right tome had been. He should have asked for the book first.

“Of blood, and by this flame I summon you.” He finished, slicing a cut into his wrist deep enough to coat the pile of bones and herbs he’d gathered for this ritual.

And there was silence. He glanced around, taking in the painted walls of the temple and carved archways. The moon was little more than a sliver, the thing he’d summoned could be anywhere. He scented his own fear and clamped down on it, forcing his mind to ease.

To fear would be fatal, now.

“I expected someone more powerful than a shadowsinger.” Her voice was like honey dripping into his ears. His neck went stiff, as if a puppeteer was controlling him. His shadows lashed out into the darkness, quickly finding the owner of the voice and wrapping them - no.. her - in bindings.

Very much her. Gorgeous proportions and the hair, his mind went foggy with lust. He saw her now that his shadows had pinpointed her, and was wholly overwhelmed with the perfection of her. Something deep inside him rumbled with warning, though.

This was no witch or sorcerer, not even a Queen. This was something far more powerful and deadly, and he struggled to remember that.

“I may be more powerful than you know.” He said, attempting to put on the saam air of seduction the female radiated.

She walked through his shadows as if they weren’t even there, and again his mind quaked with unfamiliar fear.

“What is it such a powerful shadowsinger needs then?” She hummed, bending beside him and plucking a bone from the floor. She stuck out her tongue and lapped at the length of it, staring at Azriel the whole time. His cock surged, and he cleared his throat.

“I seek a weapon. Something to end a God.” Azriel began, gauging her unimpressed reaction.

“And?” She prompted, taking another lick of his blood. Goosebumps broke out along his flesh.

“Would you be able to help with something like that?” He his his irritation behind an easy smile, watching her tongue. At least her beauty made up for such informality.

“I suppose. It depends how much the asker is willing to pay for such a thing.”

“I have gold.” He supplied, not convince his lowest bid would be enough. Especially not with a demon this peculiar.

“I do too.” She smiled, and waved a hand. His vision went blurry for a moment, then all around him appeared as if he were in a vault of gold marks, gold pillars, stretching from the floor going up and up into the blackened sky. A hot breath fell on his neck, and when he whipped around, the golden eye of a massive beast greeted him.

He jumped backwards, knocking his ritual items over, sending them clattering through the temple. He whirled back around, facing the demon he’d brought here. She shrugged, casting the bone aside and approaching him.

“Show me what you’re really willing to lose, Shadowsinger.” She walked two fingers up his abdomen, to his chest and rested them under his jaw, forcing him to look up. “A weapon that powerful is going to cost more than anything I sense you carry.”

“What do you want?” He hissed, hating how much her touch turned him on. Her nails scratched down his neck, and it was like a branding iron on his skin. Chills raced along his arms.

She sighed, admiring the way his throat bobbed, the way the tendons in his neck stuck out when he was so tense. “I’ve been so… lonely, stuck in the Pit by myself.” She pouted, making his cock ache with the suggestion of what she was proposing. “No one summons us anymore. All you fae and mortals trust so much in your common magics and healers. No one is desperate enough to call upon us anymore.”

He took a steadying breath, his heart hammering in hsi chest. She leaned in, so close to his ear he could feel her hot breath against it. “I want you… to summon me. To bring me back to this planet and allow me to live. Even for the short while before they pull me back. Cast this same ritual, and bring me back.” She took his hand and brought it to her breast, squeezing his fingers tight around it. A groan fell from him, and before he could even think about the implications of striking such a deal, his mouth was on hers.

The deal had been struck.

++++++++++++++++++++++

The searing burn of his tongue upon yours was so deliciously delightful, so full of need and challenge that you could hardly feel the brand of the deal writing itself on your neck.

The kiss had sealed the bond, the rest of this would be just for fun.

“Your weapon-” You say between moans, pulling his tunic off and freeing his muscled body. “Will be found in the deepest lake on the highest peak-”

He rips your clothes off, tearing and urgent with need. “I didn’t summon you for a riddle.” He growls, dipping his head to catch a nipple between his teeth. A sharp gasp escapes you, and you squeeze his cock in your hand.

“You didn’t summon me as your whore, either.” You correct, yanking him back by the hair. He bares his teeth, and his shadows wrap around your ankles, thick and cool against your skin.

“You certainly act like that’s what you’re here for.” He grunts, and those shadows snake farther up your exposed legs until they’re massaging into your thighs. A ripple of want shoots through you at their closeness to your waiting cunt.

You’re too distracted by his hands and shadows on you to really give him a comeback. Truthfully, his filthy mouth could be saying anything at this moment and you wouldn’t care, not as long as he was touching you. It’d been a century since you’d seen anything other than the black pit of your home, and with such a gorgeous male before you, how could one resist? Your blood had been thrumming with need the second you’d crawled out of your home.

He pulls you forward, onto one of the short steps that leads to the recessed center of the room. “Now, what do I have to do to get you to bring me this weapon?” He rasps against your skin, biting your shoulder as he sat you down on the step. He pulls away, only to start lapping down your body until he is between your thighs, joining his shadows there.

“You want another deal, Shadowsinger?” You pant, leaning back on the step behind you and spreading your legs wide for him. He groans and the shadows ghost over your folds with teasing, almost-touches.

“Tell me.” He demands, and laps at you with a flattened tongue. “Such a pretty pussy.” He praises.

Your legs snap together, squeezing his head. “I cannot retrieve it for you, but I can take you to where it is.” You promise, and the half - truth of it feels sour on your tongue. You could retrieve it, but it’d take much more time than you had after you were released from the Pit.

He hums, seemingly content with the answer as he laps at you. His shadows join, dipping into your pussy and writhing there, fucking you softly but with ferocity. Your breaths are coming in shallow, frantic spurts as you focus on not coming on his face.

You want his cock for that.

A lick of your power lashes out, breaking his shadows away and freezing him in place with a leash of your own making. Magic bound, he straightens at your command and the sight of his surprise sets you giggling.

“You’re eager.” You critique. Sitting up, you take his cock in your hands and admire it, loosening your magic on him when you feel him relax and sigh at your touch. “Much too eager.” You observe the thick rivulets of pre-come dripping from his tip. You dip down and take a taste of him, humming at the sense of it. The salty, needy taste of him.

You wrap your hand around him and give him a long, slow pump and he shudders. His cock is magnificent. You can barely touch your fingers together around him with his thickness, and the knot at the base of him is hardly formed. Was he one of the fae able to change his cock at will? A ripple of excitement rolls though you at the possibility of it. You stroke him again, and another drop of precome wets his tip and you tap the tip of your finger with it, trailing it over his shaft and up his abdomen until you reach his lips. He takes it eagerly still, enjoying the taste of himself it seems.

You bind his hands to his sides, and ghost your fingers over his cock. Barely touching him, just as his shadows had teased you. He spits venom, cursing you with each delicate touch. You stroke him hard and through occasionally, but watching him be so needy for the touch is such a turn-on.

Your nails trail from his balls and up his shaft, then you circle the tip of him gently with the pad of your finger, swirling his lubrication there. He’s watching you the entire time, his brows pulled together and his lips a deep shade of red that matches the tip of his cock.

“I am glad that you were the one who’s summoned me.” You hum, getting up and going behind him. Even with him on his knees, he still reaches the height of your breast. He’s huge and lithe in his build, even his wings are a powerful kind. You touch them gently, humming when he hisses curses under his breath.

That gets your attention.

“Sensitive. Illyrian wings are different than the wings of other winged species, aren’t they?” You question, raking your nails over the arches of them. He cries out, lurching forward but your magic catches him, hauling him back up and in place before he can fold onto the step.

You kneel behind him, and wrap an arm around to take his cock into your hand again. He shudders and thrusts forward, into your grip. He’s needy and desperate and with you touching his wings he’s going to cum embarrassingly quickly. He hates how much he’s loving this, how the control you have over him is making him so fucking desperate.

He fucks into your hand, his precome wetting him enough that it heightens the experience further. Your hand is wet and hot and not nearly as good as your mouth had been but it’s better than the teasing touches you’d been giving him earlier, and he’s grateful. His need is rising and his muscles are working, his balls going tight with the need of release.

Then, you pull away. Your hand is gone and he’s left fucking the air like an animal, and he’s shuddering. “You fucking- bitch..” He grinds out, his abdomen flexing with how close he’d been. His balls tighten and relax, his cock twitching and slapping against his stomach.

You stand and go back to be in front of him, watching him twitch and writhe uncomfortably. His cock is surging and desperately seeking more stimulation, The angry redness of the tip a delicious strawberry color that makes you salivate.

You go back to tracing over him, and you can feel his power, his every fiber struggling against your magic. He’s close, so on the edge that you’re sure he’ll break with only a few more strokes. Good. You want him to. You want him to remember the only female who’d bested him at his own desires. You want him to fuck you endlessly, if that is the only time you have on this planet.

His balls are tight and heavy, and when you trace a finger along his ridge he shudders, leaning forward again. You allow it this time, catching his lips with yours and letting your tongue flick over his own. He groans into your mouth and snaps his hips forward when you make a loose fist over his cock.

His needy cries echo across the temple like a song.

You tighten your hand, allowing him to fuck into it for a few more strokes before pulling away again. But it’s too late. You pull back and watch as he thrusts into the air, his cock pulsing with his orgasm. He’s snarling and cursing as the pleasure takes him in a violent way. You watch in supreme pleasure as he gets what he finally wants. His cum shoots out and lands on your legs, your belly. The stone floor and steps. His spend is hot and dribbles from his tip when you release his bindings.

He wavers, and his shadows return slowly. His muscles flex as he leans forward, clearly exhausted with the experience.

His hands shake when he leans over you, catching your chin in his hand. “You are a horrible little thing.” He curses, then forces his tongue into your mouth.

He forces you back, so you’re arched against the steps, and the fingers of his other hand go between your folds, slickening them before plunging in. The most exquisite burn fills you, and is then eased by his curling fingers. He draws out your wetness, coating your clit with it and rubbing firm circles for a moment before pushing deep back inside of you.

He uses his entire forearm and wrist while he does it, truly fucking you with his hand. His fingers are thick and they do satiate a part of your own need, but it’s nothing compared to what his cock would be.

But this part of the game is up to him. You’d had your fun, and now it was his turn.

His tongue is aggressive in your mouth, fighting your own and showing you exactly what he’d been doing against your pussy before. He pulls away, leaving drool on your chin. His shadows go to your wrists, and you allow them to lock you in place, legs spread wide and wrists bound to the floor.

This is his turn. If you want him to stay true to his bargain not just for bargaining sake, you’ll let him have his turn. You could use him, sure, - force him in place and take him as you wanted - but where was the fun in that?

“Azriel-” You pant, and he takes your throat in a hand. Not hard, not dangerous, but certainly a silent command.

He’s working you deep and swiping against your g-spot with every stroke, and if he doesn’t stop you’re not sure if you’ll be able to either.

“Making me cum without even letting me really touch you first?” He scolds, punctuating it with his thumb stroking over your clit. Your yes clamp shut, your thighs desperately trying to do the same but his shadows - as weak as they are - won’t allow you to. You moan, the pressure of his hand against your throat a devious thing.

Your body is betraying you, reaching your high peaks so quickly while he rubs your clit. Your walls squeeze him, wanting more. Needing more than just two fingers. But his thumb is relentless and consistent, you try to fight the building orgasm but it only makes your g-spot more sensitive.

“Azriel please-” You whine, panting and squirming as much as you can under him. His hand leaves your throat and instead goes to the back of your head, knotting in your hair there. He forces you to watch his hands word, how spread you are for him, the way your wetness shines against this dark skin. He’s humming something in your ear but you can barely hear it over the mounting pleasure, the cascade of twitching need that writhes inside you, begging to be released. A dam too overflowed, your control slips, and slips.

You push against the heat, the pressure of the orgasm but again, he brushes into that spot inside you and your clit again, and you’re shaking - coming apart in his grasp. Wetness coats him, your own juices flowing out of you in an intense way, splattering against the floor and coating his arm. The wet sounds of his fingers still working you echo against the high ceilings and stone walls.

You’re shaking, shuddering and breathing hard when he gently removes his fingers then laps at them.

The sight nearly sends you into another orgasm.

“Safe to say you’ll be summoned often, little demon.” He says, offering you a finger wet with your own juices.

You take it greedily, sucking on his finger the same way you wanted to suck his cock.

“Next time I expect you to last longer.” You critique, earning a laugh from him.

“If I make that promise now, does that mean we get to fuck again and seal that bond?”

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 22 days

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i’m actually so obsessed w this man, if i don’t marry him im going to need to be killed with a gun

#personal post #azriel has not come to life and whisked me away to prythian so i must settle for a human 😔#he’s so FINE tho oh god #makes me wanna be a stay a home mom who cooks n shit #i’m gnawing at the bars of my cage DAILY over this guy

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 25 days

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i just fainted in the walmart parking lot

Hi! Omg so first I want to say I absolutely LOVE your writing, I am constantly on your page reading your work and get so excited when I see an update. So I was wondering if I could request something? It’s NSFW. Basically, reader is Rhysand’s sister and Azriel’s mate. She is a daemati like Rhys. Her and Azriel are having sex one day and he has her tied up and blindfolded, and in the middle of it she uses her powers to see through his eyes and watches as her fucks her, but she never gets to see him or his face until they’re done. Thank you so much!!

Mind Games | Azriel x reader

A/N: this is a fuck fest, you guys. I think I blacked out somewhere around the middle, I honestly can’t tell you. Tysm for requesting this, sweet anon! The ending's a bit bumpy but I hope you still like it! 🫶

Word count: 1592

Warnings: pure SMUT (18+) right under the cut!!

Her chest was heaving as she wrapped her fingers around the rope keeping her hands tied to one of the bars of the headboard. She felt him everywhere, felt the heavy drag of his cock as he pulled out almost all the way before rocking back into her with a hard roll of his hips. She felt his hands on her, his shadows, his gaze.

She felt everything, but she couldn’t see.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Azriel spoke in a low voice, though there was a breathless note to his words. His hands tightened on her hips. “Always taking me so well.”

She loved when he talked through it—when it got so good that even the quiet shadowsinger couldn’t hold his tongue.

The corners of her mouth curled, teeth finding her bottom lip to keep from grinning all to widely, but suddenly, Azriel leaned forward from where he knelt between her thighs, and her grin slipped at the change in his angle. A choked sound left her, but it didn’t travel far, as Azriel caught it with his mouth.

His lips claimed hers in a deep kiss, one of his hands travelling up her body to curl loosely around her throat, and when he pulled back far enough for his tongue to travel along the edge of her jaw, she couldn’t suppress a shiver.

A soft moan left her when his lips found the shell of her ear, hot puffs of breath forcing goosebumps to arise on her skin.

“I wish you could see what it’s like to fuck you, my love,” he whispered, teeth finding her earlobe. “It’s indescribable.”

She smiled at that. “Is that an invitation?”

Azriel gave another long roll of his hips, and she failed to suppress a moan at the depth of him.

This time, when he spoke, she could hear the smile in his voice. “With you, it’s always an invitation.”

She concentrated on his mind then, and as she reached out across their bond to run her lips along the solid mental shields he kept in place, she felt him shudder against her.

His shields opened just wide enough for her to slip through, and she felt a moan pass her lips as she wrapped her mind around his, weaving through his thoughts, tasting his emotions.

He kissed her hard, their tongues slipping against each other, and his groan vibrated though her.

It was when he retreated back to his knees that he shared with her the sight of what lay before him.

She breathed a moan at the sight, and she felt his desire burning through her like fire, mixing with hers, amplifying when he moved his hands back to her hips to hold her in place as he withdrew from deep inside her.

Her legs lay draped over his thighs, her arms stretched over her head to bare her body to him, wrists tied to the headboard. He wanted to run his hands over her body, wanted to bite the soft flesh of her breasts, and run his tongue down her front until it would find the sweetness between her thighs.

She tasted herself on her tongue as Azriel recalled the memory of what had happened earlier that evening, of her moans as he’d sucked on her, as he’d licked her and held her thighs open for pleasure to overwhelm her.

He’d loved every second of it, and she could feel his desire to repeat it after this. She always tasted a bit different after he’d fucked her.

He ran his palms up her body, and she marvelled at the contrast of scarred palms on smooth skin, of wide, rough fingers cupping the supple flesh of her breasts. She felt a wave of pleasure at the sight, at the way he held her, kneaded her—the way his fingers rolled her nipples. She couldn’t keep track if it was her own pleasure she felt, but she arched her back to push her chest deeper into his palms, and she saw the result through his eyes—her head tilted back to reveal the delicate curve of her throat, her lips parted in a moan he could feel in his loins.

You’re a work of art, my love, she heard him purr in his mind, the words wrapping around her like a blanket.Watch.

Her cheeks heated at the sight of his length gliding back inside, gliding deeper and deeper until their hips were flush. She thought she heard herself moan with the intrusion, but above all, she sensed Azriel’s desire to take her harder. He wanted to fuck into her over and over again, wanted to hear her skin slap against his, wanted to see her writhe in pleasure before him.

She watched her own hands pull harder on her restraints, the muscles of her thighs flexing at the images she found flickering through Azriel’s mind.

Do it, Az, she whispered into his mind like the voice of temptation. Take me.

At once, Azriel’s palms slipped down the length of her body to settle on her hips once again, and at the first harsh snap of his hips, his fingers dug into her flesh to pull her into his thrust.

Her back arched off the mattress, a guttural groan breaking from her throat as he set a hard rhythm that had her hands move to wrap around the bars of the headboard for more leverage.

Azriel’s mind began to grow hazy with pleasure, and as she watched through his eyes as he fucked her body, she fucked his mind in return.

She poured all her desire into him, set the bond aglow with her want, and laced herself into each of his thoughts until she couldn’t tell where she stopped and Azriel began.

When he closed his eyes to tilt his head back for a choked groan to break from his throat, Azriel cut off her sight for just a moment.

“Fuck, I love it when you do that,” he panted, his voice only a breath mixed in with the orchestra of their bodies, and she loved the note of desperation it held—like she alone had the power to drag him to the very edge of control.

When he looked back down at her, she watched the way her body fought to meet his thrusts, though her quivering muscles made it harder and harder the longer it went on.

The sounds were falling from her lips freely now, and she felt the little shocks they sent down his spine each time. He liked her whimpers most of all, liked when her back curled off the mattress and her hips began to twitch between his palms.

She watched through his eyes as Azriel moved his hand to the soft flesh of her lower belly, and when he pressed down just hard enough for her to feel the pressure of him deep inside of her, she came with a moan that bordered on a sob.

She clung to his mind as she writhed beneath him, and when Azriel followed her with a tight grip on her hips and a desperate groan, she could feel his own pleasure mix with hers until every last inch of her mind was glowing with it.

He leaned forward then, once again changing the angle as his hips urged closer to hers, and when his lips met hers, she gasped at the sudden contact.

He pressed her deep into the pillows, and she felt the way her body twitched against him, waves of aftershock rolling through her as he brushed against her most sensitive parts.

My love, Azriel’s voice rang through her mind as he trailed his nose along her cheekbone, brushing against the fabric of her blindfold as he did so.

She didn’t know how long they’d lain like that, but her breathing had calmed a bit, her muscles no longer shaking but rather deliciously sore. She felt his fingers move to untie the rope that held her, and when she was free, she lifted her hands to his cheeks and pulled him back into a deep kiss.

Bit by bit, she untangled herself from his thoughts, from his emotions, his innermost being, and as she retreated from his mind, she felt the last waves of love he sent after her before his mental shields closed and only the bond was left to thrum with what they’d shared.

Neither one of them wanted to break the kiss, but when Azriel gently tugged the blindfold from her face, she couldn’t help but pull back and meet his gaze. She’d longed to see his eyes. They were always the best part—the windows to his mind whenever she wasn’t wrapped up in him.

“You’re amazing,” Azriel said quietly, big hands framing her face as he breathed a sweet kiss to her lips. “To feel what you feel, it’s … breath-taking. No one’s ever fucked me like that,” he added with a teasing grin.

She couldn’t help the giggle that passed her lips when she wrapped sluggish arms around his neck.

“Glad to hear I can be of service,” she spoke softly, twirling one of the longer strands of his hair around her finger. “But I’m sure my brother would have done you a solid if you’d asked.”

Azriel growled deep in his chest, a pained expression entering his face. “Maybe don’t talk about your brother right after some of the best sex we’ve ever had.”

“Aw, the best sex?” She grinned up at him. “Stop, Azzie, or I might blush.”

#hey god it’s me again #just wondering when u will grant me daemati powers and azriel ‘the sex god’ shadowsinger #now if u will all excuse me i have to go jump into a frozen lake

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 27 days

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Nyx Misting for the First Time

Nyx got a little too excited with his new toy ✨

Commissioned with charlize_artz (link here)

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 28 days

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guys ur never gonna believe what just became canon

it’s canon in my mind that after Bryce gets back to her world, she puts the star sword thru the autumn kings neck for what he did to Ruhn

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 28 days

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 1 month

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does anyone else think about how winnowing is never described as making a sound, but when rhys appears at feyre's wedding, there's a resounding crack. he chose to make that noise.

and then when cassian and azriel come to feyre's rescue in acowar they both hit the ice so hard it splinters in every direction. like there's absolutely no reason to land that hard except for the drama of it all

??? because i sure do. often. Doing The Most clearly runs in this family

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 1 month

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SCREAMING at the fan theories that Gwyn is related to Eris and Lucien bc the only foundation i see for that theory is that they’re all gingers 😭😭 WE’RE NOT ALL RELATED LMFAO

#i did not think we’d have to go over this in the year 2024 #as the designated ginger of the fandom i am here to tell yall that unfortunately we don’t all belong to the same family #tragic and heartbreaking i know #and even if we factor in that her grandmother had children w an autumn court male… it’s not like he was related to the vanserra’s either??#they’re autumn court of course they’re gonna be gingers #acotar #gwyn berdara #gwyneth berdara

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 2 months

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Skyfall | Azriel x reader [Part 1]

Skyfall [Masterlist] here!

Summary: Azriel's mate quite literally falls from the sky.

A/N: This used to be a Cassian x reader draft and also the very first acotar fic I ever wrote. Also, I finished editing this half-asleep at 1 in the morning so please excuse if it sucks, the next parts will be better, I promise!

This will be a series! Idk how many parts yet, but let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist. ✨

Word count: 4163

Warnings: talk of and description of injuries and violence

Harsh winds cut through the layers of Azriel's fighting leathers as he stepped through the door of Rhys' cabin in the mountains, leaving all warmth behind. He watched Mor breathe into cupped hands, a frosty expression on her ethereal face that could have rivalled every inch of their icy surroundings.

"I don't understand," she huffed as she pulled her cloak a little tighter around her body, "why in the Mother's name you would deem this a good place to go hunting. Out of all the nice and cosy forests to choose from, you lot go with icy tundra. This is going to suck balls."

Cassian barked a laugh, his right wing darting from its carefully folded position to nudge Mor's shoulder. "No one's holding a knife to your pretty throat. Go back inside if you don't want to come."

Amren, too, had decided to stay behind—content in spending some alone time with a newly discovered hobby that had been hogging most of her attention for the past few days: embroidery. They all had bets going to see how long she'd keep it up before losing interest entirely.

Mor snorted. "What, so you guys can have fun without me?"

"Fun?" Feyre lifted a brow from where she walked sandwiched between Rhys and Azriel. "But you just said—"

"Don't try making sense of the things Morrigan says," Rhys interrupted his mate with a tilted smirk. "We have long deemed all attempts futile."

Mor shot him a glare. "You know what, Rhys—"

Her sentence broke off as a deep crease appeared between her brows, and suddenly, the cold seemed the furthest thing from her mind. Her eyes fixed on something in the distance, and when Azriel came to a stop and followed her gaze, his shoulders immediately tensed with alert, mind racing through all the emergency protocols they had put in place after Hybern's attack on Velaris.

If they were under attack, Cassian would immediately have to call in an aerial unit from the nearest war camp, maybe two, and he and Azriel would have to defend the others alone until the Illyrians got here. Rhys and Feyre would help as much as they could from the ground, and only join in on an active fight if Azriel and Cassian were to find themselves drastically outnumbered.

It was a good thing that the mountains were Illyrian territory, though. Cassian would call the alarm, Rhys would spread it with the help of his powers, and winged soldiers would be here within minutes—carried through icy winds by strong wings long accustomed to the harsh climate.

But to Azriel's relief, it didn't seem to be an attack, or at least not a big one.

As he focussed on the horizon, he spotted a single dark smudge gliding through the skies, and when Cassian, Rhys, and Feyre turned to see for themselves, tension immediately radiated off each one of them—the memories of the attack on Velaris still all too fresh. That day, too, had started out with dark smudges on the horizon.

"Should we attack?" Azriel asked quietly, almost softly, as his hands curled into fists at his sides, Siphons glowing a little brighter than just a moment before.

Rhys' eyes shifted to Cassian, waiting for his general's assessment the very moment realisation dawned on Azriel, and he narrowed his eyes at the sky. The dark shape... the way it was moving seemed...

Mor noticed it, too. "It looks like it's falling."

A beat of silence.

"Are those... wings?" Feyre questioned.

Azriel met Rhys' gaze and with a single nod from the High Lord, he launched up into the clouds with strong beats of his wings and shot towards the falling figure.

Azriel was the fastest out of his brothers to begin with, and he'd always possessed a gift neither Rhys nor Cassian could call their own. His shadows.

Within seconds they carried him across the skies, and as he drew closer and closer to the falling figure, and the earth drew rapidly closer as well, he made out a mess of shredded wings, of blood clinging to bare skin, and an unconscious Illyrian woman free falling to her death.

Just as she was about to hit the treetops she'd been falling towards, he caught her mid-air, and the breath got knocked from his lungs when she slammed into his chest due to their close proximity to the ground not allowing him to adapt his speed.

As his wings fought to adjust to the sudden increase in weight, Azriel took in what he'd just barely managed to catch, and gritted his teeth as he did so.

Once glorious wings now hung limply from the unconscious female's back, shredded, and bloody, and impaled with a number of wooden spikes. It only took Azriel a second to recognise the stinging scent of ash wood, as every cell in his body began to revolt against the mere presence of it.

He lifted two fingers to press down on the side of her neck, just beneath her jaw. A pulse. Faint but present, despite the bloody gashes and bruises littering her ice-cold skin. Her head rolled against his shoulder as he carried her back to his friends, pulling her tighter against his body in an attempt to shield her as best as he could from the harsh mountain winds.

Mor, who'd been shivering only moments before, tore off her cloak as Azriel approached and draped the thick fabric over the stranger's body. She too cringed at the sight of destroyed wings.

Rhys' face was set in stone as he took in the damage. "Mor," he mumbled. "Do you think you can save the wings?"

"I can try." Her voice was lacking the confidence one would've hoped for. "Though I don't have a lot of experience with mending wings. Amren might be able to help."

The limp form in his arms was still freezing to the touch, and as Azriel tracked the injuries on her limbs, he noted the discoloured tone of her fingertips.

"We have to get her out of the cold."

Azriel started for the cabin, knowing Rhys would permit her to enter, as this was so obviously an emergency, and when he stepped back into warmth just a few moments later, he was careful not to do more damage to the stranger's wings and keep them from dragging on the ground.

Amren looked up from her embroidery as the group burst into the kitchen, and as though participating in a daily occurrence, she swiftly started to clear the sturdy wooden table for Azriel to gently place the injured female face-down atop it.

Amren, without so much as a scowl on her face, carefully arranged the ruined wings around their unconscious bearer, and while Feyre and Mor went to fetch hot water and blankets, she met Azriel's gaze over the limp body.

"Where did you find this one?"

"Mor spotted her falling from the sky just a few miles north."

Cassian gently twisted her right wing back into a natural position, wincing at the delicate skin hanging in shreds, and no doubt reminded of the state of his own wings upon his return from Hybern. "Illyrian bastards," he muttered.

"You think a war camp did this?" Feyre asked as she returned with a bowl of steaming water. She dipped a piece of cloth into it and carefully began cleaning some of the lighter cuts on the faerie's legs.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Rhys said, his tone as grim as his expression. "Maybe she resisted the Clipping. Although I've never seen them punish their women quite this brutally for it, let alone use ash wood. Cutting her up like that, shredding her wings... this isn't punishment. This is personal, this is... rage." His eyes flickered to Mor. It was only for a split-second, barely long enough to notice, but Azriel knew in an instant where his mind had gone.

These injuries, this violence. He'd seen it all before when he found Mor on the Autumn Court's border with her womb impaled, and her body broken.

Azriel watched with his teeth clenched as Mor, either oblivious to the parallels or well-versed at hiding her emotions, began to tend to bigger cuts along the faerie's back—cuts that bore some resemblance to the lashings Cassian used to get for fighting the other boys in Windhaven.

"Nice folks, Illyrians," Amren snarled as she ran her hands over the ruined wings, inspecting the damage. "We'll have to get the ash wood out first. And I think it'll be wise to stitch the bigger gashes back together before mending them with magic."

Azriel suppressed a wince at the thought of sticking a needle through such sensitive tissue.

He looked down at the battered and beaten female and his heart gave a twinge as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Pointed. Only part Illyrian, then. Interesting. He tucked that piece of information into the back of his mind.

When Rhys left the room to gather needle and thread, and Mor and Feyre continued to tend to wounded flesh, Amren instructed Cassian and Azriel to keep each of the wings steady as she got ready to pull out the first rough spike. She kept her hand wrapped in a towel to spare herself the direct touch of ash wood. Its presence was bad enough—Azriel could feel its sting even from afar.

"Keep her as still as possible. If even a single splinter remains, she won't be able to use the wing anymore." Amren braced herself as she stared down the ash spike. "Here we go."

She reached out a hand, and the very second the tips of her fingers brushed against the greyish wood, all hell broke loose.

With an ear-splitting scream, the faerie on the table shot back to consciousness.

Flaring what was left of her wings, she writhed in pain, sobs tearing from her throat as she tried to squirm away from each of their hands.

Buckling like a wild animal caught in a trap, she sent the bowl of water flying through the kitchen, pain turning the sounds breaking through er throat almost feral, as she tried pushing herself up on trembling arms.

Mor and Feyre struggled to take hold of her kicking legs whilst Cassian, Amren and Azriel did their best to avoid getting hit by raging wings. The table gave a groan beneath her, and finally Cassian lunged for her right wing, while Amren tried her best to hold on to the left one.

"Azriel," Amren hissed. "Hold her down, damn it!"

As his shadows wound themselves around her middle to keep her locked on the table, Azriel moved to hold on to her wrist, his other hand pressing down on the back of her neck as gently as the situation allowed. Her weakened body gave in easily enough, and she slumped back onto the table, her forehead now pressing into the wood beneath her as she continued to sob.

Azriel crouched until he was on the same height as her.

"Listen to me," he said with his voice lowered to a soothing register. "You have to stay still, or you will lose your wings." His thumb began to move across her wrist of its own accord, running gentle lines along her fluttering pulse point. "I know it hurts, but we're trying to help you."

A new, heart-shattering sound tore through her throat, her free hand blindly searching for something to hold on to. When she found Azriel's arm, she hooked her fingers into his clothes, and she held on hard enough for him so feel the pressure of her grip even through the leather.

For a short moment, silence enveloped them whole, only her rapid breathing filling the air.

"Okay," Armen said slowly, warily. "Rhys, you take this wing, Cassian the other one. Azriel, you hold her down." She looked at Mor and Feyre. "You two hold on to her legs. We need her as still as possible."

"Rhys, can't you knock er out for a while?" Mor threw her cousin a look. "It would be a mercy."

"I already tried," Rhys mumbled with an unreadable expression. "She has rather extensive mental shields, even now. It would take too long to break through."

A blink, then Amren shifted and swiftly grabbed on to the ash wood spike. The faerie once again began to scream and writhe, and Azriel gritted his teeth as he strengthened his grip on the back of her neck, on her wrist, his shadows drawing tighter around her torso.

"Please," she cried, head rolling from side to side as she bore unfathomable pain. "My wings—" Her voice cracked as Amren freed the first spike and the faerie bucked with pain.

"I know," Azriel mumbled, his thumb running through her hair as her face remained pressed against the table. "I know. It'll get better. I promise."

It was painful and it was slow and Azriel found himself wishing for her to pass out again, just so she wouldn't have to suffer so much. Her fingers were tight against his arm, tight enough they surely would have formed a bruise had he not worn his leathers.

When the fifth spike fell to the floor, her shoulders slumped, and the remaining strength seeped from her body like wax from a melting candle. She turned her head to the side, pressing her heated cheek into the wood, and while her eyes remained closed, her lips parted for laboured pants to tear in and out of her lungs.

"It's almost done," Azriel mutters, brushing the hair from her face while Amren worked on removing the last spike inch by painful inch.

For the first time since they'd brought her into this cottage, she pulled open her eyes and looked up at him with deep agony dimming every light they might have carried once. Nevertheless, there was something there, something deep within, something his every sense narrowed down to.

Azriel recoiled as he felt the world shift.

Rhysand called his name, called for him to return to his position, but Azriel could do nothing but stare at the suffering woman on the table, every nerve of his body alive and sizzling, clouding his mind.

"Azriel, hold her!" Mor snapped as the unknown faerie once again screwed her eyes shut and began writhing against the pain, however involuntarily.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm sorry. It hurts."

She screamed when Amren pulled on the last spike—a scream even more pain-filled than all the ones before, and it shook Azriel's very bones.

"Shit," Amren hissed. "Shit, a splinter. For fuck's sake, boy, snap out of it!"

Azriel's eyes shot up only to meet Rhys' awed gaze. His brother's voice rang through his mind all but a second later.

She's your mate.

Azriel's heart twisted in his chest at the thought, her screams ringing through his mind until his knees threatened to give in.

When Amren began plugging at the raw, sensitive tissue of her abused wing in search of the splinter that could render it entirely useless if not removed, he returned to her side, holding on to her as she cried, and swallowing his own pain that suddenly seems to mirror hers.

She dug her nails into his arm, and when Amren finally pulled the last piece of wood from her wings, all the air left her lungs in a single, hoarse exhale, and she fully collapsed on the table.

She remained surprisingly still when Amren, Cassian and Mor began to stitch and heal the tears in her wings, flinching every now and then, but otherwise keeping her forehead on the table and her hand on Azriel's arm.

Hours later, Azriel still sat by her side.

Mor and Amren had finished the last of her injuries just a little over an hour ago and now the kitchen remained as silent and as dark as the rest of the cottage. Her wings lay limply draped over the sides of the table, some of the bigger wounds still gently oozing blood, as the magic would still take a little while longer to fully heal what's been torn apart so viciously.

Her breaths were quick and shallow, and Azriel didn't doubt the whispers of pain still clinging to her bones, her body so weakened and tortured by hours of agony that even her sleep wasn't peaceful.

He hesitantly ran a hand through her hair, allowing himself to study her face—a face still twisted in pain, though not as heartbreakingly hopeless as it had been when they found her.

He was surprised to find every fibre of his being longing for her, longing for her to open her eyes, to smile, to heal. He wanted to find out who did this to her and slaughter them all, wanted to burn down the world for her, and load all her pain onto himself.

He sensed Rhys' presence without the necessity of lifting his gaze from where it rested on the delicate curve of her lips, and his voice was hoarse when he spoke—hoarse as though he'd been the one to scream is lungs out with torturous pain.

"How did you survive it?"

Rhys rounded the table, hands buried in his pockets, pensive eyes running along her battered wings.

"Survive what?"

Azriel swallowed and avoided looking at her back, at the angry red lines now only remnants of the torn skin dripping with blood just hours before.

"Her pain", he croaked. "When you felt Feyre suffer through your bond ... how did you stop yourself from slaughtering Tamlin on the spot?"

Rhys forced the air from his lungs in an audible exhale. "I honestly don't know... looking back, I'm quite surprised myself. I wanted to tear him apart for what he did, what he let happen, but more than that I wanted to help her get past it."

It was silent for a moment, and Azriel tried memorising her features as thoroughly as possible. A muscle in her jaw ticked as she clenched her teeth in her sleep.

"I don't even know her name and I'd lay down my life for her in a heartbeat."

She slept for twelve hours straight, the sun already high in the sky when she began to stir the next day.

After Amren had once again checked the wounds and the state of the mended wings, she, Feyre and Cassian had returned to Velaris, leaving only Rhys and Mor behind, the latter of which was currently running a warm washcloth along the healed wounds of the faerie, washing away what little crusted blood remained.

She all but flinched awake.

Eyes shot open to dart about the room, and legs kicked blindly at the wet piece of cloth in Mors hand, who immediately took a step back.

Azriel watched from a corner of the kitchen as she noted the blankets covering her up, the ones they'd slid beneath her to make the hard wooden table a little more bearable. Mor stepped around the table to stand next to him, to avoid giving her the feeling of being surrounded.

Her arms shook as she carefully moved to push her aching body up, and Azriel was by her side faster than he'd planned. She cast a wary glance at his outstretched hand before tentatively placing her palm in his, her other hand gripping a blanket to her chest.

She grimaced as she moved to her knees, then immediately took her hand from Azriel's. Her eyes darted to Mor, then finally to her wings, a broken sound passing her lips as she took in the stitched lines, the healing patches, the scars, the tears. She pressed the back of her hand to her lips, sorrow filling her eyes.

"They're still healing", Rhys' smooth voice drifted in from the entrance as he stepped next to Mor. "My dear cousin here is doing her best to speed it along, but your injuries were ... substantial."

The faerie nodded numbly, and Azriel knew the question she was too afraid to ask.

"You'll fly again", he said. "With training, you'll fly again."

She didn't look at him, just stared at her wings as she let his words sink in. Closing her eyes, she nodded tentatively, releasing a shaky breath.

"I don't know what to say", she finally croaked, and it was the first time Azriel heard her voice without it being warped and twisted by fear and agony. "I owe you everything."

"I believe introductions are in order. I'm Rhysand", Rhys offered with a polite smile, lifting a hand to vaguely point at Mor next. "This is my cousin Morrigan, and this is Azriel."

She followed the movements of his hand, and her gaze rested on Azriel for a heartbeat longer before she cleared her throat and tightened the blanket around her body.

She told them her name, then, still kneeling atop the wooden kitchen table, and it felt as though Azriel's lungs inhaled deeply for the first time in his life. Her name. He finally knew her name, let it ring through him, savoured the sound of it down to his toes.

She bowed her head where she knelt, and Azriel noticed her hands shaking against her chest. "I will pay my debt of course. In any way you see fit, High Lord."

So she knew. Knew Rhys at least. Azriel swallowed as he met his brother's eye across the room.

"That won't be necessary", Rhys said. "Though your injuries must be seen as a serious offence. I would appreciate you telling me what happened, so the ones responsible might be dealt with accordingly."

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Her eye darted to Mor, then to Azriel before once again resting on Rhys, a crease now apparent between her brows.

"I'd prefer to pay my debt, High Lord."

She didn't want to risk being in Rhys' debt, which wasn't surprising, considering the reputation he'd built for himself over the years. Many High Fae and lesser faeries alike had long come to realise that being in his debt might one day return to bite you in the ass.

Rhys leaned against the wall, his hands remaining buried in his pockets. "Consider your story payment, then."

Mor tilted her head, eyes flickering across the still limp wings. "Did you resist the Clipping? Did a war camp do this to you?"

She moved her unflinching gaze to Mor, her shoulders a little straighter than just moments before, her voice soft as she spoke. "In a way."

She didn't offer up any more details, and suddenly, silence flooded the kitchen as she held Rhys' gaze, no doubt waiting to see who would give in first. It wasn't long until Azriel could no longer bear the tension still radiating off her.

"Mor can help you bathe first if you wish", he said. "We'll get you some clothes and food. We can talk about this later."

Her eyes, now clear and bright and unyielding, once again met his, and a jolt shot down his spine as they did. She searched his face for any signs of dishonesty, searched for hints telling her that maybe she shouldn't trust him, then finally dipped her chin once.

Azriel was by her side as she carefully moved off the table, wincing at her aching bones. She cast him a wary glance as he offered her a hand but held on to him nonetheless, weak knees almost sending her sprawling across the floor as her bare feet hit the stones below.

Her right wing twisted as it scraped over the table, and she flinched.

"You'll have to try and fold them in a little", Azriel mumbled as she did her best to arrange the wing back into a natural position.

She pulled a face as she did as he'd said, slowly folding her wings as close to her body as her pain allowed, until they were close enough to allow her to move more freely, if a little crooked.

Mor offered a smile as she led her to the bathing room, and every part of Azriel wanted to follow.

"Do the others know?", Azriel asked quietly, as the two females turned the corner.

Rhys looked up. "That your mate literally fell out of the sky and right into your arms?" Azriel shot him a glare and the High Lord smiled. "You didn't do a very good job hiding it."

A beat.

"Do you think she knows?"

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 2 months

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adulthood is just a never-ending cycle of So You Think You Can Wait Another Day To Do Your Laundry

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 2 months

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I FIGURED IT OUT. rhys is so damon salvatore coded it’s insane actually. the quips, the sass, the dark hair and pretty eyes, the self loathing. they’re twinsies 😗✌🏼

#rhysand #rhys #acotar #sjm

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lili-of-the-wildfire · 2 months

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this would work on me btw

Still Your Best

pairing: azriel x reader

inspo: Still Your Best - Giveon

warnings: jealous azriel, some teasing, sexual tension, misogyny, this some toxic relationship shit so don’t expect the right decisions to be made here

summary: You’re trying to move on after years of pining over a certain Shadowsinger but he’s not ready to let go

—

Damien was—nice.

A little predictable but he tried to be a gentlemen; held open your doors and pulled out your chairs at every dinner. He remembered the little things, was a decent cook, clean enough and worked hard.

But, you didn’t feel the spark.

Even after weeks of planned lunches and candlelit dinners accompanied with fine wines and good conversation but you couldn’t see yourself falling in love—at least not yet; not without effort. It’s partially why you’d never brought him around the Inner Circle; slightly worried about making your private life public in fears that it was moving things along too soon.

Was it normal to invite someone you didn’t love to meet your family?

There’s not enough time to really figure it out, to work out the kinds and tie lose ends before Damien is asking to meet them. “You’ve met mine.”

It was true; his family was—nice. A kind enough mother and a father who wasn’t exactly present but he was a good provider and Damien insisted that even without his dad around much, he still had a good life. You don’t think much of it until you start noticing little things; condescending responses when you tell him you’re leaving to go train with Cassian. “Enjoy it—a wife of mine will be too busy with our children to be running about playing with swords.”

You bite your tongue, deeming it too soon in the relationship to give him a piece of your mind and falling into a placating role is anything but love inducing. “You’re entitled to your opinion. It’s awfully early to be talking about that sort of thing anyway.”

Damien shrugs it off, already bored with the conversation and moving onto another. “Either way, I’d still like to meet them—your family,” Your eye twitches at the way he says it; like just because it wasn’t by blood that it wasn’t something real. “Get to know the people who’ve been stealing you away from me all week.”

You comply with a strained smile, dread beginning to settle in when you bring it up to Rhysand a few days later. You downplay it, reiterating multiple times that it wasn’t obligatory in hopes that he and the other would be busy for now and the foreseeable future.

Of course, that’s not the case.

“Don’t be silly, we’d love to meet your new boyfriend.”

He doesn’t miss the way you cringe at the title. “Oh, that’s just—that’s just wonderful. Great.”

Your mood is no less sour three days later when you’re getting ready for said gathering, form stuffed in a little black dress you’d been saving for a special occasion and you figured now was a better time than ever. Plus, the confidence boost would help sooth the nerves that wouldn’t stop swarming beneath your skin.

“That’s a little short, Angel.”

You try not to roll your eyes at the pet name—soft and sweet and completely non-threatening. As if you hadn’t spent the entirety of your life beating your knuckles into the bones of men five times your size in a ring meant for close combat.

Still, your hands slide over the fabric, staring at your figure in the mirror when you murmur, “Not too bad though right? I thought it was really pretty.”

“Very pretty, just not for other eyes.” Damien gives you a small smile, warm palms cupping at your arms when he continues as if he’s doing you a favor. “I’ll let it slide though, just this once.”

“How generous.”

It takes everything in you not to scream when he makes a point to throw a long cardigan over his arm before you leave; trying to distract you by asking for a full run down of everyone and you’re quick to skip over the fact that maybe, once upon a time, you and Azriel were more than just friends. But the steaming, boiling anger subsides when you winnow him to the Night Court, his cheeks green as he struggled to keep his breakfast down.

Damien hated winnowing and for some reason that made you love it.

Even as you soothing rub his back, acutely aware of the eyes staring into your back from the entrance doors. Damien composes himself fairly quickly, sparing you a look when you’d promised he’d get used to it after a while. “It happens,” The High Lord of the Night Court greets, a friendly hand patting at Damien’s shoulder and you don’t miss the way Azriel’s eyes roll at the gesture. “Welcome, I’m Rhysand and this is my wife Feyre.”

Damien’s eyes go wide, making a move to bow to his knees but you stop him with a gentle smile. “I apologize, I’ve never really met a High Lord before.”

“He’s just Rhys right now,” You soothe, tugging him along to introduce him to the others and they can tell it’s a little overwhelming so you’re both quickly ushered to the sitting room. “The same Rhys who always splurges on the good shit—“ You cringe at the way Damien clears his throat, a brow raised at the profanity and you have to hide the burn of embarrassment for being checked in front of your friends. “Stuff. He always gets the good stuff.”

Nesta and Mor share a glance, watching you pour up a glass just for it to be swiftly snagged by your date who offers you one too but it’s significantly smaller. “Should take it slow, Angel. It’s not ladylike to get drunk when you’re being hosted.”

Your friends watch you nod with a tight smile, quietly thanking him for looking out before taking a slow sip.

Azriel scoffs in the corner, eyes rolling as he fills a glass of his own and your jaw clenched in response, an arm looping through Damien’s to show him around. You point at art you’ve seen a million times and nod every now and then when he runs off into a winded explanation of a vase he was sure was a prized possession but you were certain Rhys had gotten it from Mor as a gift three Winter Solstice’s ago.

Cassian wanders over, striking up casual conversation that you use as a chance to slip away, re-filling your glass much higher than respectable and took it back in one go with a glance over your shoulder. “Where’d you find this guy?”

“Do you actually care or are you being a prick?”

Rhysand lets out a laugh, hands tucked in his pockets as violet eyes scan the room. “Are you even allowed to say that word?”

You scoff, a hand swatting at his arm but you can’t smack away the embarrassment that appears. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you guys to meet him.” You lower your voice, fingers toying with the stitching on your dress. “We’ve only been seeing each other a few months. I didnt have enough time to—“

“To dump him before we found out about him?”

A pause, your lips purse and your fingers twitch for something stronger than whatever had been filling the decanter. “Fuck off, Rhys. Not everyone gets to have a fairytale ending like you do.”

His voice is softer, more careful and it takes effort to even hear what he’s saying. “Why don’t you just talk to him? I know you’ve seen him brooding in the corners.”

“Azriel made himself perfectly clear,” You hiss, no longer caring who saw when you reached out to grab a whole bottle of wine and all out ripped the cork free. “He can brood in the corners for the rest of our lives for all I care.”

Your form radiates agitation, positivity seething over a nearly overflowing glass before taking hefty gulps to quench the rage but it only seems to fuel it. Taking you back to that night, the cool breeze sifting through a dragging duvet while standing on the balcony with Az. You could still feel the afterglow, body radiating perfect health and contentment when he finally faces you, a grimace on strong features. “I think I have feelings for Elain.”

It hadn’t even amounted to much, grazing fingers and hushed conversations; strolls in the garden and hours hunched over a table putting together puzzles.

But Elain didn’t want more, barely grasping at the strings of her life as she knew it and more anger burns when you’re robbed of the ability to enjoy it. Enjoy him being hurt a fraction of the amount you’d been but the feeling never comes, just breathtakingly aching love—the need to hold and cradle him close and make promises you weren’t positive you’d be able to keep. “I’m sorry,” Rhys rests a hand on your shoulder but you’re quick to shift away from it.

“Forget it, can we just hurry this night along?”

He nods stiffly, lips pursed at your agitation but it doesn’t stop him from swiftly blocking you from sight when Damien begins walking over, offering enough time for you to finish your glass and ditch the bottle. “Anyone hungry?”

Nesta grins beside her mate, a knowing look in her eye when she sits down, tugging Cassian along with her and it takes a moment too long to realize that she’d directed every seat be filled—except the one before you. Teeth grind against each other when the shadowsinger sits down, chair creaking against the hardwood as he scoots in until you felt the tips of his shoes against your own. “Absolutely ravenous.”

Azriel doesn’t play nice, smirking to himself over his mashed potatoes when those familiar shadows creep under the table, licking up your ankles and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You tense, grip slipping on your fork and Damien raises a questioning brow. “You okay?”

You refrain from looking at the dark haired man across from you and force a smile. “Perfect,” You lean in for a kiss, lips millimeters away when Damien’s head turns to the side, choking on nothing but air. It passes rather quickly but your hands curl into fists under the table, swatting away the shadows curling around your knees, teasing at your thighs.

“Damien, do tell us how you two met?”

Mor doesn’t acknowledge your grateful stare but you’re certain she’d noticed it, biding you just enough time to swiftly throw Azriel a look that could kill—but it only seems to spur him on further. “I ran into her in the city, asked her out to apologize.”

“Clumsy, are you?”

Az doesn’t even acknowledge your heels stomping at his foot, smirk growing over the rim of his wine glass and you straighten in your seat. “I try not to be but when in the presence of such beauty,” Damien grazes his knuckles against the curve of your cheek, watching as you pile food on your plate. “She didn’t have such an appetite back then though—slow down it’s not going anywhere.”

A brow raises, hands freezing in their place, serving spoon hovering in midair as his words settle but you’re quick to recover. Offering a smile, you put the spoon back, returning the dish to its place.

A beat of time passes in complete silence.

“Excuse me?”

“Az, don’t.” Maybe it’s the nickname that slips—one Azriel hadn’t heard you use in months—that forces him to clamp his mouth shut but the way golden eyes go dark is unmistakable. The others are staring; more so at your date than you but ever so gracefully you take control of the situation, resting a hand lovingly on Damien’s shoulder, sparing a quick kiss there over the cotton of his shirt. “It’s fine, he’s right, I had a big lunch.”

Rhys takes over, directing small talk and grilling Damien with subtle questions. Where he was from. His parents and their lineage and you wince slightly at the way he describes the relationship between his parents. “I suppose my family is like any other. My father always raised me to be a strong male who provides and instills order within his home and my mother handles the other duties—certainly none of this fighting mess my angel seems intent on participating in.”

Nesta perks up in her seat, fork scraping against her plate. “She’s actually really good—taught me when I first got here.”

“Be that as it may,” Damien doesn’t even seem to notice the displeased looks directed at him, the shared glances and mental conversations about just how fucking awful they thought he was. But, none of them say a thing, intrigued by your lack of irritation. In fact, you looked quite pleased with yourself, sparing the spymaster quick glances after each degrading comment—like you were getting off on his growing anger. “It’s just not how I was raised. Playing with swords isn’t where she belongs.”

“And where exactly do you feel she belongs?” It’s a loaded question and judging by the low growl that laces Azriel’s words you know Damien’s answer will dictate how the rest of the night goes. If he’d be able to leave the house in one piece.

Damien shrugs as if the response is as easy as breathing, not aware in the slightest of the cobalt glow beginning to push through the thickness of Azriel’s leathers. “In the—“

“Dessert?” You sharply interject, standing abruptly and smoothing the wrinkles in your dress. “Come help me carry it out.” You don’t even look back, ears catching on the linen cloth smacking against the table before the gentle scratch of the chair. You don’t make a sound until you’re behind the kitchens double doors, fingers raking through your hair when you spin around.

Damien is not behind you.

Azriel is, and he’s entirely too close, stalking forward with a growing snarl on god-like features. All sharp cheekbones and a dark brow, even darker hair that falls over his forehead and tickles at the nape of his neck but your eyes are caught on the shape of his mouth. The ripple of his nose and the tightly strung cord of his jaw as he cages you to the counter. “Dump him.”

The smell of his cologne nearly knocks you clean off your feet and your body’s reaction to the proximity was steadily becoming the ultimate betrayal. “What?” He watches you shake yourself from the momentary stupor, a hand smacking at his chest but Azriel doesn’t so much as flinch. “Are you crazy?”

“I will go fucking batshit if you keep throwing yourself all over that sorry excuse of a male.”

It’s the promise coating each syllable that has your thighs clenching but it’s the large hand that ghosts over your silhouette that has arousal pooling in your underwear. Azriel tracks the slow swallow you take, the roll of your throat and it’s like you’re catapulted back in time. Back when it would’ve been your right to lean forward and press your mouth to his, to let those hands roam wherever they pleased as long as he was planning on reciprocating the pleasure. Your fingers clench at your sides at the very thought and there’s no hiding your scent in the air. “You don’t get to do this. You wanted her—you chose her.” Your heart slams against your chest so hard you feared an imprint would begin to form. There’s nowhere to run; nowhere to go that wasn’t completely engulfed in everything Azriel and you have to close your eyes as to not get lost in the familiar touch of his shadows on your skin. “We are over.”

“No, we aren’t.” He noses at your cheek, free hand curling at the side of your neck to make room and you swear at yourself for allowing it. For falling victim to his fucked up game and the way he seemed to know exactly where to touch; plush lips pressing the softest of kisses along your racing pulse and he fucking groans. “It isn’t over—we’ll never be over.” So low and deep, hand tightening ever so slightly at your neck in such a claiming gesture that you have to rip yourself from the delusions beginning to set root. “You will always be mine.”

“You’re insane if you really think that’s true.” Hopefully it sounds more sure than it felt coming out and it takes every ounce of strength you have to pull away, to push through the thick cloud of darkness surrounding you until the glow of the lights were visible again. Fluffy cakes and neatly iced cookies rest on elegant trays and you can’t seem to stop yourself from grabbing one and retreating as far away as possible. “Absolutely insane.” A choked yelp escapes when you bump into the wall, mouth stuffed full of sweet dough and light icing to occupy from the grating thought of dropping to your knees and letting him shove his cock as far back as your throat could allow.

“I can be,” He nods, a smile pulling on his handsome features and your gut clenches. “I’ll be nice and ask you one time to break up with him.”

“And if I don’t?”

Shadows slink up the back of your legs, over your ass—higher and higher until they wrap ever so delicately around your neck. “Then, I’ll kill him.”

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