I Don’t Really Dance

I love Discovery of Witches, Bridgerton, ACOTAR, Feminism, and Snarky Humor (I loathe - misogynists, terfs, racists, all hate groups really. Oh, and porn bots.)

[angelshadowsinger]

Eres Mía

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Azriel x f!reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.5k

𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲: smut

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬:

dubcon (dubious consent), possessiveness, jealousy, toxicity, Az is a bit yandere 😮‍💨, rough sex, shadow bondage, creampie, cheating

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

The night before your marriage to Eris, Azriel shows up to remind you that you will always be his.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:

This fic is inspired by Romeo Santos’ ‘Eres Mía’, sung originally in Spanish (the lyrics hit harder imo) but I’ve included the English translations~ Please give it a listen! Additionally, I have wanted to write this one for so long now and I'm very pleased I was finally able to get it out. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

‘Eres Mía’ — Romeo Santos

If you get married, On your wedding day I'll tell your husband through laughs That the lady he loves is only borrowed, Because you’re still mine. — You know your heart is mine, And you’ll love me forever. — Don’t be surprised if some night, I enter your room and make you mine again.  You know well my mistakes, The selfishness of owning your life. — You're mine, mine, mine. Don't pretend you don’t know, Don’t play dumb, you already know that you’re mine.

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: ʙʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪꜰʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 18 ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ.

．｡･ﾟﾟ･･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜ﾟ・

The reflection staring back at you was not the bride you’d always dreamed you’d be. 

This woman wore gems of brilliant amber and ruby, gold tendrils woven into a crown of branches with little emerald leaves dotting along her hairline. Her gown was simple, regal– a silk ivory number that fell just right on her hips, the off-the-shoulder sleeves of maple-leaved lace sitting perfectly at the bend of her shoulder. 

Your eyes wandered to the long veil that hung on the wall beside the vanity. The intricate lace trailed down and down, until the hem kissed the ground with larger, pretty maple leaves that would flutter behind you as you walked down the aisle in the morning. 

Into Eris’ arms.

Eris Vanserra was not the male that so many thought him to be— there was a warm, fiery heart underneath his callous façade and you had made a space for yourself in the center of it. Life would not be easy as his bride, but you knew that he cared for you, perhaps more than he had cared for anyone or anything else. He loved you, enough that he had asked you to marry him in a rather grand display at the heart of the Autumn Court. Declining his proposal never crossed your mind… though your imminent ceremony certainly stirred up feelings that you had long insisted were dead. 

Once upon a time you had deluded yourself into believing that another male would wed you. This male was, physically speaking, the exact opposite of your betrothed. And yet there were uncanny similarities the two shared in their personalities; they were both fierce, cunning males with silver-tongues and the darkest sense of humor. They both had extensive battle prowess, were regarded highly in their respective courts, and each had an unshakable loyalty to their cause, their people. 

And they both hated each other. 

Perhaps that was why Eris had initially taken interest in you– to rub salt in the wound of the male he loathed, even if that wound had already had decades to heal. And perhaps you had wanted to ruffle some feathers, too, you couldn’t lie. 

Regardless of how the Autumn Court lordling’s interest in you began, your relationship had swiftly blossomed into something more meaningful the longer the two of you spent together. What had started as a simple, poisoned flirtation no longer held any ill-intent. Eris loved you– and he made sure that you knew how much, with each honeyed word and every passionate caress.

You loved him, too. 

In some ways. 

But there was always a nagging little voice in the back of your head, in the depths of your heart, that called out for the one that had left you behind all those years ago. He had been your first love– and if you were honest with yourself, you weren’t sure that you’d ever find a love comparable to that again. And even if you managed to find one, you weren’t sure you’d survive it. 

Your feelings for Eris were complicated– mature, you liked to call them. They were not the product of some whirlwind fascination, not pure lust nor obsession. Perhaps that was why they were not as overwhelmingly passionate, if you put them head-to-head. But that passion was what had been your downfall last time– it had burned you, entombed your heart in scars. The kind of love you had for Eris was the kind that was fitting for a marriage; something that had a strong foundation, something that could withstand countless trials and become the shelter you could make a home within for all the years yet to come.

That was the pretty spiel you told yourself anyway, repeating it for the thousandth time as your eyes remained glued to that ornate veil. Yes, Eris was someone you could count on… someone you knew would always be there for you in your time of need. He was kind to you– thoughtful, sweet… he was by all accounts the perfect candidate for a husband, at least, in terms of the dynamic between the two of you.

So why were your thoughts still with another male? 

The memory of the night-cloaked warrior who had broken you all those years ago simply refused to leave you alone, traipsing through your thoughts almost every night. It was as if one of the shadows he wielded had made a permanent dwelling in your heart, staking claim to you and ensuring that no one else could have every piece of you, as he once had. As if those decade-old promises you made to each other hadn’t decayed, hadn’t rotted with the corpse of your former relationship. 

Not that the tattoo had, either. 

Taking a deep breath, you finally were able to tear your gaze from the garment. You looked to the mirror, to inspect each detail of the dress and the crown you were to don tomorrow yet again. Sleep would not come– you knew that without even attempting to lay down. Instead, you would debate if you wanted your hair pinned back or loose, down to frame your face as it did now. Incessant bridal worries could occupy you for the night that you were meant to be sleeping in, because surely you couldn’t afford to get lost in the memories of your former lover when you were getting married to another in the morning.  

Only, something in your reflection caught your eye.

The grand chamber you were staying in as your bridal suite was massive, with columns of polished stone looming by the walls and ornate arches decorating the ceiling. It was difficult to keep such a space lit, especially when it was now approaching midnight and most of the staff was tucked away in their own beds fast asleep, and you didn’t have the mind to bother with faelight. The dark had never scared you anyway– but now, your blood turned to ice as you stared at the shadows lurking behind the lavish, golden drapes. 

They had moved. 

Just barely, but you’d seen it. Anyone else would have just chalked it up to the wind, an insect perhaps. But you knew better than that. 

And so did he.

Out from the mass of shadows he stepped, just as lethally handsome as he had been the last time you’d seen him. That was so many years ago now, and yet he looked the same– fae magic tended to do that, you supposed– even if the last encounter you’d had with the male was forty years ago. 

The shadowsinger was silent as he squared his shoulders, hazel gaze boring into you through the mirror. Inky locks sat messily at his crown, his dark brow groomed and furrowed just slightly as his searing stare wandered down your silhouette, eating up the sight of you. 

Your mouth went dry, not a single thought coming to mind as you wordlessly appraised him back. He was not donned in his usual leathers— but instead, a slim, dark suit tapered perfectly to his toned form, the crisp undershirt beneath almost a second skin with how it clung to his muscled chest. Dark wings gleamed behind his broad shoulders in the candlelight, as if he’d taken extra care with them, even polished the talons that sat at the apex high above his head. Shadows rolled down from the membrane-bound appendages in ominous wisps. You watched as that darkness gathered into pools on the ground, morphing into streams that slithered toward you.

For a second you wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you— if today was the day that you finally lost the grueling battle with looming insanity. That vicious, unrelenting cycle that would restart when your heart inevitably longed for him and you put everything you had into convincing yourself you were done with him, over him. Maybe this was all just a stress-hallucination, fueled by cold feet from the nuptials that loomed in the dawn. 

But you knew that he was really here. 

You knew that the moment the cool tendrils touched your ankle, a vine of dark indigo coiling up your calf. It felt like being pushed under a freezing torrent and coming home at the same time. 

“It appears I’m a bit ahead of schedule,” Azriel drawled, hands in his pockets, voice low and even.

The nonchalance in his stance and words would have made you bristle if you weren’t still paralyzed at the mere sight of him. You were plainly staring at him in the reflection before you, your heart going a mile a minute while your mind drowned in a bubbling pit of tar. 

The shadow at your leg crawled up your side, twirling through the ends of your hair in playful greeting. You had always thought of them as his dogs — always at his beck and call, always excited to see you. Akin to Eris’ hounds. Their feelings seemingly hadn’t changed since back then, though their master was keeping his cards close to his chest, a perfectly-crafted mask of indifference hung on his exquisite face.

“What…” you managed to spit out, still gawking at him in the reflection before you. “What are you doing here?”

His wings twitched at your frigid tone. 

Azriel pursed his lips, and you fought your hardest not to track the movement. It would be best not to be caught staring at his mouth when you knew it was capable of so very many things. 

“I heard you were to be wed,” he replied, eyes wandering down to your dress that glittered in the candlelight, flattering each curve and dip of your figure. They flickered to the diadem that rested upon your head, scrutinizing the little leaves and vines of jewels. “My invite must’ve been lost in transit...”

It took all your strength to turn toward him, your breath stuttering in your chest as you faced the male who had haunted you the past few decades. He was planted a reasonable distance away, far enough that you could run if you bolted right here and now. And yet, your feet were glued to the tile, your heart lurching toward him from its place beneath your ribs, craving sweet, deluded reunion after all these years. 

At your silence, the Illyrian cocked his head aside slightly, inquisitive gaze studying your face. “I found it hard to believe you were betrothed,” he murmured quietly before a shred of disdain flickered in his expression, “to another male.” 

You gulped, fingers gripping the satin by your hip. Unease budded across your body, sinking in your stomach like a stone. But you couldn’t show it, schooling your spine straight and squaring your shoulders. 

“It’s true,” you spat out, in a voice you did not recognize as your own. “The ceremony is tomorrow.” You flashed your engagement ring at the Illyrian, the large gemstone sparkling brilliantly even in such dim lighting. His gaze ignited for just a second as he glanced at the ring. You savored his displeasure, how his shadows lashed out around his feet. “Now leave.”

Just like that, his composure was back in place, not a single chink visible in his armored guise. He clicked his tongue, folding his arms across his broad chest and leaning back onto the column behind him. “That’s cold, dove.” 

Your heart clenched at the pet name, the first time you’d heard it in ages. How you’d longed to hear that sweet little word from his lips— how you missed it all these years, even if you told yourself you didn’t. 

He could read the flicker in your defense like words on a page, a smirk curling on his lip at the knowledge that his meticulous attack had hit its mark. “You’d kick out an old friend without even offering a ‘Hi, how’ve you been?’” 

You pursed your lips and breathed out, “We were never friends.”

Azriel kicked off his perch, daring to take a couple steps toward you. 

You were quick to match his advance with a few backward paces, until your ass brushed the vanity and your hand skimmed over the surface– Cornered. Your fingers found a pair of ornate scissors and curled around them tightly, a whisper of delusional security blooming in your chest. He tracked the movement in the mirror, amusement twinkling in his gaze. 

You both knew he had you at a disadvantage now. 

But he’d be a fool to think you’d go down without a fight.

“I suppose you’re right, dove,” he mused, his head tilting just slightly as he tucked his scarred hands into his slack pockets, a deliberate move to show he had no ill intent. His tone dropped as he continued, his deep voice sending shivers through you. “I never thought of you in a… friendly way.”

Your palms turned clammy behind your back, your body throbbing at the meaning of his words, his stare– hazel eyes glued to you, unrelenting.

When you didn’t respond further, he carried on, taking another slow step toward you. You desperately wished you had the will to break his stare, but you found yourself powerless, trapped like a fly in those alluring, honey eyes.

“And you never thought about me that way, either… right, Y/n?” 

You swallowed thickly, fingers clutching the silver shears with an iron grip. “That was a long time ago, Azriel,” you said, barely able to hear yourself over the blood pounding in your ears. You cursed yourself for letting his name slip out, but it had rolled off your tongue effortlessly.

The male took a deep breath, pleased to hear his name fall from your lips. “Was it?” he quipped, head tilting slightly so a soft curl fell atop his strong brow. “Feels like only yesterday…” 

Now he was only one step away from you, and your hand was cramping with how hard you were gripping your pathetic weapon. You were starting to tremble, your body vibrating as he closed the proximity between you. His cool cedar scent unraveled your defenses, your body naively melting at the familiarity, wanting so desperately to welcome him into your embrace. 

“Maybe that’s because I thought about you yesterday,” he murmured, the heat of his gaze climbing as he neared. A shadow roved up your neck, caressing your jaw. “And every day since you ran away from me.” 

You blinked the shock from his confession away, deeming it nothing but a lie. “I didn’t run from you,” you hissed, temper suddenly sparked. How dare he insinuate that you were the one to end things?

“I know you think about me too,” he continued, as if he hadn’t even heard your retort. 

You snarled, lunging at him as swift as you could, sterling blade hungry for blood.

But the Illyrian was ready for you; knew exactly how to make you pounce, knew you too well for your attack to land. In one clean motion, he had you pinned against the vanity, the scissors clattering loudly on the tabletop beside you. He held one of your wrists with his hand, the other secured by shadow, leaving his dominant hand free to brace on the table, leaning into you. 

You gasped at the proximity, a wave of night-chilled cedar crashing into you. A surge of self-hatred rushed through you as you felt your core ignite, eyelids fluttering shut in defeat. There was no way you were going to be able to escape him now; you weren’t strong enough to fight both him and yourself in order to save your dignity. He had you right where he wanted you… and maybe that was where you wanted to be, too, if you were honest with yourself. 

Not that you would tell him that. 

“You smell absolutely divine,” Azriel groaned, long lashes close enough to tickle your cheek as he leaned into you, inhaling the air warmed by your neck. 

Heat flashed across your cheeks. The feeble hope that he wouldn’t scent your debauched desire vanished as quickly as it had come. 

“And you look…,” he trailed off, pulling back to examine you. Hazel ate up your visage, the sight of you clad in tight silk far better than anything he’d imagined. “Fucking unreal,” he exhaled as he leaned in again, the stubble on his jaw tickling you. Fingertips barely skimmed over your shoulder, touching the laced edge of maple leaves. “Even in this ridiculous autumn garbage.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as his lips ghosted over your throat, just where he knew you were your weakest. Your traitorous heart raced in your chest, arms weakly pushing against his grasp in the feeblest protest. 

Azriel drew back, tight shadow binds drawing your wrists up against the mirror as another set pulled your bottom up onto the edge of the table, leaving you vulnerable for his inspection. You flushed as he knocked your knees apart, invading the space in between so he stood just before you, forcing you to look up at him. His calm gaze wandered from your face down your torso, examining the soft plush of your thighs through the white silk of your dress before trailing back up. 

“All this for him…” he murmured, a hand landing delicately on your hip before sliding up to your waist. His voice was steady but it darkened at the mention of your betrothed. 

Even such a small touch from him had your body going wild, thighs twitching as your chest heaved. Your reaction spurred him on, shadow binds pulsing with appreciation.

Azriel sighed softly, thumb swooping at your side before he continued, “I thought you would only ever wear this for me.” If you didn’t know better, you’d say he sounded almost… hurt. 

The audacity of this male. How dare he pretend that his own actions were not the reason the two of you had gone your separate ways? After all this time, he still refused to take accountability? Could he still not make sense of his feelings for you, even after forty years of reflection? 

You bared a snarl at him, not caring that he had you in such a precarious position. “Eris–”

Shadows flared like you’d poured gasoline atop fire, and suddenly the scissors he’d disarmed from your pathetic attempt at escape earlier slammed into the tabletop beside you, twin blades splintering the lacquered wood so that a small crater formed there. 

“Don’t,” the Illyrian warned, voice dropped an octave and full of contempt, “say his name.” 

You stammered, letting fear take for a moment as the words died in your throat. But the look Azriel gave you at the scent of your momentary terror washed it right away. He wouldn’t hurt you. He never had, and never would. Not physically, anyway.

“He proposed,” you continued plainly, although you had intended to spit it out with ire. “You never did.”

It was only the truth that you had given him. 

And yet, the male recoiled like you had stabbed him. 

His brow furrowed and his mouth opened to shoot back a quick respite, and yet, nothing came out. Even if in his memories, he pretended that the two of you had ended because you were both at fault, he had to know somewhere deep down that it was him who had effectively ended things. Him who left you all alone.

A tense moment passed in silence before he recovered, swallowing whatever emotion you had torn out of him and replacing it with determination.

“What if I did?” He breathed. It was your turn to be stunned, eyes widening. The male before you stepped back against you, fingers gliding over the tops of your thighs til his palms landed flat atop them. His gaze was dark and heavy, inspecting every minute detail of your expression. “What would you say?”

You exhaled. He was just bluffing. The shadowsinger you knew would never marry, he would never take stock of his feelings, let alone act on them. There was no way that forty years had fundamentally changed him, even if your traitorous heart wished it true. 

You closed your eyes and looked away, “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Shadowsinger.”

Your words fell to pause, before rustling sounded before you. You chanced a curious look at him, to find scarred fingers fumbling with the top few buttons of his shirt. The crisp material gave way and he pulled it aside, baring the inked skin underneath his collar bone– two little whirls twisted in embrace, dots following the edges and mixing into his other tattoos. 

“You promised you’d love me forever,” he claimed, tone firm. He pulled the shirt further aside, angling the tattoo closer to you. “It’s still here, so I know you do. Your heart is mine.”

You frowned. You hated that he could see the truth of your feelings so plainly, even if it meant you could see his, too. A remnant of a long-withered promise. Your brow scrunched and you whispered a lame excuse that neither of you believed, “That doesn't mean anything.”

You looked away again, shuddering when he pushed your dress up your thigh, revealing the tattoo identical to his at the edge of your hip. You tried not to think about how he had just exposed your panties, the scent of your shameful desire wafting up toward him. You tried not to breathe, to be somewhere far away from him, from here. 

“You know it does,” he asserted as his thumb caressed your tattoo. His lips landed on the exposed column of your throat, tingles shooting through your entirety as they trailed down to your clavicle. “You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, his hand at your hip gripping the flesh with dominion, “And I don’t share.”

The Illyrian sunk to his knees, rough hands sliding up your bare thighs to cup your ass and pull you to the very edge of the table. You whimpered when he pressed a deliberate kiss to the inside of each thigh, his lips sending lightning through your whole body. Then he kissed your core through the dampened lace, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue lashed out to sample the wetness that laid below. 

“Don’t,” you pleaded, even though your body was trembling at his touch. “I– I love him. Please, Azriel.” You swallowed harshly, even though your mouth was parched. 

Your appeal fell on deaf ears. 

“If you really love him…” he mumbled against you, nuzzling your thighs as deft fingers hooked the sides of your panties. They slid down your hips until he peeled them off your core, syrupy slick trailing behind them. “Why are you fucking soaked for me?”

Your eyes slammed shut with guilt, limp hands turning to curled fists against the mirror above your head. Gods, it was unfair how your body reacted to him. Unfair how bad you needed him.

“Az, please..,” you whispered with weak defiance. You blushed as you heard your plea, realizing that it had sounded like an invitation instead. Perhaps your tongue betrayed you just as the rest of your body did now. 

Large hands spread your legs so your core opened on full display for him. You didn’t even pretend to close your thighs to thwart him– abandoning any shred of dignity you had left in favor of pleasure. You whined as his hot tongue met your folds, the tip of it dipping into your hole to acquaint himself with the taste of you.

Azriel groaned as he gathered your ass into his arms, pulling you snug against his face while his tongue slithered into you. The stubble on his upper lip brushed your clit and your hips bucked, a sob loosing from your throat. The male rewarded the sound by wrapping his lips around the little pearl and sucking, tongue petting you unabashedly. 

Your eyes rolled back and you sagged against the mirror, any shame you harbored disappearing as instantly as mist enveloped by the sun’s rays. You pulled against your restraints, fingers longing to card through the onyx locks between your thighs. But the shadows held tight, the cool of the mirror clashing against your hot skin. 

The male before you moaned into your center as he ate you mercilessly, as though he had been starving for you all these years. His reckless plight made your hole clench around nothing, twitching against his lips as your body adjusted to the ecstasy he delivered to you. Knowing how much he enjoyed devouring you only made you even wetter, juices dripping down the side of the vanity.

This was insanity; depravity at its limit.

There was no foreplay, not even a kiss– he had just fallen to his knees and begun to worship the most intimate part of you, as though no time had passed since you two parted ways. And it drove you to hysteria. He still knew how you liked it, how you wanted him; his tongue moved in the same, beautiful motions it had hundreds of times it had before… so very long ago. The way he ate your cunt was the same way he kissed you; slow, powerful strokes of his tongue in between passionate kisses where his lips took control, sucking gently and cycling between the motions until your thighs shook around his head. 

You tried your best to swallow your moans, not wanting to draw attention to your bridal chamber, but it felt so good that you couldn’t grasp control of yourself– it was Azriel who was in command of your body now, and he was relentless in pursuit of your climax. 

“Oh fuck,” floated from your lips as two fingertips slid into your slick, circling your ready hole as he continued his assault on your clit. The tiara clanged as your head smacked back onto the mirror, his long fingers tentatively wandering inside, first only a knuckle deep and then, two– three, the base of his hand pushed flush against your ass. The digits curled up and you cried out, clenching hard around them. How he still knew exactly where to find that secret little spot inside of you, you didn’t know. But it didn’t matter, because you couldn’t think anyway– his fingers started to pump into you and you melted, legs spreading in welcome as sweat began to drip down the backs of your knees. 

Euphoria suddenly appeared like a wave on the horizon. There was just enough time for you to moan his name, then a quick gasp as you tumbled underneath the powerful tide. Your body went taut, toes curled and mouth agape as your orgasm shattered you. Completely dunked in pleasure, your body squirmed as you rode through it, the tongue between your legs both your downfall and your anchor at once. 

Azriel’s smirk burned into your cunt as you came back down. The validation of your body’s reaction to him stoked his ego– he had barely even gotten into the rhythm of it and you had already climaxed. Was Eris not proficient in pleasuring you, that you were this sensitive? Or perhaps it was because it was him who was touching you. The male grinned at the thought, wiping your slick from his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Your shoulders sagged as you leaned back to catch your breath, eyes closed and panting, already wrecked. The shadowsinger rose then. You could feel his presence in the space before you, the air heavy with need. Just as you opened your eyes to take him in, his lips met yours with surprising care. He’d leaned in, dark eyelashes long against the elegant planes of his face, and pressed his mouth to yours with careful zeal. 

Large hands wrapped around your waist and the back of your neck, pressing you as close to him as possible. You couldn’t help but moan at the embrace, the familiarity of it all too much to pretend you didn’t love it. His tongue drifted into your mouth at the sound, and your breath hitched as he introduced the taste of yourself to you. 

The shadows around your wrists vanished and your arms fell atop his shoulders, crossing behind his head. One of your hands immediately darted to his hair, your fingers gliding through the silky tufts and grabbing hold, drawing his face closer to yours. The male groaned, the hand at your waist dropping to collect your ass instead, gripping your soft skin through the silk.

You let him lead, his kiss intoxicating. Gods, his lips slotted against yours so perfectly, his tongue caressing yours with just the right amount of ferocity. You gobbled up his quiet moans and returned them with your own, your fronts pressed together in a desperate dance. Reaching out blindly, your hand outstretched approximately around… your fingertips brushed against the hard, leathery tendon of his wing. 

Azriel growled, drawing back slightly so a strand of your saliva stretched between the pair of you. You examined his face inquisitively, painted completely in desire with a flush of surprise. You used to touch his wings often when you had sex, and yet he looked at you now like it had been the first time they’d been touched in ages. A quick cinch of his dark brows dismissed the pause, lips colliding into yours with heightened desperation. 

Deft fingers landed at your back, fumbling for the ribbons of your corset and pulling at them with abandon. Your tongue twisted with his as your hands matched his, unbuckling his belt that confined his hard cock, reaching for you underneath the leather where he’d tucked himself up earlier. Pulling at his shirt’s buttons underneath his wings, they popped open easily before you then undid the front, keen to reveal his form to your hungry gaze. The article fell off his shoulders, revealing bronzed skin and dark ink splayed across his glorious physique. 

You took in the deep contours of his torso, the hard-earned muscles that lined his form, old scars and new littering across his caramel skin haphazardly. Your fingers reached to stroke his chest on their own, the proof of your promise to each other luring your touch as a moth to a flame. Chest tight, you examined the identical ink, savoring the truth it exhibited– that your hearts remained to each other. That he still loved you, too. 

Azriel glanced down at your face, taking in the mixed emotion blatant there as his fingers still worked the laced contraption down your back. He hadn’t said it, of course– he still had his flaws, his shortcomings. But he knew that you understood what it meant– that both of you still had your tattoos. It only fueled the fire within him, catalyzing his need to claim you as his once again. 

Finally the Illyrian was able to loosen your corset enough to pull it off over your head, uncovering your naked skin for his eager eyes to devour. He grunted, cupping one of your breasts in his hand and running a thumb over your nipple, summoning a quiet gasp from you. 

Your heart hammered against your ribs, exhilaration thrumming through every inch of you. You never thought you’d be able to be with this male again– to have him here before you, hot and hard… Azriel’s tongue continued to battle yours, your lips clashing repeatedly between glances at each other’s bodies, hands fiddling with the buttons on his slacks. The dagger he always wore clattered to the tile floor below as you released the leather sheath from his hip, his belt and slacks dropping with them. He kicked them to the side swiftly, the pair of you now completely bare before each other. 

The sight of his thick length made saliva pool in your mouth. Eris was well endowed, but not nearly as girthy as the Illyrian male before you. It was sick, really, how your betrothed had completely and wholly disappeared from your mind. But all you could think of was the male between your legs now, and how amazing his cock would feel burrowed deep inside your core. 

The Illyrian grabbed your hips and pulled you upright, twirling you around so your ass pushed out over the edge of the vanity. Shadows swirled around your body, encircling your curves like a serpent and forcing your spine to straighten, bending you so your head tilted back and your lips met his once more over your shoulder. You whimpered as his hands ghosted over your skin, a hand sliding up your neck to hold your throat and chin possessively, his tongue dominating yours. The balance between you suddenly veered out of control as his restraint slipped, passion increasing tenfold. 

He deepened the kiss, his free hand reaching down across your bowed body until his fingers found your clit. You gasped and the crown atop your head fell to your feet, skittering on the tile until it landed some length away, as forgotten as the one who gave it to you. Neither of you paid any attention to it, the sultry tip of his cock prodding your slit as he held you impossibly close, his shadows swirling lethargically at your nipples.

You whined as he pulled his lips from yours, using his nose to nudge your face toward the mirror before you. The fingers at your clit turned to a fist and you watched as he thrust into the space between your thighs, the great length of him causing the head of his coke to poke out of the hand in front of you. You moaned at the sight, relishing the visual as he fucked himself into your slickened thighs, the thickness of him sliding against your ready cunt. It wasn’t enough– fuck, it wasn’t even close– you couldn’t help but angle your hips back when he pushed forward again, the tip of him dipping into your aching core. 

Azriel groaned, submitting to your silent request as his cock nestled halfway inside of you. You fell forward as pleasure rushed through you, the stretch of him melting the perimeters of your mind, your morals. You tried to keep your eyes on him in the reflection, but they rolled back when your body moved on its own– you slammed your ass back onto his hips, a garbled moan ripping from each of you as his cock sheathed totally inside your wet heat. 

The shadowsinger allowed a moment for you both to adjust to the intensity. Then, strong hips drew back and returned flush against your ass, pressing into you entirely. The shadows at your breasts continued to curl around your nipples, your jaw dropping as moans started to float out of you in a sinful melody. Azriel slipped into a punishing pace, his cock easily driving into you with the ample slick from your orgasm. All you could focus on was taking it– taking his cock, the pleasure he delivered to you with each thrust, the overwhelming emotion spilling from your heart. You locked eyes with the male through the reflection before you, your cunt spasming around him at his visage. 

He looked utterly depraved– chiseled chest heaving, pupils blown with lust, dark hair mussed from your fingers, massive wings taut behind him with shadows billowing down off of them. Hazel fixed you to the spot, leaving nowhere to hide as he peered into your soul and caressed the deepest part of your core. You cried as he pushed deep into your walls, the stretch of his member foreign and yet so deliciously familiar. It was just as good as you remembered it, better even. 

Shadows grabbed your thigh and hiked it up onto the tabletop, spreading your core even further for him to ravage. The new angle made you sob with pleasure, pushing your ass back into him so he could plunge as much of himself into you as possible. 

A hand slapped against the mirror above your head, making your teary eyes meet his gaze once more in the reflection. He leaned forward over your back, hips pushing flush against yours as he rocked your bodies back and forth. The sound of his cock slipping in and out of your sopping core was horrifically lewd, and yet you couldn’t find the will to care, relishing how well your bodies fit together. You slumped over the table, body heavy with the sheer ecstasy every thrust brought. He leaned down to plant a chaste kiss behind your ear, uncaring of the sweat that had begun to glisten there. 

He spoke lowly in your ear, his lips and nose brushing the shell of it. Hot breath washed over your skin in waves, the vanity rattling beneath you. “Does he fuck you this good?” 

You whined in response, unable to form words as the head of his cock stroked the spongy walls at the depths of your core. Azriel simpered, examining your wrecked expression. His hand laced into the hair on the back of your head, gripping hard enough so he pulled your head up to keep his stare. The position weakened your thighs – he continued pounding into you from behind as he held you there, exerting his total dominance over you. Just how he knew you liked it. 

“Answer me,” he commanded louder, a rough slap coasting over your ass. 

A strangled sound left your lips and you watched as blush invaded your cheeks in the mirror. “Ugh, n-no,” you managed, the embarrassment somehow twisting into more desire. 

A wicked grin split his lips, newfound ferocity invading his gaze. His hand landed on the ass cheek he’d just slapped, pulling you apart and back onto his cock. Your eyes shut at the intensity, the stretch of his length and the stimulation of your g-spot piling up as you raced toward ecstasy again. The shadows at your breasts curled tightly around your nipples and you sobbed. The fingers in your hair pulled back, your eyes flying open again. 

“Look at me,” he compelled and you obliged, your gaze wandering to him once more. Sweat started to drip down his abs and he bared his teeth through rough breaths. “Whose cunt is this?” 

Your mouth opened and you blinked at the sheer debasement of his words. Abruptly, shadows coiled up your thighs and ghosted over your clit, your eyes widening at the intrusion. Azriel watched as your body shuddered, your core wringing tight around him at the novel sensation. You surged toward your climax, heat spreading through your body as the pleasure built. 

His hand in your hair slipped down, curving around your neck so his fingers dug into the side of your throat just enough to make your head spin. He leaned over you again, chest skimming your shoulderblades as he continued to pump into you as deep as he could. He nipped your ear before he spoke, eyes piercing into yours with astounding piety, “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” you replied instantly, the word summoned from you without a thought, without a doubt. You blinked at him, a tear dropping from your eye as you swallowed against his palm, your orgasm swelling once again as you whispered, “I’m yours, Az… all yours.”

You crumpled at the devastation of your orgasm, a string of broken moans wafting out of your parted lips. Your eyelids slammed shut, muscles rigid as electricity spread through them. Your hips shuddered back onto Azriel’s, pussy sucking and strangling the length of him. The shadows at your clit swirled there tirelessly, his cock still sinking into you in hard, steady strokes. 

Your body wobbly from the force of your climax, strong arms pulled you close as the waves of pleasure persisted. The male held you flush against him, toned arms wrapped around your torso so he supported the entirety of your enervated form, sweat trickling down your back and onto his front as he endured towards his own completion. 

His shadows kissed your breasts farewell as they traveled instead to the bottom of your thighs, folding your legs up so you could see yourself spread on his cock, the thick member plunging deep into your ruined heat. The sight made your eyes widen– you couldn’t look away, watching as he claimed you, your bodies intertwining wholly with every harsh thrust of his hips. 

“You’re fucking mine,” Azriel growled, arm around your waist tightening as his other hand grabbed your breast, your name spilling from his lips vulgarly. His massive wings flexed behind him, the claws on the apex contracting as the shadows around his frame pulsed heavily. The ones at your clit sped up and you sobbed at the intensity of it all, still watching as his hips desperately thrust up into yours. 

You could see the twinge in his muscular thighs as he neared the edge, hear how his breath started to break between moans, feel his thrusts deepen as he pushed his entirety inside of you, needing every inch of you he could get– until he snapped, grip tightening on you as he let out a lascivious, dark moan. The thick underside of his cock jerked and you whimpered as you watched him cum, hot seed shooting into the deepest part of you with each straining throb. 

You couldn’t control it– you came again, your body milking every drop it could from the male. Yours and Azriel’s moans filled the room, the pair of you watching as your bodies danced with ecstasy together, a primal give and take between male and female. Your bodies shuddered and heaved with fragmented breaths as you each fell from climax, clinging to each other even as sweat dripped from you each onto the floor. 

Azriel still held you tight, but his shadows gently lowered your legs and unraveled from you, leaving a ghostly coolness in their wake. Your toes touched the cold tile beneath you, and you leaned forward onto the vanity with your hands as your fawn legs adjusted to your body weight. Your eyes fell to your fingers splayed before you, the diamond on your ring finger glittering at you tauntingly. You blinked the glaze from your eyes as you panted, remorse flooding your exhausted body as you came to the reality of what you’d just done. 

You groaned as the shadowsinger removed himself from you, his release dripping down your thighs. He studied the look on your face as the lust cleared from your mind, your eyes flicking between the gaudy ring on your finger and away, your thoughts beginning to race away from you, from him. He moved his hand around your body to your cheek, guiding you to turn around, facing him. 

You resisted it at first, but quickly gave in as he turned your chin up so your eyes met his. “Az..,” you trailed off, conflict clear behind your gaze. The Illyrian said your name, thumb stroking your cheek. 

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his gaze swimming with profound emotion. With what, you weren’t sure— possession, defiance... love? His scarred hand enveloped yours, placing it on his chest. Your gaze fell to the tattoo again, a soft sigh escaping you. Deft fingers folded around yours with ease. 

You felt his hand close around yours, covering your engagement ring, watching as shadows twirled around both your arms and wove in between your hands. They curled snug around your ring finger, producing a sudden unfamiliar coolness that took your breath away. 

You watched as they disappeared, as his fingers unfolded to reveal your hand resting on his chest just below the tattoo, a brilliant starbrite sapphire now sitting where Eris’ diamond had been before. Intricate silver whorls like shadows curled around your finger on the band, tiny marquise diamonds kissing either side of the large center stone. 

Azriel examined your expression, the absolute shock in your eyes and your shaky exhale. His gentle hand collected your jaw, leading your eyes to his. 

“You..,” you whispered, words failing you. Your eyes fell back to the sparkling ring, to the immaculate sapphire that matched the exact shade of his siphons. 

It was everything you had ever wanted from him. 

Everything he could not give you all those years ago.

Shadows began to gather around the pair of you, darting in from all corners of the room to form a swirling indigo vortex. You gasped, spine straightening as you realized that you’d fallen right into his trap– he came here to steal you away, whether you wanted to go or not. You didn’t want to think about what it was that you even wanted– shame and guilt swirling in your gut at your betrayal. 

Your eyes flew to the golden tiara on the ground. The shadows had deposited Eris’ engagement ring beside it, as if to say you had left on your own volition, deserting your betrothal. 

Eris… your heart broke for the male. 

A wisp of shadow turned your chin away, caressing your cheek as your gaze met intense hazel, darkness closing in around you. 

“You’re mine, little dove,” Azriel repeated, a small smirk curling the corner of his lip. “And you always will be.”

⤷ masterlist

[angelshadowsinger]

soo idk i feel like yall can’t see this?? cuz Assistance is getting more notes per day and she is oldddd news ..?

[stuckinapril]

This this this this!!!

[coolepowersthings]

Bad news guys. I’ve found out that actually getting decent sleep and exercising and not letting everything stress you out actually does make you feel better. But it also means you have way less free time.

[thememedaddy]

[thememedaddy]

[maybeafaerie]

Azriel One-Shot/Drabble Recs- Part 2 baby! 😋

All descriptions belong to the original authors (tagged below)- pls let me know if you want anything taken down

Back Part 1

Hidden Signals | @pellucid-constellations (aka the GOAT) * it technically has two parts, I just didn't know where to put it

⤷ "No one expected you to understand fae customs just yet—much less Illyrian customs. So maybe Azriel should have made his intentions a little more obvious. He began to understand that mistake as you began to pull away."

Sweet Dreams of Holly and Ribbon | @daycourtofficial

⤷ "you teach the Inner Circle about your home court’s tradition of mistletoe, and someone begins placing them all around the house to catch you underneath them."

A Bite Sized Romance | @daycourtofficial

⤷ "you offer to make dinner for Azriel, but he gives you half-assed reasons as to why he can’t make it."

In his sheets | @daycourtofficial

⤷ "Azriel is quite smitten with you, a fact he doesn’t want to confront until he overhears an intimate moment between you and his brother"

Domestic | @azrielhours

⤷ "Az watches you get ready for an event. He's never seen the process before and is extremely taken by it. It feels so personal to him and he can’t explain it."

Tight Enough | @azriels-shadowsinger

⤷ "Reader needs help tightening her corset and no one's around to help but Azriel."

Against the World | @pellucid-constellations

⤷ "Azriel learns that loving a human means loving the uncoordinated and the injury-prone and the acceptance that he can't save you from it all."

The Occurrence | @pellucid-constellations

⤷ az freaking out about human periods lol

He Feels Safe With You | @florencemtrash

⤷ "Azriel's sleeping habits begin to worry you, but after a conversation with Cassian, you realize you've misinterpreted the entire situation."

Body Count | @illyrianbitch

⤷ "Anxious about how your lack of experience compares to Azriel's, you ask him about his body count. Unfortunately for him, he misunderstands the question gravely."

A Locket Through Time | @writingcroissant

⤷ "When Y/N touches an ancient artifact, she finds herself falling through time."

drabble | @ellecdc (super cute, angsty, unrequited love, oblivious reader)

yapper!Azriel | @ellecdc

*dividers by @saradika-graphics

[thememedaddy]

[smokeydabear420422]

[viking369]

And no, I'm not being intolerant, you're being a shitwit.

[neverwonderneverremember]

sleep is stolen time. don't let them take it from you anymore. tonight. we are staying up. til one billion o clock.

[coolepowersthings]

My brain, every night since having a kid.

[heartpdfs]

[brennatwohy]

That Awful Month When I Can Only Write Poems About Leaving, And/Or About Limp Bizkit

I.

What I need you to know about The Leaving is that it will always feel like a toddler’s art project— something done messily with clumsy, filthy hands.

Everyone will tell you how impressive it all is, and how proud you should be, as they place their clean palms to their un-bruised chests and stick The Leaving up on the fridge.

And you will pack everything you own into eleven boxes you stole from the back of the grocery store and move into an empty house where you still flinch every time you hear a door open, even if you are the one opening the door, and you will stare at this muddle of paint that is the rest of your life, and wonder– what the fuck is this even supposed to be?

II.

Months later, immediately after breaking down in the Urgent Care lobby when you realize “Name of Emergency Contact” is a question you no longer know the answer to, Limp Bizkit will come on the radio, and somehow everything will be so much worse than it was before the biscuit was limp, and the child in the chair across from you will start screaming and covering her ears, which seems entirely appropriate given the circumstances, and you know that this image would have made him laugh for hours, and for a moment it is like he is right there, and you will smile until your cheekbone starts to ache and you check the mirror for bruising.

III.

I haven’t cooked chicken in four months. The meat thermometer ended up in one of his boxes, and I have never been able to tell just by looking when something is finished. I have terrible instincts about what is unsafe. This is not a metaphor. I am really afraid of food poisoning, and I know that given an oven and enough time I would cook the chicken until it was black and ashy, and this is not a metaphor. This is not about the way that my mother taught me to check if meat was done, by stabbing my knife into the thickest part, not about how I didn’t even hear the timer go off until the entire kitchen was on fire. He seemed like such a nice guy, everyone says, as I tell them my new address, as if you can tell from outside an oven if the meat inside is poison.

IV.

I used to imagine all the time what his ex-wife thought about me, and she never knew my name. Had no idea the way I climbed inside his body and convinced myself it was a place that I could live in, but I thought of her constantly, like a ghost that lived in our house.

That night that we fought about leaving the lights on, the night that he threw the flour jar and it exploded on the wall next to me, I said I was sorry, and then went into the bathroom, and my entire body was covered in flour. I remember thinking, I look just like a ghost. Just like a ghost that lives in our house. And I laughed and I laughed and I laughed.

[paintedwritings]

Blush Wars

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 8.2k

Summary: Azriel makes reader blush once. That’s his first mistake. His second? Trying to do it again. What began as a harmless little curiosity quickly spirals into a full-blown war between two of the Night Court’s most controlled, unreadable operatives—each determined to make the other crack. Blushing becomes a scoreboard. Teasing becomes strategy.  And absolutely nothing is off-limits.

Warning/Notes: I don’t think there are any warnings, other than the reader talks about being attacked by a group of men in the beginnings, but let me know if I should add any and I’ll gladly update it! Thank you!

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Azriel watched as the stars in the night sky danced and glimmered. He rarely found himself sleeping these days, no more than a few hours donated to his poor body a night. So, he sat on one of the balconies of the House of Wind, watching the night sky shift and shimmer as Velaris breathed below.

He had come out here to get some fresh air, choosing to leave his reports behind on his desk. Instead wanting some time to just…breathe, to be. Like most things in his life, however, the calm didn’t last, it never did.

He heard her before he saw her. The telling swish of someone winnowing in his only tell from where she landed soundless on her feet. 

He knew that Rhys and Feyre had long been in bed, the two taking a rare moment to themselves. Nyx having nodded off sometime around dinner, the prince of night more than ready for his late night nap. Nesta and Cassian hadn’t lasted much longer, the two still maddeningly insufferable around each other. And, he hadn’t caught more than a simple “I’m heading out,” from Mor before the blond he had once spent so long wanting made her exit for the night. He didn’t even bother wondering where Amren was, knowing his shadows, the ones that always watched her, would tell him if anything was amiss, not that he expected it to be.

Even Elain and Lucien had come and gone…which left only one person.

Her. 

He didn’t need to look behind him to know her eyes had already clocked where he stood overlooking Velaris. Those intelligent, watchful eyes cataloging every breath he took, every surface he touched, every shadow that lingered around him. He held back the tilt of his lips that always came naturally around her.

He expected nothing less.

There wasn’t a single person in his family, other than maybe him, who was as aware of their surroundings, as attuned with the comings and goings of absolutely everything and everyone around them.

She had been on a mission the past week and a half, a simple one, Rhys had told him. Nothing she couldn’t handle by herself. Azriel didn’t doubt it, though, he had known her for close to four centuries now, fought beside her, laughed with her, lived with her. There…had never been a challenge she was faced with that she didn’t thrive at, didn’t conquer with a flippant grin and deadly precision.

“Don’t tell me you were waiting up for little ol’ me, shadowsinger?”

His lips tilted into a small grin against his will as he kept his back to her. He hadn’t. Not…really, sure he had known she was due back late tonight, and…maybe he had decided to use one of the balconies closest to the main hall where he knew she usually winnowed into. But, he hadn’t been able to sleep, hadn’t really tried if he was being honest, so it had been more of a convenience than a plan.

“And if I said I was?” He poked, his deep voice rough from disuse the past few hours.

She scoffed, he felt–not heard, he never heard her– move to the place next to him. “You and I both know the whole point of me coming home so late is to avoid the welcome back party,” There was no malice in her voice, just a simple, melodic tone to his ears as she gazed at the stars.

He did know that. There wasn’t a single person in this family that hated group settings more than Y/n, even if it was just her family. She’d put a smile on and allow them all to greet her tomorrow, though.

Finally, he allowed himself to look at her. She was shorter than him, by quite a bit, her head barely reaching his shoulders. Her soft, shiny hair braided intricately atop her head to keep it out of her face. Illyrian leathers clinging to her like a second skin as her small, delicate fingers tapped on the railing to a tune inside her own mind. 

He was about to respond when his shadows snapped to attention.

Pain. Pain. In pain.

Azriel froze. Doing his best to look her over without alerting her. She loathed being fussed over, tended to, she really gave him a run for his money when it came to being taken care of. 

His shadows continued to hiss in his ear, but he didn’t have a good view of her from the side. She hadn’t seemed slower in her movements, so he figured she probably couldn’t have been hurt in the lower region of her body, and she had winnowed in…

“Stop it.” She said, voice low, a warning.

Azriel certainly did not.

“Where are you injured?”

“I’m fine.” She said, already retreating from the balcony and making her way towards the hall that led to her bedroom.

Azriel followed.

“Let me help you, Y/n.” He stayed close behind her, his shadows slithering along the walls and doors as she dutifully ignored him. He couldn’t help but note the plethora of weapons still attached to her– knives, her whip, boomerangs, more knives. He also knew she had even more hidden in places no one sane would ever think to check. Notably, however, her thin double-edged blade was nowhere to be seen, it usually sat splayed across her back.

It wasn’t until they passed a flickering light in the hall that he caught sight of her right shoulder. He couldn’t see an injury, necessarily, but he saw the pool of blood that had amassed on her leathers near her neck and arm. 

He cursed under his breath, impressed with how normal she acted when she clearly had an injury that would cause any normal fae a tremendous amount of pain, and at the very least, discomfort. 

She made it to her door, trying to slip in and close it before he could force his help upon her, but he managed to stick his foot in. 

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t press, he would let her go about her life as she pleased…but something about tonight, he didn’t want to. She was injured, in a spot he doubted she would have an easy time cleaning and more than likely stitching, by herself. 

The look she gave him as she toed his boot with her shoe…suggested she thought otherwise. It would have sent lesser males to their graves prematurely.

“Watch it, shadowsinger. I’m already in a foul mood.” Her eyes blazed, her callous words weren’t unusual. Y/n had never been warm and fuzzy, she didn’t offer smiles freely like Elain, or offer warm, friendly words like Mor. She never asked for anything, never demanded help or understanding. She kept to herself, took care of herself, and Azriel…had always admired that about her, sure he worried, he loved her dearly, trusted her even more…but for some reason, tonight it bothered him.

So, he decided to take his life in his own hands and say, “That foul mood will only get worse once you realize you can’t stitch that wound and will have to go to the healers tomorrow.”

He watched as his words struck home. Watched as her eyes narrowed, those swirling irises mapping out every possible scenario and ultimately deciding he was the lesser of two evils.

He managed to keep his sigh of relief to himself as she opened her door to allow him entrance. He swallowed as his shadows sprung into the room as if it were their personal playground. 

Neat. Her. Yes. Finally. Good.

He had never actually been in Y/n’s room. There had only been a few times he had needed to knock over the past few centuries, and she had either answered through the door, or had only cracked it a miniscule amount to speak to him before joining him outside of it to go about whatever they needed.

It was nothing like he imagined.

Not that he imagined it, that would be crazy, and dangerous…for so many different reasons.

It looked much like all the basic rooms that occupied the House of Wind. A massive bed in the center of the furthest wall, a desk, hearth, a chamber room, closet…but unlike the other rooms, hers also had beautiful, sleek black shelves lining the walls filled with books and bobbles from…all over. 

She had paintings that Feyre had made, jewelry that Amren or Mor had gifted her, the pieces delicately handled and displayed. Flowers from Elain, books that had Nesta written all over them. A few weapons that Cassian or Azriel himself had given her over the years, each displayed with the utmost care, clearly having been polished over the years. Even notes and orders Rhysand had written to her over their long friendship, framed and dustless. Knick knacks from all the Courts, even the human continent. 

The shelves were decorated like a museum to her friendships, her family, her life. It was the only part of the room that had any sort of…personality. The sight, reminding him just…how much she cared, even when she never bothered to show it. 

He inhaled sharply, the intoxicating scent of midnight rain and mist that clung to her invading him.  

“Are you going to gawk all night, or help me?” Her wicked tongue spoke, obvious taunting in her tone that snapped Azriel right out of his surprise.

He didn’t have time to answer as he watched her walk to the bathing chamber and tell him that her healing supplies were in the top right drawer of her desk, and that she would be right out.

He tried not to stare at the shelves as he made his way to the drawer, despite his shadows not having the same ideas. He watched, reveled, in how they slid over her things, cataloging and memorizing where she put what, who had given her which item, where she may have acquired the ones she’d found herself. 

He tried to reel them back in, to mind his own business. Y/n was a very, very, private person. In all honesty, he was shocked she’d allowed him into her bedroom, he didn’t think any of their family had ever actually been in here…not even Nuala or Cerridwen. When he all but demanded she allow him to help, he had half expected her to walk right out of the room and back to the main hall for him to stitch her up.

Once he made it to the drawer she’d indicated, he made it a point to not look too long at what was on her desk, though he could tell it was mostly reports, and not to touch or misplace any of her things.

He didn’t know why she had let him into her space…but he’d be damned if he did anything that revoked that privilege. 

Azriel barely managed to hold back his shock as he opened the drawer. His eyes widening in complete disbelief. He knew she had an aversion to the healers, something she had never deigned to tell any of their family why…but this was on another level.

She had absolutely everything and anything one could ever need in this drawer: Salves, tinctures, elixirs, strips of cloth, needles, gloves, string, she even had a hand written guide that he quickly flicked through…home remedies, what worked best for her, what didn’t, a godsdamned list of every single injury she had ever had and how she took care of it. Her quickly written, but no less beautiful scrawl of cursive, meticulously outlining a life Azriel realized no one else was privy to.

He was so enraptured that he didn’t hear the bathroom door open or her step out and lean against the frame as she watched him. He felt his shadows dance close to her, running along her legs, and some even daring to venture as far up as her arms. 

She cleared her throat, her eyes still on his shadows as she let them dance between her fingers and around her wrist. Azriel turned, fast, holding the journal up with a raised, questioning brow. 

She smirked, shrugging as she walked over to him, letting his shadows drop off of her skin and back to their place along her walls. Black sweats hung low on her hips, her flat, taught stomach exposed just barely. She wore a dark tank top that showed off the nasty gash from the base of her neck to the back of her armpit. 

“I like to keep track in case anything were to happen.” She said simply, taking the journal from his scarred hands as she stepped into his space. She placed it with care back into the drawer as she grabbed gauze, saline, needles and thread, and anything else he may need to help her. 

Azriel was the last person to judge someone's choices, but something deep inside of him wanted, no, needed, to know why she didn’t let anyone help her…why she was letting him do so now. 

But, he kept his thoughts to himself.

Afraid that asking such things, pushing for answers, would only lead him to a door shut in his face.

Perhaps it was as simple as her being exhausted and not wanting to fight him on it. 

“Turn around,” he murmured, not touching her as he guided her into the seat at her desk, her back facing him. He noted the slope of her neck, the smooth, soft looking skin of her back and shoulders. Purely professional…not at all distracting.

He bit back a hiss. The wound stretched at least five or six inches long, deep, and throbbing as small bouts of blood continued to flow out of it. She must have been injured well over an hour ago at this point, and the fact that it wasn’t clotting meant it must have been caused by a weapon either made of ash wood, or enchanted in some way. There didn’t seem to be any green or yellow tint, so poison wasn’t an immediate concern, thank gods.

He set to work, the crackle of the fire behind them a soothing background noise as he cleaned the wound. He couldn’t help but take deeper breaths as he stood directly at her back. He didn’t think they had ever been this close before. He could smell that midnight rain and mist so clearly from this close.

 He did his best to avoid hurting her further, but there was a lot of caked-on blood that needed to be washed before he could get anywhere near the wound with a needle and thread. He noted how her breath hitched, her body tensing further before almost settling into the closeness of him, as he shifted closer, his chest skimming her back as he continued his work.

Her body was tense beneath his touch, she didn’t make a sound, though. Not even as he adjusted her arm to get beneath the wound and start applying the salve that would help with any chafing or itching as it began stitching itself back together. Without a healer’s attention, it would take two or three days to fully heal and for her to get full movement back into the limb, but knowing her, she’d be back to training by the morning, which was in a few hours. 

Minutes passed in comfortable silence as his hands worked meticulously and gently to get her back in one piece. It wasn’t until he finally began sewing the flesh together that he murmured, “What happened?” The mission Rhys had sent her wasn't meant to be anything that required fighting…but as a long standing member of the Night Court’s Inner Circle, y/n, like all of them, had a target painted permanently on her back. It wouldn’t be a jump to assume something or someone had mistakenly thought her to be a lesser threat on her own and took a chance.

He almost felt bad for the poor bastards.

When she didn’t respond right away, he assumed she wouldn’t at all. But, her voice, gravely from pain, spoke at last, “After the…irritating meeting with Spring, I decided to get a drink before coming home. Some dingy tavern in some random border town. Three men saw me and I guess thought I was easy pickings.” Azriel’s jaw tightened as he carefully threaded the needle through her bruised and raised skin. He saw her hands splayed on her desk, white-knuckled, but steady as her teeth ground together. “They tried cornering me outside the tavern. I knocked the first two out without much issue, but the third was spewing some shit long enough for me to miss the fourth one behind me. I moved in time to avoid a knife to the jugular.”

Fury didn’t begin to describe the feelings roaring to life inside of Azriel. But, she hadn’t finished, and he had every intention of listening to her as long as she was offering the information. 

“I knocked the third out... And may or may not have cut the hand off of the fourth.” He couldn’t help the glee that surged through him, though he knew she could have killed the bastard for the indiscretion if she so pleased. 

“Good,” was all he said as he tied the suture and sat back to admire his work.

She scoffed, clear irritation in her tone as she shook her head. “Not good. I made a mistake, I should have just come home, and instead I decided–”

“Don’t do that,” her head snapped over her shoulder, her eyes that contained more emotion than he had ever seen latching on his as he held her gaze, steady. “It’s not your fault, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You’re allowed moments to yourself.”

She blinked, huffing, clearly more amused than upset, “That’s ironic coming from you, Az,” He knew she was right, Azriel wasn’t exactly the poster boy for going easy on himself, but regardless, the use of his nickname from between her lips set him at ease. He thought, just maybe… It meant she was already beginning to feel better. 

They didn’t move from their position, he stayed behind her, their eyes locked. He swallowed hard, not daring to break her stare. Sometimes, despite her being only ten years younger than him, he forgot just how similar they were. 

He wanted her to know…that she could be exactly who she was without fear, without worry when she was around him…that even if she didn’t want to be that way with their other family, she could be with him; and he would be nothing short of honored.

So he said the only thing he could think of. The only thing he thought she might hear through all of her perfectly placed shields and protections.

“You never have to carry the weight of the world alone, Y/n.” His fingers brushed her shoulder, just barely, he watched as gooseflesh trailed behind them. “Not while I’m here.”

Their eyes held. 

And that’s when it happened. 

Everything he would ever know changed.

He watched in utter fascination, or adoration, as the most beautiful, mesmerizing shades of pink, peach and red blended together across the bridge of her nose. His eyes tracked the shade as it danced around each of her cheeks, travelled up to the tips of her ears, and down the length of her neck, over her bare shoulders. 

He simply couldn’t help himself as he tracked that color, so alive and bright across her perfect skin. 

He had never seen her blush.

Not once in nearly four centuries.

And even as she looked away, let her hair fall over her face to hide the color, he stared…and stared. Unable to get the image of it out of his mind.

The thought of what he might do just to see it again settled somewhere deep in his chest– quiet. 

Dangerous. 

And not nearly terrifying enough.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Three weeks had passed since that night in Y/n’s room.

Three long, grueling weeks where Azriel tried absolutely everything to return things to the way they had been. He threw himself into his morning training with Cassian, Nesta and the Valkyries. He went on mission after mission, not caring if they were a day long or five. He spent some nights out at Rita’s with Mor and Cassian, took Elain to the markets of Velaris during the days. Hels, he had even tried painting with Feyre once before deciding it cruel to absolutely everybody involved. 

Days had begun blurring together, the constant rotation of keeping busy, always avoiding, beginning to take its toll on him. His shadows had even started to riot against his orders, seeming to trail her every move just to try and catch a glimpse of that magnificent color, terrified to miss it blooming across her skin while he wasn’t around.

No matter what he did, how he kept his mind from wandering…he couldn’t get the image of her blush out of his mind. Sometimes, he would be lucky enough to go all day without thinking about it, his few miserable hours of sleep mocking him further as they plastered that color all throughout his dreams–which he’d rarely had up until a few weeks ago. It was never the right color. Just an odd variation– right enough to remember, wrong enough to remind him he was forgetting. A thought that sent an unreasonable degree of panic through his entire body.

But, that was nothing compared to when he saw her, had to speak to her. It was bad enough when his eyes betrayed his will, his mind, and found her in any room they occupied together.  They trailed her as she laughed at something Mor said, or grinned wickedly with Amren as the two conspired about things Azriel never wanted to know about. Her training with Cassian, her reports to Rhys, though a nasty feeling always clogged his emotions each time he saw her smile or laugh at something one of his very mated brothers said to her.

Every time his gaze found her, it searched unbidden for that color. For any hint of pink, peach, and red. He tracked the lift of her mouth, the movement of her throat, the tilt of her head without fail. His disappointment a living thing every time he came up short. It warred with the side of him that growled in approval when he saw no one else seemed to be able to pull it out of her.

The worst part of it all. 

She knew. 

Maybe not the details or the why, but Y/n was too brilliant, too tactical not to notice the shift in him, not to figure out that it had to do with that night. Thank the Cauldron she didn't call him out on it, but he saw her watching him, too. Not in the same, desperate way he couldn’t seem to avoid. No, she took in his clipped responses to her, the way he always stayed two steps further back than necessary, the way he never let those conversations turn into something deeper, keeping them professional and taut. She never once forced him, or toed that line, she allowed him to take that space, to come to terms with whatever was bothering him. He knew she was waiting for him to mention it to her, trusting that he would, in time, so they could move past this, together, as they always had.

It killed him. Things had never been this…tense between them. And he had made it that way. After he told her she never had to be alone.

Gods. He was a fucking mess. Plain and simple.

It’s not until late one night, on the cusp of the fourth week that it finally settled into something tangible, something he could grasp.

He just needed to see that blush again.

Once.

If he could see it again– trace it with his eyes, watch it bloom across her skin, then whatever this was would end. It would loosen its chokehold, fade into something manageable. 

And he would be free of it.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

It turned out that stumbling upon one of Y/n’s blushes was nothing short of a gift from the Mother.

Trying to manufacture one? A whole different beast entirely. 

Y/n had trained as a spy and a warrior of the Night Court for centuries. She had fought in the first war right alongside him, Cassian, and Rhysand. Though she had stood beside Rhysand’s father as one of his greatest assets, she had still thrived, overcome. Her face could hold the weight of a thousand deaths behind it and not let a single ounce of emotion through.

So, Azriel needed a plan, to figure out exactly what had triggered that first reaction. He knew she had been vulnerable all those weeks ago, injured and exhausted. She had even gone as far as to blame herself. Though he wanted nothing more than to bear witness to that lovely blush once more, he had no intention of letting her anywhere near that kind of vulnerability again, if he could help it. He wanted her to be comfortable with him in the smaller, more playful moments as she had been that night. If he could find another way to make her blush, one that allowed her to be her, while also rewarding him with the sight…gods.

That would be enough.

Despite his spiralling these past few weeks, it had come in handy if only for one reason: He never once caught a glimpse of that blush, not one other person in their family had even come close to being gifted it. Which meant that it had blossomed from something to do with him. He hadn’t quite figured out what exactly, yet. But, knowing that he could at least draw it out of her gave him hope.

He started small. Miniscule really. When she asked him to pass her bowls of food at the dinner table their fingers would brush more often than they should have, he got nothing other than a murmured apology or a raised brow after it happened a second and third time. When she’d ask him for water at training he’d make sure to stand a little closer than usual, and maybe even a little splash of water would find its way onto her fingers once, maybe twice. He’d always offer her a rag, to dab it dry, to no avail. The latter had earned him nothing short of a suspicious look before she mumbled, “I think I can manage, shadowsinger.” 

In truth, he had known those wouldn’t work, but he’d needed to form a control. To understand where the baseline for her reactions was. And he found it: she didn’t mind when he stood close, when he touched her briefly, or even when he let his shadows briefly dance along her skin. But offering any kind of help or advice got him absolutely nowhere other than maybe a scowl. Praise and compliments on her work earned him nothing but strange tilts of her head and mirth dancing behind her irises. That mind of hers calculating– trying to figure out what one of her oldest friends was up to. 

About a week into his futile attempts he started to get the hang of it. Though he still didn’t earn himself a glimpse of that blush, he did start noticing, small, telling behaviors. Whenever he complimented her, not her work, her shoulders would tense, gooseflesh trailing along her skin as she met his gaze questioning. If he held her gaze longer than usual her head would tilt in an utterly distracting way that always made him forget himself, if just for a moment.

He had even accidentally found himself defending her when a drunkard in Velaris had found themselves loose lipped after one too many. He hadn’t seen that blush then either, but… she had watched him the entire way home, her shoulder knocking against his once, in quiet thanks. Though he didn’t quite know why, of course he would defend her. There was simply no other reality.

The best part about his entire ‘experiment’ was that he didn’t have to fake any of it. He enjoyed chasing her, enjoyed her reactions to everything he tried. He wanted to see her smile, to hear her heart as it began to race just a little. Not a single behavior went unnoticed or unappreciated. And he could tell that she was just as interested in this turn of events, even if it bordered more on curiosity than obsession.

One night, they were in the main living space after a family dinner. All of them draped carelessly around the room, alcohol in hand, stomachs full as laughter filtered through the space. 

Azriel had his attention on only one person, though. Y/n. She wore nothing but a beautiful, long backless gown. Nothing super fancy, but comfortable enough that her posture was inviting to those around her. The soft, supple skin of her bare arms, her back, her throat and chest, on full display for all the world to see. Her thick, beautiful hair pinned up to show off the length of her neck. 

Azriel waited for her to finish whatever conversation with Nesta she’d been having before making his way over to her. She smiled softly when she caught sight of him. They hadn’t spoken about those awkward few weeks, but she seemed more at ease around him now that he wasn’t actively treating her like a bomb about to go off.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Az?” She murmured, taking a sip of her shimmering purple cocktail. Her long lashes batting innocently at him. 

He ignored the way his body reacted to the sight of her, the way his chest tightened, the low pull in his stomach that made her impossible to ignore. She was beautiful, of course, he’d always known that. But, he hadn’t been himself these past few weeks. He was still trying to find his way back, and that apparently included confusing his friend with the very gorgeous fae female she was.

He sighed inwardly. One problem at a time. 

“Can I not simply wish to be in your company?” He flashes her a devilish grin, his sharp canines showing briefly before he leans against the wall next to her. She watches his hair fall over his forehead haphazardly before focusing on his face.

She tilts her head, a wry, amused look flicking into her eyes before she rolls them and takes another sip of her drink. She doesn’t move away from him, in fact she leans in a little closer as she takes in their friends' casual placements around the room.

“You’re up to something, shadowsinger.” She murmured behind her glass, “You’re practically vibrating with intention.”

He doesn’t bother hiding his amusement. He loved how intelligent she was. He had known he wouldn’t be able to keep it from her for long, but at the moment, she hadn’t quite put the piece together, and he planned to use that to his advantage. 

He dared a glance around them, quick, ensuring that his family were otherwise preoccupied. He didn’t mind them knowing about his…extracurriculars. But right now, at this moment? He only cared about her, and their moment together.

One step closer, that was all it took for her to straighten, for her eyes to roam from the tips of his shoes up, up, up, till they met his eyes. Confusion, curiosity, and intrigue warring in the depths of those magnificent eyes. 

He takes a step closer, reveling in the way her body stills as he lets his voice drop an octave, “You haven’t figured it out quite yet, though, have you?”

She huffs at the slight admission, knowing it would be all he gave her. Despite that, she asks, “Couldn’t you just tell me and save us all some time, hm?” They were standing so close now, his body facing hers entirely as she faced the wide expanse of the room. Her shoulder resting against his chest ever so slightly. 

His answering whisper was so low only she could hear, “Where would the fun in that be?” He felt her shiver, her head tilting up so her eyes could meet his. Their faces mere centimeters apart. 

She hums, allowing herself to join in his little game, “Perhaps, but surely you know that once I figure it out, you’ll be at my mercy, yes?” 

A promise.

A daring, delightful promise that had his entire body thrumming with excitement that certainly went against everything he’d been trying to convince himself these past few weeks. 

Taking his chance, he leaned his head the rest of the way down, his teeth barely grazing her ear as he murmured, low velvet against her ear, “I’d expect nothing less from… a brilliant, wicked creature.” 

Her breath hitches at his words, at the sincerity in the compliment as well as the intrigue of his little game. 

His years of control and training fly out the window as he triumphs. A grin so pure, so honest lights his features as he watches her reaction in real time.

Her cheeks heat with that blooming color he’s been torturing himself over. His memory hadn’t done it justice, not as he was gifted with even more of it than he ever could have imagined.. He watches it bloom– fast, unstoppable, as it spills across her porcelain skin.

Azriel isn’t sure he’s ever seen her speechless as she stares at him wide eyed and blushing like mad. She doesn’t hide it like she hid the first one, she has nowhere to turn. 

He savors it.

Commits every second of it  to memory as she forces it back down, schooling her features. Her nostrils flaring at his obvious delight in her loss of composure.

She’s about to say something when Rhysand calls her name. Stealing her attention and her presence, but not without one last glimpse at the shadowsinger as he lingered in his victory.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

In hindsight Azriel should have known something was very wrong.

Maybe later he would go over every detail of it, strip it bare and find exactly how he got to this point. He had caught her eyes once, when he’d first come up to the training area, saw that daring glint deep within Y/n’s eyes, the intent. He had seen it and dismissed it, like an amateur. A voice in the back of his head snapped at him.

He could try to blame it on his late night out with Cassian, Nesta, Mor, Feyre, and Rhysand. They’d stayed out dancing and drinking at Rita’s until an ungodly hour of the morning. Azriel had been high on life the past few days since he’d managed to make a certain high fae blush a mere few nights ago. His abnormally jovial mood nothing short of noticeable to all of his family. They’d taken advantage of that good mood and it led him straight into…some questionable decisions.

Y/n hadn’t been with them last night, despite Mor’s begging, or Feyre’s insistence she’d have fun. It seemed she had the presence of mind to be completely present for whatever maniacal plans she intended to hold him hostage to this morning.

Azriel managed to look more presentable than Cassian, at least, despite his raging headache and unbearably sensitive eyes as the morning sun descended upon the training ring with a vengeance. 

The space was already alive when he stepped onto the worn stone, the Valkyries finishing their drills under Cassian’s watchful, albeit irritable eyes. The morning air was crisp, biting just enough to keep the senses sharp. 

Normally, Azriel thrived here—every movement calculated, every strike precise. Today, though, his shadows curled restlessly at his shoulders, whispering things he didn’t want to hear. 

Careful. Prepare. Its coming.

Y/n stood near the weapon racks, adjusting the wrap around her hands with slow, deliberate movements. Her gaze hadn't so much as flicked to him since he first saw her this morning. Despite the fact that he had watched her spar with Feyre, Nesta, and Rhys already, none of which managed to land a hit on her. Either because of their abysmal decisions from last night, Y/n’s lack of, or a mixture of both. He didn’t know. 

He did his best to ignore the way the leathers clung to her body, her perfectly styled hair, her polished weapons, the way she looked entirely put together, as if she was ready for something.

Azriel’s jaw tightened.

Every instinct inside told him to brace himself, that something was happening right before his eyes, but for some reason, he couldn’t see it. His shadows, if they knew anything, didn’t deem him worthy of the secret.

He knew whatever was coming began the moment she stepped onto the training ring without a word, a blade lazily being twirled in between her fingers. A cocky, breathtaking grin on her face as she finally focused those sharp eyes onto him.

“Az.”

Her voice cut clean through the noise of clashing steel and grunts. “Come spar with me.”

Cassian let out a low whistle from somewhere behind him. “Careful, brother. She looks like she’s hunting today.”

Azriel ignored him.

It wasn’t unusual for Y/n to ask to spar with him. Though, this was most certainly not a request, not quite a command, either. But close enough that he didn’t dare deny her. In all honesty, he didn’t want to. The part of him that had been awoken by this little game of theirs these past few weeks…had put him entirely at her mercy, and he had a feeling she had just figured that out.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t still keep her on her toes. Afterall, it would be no fun if he simply…gave in.

“Cassian’s right there.”

“I didn’t ask Cassian.”

Her gaze held his. That small, knowing smirk never leaving her face. She didn’t seem the slightest bit nervous. In any other circumstance he might be offended. But this was Y/n, she didn’t do nervous. No. She simply watched, waited, existed and normally that was more than enough for her to win. It was infuriating, and it piqued every single interest inside of him.

Azriel exhaled slowly through his nose.

“How can I refuse?” He stepped further into the pit, into his downfall.

Cassian’s grin flashed somewhere in his periphery as he waved the Valkyries back, clearly more than happy to watch this unfold. Azriel shot his brother a warning glare, stepping into position opposite her.

Y/n didn’t reach for a weapon, she slipped the blade into her waist band, out of sight, out of mind.

“First to lose their blades loses,” Cassian called. When it came to Y/n they had learned early on that brute force and normal sparring didn’t teach her how to refine her skills, while they still incorporated them into her training… she had grown fond of a more subtle training approach. Slight of hand. He had three blades hidden on him, so did she. If he could manage to find them, take and discard them, then pin her, before she did the same to him, he won.

Azriel rolled his shoulders once, shadows settling low, ready. 

Y/n. Y/n. Y/n.

They chanted into his ear. He shook his head, hair falling loose as he tried to block the noise out, to focus on his very real opponent. 

Winning this fight…would not be simple.

“Something wrong, shadowsinger?” she asked mildly, head tilting as she tracked him.

He narrowed his eyes, settling into his stance. “You tell me.”

She smiled to herself, as if she were sharing a secret with the air around her.

He barely registered the shift before she was on him, blade flashing toward his side. He deflected on instinct, steel ringing as he twisted, stepping into her space to close the distance.

She slipped away.

He adjusted. Pressed harder. Forced the pace.

She let him for about three steps before she changed it. “Too slow.” The words weren’t loud, they weren’t meant to be. They were for him, and only him.

He managed to recover, he drove forward, aiming to catch her before she could slip away again.

But she was already gone.

Azriel knew her speed was her greatest advantage. She wasn’t the tallest, or the biggest, and she certainly didn’t have the brute force that Cassian had, it used to worry Rhys, Cass, and him when they were younger. How…unaware they’d been. Just because she was small, didn’t mean she wasn’t one the most deadly warriors in any space. 

She was nothing more than a blur of motion that forced him to react instead of anticipate. Azriel shifted, blocking, countering, stepping into her space—

But, she was already gone.

A pivot, her feet slipping fast and soundlessly out of reach again and again. The brush of leathers as she passed him instead of meeting him head-on. The few times he managed to get anywhere near her defenses, she was already moving, blocking, kicking, using the advantages he had taught her to keep him at bay, at her mercy.

“I’ve noticed you watching me, you know,” she spun just out of reach, stepping effortlessly to his side and swinging around just fast enough to snatch his first blade out of its sheath at his side. Stepping once, twice, three times out of his reach without so much as losing her breath.

She smiled, wide and unrestrained as she held it up to show him, tossing it uselessly to the outside of the pit. He heard Cassian whoop, the bastard enjoying this far too much for someone still nursing a wicked hangover. If he’d had the time, he would have sent him a vulgar gesture, but that would be all the time she needed to beat him. So, he kept his emotions in check and his eyes on her.

She came at him from the side next, close—too close—before darting just out of reach when he turned. Her movements were light, almost teasing, like she was leading him somewhere instead of fighting him outright.

“You’re not nearly as subtle as you think, Spymaster,” she murmured as she slipped past his guard. Her boot kicked his hand away effortlessly as he aimed for one of the finely crafted blades at her side. She used the moment to propel herself further from him.

His jaw tightened. He wouldn’t let her distract him, couldn’t. She had patterns for the names she used with him. She called him shadowsinger the most, usually when he was pushing a line with her sanity, called him Spymaster when she wanted to prove a point, Az when she was relaxed and comfortable, Azriel when she was…angry or exhausted. He had learned her tells over the years. And the feeling in his belly only heightened at the tone she used when she said that word: Spymaster.

She moved again—closer this time, her hand catching his wrist for half a heartbeat— spinning under it as if they were dancing.

Gods. She was playing with him.

He was aware that everyone else was watching them, that his reputation could very well be on the line. But, he couldn’t bring himself to care, not really. Spending even this brief amount of time with her attention solely on him, made something tighten in his chest.

“At first I thought you were just distracted,” This time when she closed in, he anticipated—caught her movement, stepped into it, hand shooting out—she turned with him. Not away. Her body aligned with his for the briefest moment, their feet in near synchronization. “But then I realized, it wasn’t distraction that had you staring.” 

He didn’t even feel her hand as she dropped low, dodging the hand going for her blade attached to the sheath at her shoulder, before she grabbed his second one that was attached to his ankle. She tossed it behind her without a care in the world.

He bared his teeth.

She smiled, wicked, delighted.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” She asked. He ignored the question, managing to grab hold of her arm and keep her in place before snatching on her blades as she tried to side step him, his arm coming up to block her access to his third and final blade. He stepped back before she could get her sneaky little hands on it, tossing her first blade to the ground and kicking it out of bounds without taking his eyes off of her.

She didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by his small victory as she prattled on, her voice like honey dripping down his ears. 

“We’ve known each other for centuries, and yet now…you find yourself unable to look away. How very intriguing,” She was in front of him, then he blinked, and she was gone, her voice at his back as she taunted him. “You like it when I react.”

He closed the distance, forced her back, and for a moment—just a moment—he thought he had her, and then—

He spun, his arm outstretched, ready to connect with her block. Only, she didn’t block, she dropped, and…he miscalculated. He thought she’d go for his knife so he moved his foot, just out of reach of her arm. But instead, she used her leg and locked her foot around his ankle, pulling as she swept his feet out from under him. 

He went down.

Hard.

Air knocked from his lungs as he hit the mat, the force rattling through his spine before he could recover. He felt her grab that knife, something she did on purpose. He was sure. Watched in horror as she tossed it out of the ring, her body hovering over his. She didn’t need brute strength to keep him where she wanted him. The two knives she still had on her found themselves unsheathed in an instant. One placed perfectly against his jugular, keeping him in place as she smiled, triumphant.

The other blade placed directly against his crotch; a power play that he, no doubt, would never live down. He didn’t move. 

She had him.

She fucking had him. He had to hold back the grin threatening to spill over. There was something utterly mesmerizing about her taking him down, something that made him aware of every inch of her body that touched him.

Her long braid hangs down over her shoulder as some of her hair falls slightly from its tie, framing her face as she looked down at him. The barest sheen of sweat beading along her brow, the only indication that this had been somewhat of a struggle for her.

Gods.

She was…he didn’t have a word for it.

She bent down, sure that the words she let slip out of her mouth would stay between the two of them. “I have to know, Az, what is it about my blush that has you at my mercy, huh?” She cooed.

He wasn't  sure what exactly it was that got him. Whether it be because his obsession with her the past few weeks had finally caught up to him, or the fact that she had just beat him in sparring, maybe it was the whole day; she had caught him completely off guard, and something about that lit a fire beneath his bones. Perhaps it was the sweet, cooing tone of her voice that she spoke to him with.

Maybe it was all of it, but he felt heat crawling up his neck before he could stop it, sharp and sudden and completely out of his control. His body betrayed him, heat crawling up his neck before he could stop it, rising under her gaze as his mind scrambled to catch up.

Her eyes flicked over his face.

Tracked it.

Just as he had done to her.

And something in her expression shifted—satisfaction, bright and cutting.

She had seen him, just as he had seen her, and turned it back on him.

And gods— he liked it.

“Your instincts are right as always, shadowsinger… what a beautiful color,” she whispered, her eyes not meeting his, they were too busy following the color surely covering his cheeks, his throat, maybe even the tips of his ears.

And instead of shutting it down, instead of pulling away, instead of reclaiming control Azriel smiled.

Something dark and delighted unfurling in his chest.

“Like I said, brilliant…” he murmured, voice rougher than it should have been, “wicked creature.”

Her lips twitched in victory.

Then she was gone like she had never been there at all.

The weight lifted, the blades removed from his throat and crotch.

Still, he didn’t move, didn’t sit up. He didn’t even try. He lay there, staring up at the sky, something bright and electric crackling through his veins.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this– so alive.

He leaned on his elbows in just enough time to catch her glance over her shoulder. She threw him a wink—sharp, knowing—before she disappeared off the ring. Azriel let out a quiet breath. A laugh that didn’t quite make it past his throat as he let his head hit the dirt again, his breath ragged and shaky.

And he knew, this wasn’t fleeting– it wasn’t casual.

This was war.

And it had only just begun.

[mal-studyblr]

hey quick PSA but “reading before bed to wind down” only works if you’re normal about books btw. if you aren’t you are going to end up awake at 2:52am after finishing the whole book just trust me on this one

[thememedaddy]

[rareathens]

Azriel Fic Recs - List #2

cause and effect pt.1, pt.2

death and his reaper

i've been waiting for you

skyfall

gone

set in stone

reborn

threads of hazel

and so, the stars aligned

what we make of what we're made

a bat in a flower store

calypso pt.1, pt.2

starcrossed

azriel with a short mate

beneath a veil of shadows

cassian: the annoying brother

blood tether

shut out

ocean eyes

lonesome pt.1, pt.2

poison

the tormented & the unforgiven

lighting in a bottle - masterlist

looked to the sky - sequel to lightning in a bottle

compliments to the line cook

wings universe

a locket through time

cauldron-born pt.1, pt.2

and i wouldn't marry me, either

next to you

love in the limelight

it's a love story

stars all aligned

the ties that bind

holy ground

my hero

breakaway pt.1, pt.2

the tunnels

i didn't as for this pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.8.5, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11, pt.12

how we survive

false confessions

birds of a feather

where flowers go to die

did you see the sparks fly?

the night we met

butterfly

straight to you

undead

trust for me

life breather pt.1, pt.2

your side

the honesty extended universe

pretty like the wind

the softest place to fall

constellations

burn the world for you

the bond that breaks

shadows of a crown unseen

shadows and fire

teeth and talons

it was always her, not you

azriel's shadows being obsessed with you

kythron's blessings pt.1, pt.2

the shadow's light

a gift from autumn

douleur

made to wait

hidden signals

azriel really loves his nephew

the hundredth dawn

clad in honor, built on lies

mine to hate, mine to love

spy!reader

devil's angel

lost and found

at last

the art of treason

sleepy mates

[rareathens]

Azriel Fic Recs - List #1

silence pt.1, pt.2, pt.3

when prayers fall on deaf ears

lonely with you pt.1, pt.2

bluebird

sweet creature

intruder

fable

the spy secret

insufficient pt.1, pt.2, pt3

december

unexpected

lay your hand in mine

in another life

where i left my lover

can't bring myself to hate you

first time

blue

to keep you from breaking pt.1, pt.2

afterglow

flicker out

between us alone

his shadows & their starlight

in every universe

love in ink

useless

is it chill that you are in my head?

crestfallen pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6

are we still friends?

the other woman

farewell, my love

scarlet-tipped secrets; peonies, for you pt.1, pt.2

in the shadow of you

sweetest devotion

now my head's splitting at the seams

a doe, a deer

the 1

fragments of starlight

illyrian mating season

jealous shadows

unapologetically selfish pt.1, pt.2

the shadow man's secrets

overnight guest

bird in a cage

bird in a cage - (extended version)

soft hands, sharp edges

fated souls pt.1

fated souls - azriel ending pt.2

monster

cold hands, warm heart

whispers woven in shadow

archangel

oops, i tripped into prythian

a brother's love

haunting relations

the night court’s tiny protector

lost in shadows pt.1 pt.2 pt.3, pt.4

the mating bond? i don't know her

how not to survive an illyrian winter

azriel, are you okay?

club rats and cigarettes

between two fires

no grave (can hold my body down)

the new beginning

yours, elsewhere

burned to match

leaving for a mission

friends to starngers to lovers

erstwhile

ghost in the wind

little star

the great frosting incident

a star amongst shadows

how long have i searched for you?

an eternity, my love

no going back

forgotten pt.1, pt.2, pt.3

wanting you, wanting me

run

reversal

pushed to the edge

if it all fell

infatuation

[he110kittyamber]