Hello, im Patchy! Im an adult student who likes to write fics in her spare time!
All of my works are for intended lady audiences 18+
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though im extremely lazy rn and many of my works arent on the masterlist yet, so use my ao3 in the meantime 😅
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Summary: Zeno does not share. Not time, not space, and certainly not you.
The restaurant is beautiful, exactly the kind of place you would expect for a night like this, warm light, soft music just barely audible.
And yet… something is missing.
You lean slightly toward the window, brows drawing together as you try to make sense of it.
“Zeno, why is it... empty?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, which already tells you everything you need to know.
You turn toward him, narrowing your eyes slightly.
“What did you do?”
“I made a reservation,” he replies. As if it is ever that simple with him.
You stare at him.
“That is not what a reservation looks like.”
Zeno steps out of the car first, then turns back, offering you his hand like the most normal thing in the world, because to him, it was.
“It is,” he says calmly, “if done correctly.”
You take his hand, letting him help you out of the car.
The moment you got out, you glance toward the entrance again.
Still no movement.
No staff rushing, no other guests arriving or leaving.
“You didn’t just book a table, did you?” you ask as he guides you toward the door.
“I booked the space,” Zeno answers.
“The entire place?”
“Yes.”
“Zeno, that is completely unnecessary.”
“It is very necessary.”
You shake your head, but you still allow yourself a soft smile as he guides you to the doors and opens them for you.
“You are ridiculous.”
“And yet you are here,” he points out.
“I didn’t know I was walking into a private event.”
“You are not. You are walking into something designed for you.”
Inside, it feels almost unreal.
Every table is set, every detail perfect, but there is only one that matters.
Yours.
You slow your steps, taking it in, the quiet, the intimacy of it, the way the entire space feels… focused on you.
“You really did this,” you murmur.
Zeno’s hand settles lightly at your lower back, guiding you forward.
“Yes.”
“Why go this far?”
“Because I prefer not to share.”
“That sounds possessive.”
“It is accurate.”
Once you sit, things begin to move again.
Staff appear as if summoned from nowhere, and drinks are placed in front of you without a word. You look down at the glass, then back at him.
“I didn’t order this.”
“You did,” Zeno says.
“When?”
“Previously.”
“You’re being vague on purpose.” You tilt your head as you look at him.
He leans back slightly in his chair, studying you. He can no longer hide the amusement in his eyes.
“You chose this the last time you were given options. You hesitated before selecting it. That indicates preference.”
“…You remember that?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a little intense.”
“I am aware.” Zeno does not look away from you.
You sip your drinks before time comes to finally order some food.
“You can order anything,” Zeno says, gesturing toward the menu. “There are no restrictions.”
You glance down at it, then back at him.
“Anything?”
“Yes.”
You lean back slightly, crossing one leg over the other as you study him instead of the options in front of you.
“And if I test that?”
“You may.”
“What if I ask for something not even on the menu?”
“I will have it prepared.”
“And if it’s not in this country?”
“I will have it brought here.”
There is no arrogance in the way he says it just confidence.
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head.
“You’ve thought this through.”
“I always do.”
At some point, you realise you are not paying attention to the food anymore. You are paying attention to him.
To the way his eye follows you, memorising your every moment. It was nothing you, perhaps it was the wine you got previously, but now, you found it to be the cutest thing in the world.
“You’re staring,” you end up speaking.
“Yes.”
“You’re not even going to deny it?”
“No.”
“Why?” You smile, as you rest your chin against your hand.
Zeno’s eyes flick briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes.
“Because this is the desired outcome.”
“Me eating dessert?”
He pauses for just a moment. It is weird seeing him speechless for even a second, but then he speaks up.
“You being pleased.”
That makes you stop for a moment, the moment is cut by a waiter placing your desserts in front of you.
You want to ask more, you want him to tell you more. But you don't, you just enjoy the dessert and the slow music playing in the background.
The drive back is quieter, but not in a way that feels suffocating.
You move your hand to find his. It makes him stop for a brief moment, then his hand closes around yours.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
You glance out the window briefly, watching the lights blur past before looking back at him.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how no one is ever going to top this.”
Zeno’s grip tightens just slightly.
“That is the purpose.”
When you get home, the air feels different as you step out of the car, he follows you. You don’t move away from him right away like you usually do. You like to tease him that way, leaving early after a date.
But this time, you turn toward him, your hand holding his.
“Zeno.”
“Yes?”
“That was… perfect,” you say softly as you step closer, closing the distance between you.
“You deserve nothing but perfect.”
You move your free hand, resting it against his chest.
“You didn’t have to do all of that,” you add. And you do mean it.
“I did.”
“No. You wanted to.”
“Yes.”
That honesty does something to you.
You do not overthink it.
You lean in.
The kiss is soft at first, slow and deliberate, like you are letting the moment settle properly. The perfect kiss at the end of the perfect night.
Zeno responds immediately, his hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer without hesitation.
When you pull back, your breath is slightly uneven, you stay close to him, your lips brushing his as you speak.
“Stay with me tonight.”
“I was not planning to leave.”
“Good. Because I have a feeling this night isn’t over yet.”
Your fingers curl lightly against his shirt as you hold his gaze. Zeno’s hand tightens at your waist, his voice lower now.
“No. It is not.”
And as you pull him closer again.
In that moment, nothing else mattered, only you, and the man who made sure, for one night, everything belonged to the two of you.
Heisenberg may not be the generically soft, rose-petal, sweet-nothing whispering kind of guy but he's not an asshole either who'd just roll over and light a cigar. Atop, he'll press his weight against you with his chest heaving against yours then wraps one of his heavy, factory-scarred arms around you to pull you flush against him. His rough hand finds its way to lazily stroke over your back or ass while he smokes, muttering in that gravelly voice with a tired grin, “Not bad, buttercup… didn’t think you’d survive that one.”
If he wrecked you all the way, which he usually does, he'll grumbled the whole time but he'll still pick you up and haul you into a warm bath in one of the rusty factory tubs; surprisingly, he's a pretty gentle guy when he wants to be, as he washes the mess off you with surprisingly careful movements.
He secretly lives for the times you curl up next to him and nuzzle against his coarse hair and warm skin. Don't expect him to always praise you, but the way he holds you a little too tightly says more than his sarcasm ever could.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
On Himself: Arms and Hands; as years of working with molten iron and wielding his huge hammer have made them muscular, thickly veined, and strong. He enjoys holding you down or manhandling you with them, knowing how helpless you'd be in his grasp.
On You: Thighs. The inner portions of your thighs, which tremble as he stands between them, are particularly enjoyable for him. He enjoys grasping them tightly until bruises appear, burying his head between them, or them wrapping around his waist as he thrusts into you. Bonus if your thighs got teeth marks on them, thanks to him.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Messy is an understatement. Heisenberg's cum is hot, thick, and plentiful, flowing in endless streams inside you due to years of pent-up frustration and the boost in endurance thanks to the Cadou living within him now. He loves finishing deep inside you, on your stomach, thighs, tits, or face; he'll smear it into your skin, smirking. “Look at you… all painted up like my personal canvas. Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”
He'll have you lick him off your fingers or his cock, mocking how eagerly you do it but the sight of you doing so couldn't stop his cock from twitching hard, oozing out more cum from the tip.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Deep within the factory's darkest corners, there were times were Karl experimented with his Soldats during moments of extreme isolation and sexual frustration. His dirty secret was that one depraved night where he left two of his strongest creations double-team him while he was sucking off a Sturm; all while he yelled at the creature to "shut it's fuckin' fan up", because the clattering loud noise messed with his concentration.
He'll admit it out loud and would rather take it to his grave, but the memory still gets him hard when he’s alone and pissed off. Sexual frustration in the Heisenberg Factory runs deep.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Quite experienced, actually, but in a raw, unrefined way. Lonely nights and rough, quick encounters with whoever, or whatever, crossing his path have taught him well how to wreck a body. He's more observant than given the credit for once he decides that you're worth the effort; every sensitive spot, reaction he learns of yours is exploited ruthlessly. He’s a fast learner and adapts quickly to what makes you scream his name.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Pronebone, without question. He would love to push you down into the workbench or, when feeling in a "distinguished gentleman" mood, mattress and press his own larger body against yours body; thrusting deep into you with rough, hard, punishing thrusts.
He'd always be a feral bastard like biting on your neck or shoulder to leave hickeys there, growl nasty things into your ear. Karl would make you feel every twitch of his cock inside you and his rough, growled out moans against your ear while you're completely pinned against his weight and whatever surface he's fucking you in, leaving you unable to move.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
He's funny in the most meanest and sarcastic manner. In the middle of thrusting, he'd make crude jokes, tease you and mock your overwhelmed expressions like, “What’s the matter, buttercup? Can’t handle a little metal? Thought you were tougher than that.” He lets out low, dark laughter at your whimpering and begging, but it’s never light-hearted; it's more like laced with dominance and wicked amusement at how easily he breaks you.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Not really the most well-maintained guy; Heisenberg's dark happy trail is thick, leading down to the wild, coarse brush of his pubes, which are of the same shade as his unkempt hair that is sprinkled with silver streaks. He keeps them trimmed to a decent extent only if he feels like doing it, but more often than not, it’s quite unkempt due to his preference on keeping it a "bit on the masculine side". The hair is more thicker on his balls and around the base of his cock; him enjoying the raw, animalistic feel of it scraping against your delicate skin when he’s buried deep inside you.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
By nature, he's pretty unromantic yet when it comes to his intimacy? Extremely possessive in the most primal manner. He stares right into your eyes as he fucks you senseless, grunting both insults and compliments alike: “Fuck, you take me so well… my perfect little slut.” He marks your neck and shoulders with his almost canine teeth and mouth, marking his territory on you.
However beneath that primal, greasy presence of his lies an intense need within him to be close to someone else; he doesn’t just let anyone get close. When he’s vulnerable, which includes bottoming of course, that intimacy becomes more obvious than he wants it to be.
Quite frequently and aggressively so. If it comes to the point when the factory or Miranda's theological bullshit gets under his skin, he'll just storm into his private workshop, slump down on the chair to pull his pants down halfway and begins to stroke himself.
At times he'll even use his magnetic powers to levitate a custom metal toy against his prostate while he jerks off; his mind filled with thoughts of you the entire time. He gets pissed when he cums too quickly because “it’s not the same as ruining you in person.”
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Hard Dom/Power Bottom Switch: The most important of all his kinks. Karl is the OG switch, but it'll take you a while to have him give up control, even when he’s in the bottom position. When he's a Hard Dom, which means he’s brutal and in control. He’ll throw you around like you’re scrap metal, pin you down because of his superior strength, and fuck you hard and unrelenting. He’ll leave bruises from his grip, marks from his teeth, and his voice will always remind you of your place. During certain rare moments where he's the Power Bottom, which makes him even more dangerous. He’ll open his legs for you, ask you to peg him or fuck him, but still maintain control. He’ll give you orders, make fun of your pace, hold your hips to force you in deeper, and laugh menacingly at you when you struggle to keep up. “Is that all you’ve got, buttercup? Thought you wanted to destroy me? Now fucking do it". Vulnerability turns him on, but he weaponizes it to stay in control even when he’s being fucked.
Pegging: This is what Heisenberg is absolutely shameless about. He enjoys that raw, intense stretch and how it stimulates his prostate that makes his cock leak and thighs shake. The combination of feeling not only exposed but overstimulated drives him mad. He'll go on all fours or ride you in cowgirl or reverse but even then? He's still gonna talk shit the entire time with a shit-eating grin like, “C'mon, Y/N. fuck my ass harder! Don’t you dare go soft on me now". He'd growl, swear and sometimes uses his magnetic powers to pull you deeper. But the moment he cums from pegging, it's going to be loud, messy and violent; hips bucking, muscles flexing, and the way his moans would echo through the factory. Afterward he’ll smirk and say he only let you do it because he felt like it.
Rough Manhandling: He loves using his physical power on you; such as him lifting you with one arm, effortlessly flip you, or slam you against the nearest metal surface. You'd definitely feel absolutely weightless and powerless once you're in his grip and nothing makes his cock throb more than this very contrast of him being stronger than you, who's naturally weak before his Cadou-enhanced strength. On a workbench will he hoist you, pin your wrists above your head with one hand or folds you in half while he fucks you. Your body yielding to his strength feeds onto his bottomless ego and his hunger.
Dirty Talk: Non-stop, filthy, and perfectly designed to drive you insane with pleasure. Heisenberg is able to blend insults and flattery in the most perverse manner imaginable like, “You’re such a pathetic little slut, dripping all over my cock already" or “Look at you taking every inch like you were built for it, good fucking toy". He growls each word into your ear, voice deep and gravelly, explaining in excruciating detail how far gone you are, how tight you feel, and how he plans to ruin you until you can't walk straight.
Bondage with Chains: The rope is too soft and forgetful for Heisenberg. He loves thick, cold metal chains that rattle and dig deep into your skin. He can use his magnetic abilities to tie you up and suspend you precisely as he likes to. It turns him on a lot when the chill of the metal presses against your overheated skin, the weight of the links, and the helplessness in the position he desires. He even insists on being tied up and chained when he is bottoming but be warned, he'll try and would definitely want to struggle from the his bondage to spice up the bedroom performance.
Grease & Sweat: Heisenberg obsesses over the raw, messy reality of sex in his factory; there's nothing more he loves than the slick slide of sweat mixed with with machine grease on skin. The metallic smell of it as well as how it makes everything slippery and and filthy is what gets him going. Though he can't get even more aroused when you two playfully wrestle with grease drenched all over your body; what becomes a mere play between you two becomes a one filthy sexual encounter for the messier it gets, the harder he gets.
Semi-Public Workshop Sex: Knowing that at any moment one of his Soldats or God forbid, one of the roaming Lycans, might catch wind of you only makes every thrust more urgent. He loves making you bend over railings to the sounds of machinery clanging all around in the distance, or fucking you against the wall so that anyone could come walking in at any moment. The thrill sends him into a frenzy and covers your mouth if anyone is near where you both are, but it's only to see how loud you can moan.
Hair Pulling: Used as a means of control and affection. If he's the one topping, then he'll pull your hair to force you to look up at him while he pounds you from behind. If you're the one fucking him, then he'll have his hands on your hair and guide you as you thrust in and out of him with your cock/strap-on.
Tease & Denial: This is Heisenberg’s specialty, and boyyyy is he good at it. He'll tease you for hours on end, bring you to the point where you think he'll fuck you deep with his hard throbbing cock, or make you cum with his tongue or fingers but deny you with a laugh. “Not yet, you come when I tell you to come” says Heisenberg while watching you sweat, begging, whining and even crying because he won’t let you cum.
Overstimulation: He won't stop after you've cum once. He keeps fucking you, rubbing your overly sensitive clit or cock, and pushing you through orgasm after orgasm until you're a crying, twitching mess. "Too much? Tough shit. You can have one more for me". He loves how your body fights and then gives up completely, leaving you a whimpering, dripping mess who can only moan his name.
Mocking Praise: Similar to his Dirty Talk kink but with more cruelty. Every compliment that comes out of his mouth is evidently laced with cruelty and dominance. He'll make sure his words impact you so much you'd crave for his twisted approval while absolutely petrified for the next mocking remark. This psychological push and pull is what keeps you addicted and off-balance; exactly how he likes you.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
EACH AND EVERY PART OF HIS FACTORY. INSIDE AND OUT.
You're going to be bent over massive machinery, your body pressed against cold metal walls, or completely sprawled across his cluttered desk surrounded by scrap and tools. The whole idea of being overheard by his Soldats just thrills him so much, making the overall experience even hotter. He'd go on his way to drag you to the village outskirts or abandoned buildings if he's in a bold, territorial mood.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
The way you're not bothered getting your hands dirty while working on the machines with him or at least try to; covered in grease, determined to learn and manufacture and totally unafraid of the overall chaos.
However, Karl gets a full-on boner when you mouth off on Lady Dimitrescu or anyone, including Mother Miranda (oh you brave Reader you), who'd try to belittle him. The fuckton of defiant spunk you have turns him on like nothing else.
Which basically means that he'll get to push back, test your limits and piss you off just so he'd fuck the attitude out of you. Confidence and fire in a partner are his biggest weaknesses.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Plain vanilla sex that's devoid of any risky edge or BDSM. Anything that strips away his agency without his explicit permission. No extreme violence or age play, and forget about sharing you with anyone else. Soft and sex aka "making love” with nothing even remotely rough is unbearably boring for him.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Receiving: LOVES IT MORE. He'd just lean back against the seat with his cigar held between his teeth as he grins down at you with one hand clutching your hair, bobbing your head back and forth. Expect he to be super vocal, like there's gonna be plenty of growling, cursing, and ordering you around like the (ruggedly handsome) asshole he is.
Giving: Least likely but when the horniness hits, it hits like a wrecking ball. Surprisingly passionate and talented with his oral skills. He's gonna suck or eat you out until you’re practically quivering with pleasure and anticipation. Once you start losing it, he's gonna tease you relentlessly.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Usually fast, rough, and unrelenting; he fucks like he builds his machinery. There will be sounds of skin slapping and metal creaking around the factory. Some moments where he'll slow down just to tease and edge you cruelly, but he always goes back to brutal thrusting again when you least expect it; making you moan and scream in eggshells.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Absolutely. He's an impatient guy and horny most of the time, so whether it would be a filthy quickie against the wall, bending you over a railing, or a dark corner at the factory is quite normal for you. He loves leaving you oozing wet and frustrated but promises to "finish the job properly" later.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Always down to take risks, after all he's Karl Heisenberg. He's ready to try almost everything out and loves the adrenaline rush from semi-private or dangerous places. Using his magnetic powers mid-sex; such as levitating toys, light metal restraints, or even suspending you, is a favorite thrill of his.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Unbelievably enduring. Decades of being infected with the Cadou and extra more decades of pent-up energy indicates that he can go for multiple long rounds with any downtime, like barely. He would fuck you for hours, if he must, switching between rough and teasing until you’re a trembling, oversensitive mess.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
He makes them himself; custom metal vibrators, cock rings, prostate stimulators, and heavy chain restraints. He enjoys using some of the toys on you to drive you absolutely mad with pleasure and occasionally on himself when he’s in a submissive mood. Metal clinking and magnetic humming from the toys is his go-to stimuli.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Unfair would perhaps be his middle name, that's how unfair he'd be. This guy is beyond good at teasing and denying you your release, pushing you to the point where you're begging for it forever. The whole time he'll make fun of how desperately you need him.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Loud as fuck. The whole factory vibrates from his loud growls, profane moans, contemptuous chuckles or laughter (mostly at you because he loves pissing you off), and animalistic grunts. Once he comes or if you hit the right spot when pegging him, then he starts to become even more shamelessly loud, like something out of a rabid animal in heat. He would care less who ends up hearing him.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Once, he used his abilities to make a heavy-duty metal dildo stick to the wall and then made you fuck yourself on it while he sat back smoking and jerking off. He would give you orders throughout the entire thing, changing angles and positions with his mind to perfectly torture you.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Karl is thick and sturdy; measuring in at a hefty 8.5 inches once fully erect, with quite the girth to match. He isn't circumcized but it's heavy, veined, and slightly curved upwards, making sure to hit all the right spots in you. The head is blunt and almost aggressive-looking, and the entire package is bordered by his dark, wild pubic hair. Karl's balls are large and full, swinging heavily against your ass with each thrust. Once he's fully aroused, it visibly throbs and drips with precum like a wolf in heat.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
The yearning is extremely high because of how deeply touch-starved and rage-filled he is from years of isolation and manipulation. But the moment he has you, he'd want you constantly. Forget once, twice, maybe more; morning, night and randomly in the middle of his goals to create an army against Miranda. Hell, even a single defiant look or grease smudge on your cheek can set him off.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
He won’t sleep right away. He’ll be awake for some time, smoking and holding you with one arm in the darkness while listening to the distant sounds coming from the factory. After confirming that you’re all stable from the mind-blowing sex, he’ll finally fall asleep, still clinging to you with both his arms around you.
“Bye,” you said for the third time that night. You were leaving family dinner, Rhys and Feyre having hosted as per usual. You’d been at Azriel’s side in the front hall for the last ten minutes, throwing jokes Cassian’s way and saying your goodbyes.
“Make sure that one gets home safe,” Cassian joked, pointing a drunken finger in Azriel’s direction.
“Will do,” you said as you finally stepped foot outside. The night air had a chill to it that you weren't prepared for. Your shoulders curled in on themselves with a shiver crawling up your spine. Azriel’s hand gently touched your lower back and warmth bloomed at his touch.
“Winnow?” Azriel asked, his hazel eyes taking in your shivering form.
“Yes, please.”
Both you and Azriel made it a habit not to winnow when you’d been drinking, but the night's cold gusts of wind had sucked out any care for that rule.
Azriel clasped his hand around your own before winnowing the two of you back home.
When you’d mated, Azriel had decided to move into your townhome, a short walk away from the Rainbow.
The warmth of your shared home greeted you as soon as you appeared in your front hall. A sigh escaped you as you shucked off your outer clothes and walked further into the house.
“I'm tired,” you announced, as if Azriel wasn't already aware of the fact.
"Let's get you into bed, my love." Azriel's voice softened with every word as he guided you up the stairs, a gentle hand at your back in case you slipped. (Something that had only happened once.)
"Think Cass will actually win that bet?" You asked. Inside your bedroom, both you and Azriel got ready for bed.
"No, not a chance."
You giggled as you slipped a nightgown on over your head. "My money's on Feyre."
"As is mine." Azriel admitted.
The sheets were cool against you as you slipped beneath them. You allowed Azriel all but a second to get settled into bed before you latched onto him, seeking out his warmth. His shadows flicked against your nose, drawing a sleepy giggle from you as you shoved your face into the crook of your mates neck.
“Goodnight,” Azriel murmured into the crown of your head.
“Goodnight.”
—
You weren’t sure what woke you at first. No chill in the air, no pressure in your bladder like you sometimes experienced in the middle of the night.
And then you heard it. Azriel.
A groan, one akin to pain, slipped past his lips. His body thrashed, like he was fighting something. You sat up, a hand on his arm, gentle and soothing, attempting to coach him back to the world of the living.
“Azriel, wake up.” Another groaned and he curled away from you. You threw the sheets off, the air hitting your naked legs as you made your way around the bed. You didn't want to risk hurting his wings by climbing over his slumbering body. “Azriel,” you cooed, grabbing a hold of his shoulders. You gave his muscles a squeeze. “You're having a nightmare, wake-”
A scream of surprise tore from your throat as Azriel shot up from his sleep. His scarred hands clamped around your throat, ready to squeeze the life from you. You stumbled back, knocking into a vanity table. Azriel followed, his eyes unseeing. You clawed at his hands, wheezing and gasping. “Az-”
His hazel gaze, normally filled with love, was utterly blank. Not a hint of recognition in his eyes. Still, you couldn't find it within yourself to willingly hurt your mate.
Rhys, you thought. Rhys, help me. Please.
Azriel's shadows swam around you both before slipping beneath his fingers. His grasp loosened and you kicked out, hard enough that he faltered.
Please Rhys!
Darkness and night swept wind filled your bedroom before the pressure from your throat has gone. You stumbled, tripping over your own feet. Your knees hit the hard wood floor with a crack, but you didn't pay any mind. Not as you got the sweet relief of air back into your lungs. Your head swam, dizzy. Someone was yelling, and then there were soft hands on you. You gasped, jerking back into the vanity legs as you choked on air. Through blurry vision you saw Feyre crouching in front of you. Her lips drawn down into a concerned frown.
“Hey, it's me. You're okay.”
“Feyre-”
“Shh, you're okay. I'm going to winnow you back to our place.”
“Az-” you said. You couldn't see him, or hear him, but you heard Rhysand.
“-KILL YOUR MATE!”
You wanted to see Azriel, but Feyre collected you up in her arms and winnowed you out of there before you could say the words.
Madja was just arriving at the River House when you were getting situated. Feyre sat you down in her living room as gently as ever. “Madja is going to check on you, I called for her as soon as Rhys got to you.”
“What about Azriel?” You croaked.
Madja tisked you. “Don't speak,” she ordered.
“But-”
“Azriel won't touch you.” Feyre promised.
“No, I want to see him.”
“I said be silent,” Madja ordered, and you couldn't help but obey the older female.
As Madja worked to heal the damage to your throat, you searched inside of yourself for that golden threat tying yourself to your mate. It was pulled taunt, strained with whatever inner turmoil Azriel was going through. You pulled, searching for the end, for Azriel. Instead you were met with a wall of smoke and shadows.
Madja pulled away, and with it you felt the warmth of her magic leave you. “I can't change the bruising, but the damage is repaired.”
“Thank you, Madja,” Feyre said.
You nodded towards the crone. “Thank you.”
Madja looked at you, her gaze assessing. “Why in the cauldron's name that male did what he did, I don't know. But, if he wants to make amends, he better grovel for it.”
You said nothing as Madja took her things and left.
“What can I do to help you?” Feyre asked. “Would you like some tea?”
You shook your head. “I want to speak to Azriel.”
Feyre sat beside you. “Are you sure? What happened tonight?”
Rhys winnowed into the front hall before you should answer Feyre. He came around the corner, stepping into the living room as polished as ever, only his eyes held any sign of what he'd been woken out of bed from. “Where's Azriel?” You asked.
Rhys kissed his teeth before responding. “Cassian's with him, keeping an eye on… things.”
Your head fell forward in exhaustion. You were tired and worried and sore. Rhys stepped forward, crouching to be at eye sight with you. “Is he okay?” You whispered.
“No,” you answer quickly. Quickly enough that Rhys raises a brow at you. “Truely-” you explain. “He gets nightmares. Bad ones, but he never,” you shake your head at the feeling of his hands closing in around your neck. “He's never had an episode like this, not violent.” Your gaze looks between Rhys and Feyre. “He's slept walked a few times. I found him trying to get dressed in his gear once, but nothing like this.”
Rhys tilted his head, you could tell he didn't want to give you too much detail. “He's as expected.” You glared at him for the non-answer. “Has he,” Rhys broke off into a long sigh, as though his next question caused him physical pain. “Has he done this before?”
Rhys’ violet eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of a lie, that you were trying to protect your mate from the truth of what goes on behind closed doors. When he looked at his own mate, you knew all he found was honesty. “He asked me to keep you away from him.” Rhys says. He stands back up from his crouched position in order to sit across from you.
“What?” You leaned forward, eyes flicking between the High Lord and Lady. “Why would he do that? What's he-”
“He's scared,” Rhys said, and those two words had you stopping in your tracks.
“Scared?”
Rhys nodded. “He's horrified by what happened tonight,” Rhys gestured to your bruised neck. “He doesn't trust himself.”
“But it wasn't him, not really.”
“While you may feel that way, he's a male that's just attacked and injured his mate. It goes against every instinct we have to do something like that. He's terrified he could do it again and disgusted that it ever happened in the first place.”
“Let me talk to him.”
Rhys shook his head. “I don't think him seeing those marks he's left will help your case very much.”
A long, heavy breath escapes you as you sit back on the couch. You're suddenly very tired, and you think the night might be finally catching up with you. “He's blocking his end of the bond. I just want to know how he is. Tell him I'm okay.”
Rhys nodded. “I understand, but I think it's best I tell him. You need your rest.” Rhys gestured towards the staircase. “You can sleep here tonight. A room has already been prepared.”
You gave Rhys a small smile. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Rhys said as he stood.
“Tell him I'm okay,” you asked quietly as Rhys made to leave. “And that I love him.” Rhys gave a dip of his chin before winnowing away.
“Common,” Feyre said as Rhys finally left. “I'll show you to your room.”
—
Despite exhaustion weighing heavy on you, sleep evaded you the rest of the night. A few times you thought the shadows moved within your room, but everything you looked into the darker corners of your room, you were alone.
The bond was still between you and Azriel. Cold–unused, blocked. You'd be lying if you said the silence didn't hurt.
As the sun rose you dressed in one of Feyre's turtlenecks and trousers. You made sure the bruising was covered before going downstairs.
“Thank you for helping me last night,” you said by way of greeting. Both Rhys and Feyre were sitting at the table, eating breakfast.
“Always,” Rhys answered, his violet eyes full of honesty.
“I'm going back home. I need to sort this out.”
“Won't you stay for breakfast?” Feyre asked.
You shook your head. “Thank you, but I need to talk to Azriel.” Your eyes fell to the plates of food on the table. Sliced fruit, tea, and baked goods. “I don't think I can stomach anything until I talk to my mate.”
Both nodded, understanding better than most what you meant.
“We're here if you need us.” Rhys said. You smiled, bidding them goodbye with a wave of your hand before you left their home.
As much as you wanted to winnow away and see Azriel right then, you needed the walk home to gather your thoughts. You hoped he was still there, that he wasn't hiding up at the House of Wind. Otherwise, you'd need Cassian or Rhys to fly you there.
—
Azriel was in the living room when you walked in. His shadows danced around him, restless, agitated, but his head hung low, as though his shame and guilt pulled him down. He didn't lift his head as you walked in, didn't turn towards you. You knelt before him on the floor, grabbing his chin gently and turning his gaze onto you. Whether he wanted to or not, he would see you.
His hazel eyes roamed your body, focusing on your neck, as though he could see the bruising beneath your shirt. You both stared at each other, taking everything in.
Surprisingly, it was Azriel who spoke first. “Are you hurting?” His voice was gravely, as though he'd been screaming.
You shook your head. “No.”
Azriel frowned. “Don't lie-”
“I’m not,” you answered earnestly. “Madja healed me. Nothing hurts.”
Azriel nodded. “I'm so sorry,” his voice cracked, his hands clasped between his legs were white at the knuckles. “I fucking hate myself. I was having a nightmare, and you weren't you, it was the war, and,” Azriel shook his head. “I didn't know what was real, I thought I was on the battlefield, I didn't-”
Your hands cupped your mates' face. “Shh, I know.”
“I swear on everything that I am, on my family and my court, I would never wish to harm you.”
“I know.”
Azriel's chest hitched, like he couldn't breathe properly. “I don't deserve to, but could I hold you?”
You nodded as you stood up. “Of course.”
Azriel scooped you into his arms and on his lap in the blink of an eye. His face buried in the crook of your neck. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I forgive you.” You told him, and you meant it. You knew your mate well enough to know that he wouldn't forgive himself, not right away, and maybe not ever. You knew that he wouldn't trust himself to be in the same bed with you for a while, but it was okay. You loved each other, and you'd work on it. You'd show him that you trusted him, that you forgave him, that you loved him.
Together, you'd put this nightmare behind you.
---
Thanks for reading! If you want behind the scenes of what went on once Rhys got to the house and got to Azriel, comment below!
a/n: and what if i said surprise smut. what then :) my soft launch of the fact i can and do write smut... <3
word count: easy peasy barely over 1k-squeezy
synopsis: Given particular knowledge, you try something new. wing!fic
Your knees sink into the black satin sheets of Azriel’s bed and you sigh contently.
Across the room at the window, the curtain is haphazardly drawn, letting in a curious ray of moonlight. A dim glow lights the room.
You’re thankful for it now—the moonlight allowing you to drink in the sight beneath you with a ravenous gaze. Thighs straddling across his hips, you take in Azriel under you with, what can only be described as, ardent hunger.
But, well, it’s not often enough you get to be on top, after all.
Azriel’s wings splay out on the bed, gloriously on display. His scarred hands rest easily on your waist. His hazel eyes, narrowed in a suspicious way, are focused entirely on you. He, as always, looks devastatingly handsome.
“I’m not sure if I like the look of that look.” He comments slyly, shifting his head to flick a stray curl back from his eyes.
His hands on your waist give a gentle squeeze, as if to reassure you that he’s only teasing. His shadows lurk, traversing the rumpled bedsheets with a lazy designation, unbothered.
“Oh, hush,” you respond. “As if I haven’t been on the receiving end of this before.”
At the mere mention of your reversed positions, Azriel grins, even as a hot glow takes to his cheeks. The dusty rose colour sets a warm spark off in your chest and the heat wastes no time heading south, between your thighs.
Your relationship with Azriel is of the newer side, despite how long you've actually known each other. Long time friends, eventually, finally turned lovers.
But these new steps forward together, getting to know each other in an entirely new way—it's still enough to make Azriel fluster. Centuries old he is but a bashful shyness still remains, if only you can coax it out.
Bringing you back to the moment, Azriel squeezes your waist again, one hand shifting across your skin, his thumb dipping closer to your waistband.
“I don’t know what you mean,” He says, even as his satisfied smile gives him away. He watches closely as you pluck up his large hand and move it back to your waist, the message clear. He's not in charge tonight.
“Y’know,” you say, voice softer suddenly.
You haven’t let go on his hand. As you speak, you let your fingers travel down his veined and chiseled forearm slowly. “I learnt something today. From Feyre.”
Azriel watches you intently, the very feel of your skin across his enough to make him shudder in muted pleasure. No one touches him like you do.
Goosebumps break out along his arm as your hand reaches his bulging bicep and you drag your nails across it lightly.
“Is that so?”
Despite all his body betrays him, Azriel is a master at keeping his face and voice cool and calm. You smile at the sight of it, goaded on by his unwavering voice, and let your hand linger, resting on his collarbone.
“What did she tell you?” Azriel asks, his dark brows raising.
Purposefully, you shift your hips an inch, grinding against his own. Azriel barely manages to hide the grunt it pulls from him, his fingers flexing against your waist as if he’s resisting something more.
“She told me,” You say, dragging out the words, sultry and low.
Your hand begins to move, tracing the line of his defined chest and feeling it heave slightly beneath your touch. Tantalisingly slow, you let it trail down, skimming across his toned stomach where you pause.
“That if I ask you nicely, there’s a certain spot—”
Your teasing, trailing touch moves sideways, dipping down his ribcage and nearing his wings. They rustle against the sheets, a minuscule motion, that you hope is in what’s anticipation.
If what Feyre said is true...
Moving slow, so there’s time for him to interrupt you, you reach down and hover your hand over the delicate membrane of his wings.
Intentions clear, your eyes dart to Azriel’s to check.
Pupils blow wide, the ring of hazel you love so much barely visible, Azriel looks debauched before you've even begun. His hands are stilled on your waist and his cheeks are that same glowing scarlet. After a beat it becomes clear he’s waiting, not stopping you.
Grinning, you take your cue.
Brushing your fingers gently across a section of his wings, the reaction is instantaneous.
Azriel shudders, his whole body shivering as a strangled breath passes through his clenched jaw, his eyes fluttering closed. The hands on your waist constrict, tightening his grip, and beneath you his hips shift up, into you.
The shape of him, pulsating and hot, suddenly feels much firmer than before.
“She’s—right.” The words come out in two stilted breaths, Azriel’s chest rising and falling a little faster now as he fights to compose himself. His eyes open, heavier lidded than they were a moment ago. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.
"Is she?" Your voice is lilted in mock uncertainty, given away by your mischievous grin. "I think I better check again."
This time, instead of a small brush, you try something bolder. Two fingers on either side of a prominent vein, you draw a delicate stripe up his wing.
Azriel whines— a soft, pitiful noise that leaks out through his clenched teeth. It melts into a soft groan as his whole body shifts, his hips shoving up, seemingly out of his control. His hands pull you down at the time, dragging you forward against his hardness.
Something fiercely hot simmers in your gut, both at the friction and his glorious reaction. He's been fucking holding out on you.
"I don't know, I'm still not sure..." You continue, far too delighted to abuse your newfound knowledge.
Stroking another soft line up his wing, this time you're rewarded with a needy whimper. His chest arches up, his head thrown back lightly—nearly writhing in pleasure from just a few touches.
"Oh, Az," You murmur, half consoling and half wicked. His screwed up eyes take a moment to find yours and you relish the panting of his chest. The rosiness of his cheeks has spread, crawling down his neck and beginning along his toned chest.
"This your plan?" He says, but it's nowhere near that unwavering voice from earlier, raspy and on the way to ruined. "To—" He takes a sharp inhale as your nail scrapes the membrane again. "—to tease me all night?"
You're impressed he's got the words out, given the sight of him. His hair looks messier now. Paired with his heaving chest and eyes bright with lust, he looks downright sinful.
"Doesn't sound too bad a plan to me." You say, letting your hips draw forward, then back, the smallest rocking motion against him.
Azriel hisses, his large, scarred hands threatening to bruise your hips with how tight they grip them. He makes no attempt to stop you though.
"What do you think?"
You purposefully retract your hand, hovering it over his wing, and watch his face. Wings are very personal to Fae and Azriel letting you touch his own, in such an intimate way, was not lost on you.
You don't want to overstep, even if you do desperately want to see what happens if you stroke once, twice, three times in a row. Gods do you want to watch him fall apart beneath you, whimpering and whining through it all.
"I think you're a temptress," Azriel says, breathless. His eyes, heavy with desire, give away his answer. A grin spreads across your face, devious and enamoured all at once.
"A temptress you'll let have her way with you?"
"Depen—ah," His voice shudders into another whimper as you touch your fingertip back to his velvety wing, drawing a small circle.
Eyes crushing closed, it takes another moment for him to catch his breath before he speaks again, breath ragged. "Mother above..."
His wing, the one you've been taunting, rustles against the bed. It lifts up an inch before flapping down in an almost impatient motion. Like a cat, wagging its tail. Azriel wets his lips again, their skin cherried and plush.
"Alright," He says, faux begrudgingly. His eagerness is given away by another impatient rustle of his wing and the throbbing length of him, pressing firmly up against you.
His gives your waist another squeeze and then lets go, letting his arms fall lax to his side. Trusting you completely.
Headcanons for the RE Monsters reaction to being cared for? 🥺👉👈
First time writing for the monster boys! Hope you like this! 🥹🖤
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HC Preferences: Resident Evil Monsters x Their Reaction To Being Cared For
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👾 Monster Characters:
Mr. X
Nemesis
Verdugo
Mutated!Jack Krauser
Mutated!Albert Wesker
Mutated!Victor Gideon
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Mr. X
At first, he just stops moving when you take care of him, as if he's "processing" the idea of care.
Tilts his head slightly when you patch him up, as if confused but attentive.
He lets people get close without attacking, standing still like a guard dog that forgot what to do.
Slowly starts to put himself between you and any threat without being told.
His heavy footsteps becomes softer and less intimidating around you, almost like he's trying not to scare you off.
One thing for sure is that he'll definitely be standing outside your immediate space like a highly trained guard dog, refusing to sit but refusing to leave.
Nemesis
Initially reacts with aggressive tension, but doesn’t strike when care is offered repeatedly.
Begins associating your presence with “non-target” behavior, reducing hostility over time.
Lowers his weapon slightly instead of raising it when you approach.
Becomes visibly less erratic when you tend to his wounds, like pain overrides programming.
Starts following you at a slower, less destructive pace.
Reaches toward you once, then stops mid-motion when you flinch.
Verdugo
Observes you from vents or ceilings instead of immediately attacking.
Gradually stops ambushing you during quiet moments of care.
Responds to your presence with unusual stillness, almost like curiosity.
Begins purring a bit, tilting it's head when you’re injured yourself.
Retreats into shadows instead of finishing an attack when you show concern for it.
Hovers near you without striking, mandibles twitching but not attacking. Its tail, however, does smoothly swish left to right like a cat that's happy to see you.
Mutated!Jack Krauser
Pretends he doesn’t need care, but doesn’t stop you once you start.
Becomes sharply quieter when you clean or bandage him, like pride is being overridden by exhaustion.
He would sneer at you like, “Don’t fuckin' mistake this for weakness… I just don’t care enough to stop ya.”
His aggression softens into something more controlled in your presence.
Starts showing up after fights without explanation, letting you treat him silently.
His scarred face crunches up when he mockingly smirks “Tch… careful. I ain't used to hands that don’t try to kill me.”
Mutated!Victor Gideon
Mutated!Albert Wesker
Initially allows care purely out of curiosity and superiority, testing your intentions.
Gradually stops correcting or resisting your actions, even when unnecessary.
Analyzes you like you're nothing more than one of his cruel experiments “Interesting… you treat even monsters like they’re still human.”
Watches you constantly while you tend to him, analyzing every movement.
Begins seeking you out after exertion instead of avoiding contact.
He almost looks disgusted by your humanity; though the imperious blaze in those fiery orange eyes of his slightly reduces, “Be careful. I may start expecting this… and expectations can be dangerous.”
At first, his reactions are cold and calculating, as if evaluating whether your care is a threat.
Slowly begins responding with less hostility and more controlled silence.
He'd eye you up and down, almost as if observing a rare specimen displaying it's distinctive traits, “You’re either brave… or catastrophically naive.”
Lets you approach his injuries without resistance, though he watches you closely.
Develops a habit of lingering near you after conflict instead of disappearing.
He would chuckle with a playful glint in his eyes like, “Continue. I want to understand why you insist on this behavior.”
What about Azriel and a size kink? I feel like this is usually written for Cassian, but I can totally see Azriel with it too? It doesn’t have to be spicy, maybe a little suggestive? Idk.. I’m gonna leave the interpretation to you hehe 😁😋
i was thinking about this exact thing yesterday 🤤 hope you enjoy :) warnings: size kink, suggestive
Azriel was… bigger than any male you’d been with before.
What they said about wingspan hadn’t been a lie, and you found that out the first time you tried to have sex.
“Holy fucking shit…” You said, staring down at the massive erection staring back at you.
He let out an awkward chuckle, eyes still roaming over your body, as his palm slid slowly against his hard cock.
“You expect me to fit all of that, inside here?” You point to your lower abdomen.
You knew there had been a dramatic size difference between the two of you. You were on the smaller side for a female fae, and Azriel was… well, an Illyrian.
But looking at him fully erect and standing before you with nothing else on— you weren’t sure how anyone would be able to take that.
“Let me stretch you out,” Azriel says, reaching to touch your hips gently.
He had you standing against the bed, the backs of your thighs pressing up against the mattress. The cold wood sent a shiver down your spine as you looked up at him.
“Are you sure?” You ask, your voice trembling.
It’s not like you expected him to be small, by any means. Illyrian males are known to be larger than regular males in all respects, due to the fighting and protecting aspect of their nature. In fact, you prepared to be sore for a day or two. Maybe take a few warm baths, take it easy at training tomorrow.
But this… this might take you down for a full week.
You didn’t totally hate the idea of it, though.
“It’ll take some work, but we’ll get there.” Azriel reassures you, moving to place a gentle kiss on your temple. “We don’t have to do anything tonight, if you don’t want to.”
“No, I want to.” You say quickly, looking up him with those beautiful wide eyes.
He smiles and runs his fingers over your delicate skin, bending down to graze your lips gently.
“Just tell me if you change your mind, sweet girl.”
─────────── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──────────
A/N: part 2? i kinda wanna write this now… i’m interested in exploring this dynamic more in detail :) lmk what you think ♡♡
An unexpected attack on Velaris leaves Azriel shaken when he can’t find his mate. Afterwards, he looks for comfort in you, in the only way he knows how to.
Pairing: Azriel x f!reader
Word Count: 2.2k
Warnings: mentions of blood, mate fury, a lil bit of violence if you squint, protective Az, mated Az, soft Az
A/N: This was born out of the idea how Az might need comfort with a bit of mate fury thrown in. Hope you enjoy this short little fic. ☺️
Thank you to @garricktavisfanclub for being my resident mood board help as well!
Blood dripped from the sharp blade of his Illyrian sword—Truth-Teller in his opposite hand.
He’d used both effectively and efficiently the last half hour, taking down any of the enemy forces he’d encountered.
Azriel had been at the River House discussing his latest reports from his spies on an unrelated matter when the call for help had come.
There was an attack on Velaris.
Cassian was already in the sky, Mor, Nesta and Feyre on the ground, in the streets of the city.
Rhys quickly shot skyward—Az following him a moment after, tapping his siphons, his armor covering his chest and limbs.
It was what both he and Rhys had seen from the skies that made the High Lord curse, low and filthy.
At least fifty—that Az could see right now—of Keir’s Darkbringers were launching an attack on the city and its citizens.
Despite Eris having held off Keir from visiting the city for more than two years now, clearly even the Autumn heir only had so much influence when it came to the Hewn City’s steward.
For Keir had decided to make a move at last and it wasn’t pretty.
He was positive this was the male’s retaliation from being kept out of the city for so long—Keir’s retribution and tantrum from not getting what Rhys had promised him in their bargain during the conflict with Hybern.
Azriel’s hazel eyes scanned the streets, tried to block out the screams of terror, the shouting, the clashing blades. He needed to get to the ground to start aiding in the conflict, but the ancient instinct roared within him.
Where is she. Where is she. Where is she.
There was no sign of his mate anywhere.
“You go north, I’ll head to the east. Try to locate where they’re coming in from. Likely the sea.”
Rhys’s order was clipped and full of authority. Azriel only nodded and dove for the ground.
He was already unsheathing his blades before his feet fully hit the ground.
•••
The entire time he’d battled the Darkbringers, panic was a siren song in his blood.
He was still efficient, still managed to take out several of Keir’s soldiers.
Fool. The male was nothing but a damn fool. All because of selfish motives. This would complicate any sort of relations with the Hewn City.
But that was a problem for another day.
Solve this first.
His very being seemed to scream out for her, terrified for her well being.
She was a fighter in her own right, having trained with Nesta and the other priestesses, but, still, he worried.
He felt nothing through the mating bond, felt no indications that she was…he couldn’t even acknowledge the thought.
He knew he’d know if something happened to her—that he’d feel it. No mated individual had ever been able to pinpoint it or explain the phenomenon other than it being a deep seated instinct. The fact he hadn’t felt anything of the sort was a good sign.
That wasn’t going to stop him from tearing down this city if he had to, just to get her.
Afterwards, as he stood with both blades dripping, facing a haggard and worn Rhys and Feyre—looking as bloodied as he was sure he was—his blood still roared.
He’d yet to locate his mate and he wasn’t about to calm until he knew where she was.
The question came out more command, more growl than anything—born of nothing but primal fear and wrath, for whoever dare to harm her.
“Where is she?”
•••
Azriel pulled himself out of the harrowing thoughts from earlier in the day.
He’d found her, down near the Palace of Thread and Jewels fighting a lingering Darkbringer who’d yet to go down. He’d known before he’d even landed that she was tiring and the male was taking the advantage, cornering her even as she defended herself and held him off with all her lingering strength.
He’d seen the blow coming in the seconds before he landed, the blade slicing through the air—directed right at his mate’s gut.
In one heartbeat, Az had landed and struck. The deadly steel of the blade plunged into the male from behind, the tip protruding from the male’s chest.
The Darkbringer had never seen it coming.
Az had pulled his sword free as the male crumpled, revealing his battered and panting mate. He flicked the blood off the blade with one flick of his wrist.
“Thank you,” she’d panted, gratefully.
Though he’d been so overwhelmingly proud of his mate—pride filling him at her bravery, watching her fight in those few seconds he’d witnessed—the panic and concern had outweighed anything else.
He’d quickly sheathed the blade back along his spine, his eyes taking in her state, assessing for any injuries.
She was as bloody as the rest of them, but the only thing he could think of was that she was wounded.
He’d gripped her arms, eyes roaming her—twice—assessing her wellbeing, before he’d said anything.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
That’d been the grand first thing he’d said to his mate. It still made him cringe inwardly.
He wasn’t winning any awards for romance, that’s for sure.
“Are you hurt? Are you okay?” she’d asked, concerning filling her features, her pretty eyes taking in his own state.
“I should be asking you that,” he’d retorted.
Before he’d even finished his sentence, he had pulled her against him in a bone crushing hug, not even caring about the blood and gore that covered them both. One of his scarred hands had held her head in his palm, as if trying to remind himself—that still panicked, intrinsic, part of him—that she was okay.
Later, after that moment, someone had told him she'd cut down three Darkbringers who were readying to attack the store owners.
He hadn’t been sure who, but his panicked heart had warmed knowing her determination to protect the people of this court. Ones who might not be able to protect themselves to the extent she could, herself.
She was that much like her High Lady, in that regard.
It was hours before they got to see each other again after that quick stolen moment.
She’d gone to help Feyre check on everyone in the city—offer help to any injured.
He had gone with Rhys to deal with the aftermath.
Rhys had reinforced the wards and had taken him and Cass to the Court of Nightmares to pay a visit to Keir.
The bastard hadn’t even been in Velaris to fight—he’d just sent his cronies.
Rhys had been so furious that his dark power shook the walls of the Hewn City. He’d ended any sort of bargain he’d ever had with Keir, forbidding him from ever entering Velaris for the rest of his miserable life—helped with a specific warding spell that would keep him or any of his Darkbringers out of the city of Starlight.
“And if you ever manage to bypass those wards, you step a foot into Velaris ever again and I will not hesitate to mist you on sight. Without a single thought,” Rhys had said, so calmly, so cooly that it had made the steward actually blanch.
Azriel had left Cass and Rhys there after that. All that was important right now was being with his mate—which thankfully, his brothers had seemed to realize his need for, assuring him that they had everything under control.
He’d found her in their bedroom, stripping out of bloodied clothes.
They were filthy, but she’d taken the time to clean his injuries—just small cuts here and there.
No words were spoken as she worked, but he’d spent the entire time staring at her, telling himself she was still alive and well.
He’d watched as she managed to wash up even just the slightest, claiming she was too exhausted to even think of a bath right now.
He had stayed quiet, watching her at the sink and followed her wordlessly as she re-entered the bedroom, heading to grab a clean set of clothes.
“Don’t.”
His voice had been raspy due to not having used it in what felt like hours.
She’d turned, confusion marking her face.
Most males likely would’ve made love to their mate for the reassurance of their safety, the comfort of their body.
While there would be time for that, Az hadn’t wanted that right now.
He’d stripped the remainder of his clothes off—just his bottom half at this rate—and looked her square in the eye.
“I just want to hold you.”
He had swallowed hard, around the emotion in his voice.
“Skin to skin.”
He’d known it was an unusual request. But he didn’t want the distraction of sex right now. He just wanted to feel her warm body pressed to his—molded against him.
She’d only taken him in, the severity of his voice, his naked body and only nodded, pulling off her own undergarments.
Which is how they laid currently, his arms wrapped tightly around her, her body warm against his.
He knew she was capable of taking care of herself but even that split second today—when he’d watched that blade arc through the air toward her —had been the most terrifying time of his life.
And he’d faced some terrifying things in his centuries of life.
Coupling that with that half hour or more when he wasn’t sure where she was, if she was alright, Az had been left shaken to his very core.
The thought of losing his mate though…that made every other terrifying thing he’d encountered obsolete.
His arms tightened around her, finding comfort in the feel of her breath, making the hand that was splayed across her belly rise and fall.
She was okay.
She was safe.
She was in his arms.
He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her sweet cinnamon scent.
“I’m never letting you leave this bed.”
Her laughter was sweet, soft, despite the events the day had brought.
It was music to his ears, calming the unsettled feeling he’d had since the moment he realized he had no idea where she was.
“You know you’ve said that in far sexier scenarios. You’re just lucky you're cute.”
There was exhaustion lining her voice, but the fact that she could joke with him made his heart warm.
She had reported to him in those first minutes after he’d found her in their bedroom that there had been no fatalities, but there were many injured.
Thankfully Keir had underestimated them as a whole.
He knew seeing the injured though, the fear on the sea of faces weighed heavily on her. He was just glad it wasn’t worse—buildings and things could be replaced, people couldn’t.
He kissed the top of her head, smiling into her hair. His fingers curled and relaxed, gently in slow strokes over the soft skin of her bare stomach. His hand tightened just the slightest, fingers flexing against it, protective and loving in the same gesture.
His body ached, his wings sore from how far he’d pushed himself—he knew she like had to be sore too.
“I’m sorry, I know this was a crazy request,” he murmured.
She shifted, turning to face him.
She was so beautiful, he was positive he’d never get tired of that pretty face. Though her eyes were dull from fatigue and the emotional hit seeing devastation and fear like she had today, they remained alert, serious, soft as she took him in.
“It’s not. It was…a rough day.”
She reached for one of his hands, holding up her smaller one against his bigger hand. She laced their fingers together, their hands still in midair. She brought their clasped hands to her mouth, kissing the knuckle of his thumb, then placed another kiss a little lower on his hand, right over one of his scars.
He watched her intently before speaking.
“I just…”
Words seemed to fail him right now.
“I know,” she whispered.
She reached up to kiss his lips softly. It was brief but it was more like a comfort, a statement that she understood everything he couldn’t voice. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know how to.
“I know,” she repeated again, softer, against his lips.
She pulled back enough to take their joined hands and place them over her heart. She let go enough so she could lay her hand on top of his.
He felt the steady beat of her heart underneath the silky warm skin and Az felt himself truly beginning to relax for the first time since everything had started.
“I’m okay. You’re okay,” she reassured.
His other hand lifted to her cheek, thumb brushing it reverently. Her smile was slow and soft, finding a moment of contentment even in such a horrible situation.
She grabbed his hand again, moving it from his chest and interlocking their fingers again. Still holding onto it, she nuzzled her face against his chest, seeming to need his warmth and touch as much as he needed hers.
“Don’t let go,” he murmured.
He felt her warm breath against his throat, felt the soft smile against his skin as she settled in the space just beneath his head.
Chaos ensues at a typical family dinner with the Inner Circle when enthusiastic activities with your mate—prior to the meal—results in you showing up with unhealed marks on your neck.
Pairing: Azriel x f!reader
Word Count: 2k
Warnings: mentions/implications of smut, discussion of sex, Inner Circle teasing & chaos
A/N: Just a quick little funny and light hearted fic inspired by a conversation with @garricktavisfanclub (also thank you for mood board help!). Enjoy some absolute Inner Circle chaos because it’s such a fun dynamic to write.
It was supposed to be just an ordinary family dinner.
Technically, it was.
But, it had started when your mate—clearly unable to keep his hands to himself—had to have you right before the two of you were to leave for dinner.
Nesta and Cassian had been in the city all day, which had left you and Azriel at the House of Wind.
Alone.
Which had been the first mistake.
The second mistake had been letting Az talk you into a quick rendezvous before both of you were due at the River House.
Not that it took you much convincing.
He’d taken you hard and fast, clearly expelling some pent up sexual frustration he’d suffered from all day.
He’d lifted you onto the desk in your room at the House, yanking your pants down to your ankles. You’d barely had time to lift your hips as he got rid of the clothes in his way, your mouth hot on his.
Even if you’d resisted for a few moments when he’d first suggested it, you loved getting a few stolen moments with your mate. Not that you hadn’t had time for intimacy, but something about quick tanglings like tonight always excited you.
You loved when Az sometimes got so desperate for you he lost all control.
It was as quick as promised—enough to satiate for the time being at least.
You’d been so caught up in the heated moment you hadn’t even realized he’d left you a little souvenir.
It was only when you passed a mirror in the hallway on the way to the dining room—preparing for him to scoop you into his arms and fly the both of you down to the city—that you got a glimpse of it out of the corner of your eye.
“Az!” you screeched, “What is this?”
He’d just walked up behind you and his handsome face appeared in the mirror, the reflection of his hazel eyes dipping to where you pointed to your neck.
A group of purplish bruises sat just at the base of your neck, just above your collarbone and in plain sight. They went utterly unhidden by your shirt, no matter how you tried to pull the neckline up to cover it.
Since they were still so fresh, they hadn’t healed much at all. Though if it looked this bad even with the fae healing abilities, you had to wonder what it looked like ten minutes ago when your mate had put them there.
Az shrugged, unrepentant and unbothered.
“No one will notice. Maybe it’ll heal before we get to the River House.”
You leveled him with an unimpressed stare.
“It’s a three minute flight.”
“Technically five, but I see your point.”
You just sighed dramatically as you walked out of the glass doors of the dining room to the balcony. You opened your arms wide for him—just as dramatically as your sigh had been—waiting for transportation.
He just smirked, dropped a kiss on your cheek and scooped you up before shooting into the sky.
You spent the entire flight praying to the Mother that no one would notice.
•••
Your prayers had gone unanswered.
Technically you and Azriel had been a few minutes late, considering everyone was already at the table and digging in.
You noted the few empty chairs, remembering Amren was currently in the Summer Court visiting Tarquin and Mor was off on the continent for a new mission Rhys had tasked her with, so her absence was to be expected.
Everyone else—unfortunately for you—was in attendance.
Cassian was in the middle of shoving a forkful of what looked like roast chicken into his mouth when he froze and actually did a double take.
The High Lady looked as delighted as her mate did.
Nesta—next to Cassian—looked like she was settling in for a show that wasn’t to disappoint.
Even Elain’s mouth twitched in an effort not to giggle, though she kept her head down as she cut her meat.
You stifled a groan, sinking down into your seat.
Azriel, unruffled as always, sat in the chair next to you.
You should’ve known better than to assume your family wouldn’t jump on a golden opportunity like this.
“Elain, dinner looks lovely,” you gushed, desperate to move the attention away from you and Az.
Elain opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Cassian.
“Unfortunately, it looks like Az has already eaten.”
You groaned aloud this time and Elain burst into giggles, just tilting her head in your direction as a thanks for your compliment.
Az, naturally, didn’t even seem fazed as he dug into his own food—having already piled his plate with a little of everything on the table.
The male did have quite an appetite—in more ways than one.
“Lucky for me I have a big appetite,” he quipped, mirroring the thought you’d just had.
You bit your lip to stifle a giggle as you served yourself.
“Clearly. Give her a safe word next time, brother, she looks like you rearranged her soul,” Cassian mused.
You’d finished doling out your portions and had lifted your water glass to your lips just as Cassian had begun speaking. You choked on your water, the rest of the table bursting into wild laughter at the comment. You gaped at Cassian, incredulously.
“Must we do this?” you asked, exasperated.
He speared a green bean with his fork, nodding.
“We must.”
“Hey, a female needs to work up an appetite somehow,” Feyre chuckled, raising her wine glass to her lips, “We aren’t judging.”
Cauldron, they were really doing this.
You wanted to slink down in your seat, especially when Rhys piped up.
“I must ask, are the wingspan allegations true? I’ve tried to get the bastard to measure against ours, but he never does. Says he has nothing to prove.”
A smirk bloomed across the High Lord’s full lips.
You were ready to take this beautiful dinner and chuck it in someone’s face.
But…if they wanted to play this game, so could you.
Despite your exasperation, you smiled impishly.
“Let’s just say you should classify his wingspan as a damn weapon, Rhys.”
It should’ve been no surprise that it was Cassian that spewed his wine at your comment.
All over poor Feyre.
She screeched, staring at him. Rhys just waved a hand and the wine on her sweater disappeared.
She huffed, throwing her mate an unamused look, “I could’ve done that.”
“You’re an animal, Az,” Cassian gaped, ignoring Feyre, his eyes falling back to the bruises on your neck.
It might as well have been a beacon of shining light the way the male was staring at them. You rolled your eyes.
“I thought you went through the mating frenzy months ago. You can’t keep your hands off her for one day?” Rhys asked.
Az simply raised a brow in Rhys’s direction, eyes sliding to Feyre like if anyone he—and Cass for that matter—should understand.
“Eight months ago,” Cassian rumbled, at least back to eating now.
Nesta, though she’d stayed quiet thus far, monitored every word spoken, a roguish grin on her face, aimed at you like even she was impressed with you.
Considering she and Cassian were champions of impromptu and frequent sex—as was apparent from the early days before they made their bond official—her approval said a lot.
“So how’s his stamina? It was weak when we were young.”
Cass dropped that bomb like it was everyday information and your jaw dropped as you looked between Cass and Az.
“How does he—”
“Not important,” Az interrupted abruptly, cutting Cass a glare that didn’t even faze the Illyrian.
“From what I remember he was always the first to go. Not that I heard the females complaining.”
Your gaze bounced between the males, eyes narrowed.
There was definitely a story there and you’d get it out of your mate one day.
Likely later.
“If we want to talk about quick off the mark—” Nesta began.
“It was one time!” Cass blurted, turning to his mate.
She only smirked and you blinked trying to process what in the Cauldron’s name was even happening when she turned to Az.
“Seconds. It took him seconds.”
“We aren’t talking about me!” Cassian protested.
Azriel only snorted into his water glass, amused eyes sliding to your face.
“So back to Az being an animal,” Rhys grinned, resting his chin on his steepled fingers.
“Rhys!” you exclaimed, exasperated.
You expected better of him, to shut this down. But then again, who were you kidding? He was just as mischievous as the other two Illyrians in your presence.
As if to prove your point, he just gave you a wicked grin.
“This is the best show since Cassian took me to the opera house last month,” Nesta grinned, setting her chin in her palm, taking it all in.
“So does he just do that whole intense stare thing as he thrusts into you or…” Cassian trailed off with a grin.
Giving up on even fighting it, you decided to embrace it.
“I wouldn’t know. My eyes are usually rolled back in my head.”
You tried not to smirk at the laughter that came from the Archeron sisters.
You knew how to handle Cass and you sat back in your chair with a raised brow, waiting for him to toss any further inquiries your way.
But he turned towards your mate instead.
“Is she this mouthy in bed?”
“Bold of you to assume she can even talk,” Az replied around a mouthful of potatoes.
“Az!”
Your family’s laughter doubled as you hit his muscled arm. He just grinned sidelong at you with a shrug as if to say, It’s not exactly a lie is it?
Elain casually buttered her roll, not even glancing up as she made her comment—likely making it even more amusing than it already was.
“Need I remind you the kitchen counter is for rolling out dough and not rolling out your mate.”
That sent Nesta and Feyre into another fit of giggles.
You blinked, speaking before you even thought about what was coming out of your mouth.
“How did you know he bent me over the counter?”
The cacophony of gasps and squeals from your family made you slap a hand over your mouth in realization.
You tried to quickly change the subject, though to no avail.
“So Elain when is Lucien visiting next?” you asked, panicking, as if you could outrun the way your cheeks were rapidly heating.
“Oh no, you’re not changing the subject now,” Elain grinned, waving her butter knife in your direction.
You sighed, massaging your temples.
Rhys and Cass were dying.
“Az, you animal!” Cass bellowed between his laughter.
“You’re insatiable,” Rhys muttered when he’d finally calmed, though you thought he sounded impressed.
“You’re gonna break her!” Cassian sputtered.
“I just hope the House doesn’t smell like sex,” Nesta mumbled, taking a sip from her drink though you could’ve sworn you saw a hint of a smile.
“Oh that’s rich coming from you two!” you groused, pointing your fork at Nesta and Cassian.
“Shoot a thought my way if you ever can’t walk and need assistance,” Rhys said, though he failed to keep a straight face as he burst into laughter again.
That sent the entire table roaring again.
You huffed, but a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You felt a hand on your thigh—the caress soft and loving—and you peered over at your mate.
Despite looking smug as hell, he bent closer to you, to whisper into your ear.
“I don’t regret it for a second,” Az murmured to you with a smirk, his hand giving your thigh a squeeze.
The rest of the table was too busy laughing and talking to notice the two of you.
Especially when Azriel leaned forward once more, so close that his lips brushed your ear, sending chills skittering down your spine.
A/N: This mini series—made up of one Azriel and one Eris fic—means a lot to me as I suffer from bad panic attacks. Another heads up that there is an extensive panic attack scene, just in case this may be too triggering for some. But, I found this rather cathartic to write. For those in similar situations or struggle with mental health, just know I love you, I believe in you and you’re so strong.
One minute you’d been perfectly fine.
The next, you felt like you’d been submerged into mental warfare.
Sweat beaded your brow, your palms clammy.
Disorientation met you head on, your brain feeling foggy and sluggish. Tingling started in your arms and legs, making you feel like you might pass out.
Heat consumed you from inside out, your body feeling like your insides were overheating. Your stomach twisted, making you feel sick.
A sense of dread hit you next. Powerful, all encompassing and wholly unwelcome.
All of that paled in comparison to the tightness in your chest—the way it felt like your heart was galloping out of your chest.
If it got any faster, you may actually die—disregarding the fact you were immortal.
The thoughts came next.
Please, not again.
Not right now.
I wasn’t even doing anything.
Why is this happening?
I think I may be dying.
I hate this.
Please make this stop.
Why can’t I be normal?
The more you fought it, the worse it got. The more intense it got.
Until all you knew was panic.
Your breaths came faster, sounding sharp and shallow to your ears.
You were spiraling and quick.
Why did it feel like the room was closing in on you? Why did it feel like everything was suddenly upside down?
You trembled like a leaf, your limbs shaking against your will. Dread sluiced through you as swiftly as water.
You were gonna be sick everywhere. At least it felt like it.
Your heartbeat seemed loud in your ears, as loud as it seemed to race in your chest. You needed to escape. You couldn’t breathe.
Panic was quickly overtaking your senses. Your chest rose and fell rapidly. Too quickly, your breath sawing in and out of you like you’d been training.
But this wasn’t heavy breath from exertion. No, this was uneven, gasping breaths. This was breaths like you couldn’t get enough air into your lungs.
Fear intensified to the point all you could do was focus on the panic. You were drowning in it. You wanted to cry out, but couldn’t even get enough breath in to speak.
Terror had its talons in you—had you in such a grip you were nothing but a slave to it. Your hands shook, your body rocking before you even realized what was happening.
The worst thing about this was knowing you had no legitimate reason to be upset like this, but you lacked the ability to shut it down.
Before an attack, it felt like a large wave of water threatening to crash over you, during the middle of one, it felt like that wave had pulled you under, trapping you no matter how much you mentally thrashed against it.
You knew by the end of it, it would leave you wrung out, like you’d been washed up on land, exhausted, depleted and spent from the fight.
If you could only make it to the end.
Because right now, it felt like these feelings would never end—that this horror would never leave you.
Impossibly, almost in competition with your erratic breaths, your heart felt like it sped up.
You were certain you were dying.
Suddenly you were airborne. At least it felt like it.
You’d had stranger sensations during an attack like this, so you didn’t think too much of it.
That is, until you felt strong, warm arms around you.
You were in a lap.
A comforting, familiar lap.
“Sweet girl, look at me.”
You couldn’t focus. Could barely make sense of the words that’d just been spoken to you in the recognizable deep timbre. The male in front of you only wrapped arms tighter around your trembling frame.
You were wheezing, you could hear the rasping, panicked breaths coming from you. You were sure you looked like a panicked, trapped animal.
“Focus on the sound of my voice. I know you can hear me. Just focus on my voice. Can you do that for me?”
The deep, smoky timbre filled your ears and you struggled to hold on to it. To focus on it like the owner of the voice had ordered you to.
When you were in the depths of this hell though, it was hard to focus on anything other than the internal feelings.
You felt your face being firmly turned and your eyes fell on the familiar face, worried hazel eyes staring at you.
Even if he was a familiar, comforting sight, even seeing Azriel in front of you didn’t calm the wild panic in your chest nor the pounding sensation.
Your beloved had been with you through this many times before, so he was used to it, he knew what to do. It still didn’t make it any easier for you to experience.
You hated the feeling of helplessness, the wild panic that would suffocate you, drown you, mentally.
Help, please help me. Please stop this.
You wanted to scream the words, but it was as if your brain had disconnected from your mouth, unable to form words. Unable to do anything but trap you in the dread and the unyielding fear.
“You’re safe. Your mind is lying to you. You hear me, sweet girl?”
He didn’t even have to instruct you, he just demonstrated a deep breath and you immediately followed.
“That’s it. Good girl, again.”
You repeated the action as Az instructed. You took another deep breath, even though your heart continued to speed in your chest.
Go away, go away. Please go away.
You were sure he could see the panic in your eyes, the desire for this to end. You were too hot, too overwhelmed to focus on anything.
An icy chill along your cheek then the back of your neck made you jerk.
It brought you back to reality like it’d intended to and your eyes darted to the side, seeing the dark wisp of a shadow dart by.
You weren’t sure how it came to be that the shadows seemed to know the brush of their coolness seemed to help ground you during this, but it’s something they always did. You still had no idea if it was something Azriel told them to do or something they just did on their own.
“Tell me something you feel,” Az said, gently.
It was a grounding exercise, to get you out of your head. To get your mind off the panic that you easily fell into the trap of focusing on.
“Your shadows,” you rasped.
“Something you hear.”
“You.”
His smile was gentle.
“Something else.”
You realized your breathing had evened some. It was no longer wheezing out of you. The storm still raged inside of you though.
“My breath.”
“Something you feel.”
Your hands that had been clinging to him squeezed his biceps gently.
“Muscles.”
He huffed a soft laugh. He took your hand, placing it over his chest.
You felt his heartbeat under your palm. A steady beat, much in contrast to yours that still was erratic.
“You’re okay,” he reminded you.
The words weren’t all that helpful, but it wasn’t that that helped you focus. It was the soothing cadence of his voice.
You felt more cool brushes against your skin.
Across your shoulder.
Winding around your forearm.
Another kiss-like brush to your cheek.
His shadows were busy trying to distract you, themselves.
You huffed a small laugh, surprised you were able to, even with the episode still ongoing. Though it was lessening little by little.
“How are we doing?” he asked gently.
A hand came up to your cheek, fingers gentle and soft as they caressed it.
Your breath no longer sounded like it was being ripped clean out of you, you were no longer gasping to get air into your lungs.
It was a promising start, but the panic still lingered immensely. Your stomach was still in knots, twisted with anxiety. Your breathing, despite not being as bad as before, still was uneven and heavy.
You tried another breath before you spoke.
“Still not great.”
You felt a cool band wrap around your arm and your eyes fell downwards to see a wisp of a shadow curling around it like it too, could provide comfort.
“Please talk to me,” you mumbled.
Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. But you were willing to try anything at this point. You just wanted this feeling to go away.
“What, my shadows playing with you isn’t enough?”
You offered up a weak smile.
You lifted the other hand that wasn’t on his chest, watching another shadow tendril curl through it like a loving pet wound around its owner's legs. You shivered at the biting chill. But you were grateful for it. It was a sensation that distracted you—even minutely—from the threat of being overtaken by the unreasonable panic that roiled within you.
You’d never understood why you had these episodes. You didn’t have any sort of trauma any worse than any of your friends and family. Most of the time, you weren’t even sure what triggered them. They just seemed to…happen.
They seemed to be prone to happen most when you were stressed or tired, oddly enough.
Azriel had been with you from that very first terrifying one. There’d even been a period of time you were so terrified of having more that you inevitably ended up having more.
It was a terribly cruel cycle.
But you and he had worked together, figured things out that worked when one hit.
Like now, his hands were gentle on your back as he held you close, forehead dipping to yours as he looked into your eyes. His touch roamed up and down your back, soothing, anchoring, bringing you back to reality and pulling you out of the mental trap you could easily fall into during situations such as these.
“I can still feel your heart racing,” he murmured.
You didn’t doubt it. Even without fae senses, you were sure the Illyrian could pick it up. He probably heard the pounding of your heart too.
You didn’t say anything, still feeling disoriented and detached from the world as you battled the internal feelings currently warring within you.
His forehead was still against yours when he spoke, warm breath fanning over your face—something else that momentarily distracted you from the horrible sensations.
“Can you give me another deep breath, sweet girl?”
You nodded, sitting back, chest expanding as you took as deep of a breath as your lungs allowed. The panic still swirled in you, but you tried to accept the thought and move past it, not dwell on it.
You loosed the breath, listening to him speak.
“You’re alright. You’re safe here with me. Nothing to fear, remember? You’re my strong girl.”
You smiled a genuine smile at that.
“I can have my shadows play peekaboo with you if you need them to.”
He was dead serious and the comment was so absurd, you actually laughed.
“Thanks, but I’m not Nyx.”
You weren’t trembling now like you had been, but you still felt shaky, the adrenaline that had coursed in your veins subsiding, leaving you weak and tired.
“Just letting you know the offer is always available.”
His voice was serious, but his lips twitched just the slightest, showing his playfulness.
“I appreciate that, Az.”
Your smile was small and appreciative.
You truly couldn’t have relayed just how grateful you were to your beloved for weathering these storms with you—right by your side.
He never panicked, never shamed you. Az just took you as you came—random episodes and all.
Your hand came up, running it through his dark hair, pushing some strands off his forehead. The soft, silky strands helped to further ground you.
Focus on Az, not the panic.
Focus on Azriel, you are safe.
Your mind repeated common phrases you had practiced for moments like these—common sense phrases, like the ones that reminded you that you had no legitimate reason to feel so terrified.
His hazel eyes watched you carefully, concerned.
“Talk to me, sweet girl. Let me know how you’re feeling. Don’t shut me out,” he warned gently.
It wasn’t a reprimand, but a reminder.
You tended to retreat into yourself during these attacks, something you couldn’t help. It just seemed to inevitably happen.
You were working on getting better at that.
“Not as horrible,” you admitted, “Some is still there.”
It was starting to recede, to fade a lot more.
You felt another cool brush and chuckled, seeing a shadow once again flit by.
“Thank you,” you directed the grateful response to it.
As if it could understand you, it curled and twirled, brushing its proverbial icy hand against your cheek.
“Thank you too,” you said, eyes coming back to Az’s face.
The fear had faded to a distant hum, your heart rate having slowed significantly, your breathing normal. It seemed like the worst of it was over.
Az’s hand stroked over the back of your hair lovingly, dropping his mouth to yours in a soft kiss.
When he pulled away, his eyes met yours and he uttered something that you knew was nothing but the full truth. Something that helped the panic fade away, soothing the last ragged edges of the episode.
When Azriel overhears something he most certainly wasn’t supposed to, he can’t resist the urge to have a little fun with it and you get a taste of just how much of a tease the shadowsinger can really be.
Pairing: Azriel x f!reader
Word Count: 9.2k
Warnings: eventual smut, p in v, sexual tension, some teasing, Az just being deadly in bed
A/N: I can’t believe this fic finally came to fruition. I’ve had this idea for two months and just could never seem to make it come to life. But with a recent bout of inspiration, it finally happened. A big thanks to @garricktavisfanclub for helping me so much with brainstorming, details and proofreading too. If you’d like to be added to my fics tag list (I currently write mainly Azriel and Eris fics) let me know!
Wine. You were gonna need wine.
And lots of it.
“Okay, I know I asked for this, but now I’m wondering if it was one of my worst ideas yet.”
Your best friend smirked as she sipped her cup of tea. Her gray blue eyes held mischief as she watched you take a rather large sip of your wine.
She’d been through a lot here recently, you’d learned.
You’d only known Nesta Archeron for a short time, meeting her when she came into the bookstore in Velaris that you worked in, almost a year ago. You had no idea just what kind of journey she was on at that first meeting, the demons she was battling, the healing she was slowly working towards.
It’d only been in the last few months that you’d grown closer—especially when she’d invited you to train with her, her other friends Gwyn and Emerie and other priestesses that lived in the library beneath the house you were currently in.
Nesta had seen something in you that she had in her other friends, apparently.
You hadn’t experienced trauma like the other females, but you did deal with an overabundance of grief. You’d lost your parents in the war with Hybern, a series of events leading you to end up in Velaris, though it hadn’t been the home where you’d once lived with your parents.
Though the people of the city and its High Lord were kindhearted and friendly, you’d never felt like you’d fit in, wading through grief you’d never fully healed from. You’d felt like you’d had no purpose. You’d drifted through every day, doing the same things. Get up, go to work, eat, read and sleep. Nothing had ever changed.
Until the day you’d met Nesta and you’d been set on the path towards your life slowly changing.
You’d been hesitant when she’d asked if you’d like to train. Cassian and Azriel were great teachers, she’d encouraged, but you’d still been wary. You were no warrior.
But the longer you’d thought about it, the more you’d realized that you had been presented with an opportunity that might not come around again. One that could potentially break you out of your rut, out of the haze of grief you had spent so much time in.
After all, you’d realized you’d never know if you didn’t try.
But by accepting the offer, starting to train, you’d made more friends. Found a purpose. Felt useful. You were currently even at a girls night consisting of you and Nesta.
Gwyn and Emerie unfortunately hadn’t been able to make it tonight, the former being tied up with helping her boss Merril, who was in deep research mode lately. The latter was also busy with work, having put off doing inventory for her store for far too long and needed to catch up.
While they were missed, it gave a rare opportunity for you to be a bit more outgoing, something you’d still felt hesitant about doing with the other two females. Not that they weren’t welcoming or friendly—they were—you just sometimes happened to feel very much like the newcomer to the group.
It was a bit easier with Nesta, since you’d known her the longest.
It had helped greatly though when both females had been informed by Nesta that you’d enjoyed reading as well and they had recommendations upon recommendations for you to read. Working at a bookstore, you’d been surprised to find you hadn’t read most of the ones they loved and immediately took up their offer of loaning you some.
The pair had even made plans to come visit you at the bookstore sometime soon—though it hadn’t come to fruition just yet—they still intended to. They’d been absolutely delighted when they’d heard that you worked at a bookstore. You knew there were plenty of different books the store carried that you could recommend to the females.
So, perhaps, training hadn’t been a bad idea after all. You were learning a new skill and socializing a lot more than you’d once had been.
“I promise one glass is all I’ll have, I just need it to get through this conversation,” you mumbled into your glass.
“If you’re worried about me, I’m okay,” Nesta said evenly, “I won’t snatch the glass out of your hand.”
You didn’t want to be insensitive to any of your friend’s past issues and you told her so, which she just gave you a cutting look—not in a harsh way—but more to let you know that she was perfectly fine.
“Besides, you did ask about how Cassian was,” she smirked.
She’d recently mated with your training instructor and sort of friend, Cassian. You were extremely happy for them because anyone with eyes could tell there was chemistry between them and that they loved one another deeply.
But you’d had to open your big mouth and teasingly ask if he was as good with other things as he was his sword. You didn’t think Nesta would divulge details, especially when you had to see the male nearly every day.
Thankfully, it was just the two of you at the House of Wind for the night—Cassian down at the River House meeting with Rhys for something and Azriel gone on a mission, spying somewhere. That had been the reason for this impromptu girls night.
You’d made a teasing remark that she’d seemed on edge, like she couldn’t go long without her mate and had commented that the sex must be that good if she was so fidgety.
It was like Nesta was going through withdrawal. But if her face was any indicator, maybe there was a good reason she was.
“Let’s just say he’s…good at what he does,” she murmured with a smirk.
You thought you were getting by with just that little detail. But, no, she wasn’t finished.
You had to admit you were morbidly curious.
“Once, we were so feral after we’d gone one round, he told me to put my hands on the headboard. Then took me all over again. Even rougher.”
You nearly choked on your sip of wine.
“By the Cauldron,” you breathed, "Would you hate me if I said now I need to know more?”
“I was hoping you’d ask,” Nesta grinned.
“Is he…gifted?”
“Oh definitely. To the point even I was surprised when I first saw it.”
She said it so nonchalantly your brows nearly rose to your hairline.
“It’s a wonder you’re still in one piece,” you mumbled.
“Most of the time I’m not,” she answered, blasély.
“Well he looks the type.”
“The type?” she asked, taking another sip, brow raised.
“You know, the type of male that knows how to use his cock well. They’re old enough, they oughta know how to use it well.”
Nesta snorted.
“You’d think so, but I’d been with plenty of males that still haven’t managed to hone that skill despite immortality.”
“Clearly you no longer have that problem,” you mused, smirking.
She made a noise low in her throat, indicating just how good it really must be.
“Cassian knows how to keep me on my toes…while making them curl at the same time.”
You took another drink of your wine, the rich, potent flavor coating your tongue, debating how to put your next question.
“So…best you’ve ever had?”
She just gave you another look. You figured the answer to that.
Good sex could be good sex, but you figured it had to be on a whole different level when one was mated and in love.
“Point taken,” you mumbled.
“And there’s this thing he does with his tongue—”
You gulped the rest of your wine in two large swallows, waving your hand.
“Alright, alright, I’ve heard enough.”
She looked amused.
“You asked.”
You groaned at your own curiosity. You had.
“Now it’s my turn. What about you?”
You were the one snorting now.
“What about me, what?"
“Any males in your horizon that you care to share about?” Nesta prodded.
“I lied. I’m gonna need another glass,” you grumbled, definitely not wanting to talk about this.
She put a hand over the empty glass, to prevent you from getting any more and stared you down.
You knew she wouldn’t give up unless you divulged something.
Plus, she was probably right to not let you have another glass. Your head was slightly swimming from how quickly you’d consumed the last half of your previous glass, anyways.
“No. There’s no one.”
You were too short, too abrupt. Nesta was not one to miss a slip up like that. Her keen attention missed little.
“Uh huh…why don’t I believe you?”
“Because it’s nothing,” you emphasized.
“Mhm,” she studied you, thinking, “It’s not like I know many eligible males other than—”
She paused, eyes widening as she figured it out.
You scowled, mentally cursing yourself for even beginning this line of conversation.
Too late to run, you supposed.
Nesta looked absolutely delighted.
“Azriel?!”
You hushed her, your cheeks flaming.
“Oh relax, you know it’s just us here.”
“I know, but it’s bad enough hearing you say it outloud. At least letting it stay in my head doesn’t make it sound as pathetic.”
“Is that why you nearly dropped your sword during training last week?” Nesta grinned smugly.
“Yes,” you replied, glumly.
The shadowsinger—typically in charge of the priestesses—had come over last week, offering you some pointers on how to hold your sword better so it would be easier to run through the drills with.
You’d felt a strange pull to the male for some time, but you’d assumed it was the fact he was quiet and mysterious with deadly good looks. It was no secret the dark haired male was beautiful.
But you’d fumbled badly, nearly dropping the sharp blade. It was only with Azriel’s quick speed that he’d reached out, steadying it in your hands, keeping it from falling and embedding into your boot or worse, taking off a toe or something of the like.
You’d suggested you switch back to a wooden blade after that to prevent any further injury or embarrassment, especially since you seemed to be pretty behind the other females. His face hadn’t changed from the cool, stony expression he usually wore and you’d felt humiliated.
He probably thought you were a bumbling fool.
“Oh this is delicious,” Nesta grinned widely.
“I am definitely gonna need more wine for this discussion,” you sighed.
Nesta finally moved her hand from your glass, picking up the bottle and only pouring half the amount you’d previously had, which was probably the wisest. You’d take what you could get though.
“Alright, spill,” Nesta urged you on.
“Spill what? I find him attractive, that’s the end of the story. There’s nothing to tell.”
Nesta looked amused.
“Which explains why he’s always hovering. Or watching you train.”
“He does not,” you gave her a look, “Besides I think he actually hates me.”
“That’s just his face.”
“And he’s clearly not impressed with a frail fae female who can’t even handle a sword well.”
You gulped your wine again, feeling your cheeks heat. This had definitely not been what you imagined tonight’s girls night would entail.
You also wished you hadn’t eaten all the cookies earlier because you probably needed some food to soak up the alcohol you were consuming. It was never good when you got tipsy because you could never control your tongue.
“I imagine you could handle his sword.”
The wine came sputtering out of your mouth in a spray. Thank the Mother you hadn’t been facing Nesta or your spewed wine would’ve been all over your friend.
“Nesta!”
She didn’t seem the slightest bit ashamed.
“What? I mean there was a time I imagined it myself.”
Suddenly you were really glad you hadn’t taken another drink as you gaped at her.
“Before me and Cassian accepted the bond that is,” she clarified, “But I just meant I wouldn’t blame you if you’ve…entertained those thoughts.”
Maybe you were just lonely. Maybe you were desperate. Maybe you were just too tipsy, but the words came out before you could stop them.
“Let’s just say I’d let him do whatever he wants to me. I’d happily spend all day on my knees.”
Nesta burst into delighted giggles and you took it as encouragement, the wine truly loosening your tongue, the truth coming spilling out. After all, you were with a friend who’d never breathe a word of your secret.
“I’m not kidding! It’s been…a while. I’m talking since before I moved to this court. There’d be nothing better than breaking my dry spell with a tall, dark, muscled shadowsinger. I would beg, Nesta.”
“Oh I think I love this side of you,” Nesta mused, pouring herself more tea, “No wonder you’re distracted during training.”
“I don’t try to be! I start off strong, but every time he drifts closer, my brain malfunctions.”
“Too busy thinking of other swords,” Nesta chuckled.
“There’s no point in denying it now, is there?”
“Nope,” she said, amused, still grinning, “You have heard the wing allegations haven’t you?”
“The what.”
Your question came out more like a monotone statement because the way Nesta looked couldn’t mean anything good.
“Well there are…allegations that an Illyrian male’s wings are indicative of the size of…other parts.”
“So has Cassian proved this to be true?”
She hummed, “And then some.”
You lifted a brow.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Azriel has the biggest wingspan apparently,” Nesta replied, probably a tad too casually.
“Cauldron bless whoever gets to experience that cock,” you said, perhaps too candidly.
You were definitely a smidge drunk.
“Like you?” Nesta teased.
“Yeah, right,” you rolled your eyes.
“I say go for it,” she shrugged, “He needs it. He’s been broodier than normal lately.”
“If I hadn’t been sitting next to you this entire time watching you drink tea, I’d think you’re the one that’s drunk.”
She said nothing more, just gave you a devilish smile.
“Just try not to get distracted during our next sword lesson. Maybe, instead, you can think of all the things I’ve told you about Cassian.”
You threw a pillow at her head, squealing, bursting into giggles at the absurdity. She caught the pillow and you both descended into more laughter.
Neither your nor Nesta noticed the curl of a shadow in the darkened corner.
•••
AZRIEL
Azriel set his heavy pack down just inside the door, moments after his boots landed on the balcony outside the dining room of the House of Wind.
He’d wrapped up the mission earlier than expected, already having retrieved the intel Rhys had needed from the mortal lands. He’d left orders with his spies since his current task was completed and had decided to fly back home instead of waiting until morning. He was exhausted and in dire need of his bed.
His wings rustled as he stepped into the dining room, folding them closed after the flight.
He was so exhausted he felt like even his wings were drooping.
His shadows curled like smoke behind him, some twining around his boots. One wisp took off, scouring the House. He heard laughter down the hallway in the main sitting room, but was too tired to process much more than the fact that it was Nesta.
Probably her and her friends, he thought to himself.
He didn’t spare it much thought as he walked to the stairs, ready to descend to his room. He’d made it one level down—halfway down the stairs to the level his room was on—when the errant wisp of shadow returned, curling by his ear, whispering secrets only he could hear.
They’re discussing you.
He let out a low hum, only half interested. Sleep was calling his name and he wasn’t letting anything deter him from the goal of his soft bed.
He didn’t even know exactly who they were—besides Nesta, of course—but he didn’t have the energy to care.
Sometimes he wondered if his shadows could read his thoughts because then the same nosy little one whispered their names to him.
That was enough to get his attention, causing him to pause just outside his door, hand hovering over the doorknob.
He stayed rooted in place as the hiss and whispers of his shadows filled him in on what the lone one had discovered. His hazel eyes shot upwards to the ceiling, where just two levels away, the two females had definitely been discussing him in length.
A small smile curled on his lips as it whispered certain details it’d gathered.
And though Az was tired, he walked into his room, heading straight to his desk, an idea sparking. He picked up paper and something to write with.
This could be very interesting, indeed.
•••
You’d spent the night at the House, by Nesta’s insistence.
You could’ve had Cassian fly you back down the mountain when he’d returned a few hours later—after the disastrous conversation you’d had about a certain shadowsinger—but you were probably best off sleeping in one of the many guest rooms they had available anyway.
Besides, it was easier to be here for training anyways. Which is why you hadn’t argued with your friend.
Miraculously, you hadn’t woken up with a headache—you’d always been a lightweight with fae wine—but you and Nesta had stayed up far too late talking and laughing. It was horrific, the need to wake at this early hour, especially after a long night.
Sleep still clouded your brain and you rubbed at your tired eyes. You yawned, trying to find motivation to get up and change into some old Illyrian leathers that Nesta had loaned you for this morning. Then you’d have breakfast before heading to the roof for training.
You turned your head then, spotting something out of the corner of your eye.
There, sat a note on the nightstand with your name on it. Your brows furrowed, knowing the slip of paper hadn’t been there the previous night. You reached for it as you sat up, unfolding it.
Should I be flattered by all the things you’d like to do to me? -A
You gasped, the paper dropping from your hands like it was on fire. You were sure your face was, at least.
There was no possible way he could’ve heard. Was there?
You crumpled it up, figuring you’d dispose of it later.
Just what you needed, Azriel making fun of you.
You didn’t know how you were going to make it through training.
After pulling on your leathers, you disposed of the note at the back of the nightstand drawer and went upstairs to get breakfast.
Either you were up early or were late to training because no one was at the breakfast table. But a plate of eggs were there for you, still steaming, like the House had made sure to keep them warm for you. You picked up your fork to eat, trying to make sure you got some food in you and hopefully not be too late, when you saw more paper sticking out from underneath the plate.
Your stomach twisted, hoping it was just a note from Nesta or even Cassian scolding you for being late or drinking last night, anything.
Unfolding it, you realized you had no such luck.
Was it just the wine or do you spend every girls night talking about my cock? :) -A
You nearly choked at the words and the smiley face.
You groaned aloud, face falling into your free hand. He was enjoying this.
You shoved forkfuls of eggs in your mouth while you desperately tried to think of an excuse to skip training. You thought of none.
Once again discarding the note, you walked up the stairs and headed out to the training ring where training was in full session already. So, you had been late.
Something was different today, though.
Your three friends were already doing their warm ups while Cassian watched them, arms crossed, Azriel next to him.
You grumbled, throwing him a lazy middle finger. Even if you only kinda considered him a friend at this point, you’d quickly opened up and responded to his teasing nature. Especially during training when you didn’t shy away from telling him what you thought of his choice of exercises.
“Where’s the priestesses?” you asked, heading to the weapons rack.
“Gave them the day off since Az has been working them to the bone. Plus, I thought you could use the extra practice.”
You turned, having picked up the wooden practice sword, still unsure if you were ready for the real thing again.
“Well I can’t argue with you there.”
Despite your hard work, you had started training a month or more later than the other females and still hadn’t quite caught up.
“Alright, give me all you got. I’m ready to catch up.”
The General pointed to the ground.
“Warm ups first. These three are almost done. You know the usual. Squats, crunches, sit ups and push ups. Don’t forget to stretch.”
You saluted Cassian and moved to drop to the ground to start the exercises there. You nearly fell straight on your ass at his next words.
“Oh, also. You won’t be partnered with me today, Az will oversee your training today. He’ll have you caught up in no time.”
In more ways than one.
The thought flitted across your mind and you tried to remain composed and give nothing away as you nodded, laying back to start with the sit ups.
On your fifth, as you came up towards your knees, your eyes caught the hazel ones of the shadowsinger. You willed yourself not to flush, not to think about what you knew he knew.
Or how that brief eye contact made you feel like he’d seen right into you and knew everything.
You made sure to finish the exercises while avoiding his gaze the rest of the time.
That was harder to do when you were faced one on one with Azriel, following your exercises.
Your friends had been so advanced that they’d already moved on to learning combinations of maneuvers of striking with a sword after learning all eight maneuvers. The two Illyrians overseeing yours and your friends’ training called it the eight pointed star.
Unfortunately, you were still struggling with the maneuvers—pretty much still stuck on the first few. Hence why you’d switched back to the practice sword to save any further embarrassment.
For some reason, you just couldn’t get the moves down perfectly and you huffed in frustration, watching your friends execute the moves with the real blades. The motions were as fluid as water, appearing like it came naturally to them.
“Stop paying attention to them. Eyes on me,” Azriel said sternly and your eyes turned back to them.
“What am I doing wrong?” you grimaced.
Right now, the awkwardness was the furthest thing from your mind. His notes and what you’d said about him taking a backseat in your mind as you tried to channel all your concentration on training. You were determined to nail these moves, but it was like your body wouldn’t cooperate.
“For one, you’re letting your frustration override your concentration.”
His arms were crossed as he assessed you trying again.
“Again,” he ordered.
You sighed, steeling yourself and your stance, trying the swipe and jab upward again.
His head tilted and you figured you definitely didn’t nail it, by his expression.
Not that you’d be able to tell very much if you had as his expression wouldn’t be likely to change from his usual cool and unreadable demeanor.
“You’re putting too much weight on your back foot. It’s throwing off your balance.”
He circled you, coming up behind you, hands coming to grab your hips, trying to demonstrate the position they should be in. You felt his breath on the back of your neck and your own caught, slightly.
Without warning, heat flared through you, your stomach swooping at the proximity. You chastised yourself mentally, trying to keep focused on training while in the training ring and definitely not distracting thoughts.
“You’re too tense for one,” he murmured, “I can help loosen you up.”
You were sure you were the only one noticing the double entendre of that statement.
“Yeah, okay.”
You nodded a bit too quickly.
He bent down, gently tapping the backs of your knees. They buckled slightly.
“Relax and spread your legs for me.”
You paused and absolutely blinked at that. You turned your head, probably looking wide eyed, to him. His face hadn’t changed but you swore you saw a faint edge of amusement twitch the corners of his lips.
“Open up your stance,” he elaborated.
“Oh. Right.”
Your feet spread, even though your heart raced at the very coincidental and likely accidental suggestive words.
“Alright, try it again.”
You performed the maneuver again and his eyes shone when you excelled it.
“Good.”
You couldn’t help the surge of pride you felt—maybe a bit exacerbated because it was Azriel you’d performed well for.
“Keep this up and you’ll be back to the real blade in no time. I know you know exactly how to grip a sword.”
Your eyes darted up to his and you felt a flash of humiliation all over again, remembering your conversation from last night with Nesta. You had no idea if it was an off handed comment that meant nothing or if he’d heard that too.
As he walked back in front of you to continue your lesson, you didn’t miss the small smile on his face.
Or the way his eyes were even more intense on you when he requested you move on to the next maneuver.
All you knew was it was going to be a long morning.
•••
The following days were tense.
Not necessarily in a bad way, but you’d felt Azriel’s eyes on you constantly.
It had started at training the morning after yours and Nesta’s conversation, which miraculously you’d managed to make through the one on one with him. Even if every brush of his fingers when he corrected your hold or fixed your posture made chills break out across your skin, even in the warm morning sun.
Now, a few days after that, you’d stayed a little later after training, deciding to spend the day with Nesta since Cassian was going to be away. The two of you had sat in the kitchen chatting. You sat on the counter, munching on an apple as you two conversed.
You’d been talking and laughing when Nesta got the idea to break out some of Rhys’s good wine. She’d left you there to go look for it—also assuring you it was fine for her to drink a glass, which you were glad to hear.
The apple core vanished out of your hands almost the moment you finished it and you chuckled, looking up at the ceiling.
“Thanks.”
You sat looking around the grand kitchen, not even hearing anyone else approach.
“I’d say it’s bad manners to leave company unattended, wouldn’t you?”
You startled, head turning in the direction of the deep, smoky voice. You found Azriel leaning in the doorway.
You had no idea how he’d managed to sneak up on you. Then again, he was the spymaster, known for being sneaky and quiet.
“I am known to be capable of amusing myself,” you quipped with a smile.
He chuckled, walking in.
“You did well at training earlier.”
You found yourself surprised. You didn’t think it was often that the shadowsinger gave out compliments.
“Thanks,” you said, watching him approach.
He made you nervous, but not because of his unreadable demeanor, but for the way he made you feel. Off balance and unsteady, like you weren’t sure what to expect next.
Though you hadn’t been paired with him for any individual lessons since that one morning, it hadn’t stopped him from hovering during training every now and then in the days since. It was like you were keenly aware of his presence, your body buzzing with that awareness any time he was near.
Sort of like it was doing right now.
He stopped right in front of you and you eyed him warily, unsure of what he was going to do or say—especially as he stepped close enough to stand between your open legs.
“In fact, you’re a quick learner. I could teach you more…if you’re interested.”
Your pulse sped up and you were sure he noticed, though he didn’t break eye contact with you. One of his hands came up and rested on your thigh and it took everything in you not to look down at it.
“I’m always eager to learn.”
You might’ve been more embarrassed at how breathy your comment came out, but you were too caught up in the moment. Especially as you saw his hazel eyes darken, his head dipping lower towards you.
“Speaking of learning…I happened to learn something interesting here recently,” he said lowly.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
You tilted your head just slightly and your breath caught as you felt his hand slide upwards toward your waist.
“That you and Nesta seem to have some rather interesting conversations about me.”
“And what if we do?” you challenged.
Your chin tilted in defiance, inadvertently moving your face closer to his.
Azriel’s eyes dipped to your lips and your breathing became more shallow the closer your faces seemed to migrate. He seemed to be considering something before speaking again.
“Then consider me flattered.”
You felt his fingers flex on your waist, could feel his shadows tickling your calves with just the faintest brush. Your eyes stayed locked on his, the pull to him feeling the strongest it had yet and his eyes dipped again, watching your tongue peek out between your lips, wetting them.
Your head tilted upward, preparing in case he was going to kiss you and—
“We’re in luck! I found two bottles!”
You heard Nesta’s voice call out from down the hall and it was approaching quickly. You jerked back from Azriel and in one smooth maneuver, he’d stepped away, hand falling from your body. He moved just slightly to your left towards the cabinet next to you, like he was in the process of picking a piece of fruit from the bowl on the counter beside you.
Your heart slammed against your chest, trying to process what the hell had just happened. If Azriel had really been that close to you, if he’d really been about to kiss you.
“Figured we could open one now and save the other for—”
Nesta walked back into the kitchen, her sentence instantly dying on her lips the moment her eyes caught sight of Azriel.
She took him in where he stood—still rifling through apples, pears and bananas and then shot to you—where you still sat on the cabinet. Probably too close to him not to raise her suspicions.
And oh were they raised.
Her eyes narrowed on you, giving you a look that most any female could detect from another female.
It was a blatant you better tell me everything that just happened because I know something did, look.
Nesta perfected it well.
Azriel grabbed an apple, tossed it in the air and caught it before turning, dipping his head towards the both of you.
“Ladies,” he said by way of exit.
When he was gone, Nesta whipped toward you, a bottle of wine in both hands and a look of both bewilderment and sheer delight on her face.
“Now what in the Mother’s name was that?”
•••
The kitchen incident had only been the beginning.
Azriel, of all people, was effectively teasing the life out of you.
And Cauldron damn him, if it wasn’t working.
It only got worse when he showed up while you were at work. That fact being even more prominent in your mind because Azriel had never set foot in this bookstore.
At least while you’d been working there, that is.
“Fancy seeing you here,” you quipped, a smile on your lips.
“Apparently Nesta had a few books that she had on order that was coming in today. She was dying to get them but was tied up for the afternoon and couldn’t swing by.”
Uh huh. You bet she was tied up.
It smelled more like Nesta’s scheming.
The male walked up to the counter, hands resting on the edge.
“She said you’d know what I was talking about.”
“I sure do, they came in this morning. I think she single-handedly keeps this bookstore in business,” you chuckled.
His lips quirked in a smirk.
“It’s funny, I’ve seen you more in this last week than I think I have in the three months since I’ve started training,” you noted.
“Maybe you wished on a star and it came true.”
Damn, you never realized he was so smooth. All that silence and brooding could definitely hide some charm, that’s for sure.
“Maybe,” you said, the corners of your mouth turning upwards in a smile.
“I’m interested in what you read though,” he said smoothly, “Books, scrolls, notes…”
Your cheeks flushed the slightest when you remembered the teasing, suggestive notes he’d left you. He was also clearly fishing for information, likely wondering if you’d gotten them.
“It depends on what’s recommended to me,” you hedged.
He hummed, eyes searching your face.
“Usually I’ll read anything that’s lying around.”
You gave him a crumb, curious if he’d pick it up.
“Do you now?”
You weren’t one to play games, so you straightened, looking up at him, deciding to aim closer to the truth. Maybe without being too obvious, perhaps.
“Quite the poet you are.”
His eyes narrowed, but the smirk on his face gave him away instantly.
He’d gotten your meaning.
“I’m the best type there is—an honest one.”
You lifted a brow, then realized you’d yet to get Nesta’s books.
“Ah. The books, right. One minute.”
You held up a finger and turned, heading toward the back where her order sat. You picked up the pile of books—at least half a dozen—and took them back to the counter where the Illyrian waited. His eyes didn’t leave you and watched every step you took. You placed the books on the counter, not paying attention to where you were setting them.
“Don’t worry, I’ll put it on her tab,” you assured.
“Thanks, I know she’ll appreciate it.”
He picked up the stack, making it look much smaller in his arms.
“Oh by the way, I may have left you a reading suggestion of my own.”
He stepped back with a wink and you blinked, watching him exit the store before he took off to the skies.
Looking down you found a folded piece of paper.
Well, this felt oddly familiar.
You unfurled it, reading the words written in the now familiar, elegant script.
I recall hearing something about you begging. I think it’d be a good look on you. Something tells me I could make you feel better than you’ve ever dreamed. -A
Your body instantly reacted to what the note alluded to, to how tempting that sounded.
You were left gaping at the note even long after you’d initially read it.
The shadowsinger was going to be the death of you.
•••
You had been pleasantly surprised when Nesta had swung by the bookstore later that week, asking if you’d like to come have a sleepover.
It hadn’t been all that long—just a little over a week—since your girls night and you figured Gwyn and Emerie would be in attendance too. So, when you asked if you could bring anything, Nesta had just smiled and said for you to bring yourself and a good attitude.
You figured it would just be a night of snacks and reading books—which if you were honest, sounded great to you.
Unfortunately, Rhysand was the only Illyrian around when you’d awkwardly stopped by the River House earlier asking if he could fly you up to the House. Cassian was nowhere to be found and you’d have even asked Azriel, even if that would’ve been an…interesting trip.
It didn’t stop you from apologizing profusely for bothering him.
Yes, you were Nesta’s friend, but you weren’t part of his Inner Circle and he was still your High Lord. It felt weird asking so much of him. Granted, either he or Cassian usually flew you to training everyday, but still.
After Rhysand had reassured that it was perfectly fine, you’d joked that this would be a whole lot easier if you’d been born with wings yourself to fly, just so you could get up to the House. That’d earned you a deep, rich laugh.
He’d dropped you off at the back of the House and you approached one of the many doors the place had on the outside balconies. You knew this one led you indoors to a hall towards the front of the House, but you still felt weird about just walking into Nesta’s home.
So you stood on the balcony outside the large door and raised your fist, rapping your knuckles against the door.
You waited, hoping Nesta was nearby to hear and answer the door or else you’d be stuck out here for a while.
What you hadn’t expected was a half naked Illyrian to open the door.
Your brows raised at the sight before you. Clad in only loose pants, a shirtless Azriel stood in the open doorway.
“Oh. Uh, sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be here,” you stammered unintelligently.
You tried hard not to focus on the expanse of golden brown skin on display, the swirls of dark Illyrian tattoos that covered the span of his upper arms. Against your will, your eyes cut to the well defined muscles, also on display.
The biceps, abs, the strong vee that dipped into his pants and led to—
Cauldron, you needed to get a grip.
His wings were half open and you watched as he tucked them in, momentarily fascinated by the sight of the powerful wings.
“Hey. Come on in,” he stepped aside.
“Sorry. Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” you said, hoping you sounded much more casual than you felt as you walked in.
“You’re not. I was just sharpening some of my blades.”
You nodded, trying to ignore the buzzing that seemed to be vibrating along your skin at just being so close to him—especially when he looked like that.
“Well, I’ll get out of your hair and go find Nesta.”
He blinked at you, seeming to process what you’d said.
“Nesta and Cassian are gone for the night.”
It took you a moment for the words to sink in.
“She invited me over for a sleepover tonight…” you trailed off, the truth dawning on you.
Oh she’d invited you for a sleepover, alright.
“Nesta and her bright ideas,” you grumbled under your breath.
He cocked an amused brow, watching you.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yup,” you nodded, “I must’ve misunderstood her or something. Mixed up the day, probably. I should go.”
You motioned over your shoulder with your thumb, to the door, trying to ignore the fact you had no way of getting off this mountain. Though you’d be willing to stay out in the cold all night until Nesta and Cassian returned if it meant avoiding this embarrassingly awkward encounter.
“Or you could stay.”
You froze at his words—them sounding calm, cool and…genuine.
You weren’t sure if he actually meant them.
“Stay?” you croaked.
“Yeah,” he shrugged, “I have no exciting plans for the night. But they might’ve just got a tad more exciting.”
His eyes raked down your body and you backed up—not in fear, but just at the intensity in his gaze. Your breath felt like it had caught in your chest.
Yes, you’d dreamed of having his attention like this, but you’d never imagined it be so consuming, as if the air around you both actually crackled. Those hazel eyes bore into yours and you felt heat pooling between your thighs at the smoldering gaze.
“Stay,” he repeated, softer.
It was then you realized you were caught between the wall and the shadowsinger, especially as his hand lifted, to rest against the wall behind you.
“I can think of a few things we can entertain ourselves with,” he murmured, head dipping, eyes still on yours.
You were dreaming, that was it. Any moment now Nesta was going to be shaking you awake and you’d be waking up on that couch over there in the other room, drool all over the cushion.
Because surely this couldn’t be your reality.
You’d also realized you had yet to speak, so you nodded weakly, at a loss for words.
His other hand lifted upwards, tilting your chin up with his fingers.
“If you haven’t picked up the hints I’ve been dropping for more than a week now, maybe I should be a little more blatant.”
“I think you should,” you challenged, suddenly finding your voice, momentarily thinking he was bluffing.
But oh, he wasn’t.
His head lowered swiftly and his lips met yours.
You might’ve once thought it would be a gentle, slow kiss, but maybe the two of you had been dancing around one another too much here lately. For the way his lips moved hotly against yours made your knees weaken.
Your hands came up, finding his bare chest, resting against the warm skin. His fingers on your chin dropped, hand coming up to cradle your cheek as he kissed you deeper, his tongue meeting yours just enough to make you whimper.
He kissed you then retreated, kissed then retreated, teasing you, leaving you aching for more. Each time he came back, your lips moved more urgently against his, like you couldn’t get enough of the taste of him.
“I’m glad my shadows reported to me,” he whispered against your ear, his lips trailing kisses along your jaw, “I’m even more glad you said what you did, outloud.”
“Really?” you gasped as he nipped at your jaw.
His hand slid up the outside of your leg, curling it around the back of your thigh to lift against his hip. His own hips pressed forward, allowing you to perfectly feel his hardness pressing against where you wanted him most.
“Fuck,” you cursed, eyes fluttering at the feel.
“Yes, I’m glad,” he responded to your earlier question, “To know it wasn’t just me feeling drawn to you, you were clearly feeling it too.”
He rocked his hips against yours slowly, causing his hardened cock to rub up against your throbbing core, even through your clothes. A desperate moan left your mouth as you clutched his shoulders.
“Azriel,” you groaned.
His tongue came out, licking a stripe up the side of your neck.
“Feel free to call me Az, sweet girl. I think you’ve earned it.”
You had no idea how he managed to make two simple sentences sound so incredibly dirty, but he did.
Heat gathered in your belly, your arousal spiking with each rub of his cock against you. He groaned as he did it again, as if he couldn’t stop himself from repeating the action.
Not that you necessarily wanted him to.
The hand not gripping your leg slid under your shirt, warm against your skin. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip when you felt the rough skin of his thumb brush over your nipple.
You’d never once looked at him differently for the scars he bore on his hands, but the friction the roughened skin provided was so incredibly arousing.
You briefly wondered if he realized the thing he was most self conscious about could effortlessly bring so much pleasure. Which led to thoughts of how those fingers would feel inside of you.
He kissed you again, briefly, dropping your leg back to the ground. When his mouth separated from yours, his hand dropped to grab your own and without a word, he led you further down the hall and down the stairs without a word. You followed behind him down the two levels of stairs, anticipation mounting in you.
The moment his door was closed behind you, he was on you, tearing your clothes off. Your shirt and pants nearly evaporated off your frame, he’d discarded them so efficiently.
Not that you were complaining. In fact, you were a tad impressed. He couldn’t have stoked a fire any faster in you if he’d tried.
Left in your underwear only, his hands hooked under the back of your thighs and he lifted you, lips connected to yours as he walked the two of you to his bed.
The bed dipped as he knelt on it, one knee on the mattress as he set you down against the pillows, climbing over you—all while impressively still managing to kiss you.
Your lips parted in a moan as you kissed him, sliding down against the pillows, laying flat against the mattress, your fingers curling in the dark hair at the back of his neck.
His own though, were quite busy as they traced over your throbbing, soaked core. You reacted immediately, breaking away from his mouth as he pressed down just enough to leave you wanting more.
You needed the last article of clothing off you. Him naked, too—and preferably inside you as well.
You should’ve expected nothing less from Azriel, the one who knew how to get down to business and quick because the male wasted no time. In a blink of an eye he had you fully naked and was already removing his own pants.
You might have to remember to mention at a later point just how impressed you were with his speed—if you happened to remember anything after this.
His wings spread wide behind him as he lowered over you again and your eyes took in the wondrous sight.
His forearms came to rest next to your head, caging you in as he fell further between your legs. You gasped, feeling the blunt head of his cock at your entrance. Instinctually, your legs raised to his waist, trying to pull him further in, to stop his teasing.
“Az, please,” you begged.
He growled against your throat. You had to hand it to him, his restraint was admirable because you were ready for him to slam all the way to the hilt.
“Sweet girl, I want you begging before I’m through with you. I will have you begging before this is over.”
“Big claim to make,” you panted, hips lifting, eager to have him sink all the way in.
He took his time though, contradictory to the heat and speed that led up until this moment. Each inch he pushed in only heightened the sensation of how he was stretching you, filling you.
“Gods,” you gasped, head tipping back against the bed.
“Never dreamed you could feel this good,” he groaned when he finally pushed all the way in.
You could say the same thing.
It was on the brink of being too much, too overwhelming, yet at the same time it felt more amazing than you could comprehend. You’d honestly let him fuck you silly, if he so desired.
His lips met yours again, briefly, as his hips experimented—shallow thrusts and deeper, harder ones. Your breath caught when he rubbed against a particularly sensitive spot.
He took instant notice of it, angling his hips, simultaneously pulling your own in time to his thrusts.
He bent down, nose nudging your cheek.
“Notice how you feel like you’re made for me?”
“Maybe I am,” you grinned, already feeling like you were losing control.
And he’d hardly done anything yet.
There might’ve been more truth to the statements than either of you realized, though.
His pace picked up, his mouth hovering over yours, just close enough to kiss, but he didn’t—not yet at least. Nothing but yours and his shared erratic breathing came from both of you as he moved within you.
Once he fell into a rhythm, one of his hands fisted the sheets, the other coming up, to hold your wrists against the bed, above your head, as he thrust harder. You could’ve sworn you felt the cool chill of his shadows brushing your hips, along your breasts. You felt an icy nip against your clit and you moaned louder.
“Holy gods,” you whimpered, sensation hitting you from ten different directions.
“That’s it sweet girl, I want to hear you,” he grunted, hips slamming into yours again.
“Az, fuck.”
Your words were jumbling, the pleasure mounting, starting to build deep within you. Every thrust of his cock, every movement sending you spiraling higher.
Just when you felt your climax building to the point it was closer in reach, he stopped chasing the high, causing you to cry out in frustration. His thrusts turned slower and shallower.
“Azriel,” you whimpered, frustration lacing your tone.
“Yes?”
He sounded innocent, lips traveling your jawline.
“Stop teasing,” you moaned desperately.
He groaned, head dropping to your neck in reaction to your pleading.
“You’re so pretty when you beg.”
His hips pulled back, slamming all the way back in, in one smooth movement, causing you to keen. But he wasn’t done yet. He paused, grinding against you as he was deep inside you, making you even louder.
He repeated the action, grinding closer, claiming you, as if he could erase any distance between the two of you. His hand released your wrists and they went flying to touch his body.
Your nails dug into his shoulders, your own hips moving against his, enhancing both yours and his pleasure. His thrusts became ruthless the closer he got to his own climax.
Your legs bracketed his hips, pulling him deeper with each thrust, moans falling from your lips at the overwhelming pleasure. You could easily stay here forever with Azriel buried in you and die a happy female.
His hips pistoned into you so steadily that with each and every thrust, the two of you rocked against the mattress in sync, chasing release.
“Mmm, fuck, Az, I—”
You were babbling, all coherent thought having gone out the window around the time he’d pressed his still covered cock against you, back in the hall.
He was unleashing pleasure in you so intensely, you weren’t entirely sure you could take it. Release was a shimmering haze still too out of reach to fully embrace, but your thighs were already shaking, your breathing rapid and panting.
Even if you were apprehensive of its intensity, you still wanted it, the full force of it.
“You take me so well,” he grunted, bending down, lips hovering over yours before he whispered against them.
“I always knew you would.”
You cried out, his cock hitting so wonderfully deep with his latest thrust that your eyes naturally rolled back, body arching into his as your hands gripped his biceps. He growled in response, connecting your lips once again.
It was more heated and messy than the previous ones, more pants and moans, but it only made it that more erotic. Your lips sidetracked though, pressing to the strong line of his jaw when the peek of his wings out of the corner of your eye sparked something in you.
You briefly remembered Nesta saying something about wings, once. Something Cassian had taught her.
Your hand reached out, two fingers sliding along the outer edge of his wing.
He actually shivered.
He also let out a guttural groan that sent a spike of heat directly to your cunt, causing you to tighten around him. He grunted at that too.
“You keep doing that and I won’t be lasting much longer,” he growled.
“Another day,” you promised, fully intending to take advantage of that opportunity.
His hand dropped between his and your bodies, fingertips rubbing tight circles over your clit. Despite the pleasured haze on his face, his voice still managed to be even when he spoke, even if it was brittle.
“You want me to make you come, sweet girl?”
“Yes, yes, gods yes.”
You didn’t even care if you sounded pathetic, that you were begging. You wanted him to give you the overwhelming and blinding amount of pleasure that you knew he was capable of.
His voice was ragged, gravelly as he bent down, nipping your bottom lip as his cock thrust continuously into you, causing your vision to blur.
“Say please.”
You whimpered, your entire body on fire, your release building, surging closer and closer with every thrust, every flick of his fingers.
“Az, please, fucking Cauldron, please.”
At least you’d fulfilled your wish to beg him.
His free hand delved into your hair and turned your head firmly as his lips dominated yours. You broke away, on the cusp of your orgasm, your tongue loosening even further.
“Ohhh, fuckfuckfuck,” your words ran together in a series of moans.
He groaned deeply at the feeling of you clenching around him as you came with a loud, pleasure filled moan, your vision whiting out as the sensation completely overtook your body. It arched completely into him as it trembled from the overwhelming feeling.
“Gods. So good. Sweet girl. Fuck.”
His words came out in staccato grunts, his thrusts faltering, indicating how close he was. You were still flying high on your own pleasure and his hand reached up, covering one of yours over your head, fingers sliding in between yours. He squeezed it gently, face falling into the crook of your neck as he tensed, breathing ragged as he came with his own pleasure filled groan.
You could feel the vibration of the noise expelled from his lips against your skin, feel his warm breath against you, hear it so close to your own ears. It had you moaning in response just as much as the simultaneous feeling of his cock twitching within you, warmth filling you, did.
He expelled everything he had into you, still thrusting, until your highs had faded enough for you to return back to the planet. Your chest heaved with breath as the two of you finally stilled and you clung to him, body slick against his own, sweat coating your bodies.
He finally lifted his head, looking tired, but extremely satiated, a smirk blooming on his face.
“Told you we’d find a way to entertain ourselves.”
You giggled breathlessly, slapping his shoulder. He smiled, peering down as he pulled out of you, a groan rumbling deep in his chest at the sight. You felt your thighs further dampen as his release leaked from you and down your thighs. You noted his hazel gaze taking in the sight, jaw clenching in the possessive way a male probably would after staking such a claim.
He looked back up at you, where you laid, skin cooling, heart rate trying to return to normal. You felt an odd sense in your chest, more than just the rapid beat of your heart from the exertion. It was an odd buzz of happiness, of absolute contentment and you offered him a small smile, letting him know you definitely didn’t regret what had just happened.
One hand cupped your cheek, his eyes serious and scanning yours. His following words left no room for argument.
Not that you had a desire to, anyway.
They were a statement and a promise.
“Next time, I’m taking my time with you.”
Tag List: @harvest-bunny @garricktavisfanclub @kittiness12 @smol-grandpa @bxm-2121 @less-spice @alexof90s
When yours and Azriel’s enthusiastic late night entertainment is interrupted, your mate decides to be a little cheeky in front of his brothers, much to your dismay.
Pairing: Azriel x f!reader
Word Count: 2.2k
Warnings: smut, p in v, some smug Az, not much else
A/N: Based on this request, I got and was immediately inspired, so I wrote this short little thing. I’m still working on writing Az so bear with me as I clearly feel most comfortable with/better at writing Eris. But I hope y’all enjoy this nice little Shadowsinger smut 🤭
Your mate was nothing if not persistent.
You shouldn’t have been surprised as he stayed so busy and on the go.
He never deprived you or neglected you—especially when it came to intimacy—but more times than not, it felt like you had to make time for it—to fit it into his busy schedule.
He’d just returned from a mission yesterday and was already buried up to his eyeballs in paperwork. He was still stuck behind his desk in his study, despite the late hour.
Which is why when you’d brought him a cup of tea and some cookies to snack on—since the stubborn bat had skipped dinner—you hadn’t even considered intimacy being a possibility.
But the moment you’d sat the tray down, Azriel had pulled you into his lap.
“Az!” you laughed, hands falling to his shoulders, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“Do you want the innocent answer or the not so innocent answer?”
His arms wrapped around your waist, nose gliding upwards along the side of your neck. You felt his smirk against your skin as he kissed the spot, gently.
Your mate was up to no good.
“I’m intrigued to hear what you can come up with for both,” you said, amused.
“Well maybe I just want to hold my mate,” he answered slyly.
“Oh?” you leaned back, arms wrapped around his neck to peer down at him, a smile on your face.
“Or maybe,” the Shadowsinger continued with a smirk blooming across his face, “Maybe I’d like to fuck my mate.”
Heat curled low in your belly. It’d been a little while due to life getting in the way and you had missed him.
“Oh,” you repeated, but this time with more understanding, a wicked grin on your face.
You didn’t even care that you were straddling him at his desk as you leaned forward to kiss him. His palm was warm against your cheek as he pulled you closer, his lips hot over yours.
He groaned as your hips moved, grinding against him, eager to get this going.
Clearly, he didn’t need much encouragement and you giggled against his lips as you felt him harden under you almost instantly. It was nice to know you still had such an effect on your mate.
His lips traveled your jaw, sucking on it, fingers already at the button of your pants. Obviously, he was not about to waste a second of this precious time.
“You’re seriously going to fuck me at your desk?” you huffed breathlessly, laughing as his lips traced along your neck.
“You’re lucky I’m not bending you over it this second,” he grumbled.
Your light moan at the statement clearly delighted him as his fingers gripped your hips tighter.
“Might as well have some nice memories besides so much paperwork,” Azriel mumbled as he removed you from his lap, making sure you landed on your feet properly.
You gave him a baffled look at his mixed signals, considering he’d seemed to want you only seconds before. But, he didn’t take a moment to explain.
Instead, he reached out, pulling your already unbuttoned pants—which, when the hell had he gotten them unfastened?—down your legs in one harsh tug. You were now left half bare in front of him. With your lower half now exposed to him, neither of you seemed too concerned with the fact your shirt—or his, for that matter—was still on.
You leaned down, connecting your lips to his, hungrily, fingers at his own pants, undoing the ties and buttons that made up the Illyrian leathers he hadn’t changed out of yet.
The two of you worked like a well oiled machine, a perfect team as you pushed his pants down far enough at the same moment his hips lifted to aid you. You’d barely finished the task of freeing his hardened cock when he grabbed your hips and pulled you back on his lap, your soaked center brushing against him.
It’d happened so smoothly, it’d hardly taken much thought or effort and you moaned at the brush of his cock against you.
If you were really honest, you stayed wet for your mate. You weren’t sure how he did it, but you were worse than the bathtub faucet when it came to him.
Maybe one day you’d tell him that, though you didn’t need the arrogant bat getting even more of an ego.
His wings rustled behind him and you peered over his shoulder at the grand expanse of them. You’d had plenty of fun with those before—the shadows, too, which were curling around the edges of his wings like mischievous onlookers.
“Don’t get any cute ideas,” he warned, against your lips.
His hands lifted you and you slid down on his cock, a broken moan falling from your lips at the sensation—one you would never tire of.
“No promises,” you whispered, raggedly.
His chuckle was dark and sensuous, his hazel eyes taking you in.
Even if sometimes the two of you had to make time for sex, it often led to really fun adventures, like this. Sometimes, you thought that was half the fun, half the excitement of it.
“Gods, sometimes I forget this cock belongs to me,” you groaned.
His laughter rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your hands, where they rested and you bent to press your lips to his again as your hips began to move.
One hand slid from his chest along the back of his neck up into the back of his hair, fingers tangling in the short, dark strands. He grunted against your lips, tongue moving forwards into your mouth, brushing yours. They tangled for a moment, the both of you moaning as you slid along his cock.
He felt so good inside you—always had. Maybe it was a good thing he stayed so busy because if you had more time for this, you’d likely never stay off of him.
It was you that broke the kiss first, head dipping back as your hips moved, the glide of his cock along your walls leaving you nearly cross eyed from pleasure.
“Maybe another time we can make the time so I can have you fully naked and on my cock, like this.”
You groaned at his words.
“Az,” you whimpered, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Who says I won’t, sweet girl?”
His mouth curved against your throat as the hands on your hips guided you on his cock. His hips shifted as you moved on him, angling deeper and you cried out, hand falling from his hair to clutch his shoulders. He growled, one hand sliding up your back, pulling you closer to him.
You’d just met his lips with your own when you heard the door bang open.
“Hey Az, Rhys wants—oh shit.”
You hadn’t even noticed the way Az’s shadows had gathered around your hips and his, prior to the door bursting open, covering you from view. Clearly they’d known you were getting ready to have company.
You still squealed, peering over your shoulder, finding a blinking, but amused Cassian in the doorway, Rhysand finally appearing behind him. You tried to scramble off of your mate, but his arms tightened around your waist, keeping you still, on his cock.
It was pure torture having him inside you but not moving.
His eyes flicked downwards and you took the hint and peered down yourself, seeing his shadows, thick around the both of you. You were hidden and he wasn’t about to let you get up.
“Glad to see you hard at work, Az,” Rhys drawled, a curled smile on his lips, eyeing the two of you.
“Something is hard, that’s for sure,” Cass mumbled.
You made a pitiful sound, falling forward, burying your face in your mate’s shoulder.
Despite the fact you both were mainly clothed and the shadows were hiding you, it didn’t take a genius to know what had been occurring.
You heard the soft chuckle of your mate as his hand slid up your back. But when he spoke, no amusement colored his tone, only seriousness.
“Yes?”
“I needed to debrief you about another mission I need you for. You’ll have to head out tomorrow,” Rhys said from behind you, “It can wait until tomorrow though.”
“No. Tell me now,” Azriel said firmly.
“Please, tell him now,” Cass’s delight was apparent in his voice, despite the fact you couldn’t see his face.
“You’re not too…busy?”
You could hear Rhys trying to rein in the urge to laugh, but the slight tilt of his usually even voice gave him away.
You wanted to crawl into a hole.
“You’re already here,” you felt Az shrug underneath your still buried face, “Might as well tell me.”
Your teeth nipped at his neck in protest, just over one of the inky black swirls of Illyrian tattoos that peeked out along the base of his neck.
You could kill him right now.
Especially because he was so thick and hard and amazing inside of you that you wanted to throw any inhibitions to the wind and ride the hell out of him.
If the other two bats didn’t leave, you might just end up giving your brothers-in-law a show they didn’t sign up for.
You shifted in Az’s lap and his fingers tightened on your waist, keeping you still.
“I need you to fly out to Spring tomorrow to meet with Lucien. You might need to go with him to meet Jurian and Vassa too. There’s talk about a human rebellion now that it’s been so much time since the wall fell,” Rhys said, casually.
You could not believe the two of them were having this discussion while Azriel was currently buried in you.
“What brought it on? Things seemed fine when Cassian met with them several months ago,” Az asked.
The hand that had been on your back, slid forward, hidden by the shadows that swirled around you. You could feel the cool chill of them against your bare thighs, making you shiver.
His hand migrated to your front, fingertips brushing your belly just underneath your shirt. Your head lifted, eyeing him suspiciously.
“It was implied that they had no intention of starting trouble…yet,” Cass added, “Then there’s the added difficulty of Beron.”
“Beron?”
As your mate asked the question, his brows raised slightly, the hand sliding lower, thumb just brushing over your clit.
You had to strangle the gasp that almost left your mouth at the touch. You glared right down at him, but the Shadowsinger’s eyes were looking past you, at his brothers at the door.
“Eris has alluded to the fact that his father has shown some interest in territory expansion. Both of these happening at the same time mean nothing good for Pythian, either way,” Rhys spoke, evenly.
“I can send my spies to keep an eye out in Autumn,” Azriel said, tone just as even, not giving away a hint of what his hidden hand was doing.
Which was torturing you.
His thumb circled your clit, rubbing with just light enough pressure that it had your lids fluttering and your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Suddenly you were glad Cass and Rhys couldn’t see your face.
You hissed lowly and his eyes cut to yours briefly, a ghost of a smirk on his lips that was there and gone within a blink. In retaliation, he pressed down harder, circling it more firmly.
Blessedly, Rhys speaking drowned out your small gasp.
Your hand shot to Azriel’s arm, your nails digging into his corded forearm.
You might actually kill the male if he brought you to your climax in front of his brothers.
Well, after he sent you to the Mother and back, that is.
“I was going to suggest just that,” Rhys went on and you prayed the conversation would wrap up soon, “I’d also like you to get intel from Lucien about what Jurian and Vassa has learned too, if you’re not able to meet with them.”
You gritted your teeth, pushing your hips further into his touch but that did nothing but sink you further onto his cock, pushing him deeper. You whimpered to which Azriel cleared his throat to cover.
“I can do that. Anything else?” Az asked calmly.
“Yeah, maybe tend to your mate. She looks strung tighter than an Illyrian bowstring,” Rhys quipped.
Your head whipped around towards the two laughing males and you flipped them off, making them laugh even more hysterically.
Rhys walked off with a wave, practically having to drag Cass after him.
“Don’t break her in half, Az, I’d like to see her live to see another day!” Cass called as Rhys pulled him from the door, behind him.
You scowled at their retreating forms, your face still blood red. You didn’t notice the shadows completely dissipating from your hips, returning to behind his wings.
You inhaled sharply, feeling the firm press of his fingers against your clit, again.
“Attention back here, sweet girl. I’m not through with you.”
His hand threaded through your hair, pulling your head forward as he kissed you feverishly, guiding your hips once again. You groaned against his mouth at the feel of him moving in you again.
He didn’t stop until you were crying out his name and coming all over his cock.
Then, he made good on his promise and bent you over his desk.
That time he made sure nothing interrupted him.
Tag List: @harvest-bunny @garricktavisfanclub @kittiness12
