A/N: Sorry I disappeared, work has been kicking my ass and my psychiatrist thinks my on going mental health struggles may be caused by my untreated ADHD so I've been all over the place. But I saw a tik tok about ways to ragebait men and I got a little boost of inspiration. Hope you all enjoy!
He’s been a prick all day; starting at training first thing in the morning, flaring his wings and winking whenever someone is looking at him, peeling off his shirt even though it’s freezing. Then at breakfast with his brothers, when the waitress had openly flirted with him and he’d called her sweetheart, even though he knows that you hate when he calls anyone that but you. Now, at Rita’s, sitting in a booth, toned arms stretched out over the back of the leather seat, not so subtly flexing those rippling muscles and tattoos. You suspect he might actually be able to get off just on riling you all up like this. It has to be on purpose.
And honestly, you shouldn’t let it get to you, you know that he doesn’t really mean any of this shit. He thinks it’s funny when you turn a little green with jealousy; loves it when you make your own not so subtly show of claiming him in front of other people. But today it’s just rubbing you the wrong way.
So when Azriel, Rhys and Mor all join you in the booth, drinks in hand, you down a shot of liquid courage and turn to face the towering male.
“Cass, do you ever wish you were taller?”
Beside you, Mor snorts her drink all over the table. Rhy’s bellowing laugh echoes across the cavernous space. Even Azriel breaks into a grin, though he tries to hide it behind his glass of whisky.
Cassian is predictable. His eyes darken, just a fraction, the grin on his face slipping nearly into a sneer as he adjusts his sitting position to his full height.
You take another sip of your drink, trying to not burst into a fit of giggles as he stares you down like your an opponent on the battlefield.
“No, no sweetheart, the thought had never occurred to me.”
“Hmm,” you say into the rim of your glass. “Why not?”
“Yeah, Cass, why not?” Rhys jeers, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “You are kind of small compared to the rest of us.”
Mor is still laughing, even as she reaches over your shoulder to drunkenly squish his cheeks in her hands. “So cute and tiny. The wittle lord of bloodshed.”
Cassian takes a sip of his drink to collect his thoughts and you bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep it together.
“I don’t think little is a word anyone has ever used to describe me.”
You let your gaze slowly roam down his broad chest, down that trim waist, and over the muscled thighs you love to sit on so much. “Hmm. Maybe you weren’t listening.” You shrug and take a sip of your drink, satisfied with the outcome.
At least, until a waitress comes with another round of drinks, tearing everyone’s attention away long enough for your mate to lean down, warm breath fanning the side of your face, as he whispers, “That’s certainly not what you were saying about me the other night, sweetheart. Maybe you need a reminder when we get home, hm?”
Maybe you played right into his game in the long run, but it was only fair, he started it.
And now you know exactly how to rile him up in the future.
He’s been trying to get ready for over an hour, endlessly changing suit jackets and shoes and it’s all starting to blur together. Somehow, you’ve been sitting on the edge of the bed, ready for nearly thirty of those sixty minutes. The wait is starting to get annoying especially when there is nothing wrong with any of the outfits he’s put together.
Honestly, you’re not really trying to be mean, you’re just bored and the words slip out before you can stop them. “What does your tailor do for a living?”
He stills, wings twitching, as he looks at you over his shoulder in the reflection of the mirror. “What was that?”
You can physically see the blush dusting your cheeks, but the boredom is winning out, and truth be told, you love seeing the polished High Lord get thrown off his game every once in a while. He’s always so quick-witted, always prepared with a comeback. The moments you can catch him by surprise are rare, and you’ve got to take advantage of it.
“I asked what your tailor does for a living.”
“He’s a tailor,” his wings are still twitching as he straightens his lapels. “Tailoring is a job.”
He turns to face you, brows raised. “Did you hit your head?”
“I mean, those sleeves aren’t even-” they are “and they don’t pair well with the bracelet,” it’s a watch. A really expensive watch at that.
A muscle in Rhys’s brow bulges, as he reaches out to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Do you have a fever? This is a watch.”
“Looks like a bracelet to me.”
“It has numbers! It tells time!” He says, voice a tad shy of shrill.
You bite down a laugh. “It’s shiny. It’s on your wrist. It has a little clasp. It’s a bracelet.”
“No-!” He bites his tongue as he unclasps the watch and tosses it on the bed with a growl. “You’re being ridiculous and we don’t have time for this.”
“How can you tell what time it is if the clock’s in the kitchen?”
The bond you two share pulses with such an intense wave of frustration that you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of you. You try to cover it with your hands or a cough, but it only makes it worse.
The tightness in Rhys’s shoulders drops as you double over, “You’re so easy to mess with.”
“Ha ha,” he retorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You should do a comedy routine at Rita’s.”
When you finally manage to collect yourself you stand and go over to him. He doesn’t move, frowning like a statue there in the center of your bedroom. You grin as you stretch up on your tiptoes and give him a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re taking this dinner too seriously.”
“Well you could have been more supportive,” he huffs.
“I was very supportive of the first and second outfits, both were perfect. Just like you.”
He makes a little grumble as you kiss him a second time.
“No stop pouting and pick something before we really are late.”
He tosses the suit jacket into the growing pile on the bed and slides into the first, midnight black one he’d had on an hour ago.
“And maybe add the bracelet, it’s cute.”
He smacks your ass in response this time. “You’re so mean to me.”
A ghost of a grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I do.”
Azriel’s more of a pouter than a reactor; bottling up his irritation, letting his shadows writhe around him when he’s upset or on edge. Most of your attempts to ragebait him have failed horribly. It’s so bad that Nesta has a betting pool on what phrases she thinks will get a verbal response from him.
Obviously, you can’t use them all at once, he’ll be on to your scheming, but you’ll slip them into conversation every once in a while and lay in wait for the day you finally get him.
Coming up from the Library to bring lemonade to the Valkyries and their training partners on a particularly hot day seems like a good time to give it a shot. The question has been sitting at the top of Nesta’s betting pool, and on a summer day, when all the males have stripped off their shirts, seems as good a time as any.
You pass over the glass of ice cold lemonade and start casually, “So Azzie, I’ve been thinking.”
He takes a sip, eyes never leaving yours over the sweating rim of the glass, waiting for you to finish.
“I kind of want to start working out. I’m tired of getting winded going up the Library steps.”
His eyes light up at the thought; he’s been begging for you to join him for at least a session a week with him, like Nesta does with Cassian. You almost feel bad for the words that come out next, with how happy he looks. “Do you know anyone who can recommend a good gym?”
Out of the corner of your eye you see Emery clap her hand over her mouth to hold back a snort. Nesta’s icy eyes are glued to Azriel, waiting, hoping for some sort of reaction.
At first, the Shadowsinger merely quirks a brow at you, as if you’ve made a joke he doesn’t quite understand. His shadows drift lazily off his tattooed biceps, drifting on the dry breeze to dust affectionately over your cheeks. As much as you love the contact, it’s a bad sign, because it means he’s not worked up over the comment, just taking a second to think.
“I can think of a certain someone, yes,” he says with a smirk.
And that’s how you end up running laps with Cassian for an hour, until your legs give out and you lie face down in a patch of grass, begging for relief.
Cassian chuckles as he leaves you there and Azriel takes his place.
Your mate squats down to be close to you, grinning wolfishly, as he says softly, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about Nesta’s little bet, love?”
You haul yourself onto your knees, mud streaked across your forehead. “I’ll get you one of these days, Azriel.”
He leans in to kiss your cheek. “If you can catch up to me with your jelly legs that is.”
