His Unholy Voice
Azriel x mate!reader
Summary: Cassian dares Azriel to call Y/N a “good girl,” and the River House descends into chaos.
a/n: Y/N has shadows and starlight powers because why not?🤭 This tid-bit of info will make sense as you read.
Masterlist
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The late afternoon sun slanted lazily through the windows of the River House, bathing the living room in golden light. The air hummed with quiet conversation and the soft clinking of glasses, the occasional flutter of faelight drifting near the ceiling like drowsy stars. Velaris stretched peacefully outside the tall windows, but inside, the Inner Circle was gathered in their usual chaotic harmony.
Cassian was draped across one of the oversized couches like a lounging mountain, one foot on the coffee table, sipping from a glass of something amber. Nesta was curled beside him, her legs tucked under her as she read, pretending to ignore him—but everyone could see the slight curve to her lips at whatever nonsense he’d just said.
Rhys was stretched on another couch, Feyre leaning against his side as they shared a blanket, her sketchpad resting on her knees. She was absently doodling swirls of starlight and wings, her free hand curled around Rhysand’s fingers. Mor sat on the floor nearby, polishing her nails with a spell that shimmered gold and green with every flick of her hand. Elain, quiet but present, was perched in a window seat with a tray of tea, and Lucien lounged beside her, one arm slung lazily over the backrest as they chatted in low tones.
Amren reclined in a dark armchair, looking like a cat in the sun, sipping a goblet of something no one dared ask about, eyes half-lidded but sharp as ever.
Azriel sat in an armchair near the fireplace, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders like smoke. He had a book in his lap, unopened, because his attention kept flickering toward the open doorway leading to the kitchen.
That was where Y/N was.
They could hear her moving, her bare feet padding softly across the tile, cabinet doors opening and shutting, and an unmistakably muttered, “Where the fuck are the cheesy things?” drifting into the room.
Azriel’s lips quirked at that—barely—but the others noticed.
Cassian saw it first. And grinned like a predator spotting prey.
“Hey, Az,” Cassian said loudly, his voice a low drawl. “I dare you to call Y/N a good girl when she walks back in.”
The room went still for a beat.
Azriel’s shadows recoiled, like startled birds.
Feyre choked on her tea. Mor burst out laughing. Nesta looked up sharply, her brows lifting. Even Amren cracked one glowing eye open, clearly intrigued.
Elain blinked in quiet horror. Lucien looked like someone had lit a match under his chair.
Azriel didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe for a second.
“That’s low,” he muttered, but his voice betrayed the flicker of interest. Mischief.
Cassian leaned in, devilish. “Come on, brother. She melts when you say it. Like a dying star. She forgets her name. For science.”
“You’re an idiot,” Azriel replied, but he was already shifting, the barest smile tugging at his lips.
Cassian’s eyes glinted with glee. “For the record, I dare you.”
From the kitchen came the crinkling sound of a bag being triumphantly torn open. And a triumphant, “Aha!”
Y/N stepped into the doorway, holding a bag of some cheesy snack triumphantly, her hair catching the sunlight, shadows trailing behind her like a cloak, starlight dancing in her eyes.
And Azriel, cool as ever, looked up at her from his chair and said—soft and low, like a forbidden promise, the kind of voice that could make anyone forget the world—
“Good girl.”
Y/N froze.
The snack bag slipped slightly in her fingers.
The world—no, the entire house—held its breath.
Her pupils dilated. Her chest rose sharply with a breath. Knees buckled just a little. A flush crept up her cheeks, slow and deep. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Cassian exploded into laughter. “CAUGHT!”
Nesta threw a pillow at him.
Mor squealed. “She’s literally blushing! Az, do it again—do it again!”
Feyre nearly dropped her sketchpad as she laughed. Rhysand looked vaguely scandalized. Amren smirked over the rim of her goblet.
Azriel… was already on his feet, stalking toward Y/N like a shadow come to life, all dark promise and slow steps, his smirk lazy, knowing.
Y/N stood there like someone had unplugged her brain, cheesy snack bag clutched in one limp hand, completely undone by two words.
“Stars,” she muttered, barely audible. “That’s not fair.”
He stopped just in front of her, dipped his head until their mouths almost touched, and whispered once more, like a gift and a curse—
“Good girl.”
The snack bag hit the floor.
Chaos erupted in the living room behind them.
But Y/N only had eyes for Azriel, and he for her.
Cassian, somewhere behind them, crowed: “Best. Dare. Ever.”
Y/N didn’t stand a chance.
Not with that voice in her ear. Not when his hand slid around her waist with the barest pressure, fingers splaying possessively over her hip. Not when his shadows curled around her ankles and calves like warm silk, winding upward in slow, teasing spirals. Her knees gave a telltale wobble, and she might’ve leaned into him more than she meant to.
Azriel tilted his head, studying her with that impossibly focused gaze, the one that said he saw everything—every blush, every flicker of breath, every tremble she couldn’t quite hide.
“You dropped your snack,” he murmured, his lips brushing her cheek, but there was laughter in his tone now. Teasing. Dangerous.
Y/N’s voice was a whisper, scandalized and aroused and helpless all at once. “You’re evil.”
Cassian, from the couch: “Confirmed. Absolute menace. But we love him anyway.”
Rhys groaned into Feyre’s hair. “We need to start setting rules for these gatherings. Like no weaponized mating rituals in the living room.”
Mor was wiping tears from her eyes, still giggling. “Can’t believe how fast her soul left her body. Az, what did you do to her?”
“I said two words,” Azriel said innocently, though his hands hadn’t left Y/N’s waist.
“That you said them,” Feyre pointed out, grinning. “Big difference. If Cassian said it, she’d punch him.”
“True,” Y/N muttered, finding her voice again as she blinked up at her mate, trying to gather her strength. “You’re the only one allowed to say that.”
Azriel’s smirk deepened, pure male satisfaction.
“Say it again and I swear I will melt into the floor,” she whispered, half a warning, half a dare.
He leaned closer, and it was ridiculous—how even his breath on her skin made her insides twist.
But he didn’t say it again. No, instead he brushed a kiss just beneath her ear and murmured something else, something private, only for her—
And whatever he said made her clutch his shirt and mutter something in a language none of them understood. Her accent had thickened, her cheeks were flaming, and her shadows were writhing like they didn’t know what to do with themselves.
Azriel just smiled.
Lucien raised a brow from his seat. “I think we just witnessed the mating equivalent of a death blow.”
Elain looked down into her teacup, face burning.
Cassian was howling with laughter. “She short-circuited! You broke her! Y/N, you good?”
Y/N slowly turned her head over Azriel’s shoulder and leveled Cassian with a look of pure venom—except her lips were twitching upward at the corners.
“I’m going to shove cheesy snacks into your mouth until you shut up.”
“Promising me snacks? That’s not the threat you think it is.”
Azriel sighed, then bent down and retrieved the snack bag from the floor, brushing it off before pressing it into her hands. “Here. For your trouble.”
She squinted at him. “If you say it again in that voice, I will not survive the night.”
“I’ll be gentle.”
“Azriel.”
But she was laughing now, flushed and glowing in that way she always got around him—like starlight blooming just beneath her skin. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple and led her back toward the couch, one hand still at her waist, and she let him.
The others watched them settle onto the floor near the hearth, Y/N leaning into Azriel’s side with the snack bag in her lap, still looking vaguely dazed. Azriel passed her one of the cheesy crisps like she was the queen of Prythian and this was some sacred offering.
Cassian, watching them with exaggerated horror: “We just enabled something truly terrible.”
Nesta: “Good. Now shut up.”
And as laughter filled the room once again, Y/N whispered, only loud enough for Azriel to hear, “I like being your good girl.”
Azriel didn’t say a word.
But his shadows swirled with contentment, and his smile—slow and secret—could’ve set the whole house on fire.
Cassian leaned back against the couch like a smug, overgrown cat, swirling the remains of his drink in his glass. He was watching Y/N and Azriel with that all-too-familiar gleam in his hazel eyes—the one that usually meant trouble was brewing.
Y/N was still nestled beside Azriel near the hearth, curled into his side, her legs tucked beneath her, munching on a cheesy crisp like it was the last edible thing in Prythian. Her cheeks were finally losing some of their deep blush, her breathing mostly even again.
Cassian clearly decided that peace had lasted too long.
With a slow, sly grin, he said to the room—loudly enough that everyone could hear, especially the couple in question—
“Now I’m just curious what her reaction would be if Az said, ‘on your knees.’”
Silence.
Actual, stunned silence.
Rhys choked on air.
Feyre gasped, her eyes wide as dinner plates.
Mor made a noise that was half-squeal, half-scream. “CASSIAN!”
Elain made a soft, scandalized squeak and buried her face in her hands. Lucien immediately reached for his drink, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’m not drunk enough for this.”
Nesta didn’t look up from her book, but her lips twitched as if she were biting back a laugh. “Gods, you’re such a shit-stirrer.”
Azriel didn’t even blink.
Y/N?
Y/N went completely still.
The kind of still that said every system in her body had shut down and restarted in a blaze of chaotic what the fuck.
Her hand froze halfway to her mouth, cheesy crisp inches from her lips. Her pupils dilated so fast it was like someone flipped a switch. She made a small, choked sound and looked at Azriel like he’d somehow already said it.
And Azriel… gods-damned Azriel…
The corner of his mouth lifted. Just slightly. Slowly. Like he was very aware of her reaction—and storing it for later use.
He said nothing.
But his shadows purred.
Y/N slowly turned her head toward Cassian, blinking like someone had just slapped her with a lightning bolt.
“Do you want to die?” she asked sweetly.
Cassian threw his head back and cackled. “Stars, it’s even worse than I thought! You didn’t even say it and she nearly melted into the floor!”
“Cass,” Azriel said, voice low and dangerous—not angry, but possessive, like a quiet warning growl. “Keep talking, and I’ll give her that command right here.”
Y/N made another helpless noise, turning red from her collarbones up.
Mor was dying, absolutely shrieking. “I can’t! I can’t—Az, if you say it I swear I’ll combust!”
Rhys, rubbing his temples like a father who’s lost control of his children: “Someone—anyone—please stop this. Elain looks like she might faint.”
Lucien reached over and gently moved Elain’s teacup away from her lap before something catastrophic could happen.
Meanwhile, Y/N was clutching Azriel’s shirt now, her head buried against his shoulder like she could hide from the conversation—but her body betrayed her. The way her legs shifted, the arch in her back, the way her shadows curled tight around her thighs—
Azriel bent his head close, and whispered something only she could hear. Her gasp was audible.
Cassian, watching the whole thing unfold like a delighted villain, grinned ear to ear. “Yup. That’s going in the record book.”
Nesta rolled her eyes. “You have a record book?”
He waggled his brows. “I do now.”
Y/N finally peeked up from Azriel’s shoulder, her voice hoarse but steady. “I hope you know that when I recover from this, I’m kicking your ass.”
Cassian smirked. “Fair. But worth it.”
Azriel ran his hand slowly down her spine, a look of dark promise in his eyes.
And he murmured—not loud enough for anyone else to hear, but enough to make her shiver—
“Later.”
Y/N didn’t make a sound.
She just melted. Again.
And Cassian lost his mind.
“YOU GUYS! YOU’RE GONNA KILL HER! STOP!”
Azriel just smiled. And this time… even Rhys looked a little afraid.
But, of course, he was not done.
Because Azriel never let go of an advantage once he had it—and right now, Y/N was flushed, breathless, barely hanging on to the frayed remains of her composure. Cassian’s comment had been the match, but Azriel? Azriel was the flame.
The Shadowsinger reached lazily into the snack bag still resting in Y/N’s lap, pulled out one of the crisps—one of those curled, golden cheesy ones—and held it between his fingers.
Completely casual. Like he hadn’t just whispered promises into her ear. Like he wasn’t still the reason her entire nervous system was currently short-circuiting.
Then, ever so innocently, he turned to her and murmured—
“Open your mouth for me.”
The room went dead silent.
Again.
Feyre’s jaw dropped.
Mor screamed.
Cassian made a wheezing sound and nearly fell off the couch.
Lucien covered his face with his hands and muttered something like, “Oh, for the love of—”
Even Amren, lounging in a chair like some ancient, unimpressed cat, raised a single dark brow.
Y/N?
Y/N made a sound that could only be described as a high-pitched whimper.
Her spine straightened like she’d just been electrocuted, and her hands flew up as if she didn’t know whether to push him away or drag him closer. Her mouth opened—and then promptly snapped shut again, eyes wide in horror at her own reaction.
Azriel blinked at her, all innocence. “What? It’s a snack.”
Liar.
Y/N was staring at the chip like it was the One Ring and she was about to fall to her doom.
“Y-you…” she tried. “You know what you’re doing.”
Azriel tilted his head. “I’m feeding you.”
Cassian, clutching his stomach, howled. “Oh my gods, she doesn’t know whether to eat it or beg.”
Nesta muttered, “I swear if he keeps this up, she’s going to ascend to another plane.”
Mor flung a pillow at Azriel. “Stop corrupting her!”
“Too late,” Y/N whispered, eyes still locked on her mate.
She was vibrating. Her shadows were wrapped tight around her legs again, her starlight flickering faintly along her fingers like her powers couldn’t figure out how to help her.
Azriel leaned in, his voice velvet and low, and added with that damn smirk—
“Be a good girl and open up.”
Y/N made a strangled sound and obeyed before she could think. Mouth open, eyes dazed, spine arching slightly like every cell in her body had been commanded.
He placed the chip on her tongue with gentle, devastating precision.
She didn’t even taste it.
Cassian died.
Dropped off the couch entirely.
Nesta didn’t bother catching him.
Rhys buried his face in Feyre’s lap and moaned. “Make it stop, please, make it stop—”
Elain looked like she was experiencing a crisis. Lucien had gone utterly still beside her, wide-eyed. Mor was wheezing through her laughter.
Y/N, eyes fluttering closed around the cheesy crisp, finally swallowed, then slumped back against Azriel’s shoulder, absolutely done.
“I hate you,” she mumbled.
Azriel just brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, utterly unrepentant.
“No, you don’t.”
And stars help her—
He was right.
Azriel, the insufferable, beautiful bastard, glanced down at his fingers—now dusted with that unmistakable cheesy orange powder from the crisp he’d just fed her. He inspected them with a faint smirk, clearly considering his next move.
Y/N, still recovering, was half-sprawled against his side, her mind mush, her pride in shambles. Her heart was racing, her skin still flushed. One little command and she’d folded like wet parchment.
So, of course, of course he wasn’t done.
Without a word, he lifted his hand—the one with the cheesy dust—and held two fingers in front of her lips, tilting them slightly in offering.
And then, in that dark, low murmur that somehow sounded like a kiss laced with sin—
“Clean my fingers for me, sweetheart.”
Cassian let out an actual scream. Mor shrieked with laughter and nearly fell off the couch.
Feyre smacked Rhys on the arm to stop his uncontrollable snorting. Elain made a noise that may have been a gasp—or a gasped prayer. Lucien had gone completely still again, one eye twitching.
Nesta was watching now, intrigued. “I want to see if she combusts.”
Y/N stared at Azriel’s fingers like they were the gates to Hel. Her lips parted—reflex—and then she slapped a hand over her own mouth.
“Azriel!” she squeaked behind her fingers, eyes wide with shock, heat flooding her cheeks again. “You can’t just—in front of everyone—”
He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just kept his hand out, that smug little tilt to his mouth.
“I’m just asking for help,” he said, utterly innocent. “You made me touch those chips. Now I’m all messy.”
Cassian, choking on laughter: “This is torture. I didn’t know watching someone descend into horny chaos could be this entertaining.”
Mor couldn’t breathe. “She’s gonna spontaneously ascend. Like full fae goddess mode, just out of sheer flustered thirst.”
Y/N, trembling with internal conflict, very slowly lowered her hand from her mouth. Her eyes were locked on Azriel’s, pupils dilated, lips parted, and her voice came out as a whisper:
“…You’re going to pay for this.”
Azriel’s voice dropped even lower. “Gladly.”
And gods help her—
She leaned forward.
Just the barest brush of her tongue over his fingertips, her eyes fluttering shut like she hated herself for it—and also maybe wanted to crawl into his lap and never leave again.
The moment her tongue touched his skin, his shadows shuddered.
Azriel inhaled through his nose like he’d just been handed every fantasy he’d never dared admit aloud.
Cassian actually collapsed, face-down on the floor, sob-laughing.
Rhys sat up and pointed a warning finger. “No one is allowed to say another word for the rest of the evening.”
Mor was crying. “It’s too late! They’ve corrupted this space forever!”
Y/N leaned back again, cheeks aflame, and buried her face in Azriel’s shoulder with a muffled groan.
“You’re evil,” she muttered.
Azriel wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head, his voice velvet and pure satisfaction.
“You love it.”
Cassian was still on the floor, pounding the hardwood with his fist like this was the greatest entertainment Velaris had ever known. “I take it back—this is better than sparring. Someone bring popcorn. No—cheesy crisps. Give me the cheesy crisps. I want to see what happens if I hold out my fingers.”
Azriel didn’t even look at him. “Try it and lose them.”
Y/N was vibrating in place, her face buried in Azriel’s neck, clearly trying to become one with his shadows to escape the utter humiliation and arousal that had consumed her.
Feyre had thrown a pillow at Rhys. “You’re the High Lord, do something!”
Rhys looked entirely too amused for someone supposedly in control. “This is divine punishment. For all of us.”
Lucien muttered, “I feel like I’m intruding on some very private mating ritual.”
Elain was pink, sipping her tea with trembling hands, her eyes so wide they looked like they’d never close again.
Amren hadn’t moved. “Honestly, I want to see how far this goes. My money’s on Y/N throwing Azriel through the wall before the hour’s done.”
Nesta, still cool and unreadable, just said, “I’ll help patch the wall when it happens.”
Azriel turned to Y/N, still cradling her like she was precious—and absolutely wrecked.
He tilted her chin up just enough to see her eyes, voice low and wicked.
“Still hungry, love?”
Y/N blinked up at him, her voice a whisper. “You are cruel.”
Cassian, from the floor: “He is! Isn’t it amazing? It’s like watching a temple girl be corrupted by the darkest male in existence—”
He paused. “Wait. That’s kinda what’s happening.”
Mor was crying again. “Y/N’s going to explode, and I’m not missing it.”
Y/N—desperate for payback—finally pushed herself upright. Her shadows flickered, starlight trailing her fingertips as she glared at Cassian.
“Oh, you think you’re safe?” she said, voice still breathy but gaining strength. “You want chaos? Fine.”
She pointed a single glowing finger at him. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I will say something to Nesta that will leave you begging.”
Cassian’s smugness vanished instantly.
His head snapped toward Nesta. “She’s bluffing.”
Nesta looked up slowly, like a lioness stirring in the sun. “She’s not.”
Cassian’s eyes went wide. “Y/N. Y/N. We’re friends. Friends.”
Y/N, voice sweet and laced with vengeance: “Then be quiet, General.”
Everyone howled.
Cassian threw a pillow at her. She caught it mid-air, shadows snatching it and gently setting it down beside her.
Azriel was beaming. Actually smiling, proud and delighted.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured in her ear.
Y/N melted. Again. “Gods-dammit—Azriel—!”
“Language,” he whispered, far too amused.
Feyre buried her face in her hands. “We’re never having a normal night again.”
Rhys sighed dramatically. “There’s no such thing as ‘normal’ when your brother’s sex voice ruins the entire living room.”
Azriel looked entirely unbothered. “Not my fault she’s obedient.”
Y/N shrieked.
Lucien spit out his wine.
Cassian groaned. “I will never get that image out of my mind.”
Amren sipped her bloodwine and muttered, “Good. Maybe next time you’ll think before daring the Shadowsinger to speak.”
Y/N launched a pillow at Azriel’s face.
He caught it one-handed, grinning. “You missed.”
Her voice came out in a growl, low and breathy.
“I never miss.”
Everyone froze.
Cassian: “Oh, she’s fighting back now.”
Nesta closed her book. “Let her.”
Azriel leaned in again, a challenge in his eyes, his voice practically dripping shadow and seduction.
“Then prove it, little star.”
And just like that—
That was it.
Y/N snapped.
With a strangled sound—something between a shriek and a gasp of pure exasperated sexual frustration—she launched herself fully into Azriel’s lap.
Azriel barely had time to blink before—
WHUMP.
A pillow hit him square in the face.
Then again.
WHUMP. WHUMP. WHUMP.
“Y/N—” he choked, trying to grab her wrists. “Y/N—”
She straddled him, knees on either side of his thighs, hair wild and falling into her face, eyes blazing, and just kept hitting him with the pillow.
“You. Smug. Bastard. That. Voice. Is. A. Warcrime!”
WHUMP. WHUMP. WHUMP.
Azriel’s shadows scattered in shock, clearly not sure whether to defend him or help Y/N.
Cassian was on his back on the floor, kicking his legs in hysterical laughter. “She snapped, I told you! She SNAPPED!”
Nesta smirked, folding her arms. “I like her more every day.”
Feyre was howling now, clinging to Rhys who looked like he’d aged ten years in the last five minutes. “I don’t even know who I’m rooting for anymore!”
Lucien murmured to Elain, “Should we look away?”
Elain: “I want to…but I can’t.”
Mor had completely lost it, tears running down her cheeks. “This is the best night of my life. I’m going to commission Feyre to paint this.”
Azriel had given up trying to stop her. He just sat there, letting her rain down justice, biting back laughter—though his shadows were trembling, and his smile was only growing wider the more she attacked.
“Mercy,” he said finally, shielding his face with one hand, catching the pillow with the other. “I surrender.”
“You do not!” Y/N shouted, WHACKING him again. “You think you can just ruin my brain in front of everyone and get away with it?!”
“Technically, you climbed into my lap,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.
WHACK.
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
WHACK.
“You’re not allowed to be hot and smug at the same time!”
Azriel caught the pillow again and suddenly flipped them, faster than anyone could react. Y/N gasped as her back hit the cushions beneath him, the pillow pinned between them, his body covering hers. Shadows coiled around them like a barrier, separating them from the howling laughter around the room.
He leaned close, nose brushing hers.
His voice, damn him, dropped again—
“You like me best like this.”
Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Her fingers fisted in the front of his shirt.
Cassian yelled from the floor, “STOP! I’M TOO YOUNG TO BE EXPOSED TO THIS MUCH TENSION!”
Amren stood and dusted off her pants. “Alright. That’s enough. If they start dry-humping on this couch, I’m burning the place down.”
Azriel looked at her without moving. “We’d at least move to the guest room.”
WHACK. The pillow hit him one more time.
Y/N, face flushed and breathless, just stared up at him and muttered:
“…You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”
Azriel’s grin was all teeth and shadows.
“We both know that’s a lie.”
And every single person in that living room just lost it.
Y/N made a noise—a sound that wasn’t even a word, more like the wail of someone at the very edge of sanity and desire. A feral, strangled growl of pure exasperated chaos.
Then—
Her hands flew up.
And she wrapped them around Azriel’s throat.
Not tight—just enough to shake him.
Azriel let it happen.
His head bobbed slightly as she rattled him like a goblet of wine she was about to shatter. “I hate you!” she half-snarled, half-whimpered, glaring into his stupidly beautiful, smug, night-kissed face.
Azriel didn’t fight back. Just sat there on top of her with that infuriating little smirk tugging at his lips, shadows dancing gleefully behind him like they lived for this exact brand of foreplay.
“You are insufferable,” she hissed, still shaking him, face flushed, heart pounding.
Azriel blinked at her, calm as ever, and asked in the softest, silkiest voice:
“Harder?”
Cassian screamed. “I’M GOING TO ASCEND. AZRIEL’S KINKY. I CALLED IT. I KNEW IT.”
Feyre launched a pillow at him. Rhys tackled him with another.
Lucien actually choked on air and wheezed, “Is this what mating bonds are supposed to be like? Is this…normal?!”
Mor fell off the couch this time, full-on cackling.
Elain had gone completely still, blinking very slowly like her brain was buffering.
Nesta looked like she’d just been handed her favorite wine and a front-row seat to the greatest soap opera in Prythian. “I’m learning things I can never unlearn.”
Y/N released his throat with a groan of utter despair and let her arms flop back down against the cushions.
Azriel, absolutely pleased with himself, leaned down again until his nose brushed hers, shadows still coiling like smug little bastards.
“Finished?” he asked, voice all dark silk.
Y/N stared up at him with narrowed eyes and a trembling lip.
“…No,” she said.
Then she pulled him down by the collar and bit his jaw.
Azriel groaned, low and sharp, the kind that made everyone in the room turn to stone.
Cassian’s voice, faint: “I don’t know if I’m scared or impressed or—actually, no, I’m just scared.”
Rhys looked like he wanted to bury himself in the floor. “Mother above. Take me now.”
Amren drained her glass and muttered, “I told you. We should’ve just let her kill him that day.”
Mor was wheezing, pointing at Azriel. “He’s not even pretending to be cool anymore!”
Azriel, who was now half-lost in Y/N’s hair, let out a satisfied sigh against her ear.
“Still sleeping on the couch?” he murmured.
Y/N’s voice came out breathless, dangerous.
“You’re lucky I don’t banish you to the Illyrian mountains.”
Azriel nuzzled her. “You’d miss me by sundown.”
And Y/N—poor, flustered, still-fuming Y/N—just groaned again and muttered:
“Mother help me, I would.”
The entire Inner Circle groaned in unison.
Cassian had dragged a blanket off the couch and was now dramatically wrapping himself in it, rocking back and forth on the floor like a war survivor. “They’re saying the cutest filth to each other. I can’t live like this. I can’t go on. I need therapy. I need a temple. I need to bathe in salt.”
Nesta kicked him lightly. “You’re the one who started this.”
“I didn’t know it would become a religious experience!” he shot back, clutching the blanket tighter. “He whispered ‘harder’ while being choked—I can never look him in the eyes again.”
Feyre had officially surrendered, head in Rhys’s lap as she weakly muttered, “This is our house. Our house. We have a child. A toddler. We had dinner here an hour ago.”
Rhys was staring blankly at the ceiling. “We should burn the furniture.”
Azriel had not moved.
Still straddling Y/N, his chest rising and falling a bit faster now, jaw still tingling from where she’d bitten him. His shadows rolled lazily over her hips, slipping under the hem of her shirt like they knew no shame, brushing her skin like they were claiming her all over again.
Y/N glared up at him, cheeks burning, breath coming fast.
“I will get revenge for this,” she hissed. “This humiliation. This entire performance.”
Azriel only smiled, infuriatingly calm. “Then I look forward to it.”
WHUMP.
She hit him in the chest with the pillow again.
WHUMP.
He caught it and held it there, pinning her hands beneath his, voice low.
“Or you could surrender now. I’ll go easy on you… maybe.”
Her eyes blazed.
“You want surrender?” she whispered.
And then—in front of everyone—she arched up and bit his collarbone.
Azriel made a sound that could only be described as a choked growl, his wings flaring just a bit, shadows suddenly swirling like a storm.
Mor shrieked. “OH MY GODS.”
Cassian threw the blanket over his entire head. “I’M DEAD. BURY ME WITH HONOR.”
Lucien stood up and announced, “I’m going to go walk into the Sidra and never come back.”
Elain, softly: “I didn’t even know Fae could blush that much.”
Amren just stood, hands on her hips, and said, “Someone bring the child. Let him see what he must never become.”
Azriel looked like he was this close to losing every last shred of composure. His fingers curled around Y/N’s hips, grip possessive, eyes glowing faintly gold in the low light.
Y/N’s voice was a purr now, dangerous and smug. “Still think I’m the one surrendering?”
Azriel blinked down at her—and then, in the most unbothered voice possible, purred back:
“I’m letting you win.”
Y/N howled in rage and launched the pillow at his head again.
Mor collapsed in screaming laughter.
Cassian rolled onto his side and yelled into the floor:
“WHEN THEY GET MARRIED WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE.”
Nesta, dry as bone, replied, “Good. Maybe then we’ll have peace.”
And Feyre just reached for the wine bottle with one trembling hand.
“…I need three glasses just to forget tonight even happened.”
Azriel was laughing now—an actual full-on laugh, rare and wicked and infuriatingly attractive, his head tilted back slightly as Y/N shoved at his chest again, huffing like a dragon about to breathe literal star fire.
“You’re not letting me win,” she snapped, trying to sit up—only for him to lean down again and trap her with his body, his smirk infuriatingly close.
“Oh, but I am,” he purred, his voice brushing over her skin like velvet wrapped in shadows. “Letting you think you have the upper hand… while I enjoy the view.”
Y/N’s eyes blazed. “You are unbelievable.”
“And yet…” Azriel hummed, brushing his nose lightly along her jaw, just enough to make her entire soul glitch, “you’re still under me.”
There was a pause.
And then—Y/N’s voice went low and dangerous, her accent cutting through like a blade of silk.
“Fine.”
She grinned slowly.
“Let me show you what I do to people who underestimate me.”
Everyone in the room simultaneously—
“OH MY GODS.”
Cassian, muffled under his blanket: “SHE’S GONNA DOM HIM I KNEW IT—”
Feyre was openly drinking from the wine bottle now. “Rhys, portal me to Hewn City. I’d rather deal with Keir.”
Rhys, wide-eyed, whispered, “They’re worse than us.”
Mor was gone, rolling off the couch, clutching her ribs. “I can’t. I can’t—this is the best mating bond I’ve ever witnessed—how are they not combusting?!”
Nesta gave a sharp nod. “I give them ten minutes before they disappear upstairs.”
“Five,” Amren said flatly. “Three if he says anything else in that voice.”
Lucien had left the room. Vanished. There was no trace of him. Smart man.
Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter around Y/N’s waist, amused and pleased, while she leaned up again and whispered something in his ear—inaudible to the others, but it made his breath hitch, his hands tighten around her hips, his wings flex like he was very suddenly and urgently remembering he had a mate, and that she was his.
Cassian peeked out from under his blanket. “Did she just—did she say something or—did his soul just exit his body?”
Azriel was still for a heartbeat. Two.
Then he stood.
Effortlessly. With Y/N still in his arms.
She let out a very pleased, smug hum, arms twining around his neck, chin perched on his shoulder.
“Don’t wait up,” she said sweetly over his shoulder.
Cassian dramatically fell back onto the rug. “THEY’RE LEAVING. THEY’RE DOING THE THING. ABANDON SHIP.”
Rhys, cradling a glass of wine now, muttered, “I am the High Lord. I should be able to kick people out of my house.”
“Should being the key word,” Feyre muttered, pouring herself another glass and handing one to Nesta.
Amren raised her empty glass. “May the walls stay standing.”
“Unlikely,” Mor replied, still giggling. “But we’ll have fun guessing what breaks first.”
And with that, Azriel and Y/N disappeared up the stairs, shadows curling behind them like curtains closing on a performance that had left the audience in awe, horror, and unholy amounts of secondhand arousal.
