#acotar reader insert

The first mistake the Night Court made was assuming you were decoration.

Not intentionally or obviously.

They were too polite for that.

But you saw it in the way their eyes moved over you when they entered the meeting room.

Briefly, if not dismissively.

A female beside Eris Vanserra.

Something ornamental, perhaps.

Something placed at his side to soften the image of Autumn’s new High Lord.

You did not correct them.

Eris noticed.

Of course he did.

The corner of his mouth shifted just barely. 

You didn’t look at him.

“Try not to look so pleased,” you murmured.

“I am not pleased.”

“You are nearly smiling.”

“That would be unbecoming.”

“Then by all means,” you said softly, folding your hands in your lap, “continue suffering.”

Across the table, Cassian’s brows rose.

Azriel’s shadows shifted once behind his shoulders.

Rhysand, to his credit, noticed the exchange for what it was.

A warning.

Mor noticed something else entirely.

Her gaze lingered on Eris with the same familiar disdain it always held.

Cold and sharp. Nothing if not practiced.

“You’ve redecorated,” she said, glancing around the council room. “How charming. I almost forgot where we were.”

Eris did not respond.

He only looked down at the treaty papers in front of him.

You watched the movement.

The restraint it took him not to bite at her.

Rhysand cleared his throat.

“We’re here to discuss the border villages.”

“Then let us discuss them,” Eris said.

His voice was smooth.

It always was in rooms like this.

The meeting began as most meetings did.

With maps and numbers. Along with men pretending history had not shaped every inch of land they were negotiating over.

Rhysand spoke well.

You would give him that.

Azriel said very little, but missed nothing.

Cassian shifted in his chair like diplomacy physically pained him.

And Mor…

Mor watched Eris like she was waiting for a monster to show its teeth.

You let it continue for twenty-three minutes.

Twenty-three minutes of clipped words. Quiet tension. Little glances that held nothing but daggers. Along with subtle jabs dressed up as moral certainty.

The last straw was when Mor finally said, “Forgive me if I find Autumn’s sudden interest in protecting vulnerable people difficult to believe.”

Eris’s fingers stilled on the paper.

Only for a moment.

You gently set down your tea.

The cup barely made a sound against the saucer.

But somehow, the room noticed.

Mor’s eyes flicked to you.

You smiled.

Not warmly. Not cruelly. Politely.

The sort of smile court ladies were taught to wear even if swallowing poison.

“Difficult to believe,” you repeated.

Mor lifted her chin.

“Yes.”

“How interesting.”

Cassian leaned back slightly.

Azriel’s shadows went still.

Eris did not move beside you.

He knew better.

Mor’s gaze narrowed. “Do you have something to say?”

You tilted your head.

“I was deciding whether it would be rude.”

“And?”

“Oh, it’s terribly rude I’m afraid.”

Rhysand’s attention sharpened.

You turned your cup once, slow and deliberate, before looking back at Mor.

“But since we are clearly past the point of pretending this room is governed by courtesy, I suppose I might as well.”

Eris exhaled once through his nose.

Almost amused.

You continued.

“You speak of Autumn’s cruelty as though anyone at this table intends to dispute it. We do not. Autumn has teeth. It has always had teeth.” Your gaze swept briefly toward Eris. “Some of us have spent years removing them one by one.”

Mor’s mouth tightened.

“But what fascinates me,” you went on, voice still calm, “is the Night Court’s remarkable talent for selective outrage.”

Cassian straightened.

Rhysand’s face went very still.

There it was.

The shift.

The moment they realized you were not decoration.

You smiled again.

Softer this time.

“You condemn Autumn for what it allowed to happen beneath Beron’s rule. Fair. You should. But I do find it curious how rarely that same scrutiny turns inward.”

Mor’s eyes flashed.

“Careful.”

You looked at her then.

Truly looked.

“I would advise caution, Morrigan,” you said softly. “Not because I fear what you might say, but because I know what you have chosen not to.”

The room went still. 

You leaned back slightly in your chair.

“Careless would be asking why the Court of Dreams feels entitled to sneer at every cruel tradition in Prythian while still ruling over the Hewn City.”

Cassian’s jaw flexed.

Azriel said nothing.

Rhysand did not look away from you.

Good.

At least one of them understood where this was going. 

Mor’s voice was low. “You know nothing about the Hewn City.”

“No,” you agreed. “I know what survived the retelling.”

You tilted your head slightly before continuing 

“Interesting that you speak so confidently for someone whose version of events requires several omissions to survive.” 

Mor stood slowly.

“You have no right to speak to me about what I survived.”

There it was.

The part you had been waiting for.

Your smile faded.

Not because you were afraid.

Because some things deserved seriousness.

“No,” you said. “I do not.”

The room stilled.

Even Eris glanced at you then.

You met Mor’s gaze without flinching.

“What was done to you was monstrous. No one in this room should deny that. I certainly will not.” Your voice lowered. “But your pain does not make every omission holy.”

Mor went utterly still.

“You have allowed them to believe one version of the story because it is easier than dragging the whole thing into the light,” you said. “And perhaps you had reason. Perhaps silence was all you had. I will not fault a girl for surviving the only way she could.”

A breath.

Then another.

“But I will fault a court for building policy around half a truth and calling it justice.”

Rhysand’s eyes flicked, briefly, toward Eris.

Eris remained expressionless.

But his hand had shifted closer to yours on the table.

Not to stop you.

Not to guide you.

Just there.

Mor’s voice was colder now.

“And what truth do you think you know?”

You folded your hands again.

“The kind men leave out when the facts are inconvenient.”

A sad smile played on your lips. 

“The kind women bury because being believed costs too much.”

For the first time, Mor had no immediate response.

Good.

You had not wanted to hurt her.

Not really.

But you were very tired of watching Eris bleed quietly under everyone else’s certainty.

“You may hate my mate,” you said, and only then did your tone sharpen. “That is your right. Hate him forever, if it comforts you.”

Eris’s gaze moved to you.

You did not look at him.

“But do not sit in his court, at his table, beneath laws he bled to change, and pretend your hatred is the same thing as truth.”

Silence pressed against the walls.

Cassian looked between you and Mor, unusually quiet.

Azriel’s shadows curled close to his shoulders.

Rhysand leaned back slowly, expression unreadable.

You picked up your tea again.

It had gone cold.

Mor did not sit.

Not immediately.

Her face was pale with anger, but beneath it there was something else.

Something older. Something less certain.

Eris finally spoke. Calm and measured.

“My mate raises a wonderful point.”

Rhysand looked at him.

Eris’s eyes did not leave Mor.

“Do you intend to discuss the border villages,” he said, “or continue mistaking personal history for governance?”

Your mouth twitched.

Only slightly.

Mor saw it.

Cassian definitely saw it.

Rhysand looked as though he was reevaluating several decisions at once.

Good.

That meant they were listening.

You took one careful sip of cold tea and set it back down.

“Now,” you said pleasantly, as though you hadn’t just gutted the room and asked for the next topic. “Shall we return to the villages, or would anyone else like to confuse emotion with policy first?”

Cassian muttered something under his breath.

Azriel looked down.

Rhysand looked at you for a long moment.

Then, finally, he said, “The villages.”

You smiled.

“Excellent.”

Beside you, Eris reached for his wine.

Not to drink.

To hide the fact that he was smiling.

You leaned toward him just slightly.

“Poorly done,” you murmured.

His gaze slid to you.

“What was?”

“Hiding your amusement.”

Then, so quietly only you could hear:

“I wasn’t trying very hard.”

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@illyriassweetheart

“(Y/n), do you sincerely believe that that,” she’d gestured between you and the general direction you’d run from, “was ever going to work?” Her words were like a knife to the gut, her tone like grabbing it by the hilt and twisting. How she’d known what you’d seen was beyond you. But it wasn’t lost on her, or anyone else except Azriel apparently; the longing stares out the window down to the training ring, always sitting next to or across from him at the table, the way your scent would change when he’d pop into and out of a room — a dead giveaway of where your mind went when he was around.

So to see him like that — with her… It was a sight that seared itself into your memory. Their lips were locked in a passionate kiss, her fingers threaded through his dark hair. His hands roamed her body with unbridled desire, tracing the curves of her sides, waist, and hips, cupping her breast, and cradling her neck. To say it stung would’ve been the understatement of the millennia.

“It’s just… how he is,” her tone softened when she noticed your wince. “He was obsessed with Morrigan for five hundred years… five hundred, (y/n). I won’t be surprised if he’s set on Elain for five hundred more. What she plans to do, well,” Nesta raised her hands as if to say ‘not my problem.’ Her words were harsh, but you knew they held some truth.

“Maybe you just need to go to a pleasure house and fuck him out of your system,” she’d said plainly, smoothing down your hair as if she were discussing the weather. A pleasure house? They were illegal, but you weren’t naive, you knew they were out there. They were all underground; places you found through a friend of a cousin of a neighbor. Before you could dry your eyes, Nesta pulled a pen out of her pocket and scribbled an address onto your wrist. You didn’t want to know why she’d had it memorized. “Pretend it’s him, or the cute guy at the coffee shop, or whoever honestly. Hell, maybe even think of whoever it is you’re fucking,” she said with a smirk as she wrote. “Whatever you need to do to get over him, do it.”

You spent months in and out of taverns, walking in alone, walking out with a different male each time. It was fun… when they knew what they were doing. It was a wonder; males don’t know what they’re doing even if they have all the time in the world to figure it out. On the nights when there were enough of you for a family dinner at the River House, you didn’t miss how they all tried to scent you subtly, and eventually how Azriel’s shadows crept under the table all the way towards your feet, curling around your ankles as if trying to unravel your secrets. That was one of the many things that had stopped lately, sitting near him. The first night you took Mor’s usual seat, she’d given you a bemused look but said nothing of it. Meanwhile, the windowsill grew colder, both from the changing weather and your prolonged absence.

Your thoughts, however, were as persistent as ever. You didn’t think about him as often these days (Nesta’s advice worked pretty fast, you thought), but that was before he walked into Rhys’s office while you were discussing how to best quell the persistent tensions with Autumn.

It had been a quick in-and-out from him, typical as of late. Azriel strode in, his movements fluid and purposeful. He dropped some papers onto Rhys’s desk, leaning over your shoulder to do so. As he straightened, his right hand briefly rested on your other shoulder, the touch light but noticeable. He gave Rhys a nod and left. The warmth of his touch lingered long after he’d gone.

“We’ll have to speak to Eris again, soon,” he’d said with a barely-there note of urgency as he sifted through Azriel’s report.

“I can go,” you’d volunteered. “I’ve been meaning to go for some honey. Autumn Court honey-”

“-is the best, I know,” he finished with a soft smile. “Listen, I know I don’t need to warn you, but whatever conversation you may have with Eris, it’ll likely be heated. And tense. Things right now aren’t the best after-”

“I know,” it was your turn to say. “I can handle him, Rhysie, don’t you worry,” you teased, using that nickname you knew he’d roll his eyes at. “I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

The feeling of Azriel’s hand on your shoulder was a brand on your skin.

Not an hour after you’d met with Rhysand, you were standing in the entrance of the pleasure hall Nesta’d told you about all those weeks ago. The kind-looking female at the desk brought out a book of names so you could choose… your companion for the evening. You’d flipped through page after page, your nerves growing with each description you read. None of them were your type to begin with, but to pick and choose from a book felt wrong. You were about to point one out at random when the door opened, and who should walk in but the heir to the Autumn Court himself?

You’d somehow convinced him not to rush out, and to have a chat over coffee. He somehow convinced you that it was meant to be that he walked in right when you were about to make a mistake.

You’d somehow convinced each other it wouldn’t be an entirely terrible and irreversible mistake to get a room at the hotel across the street for a couple of hours.

Then again one night the next week.

And again three days after that.

That was how you found yourself underneath Eris Vanserra now. It was meaningless for both of you, purely physical, but you couldn’t deny the added thrill of finding someone so mutually attractive.

“Gods, you’re so fucking tight,” he groans from behind you, grabbing your hips and pulling you back onto his cock with a force unmatched by any of your tavern trysts. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, punctuated by your moans and heated whispers.

Rhysand would be waiting for you to get back. You were supposed to meet with Eris to discuss the logistics of a diplomatic meeting to address inter-court relations. And then there was the family dinner tonight. Almost everyone was home – only Amren was absent, her extended stays in the Summer Court becoming more frequent these days.

“Hurry up and finish, I’ve got places to be,” you tell him over your shoulder, looking his way just as he lands a firm smack on your ass.

“Better places than right here?” he asks. With a particularly hard thrust, you’re thrown off of your forearms with a yelp, face-first into the pillowy sheets.

“I didn’t say that-” You’re cut off by a moan that escapes you when he reaches around and toys with your nipple. “But I’ve got to get back and tell Rhysand that we-”

“Let’s not talk business, please,” he says, a hint of irritation in his voice. “The last thing I want to think about right now is leaving the lands of one tyrant to go back to the lands of another.” You turn your head indignantly at that, ready to defend your High Lord, when he shoves your face back into the mattress, abandoning any pretense of gentleness. Eris’s hands roamed your body, his touch igniting sparks along your skin. Your breath caught as he reached a particularly sensitive spot. You arched into him, pushing aside all thoughts of diplomatic meetings and family dinners.

This? This was simply too good.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

For the first time in months, Feyre called for a family dinner at the River House. It was a rare occurrence lately; as soon as someone returned, someone else had to leave. She and Cassian had returned from the Continent this morning, and Azriel and Nesta from Autumn hours ago.

Azriel’s gaze swept across the table, taking in the faces of his family. Rhys sat to his right at the head, one hand intertwined with Feyre’s, the other gently stroking Nyx’s hair as the toddler babbled happily in his high chair. Cassian’s booming voice filled the air, entertaining them with tales of his and Feyre’s adventure, and Mor leaned in, her golden hair catching the candlelight as she listened. Even Nesta, usually with her mask of indifference, couldn’t entirely hide the fond exasperation in her eyes as she watched her mate’s exaggerated retelling.

When his eyes fell on Elain, the tips of his ears reddened slightly. The memory of their encounter all those months ago flashed through his mind. The passion, the nervousness, the realization that followed. He’d handled it poorly. The guilt of touching her so intimately, only to find himself unmoved, still weighed on him. He quickly averted his gaze, hoping no one had noticed his momentary discomfort.

They’d been happily sitting at the table just shy of ten minutes when a realization struck him. The chair diagonal to his remained suspiciously empty. He cleared his throat, taking a sip of water to cover his sudden unease. “Where’s (y/n)?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral. “I thought we were all home tonight?”

“She’s probably with Jasper,” Cassian said offhandedly, sawing into his steak with perhaps more force than was necessary. Azriel’s grip on his fork tightened imperceptibly.

Feyre shook her head, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Jasper? No, that ended forever ago. Last I heard, she was seeing Ares.”

“Ares?” Nesta’s eyebrows shot up. “I could’ve sworn I saw her with Roan a couple of weeks ago.”

“Before Ares,” Feyre clarified, exchanging a knowing look with her sister.

Mor leaned in, unable to hide her curiosity. “Wait, wasn’t there a Soran at some point too?”

He tried to maintain his composure, but it grated on his nerves. His jaw clenched tighter with each name mentioned, his grip on his fork becoming white-knuckled. The metal bent under the pressure of his fingers, and his shadows whirled around him, betraying the storm of emotions the words had unleashed.

Elain’s soft voice cut through the chatter. “It’s been Eris a few times now.”

The table fell silent, all eyes snapping to Elain. She paused, her glass of wine halfway to her lips, suddenly aware of the weight of her words.

“Lucien mentioned something about it,” she murmured, before taking a rather large sip.

Something inside Azriel snapped. He slammed the bent fork onto the table with enough force to rattle the dishes, the sound cutting through the stunned silence. Without a word, he abruptly stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

Ignoring the concerned looks and half-formed questions from his family, he strode out of the dining room. His shadows darted around him, agitated and dark.

Outside, he took a deep breath of the cool night air, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. But he couldn’t; not until he knew where she was. His shadows slipped from him, spreading out into the night, searching for her. He clenched his jaw, the thought of them, of her with him, branded into his mind. With a low growl of frustration, Azriel let his shadows envelop him completely.

Azriel sat at the small, dimly lit cafe, the steam rising from the untouched cup of coffee in front of him. He didn’t need it, not really. The caffeine wouldn’t do anything to calm him, but it gave him something to do with his hands. He settled into a corner seat, his shadows swirling restlessly around his feet as he waited. He stared out the window, his eyes trained on the hotel’s entrance, but his mind was elsewhere. The fury simmered beneath his skin, an itch he couldn’t scratch, and it made him feel restless.

But why was he so mad?

They weren’t together. They’d never been together. She was free to do whatever she pleased, with whoever she pleased. He’d never allowed himself to think of her that way — she was beautiful, yes, but he had never looked at her and felt that familiar tug of desire that he’d experienced with others. She was more than that… It was different.

He scowled, leaning back in his chair as the thought sank in. If that was true, if he’d never seen her in that light, then why did the thought of her with Eris make his blood boil? What was it about seeing her with that arrogant piece of shit that had twisted something deep inside him?

His jaw tightened. Maybe it wasn’t just about Eris. Maybe it was about her.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

Azriel’s grip tightened around the coffee cup, the ceramic warm against his palm as he watched the entrance of the hotel from the cafe. It wasn’t long before he saw Eris stride out, pausing briefly to glance around as he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. Azriel scoffed, imagining all the things he’d love to do to that self-satisfied prick. The idea of wiping that smug look off Eris’s face brought a twisted sense of satisfaction.

But then, his breath caught in his throat as you stepped out of the hotel, turning to walk in the opposite direction, towards the River House. Azriel’s jaw clenched. Were you planning on showing up and pretending nothing had happened?

He let out a slow, measured breath, willing the fury to simmer down as he pushed away from the table. Keeping a safe distance, he followed you through the darkened streets, his shadows drifting ahead to ensure your path was clear. He told himself it was just to make sure you got back safe. That was all.

But the anger, the confusion, the gnawing sense of something he couldn’t quite name — it lingered, gnawing at him with every step he took.

As you neared the house, Azriel’s pace slowed, his footsteps nearly silent as he watched you walk the final block. The moment you turned the corner, his form dissolved into shadows, and he winnowed back into the house, appearing in the dining room with a gust of displaced air.

“Az, where the hell did you–” Cassian started, but Azriel cut him off with a cold glare.

“Shut up and eat.”

“Az?” Feyre’s voice held a note of concern. “You–”

“I said sh–” he stopped himself when he looked up and realized who’d spoken. “Eat.” Azriel’s tone was softer but still left no room for argument as he dropped into his seat, his jaw clenched tight. The others exchanged uneasy glances, but after a brief, tense pause, the conversation resumed. It was quieter at first, voices subdued as they cautiously picked up where they’d left off, but soon enough, the normal rhythm returned.

Minutes later, the door creaked open, and you walked in, your presence instantly drawing the room’s attention. You hung up your coat, smoothing down your hair as you made your way to the table. But as you sat, the scent slammed into him, unmistakable — Eris. It was all over you, clinging to your skin, and your clothes, filling the room with the unmistakable evidence of your encounter.

Azriel’s fists clenched under the table, though his face remained neutral. To his left, Elain’s lips curved into a small, knowing smirk, her gaze flicking between you and Azriel. She had noticed the shift in him, the way his entire demeanor had changed the moment she casually mentioned who you’d been spending time with lately. And now, with the proof of it hanging in the air like a challenge, she could see through his cool facade, the turmoil beneath it. But Azriel said nothing, just stared down at his plate.

The table was silent as you ate, the tension thickening with every passing moment. Azriel’s gaze was fixed on you, his patience wearing thin. When it became clear that you had no intention of bringing up the unmistakable smell that lingered around you, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Why do you smell like Eris?” His voice cut through the silence with a directness that left no room for misinterpretation.

You looked up, eyes wide with surprise at the bluntness of his question. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for your response.

Azriel stayed deathly still, back straight against the seat. “You knew someone was going to ask. His stench is all over you — you reek of him. So why?”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression one of calm defiance. “I think you’re old enough to have had that conversation with someone else already.” Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Rhysand summoning a bottle of liquor from the cabinet.

A murmur rippled through the room. Elain’s eyes widened in delighted surprise, while Feyre’s face twitched, clearly uncomfortable. But a smirk played on Nesta’s lips, amused by the scene unfolding before her.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t look away from you. His jaw clenched, and the intensity in his gaze was unmistakable. “You know, most people would have the decency to keep their affairs private.”

Your lips curled into a sardonic smile. “And some people think it’s their job to play moral watchdog. How very… quaint.”

Mor, now holding the bottle of liquor and pouring, raised an eyebrow at the exchange but made no move to intervene, clearly interested in the outcome.

Azriel’s nostrils flared, his irritation evident. “Quaint? Is that what you call it when someone’s reckless behavior affects everyone around them?”

You leaned forward, your voice icy. “How is what I choose to do with my time affecting everyone else? And who’s being reckless here? I’m not the one who’s turned this dinner into a circus.”

Nesta’s smirk widened slightly, her eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. The room’s atmosphere grew thicker, tension palpable as both of you held your ground, eyes locked on each other.

“Can we take this somewhere else?” Azriel’s voice was edged with frustration. It was unlike him to let his composure slip.

You shook your head, a glint of challenge in your smile. “No, you’ve already brought it up. Go ahead.”

His voice dropped, carrying a hard edge. “I don’t think you should be with him.”

Your gaze hardened, your tone sharp. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I’m not ‘with’ him.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed. “I don’t think you should be fucking him then!”

You met his challenge head-on. “And who are you to decide who I fuck?”

His frustration boiled over, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’m–” He started, but the words faltered on his lips. The reality of the situation hit him hard, and he realized he had no right to be this worked up. With a ragged breath, he abruptly stood from the table, circling it to your seat. Without another word, Azriel grabbed your arm with a firm grip and began to drag you towards the door. Your eyes widened in surprise, but you didn’t resist. The room’s atmosphere had shifted, the air charged with an electric tension. Azriel’s grip on your arm was firm but not harsh, leading you toward a quieter corner of the house.

He guided you into a dimly lit hallway, far from the prying eyes of your family. As soon as the hall door clicked shut behind you, the space seemed to close in. Azriel’s breath was uneven, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that spoke of more than just frustration.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “I just… I can’t stand the thought of you with him.”

You stepped closer, your voice equally low but steady. “And what does that matter to you? You’ve never been one to concern yourself with me.”

Azriel’s gaze softened. “That’s not true. I’ve always cared about you. And thinking about you with him… it drives me mad.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t seem like you were too concerned when you were feeling up Elain.”

Azriel’s expression shifted, guilt and frustration clouding his features. “That’s not fair. Things are complicated, you know that. It wasn’t about not caring for you.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Then what was it about? Because to me, it seemed like you were perfectly fine ignoring me.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but his voice was steady. “I never ignored you, (y/n),” he said, his touch firm yet gentle as he lifted your chin to meet his gaze. “I may have been spending more time with Elain, but I never ignored you. Her and I already spoke, forever ago, a few days after it happened, actually. It was a mistake. One I deeply regret.”

You shook your head, the hurt evident in your eyes. “Words are easy, Azriel. Actions–”

“–actions were a mess, I know.” He cut you off, stepping closer. “But I’m trying. I’ve been trying.”

You searched his face, conflicted emotions warring within you. “And yet, here we are, you feeling the need to interfere in my life.”

Azriel’s gaze held yours, earnest and intense. “Because I care about you, just as much as you care about me, if not more.” You had to suppress an eye roll at that. If only he knew. “Knowing you’re with him… I can’t help but feel it’s not right.”

A heavy silence fell between you, the unspoken words hanging in the air. Before you could break it, Azriel closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a fierce, hungry kiss. It was raw, demanding, and full of the emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface all this time. You responded in kind, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer. The world outside seemed to fade away. In the quiet darkness of the hallway, your bodies pressed together, the tension from your confrontation fueling a different kind of intensity.

Azriel’s hands roamed over your body with a desperate need, as if he was trying to erase the anger and frustration from earlier, trying to replace the scent tinging your usual honey and lavender with night-chilled mist and cedar. He pushed you against the wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his touch. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as his kiss grew more insistent.

You gasped against his lips, your body responding to his touch with desire and need. Your hands traveled down to the hem of his winter sweater, fingers curling around the fabric as you tugged it upwards, needing to feel more of him, needing to touch the skin beneath. Azriel didn’t hesitate; he broke the kiss just long enough to yank it over his head, discarding it to the side before his mouth was on yours again, more demanding, more fervent.

You let your hands explore the expanse of his chest, feeling the lines of hard muscle, the cool touch of his skin a contrast to the searing heat between you. Every caress, every brush of his lips, was fueled by the unspoken tension that had been simmering inside of you for so long. Though the thought of this wasn’t on your radar an hour ago, it felt as though this moment had been inevitable, the collision of anger and passion combusting into something neither of you could resist.

Azriel’s hands slid beneath your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he lifted the fabric, fingers trailing over your skin, up to your waist, his touch tender yet possessive. With a swift motion, he pulled your shirt over your head and then his lips were on your neck trailing heated kisses down to your collarbone.

“Is this what you wanted?” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and heavy, every word laced with the same intensity that had sparked this fire between you. “Is this what you were trying to find with those miserable fucks?” He nipped at your shoulder, his teeth grazing the delicate skin before soothing it with a kiss.

You could only nod, words failing you as the need in your body overpowered everything else. You wanted this — wanted him — and there was no space for hesitation. Your hands gripped his shoulders tighter as he pressed you more firmly against the wall, his hips grinding against yours in a way that made you gasp again.

Azriel’s eyes met yours, dark and filled with a mixture of desire and something more — something deeper. For a brief moment, everything paused, the air thick with unspoken emotions that hung between you. Then, as if some unspoken agreement had been reached, his lips found yours again, and all the pent-up tension spilled over. He pressed his hands firmly against your hips, his grip possessive as he lifted you effortlessly from the floor. With a deliberate stride, he carried you towards the guest bedroom he was staying in, his lips meeting yours once again. His lips burned against yours as he carried you down the hall, his pace steady but urgent. The guest bedroom door swung open with a firm push, and he set you down gently on the edge of the bed. The room, dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp, seemed to pulse with the intensity of the moment.

He loomed over you, his hands still gripping your hips, his breaths deep as he took in the sight of you sprawled before him. His gaze roamed hungrily over your body, a smoldering look in his eyes that made your pulse quicken. His fingers traced the curve of your waist as he leaned in to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts. He reached beneath you, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. You arched your back, offering him better access. With a skilled movement, he undid the clasp and slid the garment off your shoulders. His gaze lingered on your exposed skin, filled with an intense, appreciative heat.

His hands roamed eagerly, exploring every inch of your exposed skin. He paused momentarily to meet your eyes, the burning desire in his gaze mirrored your own. “Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “Tell me how to make you feel everything you need.”

You pulled him down for another searing kiss, your fingers threading through his hair as you whispered against his lips, “Just touch me, Azriel.”

His response was immediate. He moved with a practiced grace, undressing you with urgency. Azriel took a moment to appreciate the view, his gaze dark and intense with a mixture of hunger and reverence. He shifted position, his hands exploring the newly exposed expanse of your skin. His lips followed, trailing fiery kisses down your torso, savoring every inch of you. He took his time, lingering over the most sensitive spots, teasing and testing to see what made you shiver and gasp.

He knelt between your legs, his breath warm against your inner thighs as he leaned in to kiss the sensitive skin. His tongue flicked out, teasing and exploring with a skill that made you writhe beneath him. The sensation was overwhelming, each stroke and flick sending waves of pleasure through you. His hands were steady and reassuring as he guided you through the rising tide of your desire.

The room was filled with the sounds of your shared desire — the soft rustle of sheets, the breathy gasps of pleasure, and the occasional low groan of satisfaction. Azriel’s touch was relentless and precise, each movement meant to drive you closer to the edge.

When he finally positioned himself above you, there was a moment of intense eye contact, his gaze fierce and protective, as if etching every detail of your expression into his mind.

As you reached for him, your fingers tracing the torso you’d pleasured yourself to the thought of countless times, Azriel gently took your hand in his. His voice was low and firm, filled with a mixture of resolve and tenderness. “Not tonight,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Tonight, I want to take care of you. We can worry about everything else another time.”

With that, he shifted his focus entirely to you, his hands and lips working in concert to bring you to the brink of pleasure. His body melded with yours, the sensation overwhelming, and you gasped at the sudden fullness, every inch of him filling you in a way that was electrifying and profoundly intimate. Azriel’s movements were rhythmic and purposeful, each thrust making your breath hitch.

“Azriel,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need. “I’ve wanted you so badly.”

His gaze softened, his hands tightening their grip on your hips. “I’m here,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You could feel the tension coiling tighter inside you, each thrust driving you further into a state of heightened arousal. Azriel’s movements were perfectly curated to push you closer and closer to the edge. His hands and lips explored your body with a dedication that made your pulse race, his touch alternating between gentle caresses and firm grips.

His lips traveled from your ear to your neck, his kisses lingering and teasing, each one sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you. You arched against him, your body instinctively seeking more, craving the deep connection he was giving you.

“You feel amazing,” Azriel murmured, his voice low and filled with awe. “Every part of you. I can’t get enough.”

You managed a breathless moan, your fingers gripping the sheets as you writhed beneath him. “Don’t stop,” you gasped. “Please, don’t stop.”

Azriel’s response was a low, rumbling growl of approval. His rhythm never faltered, he was relentless in his devotion, ensuring that every inch of you was covered in his touch, every gasp and shiver met with a responsive stroke. The pressure within you continued to build, the pleasure intensifying with every passing second. Azriel’s hands traced patterns on your skin, his fingers brushing against the most sensitive spots with a skill that made you tremble.

When you were on the verge of losing control, Azriel’s lips found yours once more, his kiss deep and passionate. His movements matched the fervor of the kiss, driving into you with a rhythm that left you gasping and clutching at him. You felt a wave of overwhelming pleasure wash over you. Azriel’s movements became more urgent, his breaths coming in ragged bursts as he drove you to the brink. You clung to him, your body arching and trembling as the climax hit with a powerful intensity.

He followed you into the release, his body shuddering with his own pleasure as he held you close, his grip firm and reassuring. The world seemed to dissolve around you, leaving only the shared warmth and satisfaction of your intimate connection.

Azriel looked down at you with a teasing grin. “You know, we might want to wash up.”

You laughed, catching his playful tone. “Yeah, we probably shouldn’t head back downstairs like this.”

A scent on the pillows lingered, a soothing cedar pulling an instinct to nestle further into them, your heart thrumming with aproval. 

Azriel. It was Azriel’s scent. 

A sigh of contempt left your lips, relishing the luxury of safety, of knowing where you were, of who you were too. Where one might think the Shadowsinger would dwell in darkness – but those wide cast windows, the cream-coloured sheer drapes dancing in the Velarian breeze that wrapped the House of Wind. This was your mates room. Your room too. 

A gasp escaped you, and you sat up so suddenly it made your head spin. A hand clutched at your chest, you were panting, eyes scanning the room, familiarity flooding you so intensely you temples throbbed. 

That trinket on the chest of drawers – gifted by one of you friends from Dawn. The book by the reading chair – Azriel’s latest indulgent read that he still hadn't finished. 

There were artworks, bottles of perfumery, drapes and clothes and scents swarming around you. Things you knew. Things you remembered. 

“Az!” you called, your voice breaking with hoarseness. “Az!”

Azriel didn't come, but when you yanked at the bond, you felt him jolt, panic coursing back to you at your urgency. 

Damn this, you thought, flinging the sheets off and scrambling to your feet. 

You didn't care that all you wore was a night robe, that your hair was a likely mess, or that you were weak from the length of your rest. You remembered him, damnit. You remembered who you were. 

Using the bond as a guide, your bare feet slapped on the marble floors as you raced to find your mate. 

You hosted atop the double staircase, overlooking as Azriel burst through the front doors, chest panting with the haste he made to reach you. 

Panic swarmed in those piercing hazel eyes. “My love, what-?”

But your feet were already moving, leaping two steps at a time before you flung yourself in your mates arms. 

You pressed your lips to his, kissing him deeply, forcing him against you as if trying to redact the months apart, binding him to you so you may never have to part again. 

Without question, strong hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you in, searing you to him. Your hands danced around each other, searching for new places to grope ands pull, limbs to latch and skin to kiss. 

Your tears had pressed to Azriel’s chiselled cheeks as you forced yourself just an inch away. 

“I remember.”

“You-you what?”

“I remember Az, all of it. You, our life together. The whole damn thing.”

The sob of relief that left your mate shook through your chest, and you felt his knees falter. Then he was buried in your neck, sobs muffled into your collarbone and scarred fingers latched through your hair. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry my love.”

“Shh, Azriel, shh.” You stroked that inky hair, soothing him as you both lowered to your knees, clinging to each other on the cold marble floor. 

“How? How is this possible?” Azriel’s voice broke as he sniffed, eyes shining as they danced between yours. 

You shook your head. “I’m not certain. I think when I killed Hybern - or my version of him-"

“You freed yourself from his conditioning,” Azriel nodded, bringing his hands to cup your face, kissing you over and over. 

“I thought I might never get you back,” he whispered over your lips, tears rolling with the anguish he had kept from you for so long. 

You stroked the hair from his eyes, a gentle finger tracing the wobble of his glistened lips. “I’m back my love. I will always come back to you.”

It was truly rough - the speed at which Azriel pulled you to his chest, and the tightness with which he held you to him. 

“I am never letting you go, my love. Not ever again.”

You laughed into his chest, swaying with him as he rocked you fiercely. “Be rational, Az,” you teased. “You’ll have to let me go sometime.”

Azriel hug tightened as he stubbornly shook his head into the nape of your neck. “Not. Ever.”

You chuckled again, knowing the path to returning to your work and life away from your mate would be a journey in itself. But you wouldn't ask Az to shed the possessive instinct of both an Illyrian and mate – not yet anyway. 

Because you’d never let go either, not of your bond, not of your love for him. 

You would always find a way back to each other, and no one could overwrite your story.

————

It was almost taunting you, the voice, but you held firm, kept your gaze fixed on the handsome stranger. There was only one being in the Night Court who this could possibly be, and though you knew decorum instructed you to at least bow your head, you did no such thing. “Lord Rhysand,” you said, “What did you need assistance with?” 

“So it’s lord now is it?” He sounded almost amused and your shoulders sagged in relief as his expression softened. “I have a friend in need of sanctuary. They were badly hurt by their former lover and have nowhere to go. I would offer them a room with me, but they were adamant that they did not want my assistance.” 

There were rooms in the temple for requests such as these; cozy, private chambers that offered a sense of safety and peace while the people residing in them healed. The smallest room was unoccupied and had a fresh change of linens on the bed. “We have a room they could stay in for a time, if you feel they would be open to that.” 

Rhysand’s answering smiling was blinding and left you feeling almost breathless. He truly was incredibly handsome. No wonder all the other priestesses swooned whenever his name was mentioned. “I’ll bring them here at once. Thank you, priestess.” 

You gave your name and watched as that smile grew impossibly brighter. He repeated it back to you and your heart pounded in your chest at the way your name fell from his lips. It was almost a purr, soft and sensual. ‘Mother preserve me.’ It was a thought that you had often, a silent mental prayer in an effort to keep yourself calm. Rhysand’s smile turned into an amused grin as he turned to take his leave and you knew that he had heard it. Blasted daemati. 

═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══

You had believed that once Rhysand’s friend had settled, the High Lord would go back to his daily duties, whatever those were. Oh, how mistaken you were.

Rhys’s presence was a constant, nearly daily, thing.

At first, it had been to ensure that his friend truly was comfortable and safe. You couldn’t help but admire that unwavering loyalty. There were many stories and rumors about Rhysand, but the gentle smile he wore when he spoke to his comrade made you wonder how much truth lay within them.

It turned, quicker than you could have anticipated, into social visits. He came less and less for his friend and more and more for you. In the course of a few months, the two of you had formed a budding friendship and you could admit that the smile that tugged at your lips whenever he entered the temple was genuine and warm, full of the growing affection you held for him.

You hoped that the affectionate look you saw in his eyes was just as sincere.

Part of you also hoped that what you interpreted as flirtation truly was. You couldn’t speak for Rhysand, but you knew that your feelings for him had shifted to romantic rather than platonic. It was foolish, you knew, to hope that the High Lord of the Night Court would fall for a priestess such as yourself. And yet your heart raced wildly each time he stepped into the sanctuary, looked at you with those intense violet eyes, and asked with a grin, “Miss me, darling?”

“Always,” you replied easily.

As his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close so he could converse with you about everything and anything, you sighed in content. In those moments, everything was perfect and right with the world.

That perfection ended when you saw Rhysand walking arm-in-arm with a beautiful, blonde, high fae.

You didn’t leave the temple often, but you had learned that it was Rhys’s birthday in a few weeks and you were out looking for materials to make him something. As a High Lord, you suspected that there wasn’t much you could buy him that he would need or want, and truthfully, you didn’t have much money to buy gifts with. So, you had settled on making him a token; something small he could keep with him for luck and protection. That was when you saw them.

The blonde with him was as beautiful as the goddess that you served. Grace rolled off of her in waves and you felt your knees tremble at the sight of her. She had eyes that reminded you of honey, a deep rich amber that was warm, but still intense. Everything about her was perfection; she was exactly the sort of fae someone of Rhys’s standing would be expected to be with. Your heart sank. You had always known it was foolish to hope and dream, but secluded in your temple, it was easy to imagine. Facing reality, seeing how you paled in comparison, hurt more than you would have ever thought possible.

“You’re a moron, Rhys. It’s a good thing I like you so much,” the blonde teased.

“Thanks Mor, I love you too.” Rhys laughed as he spoke and you watched as the blonde playfully jabbed him in the side with her elbow. You slipped away then, not able to see or hear anymore.

He was a High Lord. You were a priestess. It had been nothing more than a dream, and the dawn had finally come.

═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══

“Hello?” An all too familiar voice called out from the sanctuary. You cussed under your breath at the sound of it. Seeing Rhysand again was inevitable but you had hoped that you’d have more time to process and heal before having to engage with him. Though you had tried to fight it, you had fallen helplessly in love with him. Each smile, each gentle touch and warm utterance of your name had bewitched you. Seeing Rhysand meant facing your heartbreak head-on, and you weren’t sure you were ready for that. 

You heard him call your name and swallowed. There was no way you would be able to avoid him forever and perhaps dealing with the issue now would be wiser. Yes, putting it off wouldn’t solve anything. You took a deep breath, lifted your head and headed out into the sanctuary. 

“Lord Rhysand, how are you?” How you had managed to form words when he was standing there looking as handsome as he had the day you met, you had no idea. 

“So it’s lord now, is it?” You didn’t meet his gaze even though you could feel the weight of his on your face, trying to make out your expression. There was a faint poking at your mind, but you kept your walls in place. If he saw the swirling emotions warring within you he would certainly reject you entirely. Rejection would be worse than ignorance. 

“I suppose I may as well come straight out with it?” He formed it as a question, encouraging you to answer him. You turned your head to look at him and gave him a nod, a silent urgence to continue. His brow creased in what almost looked like worry. “I’ve thought about it quite a lot, talked about it a lot. And I came here to ask you a rather important question.” 

“Well, go on then,” you said. 

“Perhaps, we could find somewhere a bit more secluded? I hadn’t intended on asking you in the middle of the sanctuary.” 

“I don’t see why here isn’t as good a place as any.” You could have sworn that you saw his eye twitch as he stared at you. His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides and you could tell that he was trying to stay calm. He let out a breath and refocused his gaze on your face. 

“Will you marry me?” Damn. You had suspected that he and the mysterious blonde — Morrigan you learned her name was — were close, intimate even, but you hadn’t realized how close. It was your duty, as a priestess, to assist in mating and marriage ceremonies, you had officiated nearly a hundred. This, however, was one ceremony you were uncertain of. 

You stared up at Rhysand, looked deep into his violet eyes and saw the almost pleading expression hidden in their depths. He looked hopeful and eager and you knew that no matter how much it would hurt you to do as he asked, you would. You would because you loved him and his happiness was ultimately what you wished for him, more than anything. With a sigh you replied, “Well, yes of course. I’d be delighted to.” 

The smile that broke out across Rhysand’s face was so radiant that you felt as if you were staring directly at the sun. ‘If only I could make him so happy.’ The thought flickered through your mind and you did your best to squash it down. “That’s wonderful news!” He took a step toward you as if to hug you and you stepped back. No, you couldn’t. You would melt against him as you always did and it would be harder to maintain the professionalism the situation required. 

“Have you thought of any dates?” You asked as casually as you could, though a hint of annoyance found its way into your tone. 

“Don’t you think we should discuss that?” 

“Very well. I would suggest a time near Starfall. That’s always a romantic time of year.” If you were to ever marry, that would be the time of year you’d want your ceremony to fall on. It was cooler, the nights longer, but the stars shone clearer and on some nights looked as if they were close enough to reach. “Though, I would have to check the temple diary to be sure we can hold the ceremony at that time.” 

You moved to the adjoining room, where a few small tables and bookshelves remained for the priestesses to use. The temple diary was an easy enough book to find. Once you had retrieved it, you flicked through the pages to the calendar. Sure enough there was an opening two days before Starfall. You relayed the information to Rhysand who nodded and said, “That’s perfect.”

“Excellent! I’ll jot it down then. Listen, while you’re here, we should probably start getting some of the other forms done. Save some time.” You wrote the date down before standing to find a large pile of documents on the corner of one of the tables. The temple really needed a better organization system, but that was a problem for another day. The first part of the form needed Rhysand’s name, which you wrote . The next…

“All right, what is the name of the lucky lady in question?” 

At that, Rhysand looked visibly confused. “Rhysand, you shouldn’t marry someone if you don’t know their name. I feel that goes without saying.” 

Rhysand’s voice sounded mildly worried as he replied with your name. You paused in your writing and looked up at him. “Pardon?”

“It’s you. I’m asking you to marry me.” 

The silence was deafening. You stared, eyes wide in disbelief. “Are you out of your senses?”

Rhysand’s visible confusion deepened. “I feel Amren would say I am. She thinks it’s too soon; though I find in affairs of the heart, she’s not always the best being to turn to.”

“I might agree with her! What about that other female you’ve been spending so much time with? Morrigan, the gorgeous blonde one! What about her?” 

Frustration rose within you. Was this some kind of joke to him? He charmed his way into your life and then started spending all his time with Morrigan, and now he was asking for your hand in marriage? You opened your mouth to add your own two-cents regarding his judgment, but were rendered speechless by Rhysand’s reply. “You mean my cousin?”

All at once you felt all the confusion and anger of the last few weeks coming bubbling up to the surface and you shouted, “What?!”

“She’s one of my closest friends; I consult her about nearly everything.”  He still looked confused, but you found you didn’t really care. In that moment, you needed clarity. 

“What?” 

“We’ve been walking Valeris together trying to decide if it was too rash or too soon or, perhaps, too stupid. But, I finally decided I must follow my heart. And my heart is saying that you are the being I wish to spend eternity with, the being that I am destined to be with until death comes and claims me.” 

There was a look of burning passion, strong and intense adoration, in his eyes and your heart began to beat wildly in your chest at the sight of it. Oh. He loved you. Gods, you felt so foolish, but how could you have known. His words from before, his proposal, flashed in your mind again and when you opened your mouth to speak, to say that you felt the same, all that came out was a garbled noise. 

Both you and Rhysand looked surprised by the sound and you tried, once again in vain, to say what was on your mind. The noise was worse the second time. "Will you excuse me?" It was asked with some effort, but you managed. You didn't wait for him to answer and instead hurried off to the secluded meditation room around the corner. Once there you took a series of steadying breaths, trying desperately to calm your racing heart and wrap your head around the truth Rhysand had just shared with you. 

It all seemed almost too good to be true. Rhysand, the High Lord, wanted to marry you? You had hoped he loved you to that extent, and would gladly say yes if he meant it. The whole situation felt like a fantasy, like a scene from those books you used to read as a child where the handsome prince would save the princess and they'd live happily ever after. Could such a thing happen in real life? You inhaled and exhaled twice more and then moved back to the sanctuary where Rhysand waited, a nervous look on his handsome face. 

"Let me be sure I've got this absolutely right," you said as you approached, "You are asking me to marry you."

“Yes.”

That ungodly sound worked its way out of your mouth once more and Rhys’s lips quirked into an amused smile. His arms, so strong and warm, wrapped around your middle and pulled you to him. One of his hands slid up your spine to the back of your head before entwining in your hair. 

“I have loved you from the very moment I laid eyes on you. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we are meant to be together.” His breath was warm against your face as he tilted his head down and leaned forward. “Marry me, darling?”

You didn’t hesitate, your answer required no consideration. You leaned up, closing the little distance between the two of you, and your lips dragged against his as you replied, “Yes.” 

It was extremely uncommon, that was what you were told.  All your life, you’d been taught that when your mating bond snapped into place, your mate would be the more dominant partner, he would be the one to protect you, he would be the one to provide for you.  And the moment you met Azriel, when you felt the bond snap into place, that’s what you assumed would happen.  But that had not been the case.

Azriel knew what was expected of him: the bond would snap, and he would provide for his mate.  He would protect her, venerate her, adore her.  Having a mate was an honor, and Azriel knew how territorial males were of their mates, and part of him was excited to feel that for the person the Mother had deemed him worthy of.  But then he’d met you, and the bond had snapped, and his expectations were turned on their head.

It was extremely uncommon, they said, for the female to be the more dominant partner in a mated pair, but not unheard of.  The moment the bond snapped and you caught Azriel’s scent, the only thing you wanted to do was protect him, defend him, to scoop him up in your arms and shield him from the world.  And Azriel; all he wanted was to run to you, to bury himself in your arms and never resurface.

So you’d brought your mate back to your home in Velaris and rode out (quite literally) the frenzy, and after two weeks, both of you felt composed enough to show your faces in society.  During those two weeks, you discovered every little thing about your mate, and he about you.  You knew that even without the bond, you’d have fallen head over heels in love with this male, you adored him that much.

What you had failed to take into account, however, was that the volatility that males felt after the frenzy faded, the protectiveness they felt over their mates, would be felt by you as well.  So when you were walking along the Sidra, arm in arm with Azriel, and a female whistled at him as you passed, you exploded.

One second, you were smiling softly at your mate, enjoying the flush that rose on his cheeks; the next, you had this female pinned to the cobblestones, feral rage in your heart.  “Where do you get off whistling at my mate?” you snarled, and you delighted in the fear on her face.  But it was a farce.  The female flipped you onto your back, pulling a dagger from her belt and pressing it to your neck.

“Where do you get off assaulting a trained Valkyrie?” she growled, and you sensed the barest hint of a challenge in her voice.  Discreetly, you pulled a knife from your boot, and that was when the real carnage began.   Fists flew and steel flashed in the early afternoon sun as you fought, the primal, feral need to protect and defend your mate coursing through your veins.  When the Valkyrie landed a punch to your jaw, Azriel audibly whimpered, frozen in fear where he stood.

Eventually, you managed to pin the female, her dagger in one hand, your blade in the other, pressed to her neck.  “If you ever so much as look in my mate’s direction again, I’ll kill you where you stand.”  You tossed her knife into the river and stood, limping to where Azriel stood.  “Take us home, baby,” you said, pain leaching into your voice, and your mate obeyed, taking your arm and winnowing you home.

A few hours later found Azriel in your shared bed, watching as you limped towards him.  “Are you okay?” he asked, and you nodded, though you grimaced as you climbed beneath the covers.  “I’m just find, love, don’t worry.”  “But you’re hurt,” Azriel argued.  “You’re hurt because of me.”  “No,” you quickly refuted.  “No, Azriel.  I’m hurt because some idiotic female thought she could get away with whistling at my mate; I’m hurt because I wanted to protect you, not because of you.”

Your mate whimpered, and you opened your arms to him.  “Come here, Azriel.”  He happily nuzzled into your arms, inhaling your scent deeply, freezing when you winced.  “Sorry,” he whispered, and you hummed, carding a hand through his hair, kissing his forehead.  “Do you need me to get Madja?”  “No, baby,” you replied, stroking a hand down your mate’s wing, making him shiver.  “I just need to hold my pretty boy.”

You snap yourself out of your thoughts and look at him: wondering if you’d accidentally spoken allowed. He grins lopsidedly, as if knowing exactly what you think, and juts his hand out, nearly hitting you and knocking you off your stool.

“Mm, sorry,” he says and holds his hand out in front of you. When you accept it, he brings it to his lips, placing a feather-light kiss on your knuckles. “Tell me, …” he pauses, looking to you for an answer.

“Y/N,” you fill in.

“Tell me, Y/N, how does a lady like yourself end up as beautiful as you are?”

You turn away to hide the slight blush that creeps up your cheeks, “Is that what you call flirting?” you retort.

“Eh. In my current state, it might be the best I’ve got,” he says, taking another swig from his drink while you accept the one the bartender places in front of you.

The two of you talk for a little while longer, and after your second drink, Rhys leans in to whisper, “Why don’t we get out of here? We both know we want the same thing.”

“Can you even get it up?” you ask, making him laugh slightly.

He grabs your wrist, pulls your hand to rest on him, and you feel the already hardening bulge in his pants. He twitches under your fingers, hardening a little more.

You pull your hand away as a smirk tugs at his lips, “maybe I’m just not interested in you,” you say, sticking your nose up at him.

“Sweetheart, if you weren’t interested in me, then why’d you spend the last hour talking to me?”

“Pity?” you reply.

He huffs another laugh but stands and holds a hand out to you. After a second, you take his hand and allow him to lead you away. You expect him to walk out the front door, but instead, he leads you to the bathrooms at the back. Holding the door open for you, he says, “going back to one of our places takes time.”

You smile at his sultry words as more heat warms your core. You walk into the empty bathroom and to one of the small stalls. Rhys is quick to follow, and as soon as the door is latched behind you, he pushes you to your knees and whips out his cock. He’s still only semi-hard, so gripping you by your hair, he shoves himself down your throat to fully arouse himself.

You choke around the many inches of him but hollow out your cheeks and swirl your tongue around his tip. He throws his head back as he bobs your head up and down on his length and moans. The sound spurs you on, so you push him deeper, and looking up at him: you stare into his violet eyes blown wide in ecstasy.

He pulls you off of him and, panting roughly, lifts you back up to your feet. Your knees shake slightly under you, but you step forward anyways and lean up to press your lips to his. He slips his tongue into your mouth and dominates you. In a matter of seconds, he spins you around and presses your back up against the stall door. He kisses you as if his life depends on it: tongue twirling with yours, teeth biting gently at your lips.

His hands grip your hips, and he grinds slightly against your dress before pulling entirely away from you and spinning you around. Your pussy is dripping for him, clenching around nothing, already wishing to be filled with his cock.

Roughly he pulls your dress up and shoves your panties to the side, and quickly sheathes himself into you to the hilt. He gives you no time to settle, immediately pulling out to the top just to shove back in. He sets a rough pace of non-stop pounding into your pussy, stretching you further than any male ever has, and hitting spots no one’s reached before.

You’re screaming-moaning under him as he holds your hips and goes faster, harder. You whimper as, after a few minutes, he finally slows. He leans over you and presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, “doin’ alright, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear. You nod as he continues to slowly move in and out. “Good girl. I’m gonna go harder now, okay?”

You whimper your response, and he grabs your hair: wrapping it around his fist, he yanks back. Your hands shake against the door where they hold you up, and you shake as he begins fucking you harder than before. He repeatedly hits your g-spot, and you’re practically screaming. It’s loud enough that Rhys has to cover your mouth with his other hand.

You scream against his hand as your eyes roll back, and you cum all over his cock. He doesn’t let up, though. He keeps pounding into you as you shake between him and the stall door. He pulls you up vertically and presses you flat against it. The feeling of the cold wall against your thighs makes you shiver, but heat fills your stomach, countering the cold.

You whimper as Rhys slows his pace, but each thrust is rougher, hitting that spot, again and again, nearing you to the edge. And after only a few more thrusts, hitting all the right places, you cum again, clenching around Rhys’s massive cock, sending him falling over the edge with you.

He leans into your neck, biting down on your shoulder and moaning as he fills you with his cream. You feel him shaking against your back, or is that you? When Rhys finally finishes cumming you’re filled with it, and some is already dripping out. A second later, he slowly pulls away and lets his soft cock fall from your drenched hole; his seed quickly follows suit spilling, down your thighs and onto the floor.

Rhys chuckles at the sight from behind you and grabs some toilet paper to clean you up. He wipes himself off too and sits on the toilet before pulling you into his lap. He tugs your wet panties back over you and holds your ass as he kisses you passionately. This time the kiss is slow and gentle. You soften in his arms and almost fall asleep in his comforting embrace.

“Where do you live, sweetheart? I can winnow you home,” he whispers into your hair.

And you whisper something incoherent back about the bill.

“Your drinks are on my tab. I’ll take care of it tomorrow,” he replies simply, tugging your dress down below your waist.

You give him your address, and he winnows to your street only a few houses away from your own. He sets you gently on the pavement and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. He seems a lot more sober now, you think, but are quickly distracted by another thought.

“I thought you could only winnow to places you’ve been before or can like imagine or something like that,” you mumble out, your thoughts blurred and uneven.