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AI is just my little editing assistant—English isn’t my first language, and this helps me bring my stories to life the way I picture them ( as a last step)
If that’s not for you, that’s perfectly fine.
I write these fics for joy, for comfort, for fun, and because storytelling is my love language.
Every plot, idea, and unhinged emotional spiral here is completely my own/inspired by others requests.
🖤 Completed / Emotional
Muted
She muted the bond to protect him. She broke it to save him. Az x reader
Crimson Comfort
He’s not afraid of blood — not when it’s yours. Sometimes love is washing sheets, warming tea, and whispering breathe into your hair.
Mending
Post-mission, you wake half-stitched in Azriel’s room. His hands shake, his voice doesn’t, and that’s how you know how deep it runs.
Azriel Runs into the One Who Got Away
Years after losing each other, they meet again by the Sidra. He’s still the same — except for the regret in his voice when he says he never stopped.
Twenty Years of Quiet Hope
They’ve been trying for twenty years. When Azriel comes home from a mission, he smells sunlight — and realizes his shadows are crying.
The Shadow’s Fury
In the Hewn City, Azriel finds a broken female whose scent freezes his blood. Rhysand’s horror confirms it — she’s the daughter Amarantha made them forget.
What Shadows Cannot Hide
When you vanish on a mission, Azriel breaks — and when he finds you, there’s no room left in him for mercy.
When the Shadows Claimed
Azriel’s shadows find his mate before he does. The moment he follows them, nothing in Prythian is ever the same again.
The Moment He Came HomeI The Mask He Wore
After Amarantha’s death, Rhysand returns broken. One conversation at a time, his family brings him back.
Let Me In (Azriel x reader)
“If the corridor is loud again… don’t run to the balcony. Run to me.”
comfort through panic attack/anxiety. Comfort turns into something softer, sweeter… the kind of safety that feels a lot like love (but neither of you dare say it yet).
The Thing He Won’t Name
Azriel has been unraveling ever since the night he disappeared after the Hewn City ball—ever since he crossed a line with Eris. When Rhys confronts him in his office, Azriel breaks in a way he never has before.
The Ways They Come Undone
A collection of intimate Prythian snapshots capturing how each male loves, desires, and is quietly undone by the reader. Not smut — but sensual/romantic.
🖤 Humor / Inner Circle Chaos
“The Red Hair Incident”
Cassian finds a very suspicious red hair —and draws the wrong conclusion. Training becomes unbearable for Azriel, dinner becomes a disaster, and the Inner Circle witnesses something none of them were prepared for.
If You’re That Curious, Azriel Can Handcuff You Himself
Cassian hosts “science night.” Chaos, kinks, and one perfect line from Azriel’s mate end it all in laughter.
The Gentleman Problem
Azriel ties your shoes, massages your feet, and Cassian loses his mind accusing him of a fetish. Azriel doesn’t deny it.
In a Room Full of Chairs, I Would Sit in His Lap
Twenty empty chairs. You pick his lap. Cassian regrets ever teasing him.
The Night Rhysand Learned Too Much
Rhys tries to lecture Cassian and Nesta for being loud — and learns far more than he ever wanted about Azriel and his sister.
What Happens in the House of Wind Stays in the House of Wind
Cassian jokes Rhys and Feyre met at an orgy. Then the topic shifts to you and Azriel. No one recovers.
She Threw Her Shoe at You?
Rhys rescues a mortal bride and gets hit with a shoe. Cassian calls it love. Azriel calls it good aim.
Azriel’s Regulation Handcuffs
Cassian asks what Azriel’s cuffs are for. Azriel answers. Everyone regrets it.
Azriel — Sick Boyfriend Edition
One cold from the Bog of Oorid turns the Shadowsinger into a clingy, feverish cuddle bug.
The New Wards Are Finally in Place
Rhys upgrades the House wards to save Azriel from hearing Cassian and Nesta’s “activities.” Dinner devolves instantly.
Things I Never Wanted to Hear
Azriel overhears Cassian and Nesta. Chaos, trauma, and a few too-accurate jokes follow.
Cassian Learns to Knock
You push too hard in training; Azriel takes care of you. Then Cassian walks in.
The Birchin — The Night After Solstice (Azrielx Reader)
Summary: Solstice night may be over, but Azriel isn’t ready to let go of the warmth just yet. A quiet moment in the Birchin becomes a lot less innocent when the Shadowsinger pulls you into his lap — and a lot more chaotic when certain males walk in at the worst possible time. (Smut)
“I want your baby.”(Azriel x Reader)
Fluff, drunk confessions
“The Fever in the Tent ”
You were supposed to be resting after getting fever-sick mid-mission. Instead, you’re tucked into an Illyrian tent with Azriel, Cassian, and Eris—three males, one cot, and absolutely zero personal space.
🖤 Smut / Tension / Enemies-to-Lovers
Curiosity Killed the Spy l Tie Me Again, ShadowsingerI Azriel Loses Control
1) You get caught snooping around the Night Court. It’s supposed to be an interrogation — not an awakening.
2) Tighter ropes, sharper words. The Dawn Court spy keeps pushing; 3) Azriel stops pretending he isn’t tempted.
She taunts him until he finally snaps. He says it’s only release. They both know it’s not.
Spy Games
For his birthday, Cassian hires him a courtesan — except she’s a spy. Azriel already knows. His knife’s at her throat when she finds out.
Unfinished Business (Azriel × Eris )
A year after their one night, Azriel still can’t forget. Eris calls it denial. Azriel calls it unfinished business.
Diplomatic Secrets
A dinner meant for diplomacy ends in something else — restraint giving way to ruin.
“No One Saw… Right?” Short, Flirty, PDA Azriel x Reader
A slow-burn of tension, dominance, and whispered promises that finally snap behind closed doors.
Burning Embrace (Azriel × Eris )
After a long night at the River House, Azriel slips out to the balcony with a mythroot roll and silence for company. He doesn’t expect Eris to join him — or to notice the way the Autumn heir’s mouth finds every place he's been.
Where the bond found us ( Azriel x reader, mini series) ( 2 parts)
When Velaris falls under attack, she fights to the last breath to protect the city she calls home. In the final quiet of the battlefield, she crosses paths with Azriel—the moment their eyes meet, the mating bond snaps into place. Bloody, exhausted, and shaken to the core, neither of them is ready for what the Mother has chosen. They don’t exchange more than names, just a single promise suspended in the smoke between them.
a/n: I want to get a nice pair of silk pyjamas so badly but they’re so hot in the summer 😫
warnings: smut
word count: 1,232
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“Az…”
“Azriel…”
“Az…!”
You squirm under the hotness of his palms as they press their shape into your skin, squeezing at your hips, grazing your waist, cupping your breasts as he pulls your comparatively soft body flush to his front. Your hands press into the crook of his elbows, spine curving into him, head tilted to the side as his tongue licks over the smooth skin of your neck, nipping just shy of your ear, lost in the small noises you’re making, the short, hushed breaths exhaling from your inviting lips, the soft swell of your breasts against his chest as you curve beneath his touch.
“Az…come on, we have an early morning tomorrow…” you try, lips helplessly curving at their corners as he presses ticklish kisses into your skin, swiftly turning hot and feverish, wet and open-mouthed as he moves lower, forearm banding around the curve of your spine, his body arching over you as his hips press to yours.
You inhale sharply when his thumb slips beneath the blue silk band of your pyjamas, matching the pair you’d bought for him: a deep blue top with sleeves down to your wrists, his with slats carefully cut into the back panel, trousers for each of you that come to your ankles, cut in a way that Azriel has mentioned show your hind off. And now his hand slides from your hips to squeeze at the swell of your ass appreciatively, sucking small marks into your throat as he guides you back to the bed.
It’s then he pulls away, and any serious fight you had left in you liquefies at the softness and hunger of his hazel eyes—bedroom eyes, if you’ve ever seen them. “Do you want to stop?” He asks quietly, hands pausing their exploration to settle on your hips, his fingers just beneath the silk of your top, able to feel the soft heat of your naked waist beneath.
You make the mistake of glancing down to his mouth, your pupils dilating as heat softens your body in his arms, your hands slowly making the trail up over his arms, feeling the swell of muscle beneath your fingertips, tracing up over his biceps, up over his broad shoulders, settling at the nape of his neck. Fingertips threading through silky, dark hair.
“No…” you mumble, inclining your jaw, lips parting as he sighs with arousal, mouth slanting hotly against your own, tongue plying you further apart so he can get inside of you, soft, wet noises being exchanged between your mouths, the bed pressing into the backs of your thighs. Your teeth nip at his lower lip before pulling away in favour of crawling onto the bed, but his hands firmly grip your hips, lifting you up off the floor—a casual display of effortless strength that has heat melting between your thighs.
“Az…” you urge softly, settling on your hands and knees in the centre of your bed, feeling as he prowls up behind you, crowding your space as his long, deft fingers hook beneath the band of your blue, silk trousers, pulling the elasticated band down over the curve of your ass, stopping when you’re uncovered, the elastic squeezing at your mid-thighs, far enough down for him to be given an arousing view of between your legs.
“So pretty,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and you flush from the praise, lowering yourself into the duvet so as to keep his attention on your ass, stuck invitingly in the air. “So good,” he murmurs to himself, feeling how wet you are as his hand wraps around your upper thigh, thumb sliding with ease through your heat, prodding with interest at your entrance.
“Az, come on…stop teasing,” you moan sweetly, shifting your hips with impatience. “You started this…” A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, and you tighten around nothing, as if trying to suction his thumb further inside, but he pulls away, if only to lower the waistband of his own pyjamas to free himself.
“Alright, no teasing,” he replies, mirth clear in his deep voice, pressing closer to your soft body. Your teeth drag over your lower lip as he pushes his tip to your entrance, gliding through the wetness effortlessly, coating himself in your slick, before pushing in. You moan into the duvet, fingers crumpling the previously crisp and smooth sheets, toes curling as his hot palms pull back on your hips, guiding you together.
“You can…please…” you pant softly, spine curving from the pleasure, breasts pressing into the plush mattress, and you tilt your head into his shadows as they brush against your cheek, stroking your hair. “Please move…”
Azriel groans quietly, breathlessly, but acquiesces, gently pulling his hips back only to push in again, softly pushing you deeper into the mattress with each roll of his hips. Moans swiftly start spilling from your lips as he repeats the movements, pace increasing ever so slightly to become more regular, more languid movements that have your arms shaking from holding yourself up.
You feel so at home between his arms, with him filling you up so completely you can’t take it, arms giving out as you collapse down into the bed, allowing him to fuck you sideways. You cry out softly as he noses at your throat again, shadows pulling your hair out of his way so he can pull your scent deep into his lungs, infuse you with his body, increasing the pace to something more regular and familiar, his cock touching a spot inside you that has your toes curling, nipples peaking beneath the dark blue silk of your pyjamas.
As usual, his shadows don’t miss a thing, squeezing and palming at your breasts as they slip beneath your top, pinching and lightly flicking at your nipples, playing with them sweetly as he pushes more and more pleasure into you.
“Az…!” You cry out, the moan flying from your lips as a sign you’re on the edge, unable to help it—you want to call out his name when you cum; you like having it shaping your lips, how it feels in your mouth. “Az, Az…! I…I’m—!”
“Go on,” he urges softly, kissing up your throat, settling on a spot halfway down your neck, below your ear to focus on. “You deserve this…take it…fuck, there you go.”
Your breath catches as he rolls you over the edge, pleasure tingling in every part of your body as it bubbles and simmers beneath your skin, like being warmed by the summer’s sun. “Azriel…” you moan, fluttering around him as you reach your high, the pleasure practically doubling as you feel him breathe a sigh of relief, allowing himself to find his own release inside of you.
The high takes a while to fade, slowly drifting back down to this plane, panting deeply, warmed beneath the reassuring weight of his body, wings shuddering lightly where they’re splayed out over the bed. He pants softly against your neck, and you squirm from the ticklish sensation, wanting to shift to look at him.
The two of you smile, before mouths are opening again, pressing together and your fingers drag through his hair, gently stroking to keep him from pulling away before you’re okay with it.
Author's Note: This is a part of the Dancing With the Devil AU, but can be read as a stand alone. The Vamp!Rhys brain rot has taken over and there aren't enough fics to satisfy me so I wrote more ;)
Pairing: Vamp!Rhys x Reader x Vamp!Azriel
Content Warnings: SMUT, threesomes, oral (f and m receiving) blood, typical vampire stuff
You’ve always loved music, the steady flow of the strings, the heavy pulse of the drums; it’s always been something that moves and excites you, your body knows how to respond to it as if it's its basest instinct. Music was the siren song that had pulled you and Nesta to the dance floor all those years ago, as children, eager to dance and move and lose yourself in the steps of a blooming waltz that made the other mortal children dizzy. It had been one of your few chances at freedom, and you had chased that opportunity all the way to the Velaris Estate weeks ago, and had now found a new sense of freedom.
It’s still tied to music, by some humorous twist of fate. You’d learned early on that the Lord of the Estate had the set list planned: Something graceful and elegant to start, the slow thrum of the string section pushing people onto the dance floor, highlighting easy prey in those lingering on the edge with no partner to claim them. Then something more sensual, as the predators take the floor, snatching their prey with a charming bow and disarming smile. These will span several songs, get their prey comfortable with their presence, before the shift becomes something with more drums and base, music to disappear into the dark corners to.
Their ability to move so seamlessly, so flawlessly that no one suspects there might be ill intent in the gesture is still mind boggling. You stand in the shadows of the upstairs veranda, watching Rhysand and his horde move as you sip from a full wine glass, content to study for now. The bargain had never specified when Rhys was supposed to turn you, for now, you attend his parties and do your best to study them, so when the time comes you’ll be prepared.
There are new faces in the crowd tonight, less and less of your neighbors and childhood friends filling the expensive ballroom now that word had spread that you hadn’t returned home, all those weeks ago. As expected, your brother had nearly torn the Spring Estate to shreds when he’d found you gone. Nesta had apparently witnessed you sitting in Rhys’s lap--though by some magic or sheer luck, she hadn’t seen him drinking from your neck--and had gone straight to Tamlin to tell him. The betrayal had burned white hot, and not for the first time, were you thankful the ancient vampire hadn’t turned you yet, or else the destruction you might have caused in the aftermath would have made Tamlin’s look like a child’s temper tantrum. She hadn’t tried to explain herself, every one of your friends had turned their back on you, a couple of them had outright called you a whore to your face before vowing to never speak to you again. None of them were known to be tight lipped either, the whole town was sure to know that you’d “debased yourself with the Lord of Velaris”. It would have hurt less if you hadn’t spent the last couple of years protecting Nesta’s own secret lovers, but you had to admit, the newfound freedom of living here lessened the sting more and more each day. There were no governesses dictating your every outfit and hairstyle; no stewards limiting the amount of food you got at each meal to ensure you stayed pretty and thin for a would-be husband; no guards to regulate how much time you spent outside and where you could go. If you wanted to wear something, you did; if you wanted to eat you could go into the kitchens now and ask for it and the staff would do so eagerly; if you wanted to go outside and run until you got lost in the mountains, you were free to do so. There were no restrictions with Rhys, the fact alone was enough to keep you here, though the prospect of immortality pulled a little more and more each day. It wasn’t even the living forever thing, you really weren’t that interested in that part. It was the strength, the power, the freedom to be wild and unrestrained and never have to worry about being hurt or caged again. Once you were a vampire, no one could keep you locked away.
You take another sip of wine as the music begins to shift and the lights dim. Feeding time. Rhys dances beneath you with a blonde woman, the neckline of her gown so deep you can see the heavy swell of her breasts from your vantage point. You shove down the pang of jealousy you feel upon seeing those hands on someone else’s hips with another deep drink from your wine glass.
Mor dances with a female on the edge of the crowd, the darkest part of the dance floor, where the judgmental eyes of the town won’t be so quick to spot her. Cassian hasn’t danced all night, has spent the evening prowling around the refreshment table, trying to get drunk despite his accelerated metabolism making it hard. He’d hoped to make a similar bargain with Nesta all those weeks ago, but you’re pretty sure he’d stepped on her foot and she’d left scowling in search of you before she’d found you in Rhys’s lap. Poor Cassian has been moping since.
You haven’t seen Azriel all night, but that’s how he likes it. He could be as charming as Rhys if he wanted, but he likes his solitude too much to risk it. When he steps out of the shadows to your left, as if your thoughts had materialized him, it’s little surprise. Rhys had explained that every vampire had their own unique abilities, among some shared traits, and Azriel’s shadow manipulation made him an excellent hunter.
“You’re not dancing tonight?” He says as he comes to stand beside you, scared hands resting on the banister railing.
You take another sip of wine. “I didn’t know I was on the menu tonight.” A lie, Mor had helped you pick a gown with a neckline that plunged all the way down to your midsection with the intent of catching the Vampire Lord’s eye, but you had chickened out at the last minute and hid. Having the freedom to chose and the bravery to walk out in public were two very different things, but you hadn’t realized it until too late.
Hazel eyes roam the expanse of your exposed skin, the way your hair is pinned up out of the way so that the full expanse of your throat is available. It doesn’t hide the hickey’s Rhys had left a couple nights ago either, the dark marks smattered across your collarbones and lower, following the path of your gown. “So everyone knows your mine,” Rhys had purred in your ear and before the ball you had been thrilled to show them off. Until a few wandering eyes had lingered too long, the judgment clear on their faces. You’d spent the rest of the night hoping everyone would forget you’d existed.
“He’s looking for you,” Azriel says half-heartedly, eyes still exploring you. There’s a hunger there you can’t miss; that has you pressing your thighs a little tighter together. Azriel is as devastatingly handsome as Rhys is, and this is not the first time you’ve noticed the attention he gives you, but it has never gone anywhere. Especially not when his sire is the one leaving all these marks on your throat.
“He seemed plenty preoccupied with that blonde,” you reply.
A half-smile creases the vampire’s usually stoic face. “Jealous, little one?”
“No,” you say. “Just observing.”
The grin remains as he holds out a hand in silent invitation and when you take it, you can’t help but wonder how those large, scarred hands would feel on your thighs, spreading you open…
The world spins and flips as Azriel shadow steps the two of you down into what they call the Den, the unlit corners of the ballroom where they can feed in near privacy. There’s no doors to lock, though there are several glamors in place to keep wandering eyes from getting suspicious.
Mor and a newly turned Emerie are already sharing a female on a couch in the corner, and the blonde winks at you as she sinks her fangs deeper into her prey.
On the opposite side of the Den, nursing a glass of whiskey under the light of the full moon peeking through the curtains, is Rhys. He looks like a god in this lighting, violet eyes glowing in the dimness. You can’t help but notice that he sits alone, his dance partner nowhere to be seen. While it’s never been discussed that you’re the only human he’s feeding on, a part of you is relieved to see that he hasn’t taken anyone else. It’s a strange sort of satisfaction, knowing there’s something in your blood that keeps him coming back again and again.
Violet eyes watch your every step forward with the intensity of a jungle cat on the hunt. “There you are, Darling,” he purrs. “I was looking for you.”
“Liar,” you tease.
He makes himself more comfortable in the large wing-backed chair, legs spread and you can’t decide if you want to climb in his lap or get on your knees for him more.
“Did you spook your dance partner?”
“No,” he says as he brings the whiskey back to his lips and takes a slow drink. “She was dull and she kept stepping on my toes.”
“You poor baby,” you croon and he grins as he sets the whiskey down on a small side table.
“I would have been spared if you hadn’t decided to be a wallflower tonight,” he replies, hand tapping at his thigh for an invitation for you to come sit. “What’s bothering you?”
The slit in your skirts makes moving them out of your way easy as you climb into his lap, knees bracketing his hips. Every time you think you’ll enjoy it less, but there is no feeling quite like this one, you could sit here forever. “I-”
Rhys presses his lips over a bruise on your neck.
“I was going to come down, but,” the words catch in your throat a bit, your cheeks flushed. “I think I should have worn something else.”
Slender fingers brush over your exposed skin making a shiver run down your spine. “Why would you do that?” He counters. “You look breathtaking. Doesn’t she, Az?”
You’ve almost forgotten the other vampire was still standing there, still watching in that silent, shadowy way of his. When you throw a glance at him over your shoulder, he’s standing with his hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed into the exposed bit of your thigh from where the dress is split.
“Absolutely sinful,” he says softly.
Now you’re really blushing. “I-I was hoping you’d like it,” you stammer. “I just… I don’t like when people are looking at me.”
“I do like it,” he says so lowly that heat begins to build in your core. “So much so that I had to stop myself from taking you against the railing over and over again.” Teeth scrape lightly over your skin, teasing, not quite tasting you yet.
“Az was thinking about it too,” he hums into your skin. “You should hear the things he thinks about you.”
“Rhys-” Azriel begins, the apology on his lips, but Rhys pulls away from your neck to motion him over.
“What do you think, little one, should we give him a little taste?” You’ve never been more aware of your own body than you are with Azriel at your back, and the firm planes of Rhys at your front.
You glance back and forth between them, at the tension that rolls off Azriel, at the hunger that chases your every motion in Rhys’s eyes. In your mind he says, “It’s your choice, Darling.”
“You-you won’t be mad?”
His laugh is a beautiful thing, even in your mind. “Azriel and I have shared many females. Cassian too. I enjoy it, as long as my partner does too. And I know that you’ve thought about him, it’s hard not to, but only if you really want to.”
You’ve been studying all of them: The way they hunt, the way they move, what separates them from humans and other vampires alike. Rhys is refined in his ability to hunt, uses his charm and his wits to bait prey into the Den; he makes feeding an art form, something graceful and dazzling, an allure only someone who’s done this for a long time can make possible. Cassian is messy, he likes to splatter blood when he feeds, and while he’s calculating and strategic in the initial hunt, he has no qualms getting dirty. Mor thrives in the dark corners of the ballroom, meeting in secret with her lovers because she does not trust people enough to bring a stranger into the Den. And Amren, well you’ve only met her once, and she’d traded some of her books for a mere drop of blood from your wrist before she disappeared again. But Azriel, you haven’t really figured out. He always hovers at the edge of the crowd, only speaks or feeds when he needs to, as if denying himself the pleasure the others chase will absolve him of whatever darkness lingers in his past. You know it’s there, have heard it hinted at, but no one will say it out loud. The more you try to learn about them, the more a mystery Azriel remains, and you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t curious to see how he feeds compared to Rhys.
“I do.”
And there is no judgment there. Unlike everyone else tonight. The freedom to choose, to want, is enough to make you toss your arms around his neck and lean in to kiss the tip of his nose. Anywhere else he might be regarded as a monster of the night, but here, like this, you’ve never felt safer.
Rhys presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “And who am I to deny my little pet anything?”
Azriel’s hands settle on your hips, that immortal strength never failing to make you feel fragile and small in their grip. It sends a shiver of delight through you; there’s no denying how much you love the freedom of handing over your power and knowing they won’t abuse it.
His warm breath fans your neck as he brings his lips to your exposed throat. “Been thinking about this since you arrived.”
Rhys nips at where your neck meets your collarbone, hands skimming your sides until he finds your breasts, nipples peaked through the thin fabric. “How would you like to taste her first?”
Teeth scrape over your pulse point, savoring the rapid beating of your heart. “Turn her around.”
They move you together, fingers digging into your hips as you're positioned with your back to Rhys’s chest, legs spread by his knees. Your skirts get caught, bunched up around your hips, baring most of your legs and you give a little squeak of surprise as you try to close them, to spare what’s left of your dignity, but there’s no room as Azriel kneels between both yours and Rhys’s legs.
Heat pools in your core, even as your cheeks heat in embarrassment. “Someone is going to see us!” You squeak, voice more shrill than you would have liked it to be. You want this, you want it more than you’ll ever allow yourself to say out loud, but there is a crowd nearby and even with the glamor in place, it is still a far more compromising position than you’ve ever been in. At least before, your skirts hid your coupling, but there’s no hiding like this, as Rhys loops an arm around your waist and sinks his fangs into your neck.
The shadows that leak from Azriel drift off his broad shoulders, shimmering and darkening, as if they’re absorbing the moonlight seeping through the window. “Not unless you want them to,” he says as those scared hands drag up your soft skin.
Your hips buck despite yourself, body aching to be touched; for more, more, more. The aphrodisiac in Rhys’s venom takes hold quickly, makes your whole body molten. The combination of pain and pleasure makes you close your eyes and lean your head back against Rhys’s shoulder.
“Good girl,” Rhys purrs into your mind so he doesn’t have to release his grip on your neck. “Just relax, let us take care of you.”
Azriel must be linked into your conversation, because he says in your mind, “There’s not much room for creatures like us in temples, but I’ll worship here just the same,” as his own fangs sink into the tender flesh of your inner thigh.
It’s a far more tender spot than you thought it would be, a whimper of pain escaping you, body rocking back into the hard planes of Rhys’s chest and the growing bulge in his pants to try and escape. Their combined grip on you keeps you from getting far, but that whimper turns into a moan as Rhys drags a hand down between your legs to give you some relief. He chuckles into your mind when he finds you’re not wearing any underthings, but the slit in your skirts had made you nervous that someone would see the lacy underthings that kept appearing in your drawers if you moved too fast.
“Fuck,” Azriel moans as he unlatches his fangs from your thigh, fingers playing in the bit of blood that trickles out the puncture wounds. “She’s so sweet!”
Rhys, never one to make a mess, laps at what escapes from the wounds he made at your throat before saying, “I told you she was.”
Hazel eyes narrow into the teasing strokes the other vampire is making between your legs, watching with rapt attention the way Rhys spreads you open as he licks your blood off his lips. Vampires, you’ve noticed, have a strange sort of stillness about them, they can become still as statues, unmoving, never blinking, it was still nerve wracking, especially now that you know that predatory stillness comes right before they pounce, and Azriel has that same look about him, right before he leans in and licks a stripe up your center.
Rhys chuckles in your ear as you moan and try one more time to squirm away from their dual ministrations, body overwhelmed as he curls a finger inside you and Azriel follows with his tongue.
You’re going to reach your high embarrassingly fast at this rate, especially when Rhys’s free hand slides your top to the side so he can roll a nipple between his fingers. You squeeze your eyes shut, one hand reaching behind you to tangle in Rhys’s hair, the other in Azriel’s to try and ground yourself. The intensity of both their venom in your bloodstream has heightened everything beyond what you’d already thought possible, your skin burning, coated in sweat from this alone. Their efforts are somehow too much and not enough and you’ve lost the presence of mind to tell which of their names you’re crying out first, it might be both of them.
Azriel feasts on you like a male starved, and the shadows not making a shield around the three of you writhe eagerly over your thighs, dusting your heated skin with cool touches that make you buck your hips as best you can against their master’s grip. Rhys adds a second finger, using your gathering wetness and Azriel’s spit to spread you open further, giving the other male more access to you, his nose brushing your clit, chin absolutely soaked in the mess you’re making. The move has you panting, stars blurring across your vision as an orgasm tears through you.
“Fuck,” you whimper, body shaking from your high.
Rhys peppers kisses along your neck and shoulders as Azriel pulls back, licking your release off his lips. “No wonder you’ve been hiding this one from the rest of us,” he says huskily. “I could spend all night like this.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, little one?” Rhys purrs in your ear, breath tickling your still flushed skin. Their venom hasn’t worn off yet, body still not satiated, still begging to be touched and claimed. There’s not a chance you can close your legs, the evidence of your still budding arousal leaking onto his pants.
“Please,” you whimper.
“Which one of us do you want first, hm?”
How are you supposed to choose? There are too many things you want and it’s all getting muddled in your head. “Both.”
It’s Azriel’s deep rumble of a laugh that skitters across your skin as he says, “You can’t take both of us in this body, little one.” Scarred hands skim your exposed thighs, fingers kneading into the bite marks that are quickly turning into a bruise. “Humans are so fragile.”
And damn do you certainly feel it like this, tucked between the two of them. They could so easily break you, so easily overpower you. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once.
“Want…” your cheeks heat, a blush crawling its way up your neck and Rhys runs his tongue over it with a chuckle.
“Tell us what you want, Darling.”
You shiver, despite the flush of your damp skin. “Want to taste you then.”
You watch with rapt attention as those hazel eyes widen, the golden ring thinning until there is nothing but pupil as he processes what you’re saying. Still, you grind yourself down on Rhys’s bulge as you reach for the laces on Azriel’s pants, hoping he gets the hint as well.
“Greedy little thing,” Azriel tuts, but he steps closer anyway, letting you figure out how to get the laces untied in the moonlight. “I don’t think you’ve properly trained your pet, Rhys.”
Rhys’s fingers dip into the tender flesh of your hips mercilessly as he grinds you back against his erection, a rumble of a moan echoing through his chest. “Don’t want this one trained,” he purrs. “They taste better when they’re wild.”
You manage to get the laces undone, hands shaking a bit when you realize what you’ve just gotten yourself into. Rhys is a lot on his own, Azriel is… bigger than you expected. A lot bigger, his cock heavy and erect against his stomach.
They must be having their own mental conversation, when you pause to consider how to even go about this, Azriel suddenly reaches out to grab you by the hair, pulling you forward as Rhys moves your skirts out of the way. Their movements are in perfect sync and you don’t know whether you should hiss from the sting of those large hands in your hair or moan as Rhys rubs the tip of his cock against your center. The sound that comes out of you is a little bit of both in the end.
“Are you sure about this?” Rhys inquires as if there could possibly be any thought in your head other than how much you need the both of them right now. Do they not share the same ache you feel? How are they not consumed by this thing that begs beneath your skin to be touched and soothed and filled?
You lean forward just enough to lick Azriel’s tip, catching a bead of pre-cum on your tongue as the male’s fingers tighten in your hair, a hiss escaping him. “Very sure.”
“Tap my thigh twice if it gets to be too much,” Rhys orders.
You nod your understanding as he slides slowly into you, letting you get adjusted to the feel of him from this angle. He’s deliberately slow, gliding in inch by inch, making your eyes roll back into your head, all your focus on the feel of him instead of tending to Az.
“I see she gets her greediness from you,” Azriel teases.
You have to brace yourself against Azriel’s hips as Rhys rocks your forward, chuckling. “Just because I said I’d share, doesn’t mean I’m not going to have my fill.”
Stars dance across your vision as he hits an angle inside you he hasn’t reached before, mouth falling open as pleasure licks its way up your spine.
Azriel grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him when all you want to do is squeeze your eyes shut under the pleasure. “Are you gonna put that pretty little mouth to use?”
You run your tongue over your lips, whimpering as Rhys settles fully inside you, “Mmhhmm,” is all you can manage to get out before he’s guiding you down to his leaking cock.
“Been thinking about this for a long time,” Az whispers. “Always wearing that pretty shade of lipstick that would look so good smeared across my cock.”
You swirl your tongue over his tip again and his hips jerk involuntarily. It’s a greedy sort of satisfaction you get in knowing that you can reduce a thousand year old vampire to this with just your tongue, and you want to see how much farther you can push him. Keeping a hand on his hips for balance, you use the other touch him, tracing a line down the underside of his shaft that has him hissing as the muscles in his abdomen tighten.
Rhys takes as much time sliding out of you as he had sliding in, setting a leisurely pace you know is to help you get comfortable with this setting. As tight as his own muscles are, you know he’s holding back, and you’re grateful for it, as you start to take Azriel in your mouth. It’s going to take time to get used to, you have to focus all your effort into breathing out your nose and slackening your jaw. There’s no way you’re going to be able to fit all of him.
“Just like that,” Az moans, using the hand in your hair to guide you down further.
“Look so pretty like this,” Rhys encourages as he trails soft kisses over your spine. He’s far more gentle with you than a vampire ought to be, and you can’t help but think he might be getting attached to you; a notion that would have sounded absurd weeks ago, but makes your heart stutter a little now.
“Feels so good,” you tell him mind to mind.
He slides back into you with a groan, just a little more forcefully than before, making your head bob down Azriel’s cock until he hits the back of your throat. Az moans louder than someone who is usually so stoic ought to and you have to release him for a second to catch your breath.
He gives you mere seconds before he’s hurriedly pulling you back, groaning like he can’t bear to not have your mouth around him anymore. Rhys sets his pace to match, giving you a rhythm to follow as you get a hand around the parts of Az you can’t get your mouth around.
This is a pleasure you didn’t know you needed; the way they both moan and pant over you has you rocking your hips back into Rhys, your hand pumping a little harder around Az. As much as you want them to ruin you, you want to do the same to them.
Rhys’s fangs scrape over your shoulder, fingers tightening into your hips in a move you know will leave bruises. He’s getting closer to the edge, all his praises whispered in pants against your skin.
Az throws his head back as he hits the back of your throat once, twice, then a third time, the muscles in his abdomen tightening with every thrust.
They’re both so close, you not far behind, especially when Rhys slips his hand between your legs again.
“Fuck,” Az whispers. With his head thrown back like that, eyes pinched shut, muscled body bathed in the moonlight, he looks every bit a god. And if his tongue between your legs counts as worship, then so should this as you take him as deep as you can without gagging, face a mess of spit and pre-cum.
“Gonna cum,” he warns.
Rhys’s thrusts are getting harder, the chair groaning beneath him as he fucks up into you. This is usually where he likes another taste of you, you’re used to the routine of it, ready for him to sink his fangs into your shoulder, though the force of it this time is different, as if he’s losing control, the bite sloppy, teeth scraping against your skin before they push in.
Your whole body tenses at the sensation of a thousand year old vampire losing a bit of his usual control, pleasure building white hot in your core. You want to see him a complete mess one of these days.
It’s your moan around his cock that pushes Azriel quickly over the edge, warm cum spurting in your mouth before he can pull away from you. Azriel, quite, broody Azriel groans and pants as he cums, the sound like music to your ears as you drink him down. His hand still hasn’t left your hair, now scrapping gently against your scalp as you release him with a pop that turns into a squeal as Rhys bites down on your shoulder a second time.
One more thrust, then a second before your own release barrels through you, white hot in the buzz of sensations swirling around your head. Your own release chases Rhys into his and he jerks forward with a cry as he spills inside you.
You fall back against his chest as you come down from your high, body trembling, breath escaping in pants.
Azriel reaches out and wipes a bit of the mess he made on your chin with his thumb, muttering, “Beautiful.”
Still catching his breath, Rhys presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek, and judging by the wetness on his lips you think there might still be some blood on them, but you’re too blissed out to care.
“Did so well,” he praises in your ear, voice still low and husky.
You raise a hand to card your fingers through his hair, eyes drifting shut, beyond satiated. If someone had told you this would have happened because you’d decided to sneak into a party and dance with a stranger, you wouldn’t have believed them in the slightest, but now, it doesn’t matter how long it takes for him to fulfill his end of the bargain. There are new freedoms to be found still, new pleasures to experience. You know things will be different once he turns you, and you’re not ready to feel so different yet. Right now, you like this thing between you. It’s good. Freeing.
“I’m glad I met you,” you admit softly.
“How very human of you to say,” Azriel teases as he fixes his pants. Despite his words, once he’s done, he still leans down to kiss your forehead.
“You like that I’m human,” you counter.
Rhys manages to get you repositioned so he can stand and carry you upstairs to his room, where you know a warm bath will be waiting for the two of you. “That we do, little one,” he purrs. “There’s still so much more to explore before you turn.”
You watch on with barely concealed distain as your father fumbles before the High Lord, allowing himself too much leeway on the invisible leash, consequently choking when it’s pulled taut. Probably another jab at the High Lord’s mate. His High Lady.
How obnoxious.
Away in an alcove, your mother watches on with equal distaste, enough to have you raising the glass to your mouth to conceal your grin. If only she wasn’t so awful.
As if sensing your lingering gaze, she turns her sharp, kohl-lined eyes in your direction. The smile vanishes in the blink of an eye, sipping slowly as you raise a brow. Her own narrow, flicking to the duo hidden in the shadows a little way from the foot of the dais, darkness coming alive in that corner.
You idly drag your gaze back to your mother’s, taking an intentionally deep sip from your drink. Her brows draw together in cold warning, contempt tightening her features at your indolence, but you break the connection and turn to the corner she’d ordered you to. Holding the Shadowsinger…and the Morrigan.
Softer than a summer’s breeze, quieter than a concealed hunter, you make your way into the darkness, crafting together a smile fitting of your court. “Sister,” you greet, sweeping over her analytically, picking out the thrum of waves that are quietly resonating from her outline, slowly deciphering them, pulling them apart to understand her rhythm. “Spymaster.” You hold still as their attention openly lands on you, taking you in swiftly, checking a mental list no doubt. An instinct installed in them from a young age, but one you have, too.
“How lovely of you to join us,” Mor drawls, lips sharpened into a cutting smile, holding her drink elegantly between two slim fingers, nails dipped in blood-red varnish. You offer her a cool smile in return, “it took me some time to find you. I should have known you’d both be lurking in the shadows somewhere.”
“It’s hard not to in a place like this,” Mor replies, eyes glinting as she gestures to the dimly lit room. Your own smile sharpens to a grin, preparing to drink as you raise the glass to your mouth. “And…Velaris, was it? Is it much better there?”
Her eyes flinch, exterior remaining calm and cool, unruffled except for the tell-tale truth of her gaze. The stuttering pulse of the air around her, fluttering in a way she can convince her heart not to. All for nothing, in the face of your magic. You take a sip of your drink, making a show of enjoying her resentful silence, the anger that’s tucked in the narrowing of her brows.
“It really would be lovely to visit sometimes,” you muse, watching how the air distorts with the gradual irritation of her emotion, still kept under lock and key in her features. Really, without your magic you’d be utterly clueless. “After all,” you continue, “it’s always you coming over to us. It would be rude not to return the favour. We can’t have our High Lord and lady constantly being the ones to put in the effort.”
“And are those your own wishes or whispers you’ve caught in hallways?”
You break your gaze with Morrigan, turning at last to meet the cold, unruffled eyes of the shadowsinger, looking as if he were carved from stone. So fitting to the Hewn City.
“Most of the rooms are warded,” you reply smoothly, “it would take some effort to overhear such a private conversation.” You take another calm sip of your drink. “But maybe I have.”
They aren’t as foolish as to exchange glances with one another, not even a shift in attention, but you know they mark the words carefully.
“Is there a spot you favour, Mor?” You ask, returning your attention to the female you share blood with. Between the two of them, her waves are the most unsteady. The only one who has ties to this place, who has memories that run as deep as the cave systems tunnelled within. “There must be much more choice on the outside. More people about, more places to wander, more fresh air to enjoy,” you muse, watching her from over the rim of your glass. The growing agitation of her waves. “Is the sun still blinding when you emerge from our darkness, Mor?”
Power thunders through the room, the very ground shaking and you whip around along with a few hundred other bodies in time to see a figure knelt on the stone floor before the dais. Your blood turns to ice, skin freezing over with fear at the intensity of the overwhelmingly dark power, how it suffocates the room, leeching the hall of air until every breath feels empty no matter how deeply you inhale.
Subconsciously you take a small step back, legs feeling unsteady though you force yourself to hold fast, to continue hauling air into your lungs no matter how pointless it feels. There are too many figures now crowded before you to see what’s going on, who it is that’s being punished for whatever transgression they committed, but you can hear the barely muffled sobs, the pained whimpers of fear rising from throughout the room. The hall, once smelling of berry wine and roasted meat sprinkled with herbs, is now contaminated with an edge of terror, sharp and tangy, enough to put you off eating for the rest of the night.
Through your peripherals you watch as Morrigan slinks off into the shadow, aiming to be closer to the dais, ready to pounce given the chance. It’s enough to set any sane person on edge.
Something brushes against your shoulder blades, and your spine turns rigid, the softest whisper of shadow pushing you upright again. A moment later it vanishes, hardly there for a second but enough to return the warmth to your blood, the colour to your skin. Your heart still thunders against your ribs, but you find no shame in it—not before the sheer display of power that’s inevitably brought out to remind your court of its place. At his feet.
A flicker of resentment stirs in your chest, brows pulling together over your eyes, jaw wound tight as you fix your gaze upon the raised thrones, high enough to survey the revelry—and to disrupt it at their pleasure.
A cold shadow again brushes your skin, but this time on your upper arm, a swift flick to get your attention and you turn in time to see him shift toward one of the hallways, much darker than usual. An invitation to follow. Though maybe by the way it wraps around your wrist, giving a firm tug, it might be more of an order.
With a last glance at the crowd, enraptured by the show of pain, feeding off another’s downfall and gleeful it’s not their own, you silently follow after him, stepping deeper into the concentrated depth of darkness that seems to constantly surround him.
It would probably serve as more of a threat if you hadn’t been born into shadow like his.
————
“What do you want?” You ask upon locking the door, having chosen a room you know to be warded against eavesdroppers.
“How much are you able to hear through passing conversation?” It’s a question, but one he’s phrased as a quiet demand, leaving little room for argument. You regard him warily, before walking over to the half circle of plush chairs arranged openly around a constantly lit fireplace, rugs on the floor the colour of blood and oranges. “I hear what I hear,” you reply cryptically, setting down into one of the chairs, secretly grateful you no longer have to stand, legs still feeling a little wobbly. The heels are also a little uncomfortable, but it’s a familiar pain, so one you know how to manage.
“Curious about some goings on, Shadowsinger?”
His features remain neutral, shadows thick as they roll from his shoulders, swirling between the great wings that loom at his back, cutting and intimidating figure. Maybe he would be scary if you didn’t know how soft his hands could be. How gentle. Your skin aches for another set of touches, to refresh the memory, to remind yourself of the sensation. To remind yourself people can be kind, even in a world of blood and stone.
“I would have thought you’d be eager to share information,” he says neutrally, alluding to the other exchanges you’ve had. Mutual benefits being reaped in private. “And I would have thought you’d have no need for extra intel,” you reply, keeping your attention on him as the flame from the fire is cast through the open room, light reflecting warmly from the large mirror that’s mounted atop the mantel. Sweet thing.
“I know what you want,” he reminds lowly, “and you know what I want. I’m sure you can see how this would be advantageous to both parties.” The air around him remains still and unbothered, calm and steady as usual. “You’re proposing this be a mutual exchange?” You specify. “Something regular?”
“Regular, but not frequent.”
“How often, then?” You ask, brows narrowing. Things in your court are delicate at best, volatile at worst. Casually overhearing tidbits is no skin off your back, but making the effort to hear things of use…especially information that might be sensitive, intel that if acted on could be traced back to you. He has no obligation to look out for you either, if things went south. No reason to help you out unless it would benefit him.
“I couldn’t say,” he replies idly. “Maybe days apart, maybe years. Whenever I seek details perhaps only you can find.”
“I’d rather not be subject to such a mercurial agreement,” you say dryly. “If you’re seeking particulars, I can work with that, but without a direction is too much.”
“What sort of things do you have in mind for particulars?” He asks, the air faintly simmering around him. “And give away the small advantage that I have? I think not.”
“Very well,” he replies, as if having expected the small resistance, “what do you know about your father’s intentions for Velaris?”
Your brows narrow, running your gaze over him, hands mostly concealed in shadow. “How much are you willing to give for that?”
“How much do you want?” He returns, evading the question. Neither of you break the connection, staring each other down though the focus isn’t malicious. More wary—slightly curious. Unsure of this possible development.
“I’ve had no time to thoroughly look into that specific topic,” you start cautiously, angling your head, “so I’ll settle for the usual amount.”
“How much do you have?”
“Some,” you reply vaguely. Again that slight tension rises, the potential to turn into something terse, but then the two of you remember there’s no underlying violence, and settle back to relatively normal behaviour. Not quite at ease, though.
He nods his head for you to start, but you pause, looking him over once more. Letting him know you aren’t entirely at his disposal. You still hold the power to withhold what he’s after. He gives no sign of impatience, nor irritation, just bland neutrality. So you lean back into the plush warmth of the chair, inclined to pull your legs up to your chest, but that would give the illusion of weakness, of mediocrity. But maybe it would be better for him to think less of you, so you follow through with your original wish, tucking yourself into a deep corner of the cushion.
“Some things I’m able to hear through simply being in the right place at the right time, more on the side of coincidence than anything intended. Snippets of conversation people are too lazy to think to cover, or sometimes just not important enough for secrecy,” you begin, and he leans back into the wall slightly, more so that his shadows are within reasonable distance than for comfort. It’s easier to slip into darkness when you’re near a corner than the middle of a room, after all.
“Other times, there are pieces one can only have the chance to overhear depending on who they are. As his daughter I’m allowed more access than most to various rooms—some I doubt even my sister knows exist, having lacked the agency to seek them out.” Like before, he makes no external shift of his expression, no obvious tell to his emotions, but the air shifts around him, as if disturbed by something. Like how the colours above flames twist and distort as heat ripples up.
“Then, there are the things that require somehow being able to listen through walls, through wards that are spun thicker than wool and tighter than chainlink armour,” you say, catching the hint of interest in the far depths of his hazel eyes, and you wonder if you’re granted access to that piece of him through his own will or whether it’s a side effect of having foraged so deep inside of his mind you reached the bones of his soul. Tattered, but remaining strong. “Those, are the pieces I think you’d be interested in. Correct?”
His mask shifts a little, allowing his brows to dip as he takes on what you’ve said. “You know a way to listen through wards?” He asks, eyes flicking to the perimeters of the room. “I highly doubt anyone else would be able to, Shadowsinger,” you reply. “I highly doubt you’d tell me if they could, were you acting on your parent’s behalf.”
“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not.”
Another tense silence passes between you, tension rising then fading, simmering away, like a pot taken off the boil.
“You already know I preside over my father’s hoard of antiquities. Ancient things with nasty spells wrapped around them, sometimes even imbued with malice themselves, which is what makes them so dangerous, as I’m sure you’re aware.” The air flickers around him, and you smile faintly. “What did end up happening to that mirror?”
“That’s none of your concern,” he replies shortly.
“I hope you put it to good use.”
His brows narrow at your tone, more clipped than he’s ever heard it. Verging on stern.
“Kier’s trove?” He reminds, still keeping to the shadows. A smile twinkles in your eyes, a little menacing. “There are all sorts of things in there—things that he really should be making more use of,” you answer wryly. The Shadowsinger remains quiet, inviting you to continue, and you settle more comfortably into the armchair. “You’d be surprised how useful some of the items in there are, once you known how to use them properly.”
“The Veritas?” He asks.
“Can repeat moments from memory, but can also record events as they happen, stored away in a secret pocket of time,” you smile, and wariness threads through his bones. “There were some interesting new moments captured within it when your returned that orb, that I doubt you knew could be accessed by me—or anyone, for that matter, if they knew how.”
“What are you talking about?” Azriel mutters lowly, shadows flickering at his back, agitation thickening in the air as the waves around him stutter.
“It’s a rather effective way of peering into someone else’s life,” you muse, “like a spyglass. I’m sure you would love to know how it works. It’s a shame the Veritas is so precious, or it would be a handy thing to leave lying about in your enemies’ rooms—see what they get up to behind closed doors.”
“What did you see?”
“Did I say that I saw?”
“It’s unwise to play games you don’t understand the rules of.”
“And here I thought we were on the same side, now you’re threatening me?”
“We have an agreement. Do not mistake that for sharing a side.”
“But we have a mutual enemy, doesn’t that put us exactly there?”
He pauses, and you watch as the shadows stretch along the walls, much further than they ought to be capable of. “I have no guarantee you aren’t under Kier’s thumb,” he says lowly, “though I suppose a quick look from our High Lord could sort that out.”
“Funny, I didn’t get the impression he would do something like that. Just going off how you all acted in the presence of the mortal queens.”
“So you did look.”
“I was curious,” you reason, smiling faintly.
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“But satisfaction brought it back,” you remind, still smiling, more feline than before. “How do you think I came to know so much about my father’s trove? A comprehensive manual listing every little detail for every little object?”
“You’d have to be insane to meddle with age-old artefacts.”
“Or just bored to tears,” you counter. “So little happens down here, can you blame me?”
“So you decided to go and poke at ancient relics? Some that date back to prerecorded history?”
“And now you get to share in all the knowledge I’ve acquired, isn’t that wonderful. I’d have thought you’d be flying to the moon and back at getting to expand your web of informants.”
He stares at you silently, an unreadable look on his lovely face. “I’m assuming you won’t freely hand over that information, though.” You smile faintly, choosing to remain quiet. “And how much does your father know about the objects in his possession?” Azriel asks carefully.
“About the same as you do, probably.”
“Why have you chosen to keep it from him?” He inquires, hazel eyes more alert than usual. It seems you’ve successfully piqued his interest. “Surely handing over even fractions of everything you supposedly know would put you in his favour.”
“And what benefits would I get from being in his favour?” You return, amusement fading.
Azriel angles his head, the light from the fire warming the smooth planes of his features. “You tell me.”
“I think I’ve told you quite enough,” you reply lowly, “pay up.”
Something glints in his hazel eyes, the edges of his mouth curving ever so slightly, before he’s stepping back into the shadow, swallowing him whole. You bolt up in the chair, spine straightening as you lean over the arm, but he’s already vanished. Gotten out. Left you alone within the heavy stone room that no amount of fire is able to truly warm.
Your mask slips away, brows curving slightly, lips parting in quiet sorrow as a soft breath has your shoulders sloping with despondency.
Scar-roughened hands slip gently beneath your jaw, softly but firmly guiding you to lean back against the chair, tipping your chin slightly to gaze into deep hazel, the firelight refracting through the array of colours. His fingers run along the bone, raising to the spot beneath your pointed ear as he holds you still, keeping enough distance between his touch and your throat for you to ease. You may crave comfort in the form of physical connection, but the feeling of hands around your neck…never again.
“You could have just walked over,” you manage softly, staring up at him, tall enough to lean over the top of the large armchair. “I could have,” he agrees, “but you needed a reminder of your codependency.”
Your brows furrow, but he lightly applies pressure to the soft hollow on the underside of your mouth, and you lean back into the seat, eyes content to close. It’s such a rare gift, you can’t bring yourself to deny yourself of it from any angle. You need to let the touch sink into your skin, to memorise how it feels, how the warmth seeps in and remains for a little without the stinging pain of leather, or the harsh bite of metal.
His fingers trace up the arch of your ear, light as feathers as you raise into the touch, so desperately seeking more. Your breathing settles into a steady rhythm, deepening with surprising swiftness, falling into the heat of his hands as they soothe your senses.
“What are your father’s intentions for Velaris,” he murmurs quietly, sliding the palm of his right hand fully beneath your jaw, letting the heat sink in, marking how your breathing stutters ever so slightly. “He’s only mentioned it a few times,” you mumble, basking in the heaven of his hands. “What has he said?” He prompts, raising his left palm to brush hair back from your cheek, to stroke over the crown of your head, lulling you into spilling more secrets. “He’s said it’ll be a chance to expand his reach,” you mumble, “something about buying up precious commodities and reselling them elsewhere, to slowly decrease trade…I couldn’t hear all of it…”
Azriel’s brow narrows at the revelation, making a mental note to report that back to Rhys. “What else?” He asks, hands both sliding beneath your jaw, cupping it lightly as his thumbs slowly drag over the skin just below your cheek bones, pressing hotly into the hinges, the muscle making your eyelids flutter at the slightly ticklish sensation. “Something about…being able to keep an eye on Mor… Knowing she wouldn’t like sharing her home with them,” you answer wearily, softening beneath fatigue and the soothing touches. “Reminding her she can’t escape.”
“And what about Kier’s trove,” he pushes, shadows pushing into the chair with you, and you shudder lightly, fingers trembling. He can hear the flutter of your pulse, see how your lips have parted to hand over the information for a few more seconds. “He keeps it locked away,” you murmur in answer, “the really precious things, at least.”
“What can they do?”
“I…” You trail off, body losing its tension, muscles relaxing into the encompassing warmth. “I can’t tell you.”
“Yes you can,” he whispers, hand again shifting to stroke against your hair—so softly, so sweetly. Not even the slightest suggestion of pain in his touch. So cruel.
But your eyes slide open, pupils wide and blown out, readjusting swiftly to the dim light of the room. “I think that’s enough for this time,” you manage quietly, tone shaky, “can’t have you bleeding me dry in one go.”
Azriel’s brow narrows, but then he’s pulling away, your skin already feeling cooler without the comfort of his touch and shadows.
“Keep an ear out for Velaris,” he instructs, hands settling over the top of the seat so you have to remain looking upward. Azriel considers mentioning also keeping an eye out for Eris, but he’ll start you off with one task. See how you manage it, before guiding your attention to other areas of your court.
“And what should I do once I acquire more?” You ask, and he notes the certainty in your tone. As if you somehow have a guarantee you’ll be able to discover more. Maybe there really are some dangerous things in Kier’s trove, thankfully left unknown to him. For now.
“I will find you,” he replies shortly, at last stepping back from the seat, shifting to his shadowy corner. “You stay focused on one thing at a time.”
“Any artefacts you want to know more about?” You ask, and he can hear the mirth in your voice without having to see your expression.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” he reminds, leaning against the wall. “This agreement only works if you’re alive.”
“And in this world,” you add, a touch quieter than before. He doesn’t like how lightly you speak about meddling with those objects—can only hope that you of all people will know when you’re about to take a step too far.
He doesn’t reply, simply looking you over one last time before vanishing into the darkness. Leaving you to ponder the new developments.
And how much longer you can take before having to return to the great hall. Feet still aching.
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Hi! I don't know if you'd know if this is okay to do but I'm trying to find a fic? It's a Azriel x reader, readers pregnant but doesn't tell az, because he neglected her as a mate and when eh found out he got pissed off. I remember reader had a blanket on and he was like "take it off" and then had taken the blanket off her himself!
If you know what the fic is id appreciate it if not that's okay!
Hey! It’s totally fine to drop in here for anything, so don’t worry about it!
Sadly, I haven’t read that one, but if anyone else has, feel free to comment it or pop into the asks if you want to be anonymous!
After reading your beautiful fluff fics I ran to the masterlist to get more but imagine my delight when I found the gorgeously filthy smut 😂
I love your writing so much!! You're officially one of my favorite fan fic writers now 💕
Yeahhh, there’s quite a lot of smut on here… 😅
Please do make sure to read warnings on the fics, especially ones marked with [***] because those are the darker ones that might contain triggering subjects!!
Anyway, as long as you’re careful with yourself, enjoy to your heart’s content!!
