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solxamber · 2 months ago

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Betraying the Gods in Three Easy Steps || Malleus Draconia

Step 1: Befriend the Demon King.

Step 2: Fall in love.

Step 3: Quit your hero job.

The first thing you learned upon being chosen as the hero was that the gods were, in fact, morons.

This revelation came to you as you stood in their grand celestial court, bathed in holy light, staring at the pantheon of divine beings who had just bestowed upon you a sword that actively whispered threats into your ear.

"Go forth, O Chosen One," boomed the god of war, his six eyes burning with sacred fire. "You must slay the Demon King who lurks in his cursed lair atop the Black Hills!"

You shifted your weight and cleared your throat. "Okay, so... question. Just a tiny one. What, exactly, has the Demon King done?"

The gods exchanged glances.

"He is evil," the goddess of fate offered.

"Uh-huh. Examples?"

"He... exists," the god of light said, waving a golden hand vaguely.

There was an awkward silence. You rubbed your temples. "Right. But, like, has he pillaged villages? Enslaved kingdoms? Kicked a puppy?"

"He has refused to die despite our many attempts to kill him," the god of judgment said gravely.

You squinted. "So you're mad that he’s alive."

"YES," they all said in unison.

Fantastic. You had been chosen to carry out a divine grudge match.

Still, you weren’t in any position to argue. The gods had given you a bunch of ridiculously overpowered artifacts, including a holy sword, an indestructible shield, and a cloak that supposedly made you invisible but mostly just made you look like a very blurry ghost. They also kind of expected you to die like all the previous heroes, but that was a problem for later.

So here you were, standing at the edge of the Black Hills, staring up at the Demon King’s lair—a suspiciously well-maintained castle that looked less like a fortress of darkness and more like the summer home of someone who enjoyed gardening.

This whole thing reeked of bureaucracy.

With a deep sigh, you tightened your grip on your murderously sentient sword and marched forward, fully prepared to commit deicide if this entire mission turned out to be as dumb as you suspected.

You had braced yourself for a dark, ominous fortress filled with twisted creatures, rivers of lava, and at least one chandelier made of bones. Instead, you walked into what could only be described as a cozy study.

The room was warm, lit by a fireplace that crackled gently in the corner. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, filled with neatly arranged tomes, some of which looked suspiciously like romance novels. A tea set rested on the table, next to an open book. And sitting in an armchair, casually flipping through the pages, was a man.

A very tall, very elegant man with sharp green eyes and black horns curling from his head.

He blinked at you, clearly just as surprised as you were. "Oh," he said. "Hello."

You stared at him. "Uh. Hi?"

There was a long pause. He looked at your very dramatic hero attire, then at the glimmering, divinely blessed sword in your hand, then back at you. "I assume you’re here for a reason?"

You shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, so, the gods sent me to kill the Demon King, but like… lowkey? I don’t know what he looks like."

The man nodded, as if this was a completely reasonable statement. "I see." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Would you like some tea?"

You squinted at him. "I feel like you’re not taking this whole ‘assassination attempt’ thing very seriously."

"Should I?" he asked, pouring tea into a cup with unnerving grace. "You don't seem particularly invested in it yourself."

You couldn't exactly argue with that, so you sat down, placing your god-blessed weapon awkwardly on your lap. The man slid a cup toward you. The tea smelled… nice. Suspiciously nice. You sniffed it. "This isn’t, like, drugged or cursed, is it?"

He looked amused. "Only if you consider chamomile a powerful sedative."

You took a cautious sip. It was delicious.

"So," he said, leaning his chin on his hand. "Tell me about the outside world. It’s been a while since I last left these hills."

You shrugged. "Nothing much. The gods are idiots, as usual."

His lips curled in interest. "Oh?"

You leaned forward conspiratorially. "Okay, so get this. When they summoned me, they gave me this holy sword, right?" You tapped the weapon resting on your lap. "Only problem? It won’t shut up. The gods literally forgot to turn off its voice function, so now it just screams battle cries at all hours of the day. I had to wrap it in three layers of cloth just to get some sleep."

He let out a chuckle, eyes gleaming. "That is… incredible."

"Right? And that’s not even the worst part. The god of wisdom—actual title, by the way—accidentally set fire to their own temple last year because they miscalculated a lightning spell. They blamed it on ‘mystical forces’ but everyone knows they just got their math wrong."

The man—who, now that you were really looking at him, was ridiculously attractive in a dark-and-mysterious way—laughed. It was a rich, deep sound, the kind of laugh that made you feel like you’d just told the best joke in the world.

You grinned, feeling oddly comfortable. "Oh, and don’t even get me started on the god of fate. She got into a brawl with the god of harvest because she made a prophecy that all the wheat fields would burn down, and then the god of harvest was like, ‘You know that’s literally my job, right?’ and cursed her with hay fever. Now she sneezes every time she tries to predict the future."

Your new tea-drinking companion actually had to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter.

You took another sip of tea, feeling very proud of yourself. "Anyway," you said, stretching your arms. "By the way, have you seen the Demon King? Because, like, technically, I’m still supposed to be doing that job."

The man calmly pointed to himself.

You stared at him.

He stared back.

You blinked. "I'm sorry. What."

"Malleus Draconia," he said, setting his teacup down with the kind of elegance that made you feel like an unwashed peasant. "And you are?"

You were still reeling from the realization that you had spent the last half hour drinking tea with the exact person you were supposed to kill, so it took you a second to answer. You introduce yourself. "Hero chosen by the gods. Here to, you know…" You made a vague stabbing motion.

Malleus nodded, completely unfazed. "Ah. Yes. That would explain the weaponry." He glanced at your holy sword, which had mercifully remained silent for the past few minutes. "Though, I must say, you don’t seem particularly enthusiastic about your mission."

You sighed and set your cup down. "Yeah, well. I don’t really get why the gods have it out for you. I mean, do you actually do evil stuff? Are you stealing souls? Raising the dead? Kicking puppies?"

Malleus tilted his head, considering. "No, no, and—well, I suppose there was one incident with a puppy, but in my defense, I was trying to return it to its owner, and it misunderstood my intentions."

"That’s a really vague way to say 'I accidentally terrified it.'"

He sipped his tea, saying nothing.

You squinted at him. "So you’re telling me the gods declared a holy crusade against you for… what? Vibes?"

Malleus shrugged. "I assume so. They don’t seem to like my existence very much."

"Wow. Must be nice not giving a shit."

"It is quite freeing," he agreed. "Would you like a tour?"

You blinked. "A tour? Of your evil lair?"

"My home," he corrected, as if you were the unreasonable one. "I assume you have never seen it before."

"You assume correctly." You rubbed your chin. "Eh. What the hell. Show me around, mighty Demon King."

And so, instead of assassinating him, you spent the next hour wandering through the halls of his "evil lair" (read: very fancy castle), learning about his book collection, admiring the admittedly cool-looking stained-glass windows, and getting distracted by a particularly fluffy cat lounging on one of the rugs.

Somewhere along the way, you had fallen into easy conversation, sharing more absurd stories about the gods’ incompetence while Malleus listened with increasing amusement. You barely even noticed how natural it felt, how quickly you forgot the whole "mortal enemies" thing.

It wasn’t until you were about to leave that you remembered why you had come in the first place.

"Ah, right," you said, gripping the hilt of your holy sword. "The whole… uh, slaying thing."

Malleus lifted an eyebrow.

You exhaled and held the sword out to him. "Here. Take this."

He looked at you, then at the sword, then back at you. "You are giving me your divine weapon?"

"Look, man, I don’t know if you can tell, but I am very bad at this job."

Malleus took the sword, examining it with mild curiosity. The moment his fingers curled around the hilt, the weapon, which had remained blissfully quiet all day, suddenly came to life.

"FOUL BEAST! UNHAND ME AT ONCE—"

Malleus flicked his wrist, and the sword immediately went silent.

You gaped at him. "You can do that?!"

He hummed. "It appears so."

You put your hands on your hips. "You know what? Yeah. You can keep it. I don’t want it anymore."

Malleus smiled. "How generous of you."

You waved him off and turned toward the exit. "Anyway, this has been fun and all, but I should probably get going before the gods smite me for treason. I’ll, uh… I’ll get the job done next time."

Malleus watched you with that same unreadable expression, something like quiet amusement playing at the edges of his lips. "Of course. Next time."

You nodded, totally believing yourself, and left.

The gods were getting suspicious.

You could tell by the way they kept summoning you more frequently, their celestial faces lined with divine skepticism, their glowing, omnipotent eyes narrowing just a little more each time you gave your mission report.

So you did what any responsible, chosen-by-the-heavens hero would do: you doubled down on the lies.

“I’m gathering intel on the enemy.”

A few gods murmured in approval, nodding at your strategic foresight.

(The truth? You had spent the last four days sprawled across an absolutely sinful couch in Malleus’s absurdly cozy castle, debating whether a dragon could, theoretically, play the lute. Malleus had very strong opinions about claw dexterity and string tension. You were just trying to figure out how to smuggle the couch home.)

“I need to study his weaknesses.”

More nods. One god even stroked their beard, looking impressed.

(The reality? You were currently studying how many cookies you could consume before he started looking mildly concerned for your well-being. The number was high. Concerningly high. You were probably committing a sin against your own digestive system, but that was Future You’s problem.)

“He’s probably planning something evil, so I need to keep an eye on him.”

Now the gods were practically glowing with approval. One clapped you on the back, nearly knocking you off your feet.

(Meanwhile, in the demon king’s lair, Malleus was sitting in his massive library, sipping tea like a distinguished nobleman who had never even considered jaywalking, much less world domination. At one point, he sighed dramatically and looked out the window, the very picture of a wistful poet pondering the meaning of life. You had watched him do this for ten whole minutes, waiting for a sign of villainy. Nothing. The man was the least demonic demon king you had ever seen.)

The gods, thoroughly convinced that you were hard at work, dismissed you with a vague warning to “stay vigilant” and “not fall for any demonic tricks.”

You barely made it back to the castle before collapsing onto your new favorite couch with a groan. “They think I’m doing such a good job,” you mumbled, stuffing another cookie into your mouth. “I could probably ask for a raise.”

Malleus looked up from his book, amusement dancing in his emerald eyes. “A raise? What exactly would they be paying you for?”

“For my noble heroism,” you said around a mouthful of cookie. “My unwavering dedication. My strategic mind. My—” You gestured vaguely. “—efforts.”

Malleus hummed, setting his book aside. “Ah, yes. Your valiant efforts. Lounging on my furniture. Eating my desserts. Entertaining me with tales of divine incompetence.”

You wagged a finger at him. “You say that like it isn’t an important job.”

He smirked. “Oh, I quite enjoy your company. But I do wonder how long you plan to keep up this charade.”

“As long as I can,” you said without hesitation, grabbing another cookie. “At this point, I think I deserve an award for Best Hero in the Field of Procrastination.”

Malleus chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you with what was definitely, absolutely, 100% not fondness. Probably. “Indeed.”

Getting Malleus out of his lair was easier than expected. Getting him to wear the disguise, however, was a battle of wills.

“It is absurd,” he said flatly, staring at the comically large hat in your hands.

“Absurdly effective,” you countered.

“It looks like it belongs to a—”

“Fashion icon?”

“A cursed scarecrow,” he finished, unimpressed.

“Okay, rude. But listen, if you walk into town looking like that—” you gestured vaguely at his horns, “—people will either think you're about to declare war or host a very dramatic poetry reading. The hat helps.”

Malleus gave you a long, contemplative look, then, to your eternal delight, sighed and took the hat. It sat atop his head with the solemn dignity of a royal crown, though the sheer size of it made him look like he was about to start selling potions out of a roadside wagon.

“Very well,” he declared. “Let us proceed.”

Thus began the grand adventure of sneaking the Demon King into town.

Turns out, no one even noticed.

Which, to be fair, was kind of expected. This was a town where a man once tried to pay his taxes in live chickens and where the local bard wore sunglasses at night “because it added to his mystique.” Some guy in a huge hat? Not even in the top ten weirdest things people had seen this week.

Still, you felt an odd sense of pride as you dragged Malleus through the bustling streets. The Demon King, who had spent untold centuries isolated in his ominous gothic estate, was now watching a juggler toss flaming batons while a street vendor tried to sell you “cursed amulets” that were clearly just painted rocks.

He was fascinated.

His first stop was the bakery, where he became personally and spiritually invested in the concept of croissants.

“These are quite remarkable,” he murmured, carefully inspecting the flaky layers. “It is as if the very essence of light and air has been woven into dough.”

“You’re making it sound way fancier than it is,” you snorted. “It’s just bread.”

“A divine bread,” he corrected.

“You’re literally a demon.”

“I can still appreciate divinity when I taste it.”

Next, you took him to the bookstore, where he spent an unreasonable amount of time debating which tomes to purchase. At one point, you caught him flipping through something called One Hundred and One Curses to Ensure Your Enemies Remember You Fondly, which felt both deeply specific and incredibly on-brand.

While he was distracted by a book of poetry so dramatic it might as well have been personally written for him, you slipped away for a moment. A nearby flower stall caught your eye, and on impulse, you picked up a delicate bloom, its color strikingly similar to Malleus’s eyes.

You returned just as he was still deep in thought over which book to buy. Without a second thought, you reached up and tucked the flower behind his ear.

Malleus froze.

His expression didn’t change immediately—he just stared at you, his usual unreadable gaze flickering with something… complicated. His fingers hesitantly brushed against the petals, and for a moment, he looked genuinely baffled, as if no one had ever done something like this before.

You grinned at him. “Looks good on you, Your Evilness.”

Malleus exhaled a short, amused huff. “I must admit, I do not often receive accessories from my sworn enemies.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” you said, already dragging him towards the next store. “Now come on, I still need to introduce you to the single greatest achievement of human civilization.”

He tilted his head, intrigue sparking in his expression. “Oh?”

“Fried food.”

For the first time in centuries, the Demon King of Darkness, Terror of the Gods, Eternal Wielder of Unholy Power… was genuinely excited.

You were not bringing Malleus more books because you liked him. Obviously. That would be ridiculous. You were simply executing a strategic maneuver—an information-gathering mission, if you will. The more books he had, the more he would talk, and the more he talked, the more you learned.

This was all very professional. A tactical decision. Absolutely nothing to do with the way his eyes lit up whenever you brought him something new or the fact that you may or may not have started associating his lair with peace instead of doom.

So, with arms full of books that were definitely not handpicked to match his interests (including one on celestial phenomena, which was coincidental and not an attempt to make him happy), you strolled into his lair like you owned the place.

And that was when you met him.

Lilia Vanrouge.

You knew the name. You’d heard it whispered in the temples, spoken with the kind of reverence usually reserved for plagues and natural disasters. The Scourge of the Battlefield. The War Demon. The Dark General Who Consumed Kingdoms Whole.

You had also heard it from Malleus, who described him as eccentric, mischievous, and one of the few people he respected.

And the moment you laid eyes on him, you realized once again that the gods were complete and utter morons.

Because standing before you was not a nightmarish harbinger of destruction. No, the man currently floating upside down in the air, cheerfully snacking on something, looked more like an impish uncle who would absolutely teach children how to commit tax fraud for fun.

He looked at you. You looked at him. He grinned. You immediately braced for impact.

“Well, well! So you’re the fabled Chosen Hero,” Lilia chirped, righting himself mid-air and landing gracefully before you. “How fascinating! I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“I—” you began.

“I must say, this is not what I expected!” he continued, completely ignoring you. “From what I’ve heard, heroes usually barge in with righteous fury, divine proclamations, and very little self-preservation! Yet here you are, standing in the Demon King’s domain, casually handing him books.”

You turned to Malleus, who looked completely unbothered, still examining the latest tome you had brought him. “You told him?”

Malleus, without looking up: “He asked.”

You turned back to Lilia. “And you’re not freaking out?”

Lilia tilted his head, amused. “Should I be?”

“I don’t know, I just assumed one of Malleus’s generals would take issue with me being, you know, the divinely ordained slayer of your king?”

Lilia snorted. “Oh, please. Do you have any idea how many so-called ‘heroes’ I’ve seen storm in here? You’re already my favorite.”

“…Thanks?”

“Of course! It’s just so refreshing to see one of you actually using your head for once.” He floated up again, upside down, resting his chin on his hands. “Though I must admit, I was expecting something a little more… impressive.”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lilia smirked and gestured to the table where you and Malleus had been previously engaged in very serious discussions. Your stomach dropped. You had left out your papers.

Specifically, the ones where you had been doodling different armor designs and asking Malleus for his fashion advice.

Malleus, the traitor, casually picked one up. “I am partial to this one,” he said, holding up a particularly elaborate sketch. “The embroidery detailing is quite striking.”

Lilia laughed.

You buried your face in your hands as the War Demon, the Living Nightmare of the Battlefield, the Eternal Scourge of Kingdoms—wiped away tears of laughter over the fact that instead of slaying the Demon King, you had apparently made him your personal stylist.

It was, all things considered, not your proudest moment.

It had been months since you first stepped foot into Malleus’s lair, and, well… things had progressed.

Not in the way the gods wanted, obviously. If they had their way, Malleus’s severed head would be mounted on a sacred altar by now. Technically, you were still on your holy mission to vanquish the Demon King. Technically, you were gathering information. Technically, you had every intention of fulfilling your duty.

But, if one were to take a completely unbiased look at your current situation… it might appear that you were just hanging out.

A lot.

Like, a lot, a lot.

Malleus now made your drink exactly the way you liked it—sometimes before you even asked. You didn’t even have to tell him anymore. You’d wander into his lair after a long day of doing absolutely nothing related to demon slaying, and he’d already have your favorite drink ready, at the exact right temperature.

And you? You, the so-called “Divine Champion of Justice,” the god-appointed warrior of destiny? You had, against all logic and reason, started bringing him gifts. It wasn’t even a conscious decision at first. But every time a merchant came through town, you found yourself idly picking up little trinkets or books that looked like they’d interest him.

You told yourself it was just diplomacy. A strategic bribery effort. It had absolutely nothing to do with how much you enjoyed seeing his face light up whenever you presented him with something new.

You weren’t even sure when the shift had happened.

One day, you were the brave hero, standing before the terrifying Demon King with divine orders to smite him. And now? Now, you were practically living in his lair. Casually.

You’d gotten comfortable here, a fact that you refused to acknowledge out loud. Malleus’s lair was peaceful, quiet, and—to your horror—pleasant. The enormous gothic windows, the soft candlelight, the bookshelves stacked high with ancient tomes… It was all just so much nicer than the gods’ temples, which were always cold, sterile, and filled with divine bureaucrats who asked too many questions.

And worse—worse—when you weren’t here, you were usually thinking about what to do for Malleus next.

Should you bring him something from the next merchant caravan? Maybe take him to another festival? He liked those. Maybe introduce him to the weird little bakery in town that sold those oddly-shaped pastries you kept seeing. He might find them amusing.

You were planning surprises for him.

Like a friend.

No. Not just a friend.

A best friend.

You slammed your head onto the nearest table with a thud.

The gods could never find out about this.

You were having an existential crisis. A real one. The kind that made you stare at your reflection in a soup bowl and wonder if you had any meaningful purpose in life beyond being the divine equivalent of a glorified errand runner.

Lilia, of course, noticed. Because he was an agent of chaos and probably fed off emotional turmoil like some sort of tiny, ancient demon bat.

“You seem troubled,” he had said, watching as you slumped dramatically over Malleus’ very fancy dining table, exhaling the world’s most pitiful sigh. “Why don’t you and Malleus spar?”

Your head lifted slightly. “What?”

Lilia smirked, clearly pleased that he had successfully baited you out of your misery. “It’s been months, has it not? If the gods ask, you can tell them you’ve been honing your skills, preparing for the final battle.”

That… actually wasn’t a bad excuse. The gods had been getting nosy again, demanding updates. Maybe you could make this work.

Which was how you ended up here.

Standing in the grand, sprawling courtyard of Malleus’ lair, stretching out your limbs while he calmly removed his cloak, draping it over a bench like he was about to have a casual stroll instead of engaging in combat.

“You sure about this?” you asked, gripping the hilt of your sword.

Malleus tilted his head, looking amused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You smirked. “Just saying, if I win, I demand tribute.”

Malleus chuckled. “And if I win?”

“… Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Lilia was off to the side, grinning like this was the best form of entertainment he’d seen in centuries.

You inhaled deeply, grounding yourself. Okay. This was it. You were going to fight the Demon King, and it was going to be serious. No more cozy tea parties. No more lighthearted book shopping trips. It was time to—

“Would you like me to go easy on you?” Malleus asked.

You scoffed. “Pfft. No. Give me everything you’ve got.”

Malleus hummed, looking almost pleased at your confidence. “Very well.”

And then, without warning, he disappeared from sight.

You barely had time to register the movement before a gust of wind slammed into you at full force, sending you flying backwards like a poorly thrown ragdoll.

You crashed into a bush.

For a moment, you just lay there, staring at the sky, contemplating every choice that had led you to this moment.

Then, groaning, you rolled out of the shrubbery, shaking off the twigs as you picked up your sword. “Okay,” you muttered, adjusting your grip. “That was just a warm-up round.”

Malleus was still standing in the same spot, looking entirely unbothered.

And his hands were behind his back.

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you—” You took a deep breath. “Are you fighting me with your hands behind your back?"

“Of course,” Malleus said pleasantly. “You told me not to go easy on you.”

You could hear Lilia choking on laughter in the background.

You squinted at Malleus, wondering if you should feel honored or insulted.

Fine. You could work with this. You charged again, ducking low, aiming for his legs. A flicker of green magic intercepted you, sending a harmless but powerful shockwave that knocked your weapon out of your hands.

You stared at your empty hands.

Malleus looked mildly impressed. “Good attempt.”

You retrieved your sword. Tried again. And again. And again.

Malleus never used his hands. Never lifted a finger. He just sidestepped your attacks with casual ease, occasionally flicking his magic at you, like you were a mildly annoying housecat trying to pounce on a much larger, much more powerful predator.

Somewhere along the way, you stopped trying to win and just started having fun.

And then, eventually, your energy gave out. You collapsed onto the ground, spread-eagled, arms outstretched, staring up at the sky as you caught your breath.

Malleus stepped closer, looming over you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“I do believe you’re my favorite hero,” he mused.

You groaned and slapped a hand over your face.

The gods were going to kill you if they ever found out about this.

You couldn’t sleep.

Which was fine. Heroes probably weren’t supposed to sleep. Heroes were supposed to lie awake at night, tormented by the burden of their destiny, haunted by the weight of their mission, plagued by—

"What if I let him win?"

You bolted upright so fast you nearly knocked yourself unconscious on your headrest. You slapped a hand over your mouth like you had just spoken a heresy so foul the gods would strike you down immediately.

That was not a normal thought for a hero to have. That was the most absurd, blasphemous, outrageous, morally reprehensible—

"Am I technically dating the Demon King???"

NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO—

Your hands went to your temples. You squeezed your eyes shut. Maybe if you just thought hard enough, you could physically remove this thought from your brain. Or maybe, if you focused, the gods would finally smite you like they had always threatened to do.

You flopped back down onto your mattress, dragging a pillow over your face, as if that would smother the absolute nonsense your mind was generating tonight. But the problem was, now that the thought had entered your brain, it had built a home there. It had a mailbox. It was paying taxes. And now it was decorating with even worse thoughts.

Because now you were remembering the way Malleus had smiled when you let him talk for two whole hours about gargoyles. How his eyes had lit up like you were the first person to ever listen. The way he carefully, deliberately made your tea exactly how you liked it, as if he had memorized it from the very first time. The way he always tilted his head when he listened to you, genuinely fascinated by even the stupidest things you said.

The way he let you exist in his space. Not as an enemy. Not as a hero. But as…

… oh no.

OH NO.

You slapped a hand over your mouth again. Your other hand clenched into the sheets like you were physically trying to hold onto your sanity.

You were NOT—this was NOT—

You rolled over, kicking your legs violently under the covers. Maybe if you shook your entire body hard enough, you could dislodge this thought from existence. Yeet it into the void. Purge it from reality. But all that happened was that you pulled a muscle in your back and now you were lying there, in agony, emotionally and physically, because you were starting to realize something terrible.

You weren’t just fond of Malleus. You didn’t just enjoy his company.

You liked him.

You LIKED him.

YOU LIKED THE DEMON KING.

You sat up again, legs crossed, hands clasped together in front of you. “Dear gods,” you whispered, voice trembling, “please smite me where I sit. I have failed you.”

Nothing happened.

“…Cowards,” you muttered.

You flopped back down, staring at the ceiling in pure despair.

You were going to bed. You were going to sleep, and when you woke up, you would not be in love with the Demon King. You would be normal. You would be reasonable. You would be a good hero.

You closed your eyes.

Five seconds passed.

You opened them again.

Gods help me.

Literally.

You were having the time of your goddamn life.

Malleus' lair—again, as usual. You were halfway draped across his lap, leisurely popping fruit into your mouth while Lilia spun some absolutely deranged tale about the time he tricked a king into believing he was a vengeful forest spirit. Malleus sipped his tea, vaguely amused, and you? You laughed so hard you nearly choked on a grape.

The atmosphere? Immaculate. Life? Good. Everything? Perfection.

And then the door SLAMMED open.

You flinched so hard you nearly tumbled off Malleus’ lap. The tea cups rattled. The room’s easygoing tension evaporated as you stared at the figure in the doorway—some guy, just some guy—storming in with his sword drawn, looking like he was about to say the most dramatic thing you’d ever heard in your life.

“I HAVE COME TO SLAY YOU, DEMON KING—”

He stopped.

Because you—the actual hero—were very much not slaying the Demon King. You were, instead, sprawled across him like a spoiled house cat, eating his fruit and giggling like an idiot.

A horrifically long pause followed as this budget hero—who was not chosen by the gods, by the way—took in the scene.

Scrambling upright, you waved your hands frantically. “This—this is not what it looks like—”

“It is exactly what it looks like,” Lilia corrected, taking a dainty sip of tea. “Please, continue.”

Budget Hero looked insulted. Absolutely offended. “You—you’re supposed to be a hero! You’re supposed to be fighting him, not—” He gestured at you and Malleus with a face of pure betrayal. “—whatever this is!”

Panic surged. “I am fighting him!”

Budget Hero squinted.

You cleared your throat. “It’s just—” A vague gesture at Malleus. “A mental battle.”

Lilia snickered. Malleus lifted a brow, deeply entertained.

Budget Hero wasn’t buying it. His face hardened with righteous fury as he turned his sword back on Malleus. “No matter! If the gods will not choose a proper hero to strike you down, then I shall—”

And that’s when it happened.

Before Malleus could even think about obliterating him, you moved first. Instinctively. Violently. Viscerally.

Budget Hero never saw it coming. His weapon went flying in a single fluid motion, and before he could process it, he was done. Just absolutely demolished.

Silence.

Then:

Lilia. Wheezing. “Oh, that was brutal.”

You stared down at Budget Hero’s crumpled form, still gripping your weapon, stunned.

Because here’s the thing. That wasn’t a calculated attack. It wasn’t self-defense. It wasn’t even to protect Malleus, exactly.

It was pure, unfiltered spite.

Who did this guy think he was? Marching in, sword drawn, acting like he was Malleus’ sworn enemy? That was your job. Your dynamic. The thought of anyone else trying to take that place—trying to take any place in Malleus’ life that wasn’t yours—was so disgusting, so offensive, that your body moved before your brain did.

…Oh no.

Quickly sheathing your weapon, you coughed into your fist. “Welp. That’s enough murder for today! I should get going!”

Malleus blinked at you, unbothered. “You only just arrived.”

Lilia, still recovering from laughter, wiped a tear from his eye. “Stay! We haven’t even finished discussing your new armor—”

“Nope!” You laughed—too forcefully. “Nooope! I just—I have to, uh—cleanse myself. Spiritually. From, um. Today’s events.”

Malleus tilted his head, intrigued. “You’ve killed before, haven’t you?”

You sweat. “Yeah, but this one was just, uh, really emotionally charged. You know how it is.”

Lilia’s grin was so knowing it made you ill. “Do we?”

You needed to leave immediately.

“Anyway, see you later, besties!” Backing toward the door, you threw up a hand. “Malleus, you’re great, Lilia, you’re also great, I’m normal, and definitely not in any sort of crisis! Bye!”

And then you fled. Like a coward.

You had been avoiding him.

Technically speaking, you had only been gone for a week. But considering you usually barged into his lair daily—arms full of books, or pastries, or some weird trinket you thought he’d like—it was an absence that did not go unnoticed.

After all, you had never run before.

Even when you first met him, when you had been sent to kill him, you had walked right up to him and said, "Hey, so the gods told me to kill you, but honestly, I don’t feel like it." And he had smiled, slow and intrigued, and offered you tea. That had been the beginning of everything.

You had stayed. You always stayed.

But yesterday, after that absolute disaster of an encounter with that third-rate hero, after watching yourself cut him down before Malleus could even lift a hand, after realizing with gut-wrenching horror that you had reacted viscerally to the mere idea of someone else claiming that they were destined to fight him, to be his rival, you had fled.

Because what the fuck did that mean?

Because why had your stomach turned in disgust at the thought of someone else standing in your place?

Because you had looked at Malleus, and something inside you had snarled mine, and the weight of that realization had nearly knocked you off your feet.

So you ran.

Cowardly. Embarrassing. You, the so-called chosen hero, the one who had spent months dragging Malleus through town, shoving hats over his horns, feeding him sweet treats, listening to him ramble about gargoyles with the fondest expression on your face—you had panicked and run away like a flustered maiden in a fairytale.

You didn’t even have the excuse of battle wounds. The only wounds were entirely self-inflicted, entirely emotional, and entirely stupid.

So today, after daysof pacing and telling yourself to get it together, you forced yourself to return.

You spent the entire week gaslighting yourself into thinking nothing happened.

That reaction? Not weird. You were just… caught off guard! Maybe a tiny bit possessive. Maybe incredibly deranged about Malleus to the point where you instinctively obliterated someone for even thinking about taking your role as his arch-nemesis—but that was normal. That was just healthy rival dynamics!

So when you walked into Malleus’ lair the next week, it was with the confidence of someone absolutely not having a mental breakdown over their supposed mortal enemy.

“Yo,” you greeted, hands in your pockets, a casual whistle leaving your lips. “What’s up, big guy? Ready for some classic, good old-fashioned, not-at-all suspicious hero vs. villain conflict today?”

No answer.

It was silent. Too silent.

Usually, Lilia was there to greet you with some teasing remark. Usually, Malleus could sense you the moment you entered his territory, and you’d be met with a soft “You’ve returned.” Usually, there was some kind of warmth, a quiet hum of life in these ancient halls.

But today, there was only cold stone.

Your stomach twisted as you searched for him.

You found him by one of the enormous windows, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the sky with an expression you’d never seen before. His shoulders—usually poised with an almost arrogant regality—were slack. His jaw, tight. His eyes, distant.

For the first time since you met him, he looked exhausted.

“…Malleus?”

Your voice came out softer than you expected. Almost hesitant. As if part of you already knew what he was about to say.

He didn’t turn, didn’t shift, didn’t react right away. Just stood there, gazing out at the vast horizon like he was searching for something.

Finally, after a long, slow exhale, he spoke.

“…I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Your breath caught.

You had been gone for a week. You figured skipping a few visits wouldn’t matter much. That you could collect yourself, sort out whatever this was, and return once you weren’t a flustered disaster.

But standing here now, staring at him, it hit you just how much he had felt your absence.

His fingers curled a little tighter behind his back. His voice, barely above a whisper—

“If someone were to kill me,” he murmured, “I think I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

The breath whooshed out of your lungs.

Because suddenly, you understood.

He wasn’t just speaking in hypotheticals. He wasn’t musing about battle. He wasn’t challenging you, wasn’t provoking you, wasn’t setting the stage for a dramatic clash between hero and demon king.

No.

Malleus had lived centuries watching heroes march to his doorstep, brandishing divine weapons, shouting righteous declarations, vowing to end him. And yet, he had never once fallen. Never once faltered. Never once let a blade even graze his skin.

But yesterday, when you hadn’t returned, he had thought—ah. So this is how it ends.

If he had to be slain, he wanted it to be by your hand.

If he had to see someone for the last time, he had hoped it would be you.

You broke.

Instantaneous. No hesitation. No rational thought. No clever quip or theatrical deflection. No last-minute is this a good idea? self-reflection. Just a sharp inhale, a rapid closing of distance, and then—

You kissed him. Hard.

Not soft, not slow, not gentle. Desperate. Raw. Months of pent-up feelings, of endless late nights spent thinking about him, of hands brushing and shared laughter and quiet understanding and—fuck. You were so gone for him.

Malleus stiffened—but only for a second.

Then he melted into you.

His hands rose—one tangling in your hair, the other curling around your waist, pulling you so close you swore you could feel his heartbeat hammering against your chest. He kissed back just as desperately, just as fiercely, like he’d been waiting just as helplessly as you had.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he stared like he’d never seen you before. Wide-eyed. Lips parted. His grip on you so tight, like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go.

“…I suppose that was your way of saying you refuse?” His voice, unsteady.

A breathless, shaky laugh. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah, I refuse.”

His forehead pressed to yours, breath warm against your lips. His hands didn’t loosen their hold.

“…Then don’t ever leave me.”

You closed your eyes. Gripped his shoulders.

Nodded.

“Never.”

The celestial being—divine embodiment of justice and order, an ancient force revered throughout history—descended upon Malleus’ lair in a blinding display of light and holy power.

Wings of pure radiance unfurled. A golden staff crackled with divine energy. A voice, imbued with the might of the cosmos, boomed across the chamber:

“CHOSEN HERO. DEMON KING. IT IS TIME FOR YOUR DESTINED BATTLE.”

You blinked. Looked up from where you were curled against Malleus, sipping tea and reading a book titled 1,001 Architectural Wonders (That Are Not Gargoyles, Please Stop Asking).

Malleus glanced up from the game of chess he was currently losing against Lilia. “Oh?” he said, perfectly unbothered. “Has it truly been that long?”

“Yes, it has been that long!” the celestial being thundered. “You were sent here to vanquish the Demon King, not—” their eye twitched as they took in the scene, “—play house with him.”

You frowned. “Okay, first of all, rude.”

"Rude? RUDE?!" The celestial being practically vibrated with fury. "YOU LIED TO US!"

“I did not lie,” you said, deeply offended. “I gave you very detailed mission updates.”

“‘I’m gathering intel on the enemy’?”

“I was!” you huffed. “Did you know Malleus actually prefers honey in his tea instead of sugar? Crucial information.”

The celestial being sputtered. “You literally wrote, and I quote—” they conjured a glowing scroll and read aloud, “‘I need to study his weaknesses.’”

“Well,” you said, nodding toward Malleus, “he is weak to compliments. Call him ‘awe-inspiring’ and he gets all flustered. It’s very endearing.”

The being looked one breath away from smiting you. “AND ‘HE’S PROBABLY PLANNING SOMETHING EVIL, I NEED TO KEEP AN EYE ON HIM’??”

You pointed at Malleus, who was currently sipping tea with perfect elegance, staring at you like you personally hung the moon in the sky.

“Look at him,” you said dryly. “He’s clearly up to something.”

Malleus delicately set down his teacup. “Indeed,” he mused. “I was just plotting whether to have scones or biscuits with my tea tomorrow.”

The celestial being’s golden aura flickered like a candle in the wind. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM!”

Malleus frowned. “That seems excessive for a difference in snack preference.”

The celestial being inhaled sharply, hands trembling. You were pretty sure you just heard them whisper I hate my job.

“Enough!” they roared. “FIGHT! NOW!”

You and Malleus exchanged a long glance.

There was a beat of silence.

Then, with all the excitement of two overworked employees being forced into another useless meeting, you both sighed and reached for the nearest decorative swords.

You lifted your sword. Malleus did the same.

And then, with all the enthusiasm of two toddlers being told to pretend-fight for Grandma’s amusement—

—you both half-heartedly tapped your swords together.

clink.

“There,” you said, monotone. “We fought. Can we go back to cuddling now?”

The celestial being screamed.

The celestial being didn’t so much escort you to the heavens as haul you there like a parent dragging a misbehaving child to a disciplinary hearing. You barely had time to adjust to the blinding light before being unceremoniously dropped onto the cold marble floor.

Above you, the gods loomed from their gilded thrones, their divine radiance pulsing with something that was not quite anger—because gods did not feel anger, only divine disappointment, which was so much worse.

The celestial being, standing smugly beside them, crossed their arms. “I told you they weren’t taking this seriously.”

The first god spoke, voice like rolling thunder. “Chosen hero.”

Another voice, this one like a windstorm, joined in. “You were sent to slay the Demon King.”

A third, calm and cold as deep water. “And yet, you have done nothing.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the celestial being snapped their fingers, and suddenly, an image materialized before you. A glowing vision of you, fully reclined across Malleus’ lap, popping fruit into his mouth while he read a book.

You stared.

“…Okay,” you admitted, “this looks bad.”

The celestial being glared. “Because it is bad!”

The gods ignored them, their voices deepening into something more final.

“This war against the Demon King has lasted centuries,” one intoned.

“You were our last hope,” another added. “If you do not complete your duty, there will be no other hero for another hundred years.”

“Without a hero,” the celestial being hissed, “there will be no one to protect the world from his inevitable destruction.”

Their words should have shaken you. You should have felt the weight of them pressing into your spine, the consequences of this moment sinking into your bones.

Instead, you just felt tired.

Tired of this war you never understood. Tired of the gods, who sat safe in their gilded heavens, while they sent hero after hero to their deaths.

Tired of pretending that Malleus was something he wasn’t.

You took a slow breath. Then, you reached up and began unbuckling the divine armor. The metal rang loud as it clattered to the ground, reverberating through the silent chamber. You ripped the sacred amulet from around your neck, tossing it aside like an afterthought. The enchanted boots that carried you here? Gone.

The gods watched, speechless, as you stripped away everything that bound you to them.

Then, you stood taller than you ever had before.

“I quit,” you said simply.

The chamber erupted. The celestial being choked. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” you interrupted, stretching your arms, reveling in the freedom of it. “And I am. You want a hero? Find another poor fool. I’m done.”

The gods stared, as if they truly couldn’t comprehend your audacity.

“There will be no other hero for a century,” one god reminded you. “Do you understand what you are forsaking?”

You grinned. “Yeah. Unnecessary slaying.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and walked away, the celestial doors parting effortlessly before you. The gods did not stop you. Perhaps they couldn’t.

You returned to Malleus’ lair lighter than you had ever felt.

He was waiting for you when you arrived, standing near the entrance, his expression unreadable. His eyes—those impossibly green eyes—watched you carefully, searching for something.

“You’re back,” he said softly.

You stepped closer, meeting his gaze. “Of course.”

Something flickered in his expression—something relieved, something like hope.

You exhaled, the weight of everything lifting off your shoulders. “I’m free now, Malleus. No more gods. No more divine duty. Just… me.”

For the first time, you saw it—true joy in his gaze. He stepped forward, closer, until there was nothing between you.

And then he kissed you.

It was not hesitant. Not questioning. It was certain, like he had always known this moment was inevitable, like he had only been waiting for you to realize it too.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his lips curling into a smile.

“I was hoping you’d choose me,” he murmured.

You smiled back, fingers threading through his.

“I always would have.”

It happened over tea, as most of your most life-altering conversations with Malleus tended to.

You had been lounging on his absurdly comfortable sofa, sipping something floral he had brewed just for you, feeling very much like a person who had absolutely no idea that their entire life was about to be rearranged.

Malleus, ever composed, set down his own cup and regarded you with something almost too fond.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, “about how long we’ve been together.”

You blinked. “How long?”

He hummed, tilting his head. “Since you gave me your sword, of course.”

You continued blinking, because surely, surely you had misheard him.

“…My sword?”

Malleus nodded, utterly serene. “Yes. It was an elegant proposal.”

You made a sound. It wasn’t a word, exactly, but it conveyed your confusion well enough.

Malleus watched you, waiting patiently for what he must have assumed was joyous realization.

You, meanwhile, were still trying to process whatever the hell was happening.

“…Proposal,” you echoed, because maybe if you repeated it, reality would shift into something that made sense.

Malleus offered a rare, knowing smile. “A symbol of devotion. Offering one’s most treasured possession to another—it is an unbreakable vow, a declaration of lifelong commitment. The moment you placed your sword in my hands, you became mine.”

A long pause.

You stared at him. He continued to look pleased.

You, meanwhile, were experiencing an entire existential crisis.

“Hold on,” you said slowly. “So you’re telling me that, in demon culture, giving you my sword meant—”

“A proposal,” Malleus finished, nodding. “It was quite romantic.”

Your brain short-circuited. You thought back to that moment, a year ago, when you had so casually handed him your holy sword, thinking haha, maybe he can make this thing shut up.

In reality, you had apparently gotten engaged like an absolute moron.

You set down your tea with the careful precision of someone trying very, very hard not to spiral. “Malleus,” you said, voice deceptively calm, “why didn’t you tell me?”

He blinked, puzzled. “I thought you knew.”

“Malleus, I’m human.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Ah. I see the problem now.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply. “So, in your mind, we’ve been betrothed this whole time?”

“Yes,” he said, utterly unbothered.

You stared at him. He stared back, composed as ever.

And then you just—laughed. Because of course. Of course you had accidentally proposed to the Demon King like an idiot.

“Well,” you said between snickers, wiping at your eyes. “Since we’re apparently already engaged, wanna just go ahead and get hitched?”

Malleus’ grin was blinding.

“Absolutely.”

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia #twst malleus #malleus

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nightsandrewrites · 3 months ago

Text

Illyrian Males Pt. 2

Pairing: Cazriel x Reader

Summary: You navigate a new mating bond, while Cassian and Azriel reveal things they've been keeping from you...

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: Smut, BDSM, depression, self sacrifice, use of Y/N

a/n: I had a block on this for the longest time, unsure where I would take a part two but it finally fell into place. This is darker than the first part, buckle up friends.

Part 1

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The paperwork pulls in and out of focus in front of you. You rub the palms of your hands into your eyes and let them drop to the table with a sigh. It’s no good, you’ve been sitting here for far too long and nothing is getting done. You shove the papers away and pull one of the library's heavy books towards you.

“Y/N I’ve been looking for you.” Rhysand appears from the shadows of the bookshelves. “Well, you found me.” You smile up from the dusty tome. “Tell me that you’ve come for something far more interesting than this.” You gesture to the work spread out before you.

“I think so.” He smirks and takes a seat opposite you. “I’ve just received word that most of the female Illyrians in Windhaven have agreed to start training.” “What!” You shout and then shrink back as you recall the quiet sanctuary of the library around you. “What do you mean? Who convinced them?” “You did.” He reaches forward and starts flipping idly through one of the books on the table “Apparently the group you were headed to see in the cottage the other week witnessed that trainee lunge at you and then watched you take him down. Seeing your quick reaction and ability to defend yourself convinced them.” He straightens a little then and starts glancing around your small study space between the shelves. “That’s amazing, I’ll start working with Cassian on a training plan.” You start searching for a pen so you can jot down some ideas. “Hopefully when their training begins news will start spreading to the other camps and we can get those females involved as well.” “Speaking of Cassian.” Rhysand leans forward onto his forearm “Why do you smell like my General?” He grins wickedly at you. “And my Spymaster for that matter.” You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks. “Well, I-, actually what I-” you were sure the blush now tinged your neck and the tips of your ears. “Relax” Rhysand leans back in his chair “It’s none of my business.” He begins picking invisible lint from his shoulder and you smile softly at his little ways of making you more comfortable. You take a deep breath. “Actually you should know.” You exhale to steady yourself. “I was hoping that Cass and Az would be here when you found out, but I’d rather not leave you to jump to your own conclusions.” You glance up to find his eyebrows raised in a ‘who me?’ fashion. “I know that they are mates and, well, I am also their mate.” You bite your lip waiting for his response. His eyes widen in surprise for all of three seconds and then he leans forward on clasped hands. “A triad bond huh.” He reaches a hand into the air, materialises a book from nowhere and begins flicking. “Extremely rare, I’ve actually never met someone in a triad before. I wonder if there are any additional benefits or detriments when compared to a regular bond.” he begins rambling “Of course I’ll mask your scent” Without looking up he clicks his fingers and you feel a ripple of his power wash over you. “You three will make an excellent case study, of course if you’re willing to answer some questions, nothing too personal obviously.” “Wait, you can mask my scent?” You ask. “Of course, who do you think has masked the scent of those two all over each other for centuries? You’ll be able to scent each other but it keeps it covered for others. It’s a tiny piece of my magic, a good way to keep burning it off really.” He replies without looking up from his new research.

“We decided to keep the bond a secret for now, if you’ve been doing it for them why wouldn’t they get you to do it for me right away?” You try to control the level of your voice. Rhysand looks up at you with a levelled stare.

“Y/N, they may be two of the greatest warriors to ever grace the Illyrian legions but they’re still males.” You cock your head to the side trying to understand. “They’re being territorial. They want you to smell like them. Even though it’s stupid and risks the bond being exposed.”

“Oh.” You sit back and feel the blush that just started to fade reappear across your cheeks.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

You walk into your room and find Cassian waiting in the armchair you keep in the corner.

“Finally, I thought I would have to come pull you from the library myself.” He jumps up and scoops you into his arms as your feet leave the ground.

“I got caught up with Rhysand.” You explain as you dip your head down and place a soft kiss to his lips. A flurry of jealousy washes down the bond.

“Really? Rhys?” You raise your eyebrows at him as he sets you back on your feet.

“Sorry.” He chuckles. “Mating bond is still chaffing a little bit.” He runs a hand through his dishevelled hair as he ducks his head.

“Well he knows now, about us I mean.” You gesture awkwardly between the two of you.

“You told him?” He smirks mischievously.

“I didn’t have to, he was curious to know why I smelt like you and your mate” You smack him lightly on the shoulder as you push past and dump your bag at your desk. “Why didn’t you tell me about the scent masking?”

“Honestly it slipped my mind.” He shrugs. “It’s not like we’ve really left the house so the secret's still safe.”

He crosses the room towards you until you're forced to lean back into the desk to look up at him.

“Also is it so bad that you smell of me and our mate?” He dips down and begins to brush his lips along your neck.

Right. Our mate. The one who’s become increasingly distant. Who trains longer and stays in his study later into the night. The one who let Cassian take over your blade training after one small disagreement.

You drop your head to Cassian’s chest and let a small sigh escape your lips. He lifts your face with gentle fingers under your chin.

“This is about Azriel?” His dark eyes flick between yours.

“What if he’s disappointed Cass? What if he regrets accepting the bond?” You can feel the tears forming in the back of your throat.

“Trust me baby. He doesn’t regret it. He’s just…” His gaze falls to the middle distance above your head, searching for the right words.

“Pushing me away?” It had only been a few weeks and whilst things between you and Cassian had never been better the opposite was true for Azriel. Of course the three of you had fallen into bed together numerous times since the bond clicked. But you couldn’t help but feel like he was only going along with it all for Cassian’s sake.

“Listen, Az and I have been mates for a long time.” He brushes his fingers along your cheek. “We found a way of… managing our relationship. He’s just still trying to figure out how you fit into that.”

“He gave up my training. He no longer visits the library in the afternoons. He stopped consulting me on intel.” You pout not convinced by his words.

“Let me show you something. Do you trust me?” A wicked grin appears on his face.

“Of course.” You straighten, intrigued by the mischievous glint in his eye.

“I need you to block out your bond to Azriel. Just like you’ve been practising.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassian trails his fingers down your bare ribs, your fingers curl into the sheets beneath you as you focus on keeping the shield in your mind in place.

“Good girl, now if you need me to stop at any point I want you to use the safe word.” He murmurs into your skin as he leaves soft kisses along your hip.

“Safe word?” You squirm a little, eager to have him pay attention to the ache between your legs.

He smirks up at you and though you’ve been bare before him so many times now it still sends a flush across your skin. “A safe word is for whe-”

“I know what a safe word is Cass!” You smack his shoulder for the second time today. “What’s the safe word?”

“Stardust.” He murmurs and then immediately licks a stripe up your core, flicking your clit with his tongue. You throw your head back against the pillow and let out a soft moan.

You’d had lovers before but had never quite found you enjoyed receiving oral the way you did with your thighs wrapped around the head of one of your mates. Their tongues devoured you in ways you’d never experienced before, soft where you needed, hard where it counted and always so warm.

Cassian quickly works you to the edge and you swear small white spots begin to swim behind your closed lids. You feel your core begin to tighten as Cassian quickly pulls away.

You let out a small whine and glare up at him as he holds himself over you, grinning like an idiot.

“Still have that wall in place sweetheart?” He cocks his head to the side. You quickly check the shield between you and Azriel is still in place.

“Yes, but why did you stop?” You pout.

“Good things come to those who wait.” He chuckles, leaning down, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. He kisses you softly, slowly, savouring the moment and you can taste yourself on his lips. Soon his fingers find your sensitive clit and your hips unintentionally grind up to meet his movements. Your hands grab at thick biceps covered in Illyrian swirls, giving you purchase for more movement. You pant in soft moans as Cassian kisses down your chest, reaching a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. He quickly works you to the edge again.

“Oh god, please” You whine at his assault.

He leaves one nipple to nip at the tight bud of the other and just when you feel like you could shatter he pulls his hand away. “Cass” Your voice a soft whimper at your lost pleasure.

“Do you need me to stop baby girl?” His voice is a soft gravel, almost daring you to ask him to stop.

“No, I need you to not stop.” You give him a small shove and he tumbles to the side pulling you on top of him as he spins.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m giving you exactly what you need.” His eyes sparkle with mischief but you don’t have time to question it as he guides your hips down onto his length. Your head tips back gently with a moan as you adjust to the stretch of him.

It could be centuries and you’d never get used to the feeling of him entering you. His thick length slides into you, filling you completely. You begin to rise on your knees, aching for the friction of him inside you.

“Mmmm, ride me baby, I’m all yours.” Cassian pants beneath you, his eyes screwed shut savouring the feel of you wrapped around him.

You plant your hands on his chest, bouncing up and down as his hips roll to meet yours. Already worked to the edge twice, you can feel the coil tightening inside of you. A series of small whimpers escape your lips as Cassian palms at your hips and your chest. You can feel his head drag across your soft walls, building pressure exactly where you need it. Suddenly Cassian is coming with a groan. His fingers digging tightly into your hips as you feel him pulse inside you. You bite your lip unsure what to do. You're glad you could bring your mate pleasure but he’d never finished before you, Hel these males usually made you come undone twice before they were finished with you.

“Relax baby girl.” Cassian reaches up and releases your bottom lip with a gentle swipe of his thumb. “I said I’d get you what you needed and I meant it.”

He reaches across the bed to his discarded shirt and begins pulling it over your head.

“Keep that shield in place and go find our mate.” He gives you a wink before helping you off the bed with a small smack to your ass.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

You pad down the hall towards Azriel’s office. The soft glow of the rising moon outside reminding you that you were still yet to eat. And you were hungry, famished, but for something that no food could satiate. Your shadow slides along the wall catching your eye and you wonder what kind of picture you paint right now. Bed tangled hair, Cassian’s oversized shirt falling off one shoulder and his cum slowly sliding down your inner thigh.

You reach Azriel’s door, hold your breath a little and push it open without knocking. He’s bent over his paperwork, hair tousled slightly from running his hands through it, wings slouching a little behind him. At first he doesn’t look up from his work.

“I’ll be just a few more minut-” You see the moment your mingled scents reach him. His whole body stiffens, his head snaps up to take you in, his pupils blow wide like a predator that’s just spotted its favourite prey and the pen in his hand snaps in half.

He moves faster than you've ever seen and has you pinned to the wall in a second.

Azriel leans forward and whispers across your neck “I was wondering what you two were up to when the bonds cut off.”

You can’t even form words as Azriel consumes every sense. His warm body pressed against yours, his right leg nestled against your core. His scent sends your brain into overdrive and all you can manage is a small whimper as you roll your hips against his thigh.

“I can smell his seed on you sweetheart, did he not satisfy you enough?” His voice is deep and rumbling. His wings are flared out behind him blocking you from the empty room as his shadows make agitated swirls along his wings.

“Please Az, he didn’t let me.” You grab the front of his leathers pulling yourself closer to him as your hips continue to find friction on his thigh.

Azriel freezes. He becomes so still you wonder if he’s even breathing. You pull back and find that his eyes are almost completely black, his shadows have slowed to a crawl behind him, like a snake coiled for attack. A shiver runs down your spine as you realise you're staring into the stone cold eyes of the Night Courts Spymaster. You silently berate yourself for wanting him more for it.

He pushes off the wall and you instantly miss the feel of him against you but he slides his fingers around your wrist as he pulls you from the room.

“I’m going to fucking kill him, I swear.” He snarls as he leads you back down the hall to your room.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

Just as Azriel turns to enter the bedroom one of his shadows snaps out and wraps itself around Cassian's neck.

“You wanted my attention?” Azriel curls his free hand into a fist and the shadow tightens around his airway. Cassian sits up in the bed and attempts to pull the shadow away, struggling for air.

“Now you have it.” Azriel snarls, dropping your wrist and striding towards the bed.

“Az don’t hurt him!” You cry out and try to tug Azriel backwards.

The shadow loosens but remains looped around Cassian's neck. He pulls in gasping breaths that match Azriel's heaving chest as he towers over the end of the bed.

I’m okay baby girl, he’s not going to hurt me. Cassian’s gruff voice enters your mind.

Y/N you should go clean up while I deal with him. With the bond now open Azriel’s cool tone slides into your mind as well.

But- You begin a little unsure but you’re quickly interrupted.

She knows the safe word, she doesn’t have to go anywhere. Cassian sits up straighter glaring at Azriel in challenge.

More of Azriel’s shadows begin to crawl along the bed.

Why does she know the safe word? Azriel seethes.

You stand frozen watching the back and forth between them.

Well I wasn’t going to edge her without the safe word was I? Cassian cocks his head to the side and you swear you see a vein pop in Azriel’s neck.

Azriel spins and you duck a little to avoid his outstretched wings.

“How many times?” His dark eyes now fall to you.

Cassian replies before you can “It was onl-”

The shadow around Cassian’s neck slides onto his face, gagging him. Other shadows pounce from the mattress and swirl around his wrists pinning him down.

“I swear to the Cauldron if you fucking speak again.” Azriel growls over his shoulder. He stands before you, the picture of death. Dark wings splayed across the room, hands balled into fists, muscles strung tight. And you're surprised to find your voice does not waiver as you reply.

“Three times.”

“Y/N it’s up to you if you want to stay or go.” He nods sharply and turns back to face Cassian, giving you the opportunity to slip out of the room without a fuss if needed. Instead you slip past him, climb onto the bed above Cassian’s head and rest against the headboard. Both their eyes trail your movements before Azriel’s land on Cassian again.

“So you think you can take pleasure from my mate and leave her unsatisfied?” Azriel begins loosening the top of his leathers as he paces around the bed. He reaches for the sheet that is still covering Cassian’s bottom half and whips it away.

“Figures you’d be hard again, you always were a fucking whore. Maybe you’ve lost your touch? Couldn’t keep it up long enough for Y/N to get off?” He breathes a sinister chuckle.

A low growl ripples through Cassian’s chest, still gagged and bound by shadows, at the insinuation.

“Would you like to help me teach him a lesson love?” Azriel questions you as he removes the top half of his leathers and undershirt sending muscles rippling.

Your mouth is watering at the sight of him and it’s all you can do to nod dumbly as you reply “Yes please.”

Azriel’s eyes spark in surprise and then the mattress dips beside you as he leans towards you.

“Show me how he used you sweetheart.” His fingers brush gently down the length of your jaw.

You send the images flickering down the bond – of Cassian’s mouth on you, his hands bringing you to the edge and finally of you riding atop him.

Azriel’s eyes are completely black as they flick between yours. Wordlessly he reaches for you and pulls you into his arms. Cut him off baby girl. His deep voice curls in the back of your mind as his soft lips brush against yours. You do as he says, lifting a shield between your mind and Cassian’s.

Cassian’s throat rips open in snarls from where he lays on the bed with the two of you kneeling before him. Your eyes flick across to him, your heart constricting at his distress and you immediately want to reach out to him.

He’s okay. Azriel’s fingers find their way under your chin turning your attention back to him. He’s just swearing at me profusely for cutting him off. First I want to take care of you. He begins to trail kisses down your neck. Then we can deal with him.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassian watches from the top of the bed as Azriel positions you on all fours. You’re faced towards him, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. Cauldron he wishes he wasn’t bound right now.

Give her back. Cassian growls down the bond at Azriel. Furious he’s been shut out from your mind, from your emotions, with you so close.

You can have her back when I think you deserve it. Azriel snarls as he slides into you from behind. Cassian watches your breath catch, feels you clench at the sheets beneath them and he’s slowly going mad. He struggles against the shadows that pin his wrists to the bed and attempts to shift the shadows that bind his mouth. He’s never been so close to safe wording before. Your proximity but infinite distance pulls and frays at every instinct he has.

Azriel has set a hard and fast pace, bringing you to the edge that Cassian refused to tip you over. And as you come undone with panting whimpers, Cassian bucks his hips into the air with a muffled groan, failing to find the friction his leaking cock is begging for.

Azriel slides out of you, cock still hard and glistening from your release. That’s how you pleasure my mate Cassian. Azriel’s growl filters through the bond.

Fuck you, she’s mine too. Cassian bites back, the only way he can right now.

Oh no, I think I’ll fuck you. He smirks darkly. Eventually.

Azriel gives you a small nod and you crawl forward towards Cassian, and Hel if he was standing he would have gone to his knees at the sight.

Your plush lips wrap around his head and he throws his head back against the pillow, a groan escapes between clenched teeth. Fuck this might be all he needs to survive, forget food and water he’ll live off your touch alone if he needs to.

Your head bobs up and down his length and he can feel the pleasure building. Can feel his muscles tightening, ready to pump his release down his pretty mates throat.

Suddenly Azriel has his hand wrapped in the hair at the nape of your neck pulling you off him with a small pop.

“Good girl, that’s enough.” Azriel purrs into your ear before capturing your mouth with his, sliding his tongue along your lower lip.

Cassian’s chest rises and falls in deep pants. Release me now Azriel or I swear to the Cauldron I’l-

You’ll what? Azriel cocks his head to the side. You’re not really in any position to be making demands.

Azriel releases you then to lie back on the bed. He looms over Cassian, face hovering only inches away, wings flared wide behind him almost blacking out the room. You have a pretty face General, but I want to hear those pretty noises to match. He punctuates his remark by sliding two long fingers inside Cassian.

Cassian’s skin already feels like it’s on fire and Azriel’s assault on that spot inside him might just cause him to combust. He simultaneously wants to throw Azriel through the nearest wall and kiss his stupidly handsome face. Azriel hadn’t let himself take control like this since they had accepted the mating bond with Y/N and Cassian had finally found the right buttons to press - Y/N’s. Now he was both reaping the benefits and paying the price for it.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

You lay beside your mates as you take in Azriel at work. The bulge of his arms, the scars that litter his torso criss-cross with Illyrian swirls, the half smirk that graces his lips as he pulls whimpers from Cassian.

Azriel’s eyes are still clouded in darkness, wholly focused on the task at hand which now appears to be Cassian’s punishment.

Long fingers slide in and out of Cassian, stretching him open with every pass. You want to reach out to him, to open the bond and allow your emotions to mingle with his but you don’t want to go against Azriel’s command. This was the control that Cassian had alluded to. The side of Azriel they had kept away from you. The night you found out about the mating bond comes back to you...

‘ You don’t scare me, Shadowsinger. You let admiration flow through the bond along with your words. In a blink of an eye Azriel is crowded over you, arms braced on the sides of your chair.

Really? He smirks down at you in challenge ‘

Should you be afraid right now? Azriel hovers over Cassian propped on an elbow. One hand thrusting inside him the other pulling at the hair from the top of his scalp. He’s grinning down at Cassian’s muffled cries like he might just sink his teeth into his flesh to make him cry out more. His wings a flare out dimming the room and the shadows that hold Cassian down are joined by others that swirl along the bed, slide over muscled bodies, until they appear to be drowning in darkness.

But Cassian doesn’t fight for the surface, his head is thrown back as moans of pleasure reverberate through his chest like he’d willingly give his last breath for Azriel to keep going. Suddenly you watch Cassian stiffen, his eyes shooting open as Azriel stills. You’re sure more violent words are exchanged between them as Azriel once again denies Cassian of his release.

Your skin tingles at the sight and without an ounce of fear, you realise that maybe you want to drown in the darkness too.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassian’s eyes flick to you as you move across the bed but you keep your gaze locked to Azriel. You slide a hand across his shoulder and he rises at your gentle command, settling onto his knees. Your focus never wavers as you settle yourself across Cassian’s waist towards the shadowsinger. His grin is gone and he watches your every movement carefully. You let your eyes wander down his toned chest, watch his abs flex under your gaze before landing on his thick length. Azriel’s hard cock brushes his stomach, the thick vein running along the underside revealed to you. His cock hovers only inches from Cassian’s which is flushed red as you watch a bead of precum swell at the tip. With them both straining before you, you can’t help but imagine what it would be like to take them both at the same time. To have them filling you, stretching you -

Oh sweetheart, say the word and your wish is my command. Azriel purrs. Your eyes flick to meet black ones as you lift yourself from your perch on Cassian’s chiselled torso, giving him the perfect view of your ass, before sinking down on his length. His hips make a feeble attempt to meet yours but Azriel is upon you, strong calloused hands gripping your hips and holding you down.

Azriel’s mouth captures yours, nipping and sucking at your bottom lip. His rough hands explore your body, sliding over soft skin and cupping your breasts. You let out a small whimper at the all consuming sensation of one mate stretching you open while the other runs expert hands along every nerve. Azriel pulls back, a short growl rolling from his chest.

��What’s wrong?” You pant softly. “He won’t keep quiet.” His eyes flick over your shoulder momentarily at Cassian. The lord of bloodshed was never one to go quietly, so you can only imagine what he’s throwing down the bond at Azriel right now. Azriel takes up your hands in his and places them on his shoulders. He leans forward, lips brushing your neck and murmurs “Hold on sweetheart.” Your fingers flex into thick muscle as he leans into you.

“You want more General?” He snarls over you before lifting Cassian’s hips slightly. The movement forces him even deeper inside you and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips. Without warning Azriel slams into him. Cassian lets out a muffled cry that you hope is more pleasure than pain.

“Is that enough for you?” Azriel chuckles darkly. Azriel’s large hands envelop your waist once more as he guides you up and down on Cassian in time with his own thrusts. You let yourself go, let Azriel use your body to pleasure Cassian as all you can focus on is your own. When you find yourself on the edge again Azriel’s gentle purr is there.

Drop your shield, let him feel all of you Y/N.

You do as he says, dropping your mental shield and finally opening the bond to Cassian again. A flood of emotion washes over you, of relief, anger, envy, happiness all swirling together but the prevailing sense of lust is all consuming.

Cassian’s emotions tangling with your own is overwhelming and that coil building inside of you snaps. You fall willingly into the dark abyss of your release. Seeing you reach your climax has both of your mates falling after you and soon the only sound in the room is the mix of panting breaths.

Azriel recalls his shadows and immediately Cassian claims you. He grabs your sides and twists you towards him, lips laying kisses to any piece of skin in his reach.

Y/N? Cassian’s low timbre reverberates in your mind, soft and timid.

I’m here Cass. You run your fingers through his soft hair, doing your best to calm him. Are you okay?

Never better sweetheart. His fingers trace circles on your back. Just need you here. Need you close.

Having the bond cut off had obviously taken a toll on him, like a carrot on a stick Azriel had dangled you in front of him the entire time.

You are far tastier than a carrot my love. I just need a few minutes to recentre. Also I’m afraid if I let you go I’ll make good on some of the nastier promises I made Az. His broad chest bounces beneath you with his chuckle.

Yes you were starting to get rather creative towards the end there. Azriel chuckles along with him. I’ll get you both some water.

Azriel’s weight lifts from the bed as you lean down and kiss Cassian softly.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

So, this is what you’ve both been keeping from me? You slowly trace the Illyrian tattoos along Cassian’s chest with your fingertips. He ponders the ceiling for a moment before responding.

When we first met Azriel at the Illyrian camps, he was untrained, never learnt to fly and had a darkness that trailed after him. His mouth quirks with a smile, obviously remembering the time fondly. However your bottom lip juts out in a pout, recalling why it was so in the first place.

After bein- Cassian paused for a moment After the childhood he had, having never known a sense of control, his untamed power would just take over. He ended up in twelve fights in his first week at camp.

Cassian leaned down, absentmindedly brushing his lips to the top of your head.

Shortly after the mating bond snapped we discovered a way for him to manage. An outlet that gave him full control when he felt himself slipping into the darkness. Everyone thought his new friendship and proximity to the future High Lord was the cause of the change. That he was now able to maintain focus, control and wield his power better than ever. Only Rhys and I knew the truth.

It was very generous of you, to become that for him. You smile softly.

Cassian breaks out into a deep laugh, the vibrations tingling your skin.

Oh no, it wasn’t generosity at all. He grins widely. My horny ass got me caught out after Az got in a fight with Rhys one night. His eyes went dark, shadows flying, solid muscle straining in flight leathers. He looked as if death came to walk the earth and I got fucking hard. He laughs again at himself. Az scented it and jumped me, Rhys couldn’t winnow away fast enough. I guess you could say the darkness called to me.

I think I know the feeling. You giggled to yourself. Cassian raised a hand to your chin, pulling your eyes to his dazzling grin still wide.

And that is why we are made for each other my love. He pulls you in for another lingering kiss.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

Azriel softly pads back to the bedroom with two glasses in hand. He’d stopped at his room to throw on soft pants and a light shirt even though he didn’t want to be away from either of you for a second. It felt strange not being the one comforting Cassian right now but he knew that Y/N was what he needed. Especially after he had made her withhold the bond. Azriel pulls his bottom lip between sharp teeth. He has to admit that was dark, even for him. But Cassian never truly wavered and that scared him a little. One day he was going to do something that caused Cassian to truly snap and there would be no going back.

Azriel reaches your bedroom door and takes in the sight of his mates tangled together. Y/N half sprawled over Cassian, hair fanned across his chest. Cassian’s hand resting possessively on your hip, holding you to him even as you rested in a state between sleep and awake. He doesn’t know how long he stands there taking them in. Gods they look like they were made for eachother. Like they were poured from the Cauldron in the same moment and have only now found their way back to each other. Both so beautiful, strong and filled with light.

He catches one of his shadows sliding along the bed to you both and his heart freezes. In your combined blooms of light his shadow is the thorny vine. The weed that is pruned as to not cause destruction and decay to the beauty.

Azriel stumbles back towards the hall. How did he not see it? For so long he thought the Cauldron had made a mistake in giving him Cassian. And of course he never deserved a second mate, especially not one as brilliant as Y/N. And now here was the proof.

Perhaps he was a placeholder until you and Cassian could meet? Perhaps he was a mistake altogether? Whatever the reason, he saw it clearly now. He didn’t belong between you, he was a burden to be shouldered and you both deserved so much more. You deserved each other. He slipped from the room completely.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s the suffocating warmth that has you rolling away from Cassian. You’re sure he runs ten degrees hotter than any normal being. You slide your fingers along the sheets searching for the cool touch of your shadowsinger, only to come up empty. You sit up scanning the dark room but don’t find a single shadow out of place.

Azriel never returned with the waters he promised and there are no glasses on the bedside table to suggest he returned at all. Cassian mumbles into the pillow beside you as you pull his discarded shirt over your head for the second time tonight. You swing your legs off the bed and pad down the hall.

You approach the dim light of the kitchen to find a note pinned beneath a blade on the kitchen counter. Panic begins to set in, your heart pounding in your chest. You hear a commotion down the hall and pray to the Cauldron that it’s Azriel who will appear to quiet the noise pulsing in your head.

But it’s Cassian who stumbles into the kitchen next to you. Sensing your distress he’d obviously lept from the bed only pausing long enough to collect his underwear and a blade.

“What’s wrong?” He pants eyes darting around the room, assessing for a threat. You nod towards the note on the counter not trusting your voice.

He approaches it cautiously, as if it could jump from the surface and attack at any moment. He pushes the blade aside, picks up the note and reads it in the time it takes for you to figure out how to breathe again.

You watch as Cassian’s wings fall. The tips dragging on the ground. He reads the note again as if that will change anything about its contents.

His hand falls and he steps towards you, handing you the note.

“He’s gone.” His low voice rumbles.

My love,

Forgive me. I hope this letter remains in one piece long enough for you to read but I can understand if you do not grant me such a privilege. I never thought I would need to say goodbye to you, as you are my home. But I can not jeopardise your safety, Y/N’s safety, any longer.After centuries my darkness still remains unpredictable and for so long you have been its balm. Somehow you have kept the shadows inside me at bay.

But now my darkness threatens your new light. Y/N is everything you have always deserved. She is warmth, calm, serenity and whilst I wish beyond anything to bask in that light along with you I cannot take that risk.

I know I do not have the right to ask anything of you now but I beg of you to take care of her. Be her protector where I cannot, be the strength she needs and the mate I cannot be. Until my last breath I will be yours.

Always. Azriel.

“He’s gone.” You manage to choke out.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

Azriel scratches another line into the rough rock wall. Three months. It’s been three months since he left and he’s not sure how he’s still breathing.

Originally he planned to flee the Night Court entirely, settle far away perhaps on the continent. But he couldn’t bring himself to even cross the border.

He could stay close, he told himself. He could embody the shadows that are loyal to him, become a part of the darkness. From this small cave in the mountainside he could watch over Velaris, monitor for danger. Maybe one day he’d even have the strength to return to the city, moving between the shadows only to catch a glimpse of his mates on an errand.

He could see it now, Cassian trailing after Y/N complaining about carrying all of the gifts you’d buy for Starfall. You’d give some witty reply and then stand on tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek.

Starfall. It was tonight. Azriel’s eyes traced the sky as if he’d already catch a glimpse of those dazzling lights in the waning evening light. He’d never been apart from Cassian on this night, he’d never even had the chance to properly spend it with Y/N. But you had each other and you would be safe from him.

He rubs at his chest. His heart straining behind his ribs, as if it feels betrayed by him, as if it will leave him here in this cave and return to his mates alone. Azriel takes a steadying breath and steps back into the darkness of the cave. He wouldn’t go back. They were better without him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

You stood on the balcony of the eerily quiet House of Wind. On Starfall your home was usually a buzz of activity but this year Rhysand had moved the festivities to his river house to give you some peace and quiet.

But the quiet was suffocating as you stood alone. One mate was missing and the other…

Cassian had become a shadow of himself. After Azriel left he trained less, took on less missions from Rhys and eventually stopped leaving his room.

Every morning you bought him food, every evening you curled up with him and told him of your day but you could feel him slipping from you.

His once dark black wings had begun to fade to an ashy grey. On the days he dressed his sirens remained dull and lifeless. You were lost on what more you could do. You were losing him.

Tears roll down your cheeks and reflect the first tumbling lights of Starfall. An all encompassing sadness washes over you, your lungs becoming tight and it slowly becomes harder to breathe. It was as if your emotions were too much for one person to hold.

Your breath catches in your throat. It couldn’t be?

Azriel? You reach out.

After months of Azriel having the bond shutdown you didn’t realise when he’d crept back in. You try to reach for more but you feel his presence sliding away.

No. He had to stay. You couldn’t keep going on like this. You throw down the bond the one thing that might get him to stay.

I think Cassian is dying. You let out a sob. Azriel he’s fading and I don’t know what to do.

One moment you're watching the stars fall from the sky, the next they’re blacked out by a pair of wings high above you. The Illyrian drops sharply from the sky and lands heavily next to you, vibrations sent rumbling through the stone.

“Az?” You whisper.

Azriel straightens from his landing. He looks disheveled, hair askew, dark circles permanently embedded under even darker eyes.

“I know I don’t deserve-“ he doesn’t look at you as he speaks. “What’s wrong with him? Was he poisoned? Injured?” He stares out over the balcony and you can see his jaw clench.

“You left.” You growl out.

“That’s not important right no-“ He snarls

“No! You. Left. Azriel. That’s what’s wrong with him.” You throw the images down the bond. Cassian slumped in his chair. Of his fading complexion. Wings barely lifted from the floor.

Azriel flinches at the sight. Then he finally looks at you. Tears welling in his eyes.

“I had to Y/N.” He swallows thickly. “My nature is literally the depths of darkness. I skate a thin line of control and I can’t afford to fall from that ledge now that there is you.”

“Az-“ You move to step toward him.

“No.” Azriel shakes his head and side steps further from you. “You don’t understand. Cassian is whole and good and light. He is the moon. And you. You are his stars. You are two of the same. Meant for each other.” He grips the balcony's ledge so tightly the scars of his hands bloom white. Your emotions are at war inside you. You are furious that he left, joyful that he has returned and heart broken that he doesn’t see himself the way you do.

“If Cassian is the moon and I am the stars then Azriel you are our night sky.” You move to him now, resting your hands lightly on his forearm. The note he left that night beginning to make sense. “Your darkness doesn’t dim our light, it’s the reason for our brightness. Your darkness is the blanket in which we rest, the sanctuary in which we relied upon.” You take a steadying breath.

You begin to step back, to give him some space “But if your heart does not beat for us the way-“

Azriel’s hand snaps to your wrist and suddenly you find yourself wrapped in his arms, your face burrowed in his chest. His lips brush against the top of your head.

“Do not. For a second. Insinuate that I don’t think of you both in every second of every day.” You hold him infinitely closer at his words.

Time stretches on between you as you stand in each other's arms. Eventually you pull back.

“I need to tell Cassian that you’re here.” Azriel releases you from his arms and immediately you want to go back to him.

“You will stay?” You ask wary that as soon as you turn he will disappear again.

He nods. “I’ll wait to see him.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The door clicks closed on Cassian’s room as you step back into the hall. You find Azriel there waiting for you.

“He said” you pause.

“He doesn’t want to see me.” Azriel finishes unsurprised.

“Yes.” You admit quietly.

“It’s okay Y/N. He’s always been a stubborn ass.” His lips lift in a soft smirk. “I deserve much worse.” His wings fall and he turns to walk back down the hall. You quickly follow not wanting to let him out of your sight.

He pulls a chair out from the dining table and slumps into it. Instead of taking a seat of your own, you move to stand between his legs. He welcomes you into his space, hands finding your hips as your fingers brush across a stubbled jaw.

“I want to stay.” He whispers, dark eyes meeting yours.

“Then stay Azriel.” You whisper back. Letting your fingers trail across his face, committing every line and freckle to memory.

“How will you forgive me?” He turns to brush his lips along your palm. “How will he?”

“Just give it some time Azriel. He needs to know that you are staying for good. That you are committed to this.” You can’t bring yourself to say that you need it too, but you can see in Azriel’s eyes that he understands.

You stand in peace for a moment. Azriel was far from forgiven but he was here, back in your arms, back where he belonged.

“I’ll take the dedication.” Azriel nods after a moment, as if all is decided.

“The dedication?” You take a half step back trying to read his face.

“It’s an old Illyrian custom, the greatest act of commitment of one Illyrian to another.” He stands from the chair and takes your hands in his.

“It’s a sacrifice I will make for him and for you. I don’t expect either of you to forgive me right away but it’s a start.” His eyes are determined as they flick between yours.

He brings your hands to his lips and kisses each of them gently.

“I have to go to Windhaven. But I’ll be back soon.” He releases your hands and goes to move away.

“Wait.” You put a hand to his chest. “If this dedication is so important why haven’t you or Cassian taken it before?”

“Cassian wouldn-” He pauses. “It’s an outdated tradition. It’s rarely completed anymore. But I promise Y/N.” He steps forward and places a light kiss to your cheek “I’ll be back.”

He disappears over the closest balcony and a sinking feeling won’t leave your gut. Azriel is desperate to fix things between the three of you. What if this dedication is dangerous? What if he doesn’t return because he no longer can?

Azriel had said it was an old tradition no a sacrifice, but of what? He said that Cassian wouldn’t… No. This is bad. Whatever this dedication was Cassian didn’t want it from Azriel, which meant it was definitely dangerous. And Cassian was in no state to stop him. You did the only thing you could think to do.

Rhysand!

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

Rhys arrived at the house only moments later, his deep velvet suit twinkling with the lights of Starfall. Within the Night Court you could usually always reach him, but given recent events he had been extra vigilant of you and Cassian.

“I’m sorry to pull you from your family tonight.” You apologise.

“You are all part of my family. Is he okay?” Rhys tilts his head in consideration.

“Cass is fine. What’s the dedication?” You rush out.

“What? How do you know about dedication?” He looks at you with wide eyes and gods that cannot be good.

“Azriel’s back. Cassian wouldn’t see him and he’s gone to Windhaven to take the dedication. What is it? Is it another Rite?” The more you talk the whiter Rhys’ face becomes. And then he’s furious.

“That fucking fool.” Rhysand’s wings burst forth and he pivots heading back the way he came, to the stairs to the rooftop.

“Rhys?” You rush after him, taking the stairs two at a time.

“The dedication is an ancient Illyrian tradition. Usually performed by females.” His low growls echo through the stone stairwell. “It’s the ultimate act of submission of one Illyrian to another.”

Your stomach rolls at the implications. If the Illyrians no longer performed this dedication then it had to be truly barbaric.

“What act?” You pant out as Rhys reaches the door to the roof.

He turns to you briefly, “He’s going to remove his wings.”

You freeze. Your body literally locks into place at the top of stairs as Rhysand bursts onto the roof and takes flight, disappearing into the night sky.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t know how long you stand there, frozen in place. Azriel was going to remove his wings? Maybe they were already gone?

No. You couldn’t think like that. But why did he think you’d want that? Cassian wouldn’t want that, would he?

A thousand more questions run through your mind before your trance is broken by the appearance of two bodies in the sky above you.

Suddenly one body shoves away from the other and two pairs of Illyrian wings are silhouetted by the lights of Starfall.

Thank the Cauldron. Rhysand had reached him in time. You can hear their shouts of arguing far above you, but you can’t make out what’s being said.

You take the moment to reach out to Cassian.

Cass. You feel his warmth wrap around your mind. It always felt like being rugged up near a crackling fire when he reached for you. Azriel took off to Windhaven to take the dedication. He’s okay. Rhysand brought him back. All the warmth leached from your mind and you felt his side of the bond go cold. You let out a breath. You’d deal with that issue later, you could only handle one problem at a time right now.

Rhysand and Azriel were finally gliding back to the roof, both looking furious. As Azriel’s feet touch down you’re almost sent tumbling by a black blur flying past you. Cassian collides heavily with Azriel, sending his back slamming into the wall of the house.

Cassian, now dressed in full Illyrian leather's red sirens flaring brighter than you had seen in weeks, has Azriel pinned with a forearm to his chest.

“What the fuck are you thinking.” He snarls.

Azriel doesn’t even attempt to fight back, he allows himself to be held against the wall, wings flared on either side.

Rhysand takes quick stock of the situation like he’s seen this scenario play out a hundred times before and maybe he had. His eyes find yours and you give him a small nod, giving your thanks and letting him know that you’ll be okay. Rhys takes to the sky once again, returning to his family at the River House.

“You don’t get to reappear after three months and then take off to Windhaven for the dedication!” You’d never seen the fury in Cassian directed at Azriel before.

“What were you going to do huh?” He doesn’t wait for Azriel to respond. His voice raises as he becomes more desperate “Go through all that pain, retrain for weeks to adjust to the change in balance, just to rejoin a battle and leave yourself vulnerable? You enter a ward and you don’t winnow out! Did you think about that? That you wouldn’t be able to leave the ground anymore? That you wouldn’t be able to get out? That you wouldn’t be able to get her out?” Cassian tosses his head back in your direction. Azriel's eyes flick from Cassian to you and you can tell he hadn’t thought about it. That type of combat was Cassian’s forte. Those are the things that Cassian would always think about first.

“For what Azriel?” He lifts his forearm and slams it back into his chest.

“For you!” Azriel finally shouts back. “For you and for her. I would gladly deliver my wings to you on a silver platter if it meant you would even look in my direction again.”

“What?” Cassian steps back stunned.

“I left because I thought you’d both be better off without me.” Azriel pushes from the wall.

An image of you and Cassian tangled in bed together floods your vision and you realise it’s from the night Azriel left. You watch as his attention is drawn to one of his shadows crawling towards your resting figures and you know that's the moment he decided to leave.

You immediately answer with a memory of your own. With the conversation that directly preceded Azriel’s perspective.

He looked as if death came to walk the earth and I got fucking hard. Casian laughs at himself. Az scented it and jumped me, Rhys couldn’t winnow away fast enough. I guess you could say the darkness called to me.

I think I know the feeling. You giggled to yourself. Cassian raised a hand to your chin, pulling your eyes to his, dazzling grin still wide.

And that is why we are made for each other my love. He pulls you in for another lingering kiss.

You let the memory fade and you’re all brought back to the roof.

“You said we were the moon and the stars,” Cassian cocks his head in consideration as you step forward. And you already know you’ll have to fill him in on that conversation later. “But left to our own devices we burn each other out. You are the diffuser. You are the solace that cradles the light, that controls the burn.” You take his hand in yours, letting all the love and concern you have for him slide down the bond.

“If you thought she was made for me and I for her you were wrong.” Cassian’s voice is hoarse from the yelling. “We were made for you.”

Azriel’s eyes well with tears.

“And you walked away.” Cassian turns back to the house, all the fight now depleted from him.

Azriel bows his head in defeat.

“Cassian.” Azriel begs.

Cassian stills halfway to the door.

“I want to come home.” Azriel’s voice breaks.

“Then come home.” Cassian tosses over his shoulder before striding back into the house.

---------------------------------------------------------------------- a/n: So I think I'm incapable of writing a happy endings at this point, but Part 3 maybe?

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