#and azriel having to get in the middle of them

[acoazlove]

OH my god, i’m literally reading this as i’m sitting at the airport waiting to go home, and i’m so unbelievably excited to know what happens next! this is SOOO incredibly written and i am so happy that she didn’t reject the bond! az avoiding her is obviously bad but i can’t wait to see how he makes it up to her.

him saying “Eris would be more upset if I shielded him. Autumn males are incredibly proud creatures.” made me giggle to myself, i love eris and his dynamic in the series! and also can’t wait to see how reader fits into it!

i haven’t been reading that much this week and am so excited to start reading again! i love them and this series! incredible writing as always!! <33

Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one - part six

Pairing: Eris x Azriel x reader | WC: 4.2k | warnings: general angst, mentions of dizziness and nausea

Summary: you wake up only to find out you were unconscious much longer than anticipated, leading to multiple needed confrontations

Author’s note: I’ve been a bit MIA lately 😅 just throwing this out in the void before going through my dms/inbox. I’m soooo excited for the next part

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You didn’t need to open your eyes to know how bad your head hurt. It felt impossibly heavy, practically glued to the pillow beneath you. You weren’t entirely sure your neck could hold up its weight anymore. You groaned, not really certain where you were. You combed through the last things you remembered, all of it a blur of blood and exhaustion, none of it clear.

“Do you want to tell me what’s been going on with you?”

A low female voice greeted you, receiving only a grunt in response. Thinking was hard and it only caused the throbbing in your head to worsen. You weren’t entirely sure who was talking to you or why, but you focused all of your energy trying to remember what happened.

All you could remember was blood and pain, a tiredness that you carried in your bones. There was arguing and arrows and Eris. Slowly more and more came back to you until you sat up, wincing at the sudden change, nearly nauseous from the movement.

“Azriel? How’s Azriel?” Your eyes cracked open to find your room around you, albeit slightly cleaner than when you had left it. The still room was a sharp contrast to how you felt inside. Nesta was sitting in a chair next to your bed, a book in her lap, a finger marking her place in it.

She didn’t look happy to see you, nor did she seem to care that you were awake.

“He’ll be fine, thanks to you it would seem.”

You groaned, falling back onto the bed. The suddenness was something you had not learned from when sitting up. Now the room was slightly spinning before you shut your eyes tight, hoping for some reprieve. You rubbed your eyes harshly until you saw stars.

“It would also seem like you almost burnt out saving him.”

Burnt out.

It was something they warned all healers, magic or not. There is a breaking point. A point of no return. It’s happened to many healers over the centuries, especially during times of war, when they don’t quite know their own limits.

Something all healers learn is the whereabouts of their magical limitations, where they need to stop before doing serious damage to themselves. All healers were taught not to place someone else’s life above your own. It’s drilled into your heads, one of the first rules of practicing the healing arts.

But you had done it. You had placed Azriel’s life above your own without even a second thought.

The pained look that was on Eris’s face was enough to keep you from crumbling from that realization.

For hours, you placed Azriel’s healing above yourself. You made the choice over and over again, choosing him over yourself. You made the right call. You would do it again. You could handle a broken bond, but not a dead one.

Maybe this one sided devotion was proof enough you were making the right decision.

“I’m sure you have a better understanding than I do of how stupid and reckless that is, and yet you still did it.” Nesta’s voice wasn’t the happy, soothing voices you usually hear patient’s families spoke with after they wake up. If you heard someone chastising a patient after waking, you’d chew their heads off. Instead, you stayed quiet, just watching Nesta as she continued on.

“For weeks now, I have sat idly by as you spiraled into self-destruction, but I can’t do so anymore.” Her voice cracked with each word, betraying the anger she was trying to inject into each word. “You are my friend, and I care so much about you. I’m worried about you.”

Her concern cracked at your heart. She crumpled into herself, bringing a hand up to her mouth. She looked uncomfortable, like her body had been glued to the chair and was finally unfolding itself from strange positions to find comfort.

“I’m fine, Nesta.” You were groggy, nauseous, and a bit heartbroken, but you’d be fine. Azriel was alive, you were going to be mateless, but you’d be fine.

Her eyebrows pinched together, a look of annoyance crossing over her features. You weren’t sure if it was over your words or interrupting her.

“I haven’t been there for you as I should. I thought you needed space, and now you’re here.” She spat out the last word, but you knew she wasn’t talking about being confined to your room.

“How long was I out?” You had to stop Nesta’s spiraling and get a handle on the situation. Madja wasn’t here to tell you what had happened, but surely you could parse out your state from a few questions Nesta should know the answers to.

“Four days.”

Nesta must be wrong. Surely there was no way you were incapacitated for four whole days. That was ridiculous. But you looked over Nesta, taking in the purple bags beneath her eyes, her hands fisting into the fabric of her wrinkled dress.

She wouldn’t lie about that.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” And you hadn’t. You hadn’t thought of anyone except for Azriel and Eris for several hours, all of your attention on the two males. When you weren’t examining Azriel for his condition, your gaze would end up floating to wherever Eris was.

But now neither of them are here, just you and Nesta.

“You didn’t scare me. I was terrified. I thought you were gone, thought you wouldn’t wake up.”

“Nesta, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Wasn’t that bad?” She repeated your words with a venom that had you recoil, preparing yourself for the strike. “You were wailing in Cassian’s arms in the foyer. You were inconsolable until you passed out. Madja’s been here nearly every hour to check on you.”

Shit. If Madja was making hourly rounds, you were in worse shape than you thought. Hourly rounds meant you must have been practically knocking on death’s door.

“What happened out there? What happened when you were with Azriel and Eris?” Nesta was practically pleading, desperate for some kind of answer. She was like a dog, a scent stuck in her nose until she nosed her way to the truth. You wanted to break, tell her everything.

Until you’re struck by the memory of Eris’s hand, pushing through Azriel’s wings, finding you. How tight his grip was, he warm his skin had been.

“We were ambushed. Azriel took the brunt of it. We healed him and came straight back here.” You absentmindedly rubbed at your wrist

“But you were gone for hours. You should have winnowed back.”

“Eris winnowed us somewhere. He was in bad shape, so I fixed him. How’s Azriel?” You needed to know more about his condition. Nesta said he’d be fine, but did that include any long term effects? How much had your healing helped him?

“He’s resting, but he’ll be fine.” She crossed her arms, her fingers tapping on her arm, not telling you much more than she already had. You were sure this was her punishing you, by leaving you in the dark on Azriel.

“If he wasn’t fine after you nearly killed yourself to save him, I’d resuscitate both of you to kill you myself.” You hadn’t realized you forgot to respond until she chastised you.

“Nesta-“

“You both were gone for hours. It was supposed to be quick. None of us realized until Rhysand couldn’t get through to either of you.”

You blinked, surprised at that. Eris must have had some form of protection put around the cabin that stopped Rhysand.

Interesting.

“And now you’re telling me next to nothing.”

“I just woke up. I can hardly recall it all myself, okay?” A lie. You remembered all of it clearly. The splintering wood, having to carefully remove the arrowheads, all of the blood gushing from him, Eris’s quick remarks.

“Did you fuck him?” The question was quick and unexpected, and you nearly snapped your neck with how quickly you looked at her.

“Who, Eris?” She didn’t move, didn’t give away any slight movement. Still as a statue as yiur heart began beating faster.

“Yes, Eris. You reek of him these days. I won’t tell the others, but I need to know.” His name on her tongue sent a rush through your body, your jaw ticking in annoyance.

“Yes Nesta, I fucked him while Az was bleeding out.” The barb was quick on your tongue, this conversation raising your heckles and irritating you more than anything. Nesta’s eyes hardened for a flash, a mischievous glint in them before she softened ever so slightly, her voice turning from admonishing to conspiratorial in a manner of seconds.

“Do you think he’s a selfless lover?”

“No.” The response was too quick, too ready on the forefront of your mind, something that didn’t go unnoticed by your friend. “I imagine he’s selfish in every aspect of his life.”

“So you imagine it?”

“Nesta.” Her name was sharp from your mouth, a knife slicing across the room. She took a more defensive stance, approaching your bed. A knowing smirk overtook her features for just a moment before it quickly contorted into one of concern and annoyance.

“Mother’s sake, tell me something, anything.” Nesta was pleading at this point, uncaring at the vulnerability and guilt she was sure was all over her face.

“I can’t.”

“You can tell me anything. Are you in danger?”

“No.”

“Well, I don’t know! You’re avoiding everyone, you're being self destructive, you’re spending a lot of time with Eris of all fae. What am I supposed to think?” She was pacing now, her footfalls back and forth across your floor, an anxious rhythm that only dug the secret deeper and deeper inside of you.

“Nesta, I can’t tell you.”

“I’m not accepting that.”

“What?” Her concern was shifting into nosiness. You clenched your hands in frustration, nails digging into skin harsh enough to leave marks.

“It’s not good enough.”

Rage was coiling inside of you, a ferocity nipping at your fingertips begging to be let out. You had to swallow down a growl from slipping out, the territorial feeling nearly consuming you.

You had to stall her. Get her out of here before you exploded before her.

“Give me a month to figure things out. I’ll be honest with you then.”

“A week.” You sighed through your nose. Of course Nesta was going to barter with you. Your left hand felt warm. A small trickle of blood was about to stain your sheets, no doubt.

“Two weeks.”

She looked to the window, her face blank as she thought over your offer. She was taking this almost too seriously, as if it were hostage negotiations or preparing for war.

“Fine. Fourteen days from now you’re telling me everything.” She pointed a long finger at you, the agreement weighing the air down. You felt a shift in the room, uncertain of the magical perimeters of your verbal agreement.

You released your hand, grabbing the pillow behind you. You didn’t care about the blood as you held the soft material to your face and screamed.

-

Members of the Inner Circle trickled in throughout the day, each one wanting to see for themselves you were awake and had all your faculties about you. It was sweet, but by the time you had seen Cassian and his boisterous laugh, your head was pounding so hard it made the soft lights in your room appear blinding.

Feyre had come in a few hours after Cassian, boxes loaded in her arms as she came into your room. You were a bit groggy, having just woken from a nap in the hopes it would tampen your migraine.

It half worked.

“What is all that?”

The boxes shuffled in Feyre’s arms, ringing and tingling with each step.

“Well, I wanted to bring some jewelry to look over for the gala in a few weeks.” You had completely forgotten about it, had forgotten that one of the days you were incapacitated was a scheduled day for you, Feyre, and Mor to go dress shopping.

“Thanks, Fey. Sorry for missing-” she shushed you, not letting you finish your apology. She spread the boxes across your bed, gently lifting the lid of each one to reveal exquisite necklace after exquisite necklace. Each one contained more vibrant jewels, shinier than the last.

The eight boxes practically blinded you with the light coming in. Feyre noticed the squint in your eye and quickly closed the curtains.

“They're gorgeous, but I haven’t even picked a dress.”

“Maybe you could pick a dress after you pick the jewels. Black goes with everything, so..” she trailed off, sitting in the seat next to you, her back straight. She watched you eagerly, her eyes flitting between you and the pile of jewels before you.

“Are you wearing any of these?”

“No - Rhys surprised me with some onyx pearls. Want them on full display.” She reached a hand up to her throat, as if feeling for the necklace. It was pretty easy to figure out exactly what Feyre meant - skin, and lots of it, on display. She was much quicker to adapt to fae views on modesty than you had anticipated.

“Oh, well in that case.” You sat up a bit straighter, moving slowly to avoid as much pain as possible. Each necklace must have been worth a pile of gold marks.

A few of them looked quite similar - chunky gemstones of varying colors set in different metals. One necklace did catch your eye. You kept looking over to it, the other ones looking dull and lifeless in comparison. Deep red stones perfectly set to resemble Night Court jasmines. The dark red nearly looked black until the light hit it, refracting rays of red. The stones branched out, weaving around the neck to create multiple flowers connected by leaves.

You couldn’t stop looking at the necklace, your hand gently rubbing across it.

“Do you like that one?”

Feyre had a knowing look as she watched you, but you didn't turn to see it.

“Yes. I do.”

-

A few more visitors came and went - Madja (again), Rhysand, Mor. Each one not the shadowsinger you wanted to see. Maybe it was better to wait. Build your strength up a bit before shattering your heart.

Rhysand and Mor could both tell your head wasn’t with them. Rhys accepted it, leaving you to your thoughts, but Mor lingered, her never ending stories an attempt at distracting you. The attempt half worked - at least now only every other thought was about Azriel.

But most of the other ones were about Eris.

Your friends tried to help clear your mind, but all your thoughts whirled and swirled with fire and shadow, bright and vibrant colors immediately snuffed out by the darkness.

Everyone told you Azriel was fine. But where was he? You felt unsettled, unable to truly concentrate without seeing him.

You glanced over to your bedside table, the book on broken mating bonds practically laughing at your turmoil.

You went over what to expect again, trying to see if you can recall all the symptoms and long term side effects of the broken bond, repeating them to yourself like a mantra.

-

It wasn’t until the next day you saw Azriel. He had gently knocked on the door before coming in, each movement slow and unsure, as if approaching a wild animal.

“I had heard rumors you were awake. Wanted to check for myself.” He stood with the door to his back, as far away as possible from you. One hand on the knob, but his body was angled right at you.

You couldn’t think of anything to say, only stare at him outright.

Azriel looked beautiful, like always, but he carried a tiredness with him. His wings weren’t as high as they usually stood, his shoulders were caved in a bit. His shadows were slithering in every direction, all trying to reach you, but held back by some invisible tether.

He looked miserable.

“If you don’t want me here, I can go.” Azriel’s voice was soft, an echo in the dark woods late at night. A salvation or a new fear.

“Have you visited while I was asleep?” You didn’t want to tell him how much you wanted him here, how much you still thought of him.

So what if you were going to stretch out the last few minutes of your bond.

“Madja wouldn’t let me. She had Cassian and Mor practically guarding the door day and night to ensure I stayed put until completely recovered.” He scoffed as he said it, as if he were nothing more than an animal incapable of decisive thought.

Or they didn’t think he was the coward he had been for the past few weeks. They thought him capable of seeing you.

And yet here he was. Despite his self-loathing, his inability to make a decision, to speak, to do anything his mates need him to.

He wanted to be the male his mates needed.

“I wanted-“ he began, searching the room for his next words, as if they would be written out on your wardrobe or the painting behind your head. He tightened his hand into a fist, the scars nearly turning white as he looked at you head on.

“I wanted to thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s my job.”

“It’s not your job to nearly die saving me.”

“I would have done it for anyone else.” The second the words left your lips, you knew Azriel wouldn’t believe them. He always knew when you were lying somehow, as if the mating bond gave him some unfair advantage to your heart and motivations.

Azriel only nodded, not fighting you on the lie. You watched him suspiciously, watched his chest rising and falling, subconsciously counting his breaths.

“Are you tired?”

He looked anguished, like he carried a deep hunger and no meal was enough to sustain him, let alone nourish him.

“No.”

“Nesta said you needed more rest.”

“Nesta lies when it suits her.”

An awkward silence settled over the two of you, weighing you down further into the bed. You took a deep breath, propping yourself up on your elbows until you reached a sitting position. You knew what you had to do, what you had to say. It wouldn’t get easier the longer this went on. Azriel moved to your side, moving pillows to give you a proper cushion and to help prop you up.

“We should talk, Az.” He looked over you, the pillows abandoned as all of his attention was focused on you. You held your hands in your lap, wringing them for every ounce of courage they contained to get through this conversation. Your stomach churned with dread, the thread around your heart trying to stop you from saying what you had to.

“When you were injured, because of me, I decided it’s not fair to you or me to keep dragging this out. We should end things.” You looked at your hands, proud you had gotten the words out without stuttering or breaking. You swallowed harshly, your throat dry, but you couldn’t bring yourself to reach for the water on your nightstand.

Quiet surrounded you, a stillness you hadn’t expected from this conversation. There were no shouts or sobs, no frustration sitting in your chest. No relief or songs of praise at being free.

Just silence. Like you had made him incapable of thought or feeling with those words.

“Is that what you want? Or is that what you think I want?” His words startled you, and you finally looked up to find a layer of rage coating his face. He had come closer while you were looking elsewhere, finally being in the room, allowing himself in the narrative.

Finally taking charge.

“Isn’t it? What’s the point in having a mate who doesn’t want you?” Your words had an immediate effect on him, the male before you rubbing his hands on his face. One of his shadows hooks around his fingers, trying to pry them away, to make him seen. Another one swirls his ear, and you can’t discern it, but you hear a light buzzing from it.

He sits in the chair next to your bed before quickly getting back up and grabbing one of your clammy hands.

“I have not been good to you or Eris. This is hard, okay? No one has ever had this happen and I didn’t want either of you hurt.”

You scoffed, trying to pull your hand away, but he held it tighter. The textured grooves of his skin were more prominent as he held you. “Bit late for that.”

“Please. Please, give me more time. Give me a chance. Maybe we can figure something out, some kind of arrangement.” He was desperate, a pleading voice you had never heard from him. Was this how criminals of the Night Court looked to him, pleading at the ends of their lives for just one more chance?

“An arrangement?”

“I don’t know, okay? I’m not sure what to do when I have two mates who I care about who also hate each other and they both currently hate me.” He paused, chest heaving. His hazel eyes looked so lost, so unsure. “Not to mention someone out there knows about us or about us being out there. I haven’t been able to figure it out, haven’t been able to figure any of this out.”

The end of his sentence tapered off into his spymaster voice. A tone full of obsession and getting to the root of things, a dogged voice of determination.

“Please, let me take care of you. If not as your mate, as your friend. I care so deeply about you and you are where all my thoughts have been the past few days.”

“What of Eris?” Azriel used to recoil at the mention of his other mate, his name so foreign on your tongue. Now he showed no change, almost happy to hear it.

“He’s popped in now and then. He’s angry with me for getting hurt.” The mention of it sent you back there. A large, heavy body nearly crushing you in an effort to save you. Hoe you had felt him slump into you, his body giving out, unable to hold himself up any longer.

“Is he upset you shielded me?”

“Eris would be more upset if I shielded him. Autumn males are incredibly proud creatures.”

“As proud as Illyrians?” Your question brought a smirk to his lips, a twitch you knew he couldn’t suppress. You hadn’t seen it in a few weeks, but it felt more like a lifetime since you had a chance to see anything other than impassiveness or pain on his face.

“Almost.” He chuckled, lighthearted and free. A rarity you didn’t take for granted. His smile melted, a more serious, solemn expression overtaking his face. His hazel eyes were a shade full of desperation you knew a little too well.

“Give me time. Please. I’ll handle Eris. Just don’t - don’t reject the bond if you have an ounce of hope this could work. That’s not a sadness I wish to see you carry.”

“Why are you talking to me about this now? You’ve been avoiding this for weeks, Az.”

“I was afraid. I thought if I acknowledged it, I'd be hurting Eris. But I hurt both of you anyway. And I need-” the words die on his tongue, an awkward pause as he searches for the right words without being too vulnerable. “I need to- I needed to.. I don’t know how to do this. To be the male you both need. But I’m here now. I’m here.”

“Are you here because you have to be?”

“No. I want to be here. Let me be here. Let me try.”

Something about him cracked you open inside. In the weeks of this turmoil, the constant push and pull, the uncertainty, Azriel hadn’t looked so open, so vulnerable, so pained. If you spent long enough, you were sure you could map out every regret on his face.

Two roads laid before you. To end it all now, cut off any further heartache. Or you could try, allow Azriel time to figure something out.

He cared for you, you knew that deep inside of you.

With each passing second, your earlier resolve to end things became weaker and weaker, your heart winning the argument with your mind. Perhaps Nesta was right: you were self-destructing. Or was it the mating bond, so loudly swirling in your chest, determined to see itself recognized, even if it meant leading you overboard into frigid waters?

“You may stay. One condition.”

Azriel’s face relaxed, but he still seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, your words only lifting a few pounds off the load.

“You can’t leave at any inconvenient time, can’t just leave or shut me out because things get hard. I am your mate, and if you don’t treat me as an equal, or someone of importance… I’m gone.”

“Of course.” A light tingle gripped you again, less powerful than the magic that had floated around during your deal with Nesta. This time it was more like a light wind disturbing settled dust, spreading it across the both of you. Azriel’s skin almost brightened with the promise, breathing new life into him.

It suited him.

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[readychilledwine]

Heartbeat

Summary - One bed doesn't work well for 3 illyrians and their mate.

Warnings - Azriel's slutty sweatpants, mentions of wing clipping but nothing graphic, swearing

A/n - Anyone else wonder how any quad would handle a one bed situation?

Written for @polysjmweek day three: Will there be enough room?

SJM Poly+ Week Masterlist

Master Masterlist

“Oh you have got to be shitting me,” Azriel grumbled. “Rhys, you were supposed to ask for 2 beds.”

“I did,” The High Lord pulled off the hood that did nothing to disguise him, prompting a giggle from you and Cassian. The look of annoyance he gave the two of you had you hiding your face in Cassian's chest. “I suppose you two think this is very funny.”

“Very,” Cassian chuckled. “Azriel is acting like the 4 of us haven't been sharing a bed for, what, 200 years?” Cassian's hands guided you into the room, setting your bag down. “Go bathe first.”

216 years, you would never correct Cassian, and they still ensured you showered first in these situations. It wasn't the first time you four found yourselves in a rundown inn seeking shelter after a rough mission. It wouldn't be the last either. Peeling off the sweat and dirt-caked clothing made your skin crawl. You four had been hunting Illyrians that had crossed Rhysand for the last time. Your husband was tired of the clippings and the fighting.

All three of your husbands were, actually.

It had started with you and Cassian. The bond had snapped when he saw you on the Summer Court's pleasure barge, per his banishment from your home. He had introduced you to Azriel a few days later, the fight between them now being the cause of the infamous sand castle collapse that shook the Summer Court. Not wanting to live without them, you left when they did, arriving at the Night Court and causing another fight the second you laid eyes on Rhysand. The four of you worked hard to make the dynamic flow, but once it fell into place, the three of them all admitted their lives and connection made so much more sense.

“Do you need help, sweetheart,” a purr made you pause, hands moving away from the corset you wore for extra protection. Rhysand began to work on the ties. “We are attempting to figure out the bed situation,” his voice was slightly annoyed. “With two males with wings-”

“Baby, I can sleep on the floor,” you offered.

“Over my dead body,” his eyes met yours in the mirror. “If we move the bed to the center of the room, we can have Azriel and Cassian take the outsides-”

“And squish you in the middle with me on the floor,” your voice was meant to be firm, but the relief as he finally finished unlacing your corset made it more of a relaxed sigh. “You can't handle sleeping on floors or the couch. your knees will get stiff, and then you will become grumpy.”

He nipped at your ear playfully, “I do not get grumpy.” He walked with you toward the tub, arms around your waist as he hugged you from behind. He kept you practically glued to him, turning the faucet on, “I fear the water won't get warm.”

“It's okay. One cold bath won't kill me,” your fingers traced his forearm tattoos. “We get to go home tomorrow, right?”

He nodded, “Azriel found and took care of the last group while you and Cassian were doing whatever you two were doing.”

You leaned back to narrow your eyes, “Very serious mission things.” A lie, and Rhysand knew, but he wouldn't push it. “We were critical to the success of this operation.” Not a lie.

A dark brown lifted as his smirk began to form. “I will pretend I didn't just see a flash of what you two were doing in the woods today. Bathe while I get the bed figured out.” He left after smacking your ass, laughing as he did.

You sunk into the water, the harsh drag of wood on wood outside the door. The rules of your missions typically involved bathing quickly so you could all wash up, but with the water cold, there was little reason not to soak longer than you normally would. Once you were chilled to the bones, you stepped out and drained the tub, cringing at the sight of the dirty water.

A real bath, preferably with 3 sets of hands helping you, would be a must once you were back in Velaris. You wrapped yourself in the towel, walking out to where Azriel was situating things. “And where did the other two go?”

“They claim food,” he murmured. “Rhysand said the water is cold.” His hand reached for your hair, twisting a lock. “Are you cold?”

“A bit.”

“Start a fire if you'd like,” the tone of his voice was soft and almost musical, as it always was when he relaxed. His lips were warm on your forehead as he went to bathe, leaving you to try to heat the cold room with the small hearth. You studied the bed once you had it going, changing into your last clean pair of leggings and finding one of Cassian's shirts to wear.

There was no possible way all four of you would fit. Your bed in Velaris was custom-made, allowing all three males to stretch out their wings. That wouldn't be possible here. Rhysand would have to keep his tucked in with his magic, Azriel and Cassian would have to let theirs rest on the floor.

You had a plan. One they'd hate. You grabbed a blanket from the corner of the room and a pillow and laid in front of the fireplace. They'd believe you fell asleep warming your skin back up and hopefully, they'd let you sleep there. Maybe that would allow the three of them some sort of comfort. You shut your eyes, the warmth so enjoyable it lulled your mind into relaxing.

Cassian and Rhysand walked back into the room, Cassian quick to notice your form curled up under a blanket. “We should have just pushed and flew her home,” he told Rhysand. He kneeled down next to you, waving the questionable soup in front of your nose. Your tummy grumbled, forcing you to open your eyes from the sleepy state. “Eat.”

You took the bowl, sitting up to see Azriel coming out and Cassian motioning for Rhysand to go in. Azriel's sleeping pants hung loose on his hips as he grabbed a bowl as well. His waist looked fsr more interesting than the grey and clumpy soup, but you resisted the temptation. “Like bathing in a damned river,” he muttered to Cassian. “What are you doing on the floor,” he glanced at you.

“Sleeping,” your face, as you took a spoonful of soup, made both males pause.

“Can't be picky, sweetheart,” Azriel said softly. “Picky starves.”

“I know.”

Rhysand took the fastest bath you think he'd ever done, shivering as he walked back out in his towel and began to change. He said nothing as he took his first bite of food, nor did Azriel. Cassian had got to take his turn by the time you looked up. Once he was back, his own pants did not rest as low as Azriel's. He glanced at you. “That is my shirt,” his face was bright as he took you in, the material hanging almost drowning you in it. “But yes, you can wear it.”

All eyes were on that single bed. Rhysand appeared to be calculating the space, as if he could ensure his little plan would work. You laid back on the floor, stretching and then curling back to the fireplace. Wordlessly defiance was something you specialized in, but the three of them weren't stupid, and it didn't take them long to begin situating.

Azriel wanted the spot that'd allow him to lay facing the door, always on high alert when your little pack found itself away from home. Cassian took the side that allowed him to face the window, another watchful eye to where any threats may come. Rhysand was forced between them, a silent conversation before Cassian walked over and picked you up.

That's how you found yourself laying on Rhysand. One of his arms held your hips as the other moved to cup the back of your head. One wing rested on the two of you like a weighted blanket, then another. “Go to sleep,” Rhysand whispered to you. “You may not realize this, but you are trapped.” There was no response from you, no argument. The soft sound of your breathing was the only thing coming from you as you laid on what would now Be your favorite bed.

“Next time, we will fly home,” Azriel stated.

Cassian immediately agreed, “This isn't fair to y/n.” They both glanced at Rhysand when he didn't respond, only to find him asleep. “Or maybe it wasn't fair to us,” Cassian added.

“Thinking it definitely wasn't fair to us,” Azriel chuckled. “He worked this to his advantage.”

“He always does,” Cassian said. His voice was getting deeper and slower. “Always does.” It did not take long for the two of them to fall asleep, the room filled with nothing but the sounds of a dying hearth and four hearts beating in sync.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[prythianpages]

But the Worms | Azriel

Azriel x Green Witch | Azriel is woken up by your daughter in the middle of the night to answer some of her questions.

warnings: fluff, dad Az

word count: 943

a/n: Just a short little fic that can be read as a stand alone. This was inspired by a scene from Bob's Burgers lol.

Rain pattered against the window steadily, accompanied by the distant rumble of thunder. Every so often, the sky would flare with a streak of lightning, briefly illuminating the room with a blue light before plunging it back into shadow. The storm was a familiar, comforting backdrop to Azriel’s slumber.

But his shadows, ever vigilant, stirred with a whisper of unease.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered open, drawn by the shift in his shadows. That’s when he heard them. The faint, hurried sound of small footsteps. His shadows fluttered toward the door as they sensed the hesitant shuffle against the wooden floor.

He didn't need his shadows to tell him who was on the other side. Had it been his first born, he'd never hear the steps as she loved to sneak up on him,. The door would've been open abruptly with no hesitation whatsoever but it's been years since she last had a nightmare. A nightmare she didn't welcome, at least.

That was not the case tonight. It was his second-born. Sweet little Alora, who, true to her name, should be dreaming of unicorns and rainbows as she loved to recount to him every morning, rather than being awake.

His gaze flickered to you. While Azriel was a light sleeper, you were a heavy sleeper and truth be told, you were sound asleep, back turned toward him. A shadow tenderly caressed your back before he shifted his attention back to the door. He was already sitting up in the bed, blinking away the sleep or at least trying when the door opened quietly, muted with the help of his shadows.

Alora stood at the door. Her hair, the exact shade of yours, was disheveled, the bangs she cut herself last week splayed over her forehead awkwardly. A rite of passage, you had called it, reminding him that your first born had done the same.

Her eyes, the exact shade of his, were wide and glistening, and there was a pout on her face.

Azriel’s chest tightened at the sight, wanting nothing more than to soothe whatever troubled her, despite his fatigue. He extended his arms out, and Alora ran right into them, her small frame immediately enveloped by his.

Cradling her to his chest, he pushed her bangs back and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “Did you have a nightmare?” He asked, voice still heavy with sleep.

“No. I haven’t slept at all,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Azriel frowned, glancing at the clock. It was well past midnight, and his eyes were begging for sleep, lulled by the rain falling outside. “Is it the storm?”

Alora placed her hands on his chest, pushing herself up slightly. She spared a glance to your sleeping form before leaning in closer to her father, careful not to wake you with her voice. Though, Azriel doubted you'd wake at all.

Her hazel eyes, so innocent and pure, stared into his own. “Do you think worms have dreams too?”

Azriel's heart softened further. Her worries were so small, so wonderfully trivial compared to the burdens he had carried as a child.

“I’m sure they dream,” he murmured, gently pulling his daughter's head back to his chest, wishing for her to always have such simple worries. He also hoped she’d be content with his answer and finally drift off to sleep herself.

“But what do they dream?”

“The same things you do.” He replied, trying to stifle a yawn. He snuck a glance at you, still oblivious to your daughter’s insatiable curiosity.

“Do they get nightmares too?” 

Azriel fought back his groan. He loved his daughters deeply and strongly. He would go through all ends of the world for them. Any other time, he would entertain this conversation fully, but it was late, and Alora should be fast asleep like her sister. 

“Mel says worms come out when it storms so that we don’t hear their cries.”

Speak of the little devil herself. Mel was sure to get an earful from him. Tomorrow morning, or rather, in a couple of hours. Azriel took a deep breath, trying to muster the energy to explain, his body aching for rest.

Azriel could hear the thoughts swirling through her mind as she continued. “Why would they cry? Is it because of the bad dreams?”

“Don’t listen to your sister,” he said gently, running a hand through Alora’s tousled hair.

“But you told me to listen to her yesterday morning.”

“I did,” Azriel replied with a slight grimace, regretting that decision immensely at this very moment. Granted, he had said that after Mel told Lor to stop riling up Sprinkles, her pet scorpion. “But that’s different.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain tomorrow,” he said, his voice a mix of patience and weariness.

“But the worms–”

“The worms don’t have nightmares and they come out during storms because they love the rain. Now, go to sleep. Please.”

Alora let out a small gasp, her hand losing its tension against his chest. “You promise?”

“Yes.” Azriel replied quickly, not certain what exactly he was promising. He'd deal with it later.

“Okay.”

When he finally felt her body relax in his arms, he let out a breath of relief. He held her tighter in his arms, shifting them to face in your direction before settling Alora between you both. He didn’t have the energy to take her back to her bed.

He gladly gave in to the heaviness of his eyelids, his eyes closing shut and ready to embrace sleep under the comfort of the rain once more--

"Daddy?"

He didn't bother opening his eyes. "Yes?"

"I love you."

His lips tugged up into a smile. "I love you too, my sweets."

Alora snuggled closer to him, tiny hands grasping onto his larger one and placing it over her face. She always found comfort in his touch, despite the scars that marred his hands. It was something that never failed to make his chest swell with warmth. Along with the way both his daughters always looked up to him, eyes full of affection and admiration.

His thumb caressed her cheek, soothing her as his shadows settled back into their corner of the room, curling into the bed Alora had gotten them for Solstice this year.

For centuries, his shadows had slept among other shadows, usually underneath the bed or in the corners of rooms. But Alora had felt bad for them one night, and when shopping for Solstice this year, she had asked you to take her to the pet store and picked out the softest bed for Azriel’s shadows.

Though his shadows had never complained or shown any interest in comfier sleeping habits, they had vibrated with excitement at the sight of the gift. Now, they slept there every night, happy and content, snuggling amongst one another and curling into a ball.

As his thoughts began to blur and drift, the world around him softened, the edges of his awareness becoming fuzzy and indistinct. Now that he knew your daughter was okay and her curiosity satiated, he could go back to sleep.

His breathing slowed, deep and even, matching the gentle rise and fall of your own breath. Just as he was about to give in to the sweet embrace of sleep–

“Daddy?”

He could barely manage a grunt in response.

“Would you still love me if I were a worm?”

Oh, this was definitely your daughter.

series tag list:@fxckmiup, @aria-chikage

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna

[florencemtrash]

To sleep at your back

Author's Note: Just a lil oneshot. Lots of fluff — both IC and Azriel x Reader. Sleepy Azriel is the best Azriel! No warnings.

Y/n’s back was beginning to ache, like an uncomfortably hot stone had knotted itself into the base of her spine. She twisted this way and that in her seat, neck craning over the textbook like a slim tree in the wind. Her family members bustled around her. Cassian kneeled on the ground, palms outstretched as striking practice for Nyx. The little boy beat at him with tiny fists, every thump, thump, thump punctuated by a fake grimace from his favorite uncle. 

“You’re becoming too strong for me, little one,” Cassian cried out, cowering to the floor before sprawling out in a dying heap. Nyx leapt onto his chest, declaring his victory for the whole house to hear. 

Nesta smirked from over her book, with Gwyn and Emerie similarly arranged around the coffee table. 

Elain dragged Lucien out by one flour coated arm to watch for a few moments, a sugar-dusted smile on her rosy cheeks as she wiped sweat from her brow. “Dinner’s running late,” she called out before slipping back into the warm kitchen with her mate in tow. 

Everyone hummed their acknowledgement. 

Soon the boy grew tired from their games, but he was too proud to admit it. “What’s taking them so long?” He asked instead, taking the welcome break to lean his damp head of curls under Cassian’s chin. 

“I’m sure they’ll be done anytime now.” Debriefs with Azriel always took long — the male was too thorough for his own good. Nyx made a point to glance at Y/n. His aunt always had a habit of disappearing into her work whenever Azriel was away. It kept her mind off the distance where it might have driven Cassian and Nesta, or Rhysand and Feyre mad. 

Mated couples didn’t like to be separated, especially not for this long. But at least Y/n could hear Azriel in her mind now. The bond had been stretched thin — his voice faint and difficult to hear — during his long months on the Continent. 

Her head jerked up suddenly and no sooner had she stood up from her seat before Azriel was by her side in a burst of darkness. Tendrils of shadow snaked out from his feet, drinking up the sunlight like it was wine until the temperature stuttered with a cool whisper. He sank back into the seat, dragging her with him so she was sitting in between his sprawled out legs. He wrapped his arms firmly around her middle, pressing her back against his chest and nuzzling into the crook of her neck. Whispers were exchanged between presses of lips against skin. She smoothed the rough calluses of his hands, murmuring “Welcome home.”

And he answered in her mind, Gods I love you. 

He rested his chin against her back, watching over her shoulder as she eventually went back to her reading, comforted by his presence so close to her. It was thrilling how much she loved him. Azriel could scarcely believe it most days. 

I can’t believe I get to love you. He thought sleepily. He hadn’t intended to let the thought slip through the bond, but she warmed immediately, cheeks touched with heat. 

You’re a hopeless romantic. She teased. 

He sighed happily, eyelids fluttering shut despite his best efforts. He hadn’t slept well while he was away. He never did. His head grew heavy on her shoulder, but she appreciated the weight of him at her back. 

When dinner was finally ready, and their family members carefully streamed through the kitchen, they marveled at the sight of Azriel fast asleep against Y/n, one hand of hers carded through his black hair.

[sapphicmsmarvel]

Azriel: Going Gray

Premise: Azriel loves his chaotic, friendly, yapper of a wife. Even though she’s the reason for a few of his gray hairs. 

Notes: reader is very open, optimistic and a yapper. She talks about bodily functions so if you aren’t a fan about that…..this aint for you lmfao 

Listen to rollercoaster by perrie!

Nobody ever expected you two to get together. You and Azriel had been friends for years before even pursuing a relationship. Honestly, Rhys and Morrigan were betting you and Cassian would get together. You’re two halves of one chaotic monster. 

But you and Azriel are two sides of the same coin. 

He’s quiet but super observant, you’re loud but kind of oblivious to certain things. You’re smart, you’re one of the smartest people Az knows, but when you’re around him you let your awareness fall. 

No matter where you two go, you will make a new friend. Especially waiting in line for food or at Rita’s. You love to compliment women especially, anytime you can uplift or bring a smile to a woman's face you will. You don’t compliment men because one too many times they thought you were flirting with them. 

You also think women deserve empowerment. 

You are also for sure that woman in the bathroom that is constantly uplifting others. 

He’s a giggly drunk, you are sleepy. 

When you two go out to Ritas, you both sip your drinks in moderation. You knew he would protect you if you got drunk and sleepy as you would him, however you personally weren’t a big drinker anyway (the taste wasn’t your favorite) But you make friends everywhere. 

-You also were very….open about bodily functions and stuff like that. 

-One time he was in the kitchen and heard you sneeze, then heard you groan. 

“What happened?” He walked up your stairs into the bedroom. 

“Babe, I queefed, farted and sneezed at the same time. And got a charlie horse. Am I dying?” You were massaging your calf. 

He laughed, full belly cackle. “I don’t think so. But I do think your body needs to have a rest day.” 

You batted your eyelashes and gave him puppy dog eyes. “Will you have a rest day with me tomorrow?” 

I will do anything you ask. but instead he said, “of course my love.” 

-The only negative, and he wouldn’t even really call it a negative, is that you stress him out a bit. 

-You’re always getting some type of injury or sickness. 

-One night, he had come home late, much later than he would’ve liked or that was normal. You were in the bathroom, he used the downstairs one to clean himself as he knew you were in the middle of your bedtime routine. Despite you telling him to tell you when he gets home so you can get out of his way, he won’t disturb you no matter what.

The little shit. 

When he got upstairs you were still in the ensuite. He got underneath the covers with his comfy clothes and shouted. “I’m home baby.” 

“I heard ya!” You were chipper. “I’m coming to give you kisses gimme a second.” 

“No problem.” He said from the bed. 

“But Az! Guess what I did today?” 

Oh no. He thought, this could range from you getting a kitten, getting bit by some creature in Velaris, buying something impulsive, a new tattoo, or you hurt yourself someway. 

Or a new hobby, that was last weeks “guess what I did.” 

“What’d you do, love?” 

“I fell down the stairs.” You declared, opening the en-suite door. That’s when he saw the brace on your foot. 

He knew it. He sighed, lovingly of course, but you stressed him out. “What happened? Are you hurt?” 

“Just sprained my ankle.” You said, hopping on one leg as you came out of the bathroom and walked, sorry hopped, around the bed. “Nothing extreme.” 

He snorted. This was your third ankle sprain and it was only the second quarter of the year. You had a sprained wrist a few months back, then a dislocated finger, and now this. 

He doesn't even want to know the amount of injuries you’ve had over the course of your 500 years alive. 

You plopped your cute self at the head of the bed, he looked at you fondly, yet exasperated. “How’d you do it?” 

“I was reading the last page in my book while walking down the stairs.” 

He almost let out a full belly laugh. “Baby, we’ve discussed this.” 

“I needed to know who murdered the character and why!” 

“So you couldn’t have waited to walk down the stairs?” 

“My tea was boiling.” You said as if that answered all the questions. 

He was honestly shocked you hadn’t burned the house down yet. 

-When you were sick, you were deathly. You always got more than you bargained for when you got sick. Usually it was a cold, then it would morph into an ear infection. 

-Or you’d get sick with a cold then get a stomach flu. 

-You are loud with your love. You definitely give him kisses in public, he prefers cheek and anything other than the lips if you’re in public. In private though, you practically jump him. 

-He’s never had someone so excited to see him come home. Even if he was gone for a few hours. 

-In public you never leave his side. You accidentally drag him into social things but he truthfully doesn’t mind because he’s always attached to you. 

-You love him wholly and happily. 

-After a few too many drinks at Rita’s he brought your sleepy sweet self home, pampered you with your skincare and wrapped you in your favorite pjs. He pulls you close to him. 

“I love you Az.” You whispered. Your voice still held the inflection that you were tipsy. 

“I love you baby.” 

“And you know why I love you?” 

“Because I’m amazing.” He said dryly. 

“Oh of course. But also, it’s that I’m able to relax and be myself, I don’t need to be on guard around you Az. I know no matter what, you will be there for me. You will be watching and making sure I’m okay.” You pressed a kiss to his chest. “My love, my light.” 

Tears welled in his eyes. He didn’t know what he did to deserve you. This beautiful woman, who is part of the reason his hair is going gray, who loves him in his highs and lows. 

[slytherin-pen]

i am in desperate need for more cazriel x reader !! I’m on my period currently and was hoping u could write abt reader being grouchy and having an attitude and how they cope w it … w lots of fluff ofc <3

Chocolate Troubles

pairing: Cazriel x Reader

word count: 1.1k

a/n: hope you enjoy, anon. we’re suffering together unfortunately.

You didn’t mean to be a total brat, but it felt like a tiny, angry child was kneading your insides like playdough and really, how else were you supposed to act?

A part of you felt guilty for your poor mates who had to put up with you, but the other part was ready to crawl into a hole and sob while simultaneously burning down the house.

“That’s the wrong chocolate,” you groaned, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “I said dark with coconut, not milk with raspberry jam, Cass, do you want me to cry or are you just into watching females suffer?”

Cassian froze mid-step in the middle of the living room, brows drawn in the expression of a male who has fought countless battles but knows this one might be the most dangerous.

“They were out of coconut chocolate,” he said carefully. “But I got three kinds of other chocolate. And a heated blanket. And that herbal tea Az says helps with cramping.”

You buried your face in a pillow and whined. Loudly. It was a full-body complaint. Crampy. Hungry. Emotional. Rage-adjacent. All of it rolled into one frustrated sound that made your mate wince.

“Just throw me into the Sidra,” you muttered. “Let me float away and become a bitter little river nymph.”

Cassian laughed, and the absolute nerve of the male, you should grab him by the balls and—

But then he’s crouched in front of you, cupping your cheek with a big warm hand. His other hand rested on your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle circles into the tense muscle.

“Do river nymphs get chocolate?” he asks, his voice low and coaxing. “Because I did get this…”

From behind his back, he pulls out a fourth bar of chocolate—the exact kind you wanted. Dark with coconut.

You blinked. “You lied.”

“You’re so cute when you’re being dramatic, I can’t help but poke the bear sometimes,” Cassian said as he grinned.

Before you can thank him or fake being mad just to be a brat, Azriel appears and sets a tray on the coffee table. It holds a mug of tea, a heating pad, your favorite sweater of his, and—

“You made brownies?” you ask, eyes widening.

Azriel gives a small, sheepish nod. “With extra fudge, just the way you like.”

Your eyes well up with tears.

You’re not sure if it’s the pain or the love, but both males freeze like they’re preparing for a flood.

Az crouched beside you next to Cassian and gently smoothed a piece of hair behind your ear. “Is this a good cry or a bad cry?”

You sniffled. “I’m not sure yet.”

Cassian held up the brownie like an offering to a goddess. “Good cry if you eat this?”

You snatched it from him and took a bite so rich it practically melts into your soul. It’s warm. Gooey. Perfect.

“Good cry,” you confirm around a mouthful.

Both males visibly relaxed.

They don’t ask to cuddle. They just move with the easy rhythm of long-practiced affection. Azriel gathered you into his lap on one end of the couch, arranging the heated blanket over you. His hand slid beneath the hem of your sleep shorts to rest against the small of your back, applying gentle, consistent pressure that somehow makes the cramps less agonizing.

Cassian lounged on the other end, pulled your legs across his lap and massaged your calves, his thumb catching a knot in your aching muscles.

“You’re so lucky I love you,” you said, squinting at them with dramatic judgment.

Cassian smirked. “I feel like that’s something I’m going to hear twelve more times today.”

“Twelve?” Az echoed. “Low estimate.”

You elbowed them both half-heartedly. “Don’t bully me”

Cassian leaned over and pressed a kiss to your knee. “We would never. We love you.”

Azriel rested his cheek against your temple. “Even when you’re a hormonal little menace.”

You gasp. “You take that back.”

“You threatened to unmate me this morning because I gave you the wrong spoon,” Az pointed out, calmly sipping his tea.

“It was the big spoon instead of the little spoon. It was offensive,” you said, your bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

Cassian howled with laughter and you whacked him with a couch pillow. You quickly regretted the action when it sent a new wave of cramps rippling through your abdomen.

You groaned, curling forward.

“Shh, hey,” Az said quickly, rubbing slow circles into your back. “That bad again?”

“Mmhmm.”

Cassian’s hands moved to your thighs, warm and soothing. “Want me to get the balm?”

“Don’t touch me with that minty demon slime again,” you grumbled into Az’s chest. “It burned my uterus last time.”

“I think it just tingled,” Azriel said gently.

“Well why don’t you try it and see if it just tingles?”

Azriel shared a look with Cassian that said, Do not argue. Not today. Cassian wisely nodded and switched tactics, rubbing your calves again with practiced ease.

“You want a bath?” Cassian offers after a moment. “I’ll run it. Real hot. Bubbles, salts, whatever you want.”

“Not now,” you mumbled. “Too sore.”

He cooed and leaned down to kiss the side of your knee again. “Tell me when and I’ll carry you in.”

Azriel hummed. “You should nap.”

You snorted. “Every time I nap, I wake up sweaty and in pain and convinced I’ve missed five appointments I don’t actually have.”

“You haven’t had any appointments in months,” Az said softly.

“Exactly.”

Cassian grinned and shifted slightly, brushing your ankle with the pad of his thumb. “So what’s the plan, General?”

You look at both of them, your two stupidly handsome, frustratingly doting males, and sighed.

“Plan is…” you muttered. “You keep massaging me, Azriel keeps holding me and reads the romance book I love and neither of you are allowed to complain.”

Cass sighed like he’d been sentenced to death.

“Deal,” Azriel said.

You smile, victorious. “Also I want to braid someone’s hair.”

Cassian raises a brow. “Yours?”

“No, yours.”

He arched a brow. “You want to braid my hair?”

“Yes! Oh, and put little bows in it, too. It’ll be so cute!”

Azriel laughed into his fist as Cassian, resigned but smitten, plopped onto the floor in front of you.

You braid Cassian’s hair. Azriel reads your favorite book softly. Cassian starts to open your chocolate while you’re distracted and you complain. He gives you a bite and the homicidal urge dissipates.

The cramps don’t go away. Your bones still ache, but you’re warm, safe, and so loved. And Cassian in two french braids tied off with bows helped significantly, too.

[tovibeornottovibe]

Don't Panic

Friend!Nesta x Reader | Azriel x Reader (ish)

based on this request (thank you @suppppp97! i hope this meets your request, i had a ball writing it)

Nesta doesn't like you. Never has, not since the first time Azriel introduced you as his mate, and you chalked it up to a personality clash; namely, Nesta being prickly and you being, well, you. You had thought that was how it was going to stay, but when you and Nesta get captured by Illyrians, you have to work together, and you find yourself understanding each other a little more. You might even end up friends. [10.3k words]

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, Nesta and reader being assholes to each other (at the start), reader being a BAMF, plot, interrogation, az being a softie at the end

Prefer to read on Ao3? | masterlist

You have to laugh. Just a day ago, you and Azriel were out on the balcony of the House of Wind, eating breakfast, talking about this upcoming mission like it was a sunday stroll over honeyed tea and buttered scones. As new as your mating bond is, it’s easy to take that gentle, domestic intimacy for granted. Now, your legs ache, your head is throbbing from lack of water, and you can’t quite feel your fingers for the burning cold. What’s worse, you’re stuck in this fucking cave in the middle of fucking nowhere with who else but Nesta fucking Archeron.

Truly, for whatever reason, she can’t stand you, and over these past few months, you’ve learnt to live with it. She’s hardly ingratiated herself to you in any case. Little digs here and there, things about how different you and Az are. You’re loud; he’s quiet. He’s tall; you’re, comparatively, short. You get paperwork done as quickly as possible; Az is as diligent as they come. He’s a broody, secretive male; and you’re a little ray of sunshine, his words, not yours, even in your angstier moments. When you talk, he listens and, well, Az doesn’t exactly talk much at all, does he? After that first meeting, when Az introduced you to the Inner Circle, she said, “Opposites attract, I suppose,” and you realised that you and her just wouldn’t click.

You don’t care. Az doesn’t care, even if it has soured their friendship somewhat. Not even Cassian cares. But by the gods, if it wouldn’t make jobs like this one a whole lot easier if you could just be civil with one another.

The Blood Rite. Heightened tensions. Pissy Illyrians with a penchant for making things difficult. You were sent to find out if there was going to be any trouble this time around.

You know the Steppes pretty well from your days travelling through the Court as a merchant, then you got to know the more dangerous parts as a mercenary when the trade dried up during Amarantha’s reign. You have contacts here with some of the more amenable war bands and it’s for this expertise that Cassian wanted you to come, so you could speak with those who are less willing to talk to a General. Azriel, of course, was never going to let you come to Illyria without protection, and Nesta scares the camp lords so much that she could be used as extra leverage if things took a turn. So, it was the four of you who headed off.

It should have been you and Azriel together. It should have been fine.

There had never been problems in Stonecross. It’s a camp tucked away by the northern coast of the Court, fairly progressive as far as Illyrian camps go, and absolutely vital for trade—particularly for the medicinal professions. In the rocky, sea-facing caves in the mountain under the camp exist the perfect conditions for certain plants to grow: fungi, flowers, some things not even Madja would fully understand the uses of. 

You all realise too late that they put it, whatever it was, in the food. You’d been too complacent. Too trusting. It didn’t even take ten minutes before the four of you started to feel drowsy, then nauseous, and then, in horror, you saw Az’s shadows drop off his body, like the magic which kept them tied to him had suddenly vanished. 

You don’t really remember what happened next, it’s all a blur, but you got grabbed, flown (or maybe winnowed, it is the days before the Blood Rite after all), and now, you’re here… 

You’re in a carved-out room of black, damp stone, the only light coming through the slight crack under a boulder which covers what looks to be a doorway. The air is thin, and you have to be far down because you can feel the heavy pressure in the fluid of your ears. Though you aren’t in chains, it feels oppressive, like you had been thrown in a prison cell and forgotten about.

At least Nesta’s still out cold. You wince at yourself for the thought, but honestly, you wouldn’t be able to think straight if she was hissing comments at you. In the sliver of light, you can see that she seems uninjured, as are you, and her breathing is steady, like she’d been knocked out without a fight. Sometime soon, you’ll need her up (unconscious, she’s a liability), but for as long as you can, you’ll take the drip-drip-drip through the walls as your only company.

The first thing you need to do is let Az know you’re awake, to try and see if he’s close by or if he needs help. You pull on the mating bon—

The mating bond.

You can’t—you can’t feel it. Another wave of nausea washes over you as you bolt up from the ground. The thread between the two of you, this new, wonderful, golden string which calls you to him time and time again, the Mother’s blessing which binds you together, it’s slack in your chest. Still there, thank the gods, but… useless. You can’t feel him anymore. Not even the little bits he sends you every now and then, when Cassian makes him laugh or he sees something that reminds him of you. It’s all gone. Like losing a limb.

You press your back against the cool stone of the room and remember to breathe. Force yourself to feel the rock beneath your feet, to focus, to think. 

Azriel, you know, you trust, will be okay. He has to be. Maybe he’s disorientated like you are, being held somewhere, either in Cassian’s company or without it. Maybe he’s already escaped and is coming to find you right now. Or maybe, you’ll need to find him. Regardless, you can’t afford to panic. Not now. Az wouldn’t panic; he’d find a way out, and you and him, you’re Cauldron-chosen mates, so you can find a way out too. You can get back to him.

You will get back to him.

You just need to look around and see—the light. 

They had to have got you two inside this room somehow, so that boulder blocking the doorway has to be moveable. Outside, something is causing that crack of light to come through, there’s a sconce, or a faelight, so there’s a walkway, and a walkway means that there’s some other rooms in here, connected by a complex of passageways. And passageways mean a way out. 

You need that boulder gone.

If you had your full arsenal of magic at your disposal, it would be simple. You could bolster your muscles and push it out of the way without breaking a sweat, but even as you walk towards it, you can feel how your legs drag and your vision blurs. Every joint feels like it’s grown rust, grinding uncomfortably across your bones. The poison in your system remains. Still, you try. Still, you steel yourself in case someone is waiting for you behind it and you need to take them on.

The rough stone cuts into your palms as you use every drop of energy you have left in you to push at it, to try to roll it one way or the other, but it doesn’t so much as budge an inch. In frustration, you kick at it, ram your shoulder into it and send shooting pain up your arm, but still, it doesn’t yield. 

You’ve been defeated by a hunk of fucking rock. So, yeah, you have to laugh.

Alone, there’s no chance of you moving it, not while you’re still affected by whatever they put in your food. You can either wait for gods know how long for it wear off, or…

You flick your attention to Nesta, half-slumped against the wall, and you sigh. 

For all your differences, you respect Nesta. You like her tenacity, the way she moves with such precision in the training ring, how she stands up for herself and her friends regardless of who it is she’s challenging (the first time you saw her go toe-to-toe with Rhys, you had almost wanted to cheer for her). Sometimes, you think that if you hadn’t gotten off on the wrong foot, you and her would get along just fine—for your love of dance if nothing else. More importantly, she’s your only hope of getting out of here on your own terms.

Muscles protesting every movement, you crouch down and nudge at her side. She doesn’t stir. You nudge harder and her eyes shutter. She mutters something you don’t catch under her breath. 

Oh, fuck it. 

You shake her shoulder more harshly than you need to and yell at her to wake up. Her eyes flick open with a start, and you have to catch her hand before her fist connects with your jaw.

“Relax,” you say as she struggles in your grip, “it’s me. Could you please not break my face?”

“No promises,” she snaps back, wrenching her wrist away from you, rubbing at where you were holding her. She opens her mouth again, probably to sneer something at you, when you see the words die in her throat as she pales, clutching at her chest. “Something is wrong,” she grates out. “What the hell did you do—?”

You roll your eyes as you pull away, settling yourself on the ground a little ways from her in case she actually does decide to break your face. 

“Cauldron, Nesta,” you say, “I didn’t do anything. It’s whatever they drugged us with. It’s dulling our magic, including the mating bond.” You tap where you feel the Azriel-shaped hole in your chest. “Must be some faebane alternative we’ll have to deal with.”

This seems to calm her burgeoning fear, but if looks could kill, you’d be dead. “How are you so calm about this?” she asks, murmuring something else which sounds distinctly insulting as she plucks herself off the ground and follows the stream of light to the doorway.

“Panic gets you killed,” you say, watching her come to the same conclusion you did as she pokes at the gap in the wall.

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “Az says the same.”

“It’s almost like we’re mates or something.”

“Almost.”

Though the bond might be dulled, your instincts flare at the insinuation before you tamp it down and keep your face carefully neutral. Again, even in the dark, you can tell she shoots you a glare. 

“Instead of doing something, you had to come and wake me up?” she continues, beginning to push at the boulder as your anger simmers in your blood. The audacity to suggest that you hadn’t tried… she’s something else.

“Would you have preferred it if I had left you behind?” you fire back, pulling yourself up and over to her, stopping just short of too close. “I already tried moving it and it won’t budge, not while we’re still weak. We’ll probably have to try it together—”

She cuts you off abruptly and goes back to the boulder. “I don’t need your help.”

Ignoring her, you barely lay a finger on the stone before she yanks you away and snarls at you to, “Back off.” 

Incredulous, you huff, but you relent, leaning against the wall as you watch her fail to get it to move, just like you did. After significantly less prodding than what you tried, she admits defeat and swears at the rock for being in the way without sparing you a glance.

A thousand snarky comments come to mind, including around nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine which include the phrase ‘I told you so’, but you refrain. Pissing her off even more doesn’t seem conducive to getting out of this cell, so you say, “Look, Nesta, I get that you don’t like me—”

“Understatement.”

“Fine,” you continue, “you really don’t like me. And while I don’t understand why, I do need you to get out of here and as much as you might hate to admit it to yourself, you need me too, so let’s just put our differences aside and…” you trail off as her face sours. “What?”

“You don’t understand why,” she says.

“We really don’t have time to get into it, Nesta.”

“Don’t we?” she asks harshly. “That rock is hardly going anywhere.”

Clearly, she’s up for an argument—maybe that’s how she blows off steam when Cassian isn’t around—but you most definitely aren’t.

“Neither are we if we don’t stop bickering,” you reply steadily.

She narrows her eyes at you. “Oh, you always have something clever to say, don’t you?” Your name slips from her mouth like a curse. “Az caught himself a real prize with you.”

Is that what this is all about? You and Az? You know Az and Nesta are good friends, or, at least, they used to be, and she would obviously want him to be happy with whoever he’s with, mate or not. But, as far as you know, he is happy, and you trust him to tell you when he’s bothered by something. Frankly, whatever Nesta thinks about your relationship is irrelevant, even if it stings a little not to be accepted by her. 

“Take it up with the Mother, Nesta,” you say, increasingly irritated, “but after we get the fuck out of here, please.”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” she snaps back. 

You roll your eyes. “Please. Let’s not.” There’s no warning in your tone, so she ploughs on.

“Az was fine before he met you.” He wasn’t, he was drowning himself in work and booze after the Solstice with Elain, but that’s his secret to tell. “My sister was fine before he met you.” 

“Gods, what does Elain have to do with this?”

“Don’t say her name like that—!”

“Why not?” you say, your anger bubbling to the surface finally as your patience snaps. “She’s my friend, you know, but I doubt she’d have told you that considering the fact you never see her. When was the last time you even stepped foot in the townhouse?” You know it’s unfair, you know Nesta can’t get down from the House of Wind without Cassian or exhausting herself on the steps, but you’re past the point of caring. 

When she doesn’t respond, you double down. “Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, Nesta.”

To her credit, Nesta’s response hurts more than you were expecting it to. “I don’t need her to tell me,” she snarls, “if I were her, I’d resent you too.”

Scoffing, you drawl, “Oh, and why’s that?” but you feel the doubt creeping up on you like a wraith. 

Az had told you about what he had felt for Elain and how close they had been to getting together. For a time, you had agonised over it. It didn’t seem right to you that they had been prevented from acting on their feelings, even if it worked out for you in the end, and you had always thought, despite Az insisting otherwise, that Elain might not like you because of that. But, she had been perfectly pleasant the first time you met, and you managed to break the ice with a joke about flowers (it was rather specific and no one but Elain had appreciated it). From there, you’d become fast friends.

But if Elain is just humouring you like you suspected she might…

“Because,” Nesta says, “you stole Az from her. They were close, did you know? Even Feyre thought they were good for one another. But you come along and what’s worse, you rub it in by trying to spend time with her.”

“Heaven forbid I actually enjoy Elain’s company,” you say, though it comes out significantly less venomous than you meant it to. “Did she tell you all that herself or are you pulling it out of your ass?”

“You’ve got her fooled, I’ll give you that much,” she replies. She lets out a humourless laugh. “She even thinks you and Az are perfect together, but I see what you’re doing loud and clear.”

You blink at her.

Inexplicably, it isn’t annoyance which washes over you, it’s understanding. It becomes obvious to you now, despite what Nesta is saying, why she doesn’t like you. 

Of course.

She’s trying to look after her sister, and even at your own expense, you can’t help but admire her for it. Maybe if she actually talked to Elain about you, you could end your petty, little feud. Or maybe she’d just find another reason to dislike you. 

Either way, it won’t matter if you kill each other in this cave.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. “Nesta, I really have tried to be nice to you. If you don’t like me, that’s fine, we don’t need to be friends. But I didn’t steal anyone from anyone, Az made his choices and I made mine, and I really do like being Elain’s friend. I’m sorry if I’ve somehow offended you or… I don’t know. Just, I’d like us both to get out of here, alive, preferably, and for that, I need your help. So, please, if you have to, pretend I’m someone else for a bit and then I promise I will never bother you again. Deal?”

For a long, long moment, she says absolutely nothing at all, as though she’s trying to work out if you’re being genuine or not, and the silence stretches over the space between you. Then she looks away, sets her jaw, and grumbles, “Just help me move this.”

“Gladly.”

It takes coordination, begrudgingly followed suggestions for which way to push and for how long, and the poison in your veins brings bouts of dizziness which means both of you need a break, but, eventually, the boulder moves, just a fraction. The beam of light at your feet grows. Again and again and again, you and Nesta use every ounce of energy you have left to get it out of your way. You just hope that whoever is keeping you here isn’t nearby, because the scraping of rock against stone is almost deafeningly loud.

You don’t know if it takes minutes or hours, but you get it so the two of you can see into the corridor, and then you open up the doorway enough for you to be able to squeeze through the gap. The jagged, black stone scrapes at your skin as you shuffle and you definitely pick up a few new scratches, but you suddenly find yourself in the middle of an uneven walkway, filling your lungs with air fresher than what you’ve had since you woke up.

You take it in greedily, looking around to see if there’s an obvious way out, but both in front and behind you look the same. An endless tunnel of stone, equally lit up by torches protruding from the walls. You wait a moment, trying to feel any sort of breeze or even trying to pick up faint sounds of people.

Nothing.

Inside the cell, Nesta says your name rather urgently. You peer at her through the gap and see a flicker of relief on her face before it’s gone.

With a different angle, you wordlessly make quick work of moving the boulder further, and Nesta manages to free herself not long after. All the while, a sense of foreboding settles over you. The lack of a guard, even a patrol, is starting to strike you as odd.

“Come on,” she says, making left—it’s as good a direction as any—but you stop her.

“Wait,” you say, “doesn’t this all seem strange to you?” You make a point of looking behind you and gesture around. “There’s no one here.”

“Good,” she replies, “maybe they’ve forgotten about us. Let’s go.” And she strides off, forcing you to follow behind her, shadows dancing with each other in the torchlight.

“Or maybe they haven’t,” you urge, catching up to her, “maybe they’re waiting for us somewhere. Or they’re trying to lure Az and Cassian down here and it’s a trap.” That makes her pause and look at you, considering sharply. “We should try and stay as hidden as possible,” you suggest, “keep to the shadows rather than storming down the middle of the corridor.”

She barks a laugh. “Are you doing that on purpose?”

You frown. “Doing what?”

“Saying what Azriel says. If I had a mark for every time he’s said the words ‘keep to the shadows’...” she trails off, shaking her head.

“I’m not—just—” you sigh, “—let’s just be careful, okay?”

She steps very slightly closer to the wall, further into what little shadow the torches are casting over the rock, and keeps going, so you follow her through the twists and turns of the cave system, hoping you’ve picked the right way. Every corner looks the same, your footsteps sound the same, the cadence of Nesta’s breathing is monotonous and steady. It feels like you’re going around in circles.

But you aren’t. You can feel the slight lightening of pressure in your sinuses, how the ground ever so slightly tips upwards. You even start to feel like you might be getting out of here without meeting a single obstacle.

And that’s when you reach a dead-end.

A mockingly sheer column of rock with a gap right at the top, where you can see a coiled up rope which is almost certainly used to manoeuvre up and down. Through the gap, you see beautiful, white light, and you reason that this must be some kind of exit. 

“Come on,” you say to Nesta, steadying yourself against the wall, “I’ll boost you up and then you throw the rope down for me.”

She looks at you incredulously. “That must be fifteen feet high at least,” she says. “There’s no way you’re getting me up there.”

As ever, you are entirely unimpressed by Nesta’s doubt. “I’m stronger than I look. And unless you have another idea…?”

Despite her general lack of faith in you, Nesta doesn’t even try and contemplate a different option; she knows as well as you do that there isn’t one. You cup your hands in front of you and bend your knees as Nesta tentatively uses you as a step-up. 

“Ready?” you ask.

She hesitates, peering down at you. “For what?”

“Just get ready to grab the ledge.”

Without warning, you toss her upwards, putting all your strength into getting her as high as possible, and she lets out a grunt as she manages to grab hold of the edge of the lip above you. For a moment, you think she might not be able to hold on—she sways and shakes, probably due to the poison still sapping your energy—but she eventually hauls herself up and disappears out of view.

Then you wait. It can’t be for more than thirty seconds, but as they tick by, your anxiety starts to spike. What if she just leaves you here? What if she takes her opportunity to get rid of you just so Elain can have Azriel? As much as you like Elain, the idea of anyone else having him sends shooting rage through your nerves, even with the bond absent in your chest. It’s a natural instinct, but before you can spiral—“Mind your head,” comes the call and down comes the rope, thick, old, and covered in dirt, but it’ll do. You make quick work of it, despite your screaming muscles, and join Nesta at the top.

You want to ask her what took her so long, but peering through the gap where the light comes through, it becomes quite obvious.

Illuminated by a great cut-out in the ceiling of the cave, covered in mosses and deep green hanging vines, is a lake nearly three-times the width of the Sidra. The water is startlingly blue, clear, and it looks deceptively shallow, but you’ve seen lakes like this before. They tend to go down so deep the pressure would kill you before you reached the bottom.

What’s worse, on the other side of the lake is an Illyrian encampment, populated by at least six warriors, maybe more you can’t even see, armed to the teeth and evidently waiting for something to happen. You can see them talking to one another, but what they’re saying is lost under the sound of running water coming from the cascade on the far side of the lake. 

Thankfully, the two of you are hidden in darkness under an outcrop. Perhaps if Nesta had taken you right when you got out of your cell, you would have ended up on the other side, right in the middle of your captors’ base. Either way, it looks like the only way out of this is in a fight.

“How long can you hold your breath for?” you ask Nesta, calculating roughly how far you’ll need to swim under the surface so the Illyrians don’t detect you. Without weapons, you’ll need the element of surprise to disarm them, and from there, well, you’ve seen Nesta spar with Cassian. It’ll be easy. By the side of you, however, she is almost eerily still. “Nesta?” you say, turning to her.

You expect her to be watching the Illyrians, maybe lost in thought about how to take them out, but you’re wrong. She’s staring down into the water, unfocused and unblinking. She almost looks frightened?

The thought occurs to you that Nesta might not know how to swim. Then, something Az said to you when you first met both her and Elain hits you. He told you to be careful mentioning the Cauldron, that, understandably, they don’t like thinking about it and suddenly everything clicks. Nesta doesn’t like water, doesn’t like being submerged in it, because it reminds her of being inside the Cauldron. Maybe something else too. She’s been through a lot, as Az tells you. In your chest, your heart lurches, not with pity, but perhaps with a profound feeling of sadness for her. 

“Nesta,” you say lowly. You aren’t about to coddle her, she doesn’t need that, wouldn’t want it anyway. You wouldn’t either. She flicks her gaze over to you, but it’s clear she’s still not all here. “I have a theory,” you continue, and you explain that there must be another passage to your cell, probably in the opposite direction to the one you took. As you talk, you see her eyes sharpen, not so dull, and she actually starts listening to you. “If you can distract some of them and lead them back to our cell, I can swim over and take out as many as possible while you keep them occupied.” It’s the only thing you can think of to keep her out of the water. “We can meet up over there once you’re done.”

Whether she appreciates it or not, you can’t tell, but she looks you over, then to the Illyrians, and says, a little hoarsely, “Get under the water. I’ll draw their attention away.” You nod, kicking off your shoes as you go to lower yourself in as quietly as possible, but she grabs your wrist and stops you. Her grip is firm, but not violent. “Be careful,” she says, and without waiting for a reply, she lets go. “Go on then.”

Glancing at the lake, you take a moment, and lower yourself in slowly.

The water is freezing cold and you swallow a gasp as you enter. Pushing through the pain, with one last fleeting look at Nesta, you take a deep breath, dip your head under the water, and start to swim. You just have to trust now that Nesta holds up her end of the plan.

You try to take the shortest, most direct route possible without getting spotted, but your lungs are burning and without your magic to help, you start to think that maybe you won’t be able to make it without coming up for air. The waterfall isn’t so far away from you and the running water might conceal you just enough to allow you to breathe for a moment. It’s your only shot, so you go for it.

The strength of the water batters you, but the first, quiet hit of fresh air is enough to make it inconsequential to you. For as long as you can chance it, you take it in, and push your luck by looking over at the encampment. From here, it’s difficult to see, but you think you count two males, looking around nervously, and you swear you can hear shouting from down one of the corridors. Seems like Nesta managed her distraction well.

Enough. You dive back under and move as fast as you can, ignoring how much of a struggle it is. You have to do this, you have to get out of here. You have to get back to Azriel. And, godsdamn you, you want to see Nesta get back to Cassian.

Your hands hit the other side of the lake before you realise it, and, as silently as possible, you emerge from the surface. Still, there are only two males in the encampment, and you definitely weren’t imagining the shouting. Here, it’s louder, and you can make out male voices, obviously irate. The two other Illyrians watch the alcove closely, not even whispering a word to each other.

One of them is older. He’s bigger and has more siphons, but he’s no commander; you’d guess he’s an Oristian just by the way he holds himself. You can feel his ego from here. The other one is younger, barely out of training. He fidgets with his armour and his weapons, his leg bouncing where he sits on a rock and pays so much attention to the alcove that he isn’t looking where he clearly is supposed to be: right at you.

You pull yourself out of the water with natural grace and drop immediately into a crouch, blending in with a darkness. Your wet clothes are making the cold seep into your skin, but you need all the protection you can get and the padding around your joints might be enough to buy you some time if things go wrong. 

The Illyrians are too close together, sitting around a central opening where the vestiges of a fire lay. Though you’re strong, there’s no way you can take them out hand-to-hand if it’s two against one. You’re trained in combat, but mostly for swords and daggers. You need another distraction, and, as you shift your feet to try and get a better view, you get one.

You kick a pebble and, thinking quickly, you snatch it from the ground before it can hit something that will draw their eye to you. You weigh it in your hand. If you want it to make an impression, you need it to hit something away from the water, so the sound of the waterfall doesn’t mask it. 

You catch something glinting in the corner of your vision. In the exposing light, a shield is propped up against a nearly empty weapons rack. Briefly, you consider making a rush for it, thinking a shield is better than no weapon at all, but you know that’s even more of a long shot than trying to take them out quietly.

So, you opt to aim for the shield, and as the pebble flies, you know you’ll reach your target.

A clang sounds out through the atrium and the two Illyrians startle out of their trances. The older one barks an order for the younger one to check what the disturbance is, then berates him for being a coward when he hesitates. You wait impatiently for there to be enough distance between them, then you strike.

You dash behind the bigger Illyrian, keeping to the shadows, and as soon as you can, you pounce. You wrap your arm around his neck, pulling him back and behind the rock he was sitting on, keeping him as out of view as possible in case the kid decides to turn around. He kicks, attempting to buck his hips and flap his wings to get you off him, but you’ve got him so firmly held that there is no chance of him overpowering you like this. Your hand closes over his mouth to stop him shouting, and you choke the air out of his lungs silently. Not to kill him, just to knock him out. Snapping his neck would take more force and compromise your position, so you settle for his unconsciousness and lower him to the ground.

Concealed behind the rock, when the other Illyrian turns, he sees no one. His following shout tells you he’s panicked, and you wait for him to come to you. He stands in the middle of the encampment, turning around, scanning for threats, and you quietly unsheathe the sword that the older Illyrian had strapped to his back. 

Sharp, Illyrian steel. You smile faintly. You and Az have sparred with these so often that it feels like an extension of your arm as you hold it.

You wait for the remaining Illyrian to be facing away from you and, when the time is right, spring up from behind the rock. Your blade meets the back of his neck before he even knows you’re there, and he immediately stills as you press it against his skin and blood wells at the edge. In the meantime, the shouting down in the alcove behind you has stopped, and you hope that means Nesta has dealt with the others.

“Throw your weapons away from you,” you say calmly. He does as he’s told without complaint, unsheathing even a hidden dagger in his boot. Smart male. “Turn around slowly.” Again, he does what you say, but you keep your blade at his neck and maintain a healthy enough distance from him. 

He stares down at you uncertainly, his hands away from his sides, and gulps as you assess him. Typically Illyrian, he has dark hair, tan skin, and brown eyes which betray his fear. A fully fledged warrior would have tried to disarm you by now, and, as a result, would likely be dead. This one seems to have more sense.

“Your name,” you say. Statement, not a question.

“Wilsen,” he supplies quietly, uncomfortably shifting as your sword remains firm at his throat.

“Why are you keeping us here, Wilsen?”

When he hesitates to respond, you press the blade against him and he grimaces. “I have orders,” he says, a little frantically, “that’s all I know. I swear it.”

It’s moments like these when you wish you had Az’s shadows whispering in your ear, telling you truth from falsehood, divining someone’s character. Ultimately, you have to rely on your gut feeling, and it’s telling you that Wilsen is lying.

You bring the tip of the blade to the underside of his jaw, cutting a fine line through the skin of his neck. “Try again,” you say. “Think more carefully about your answer this time.”

As he deliberates, the strangest feeling flows through you. Your magic, sputtering in your veins as it tries to come alive again, fighting against the poison. Hurriedly, you try to yank on the mating bond, but it still lies dormant under your ribcage, and it’s this fleeting moment where you lose your focus that you blame when you fail to notice Wilsen’s eyes flick to just above your shoulder.

A thick, calloused hand clamps over your mouth, another squeezes your throat as you’re dragged backwards. Instincts kicking in, you try to twist, to pull the hands away, but they just tighten their grip as you flail. The blade in your hand hits something, maybe Wilsen’s neck, as you’re forced to let go of it in the scuffle, but you’re too blinded by the pain to care. 

Some unseen Illyrian, maybe an escapee of Nesta’s wrath, has you trapped against him. You try to reach up to scratch at his face to get him to release you, but all you can feel is the heave of his chest as he laughs and wrestles your hand out of his sight, freeing your mouth. He’s choking the life out of you to the point where all you can do is gargle and thrash, to try and somehow get out of his hold.

Even the smallest bit of your replenishing magic seems to do nothing. You try fortifying your muscles, try directing some of it to weaken his, but to no avail. 

You come to the conclusion that, as your vision starts to blur and darken, you’re dying, and this Illyrian is enjoying it. You fight, scratch at his arm, but that only seems to egg him on, to draw it out. He’s not even taunting you, not in any way you can make sense of, he’s just amusing himself in the brutality of it. 

Your teeth feel like they’re fizzling. You can’t feel your body anymore, you’re weightless, outside of the bounds of reality where all that exists is the immense pressure on your neck and oh gods this is it, you’re dying you’re dying you’re dying and you’ll never see Az again—

Suddenly, the feeling stops. 

You must be dead, you think. 

It’s funny, though, you can still see, and there’s this throbbing in your temples. Dead people don’t get headaches, do they? How awful. You can’t escape migraines, even in the afterlife.

The Illyrian behind you (oh, he’s still here?) lists backwards, and it’s only logical that you tumble with him, but, for some reason, you don’t. Instead, there’s something keeping you standing, gentle, tender heat around your middle and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say there’s someone saying your name.

“Breathe,” they say, and then your name again. There’s something so familiar about it and—you can breathe.

Desperately, you gasp in air, your brain aching after being starved of it, but you take in too much and start to cough so much that your eyes water, pulling out of this person’s grip and doubling over. Again comes a gentle touch, this one at your back, as you feel like you’re hurling up a lung. Again comes the reminder to just breathe, and you do. Your coughing stops and…

You whirl around, meeting Nesta’s sharp eyes as she steps away from you. In her hand is a sword, slick with red which drips to the floor, and behind her, a dead Illyrian lying in a pool of his own blood.

You open your mouth, then snap it shut. 

Nesta Archeron just saved your life.

“Thank you,” you manage to wheeze out, the words catching in your throat as you struggle to regulate your breathing.

A muscle ticks in her jaw. “I’m not about to let some lowlife choke out Azriel’s mate,” she says pointedly, casting a dismissive look over to the dead Illyrian, “and you’d have done the same, if it were me.”

You would have, you just didn’t think Nesta would be the one to say it. 

She looks you up and down from your dripping hair to your crumpled clothes. “You look like a drowned rat.”

Just as you go to respond, you get interrupted by a low groan of pain, and you see that Wilsen is still alive, just bleeding profusely from his shoulder. So you did catch him in the crossfire. Nesta advances on him so quickly that you barely have chance to shout for her to stop. 

“He knows something,” you say, moving towards her gingerly, stepping over the Illyrian who tried to kill you without sparing him a second glance, wincing as you try to move your neck. “I was interrogating him before I got interrupted.”

“I don’t know—!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Nesta snarls at him before turning back to you. “You were interrogating him?”

You hum confirmation, the sound scratching at your throat. “With a sword.”.

She just looks at you. “Of course you were,” she mumbles, “Az’ll be so proud.”

“Cassian will probably pounce on you as soon as he finds out you took on three fully-grown Illyrians with your bare hands,” you reply, offering her a sly smile which almost feels normal.

And Nesta, to your surprise, laughs. A real, genuine, contagious laugh which rings through the atrium, and you find yourself chuckling along with her. 

“Neither of us are getting much sleep for a week,” she says, adding with a gesture to her blade, “and I caught the last one with this actually.”

You let out a giggle. “That’ll definitely get Cassian going—”

“Oh you’re both whor—”

“Shut the fuck up!” you and Nesta spit at Wilsen in unison, before you whip your gazes up in shock to look at each other.

And you both burst out laughing again.

It’s nice. You don’t think you’ve seen Nesta laugh so much in your presence ever. Maybe you’re delirious from the air loss, but you’d go as far to say you’re enjoying her company, and by the look of it, she might feel the same.

Still, you have Wilsen to deal with.

Once your bout of laughter dies down and you can breathe normally again, you peer down at him as he looks up at you. He looks quite deathly pale. Nesta steps aside, her face darkening, as you crouch down next to him, hand on the wound at his shoulder, but not pressing down, not to cause him pain. Not yet.

Azriel will provide that afterwards in any case.

“Do you know the way out of here, Wilsen?” you ask. Even though you can feel yourself slowly regaining your magic, the mating bond has still not burst back to life. You guess Nesta’s hasn’t either, considering how attentively she’s paying attention to the two of you. 

He swallows thickly, eyes you warily. When he takes a second too long to answer, you push two fingers down, right on his shoulder blade. It won’t kill him, but it’s not going to feel like a warm hug from his mother either. He yelps in pain while his blood seeps onto your hand. “Fuck, it’s—” he sucks in a breath as you release him, “—there’s only one way.” His eyes flick to the cut-out in the roof of the cave, right above the middle of the lake, and Nesta follows his gaze carefully. Just barely, you catch her flinch. “And unless you can sprout wings…”

You pull away, letting him sag into his body. Even if the vines growing down the hole can take your weight, and by the look of them, they might, you still need to get to them. You hope Nesta is coming to the same conclusion you are. When Wilsen says there’s only one way out, he means it, and it means you’re going to have to give her a very, very quick swimming lesson, if she can stomach it.

“Why did you bring us here?” she asks suddenly, aiming her question at Wilsen. 

A ragged sigh escapes him. “Give me something in return,” he says, his spit gurgling in his mouth as he talks. You’ve seen this before. He doesn’t have long.

“Tell us and you might live to see tomorrow,” you say hurriedly. 

He has the energy to scoff. “So your mate can torture me in his dungeons? No. I’d rather die,” he grits out, shifting on the floor, his arm deadweight against the ground.

“You’d rather bleed out here than have a chance at surviving?” Nesta asks, her tone increasingly agitated. She starts to say something else, but you motion for her to calm herself, and she does, all the while giving you a look as if to say Do you even have a plan?

You turn back to Wilsen, bracing your forearms on your knees. “You have family?” you say quietly, and the ensuing rage which comes over his face tells you that yes, he does. “If you die here, Wilsen,” you continue, your voice soft, “my mate will find every male in that family of yours and he will ask the question you refused to answer. If they don’t know, he’ll move onto the females. Your wife, sister, mother, whoever. And if they don’t know, he will go through Stonecross, Illyrian by Illyrian, until someone tells him what he wants to know. And if he does that, he’ll be sure to let everyone know it’s because you, Wilsen, did not give us an answer right here, right now. So, this is what I’ll offer you: not just your life, but the lives and dignity of everyone you care about. Happily, I’ll let you die, but how happy that would make them? I’m not so sure, are you?” 

Only the sound of the waterfall behind you lets you know time hasn’t stopped. Even Nesta’s breathing is so silent you can barely hear it, but you can feel her eyes on you. Wilsen is deathly still. You get the distinct feeling that if he wasn’t bleeding out, he’d have his hand wrapped around your neck. “Your choice,” you finish with a shrug.

His words are vitriolic. “You were supposed to die down there, you fucking bitch. Nothing more than motivation for the General and your mate to make a mistake. So you’d all finally understand how it feels to get kicked when you’re down,” he spits, but his voice shakes. Scared, or struggling to stay awake? Does it matter? Either way, you think he’s telling the truth.

“Seems a convoluted way to kill someone.” Nesta’s voice sounds more distant in the quiet. 

Wilsen shoots her a glare, from which she doesn’t baulk. “They were supposed to find you. It was supposed to hurt. We were going to take them on once they had. Make them pay.”

“They’d have torn through you,” she says. “You never would have made it out of here anyway.”

“It’s better to die standing than on our knees in front of a half-breed High Lord and his bastard brothers.” He starts to cough, like breathing might have become difficult.

“You’re dying, Wilsen,” you say, moving towards him to put pressure on the wound, but his hand shoots out to stop you and he shakes his head.

“Let me,” he snarls. “I gave you what you wanted, so let me die.”

“I can stop the bleeding,” you reply. It’s a strange kind of sorrow you feel for him. Dying alone, surrounded by people you hate, is no way to go, not even for males like him. He’s still young, still impressionable. Entrenched nonetheless. Someone will have to tell that family of his what he was willing to die for.

He winces, struggling to keep himself upright. “Don’t put your fucking hands on me.”

Nesta says your name and breaks you from your thoughts. “Leave him,” she says, “he doesn’t deserve your pity.”

You sigh and stand. As you do, you see relief flicker over Wilsen’s face before pain takes back over. If you offer him a quicker death, you’re not sure he’ll take it, so you don’t offer at all. 

“You’re sort of terrifying, you know,” Nesta adds, flicking her eyes from the lake and back to you. In her eyes, though, you don’t see fear. You see it in the way she assesses you, in how she holds her head. You’ve earnt her respect. 

Attention on your exit, you huff out a shaky laugh, eager to stop thinking of the dying Illyrian behind you. “That’s rich coming from you,” you say. When she frowns at you, you continue, “They call you ‘Lady Death’. You don’t get that name by preaching peace and love.”

“And what do you call me?” she asks, edging closer to the water, squinting up at the daylight.

You come to stand next to her. “I should like to call you my friend, Nesta.”

“Don’t push it,” she replies, but you can tell it’s not as serious as she meant it to be. 

“Not enemies then?” you suggest.

“If we get out of here without drowning,” she says, dipping her hand into the water and immediately pulling it back out again, “I’ll consider it.”

You offer her a small smile, seeing that for the olive branch that it is. “Good enough for me,” you say. “You know how to swim?”

She nods, but seems uncertain. “I can float well enough.”

“But, you don’t like water?” you ask tentatively. When she narrows her eyes at you, you hold your hands up in surrender. “Not judging. I don’t like heights.”

“Az takes you flying all of the time,” she deadpans, decidedly unimpressed.

You shrug. “He’s helping me get over it.” With a grimace, you add for her benefit, “It’s slow going.” 

Having only just managed to regain any sort of heat in your body, you’d hesitate to get back in freezing cold water, but with your magic not materialising any further than a few sputters in your veins, your conviction is all you have to get you through it. That, and the need to help Nesta out of here too. You crouch down.

“This is ridiculous,” she says, crouching with you.

Your eyes flick to the sword still in her hand. “You’ll have to leave that behind. When you get in, try not to panic. Your body will go into cold water shock if you do. It’s mind over matter, and once you’re used to it, you’ll be fine.”

“That,” she says, her voice dropping into something near enough trepidation, “doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Nesta. Just… trust me.”

With that, you push yourself off the edge of the rock and into the water, attempting to acclimate yourself to the temperature as much as possible, fully submerging yourself before you resurface, treading water with relative ease. You take deep breaths and stave off the biting cold, trying to show her that if you can do it, she can too. 

“Come on,” you urge, aware that even though you’re resilient, you can’t take much longer than ten minutes in here. A human would barely last five. “It’s not that far to the vines, and then we’re out of here.”

Laying the sword carefully down at her side, Nesta scans the water, as though she might be able to discern which parts are cold and which are tolerable, with little success, if the face she makes is anything to go by. You watch her take a few breaths, shut her eyes, and mutter something which might even be a prayer, or else a curse on your name if this goes wrong.

Then she jumps, feet first, into the lake.

You wait with bated breath for her to come back up, and for a few sickening seconds, you think she might be sinking until—

“Fuck!” she gasps. “That’s freezing.” She’s almost hyperventilating with how quickly her breath is coming. Not good, that’s panic. She needs something to focus on.

“Nesta,” you say urgently, wading over to her, “look at me.” With difficulty, she does. “You remember what I said before?”

Gaping, she nods.

“What did I say?”

“Try not to panic,” she says slowly.

“Right. What else?

As she thinks, her breathing starts to even out. “It’s not far to the vines.”

“Exactly,” you tell her, “we’re almost there.”

Thank the Mother, the gods, and anyone else who deigns to help you, Nesta starts to swim, and you let her get ahead of you just in case she needs you to support her. It’s tough and you are pushing with all your might to stay afloat, to make it to the first vine you see. 

Nesta grabs it and pulls herself out of the water, trusting that it can take her weight. The plant is thick and woody, so it does. She looks down at you, still in the lake, but you tell her to get out and up as soon as she can.

You find another, slightly thinner, but still strong enough to hold you. Your arms ache and your shoulders are screaming at you. You push and push and push, one thought in your mind: Get out. Get out. Get out. 

The vine seems to be getting higher the more you climb, like it’s growing faster than you can move, but you’re almost at the top. Just a little further.

Nesta, she’s somewhere, maybe above you, but you can’t hear her grunting as she hauls herself up anymore. You chance a look down and she’s not there either. You figure she must have made it out.

You’re so close. You can feel the sun on your face, can smell the fresh breeze of the outside. It must have been hours since you woke in that cell. Honestly, you’re not sure how long you’ve been gone. Maybe days. Gods, you’re so tired. The cold has sapped the adrenaline out of you and you’re running on fumes. 

The next hold you find on the vine snaps and you lurch to the side, yelling as you find purchase on a knot lower down. As you catch yourself, you force your ankle into a twist and something twinges. 

You hear Nesta swear faintly. You pull yourself in, steadying yourself, and you look up to see her peering over the side. She’s lying flat on her front, holding onto the edge of the gap. “You’re almost there,” she shouts down, her teeth chattering, her hair hanging loose in long, wet strands.

Every part of your body is telling you to stop, to rest, but you can’t. That’s a death sentence. You test how much weight you can put on your ankle and yelp as pain shoots all the way up your leg, but if you stay here, you’re doomed.

So, you keep going, using your arms to lift yourself up, your uninjured leg to hold yourself in place. Again. And again. And again. You grit your teeth and you lift.

When you’re within reach, Nesta lowers herself down as much as she dares and thrusts out her hand. Blissfully, you grab it as soon as you can. You feel her grip the back of your shirt as she pulls you the rest of the way out of the cave and the two of you roll to the ground, side-by-side, staring up into the cloudless, blue sky, chests heaving.

“Next time we hang out,” you say, breathless, “let’s just get a coffee or something. Go buy a book. Feed the ducks down by the Sidra.”

Nesta scoffs out a half-hysterical laugh. “Deal.”

She sits up and you meet her eyes as she looks down at you. “Your ankle?”

You hum roughly as you try to move it, but that shooting pain hits you again. “Totally fucked,” you say.

“I am not carrying you anywhere.” She looks around. “I don’t even know where we are. It doesn’t look like the Steppes.”

Letting out a sharp hiss as you pull yourself up, you take in your surroundings. “No,” you say, seeing how the snow is thin on the ground and the thick, tall pines of the Illyrian mountains have given way to bushier cedars. If you can find the source of that lake underground, a river or a stream, you can find a village somewhere, even in the middle of this unknown forest. When you were a merc, you did things like this all the time. “We’re further south, I think. Probably closer to the Hewn City than anywhere else.”

“How could you possibly know that?” she asks, frowning at you.

You raise a brow at her. “Observation,” you say simply. “There’ll be a settlement somewhere nearby. Or at least some shelter.”

“You,” she replies, “can’t walk. Not with your ankle like it is.”

“I have high pain tolerance.” 

When you try to stand, Nesta catches your wrist and holds you still. “We should wait for the poison to wear off a little more, then you might be able to do something.”

You shake your head, seeing how high the sun is in the sky. It’s past midday. “We don’t know how long that will take. If there are more Illyrians about, we need to move. I know you took them out down there, but you caught them unaware. We get spotted from the air? We won’t be so lucky. And just because we’re not in the Steppes doesn’t mean it won’t get dangerous come nightfall.”

Though she makes a face, she grits her teeth and gets up. She offers you her hand. “You’re as stubborn as him too.”

You take it gratefully and let her help you up. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say as she slips her hand around your back and supports you.

You pick a direction, and with Nesta’s help, you manage to hobble your way to a stream, then a village thankfully not too far from where you were being held. 

By the time the sky darkens and the stars illuminate the snowy ground, you two are in a semi-empty inn, sipping free soup by the fire, courtesy of the owner’s healthy fear of her High Lady and her sister. Nesta, you can tell, feels vaguely uncomfortable about it, and you like her all the more for her humility.

Come midnight, Nesta and you are half-asleep, dozing in the warmth and basking in the easy, quiet conversation you had been having about Sellyn Drake, of all people. When you go to your rooms, she bids you goodnight and you bid her the same. Your head hits the pillow and you’re out. 

You have a dreamless sleep for once.

In the morning, you jolt awake, pain erupting in your chest from the—gods, the mating bond. You desperately tug back, pulling so hard that the thread goes taut, telling Az I’m here! I’m here! Please, for the love of the Mother, please come and get me. Then you bolt out of bed, hop out of your room, and bash on Nesta’s door, calling her name and definitely waking the innkeeper.

Off-balance, you almost fall through her door when she opens it, but she steadies you. She looks like she barely slept, but then, you probably look similar given the day you had yesterday. A few hours isn’t really enough.

“The bond,” you breathe out. She needs no more explanation and you watch her concentrate, obviously calling on Cassian the same way you call on Az. “Is he—?”

“He’s alive,” she says sharply, “but… pained.”

“Shit. He’ll be okay.”

“I know.” But the worry on her face is pressed deep into the furrow of her brow.

“Az,” you say, “he’s on his way.” For good measure, you tug on the bond, now gorgeously back alive, fluttering in your chest, and he responds in kind. 

For a moment, her face lightens a fraction and her eyes flick behind you. 

You feel it then: the cold touch of a shadow wrapping gently around your wrist and, deep in your bones, that old, ancient warmth.

A grin breaks out on your face when you turn, seeing Az appear from shadow in the foyer, just as the innkeeper rounds the corner. She sucks in a breath and swears quietly, frozen in place, her eyes flicking between the three of you warily.

Az, his face carefully controlled, but with a bemused look in his beautiful hazel eyes, smiles at her gently. “Thank you for looking after them,” he says lightly, and you almost melt at the sound. 

You must send that down the bond because something akin to a chuckle skitters back at you.

“O-of course, my Lord.” Her mouth opens and closes a few times. Azriel waits patiently. “I’ll—w-will you be staying for breakfast?”

“No,” you say, “thank you. We’ll be heading off now.”

The innkeep swallows. “Right. Was e-everything to your liking, my lady?” Cautiously, she glances at Nesta, who does her best to soften her face, then back at you.

“Slept like a baby,” you assure her. You nudge Nesta.

“Yes,” she says. “A perfect stay, thank you.”

At that, Az raises a brow at you, more confused at Nesta giving you the time of day than anything else. Long story, you mouth at him.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” the innkeeper says decisively, promptly retreating back downstairs, presumably to cool her nerves.

“Cassian’s fine,” Az says to Nesta as soon as he’s assured it’s just the three of you up here. “He’s being dramatic about it.” Then he catches how you’re keeping your weight off your right leg. “What happened?” he asks darkly, his shadows coalescing around his shoulders.

“Just take us home,” you say, reaching for him. As he wraps an arm around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head, you inhale the scent of fresh, night-chilled mist and cedar, something so uniquely your mate’s that any tension left in your body drains out of you. “I think I want to sleep for a week.”

He huffs, pressing a kiss to your hair. Then, to Nesta, “Are they dead?”

“Difficult to kill a vine,” she deadpans. “I tried to get her to rest, but she’s worse than you. Get me back to Cassian, would you? He’s tugging on the bond like a child.”

His hand leaves your back to grab a hold of her and winnow you all back to Velaris through his shadows, which cling to you, fussing around your ankle like it’s a mortal wound. You barely feel the jump, Azriel making sure to keep you upright when you land on the terrace of the townhouse.

“He’s downstairs,” you hear him say. 

Nesta pauses for a moment, but then the door to the inside clicks, and it’s just you and Az.

“Do I want to know what happened to make Nesta look at you like she might actually like you?” he asks quietly, pulling away so he too can fuss over you.

You kick his shadows away. “I think we’ve come to an understanding,” you say. “Maybe we aren’t friends just yet but, it’s something.”

“...Good.”

Yeah, you think. It is.

[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error (3)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Very small mention of blood

a/n: I am lovinggg writing this and I can't stop so don't ask me to 🏃‍♀️

Read part one | part two | part four

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

Azriel had been by the apothecary four times since his first visit. That wasn’t an unusual number by any means, but it was alarming that he was supposedly going through his headache tonic so quickly. You would give him a week’s worth and he would return for more within three days. 

Melanie had begun to expect him and had taken to examining his wings each time he walked through the door. She would run and stand atop the counter—much to your dismay—and Azriel would unfurl them from his back just a hair so she could get a better look. Her comfortability with him scared you. You’d spoken to your daughter about stranger danger and had emphasized it a million times, but with Azriel, she held no reproach. 

Azriel didn’t seem to mind. You had apologized countless times for Melanie’s staring and her invasive questions, but Azriel would only wave you off with a glint in his eye. He always chalked it up to being an uncle, but you’d had an uncle and he was nothing like Azriel. 

None of your family was like anyone you’d met in Velaris. 

Still, there was a lingering pit in your stomach each time Azriel would ask you a question about yourself or smile at your daughter. It didn’t feel safe to make too many friends, and Azriel was a particularly unsafe friend to have. 

The Shadowsinger. 

You’d learned of his position within the Night Court’s inner circle after Melanie had asked yet another question about Azriel and his shadows. 

“I’m a Shadowsinger,” he had explained, your daughter spinning in circles around him, tugging his shadows along with her. A small smile graced his face as he spoke. “My shadows tell me secrets so I can ensure everything is going okay in Velaris.” 

A cold sweat broke out along your skin as he spoke the words, but you only continued to smile and focused on keeping your breath even. 

He would be the one to find you out—there was no doubt about it. 

But something told you the closeness could be a good thing. Perhaps, if he knew you, he would take pity on you when he found out. Perhaps, if he knew you, he wouldn’t feel the need to dig into your history and ask questions. 

At least, that’s what you were hoping for because Azriel didn’t show any sign of staying away from you or Melanie—a truth made even more apparent at Melanie’s open house. 

“Melanie does so wonderfully in all her subjects,” her teacher gushed, a clipboard held tightly at her chest. “She especially loved our cooking unit. She loved the burners and heating things up.” 

You raised your brows and grinned. “I’m so happy to hear that. She talks about school so often. I’m glad her enthusiasm is reflected in her work.” 

An obvious avoidance—an attempt to curtail the subject away from your daughter’s affinity for flames. 

Her teacher did not seem put off. “It is! I know she began in the middle of the school year, but she has caught on so quickly. I can tell she has a lot of support at home. Big family?” 

Perhaps her teacher wasn’t as oblivious as you had hoped. You fought the twitch in your eye, dreading that this woman would know more about you. Five years of careful isolation and suddenly you were thrust into the public eye. 

“No, just the two of us. But my work is quite flexible so she’s never alone. I always have time to help her with school.” 

“That’s so great to hear. I have to ask, just for the sake of my student, her father—”

“Hello, Ms. Fern.”

Azriel’s voice startled you out of the panic rising in your chest. You turned to find him rooted in his spot behind you, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flicked down to you for a brief moment before settling back on the teacher. 

“Azriel!” Ms. Fern delighted. “I didn’t expect you today. I saw the High Lord and Lady earlier so I assumed it would just be the parents.” 

Azriel hummed. “I wanted to come by and see Nyx’s art. You mentioned he painted the family.” 

“You didn’t need to do that! I know you’re so busy. What a wonderful—“ 

Azriel slowly edged in front of you, hiding you from Ms. Fern’s watchful eye. You felt a slight push against your hip and held in a laugh as Azriel reached behind him and ushered you off without ever looking away from the teacher. You quickly scampered away and made yourself busy examining the art around the room. Upon closer inspection, Nyx had painted a troll—not his family. 

It took about 10 minutes of lingering before Azriel joined you, his shadows giving him away. They slinked around your wrists and traveled up to caress your neck. 

“Apologies for their familiarity,” Azriel said in place of a greeting. “They seem to have grown comfortable with you.” 

“And Melanie,” you added. You rounded a table and meandered out to the hall. Azriel followed. “They love to chase her around the apothecary. Sometimes I wonder if you keep coming by because they’re making you.” 

Azriel bit back a smile but it still formed into a bashful expression. “Perhaps that’s why.” 

In the hall, you found yourself alone with Azriel—utterly and completely alone. Melanie was with one of your neighbors as the teacher made it clear no students were allowed at the open house, and no one else occupied the space. You leaned your back against the wall and looked up at Azriel, a shyness overtaking you. 

You were never really alone with him—Melanie was always right around the corner. 

“That was some maneuver earlier,” you commented, fidgeting with your fingers at your waist. 

“She was prying,” Azriel replied. You watched the way he carefully trailed his gaze down to your fingers. “I certainly wasn’t going to let her know more about you than I do. Not when I’ve put in far more effort.” 

“I thought your shadows were the reason you came,” you teased. 

“Right, my shadows.” 

You pressed your mouth into a line, feeling small under Azriel’s never-ending gaze. His eyes never left yours as silence blanketed the hall. It was as if he saw through you, understood you in a way that didn’t make sense. 

Maybe you could tell him. 

No, that was ridiculous. 

Was it? 

“Where’s Mel?” Azriel asked, startling you out of your internal strife. 

The words didn’t comprehend, the jumbled mess of your mind intensifying as the Shadowsinger knocked his head to the side and asked you questions. 

“What?” 

“Melanie,” he clarified, brows bunching. “I was going to offer to watch her for this but I didn’t want to impose. I know I’m still mostly a stranger, but I don’t know if you have family in the area and I just…” 

He trailed off. You never mentioned any family because that was one of the topics you strayed from each time it was broached. Family, your origins, Melanie’s father; he never brought any of it up directly, but he’d hint at it. And you always changed the subject. 

“I—I don’t,” you revealed. You broke his gaze and stared down at your fingers, picking at the skin around your nails. “Have family here, I mean. But I have neighbors that Melanie likes. They’re watching her.” 

“Do you trust them?” Azriel asked, an edge to his tone. 

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t leave her with anyone I didn’t.” 

“Good,” he grunted out. 

“And I would never ask you to watch Mel. That—I know you’re probably busy and she's kind of a handful..” 

Azriel started speaking before the last word left your mouth. “She’s not. And I would never be too busy for that.”

Another silence fell. You picked harder at your nails.

“Azriel, I—“ 

“I want you to feel safe with me. To trust me.” 

His admittance shocked you into silence. You weren’t actually sure what you were going to say to him, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Everything you had ever thought exited your brain. 

You opened your mouth to speak but no sound escaped. 

“I mean—I just mean that I want to be a person you can trust Melanie with. That you can trust to… to share more with. I don’t know what you’ve been though, or how you ended up here in Velaris, but I want to be something safe for you.”

It felt as if something was pressing against your chest. When Melanie was around, he never looked at you with such intensity—he never said these things with so much devotion to back his words. 

A sharp, hot feeling pricked your fingers. Azriel’s hand immediately covered both of your own, his warm touch pulling your fingers away from each other. You’d drawn blood—a terrible nervous habit. 

With all of the shock you missed the fact that this was the first time Azriel had touched you with such intentionality. 

“It’s like you’re living in survival mode—you and Melanie. I want you both to feel like there’s someone looking out for you.” 

“Why?” you whispered, the word still sounding entirely too loud. “Why us? Why me?” 

Azriel hadn’t removed his hands from yours. He offered a small squeeze to your fingers. “Why not you?” 

Something broke in you. Something pulled. 

You wanted nothing more than to open your mouth and let everything out. You wanted to trust him—to be able to trust anyone—but there was so much danger to that.

You could be forced back home. You could be forced to marry that man. You could lose Melanie. 

But Azriel was looking at you as if he’d place his life before any of those possibilities. His gaze was beseeching, almost desperate, and something was urging you to trust him. Something intrinsic. Something that felt right.

Your lips parted. 

“Rhys, I told you, Azriel isn’t here.” 

“I saw him leave just after us, darling. He came.” 

“He came to Nyx’s open house? What could he possibly have to gain?” 

The conversation down the hall startled you. You yanked your hands from Azriel’s grip and whipped your head to the side in anticipation. 

Rhys, Azriel, Nyx; you knew who was about to enter the hall, and reality came crashing down on you as soon as you made the connection. 

“I have to go,” you rushed out, eyes widening. “I—Thank you, Azriel, but this isn’t—this isn’t safe for Melanie. Not… all of this. I have to—” 

You left, and Azriel stayed. 

You heard your name as you went, heard it echo down the hall, but you still left. 

And Azriel still stayed. 

part four

[inkedinshadows]

Nights and Days

Pairing: Azriel × reader

Summary: Azriel and Y/N are on a mission in Illyria, but as they move from one camp to another, they’re caught in a blizzard and are forced to find shelter in the nearest inn. Thanks to the shadowsinger, there's only one bed.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, just a sprinkle of shadow play, language, lots of witty banter

Word count: 6.3k

A/N: this is my first time writing smut, so I'd really appreciate it if you let me know what you think 🥺

Groups of rebels had begun to appear all over Illyria, claiming that Rhys was not a good High Lord, that a low-born bastard was not suited to be their general, and that training their women was nothing more than a waste of time.

After two weeks of diplomacy that led to absolutely nothing, Rhys had dispatched the Inner Circle to deal with the rebels. Mor and Amren had stayed in Velaris to make sure nothing happened, but the others had been sent out to Illyria. And Y/N had been paired up with Azriel.

They were flying from one war camp to the next—Y/N trying to focus on anything other than Azriel holding her close as he flew—when it started to snow.

“Is it safe to keep going?” she asked him, glancing at his beautiful wings flapping behind him.

“Would you rather I land now? In the middle of nowhere?” Azriel looked down at her with a little smirk on his face. “Give me some credit, Y/N. I can handle a little snow.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot you’re a big, tough Illyrian warrior. My bad.”

He didn't answer, but she didn't need to look at him to know he was still smirking. That annoyingly attractive smirk always made her want to kiss him. She focused on the forest below, on anything other than his lips and how close they’d be if she would just turn her head his way.

They flew in silence for just a few more minutes before the snow began to fall more heavily. Y/N simply looked at Azriel with a raised eyebrow, not bothering to use words.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” he said when he noticed her expression, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Camp is not that far. We can still make it.”

“Azriel, did you wake up this morning and just decided to be stupid?” She pointed at the grey sky above them, where more clouds were gathering with the promise of more snow to come. “You see that, right? It’s already late and we both know it’ll only get worse. We won’t reach the next camp before it turns into a blizzard. Besides, I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

His only answer was a low chuckle. “Oh, yeah? The poor princess is freezing her little ass off?”

She smacked him on the shoulder. “My ass is anything but little, shadowsinger. Shouldn’t you find us a shelter or something, instead of making fun of me?”

“Said the one who just called me stupid,” he pointed out. He lifted a brow, flashing her another one of those smirks. “Maybe you should apologize for that, and I might think about landing somewhere.”

She cocked her head, unsure if he was messing around or not. “I refuse to apologize for telling the truth. And you’d better land soon, or I’ll kick your ass when you do.”

Azriel’s laugh echoed in her ears, and it took all her focus not to smile just at that sound she so rarely got to hear. “As if you could actually kick my ass.”

If her arms hadn’t been wrapped around his neck, she would have crossed them over her chest. Or maybe she would have used them to strangle him, if only it wouldn't mean they'd fall out of the sky. Eventually, she settled to roll her eyes again. “Azriel, I’m being serious.”

Though she enjoyed their usual banter and she knew as well as everyone that she could never kick his ass, she hadn’t lied. Even with her Illyrian leathers, she was starting to freeze out there in the snow, and there was no way they would reach their destination without being caught in a full-blown blizzard.

“Relax. Despite what you think, Y/N, I’m not stupid.” He gestured to something below them just as she opened her mouth to protest. “It’s an inn. You would have noticed it already, if only you hadn’t been so busy complaining.”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, squinting to see through the trees and the snow. But as Azriel glided down, she finally saw it. It was a rather large building for an inn in the middle of the woods—many Illyrians probably passed through it—so there was a high chance of finding a couple of rooms to spend the night in.

Azriel landed and gently set her on the ground. Together, they headed for the door and were welcomed inside by the warmth of a fire in the corner of the room. She shook the snow off her hair as she took in their surroundings—a few tables full of Illyrian warriors, most of them drinking and laughing quite loudly.

“We ran out of double rooms.” The innkeeper looked at them as they approached, apparently too bored to even bother with greetings. “But we’ve still got a few single ones.”

Before she could tell him that two rooms were perfect, Azriel was already answering. “We need only one, actually.”

Next thing she knew, he had grabbed her hand and was leading her up the stairs, a key now clutched in his fingers. She waited for the door to close behind them before she turned to him with a frown. “What the hell was that? Why only one room?”

Azriel tossed his pack on the floor and replied as if the answer was obvious. “The hall was packed with drunk Illyrians.”

“So?”

He looked at her then, and she couldn’t quite understand what she saw in his eyes. Was it concern? Or frustration because she still didn’t realize something he thought was so simple?

“I’m not letting you sleep in another room alone, when a bunch of drunk Illyrians have just seen you, probably the only female here, walk in.”

Well, that was not what she expected. But as she thought it over, she couldn’t deny he had a point. She was able to hold her own in a fight, just not against fully trained warriors, and she didn't want to take any risk, especially when it was just one night.

Not knowing what to answer, she looked around the room, which consisted of only one bed and a small dresser—lame and boring, but it would do. Except for the one single bed.

She watched as Azriel sat on an old rug, the only decoration there was. “And what are you doing now, exactly?”

He shrugged, with that same expression that seemed to tell her the answer was obvious. “I'll take the floor, you take the bed.”

She almost laughed at that. “You can't sleep on the floor, not with your wings. I'll do it.”

“I'll be fine,” he replied, and extended his wings behind him as if to prove it. “Why would you want to sleep on the floor anyway?”

“Because I don't want you to do it,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Now get your ass off that floor, shadowsinger.”

Azriel did no such thing and instead leaned back against the wall and extended his legs in front of him. Her gaze dropped to his thighs, the muscles shifting with the movement.

“Why would I do that? It's comfortable here.”

She looked up again, her arms crossed over her chest. “It's not and you know it.”

Both of them too stubborn to give in, they glared at each other. She made no move to sit on the bed, and he made no move to get up. They probably could have spent hours like this, but she couldn't stand the idea of Azriel sleeping on a half-consumed rug, even if it meant she'd do it.

“You wouldn't want to face the rebels with a sore body tomorrow, would you?” she tried, hoping it'd make him think straight.

“I've slept on the ground before, I'll be fine. Big, tough Illyrian warrior, remember?” His lips twitched up, and amusement glinted in his hazel eyes. “Just take the bed, Y/N. We have a long day ahead of us.”

“Which is exactly why you should sleep on the bed, Az,” she snapped before taking a deep breath and speaking more calmly. “I'm just the backup. It doesn't matter if I'm sore.”

“It matters to me.”

His words hung heavily in the air, and she swallowed, not sure how to react to them or to the fervor in his voice. There was an intensity in his eyes that she’d never seen before and, unable to his gaze any longer, she blinked.

“You’re not going to budge, are you?” she asked with a sigh, her arms falling back to her sides.

“No.” And there it was again, that teasing grin she usually wanted to kiss. Right now, though, she felt more like punching him for his stubbornness. It outmatched even her own. “So I suggest you listen and take the bed. You need some rest.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and you don't?”

This time, it was his turn to sigh and roll his eyes at her. “Y/N, I’ll be fine. I’ve slept in worse conditions, and it’s only just one night anyway.”

And yet, the thought of him sleeping on that rug while she was all comfortable on the bed didn’t sit right with her. Just like her well-being mattered to him, his mattered to her. Maybe it was because he’d admitted it, or because he’d rather sleep on the floor than let her stay in another room when the place was full of Illyrians. Or maybe she was just trying to find some kind of excuse, but the words were out before she could think better of them.

“Sleep on the bed. With me.”

Azriel’s eyes widened, and she immediately regretted even thinking about it. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean… it’s just…” she stuttered, her cheeks heating up as she looked away. What a huge mistake she’d just made. Just because he cared about her didn’t mean he’d want to share a bed with her. What was she even thinking? “I know it’s small and there’s not much space, but I just… I thought it’d still be more comfortable than the floor… you know?” Her voice trailed off, and she stared down at her feet.

Deafening silence filled the room, and then Azriel finally spoke, his tone cautious. “And that’s all you were asking?”

She frowned, not sure what else she might have been asking. But she quickly realized what words she had used and how that could potentially sound like something more than an offer to share the bed. Sleep on the bed. With me. Cauldron, she was so stupid. Her face turned an even deeper shade of red. When was the last time she had blushed?

“No, I wasn’t— that’s not what I—” She couldn’t get the words out, and it didn’t help that her mind was now wandering toward certain scenarios that involved the two of them, a bed, and very little clothing. She turned away from him and mumbled, “Whatever.”

“I think this is the first time I've ever seen you speechless.” There was amusement in his voice, and she knew the asshole was smirking once more. “You should watch your word choice if that’s not what you intended to ask.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry,” she murmured as she reached for her pack, but when she took her nightgown out, she realized there was no place to go to get changed. How was she supposed to change in front of him after such an embarrassing mistake? So instead, she delayed the moment she’d have to do it by trying to explain again. “It wasn’t my intention to imply anything. It came out wrong.”

She could feel his eyes on her as he answered. “I noticed. What was your intention, then?”

The look she gave him was one of annoyance. He knew exactly what her intention was, and he just liked to mess with her. She glared at him for a moment before she replied, “I meant what I said. I don’t want you to sleep on that rug, and you don’t want me to do it either. So, the only other option is that we share the bed.”

“Mh, I see.” His lips tugged up in a self-satisfied grin that just made her want to hit him to see it disappear. Not that she could hit him even if she really wanted to. Azriel would block her blow with little effort. But how could she have ever wanted to kiss him?

“So sleeping next to me is the only option?” he added.

“You know what?” she snapped, gesturing to the rug where he was still sitting like it was the most comfortable place he’d ever been. “I changed my mind. Sleep on the floor. I don’t care.”

He chuckled. Chuckled. Cauldron boil her.

She turned her back on him and, without giving it any second thought, she began undressing. She hadn’t realized how warm the Illyrian leathers were until she shivered as soon as she took them off.

“It seems like you’re cold,” Azriel drawled from behind her.

“I’m not,” she replied. She put on her nightgown and sought refuge under the covers. “Not for long, anyway.”

How was Azriel going to spend the night on a rug, without a blanket? When he didn’t answer, she considered maybe asking him one last time to share the bed. Out of the goodness of her heart, she supposed.

But then Azriel spoke again, amusement clear in his voice. And the goodness of her heart be damned.

“You're cold, aren't you?”

She sighed, wrapping the blanket tighter around her body. “No.”

“Liar.”

“Prick.”

“I'm the prick? You're the one who suggested we should share the bed.”

Y/N resisted the urge to turn on her side and face him. Maybe it was stupid and childish of her, but she kept lying with her back to him. “I don't see how that makes me a prick, Az. Besides, you're the one who made fun of me because of it, which means you're the prick here.”

His voice still carried a sense of playfulness as he answered. “I made fun of you because you stumbled over your words like a fool. It was quite amusing, to be honest.”

Instead of replying, she slid a hand out from under the blanket and flipped him off over her shoulder. As she hid it again and curled up in the bedsheets, Azriel’s soft laugh made her smile despite herself.

She heard some noise and, assuming he was getting changed and ready for the night, she closed her eyes. But her mind was running wild.

Images of his hands on her. Of her hands on him. Their lips touching, first tenderly, then passionately. Their bodies pressed together as pleasure overcame them. All scenarios she had never let herself fully consider before, now evoked by Azriel's misunderstanding of her words. Scenarios she now knew for sure would never happen if the way he'd teased her for even suggesting sharing the bed was any indication.

“Make room for me?”

His voice was so close to her that she started, her head snapping around to find him standing next to the bed. He had taken off his leathers and was now wearing loose pants and a shirt. His wings were tucked in tight behind him—those beautiful wings that she knew were bigger than Cassian's and Rhysand's. She still wasn't sure she should believe Mor about the correlation between an Illyrian's wingspan and other body parts.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” he added with a small smile.

“You and your absurdly silent steps,” she grumbled, but she was already moving to the other side of the bed.

Only that there wasn’t exactly an ‘other side’, not when the bed was barely big enough for both of them. As Azriel slipped under the sheets, she found herself with her back pressed against his chest. His familiar scent of night-chilled mist and cedar filled her senses, and his warmth seeped through her, chasing away the remnants of the cold that even the blanket hadn’t yet managed to rid her of.

“Tell me you don’t move a lot when you sleep,” she said as he settled behind her. “Because if you push me off, I’ll make you regret not staying on that rug.”

His laugh skittered down her back. “You always have something to say, don't you?”

“I promise you, the moment there will be nothing to say, I will shut up,” she replied with a chuckle.

Silence fell and Y/N nestled more against his side. She just couldn't help it. Feeling him so close, their bodies pressing together... it was intoxicating, and she wanted to stay like that forever. She hesitated a moment, and then she decided that she might as well do it: grabbing his arm, she wrapped it around her waist and laced their fingers together, their intertwined hands resting against her stomach. Azriel tensed behind her, and she thought he might pull away, but he didn’t. Instead, he released a deep breath that tickled the back of her neck.

“I would never let you fall off the bed,” he murmured. His voice was so close to her ear that it almost made her shiver. And as if to show he really meant what he said, Azriel draped his wings around her.

Y/N suddenly had a lump in her throat. Being enveloped in his wings was somehow more intimate than lying so close to each other. “Glad to hear it,” was all she could think about. After a second, she added in a whisper, “And thank you for not letting me sleep alone.”

Azriel’s arm tightened around her waist, his breath warm against her neck. When he spoke, she could tell by his tone alone that he wanted to say more than just, “You're welcome.” She didn't push him though. He'd tell her when and if he decided to.

She closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep, letting the sound of the blizzard outside lull her, but with Azriel holding her it was nearly impossible. Wrapped in his arms and wings, she felt safe and protected. Everything else seemed to disappear until it was just the two of them in their small cocoon.

“Can you turn over?”

Her eyes opened at his question, but she didn't move. To face him would mean being only inches away from him. She didn't trust herself to be that close to him. To his lips.

“Why?”

“Just turn over, Y/N,” he whispered. “Please.”

It was the vulnerability in his voice—the barely audible ‘please’—that had her giving in. She had never heard him say it before, not like that.

But as she complied, her face was even closer to his than she'd anticipated. Their noses were almost touching, and she made a point not to let her gaze drop to his lips.

Azriel didn't say anything. They stared into each other's eyes for a few moments or maybe an hour—Y/N didn't know. The one thing she knew was that her heart was beating faster in her chest, and it only got worse when he brushed her cheek, his touch gentle and soft. She smiled, and the movement caused his gaze to dip to her mouth. She waited for him to look up again, but he didn't.

Her smile turned into a little smirk. “Are you just going to stare at my lips all night, or do you plan to actually do something about it?”

Azriel looked at her again, and though he tried to look annoyed, she could see a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Why do you always have to make such quick-witted comments?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she replied before she even knew what she was saying. She didn't regret it though, because he did it.

And the world shrank till there was just Azriel.

His lips were soft against hers, warm and inviting. His hand moved from her cheek to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer. She melted against him, opening up for his tongue to slip inside, tasting her slowly, almost reverently. Her heart was beating so fast it might have jumped out of her chest.

She'd wanted this to happen for the longest time, and now that it was real, the leash she'd kept on herself vanished. Every feeling, every emotion she'd stifled for so long, now rushed to the surface like a tidal wave.

What had started as a tender kiss soon turned into something passionate and greedy. She whimpered softly against his lips, and her hands began to make their way down to the hem of his shirt.

“Y/N.” Azriel's whisper stopped her as she looked into his eyes. She could see her own need reflected there. “Are you sure about this?”

“I don't look sure enough to you?” She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe next time I should just send you a note and—”

Azriel silenced her with another kiss. “You and your sarcastic answers,” he murmured with a smile.

Y/N giggled and cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb against his lips. “I mean it, Az,” she said, her tone softer now. “I'm sure about it.”

“Good.” He pulled her flush against him as his hands roamed down her back. “Because if I start, I don't think I could stop.”

“Good,” she repeated before she kissed him again.

Y/N tugged on his shirt, and they parted long enough for her to take it off, though it took a bit of struggle to undo the clasps on his back and free his wings. She'd seen him shirtless before, mostly when he was training—he was a real feast for the eye—but now she got to touch him, to run her hands across his torso and feel him shudder. His mouth descended on her neck in response, leaving a trail of wet kisses while his hands gripped her backside.

“You were right, princess,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “Your ass is definitely not little.”

She chuckled as he kneaded it. “Told you.”

Azriel hummed, planting one last kiss on her neck before he shifted position and Y/N found herself pressed down on the mattress, the shadowsinger now on top of her. As she pulled him closer for their lips to meet yet again, his hands caressed her legs, trailing up her thighs and slipping under her nightgown.

She held her breath as he brushed past her panties, lingering just long enough to make her shiver. He then moved up her body, causing the fabric to rise and reveal her soft flesh.

Y/N broke the kiss, a small sigh leaving her lips when Azriel’s hands reached her breasts. He smiled at the sound, and as their eyes met, his gaze was so full of desire that her core clenched.

She wanted him. She needed him.

Before she could reach between them to push down his pants, Azriel gently stopped her by grabbing her wrists, sensing what her intention was. “Not yet,” he murmured.

She frowned. A slight tug was all it took for him to release her hands, though she didn't try to undress him again. “Why not?”

And there it was again, that smirk. But now, with him on top of her, both of them half naked, she didn't simply want to kiss it. No, she wanted do all the things she'd never let herself consider.

“Because I want to see you first, princess.”

Azriel was already pushing her nightgown up, but as usual, she couldn't keep her mouth shut. “So it's official? You're calling me princess now? You've never done that before.”

He looked down at her with so much desire that it seemed to set her body on fire. “I've never been about to fuck you before,” he answered, his voice low and sultry.

Her thighs clenched together, but before she could come up with a response, Azriel removed her nightgown. Her skin was already so heated she barely felt the bite of the cool air, and it was completely forgotten when he ran his hands all over her body, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered as he leaned down to take one of her nipples in his warm mouth, a soft moan escaping her as she shivered.

Her fingers tangled in his hair to keep him close, and she arched against him when his tongue flicked out to tease her.

“And you're so responsive,” he murmured. Hooking a scarred finger into the waistband of her panties, he pulled them down her legs. The scent of her arousal wafted through the room as Azriel nudged her legs open and settled in between them.

Y/N was about to tell him to hurry, her need to feel him against and inside her now almost overwhelming. But she couldn’t form the words, not as Azriel pushed his hips against hers and she felt the evidence of his own arousal pressing hard against her wet core.

His hands caressed her sides, her ass, her thighs, and yet he never touched her where she needed it most.

“Azriel…” she complained, eyes locked on him. She moved her hips to grind against his erection, seeking some sort of friction, and she was rewarded by his sharp inhale. But it still wasn't enough.

“Be patient, Y/N.” His mouth descended on her neck again, biting the soft spot where it met her shoulder. “I want to taste you first. I want to worship every inch of you.”

Even though she closed her eyes at his little nips, she shook her head. “Azriel, I appreciate it. I really do. But you have no idea how long I've waited for this.” Her breath hitched when his tongue swirled around her nipple again. “We can leave the worshipping for later. I need you now.”

“You need me, uh?” He kissed her other breast, and she bucked her hips against him once more. “And you've waited a long time for this?”

Y/N looked at him again, her fingers still clutching his hair. She nodded and realized her mistake too late—a new mischievous gleam entered Azriel's hazel eyes.

His lips trailed down her stomach and toward her belly button. Each kiss sent a shiver right to her core. “Then you can wait a little longer.”

She groaned, her patience now at its limit. “Azriel, you—”

A gasp cut her off as he licked a stripe up her dripping folds. She couldn't tell who moaned first when Azriel tasted her once more, his tongue flicking over her clit.

Her fingers tightened in his black curls and her head fell back on the pillow. Azriel's lips closed around her clit and she clamped a hand on her mouth to keep quiet as he gently sucked on it.

His shadows began to slither up her body, their touch cool against her heated skin. Her breathing quickened and she had to hold back a moan when his tongue was replaced by a finger slowly sliding inside her folds.

But it didn't move. Azriel looked up at her and she wished she could somehow capture the picture: his head between her legs, those beautiful hazel eyes focused on her with an almost predatory intent.

“Don't go all quiet on me now, princess,” he murmured against her skin. “I want to hear all your pretty noises.”

A tendril of shadow brushed against her hand, and she removed it from her mouth. “Az, the other rooms—”

He curled his finger to hit that soft, spongy spot inside her that had her see stars, and she couldn't stop the moan that left her lips.

“I don't care if someone hears you.” His voice was a low, almost commanding growl. “Let them hear you. Let them know you're with me.”

She was about to answer, to tell him she wasn't sure she should, but Azriel added a second finger, and she lost all control, another small cry of pleasure slipping out.

Azriel seemed satisfied because his smirk reappeared. “If I had known this is all it took to put a stop on the witty comments, I would have done it a long time ago.”

Y/N wanted to make one of those very witty comments to prove him wrong, to show him she hadn't become helpless just because of how good he made her feel, but his tongue circled her clit again and Mother above, she was helpless.

“Do you want to come, princess?”

Unable to form even a coherent thought, all she could do was nod, her body on the brink of release as his fingers curled once more, drawing a moan from deep in her throat.

“Use your words, Y/N.”

“Yes… yes, please,” she panted.

But instead of keeping going, of driving her over that sweet, craved edge, Azriel placed a kiss to her inner thigh and slowly removed his fingers from her folds. He even moved away from her, standing up at the foot of the bed.

She groaned, pushing herself up on her elbows to glower at him. “Azriel, you get back here right now.”

He only grinned. “Ah, there she is.”

“If you're doing this just because you missed my comments, you should know that I—”

The words died on her tongue as soon as his hands swiftly undid the buttons of his pants. Her eyes followed his every movement as he pushed them down his legs, watching his muscles shift and his wings unfold ever so slightly to keep him balanced.

He wasn't wearing any underwear.

The realization caused her brain to stop working, and the sight of his naked body took her breath away. Maybe the rumors about Illyrian wingspans were true after all.

Her mouth dry, she swallowed before finally speaking again. “Azriel,” she repeated, her voice quivering with barely restrained desire. “Get back here right now.”

For once, he obliged without questioning, his grin wide.

Climbing onto the bed, he crawled up her body until his cock pressed against her entrance, her need for him now through the roof.

Their eyes met, and slowly—too slowly—Azriel pushed in, stretching her inch by delicious inch, both of them releasing a moan when he bottomed out, his hips flush against her.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound shooting straight down to her core. “Fuck, Y/N... you feel incredible.”

She had no words to describe how he felt inside her. ‘Incredible’ was an understatement, but her mind was too foggy to think of something else. The only thing she was sure of was that she needed him to move.

“Azriel,” she breathed as she wrapped her legs around him. He shuddered when she accidentally brushed his wings with her toes. “Please, move. Now.”

With his elbows on either side of her head, he leaned down to kiss her, pulling out almost all the way. “I love hearing you beg for it,” he whispered against her lips, and rocked back into her with a quick roll of his hips before she could even think of a response.

He didn’t even try to go slow, instead immediately setting a relentless pace that left her panting, but she didn’t mind. Every choked sound and breathless moan were swallowed by his kiss, their tongues swirling together. Her hands found their way into his hair, around his neck, down his back, and her nails scraped along his warm and slightly sweaty skin while he thrust into her, her hips rising to meet his.

Azriel’s own groans and whimpers were music to the ears, each of them bringing her closer to release. As if he knew her body well enough already, he seemed to sense it too, because his lips left hers to trail down her neck.

“That’s it, princess,” he praised. His clipped voice let her know he was probably trying to hold back his own impending orgasm. “Come for me.”

His shadows flew in the little space between their bodies to tease her clit, drawing a guttural groan from her. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before—cool against her hot skin, a barely-there touch that yet was enough to make her shudder and whine. But it was the uniqueness of it all that sent her toppling over the edge.

A loud cry broke from her as her vision blurred and her body tensed, her nails slightly digging into Azriel’s back while he slowed his thrusts to draw out her pleasure. But he soon resumed his punishing pace, his hips slamming into hers almost frantically, the sound of skin on skin filling the small room as he chased his own release.

She choked out his name right as he stilled, hot spurts of cum filling her, his last few moans muffled when she pulled him in for another desperate kiss.

They were both panting by the time they broke apart, but neither of them tried to move. Azriel still lay buried deep inside her, and simply rested his forehead against hers, a smile on his lips that mirrored her own.

Despite his heavy breaths, his brows raised as he asked playfully, “So was the wait worth it?”

“It was,” she answered with a chuckle. Her hands came up to cup his face, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “You certainly know what you’re doing, shadowsinger.”

Wrong words.

“Is that so?” His grin only widened, and he gave another roll of his hips that dragged a groan from the back of her throat.

She slapped him on the shoulder, but her smile matched his. “Smug ass.”

Azriel's soft laugh tickled her cheek as he kissed it. Slowly, he pulled out of her, leaving her with a feeling of emptiness.

Not ready to let him go just yet, she curled up in his arms as soon as he lay down next to her. Azriel immediately embraced her, holding her close to his chest, their legs tangled.

A comfortable silence settled over them as they bathed in the afterglow of sex, interrupted only by their soft breathing and the blizzard still raging outside.

As the minutes passed, Y/N struggled to keep her eyes open, but she had always wanted to trace the swirling lines of Azriel's tattoos, and now she had her chance. Her fingers danced along the Illyrian design, following the pattern from his neck to his arm, then lingering a bit longer on his sculpted pecs and feeling the muscle beneath her fingertips. His heart was beating fast, pounding in his chest.

“Can you promise me something?”

She glanced up at him, his eyes already fixed on her. The corner of her lips twitched upwards. “Depends on what it is.”

Azriel was silent for a long moment before he spoke again with a new seriousness in his tone. “Promise me that we’ll give this a chance. That we’ll give… us a chance.”

Her fingers halted their roaming, her heart skipped a bit, and a part of her whispered that she had heard that wrong, that she had misunderstood. No way he was actually asking her what she thought he was asking her, despite just having had sex.

She had to swallow the lump in her throat to be able to murmur, “Do you mean that?”

Azriel's eyes softened, like he knew she was even more vulnerable now than while they were fucking, and that whether her heart broke or not depended entirely on his answer.

“I’ve waited for this for a long time too, Y/N,” he said gently, cupping her cheeks to look right into her eyes. “I don’t want just this one night with you. I want all the nights you’ll give me.”

Y/N smiled then, so bright it could have lit up the whole room. She wanted to kiss him senseless, to hold him tight and never let go. And nothing was stopping her anymore, she realized, so she did just that.

She showered his face with tiny kisses. Every beautiful inch, from his nose to his jawline, from his eyebrow to his chin. Azriel's arms wrapped around her middle to pull her closer, and she relented her assault only when he chuckled.

Their eyes met again, and she knew there was no turning back now. But she would never turn back now.

“I’ll give you all the nights in the world, Az,” she finally said once the burst of joy subsided. “And the days, too. I'll give you anything you want.”

His smile was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It was wider than ever before and the urge to touch his small dimples rushed through her—dimples she'd never known he had, but that she'd do anything to see again.

When he kissed her, it was slow yet passionate, gentle yet desperate, their breaths mingling, their hands caressing cheeks and running through hair.

“You're the only thing I want,” Azriel murmured once their lips parted. “Every night and every day. I want only you.”

Those were probably the most beautiful words she'd ever heard. Not even in her dreams did she imagine he would say them. Dwelling on what it would be like to share moments of passion was one thing, but this…

She moved to straddle him, mindful of his wings splayed out beneath him. She wanted to run her fingers down their length, and hopefully, sooner rather than later, she might get to do just that.

“Then I hope you're not too tired, shadowsinger.” She leaned down to trail kisses along his tattoo, but her eyes never left his. “Because you can't say something like that without expecting me to fuck you again.”

His hands tightened their grip on her thighs, her words enough to ignite the fire in him once more. “I'm yours, princess. We have all night.”

“All the nights,” she corrected him with a grin, already grinding on him. “And all the days.”

Maybe they would be facing the rebels with sore bodies, after all.

Tags: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover

(If I accidentally added someone who wanted to be tagged only in part 3 of A Helping Hand and not the general tag list, please let me know and I'll fix it)

[wrenisrad]

I Prefer Hiding in Plain Sight

pairing: Azriel x Reader (mainly towards the end)

word count: 1k

c/w: angst, feelings of inadequacy, they're idiots your honor

“Life may shift,” You recall Rhysand telling you, after you had barely turned twenty, surrounded by your friends– your family, who had serenaded you with a horrendously off-pitch rendition of Happy Birthday. “But we will forever be that same, count on it.”

And as much as you wished you could have relied on the comforting words of your friend, they had failed you, slowly, but surely they turned into something different. Something unrecognizable. Gone were the days of simplicity, laughing at Rita’s, or having a Sunday dinner with everyone in attendance. 

Now, handed to you on a brandished, dirty plate, were days of being brushed off and constant cancellations made of weak excuses, a; “Feyre wanted to have a night in,” “Elain wished to go for a walk,” or the simplest, “Nesta needs me.”

 It seemed as if the presence of the ever-shining Archeron sisters dimmed your own light, leaving you abandoned and rusted. All of the love and time you had given your family, left to rot. They had left you to rot. 

It was to be expected, you had had a gut feeling whenever Mor had brought the two elder Archeron sisters to the House of Wind, when, despite your injuries as severe– if not more so as theirs, everyone had rushed to them. No matter how hard you would attempt to convince yourself in the middle of the night, that you were ‘just getting used to them’ or the like, there was always a lingering pit of jealousy that would slowly rot in your heart every time you were excused. 

Even now, sitting upon the ledge of a hidden cliff, legs dangled along the side– something that would have sent even Azriel into a spiral a mere two years ago, you had been left alone. To be frank, you weren't sure anyone noticed you had left. Not when a part of you could practically feel the joy reeking from the house, making your nose curl. 

In truth, you hated yourself for it, for the jealousy and pettiness. It felt dirty, making your insides burn with the feeling that you were being childish, that you were being ridiculous. The thought circled over and over in your head until it had made it spin, forcing you to shove your thumb against the middle of your brow bone. 

Though a cool, soothing tendril follows, wrap around your finger and lessen the sharp pain. Opening your eyes to find the source of the alleviation, you see a silken shadow shyly curling in on itself, a kid caught reaching into the cookie jar, not the weapons of destruction and peril most saw them as. Though, as endearing as the shadow was, it could only mean one thing.

Azriel was here.

“What do you want?” You murmur softly, looking down and dragging your fingers against the scattered pebbles around the cliff, plucking one up and flicking it, listening to the satisfying click…click..click as it ricochets off the base of the cliff, attempting to fill the void of the silence. 

“Checking up on you,” A familiar rumble, Azriel sits himself beside you and tenderly wraps a wing around her. “Are you alright?” 

“Just…peachy.” You grit out, trying not to curl in on yourself just like his shadow had just done, trying not to seep up the warmth of his attention. As you reach for another stone, Azriel gently picks up your hand, running a thumb over the back of it. His eyes look up at you kindly, expectantly. This is where you usually lay all your cards on the table, where you tell him that you’re not okay and that everything hurts. 

A part of you screeches to fight it, to take your hand back and look away. But the louder, gentler part of you yearns to soften into his touch. 

And so you do. 

You curl up to his side, burying your face into his shoulder and letting out a shaky sigh. Wrapping your arms around his bicep and squeezing your eyes shut, fighting the warm tears threatening to seep from your lashes. 

“I love you.” Azriel murmured softly, stroking your thigh, causing rapid flutters in your stomach. “You’re my best friend, and you will never not be my best friend.” 

“Then why are you never around?” You croak out weakly, wincing at the desperation in your voice, it's unnerving. 

“I don’t…I don’t know.” Azriel began, “Maybe because I felt a duty to Rhysand and Feyre? But even so, I still let this happen.” “You’re fine, Azriel.” You murmur, barely noticing him tense at the use of his full name, rather than an affectionate ‘Az.’ Even tense, he still found the strength to soften, just for you. Pulling you even closer, he lays his head against yours, lips idly resting on the crown of your forehead. “It’s not fine, love. It hurts you, and I refuse to do so any longer. Because you mean everything to me, alright?” He whispered, squeezing you tightly against his chest. “I'll talk to Rhysand, why don't we go to Svenda’s tomorrow, just us?” 

It wasn’t revolutionary, but it was a start, and that was the most important thing. “Alright.” 

At your agreement, Azriel smiled, a quiet, genuine smile. The two of you sat in comfortable, golden silence for an unknown amount of time. The tense atmosphere melting into intimacy and nearness, the warmth of it all making your eyelids heavy, eventually drifting to sleep. 

When you woke in the morning, you were tucked into bed, just how you’ve liked since you were a child. Eyes blearily scanning the area, before landing on a note, propped up on your bedside in a comfortingly familiar script. 

I’ll meet you here before Svenda’s, 6:00 pm. Wear something nice.

And you swear your heart did not flutter. 

©wrenisrad on tumblr

reminder that plagiarism is illegal

A/n: sorry if its rough, I haven't actually written in a year lol, hope we like it? Also, I cant remember where I got the borders from, I downloaded them a while ago, so if you recognize them could you please comment who the artist is so I can properly credit them!

[azmageddon]

Silence

Pairing: Azriel x Cassian's twin!healer!reader

Summary: When you get stuck Under the Mountain, your mate finds the sudden silence deafening.

Warnings: none!

a/n: Based on an anonymous request! Requests are so fun! I love exploring ideas I never would have thought of. Keep them coming! This all takes place within the same AU where reader and Azriel kept their relationship secret from the IC (besides Cassian).

Azriel's POV

The silence was deafening. Never in the last 450 years had he felt such empty silence. The bond was never closed. 

But now it was silent and cold. The golden thread that joined him to you floated from the middle of his chest, right at the center of his soul, into nothing. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing until he saw stars, willing this to be a dream he would wake up from. But Azriel knew better than to think this was a dream. He never slept anyway. 

“Keep Velaris safe,” Rhys’ voice had said. “And don’t come after us.”

Rhys’ voice was calm, yet commanding. It was the demand of a High Lord: something Azriel physically couldn’t ignore. 

At first, he didn’t understand the command. What did he mean, don’t come after us? Keep Velaris safe? You and Azriel had just been having a mental conversation, gossiping over the abhorrent fashion of the Autumn brothers, when Rhys’ voice interrupted you mid-sentence. 

But when Azriel reached back out to you to ask what the warning meant, he was met only with the thick, suffocating silence. 

The bond was never closed. It stayed open when you were hard at work: treating the injured, delivering babies, or easing the pain of Illyrians’ clipped wings. It stayed open when you were angry, or sad, after an argument, especially if you wanted him to feel particularly bad about it afterward.

The bond was never closed. Not when he went on missions for weeks at a time. Not even when he dragged Rhys’ prisoners to the dungeons of the Hewn City and did unspeakable things. You were his comfort. Your shared emotions were what grounded him, reminded him that life was worth living. They were a constant in his life, as effortless to absorb as breathing. 

You had become his inner voice; his conscience. His reminder that he wasn’t the villain of this story. Now that it was gone, he wasn’t sure. 

For 450 years, the bond was never closed, a vow the two of you had made when you accepted the mating bond. But now, that silence was louder than any battle or war he had ever partaken in. 

The memory of when he had found out you were mates played in his head. Azriel couldn’t keep the memory from flooding into his mind and the guilt that came along with it every time he remembered. 

You, covered in blood that wasn’t your own, watching him with worry in your eyes. 

“How long have you known?” He remembers asking, venom lacing every word he spat at you. He was angry and embarrassed; how could he have missed all the signs? How could you keep such an important, life altering secret from him? He couldn’t show that embarrassment, couldn’t show weakness, especially not to you. So he chose anger instead. 

“Since the day we met,” you replied, taking a step and trying to close the gap between the two of you. Instinctively, Azriel took a step back, the shock turning his embarrassment to shame and anger to rage.

“I was eleven when we met, Y/N,” he hissed, implying the absurdity of the time frame. Nearly a century of his fate was kept a mystery to him. Cassian had joined them at that point, pointedly observing that Azriel wasn’t taking the news well. A thought surfaced in his mind. Turning to Cassian, he has to refrain from advancing on his longest friend. “And how long have you known?” Cassian’s silence was the only answer he needed.

Azriel shook his head to clear it, choosing not to remember how you cried at the way he turned away and left you with your heart in his hands, just for him to crush it. 

It all made sense after your confession. He never understood why you insisted on being childhood friends. He was broken and lonely and disowned by his own family, but you had always shown true kindness and friendship. As you grew together, you slowly evolved into innocent adolescence first loves, and eventually adult lovers. It wasn’t until your untimely move from Illyria to Velaris to work for the late High Lord that Azriel never saw you again. That is, until the first war with Hybern and your admission of the truth. 

After Azriel had recovered from the initial anger and shock, your best kept secret had become a shared secret as the two of you accepted the bond. He still remembers the first time he heard your voice in his head. Your lovely, soft voice that wrapped around his mind like the sweetest honey. 

“Old age getting to you?” You teased as Azriel took what looked like a painful blow to the stomach from Rhys during training. 

He was so taken aback by your voice that he even turned to you, thinking you had said it out loud. But you weren’t looking at him; you had your back turned in a combat sequence with your brother. 

The momentary lapse rewarded him with another hit from Rhys, this time on the side of the head. 

“Everything alright, brother?” Rhys asked, concern flooding his voice. 

But Azriel only smirked and turned back to his brother to begin again. 

“You’ll pay for that later, love” he responded through the bond and could have sworn that he saw you falter in your training from his peripheral vision. 

How could he have let this happen? How could he have not foreseen that you would be taken from him? A mysterious invitation calling for the High Lord and his second in command to attend a party Under the Mountain? What kind of Spymaster couldn’t ascertain the danger that now all-consumed the other half of his soul?

Azriels felt something hit his knees, the sting traveling up to make his teeth chatter. He pulled his hands away from his eyes and saw that he had fallen to the ground of the Townhouse. Cassian quickly knelt in front of him, gripping his shoulders to keep him from total collapse. 

Azriel stared at Cassian and saw his lips moving rapidly, but no words came out. He furrowed his brows in confusion. What was he trying to tell him? 

In fact, Azriel heard no sound at all besides the buzzing silence in his ears and his own mind hurling insult after insult of his own sad excuse of being a mate. 

But wait…that was it. Cassian had turned to the others and Azriel was able to read the words on his lips as he spoke to the remaining Inner Circle in the room: She’s his mate.

All at once, too many voices spoke and the sounds came rushing back to Azriel. As if he would keep him from dissolving through the floor, he gripped onto his found brother for dear life.

“Cassian,” Azriel groaned, finding his voice at last. “Cassian, she’s gone. I can’t feel her.”

“We will get her back, brother. I promise.”

[daycourtofficial]

Wingspan Matters

Summary: based on this request, you, Nesta, and Feyre catch your mates in a pissing contest over their wingspans

Author’s note: silly little crack hehe

Word count: ~1k

You poured yourself another cup of tea as Feyre and Nesta began squabbling over something you really couldn’t bring yourself to care about. You looked out the window, taking in the nice spring weather. A light breeze was flowing through the trees, causing the branches to move in a dance to the wind’s patterns.

You watch as the birds flit by, their song a lament to the end of winter, as if they too were sending their thanks to the Mother for spring to return. It’s the first warm day in months, the first day that your forearms won’t get cold being exposed to the air.

The life around you seems to dance and sing at the joyous return of spring - insects buzz past the windows, their high pitched frequencies a delight to your ears. You don’t let yourself think for too long about how the resurrection of spring will cause Cassian to snore even louder than before.

Perhaps you and Azriel can plan an escape to the Summer Court for a few weeks. Hopefully the distance and the crashing of waves will be enough to block out Cassian’s loud snoring.

You get lost in a daydream of laying on the beach with Azriel, either in the sand or in hammocks, applying a protective balm to his wings. The sun is warm on your skin, the salty spray of the ocean in your hair.

Muffled shouting disturbs both your daydream and whatever quarrel Nesta and Feyre were in the middle of. The three of you open the doors to the balcony, leaning over the railing to find your mates in a circle in a clearing on the property, their tan skin and large, dark wings making them stand out amidst the greenery that surrounds them. 

Azriel was standing to the side, looking incredibly smug with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches his two brothers. Cassian has a piece of ribbon that he was holding up to Rhysand’s back. The two kept bickering, over what you couldn’t discern.

Before any of you could question what the two were discussing, Rhysand took the ribbon from Cassian and pushed him off. Cassian landed on the ground, but immediately sprung back up, his hands coming up and shoving Rhysand off the rock he was perched on.

“Looks like the bats are finally measuring themselves,” Nesta muses, bringing her cup to her lips.

You could hear Rhys’s laugh from the balcony as he sprung up, keeping low to the ground as he charged at Cassian, his shoulder hitting Cassian’s hips. He pushed Cassian into the ground, causing Cassian to push his weight upwards so the two of them begin rolling around on the ground, punches and curses being shared to and fro. 

Feyre chuckles, “it seems Azriel’s already won.”

Nesta peers back to you over her cup, “I don’t think it’s just Azriel that’s won.”

“Don’t draw yourself up too short, Nes. I think Cassian’s in second place.”

Nesta looks back at you, eyes roaming up and down your frame, “I’m more surprised he hasn’t broken you in half yet.”

Feyre laughs as you reply, “you’d be more surprised if you saw some of the things we do.”

You waggle your eyebrows at Nesta as Feyre continues laughing, but Nesta’s not quick enough to hide her smirk without your notice.

“How long do we wait until we have them measure Feyre’s wings?” you ask.

Feyre thinks for a moment, hand on her chin, “maybe when Azriel gets a little too cocky.”

“Or Rhysand gets too pouty,” Nesta adds.

From across the courtyard, you could see Azriel’s amused smirk as his eyes met yours, a light tug on the bond urging you to keep your gaze on him. You smile, pulling back softly. He raises his eyebrows up and down a few times, and you send some amusement down the bond as you roll your eyes at him.

He stretches his wings out at your attention, making them as large as he can. You’re pretty certain you’ve seen birds do similar things in mating rituals, but the unfortunate thing is seems to actually be working on you.

He looks over to his brothers, still rolling around in the dirt, and gently takes off for a short flight up to the balcony the three of you are on. He lands softly in front of you, his wings creating a small wind, his chest glowing in the sunlight as his hands reach for you, pulling you into him by your hips.

You melt into him, arms going around his waist, your head resting over his heart as he supports your weight with the railing behind him. The warmth from his skin is soothing without being overbearingly hot.

“They make me want to gag,” Nesta tells Feyre, and you move your head so you can see the two pairs of eyes looking back to the two of you. Azriel wraps his wings around you, making you nearly impossible to see if it weren’t for your feet. You can hear the smile on Nesta’s face at her words, though.

You weasel an opening between Azriel’s arms so you can make eye contact with Nesta as you tell her, “he makes me gag too,” as you make an obscene gesture with your hand.

Nesta’s face immediately goes into her hands while Feyre chuckles, but her laughs are drowned out by the male in front of you, his laugh rumbling in his chest beneath your ear.

He peers down at you, one eyebrow raised in question. You nod slightly, and the two of you vanish into his shadows, leaving Feyre and Nesta to watch their mates continue to fight in the dirt, forgetting who really won the competition.

[moosesarecute]

Pyjamas party

Masterlist

Azriel x reader

-

It wasn’t unusual for you to miss out on the family dinners once a while.

It wasn’t unusual for you to stay home instead of going to Rita’s.

It wasn’t unusual for you to quietly leave a social gathering without anyone noticing before long after.

However, it was unusual for you to not show up for the big party on Starfall. You loved Starfall! It was you and most others from the Night Court’s favorite holiday.

Rhys had told them that you just weren’t coming, but Azriel didn’t trust him.

“What’s going on with her?” He asked his brother.

He hated knowing that you might miss out on the celebration if it was something he could’ve done to help you.

He had noticed you being antisocial sometimes, but he figured it was just that: you didn’t want or need to be more social.

He hadn’t thought twice about it before that Starfall evening.

Azriel and the rest of the inner circle, except for you, were all dressed up in the prettiest clothing. He’d expected to see you arrive with the rest of the females. He’d expected you to be dressed in the beautiful light blue gown his shadows had found laid out for you in the House of Wind.

When Rhys said you weren’t coming, he felt himself worry.

“She’s just not up for it tonight, brother. If she wanted you to know why, she would have told you,” was Rhys’ only answer.

He wasn’t surprised by that answer, but he still got annoyed. Azriel didn’t want to relax before he knew for sure that you were alright.

“She didn’t want company?”

Rhys looked at him with a glint in his eyes.

It wasn’t a secret that Azriel crushed on you. It also wasn’t a secret that you crushed on him too. The only secret was that the two of you had grown even closer the last couple of weeks and that Azriel had prepared to ask you to be his girlfriend that evening.

“She didn’t say anything about company, but I wouldn’t push her too far,” Rhys answered, gave as a pat on his back and walked over to his mate.

Azriel had heard what Rhys said, but the only thing chose to hear was that you hadn’t said no to company.

-

The knock on your door surprised you.

Who would visit you in the middle of the Starfall celebrations?

Then, shadows flew into your room and you immediately understood who.

You loved Azriel and it pained you to not explain why you didn’t go to Starfall, but you didn’t know how he would react.

You were scared he would look at you as weak or frail. Or that he would be scared of asking you to join him in doing something. Or that he’d overthink it and worry way too much about you.

So you figured not telling him anything was the best solution.

You should have known you were wrong.

You used all willpower you had to get out of the bed.

Your entire body felt heavy. It felt like you were carrying at least ten extra kilos on your upper body. Your arms hung at your sides and even putting a smile on your face was a struggle.

You still wore the pyjamas you had slept in that night and it now had different food spots on it, but it was too much for you to change it.

You wanted to, but it would take too much of the energy you didn’t have.

You wanted to climb a mountain, go dancing, start a new project, clean your apartment and so much more, but you hadn’t been able to do as much as showering for the last couple of days.

And what triggered all this energy loss?

A night out at Rita’s.

A single night, and you were bedridden for at least three days. You hadn’t gone home when the exhaustion started to build, because you were having fun. So you had stayed out long past your limit and now you were paying for it.

“Hi, Az,” you said as cheerfully as possible when you opened the door.

He didn’t buy it though.

Azriel almost took your breath away. It wasn’t often he dressed up to such an extent and he looked perfect. His hair was slicked back and he wore a black shirt and pants with a black vest with golden details. His eyes were glowing.

However, he looked worriedly at you.

“What’s going on, dreamy?”

You had fallen asleep on him, speaking loudly as you dreamt a dream about all the most random stuff. You mentioned stuff like ice cream, goats and rain.

Ever since, dreamy had been his nickname for you.

“Nothing. Why are you here?” You answered in an attempt to make him worry less.

He didn’t believe you though.

“May I come in?” He asked in a tone that made your heart melt.

You moved away from the door and let him in. He took your hand, closed the door and lead you to the couch. He then laid down and carefully pulled you down so that you laid on him.

“Talk to me, please,” he said as he brushed his fingers through your hair. “I want to know what’s going on or if I can do something. And if you don’t want to tell me, we can stay here.”

Azriel was the best male in all of Prythian. You were sure of it.

The reason you hadn’t told him about it was that you didn’t want him to worry, but it seemed like he was worrying anyway, so you decided to just tell the truth.

“You remember the sickness that made all of us sick four years ago? Well, I suppose I never really recovered from it. I don’t know if you remember the feeling of total exhaustion you and Cassian were complaining about? I felt that too and I still do from time to time. I usually just push through it, but I’ve done way too much this week, so I my body just said stop.”

You looked up as Az and saw that he was in deep thoughts. You knew he probably had many questions, he always did, but he didn’t ask you any of them and you appreciated that. You were just too exhausted to answer.

Azriel himself was thinking through the absolute awful feeling of exhaustion he had felt for about two weeks after the sickness. He still felt uncomfortable thinking about his body struggling to do the simplest tasks. And he hated knowing that you had been carrying around such exhaustion many times since. However, Starfall wasn’t the day to question you. He would ask questions on the days you had more energy.

He gave the top of your head a strong kiss.

“Is there anything I can do to get you up to the House without it being way too much for you?”

You shook your head.

“Showering and getting dressed are way too much for me right now,” you answered truthfully and you felt yourself feeling vulnerable.

However Azriel only nodded once more, before he stopped the movement of his head.

“Nobody said you had to shower and get dressed though. Give me five minutes,” he said, carefully lifted you of him and laid you down on the couch instead.

-

“Thank you.”

Azriel had gone into the celebrations to get you the biggest plate of food. There was a little bit of everything on it. Both dinners, dessert and snacks.

The two of you sat on one of the private balconies. Azriel had, with the help of his shadows, carried a small couch outside so that you could have the best view while still laying down.

“No problem, I would do anything to see that smile on your face,” he answered and kissed your forehead.

Then he took some of the food from your plate.

The souls were dancing in the sky as you two sat there in silence for a while.

“Did you get any weird looks?” You asked him quietly after a while.

“Only from Cass,” he answered. “It doesn’t matter, dreamy.”

You thanked him again and leaned into his chest. He took the now empty plate and laid it on the ground before he wrapped his safe arms around you and laid down.

You started making a buzzing sound.

“What’s going on?” He asked you laughing.

“I’m charging,” you answered. “You’re my personal charger.”

“You’re mine too,” he answered.

The two of you then fell asleep outside on the couch. But that was alright, because you both wore pyjamas.

[azsazz]

In Safe Arms

Bodyguard!Azriel x Celebrity!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Hey ! Ik u are hella busy and I am so proud of ur for ur publication , but if u ever get time could u do a Celebrity reader x bodyguard az?

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2390

_________________________________________

“I said back the fuck off!” Azriel growls, and you know for a fact that the paparazzi who’s been steadily inching closer and closer throughout the night has landed himself on your bodyguards shit list.

Azriel’s hand doesn’t leave the small of your back, no matter how much he wants to lunge across the sidewalk and knock the fucking camera out of this goon’s hands. The man’s been harassing you all week, from the moment you stepped off the plane in New York, getting testier and testier with his shots, following you from your hotel to your shoots, to parties and bars and back to your hotel late into the evening hours. He doesn’t know how the man finds the time to sleep, honestly.

And he knows it’s the same one following you around, not only because it’s his job to remember people that might prove to be a threat to you, but because he’d never forget this fucking scumbag’s face.

You duck your head lower, pressing Azriel’s handkerchief tightly to your eyebrow. There’s blood dripping into your eye from whatever it was a fan tossed your way as soon as you’d stepped foot out of your SUV. Azriel had been turned toward you, lending you a helping hand from the vehicle when it struck. He whirled around, but it was too late, the coward had slunk off into the crowd before he could sniff them out like a bloodhound.

And Azriel was livid.

If your father had just hired two bodyguards to protect you instead of one, this wouldn’t have happened.

Not that Azriel isn’t qualified to keep you safe by himself. With six years of training with the Royal Marines under his belt, he’s more than capable. He’s carried injured men across his back for miles when there was no hope of getting out for fuck’s sake. But this is a new playing field entirely. You’re the most well-known celebrity he’s had the pleasure of working with, and when your father didn’t heed his advice that one bodyguard was not enough, he knew he was going to be in for a challenge.

A challenge that he’s failed tonight.

You let him lead you blindly, trying your best to block out your surroundings: the screaming fans begging for a picture or autograph, the stream of liquid you’re desperately trying to blink from your eye and soak up with the rag. Your heart is pounding loudly in your chest, breathing shallow pants, and the only thing keeping you from collapsing right onto the concrete outside of your hotel is Azriel’s strong hand at your back, guiding you to safety.  

“Almost there,” he murmurs at your back, and your shoulders slacken slightly at the familiarity of his voice cutting through all the other noises that pierce your ears. “Only a few more steps and we’ll be in the lobby.”

He’s right, the concierge is holding the door open just enough for the both of you to slip through, and when it shuts tightly behind you, muffling off the loud wails and camera flashes, you release a shaky breath.

“Miss, are you okay?” The man asks, concern lacing his tone, like his job is on the line because someone decided to toss something at your face. “Do you need me to call the polic—”

“No, no,” you blurt frantically, waving him off. “That’s not necessary.”

“(Y/N)—” Azriel tries to cut in, and you know that this is something he’s going to have to report to his boss. Concern laces his tone, not for his job, but for you, because you’re injured and shaking in the middle of the lobby, looking like an abandoned puppy left to wilt in the rain. “I think you should—”

“No, Az,” you choke out, finally lifting your gaze from the floor to meet his. The look he wears makes your breath catch in your throat, but looking at him always does. He’s beautiful. And completely off limits.

His thick, straight brows are the only thing that gives his concern away. There’s a wrinkle between them that you want to reach out and smooth with the pad of your finger. His mouth is set in a firm line, not unusual for the stoic man. And his eyes, well his eyes are roiling with anger, hot coals ready to combust.

You don’t even care that you’ve called him the name you shouldn’t. You’re not supposed to address him by his name at all, let alone the nickname you’ve secretly become fond of. Right now, though, you’re much to shaken to realize your slip up, and he’s too worried about your wound to correct you.

“Please,” you beg, tears brimming your eyes. His tall, built frame conceals you from the people still lingering outside, and he spots that fucking paparazzi from the corner of his eye, smirking in the window as he cranes as far as he can to be the first to get a shot at your injury. “I want to go to my room.”

You’re already pulling the cloth from your face, and he’s quick to reach out and press it back, all too aware of the people around. Any one of them could spill the beans, could secretly be listening or recording, ready to make a quick buck off your horrendous night. Fucking assholes, all of them.

“Okay,” he consoles, glaring harshly at the concierge when he opens his mouth to protest. The man’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click, and he scurries away. Returning his attention to you, one hand pinning yours and the cloth you’re clutching to your face, he urges you toward the elevator. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

The doors chime open, and after getting you on safely and pushing the button to the suite on the top floor of the building, Azriel shoots one last menacing look to the paparazzi that’s still standing out front. He’s going to have a few phone calls tonight, with the hotel security and the local police, because he doesn’t want that fuck anywhere near you ever again.

The sleazy pap has the gall to wink at Azriel before the doors shut between you and the man he knows will be standing in that exact spot come the morning when it’s time for you to leave again.

The ride is long, and with the adrenaline draining from your system, you’re exhausted. Azriel lets you sag against him, and you trust him so fully that you let your eyes drift shut, allowing him to guide you through your room and straight into the bathroom so that he can take care of your wound.

You crack your eyes open when he lifts you to rest on the counter before dropping to his knees and helping you out of your heels. Your feet scream happily, and your body ignites at the sight of him on his knees before you.

Standing, he shoves the sleeves of his thick, black shirt up over his elbows, exposing those strong forearms you’d had the pleasure of peeking at for the last few months. That’s not the only thing you’ve noticed about Azriel. There are scars on his hands, bad ones. You don’t know what they’re from, but you’re aching to know. To learn anything about the man who’s been your bodyguard for the better part of this year.

“I think you should go home,” Azriel says softly. Or, as softly as someone like him can. It sounds harsh, gruff, but you know he doesn’t mean it like a demand. He’s concerned in his own way.

“I can’t pull out of my appearances, that’ll only make me look worse,” you argue, sliding back onto the counter he guides you to. People already hate you enough for the rift that Azriel has caused in your relationship with superstar Tamlin Oleander. Having an attractive man protecting you has not only made the man your team is paying to be with you insecure, but he’s been twisting this story for too long already. Pulling out of your appearances now will only give the fans another reason to pick and tear at you.

He scrubs his hands hard with the bar of soap in the sink before toweling them off and looking at your injury.

There’s a split above your eyebrow. Face wounds bleed a lot, he tells himself, smothering the memory that rises at the sight. Except that that injury was about an inch lower, and his comrade didn’t make it out alive.

“Who cares about looking worse,” Azriel scoffs. This time, he speaks harsher, but his movements against your face are still soft. The sting is barely there because you’re focusing on the buzz his fingertips brushing your skin provide. You’re focusing on the soft spot in his hazel eyes as he examines your wound, his breath against your skin. It’s dizzying. And not from the blood loss. “You should care about being safe.”

Neither of you brings up that it’s his job to do just that, but it sits heavily in the room anyway, sucking all the air from the expansive bathroom.

He swallows harshly, refusing to look at you. He busies himself with plucking a few butterfly bandages from the first aid kit beside him. The split skin above your eyebrow aches when he pinches the slice together to apply the bandage. “I’ll call down to the lobby to see if there’s someplace more private we can meet the car to take you to the hospital. You’re going to need a stitch or two.”

“Azriel, wait,” you call, grabbing for his hand when he turns to leave the room. You know exactly what’s going to happen when he crosses over that threshold. “Please don’t call him.”

He allows you to stop him, but he doesn’t turn to face you. He can’t. Can’t bear to look at you when his failure is staring right back at him. He let you get hurt, and he’ll never forgive himself for it.

Azriel’s body is too still, and his tone is too even when he answers. “I have to.”

“You don’t,” you plead, clutching him tighter. If he calls your father and tells him about what happened tonight you know you’ll never see him again, and if you never see him again, you’ll be fucking miserable. You’ve found comfort in Azriel’s presence throughout the time you’ve been working together, and he’s the only one who’s been able to see through the façade you put on, the personality you’ve spent so long pretending to be. He sees you.

“I do.”

“Why?” You don’t care that you’re getting worked up, that you voice is becoming louder with your desperation. That your nails are biting into the skin of his arm because you refuse to let him walk away from you.

Azriel whirls, and you startle back a step. But you don’t let him go, you never want to let him go. You take him with you, and he goes tripping forward with how you’ve caught him off guard.

He stumbles into you and his hands find your waist, steadying you against the counter. His grip on you is tight. His eyes defeated.

“I couldn’t protect you tonight,” he admits, and you can hear the heartbreak in his voice, you can almost see the memories that resurface, threatening to drag him under. “You need someone who can.”

“You can, Azriel! It’s an isolated incident!” You’re desperately trying to get him to see reason, scrabbling your fingers at his shirt, dragging him even further into you. Tears slide down your face, and for the first time of the night, you’re afraid. You weren’t scared when Azriel was the one there, jumping into action, but now, thinking that he might leave you, you’re terrified.

“It won’t be,” he sighs, brushing his fingers softly over yours, trying to calm you down lest you reopen your wound. “Now that it’s happened, other will try, and I can’t have you getting hurt, sweetheart. I can’t protect you like I thought I could.”

Neither of you catch his slip of the tongue, too caught up in the emotions for it to register.

You can’t swallow back the sob. You try to bury your face in his shirt, but Azriel catches you gently around the shoulders, keeping you from hurting yourself.

His hands are calloused and strong, you can feel the ridges of the scarring that paints them. So tender, so cruel, so soft.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” you admit, blinking your tears away to meet his gaze. You don’t care that your makeup is probably a mess with your tears and whatever’s left of the blood, and Azriel doesn’t care because he still thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Azriel presses his forehead against yours, swiping your tears with his thumbs. “I won’t,” he promises, “I can’t.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and just like that, you’re staring up and him and he’s staring back at you like you’re the most prized possession in this hotel, in this world.

He doesn’t know when he fell for you, if it was the way you tried to find the cracks in his stoic exterior between photoshoots and interviews, or if it’s the way you opened yourself up for him only, showed him the real you.

You’re nothing like the way you’re portrayed in the media. None of those fucking people know how big your heart is, how much you’ve been hurt, how much you care.

And he’d lie down his life to keep you safe and whole.

“Promise me.” You breathe. Your lips brush his as you speak, and the gentle touch sends shockwaves up your spine. You follow their current, lengthening your spine, pushing closer to Azriel. His hands tighten on your hips, and you spread your legs wider for him so slot himself between.

He does with a jagged breath, like he’s trying to hold himself back but is unable. His hazel eyes bore into yours and you see the war there, how he wants to go against everything he vowed not to do with you. He shouldn’t be anywhere near you like this…but he can’t help himself.

“I promise,” he says, along with ‘fuck it’ in his head, and leans down to capture your lips against his.

[anmwrites]

Beneath the Surface

Azriel x Reader

Hi All! So this isn't one of the Az requests unfortunately, but this is one of my private fics I already had written. I'm still working on the Az request that's in the queue, but I'm lowkey hating everything I've been writing so it'll probably take me a little longer to perfect it.

In the meantime, I wanted to get something put up for you all. Sticking to the fandom that was requested I decided to post this Az fic! Probably very stereotypical trope, but this was what I got. This one is a little heavier than my Xaden fic, so please read with caution. I hope you all enjoy!

Content Warning: Mentions of Suicide, self-sabotage, depression, & guilt

Again, I apologize if I missed any other warnings. Please read with caution.

Talk soon, and please enjoy!

“I’m getting her back,” a low growl cut through the tent. Y/N’s head whipped to the Shadowsinger. “I’m going with you,” her High Lady’s voice intervened. “Then you will both die,” her sister’s cold voice replied. 

Y/N’s head was reeling. In just hours after scrying for the Cauldron, the Inner Circle and then some were gathered around in the middle Archeron’s tent. She was stolen away. Lured by the promise of her human past. And…and Azriel was the first to throw himself into harm's way. 

Y/N was barely there as she watched Feyre shift into the dead priestess. Barely there as everyone began moving, readying themselves for their departure. Azriel hadn’t glanced once at her. His best friend. 

A silent brush of claws filled the Illyrian’s head. Y/N dropped her shields momentarily allowing Rhys’ voice to float into her mind. You are awfully quiet. Y/N snorted. He can do whatever he sees fit. A bemused feeling washed over her as Rhys carefully crafted his next words. I heard what happened. Quite a nasty little argument you had with him earlier. Y/N’s eyes shot to Rhys who was conveniently studying the daggers Cassian was equipping Feyre with. He started it. Trying to sideline me. I may not have wings but I know how to fight. 

Rhys finally met her gaze, You need to tell him. 

Tell him what exactly, brother? Y/N quirked her brow. 

You know. The fact that you are in love with him.

Feyre’s eyes darted back and forth between her mate and Y/N clearly noting they were having some form of silent conversation. He made his choice Rhys. Just as it’s always been for the past five centuries. There’s no point in telling him now. 

Truth be told, Y/N had known this story. Had lived through it with Mor. And now she had to live through it again with Elain. Her best friend, for centuries, after Rhys’ mother had taken her in regardless of her lack of wings, was hopelessly in love with another female…as usual. It was nothing new to Y/N. He only saw her as a friend. A sister perhaps. 

Y/N wasn’t really sure when her own feelings had shifted. Her and Azriel were always more than just siblings like she was with Rhys and Cassian. Everyone around knew there was something special between them. So much so that Y/N had even felt a spark of hope until Azriel met Mor, and then the whole incident with Cassian, Eris, and Mor’s father occurred. She slowly realized he would never see her as more than a friend, and Y/N began to be okay with that. And then she watched him do it again when Feyre’s sister entered the picture. It stung, but she was used to it. 

There is the point that we all may die or he may die. Rhys’ voice cut into her thoughts. Rhys. Stop. I can’t think about all of this right now or I will break. He’ll be fine. Rhys merely gave her a sympathetic feeling before she felt his presence exit her mind. He was right though. Azriel could very well die. She needed air. Or she would lose it. The initial shock of his announcement wearing off, nervousness settling in. 

Y/N quietly retreated outside of the stifling tent. The cool night air brushed over her clammy face as she took a deep breath. Something tickled at her ankles. She glanced down to see a single tendril of a shadow wrapped around it. She gave it a small smile. “I’m alright,” she whispered to it. “Go tell him I’m fine.” 

The little wisp of darkness hesitated before retreating back into the tent. Y/N grimaced, that old, familiar feeling of heartache seeping into her chest. She didn’t want him to go. Nesta and Rhys were right. They most likely would die. Everyone saw what the camp looked like. Elain could be anywhere. And selfishly, she did not want her High Lady and Shadowsinger to go in there. Especially her Shadowsinger.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and Y/N took a shaky breath. A quiet rustle behind her signaled someone had stepped out of the tent. She felt him before she saw him as she always did. Slowly, Y/N turned around and saw Azriel standing behind her. His face softened as he took her in. “Y/N I…” he started, approaching her. “I–I’m sorry about what I said earlier.” Y/N sighed before meeting him halfway. Her heart crumpled. He was still her best friend, and she still cared. “It’s okay, Az. I understand,” she said quietly, gazing up into his warm eyes. Eyes she was so, so familiar with. His warmth engulfed her, as they were standing maybe just a hair closer than any normal friends would stand. 

“No. It’s not. I just–you’re not incompetent. I know what you can do on a battlefield. It’s just–I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” he signed, taking his hand in hers. Y/N watched as his gaze fell on their intertwined hands. He fiddled with her fingers as a nervous habit. 

“I know. I don’t want to see you get hurt either,” Y/N whispered, her unspoken selfish words hanging in the air. Azriel’s eyes flicked back to hers studying for a moment. Were they closer? Y/N thought to herself. “Say it,” he replied. “Say the words and I won’t do it. I won’t go.” 

Y/N’s heart picked up. She knew if she told him not to go after Elain he wouldn’t. He would drop it immediately. But Feyre’s face flashed in her head. Nesta’s moans of pain ripped through her. They were a part of their family now. Y/N shook her head, more tears slipping down her face. “I can’t do that,” she let out a shaky laugh, casting her head down. His other hand felt warm as he caressed her face, wiping the tears away with his thumb. 

“You’re the only one who has a chance to get in and out without being noticed. You have to get both of them out. They’re family now,” Y/N whispered. Azriel didn’t say anything, but when she met his intense gaze, those three little words felt heavy on her tongue. Looking into his eyes, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him so bad it was like her skin was on fire. Y/N couldn’t breathe. He could very well be walking right into his death. 

But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t drop the biggest bomb on their friendship when he needed his sole focus elsewhere. So, she stayed silent. She stayed silent even as he nodded and said, “I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll come back to you.” She stayed silent when he pulled her into his warm body and hugged her a little tighter. Y/N stayed quiet even when he led her back into the tent and she watched him disappear with their High Lady in the blink of an eye.

•••

Rhys let out a shaky breath after the departure of his mate and brother. As everyone dispersed, he noticed Y/N was still frozen in place, staring at the spot where the pair had just disappeared. He could see her visibly shaking. Cassian passed her and gave her a sympathetic look and pat on the shoulder before he exited. Rhys slowly approached her. 

“I couldn’t do it,” Y/N said without turning to him. Rhys could hear the tears in her voice. The uneven breaths she took. “He told me to tell him to stay and he would’ve in a heartbeat. I couldn’t do that to Feyre. To you. To our family,” she continued. Rhys opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure what to say. His heart was so full of emotions. Terror, absolute terror for his mate and his brother. Love–love for his unselfish sister. The baby he saw that day his mother brought her home. All in a frantic rush to warm up this little, tiny fragile thing she found in the snow, abandoned by her blood relatives because fate was cruel and did not give her wings. 

Y/N let out another shaky sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re also trying to keep it together. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.” 

This. This was why he felt he had to take it all on himself. Rhys’ heart was breaking for her. For his most kind and caring, living sister. This beautiful soul who has slowly fallen in love with Azriel for all of the centuries spent together. He didn’t understand why the Mother didn’t make them mates…his train of thought paused. It was as if he was hit with a brick. Sifting through all his memories and countless conversations with her, it finally clicked into place. 

“How long have you known?” Rhys asked quietly. Y/N slowly turned to face him. Pain and anguish, only that of which someone with a mate would know. The same pain and anguish he felt watching Feyre disappear. Y/N let out a bitter laugh, “Since Starfall five years ago. When you were…away.” Rhys was slightly shocked. He noticed the smallest shift in their relationship when he had returned. But after all it, he expected everything to be different. 

“Why didn’t you tell him? Me? Does Cassian know?” Rhys asked. Y/N shook her head, “I didn’t tell him because we were all dealing with the loss. I didn’t let myself find peace while you were gone. I couldn’t. I knew there were horrors you were enduring. Horrors I couldn’t even fathom, and I just couldn’t let myself be happy. And Az, well Az went to a dark place when you were gone. The only thing he clung to was his love for Mor, and I couldn’t disrupt his entire life. I wouldn’t. We didn’t speak for a few months after you were taken. We were all a mess,” tears flowed freely down her face as she spoke to him. 

Rhys could barely contain his. 

“So I buried it. I buried it so deep inside of myself no one would pick up on it. Or at least notice it without having to scrutinize me. I wanted to tell you. I really did, but I saw how you were when you returned Rhys. I couldn’t do that to you. You were trying so hard to pretend like you were okay and then your mate was with another. I just couldn’t do that to you, so I didn’t. I continued to bury it, but it just…just all got away from me.”

Y/N let out a choked sob that had Rhys moving. His arms wrapped around her engulfing her in a hug. “Oh you sweet, sweet thing,” he whispered, “My sweet sister,” he started, pulling back a bit to look at her. “You never need to hide anything from me. No matter what I am going through, you can always come to me. I am so, so happy for you. Although, I do need to kick Az around Velaris a bit since he cannot see what has always been right in front of him.” Y/N let out a garbled laugh before burying her head back in his chest. 

“We’ll figure it out, Y/N. Whatever is going on in Az’s head. We’ll figure it out together. When all of this is over. We’ll both get our happy ending. I promise you that,” Rhys concluded. Y/N only nodded, before stepping out of his arms and wiping her face. “Cassian suspected it and I’m sure Amren knows. She has never mentioned it to me but Cass has. I didn’t confirm anything with him and he hasn’t mentioned it to Az.” Rhys nodded, guiding her outside of the tent for some fresh air.  

•••

Y/N knew she should have told someone about the mating bond. It was something she could only suppress so much. But the guilt she and the rest of the inner circle felt when Rhys sacrificed himself ate at her too much. How could she let herself be happy when their High Lord and brother was subjecting himself to the horrors Under the Mountain, willingly, to protect them. 

There was no point dwelling on it now. Not as she paced in front of Rhys who was sitting tense in front of his war tent. The minutes ticked by all too slowly as they silently awaited Azriel and Feyre’s return. “Tell me about when it happened,” Rhys said quietly, interrupting Y/N’s nervous pacing. She stopped and looked at him. His eyes were glazed over like mind was somewhere else. He needed a distraction. For her brother, she would tell him everything. 

Y/N took a breath. “Starfall wasn’t the same without you. We knew how much the celebrations meant to you and so did Velaris. We never hosted a grand party anymore. The House was opened to those who wished to join, but it was almost as if the city was mourning the loss of our High Lord. Some came, but it was another quiet celebration.”

Rhys’ gaze flicked to hers. 

“I–I was upset that five years had already gone by and you weren’t able to see this and be there with us,” Y/N continued, “I was close to breaking by that point. My hope was running out. I was up on the private balcony where you and Feyre celebrated. Azriel of course found me. Sitting there, silently looking at the stars or spirits or whatever. Wishing on them so hard that they would return you to us.”

“He sat with me for I don’t even know how long. Let me cry on his shoulder and just be a comfort. Everyone held it together a lot better than I did, Rhys. You were my brother. My first family and the one who took care of me when I had nothing. When we lost your mother and our sister, you were the only thing I had left of them.” 

Y/N sniffed, more tears running down her face as she took herself back to that night. “I honestly debated pitching myself off that balcony that night,” she muttered bitterly. Rough hands immediately grabbed her face. Rhys’ anguish poured off of him as he seethed at her, “Do not ever think that. Even when I am gone. Never.” 

Y/N gazed at him for a moment before slowly nodding, continuing her story, “But Az came up. His presence was like a lifeline. And when I finally stopped moping and looked at him he gave me one of his rare true smiles. Sad, but also his true smile. I felt it then when I looked at him. Like a beautiful golden thread tethering him to me. Pulling me out of that abyss. I don’t know if he knew it, but I knew.” 

“I’ve always loved him. From when we were kids. I can’t tell you when my feelings shifted, but I have always loved him and I always will,” Y/N concluded. Rhys looked at her with a mixture of sadness and pure joy. He was about to open his mouth when commotion snapped them both out of it. 

Y/N’s head whipped so fast to the outskirts of the camp. There they were. Covered in mud and dragging along two petite figures. Y/N let out a strangled cry before tearing away from Rhys. The latter hot on her heels. She smelled the blood before she saw it. 

As she approached the puddle of people, her blood ran cold and she stopped dead in her tracks as she watched Elain plant a gentle kiss on Azriel’s cheek. She heard a faint “Thank you” before Elain was being swept up by others. Feyre reached Rhys first, letting out a strangled, “I’m alright…Azriel’s wings.” That kicked Y/N back into motion. 

She flung herself at the Shadowsinger causing him to let out an oomph. Though her heart ached at what she just witnessed, she still needed to make sure he was okay. “You–your wings,” she cried after releasing him. She frantically began inspecting every inch of him. “Hey, hey…” he said, grabbing both of her wrists. Y/N was too much in a state of horror. “Y/N look at me,” Az said quietly. She finally snapped her gaze to him. “I’m okay. I’m right here. I’m alive,” he said, giving her a strained smile. His hand reached up, brushing a stray hair out of her face. Y/N merely nodded more to herself than anything as Rhys came around and helped lift him. “We need to get Madja before anything permanent sets,” Rhys grunted, hoisting him up. Azriel swayed a bit. Y/N let in a sharp intake, flinching a bit as she felt some of his pain. 

Az gave her a weird look but she just shook her head, burying that golden thread down and down once again. Rhys began moving as Cassian took up Azriel’s other side, leading them away from her. Y/N noticed Feyre and hurried to her. She looked as if she was still in a daze. Y/N gently took her hand and led her to her tent. “You’re okay,” Y/N whispered gently as she settled in to help clean her up. Feyre merely nodded. 

The minutes flew by and soon Feyre was curled in her bed, cocooned by her sisters as Rhys ushered everyone out. 

Y/N took a deep breath once she was away from the commotion. Her mind was reeling between the conversation she had had with Rhys to the state that her family was in. Alive. That thread hummed from deep within herself. She almost felt as if it was calling to her. Tugging her. Her head turned slowly, spying the tent from which that feeling was coming from. Y/N’s feet were moving before her brain. 

The tent was thankfully silent except for the soft crackle of faelights illuminating the space. Azriel’s large form was sprawled across the cot on his stomach. The glimmer of salve and magic lingering on his shredded wings. Y/N’s voice got stuck in her throat. His beautiful wings. 

His head lifted as she entered, a soft smile gracing his lips. “I’ve had worse. You’ve seen me have worse,” he said, trying to comfort her. She still could not speak. “Come here,” he urged, trying to sit up. His muffled groan of pain set Y/N moving. “Don’t–don’t try to move,” she said, shakily sitting on the floor near his head. His eyes softened as he took her in. “You were worried about me,” Az chuckled a bit, reaching his hand up to brush that stray hair out of her face again. His shadows pooled around her, rubbing and twining up across her body in a soothing matter. “Of course I was worried about you,” Y/N hissed.

“Why?” he asked, matter-of-factly. 

Y/N glared at him. “You are my best friend, Azriel! Why wouldn’t I worry about you!” She couldn’t comprehend why he was acting like a snarky bastard right now. “I mean look at you!” Y/N plowed ahead, “Your wings are shredded! You could have died!” She wasn’t really sure what came over her. Maybe from speaking with Rhys, that bond she had spent years shoving down, surfaced again and was not going down without a fight this time. “Imagine if you had!” she exclaimed, “What am I supposed to do if you die?”

Azriel just gave her a small smile before trying to sit up again. “No, no, no. Don’t try to sit up!” Y/N seethed. He started laughing, pushing himself up anyways. That bastard was laughing. “Azriel!” Y/N pleaded, clearly noting the grimace as he fully pushed himself up. Once he was sitting his laugh dimmed. Y/N pushed herself up to her knees so she could at least be near eye level with him. He would always tower over her no matter what. 

“Tell me the real reason you have worked yourself up,” Azriel murmured, taking both of her hands in his. Y/N froze. He couldn’t know. 

“Because you are my best friend,” she whispered, feeling more tears well up in her eyes. “And your mate?” he replied gently. She couldn’t find it in herself to respond or look at him. “Sweetheart, look at me,” he gently placed a finger under her chin and made her head tilt up to look at him. And for once in her life, Y/N saw the love shining so brightly in his eyes. One that mimicked how she would always admire him from afar. If she was being honest, maybe more emotion than he ever let on was swimming through his beautiful face. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Y/N muttered pathetically. The Shadowsinger let out a quiet chuckle. “I think you do,” he said. Y/N just nodded. “How–how long have you known,” she rasped. “Subconsciously…well probably awhile now. Consciously, I felt it snap into place as you were leaving the tent before we left. That’s why I followed you out there,” Azriel stated. Y/N said nothing. “That’s why I asked you to tell me to stay,” he admitted quietly. 

Y/N finally took all of him in. All of his beauty and intensity. So broken yet still somehow put together. She studied his intense gaze on her, those hazel eyes seemingly glowing in the soft light. His tattoos across his very bare torso, and those wings. Oh, those beautiful wings still shimmering with healing magic. 

“How long have you known?” he asked, breaking her out of her stare. “Starfall. Five years ago,” she whispered. Azriel studied her harder, more emotion filling his eyes. “That night. I felt your sadness that night. I think part of me knew then and was scared to admit it,” he confessed after a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me then?” 

“I–I just couldn’t,” her lip trembled before her story finally came tumbling out. 

After she explained, Az slid to his knees on the floor before her, gathering her in his arms, “Oh my sweet girl.” Sobs racked through Y/N as all of the feelings she had bottled up ran rampant through her. Relief, sorrow, love. All of her bleeding heart finally pouring out. 

When she finally calmed down enough to get a word in, she pulled back out of his embrace, “I just didn’t think you would ever see me as more than a friend. With everything you told me about Mor, and then I saw it shift to Elain, I figured you deserved to be happy. Even if it would break me. Your brothers have found two sisters–” Azriel raised a brow at that. Y/N let out a small laugh, “You can’t tell me there isn’t something between Cassian and Nesta.” “Fair enough,” Az joined in with her quiet laughter. 

Y/N sighed and continued, “But I just know you and I didn’t want to ruin anything we had with a mating bond. To me especially. An Illyrian without wings.”

“Y/N,” Azriel said sternly, “Just because you were born without wings doesn’t mean that I will never love you any less than I already have my entire life.” 

“I was an idiot and I was in denial. You have been my entire world since I don’t even know when. I have loved you for so long, but I just didn’t think you would ever see me as more than a friend. I-I thought to myself that you would never love me like that. I have done things, you know what I have done. And I just couldn’t imagine a beautiful soul like yours falling in love with me. A part of me did love Mor. I won’t lie to you and say I didn’t, but I was finally able to admit to myself that I was in love with you. Was finally able to see that my stupid crush on Mor was a way to suppress all of my feelings for you. Every piece of me is consumed by you and belongs to you,” Azriel pressed.

“And Elain?” Y/N could only see that moment when they first returned. When she placed a kiss on his cheek. It made her blood begin to boil. “The thought crossed my mind when we met. It was the only thing that made sense. Three brothers, three sisters. But, I still couldn’t shake what I was trying so hard to hide from myself. And seeing you tonight. Seeing you go through all of this hell has finally given me the courage to be honest with myself and you,” he said. 

Y/N was pretty sure she had gone into shock. This was the most honest the both of them had been to each other in years. He actually loved her. She hadn’t dared to let herself dream of this moment. Especially not in the circumstances they were in with the war and all. 

“Please say something,” Az nearly begged, shaking her out of her stupor. Y/N focused back on his face. There really wasn’t anything she could say except surging forward and pressing her lips gently on his. Az tensed in shock for a moment before processing what was happening. And soon he was fervently kissing her back. 

Her lips molded perfectly against his as he explored every inch of her mouth. They were just as soft as she had dared to let herself imagine. His hands quickly found her waist, roaming up and down savoring the feel of her pressed against him. Over 500 years of knowing each other and they hadn’t once kissed. Even when Cassian put them up to stupid games like spin the bottle. Azriel couldn’t get enough. 

Y/N let out a moan as his tongue found his way into her mouth, shooting a blast of heat through her spine. Az reciprocated the feeling, pulling her closer, leaning back on the edge of the cot. He stiffened, suppressing a groan of his own. But well, mostly of pain. Y/N froze before pulling away. Az tried to chase her with his mouth and whined when she moved out of reach. “Azriel!” she hissed. “I’m fine,” he shrugged, trying to lean in again. “Az,” Y/N said, sticking a hand on his chest. “You are in no condition.” Azriel scoffed, leaning forward and thoroughly attaching his lips to her neck. Y/N shuddered. “Azriel I am not having sex with you when you can’t even lay on your back,” Y/N huffed. He was leaving a sloppy trail of kisses up and down. 

“Don’t need to lay on my back,” he mumbled. “You can hardly sit up,” she responded. “Don’t care. You’re my mate. My newly found mate,” he said into her neck. “Been dreaming of this for a while now,” he sighed dreamily, sucking on the one spot that made Y/N melt. She could feel the bastard grin before he continued his assault. 

It took a lot to shove him off of her. An extreme amount. All sentimental feelings from their confession were out the window and replaced by need. Pure, lustful need. But he was in pain. And he was her mate, so she pushed him off her. He let out the most un-spymaster like whine. “Y/N why are you doing this to me love?” he groaned. “Because you are injured and like I said, I’m not fucking you until you are at one-hundred percent,” she quipped, standing with more clarity than she had in years. She went over to the little table littered with food. 

“And so I can give you this,” she turned, holding a little apple in her hand. Az’s face softened as she approached. A silent request as she held out her hand. “Are you sure?” he whispered. “Azriel, every piece of me has always belonged to you and it always will. I have never been more sure in my life,” she replied. 

He smiled, grabbing the apple gently from her hands taking a slow bite. Y/N smiled in return before ushering him back down on his cot. “Time to rest, Az,” she said, nestling in next to him. “But I’m perfectly fine for other activities now,” Azriel pouted. Y/N just laughed, running her hands through his soft locks. “I promise when you are fully healed we will partake in those said activities,” she smirked. Azriel grinned and pushed himself upwards, stealing another kiss. Y/N giggled, before placing his head back in her lap. “Sleep now,” she mumbled. Azriel hummed softly as she resumed running her hands through his hair. “I love you,” he whispered before his steady breath evened out. “I love you too.”

[manicmanuscription]

Don’t Be Mad Sweetheart

PolySJM Week: Day Three

Prompt: Will There Be Enough Room?

Parings: Azriel / Eris / Fenrys / Reader

Summary: Your mates refuse to leave your side even after a fight, your old bedroom might not be able to fight all of them.

Tags: Fluff, Angst, (In-Couple fighting??) a little spicey but no smut.

Word Count: 1229

PolySJM Week 2025 Masterlist | Acotar Masterlist

I woke to a heavy weight settled against my chest. I wasn’t able to move and panic quickly replaced grogginess as I opened my eyes. The moonlight illuminating Eris tucked in on my left, Fenrys on my right and Azriel laying on top of me, his wings spread out across the three of us and touching the floor. 

They looked rather pitiful. It was an incredibly small bed, Fenrys hulking body smashed against the wall and one of Eris’ legs and arms were hanging outside of it. I think Azriel’s feet might be hanging off the bed. 

I had cried myself to sleep last night in my old bed chambers, tucked away in the back rooms of the Forest House. Eris had gifted them to me when my mates and I were all still courting. He had given Fenrys a similar sad room and we had come to the conclusion that he had done that for the sole purpose of making us run to his bedroom instead, although the sly male would never admit it. 

I can’t believe they had the audacity to come sneak into my bed in the middle of the night after I told them I wanted space after our fight. Guilt and anger clouded my mind, they’d been neglecting me lately. Late nights spent doing their respective court duties and it had turned into a full blown argument, the worst one we’d have since being mated. 

They were confusing me, it warmed my heart they had all crammed their muscular warrior bodies into this tiny bed just to be with me but at the same time it only enraged me further. Now they want to be with me? And spent time with me? After I yelled at them and forced them too? Fuck. Off. 

Small swirling shadows curled up against my ear, comforting me and a few slithered down to my mates as well slowly stirring him. I tried to untangle myself from the mass of bodies but it made it difficult. It didn't help that an illyrian warrior had his face tucked on my stomach. I was surprised he wasn’t crushing me to death. 

I tried to lift him off of me again but he only tightened his grip on my waist.  Mumbling something and I groaned in annoyance. “What the hell are you oafs doing.” I snapped out, Azriel lifted his head blinking the sleep from his eyes. “What does it look like we’re doing?”

“Don’t smartmouth me.” 

“I wasn’t-”

“We haven’t spent a night apart, do you think we’re going to start now sweetheart.” Fenrys mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion and he started running his fingers through my hair. Butterflies erupted in my stomach at the touch and I pushed it away.

“Surprised you even had the time to walk all the way down here.” I hissed. “Just, get off of me.” I said pushing at Azriel’s shoulders again, I knew they could feel the hurt down my bond, Azriel lifted himself on his forearms but made no move to fully remove himself. With Eris in the way I couldn’t exactly slide out from under him. I think the asshole was purposely blocking my exit.

“We’re not spending a night away from you.” Eris growled.

“No. I’m mad at you. Go sleep with the dryads for all I care.” Fuck them honestly. I already felt guilty for the things I’d said yet I was still angry at them. It wasn’t a good mix of emotions and it made my bad mood even worse. 

I crawled out from under Azriel, removing his arm and rolling myself on top of Eris. -Gods this mattress was tiny- All I had to do was roll down to the floor and find a different room to sleep in. One with a lock. 

Eris was faster than me and he trapped me close to him with his arms. He then flipped us around so he was pinning me to the mattress below him. Knocking Azriel into Fenrys in the process. “Ouch.” Azriel mumbled and Fenrys pressed a comforting kiss to the male’s forehead, then the corner of his mouth. 

“You can be mad at us and still share the same bed.” Eris demanded, it only made me angrier and I lifted myself, pressing my weight into my arms and elbows, our faces close together. “No, you don’t get to just command that of me you selfish, egomaniacal prick I-” 

Eris slammed his lips to mine, pulling a moan from me unbidden. I let it continue a few moments longer than it should’ve. Momentarily forgetting about everything that had transpired. 

When I did remember however I shoved him off me, pushing him into the duo tucked away to the corner of the mattress. Someone made a small ‘oomph’ sound and I swore a few pieces of the wall splintered as Fenrys got tucked further into it. 

God I was such a bitch- guilt made me start angry crying and I wiped away the tears as fast as I could. “You don’t get to just- don’t get to just fucking pretend I don’t exist and then demand we continue as if everything is normal.” I sobbed out, my breaths coming out unevenly and I tucked my knees to my chest. 

Movement stirred behind me, the mattress shifting with the males weight. One settled me into his chest and I recognized Fenrys by his scent. Eris by my side and Azriel in front of me, all somehow touching me and making the hurt worse and simultaneously calm me down. 

“We’re sorry baby.” Fenrys spoke softly, pressing a kiss to the juncture of my throat. “We want to  make it up to you.” Azriel agreed, running a hand up and down my leg. 

“I’m sorry love.” Eris was next to speak after a moment of hesitation he continued. “I didn’t mean to push you aside, I just- got wrapped up in my own head, in the court and pushed everyone past their limits. I didn’t mean to-” His voice broke slightly and I lifted me head so I could wrap my arms around his neck. “I’m sorry too.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I was mean.”

“We were all mean.” Azriel uttered, his tone regretful. 

“We’re going to take a vacation, I promise.” Eris vowed, Fenrys smirked,  eyeing my body up and down. “Where we’re definitely going to try and make it up to you.” 

“Can we go back to bed now please.” The Illyrian yawned and I giggled at the sight of the three massive males all crammed into my tiny bed. 

Fenrys eyed the mattress as if it offended him. “Our bed please, I think this thing gave me permanent back issues.” 

“If Eris hadn’t stuck me in this room when I first arrived at Court your back would be saved from turmoil.” 

Eris smirked, leaning his head against the wall. “What can I say? I wanted you three in my bed.” 

“I fucking knew it!” Fenrys exclaimed and I just gave the red headed male an exasperated look. My mate picked me up and carried me from the dusty room. “We’re going to get him back for this.” He whispered softly in my ear, sending tingles down my spine. 

Eris and Azriel walked behind us hand in hand and I giggled against Fenrys’ chest. “One hundred percent.”