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[batboysanonymous]

Even the Stars Break for You

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Loving her meant craving a future he could never give her, and every day he watched the light in her eyes fade, Azriel wondered if loving her was enough...or if it would be the thing that finally destroyed them both.

Azriel had learned long ago that the world was cruel to dreamers.

He saw it every time he unsheathed his blades, every time a child cried in the streets of Velaris, every time he closed his eyes and heard the old ghosts whisper. But he had never understood—never felt—the cruelty of the world so keenly until he watched it shatter you.

You, his mate. His light. His everything.

And the one thing you wanted most, he could not give you.

You didn’t say it at first. At first, it was hope, and laughter, and your hands tracing lazy circles over your stomach while you read in the window seat. Dreams spun in starlight. Azriel had tried—Mother, had he tried—to pretend he didn’t see the longing when you smiled at Nyx toddling past, tiny wings flapping, tiny fists grabbing at the world.

You never pushed. Never begged.

You just looked at him with so much trust, so much love, that it cleaved him open.

He was killing you slowly with his silence, and you didn’t even know it.

And now... it was killing him too.

The Healers had been blunt: Your body, as strong as it was, was not built to bear an Illyrian child. The pregnancy could kill you—no would kill you, more likely than not.

Azriel hadn’t told you the whole of it.

He’d sat through the council of stone-faced healers, through Madja’s weary eyes, through Rhys’s hand on his shoulder and Cassian’s grim silence. He’d listened to every statistic, every warning, every horrible possibility.

And he had made a choice.

He would not risk you.

Never you.

Even if it meant carving himself open every day to see the way your smile dimmed, how your laugh got quieter, how you stopped reaching for the window seat books, stopped dreaming aloud.

It killed him.

More than the scars on his hands, more than all the blood he had ever spilled—it killed him.

"Az," you said one night, curled into his chest while the snow fell thick and silent outside, "do you ever think about... them? Little ones?"

His heart seized so violently he almost stopped breathing.

"I think about you," he whispered hoarsely, pressing his lips to your hair. "Always you."

You smiled, small and sad, and he hated himself.

When Feyre’s pregnancy was announced, the whole Inner Circle had celebrated. Tears, laughter, plans for wings and cribs and godparents.

You’d smiled too. Hugged Feyre and cried with her, even helped plan the naming ceremony.

Azriel saw it—the way your hand drifted unconsciously to your stomach, the way you faltered when no one was looking.

That night, you didn’t come to bed.

He found you sitting in the dark kitchen, your forehead pressed to your knees, shoulders trembling. You didn't even try to hide it when he sank to the floor beside you and pulled you into his lap.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry, Az."

He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in, breaking silently.

"You have nothing," he rasped, "to be sorry for."

But the words felt hollow even to him.

It only got worse.

You babysat Nyx one afternoon while Feyre and Rhys were summoned to the Court of Nightmares.

Azriel found you later in the nursery, clutching the sleeping boy against your chest, tears slipping soundlessly down your cheeks.

You hadn’t even noticed him.

You just rocked Nyx slowly, murmuring lullabies into the dim light, and something in Azriel broke—something he knew he could never put back together.

When you finally looked up at him, your eyes were full of such raw, aching pain that he staggered back a step.

"I can't—" you gasped, voice shattering, "I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt."

And Azriel—Azriel, the shadowsinger, the prince of silence—sank to his knees before you.

"Then don't," he said, voice hoarse and broken. "Don't pretend for me."

He took your hand, pressed it over his heart.

"If this pain is yours," he whispered, "then it's mine too."

You crumpled into him, and he held you while you cried, rocking you gently like you had rocked Nyx. He held you like you were the last thing tethering him to the world.

Maybe you were.

Cassian came by the next morning.

Breezing into your house like a summer storm, arms full of pastries and coffee, his smile just slightly too bright.

Azriel knew—Cassian knew. He always knew.

He pulled you into a bear hug, whispered something that made you laugh wetly against his chest, and Azriel silently thanked the Mother for his brother’s stupid, unbreakable heart.

After you went to lie down, Cassian cornered Azriel by the hearth.

"You can’t fix this by pretending it doesn’t hurt," he said, low and fierce.

Azriel’s hands fisted at his sides.

"I know."

Cassian clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Then fight for her. With her."

And Azriel—cold, ruthless, silent Azriel—listened.

For once, he listened.

The days that followed were slow and soft.

Azriel started small. Tiny, clumsy things.

Breakfast in bed. Flowers on your pillow. Long walks through Velaris, hand-in-hand, no destination in mind. Late nights where he just listened, letting you cry or rage or sit in silence.

He fought with everything he had—fought the creeping sadness, the bitterness, the despair.

Fought it with love.

And slowly, slowly, you started to come back to him.

Your laughter—bright and sudden—startled him so badly one morning that he dropped his toast.

You laughed harder.

He stared at you like you were a miracle.

Maybe you were.

Maybe you always had been.

It was months later when Madja called them both in.

Azriel nearly refused.

He would not—could not—watch you suffer another loss of hope.

But you squeezed his hand, eyes steady, and he knew he would follow you anywhere.

Madja sat them down with a thick folder of papers and diagrams and words Azriel barely heard because she said, "There are ways. Risks, yes. But there are ways."

And for the first time in a long time, you smiled at him not with sadness but with fierce, blazing hope.

Azriel squeezed your hand so hard you gasped.

"You are my everything," he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

You smiled through your tears.

"And you are mine."

Maybe the world was cruel to dreamers.

But maybe—just maybe—their dreams weren’t dead yet.

Maybe they were only sleeping, waiting to be woken by something stronger than sorrow.

Something like love.

Something like hope.

Something like you.

And Azriel—battered, broken, healed by your light—vowed he would find a way to wake them.

Together.

Always, together.

-

a/n: a little bonus scene for you all hehe so sorry this took forever

The snow was falling again.

Soft and thick, muffling the world in a cocoon of white as Azriel sat by the window, cradling you carefully against him.

You were exhausted, hair damp with sweat, face pale but glowing with something fierce and luminous.

And in your arms—so tiny, so impossibly perfect—was everything they had fought for.

Your daughter.

Azriel had thought he knew what love was.

Thought he had touched it in the way you smiled at him across a crowded room, in the way you reached for him without thinking, in the way your laughter filled every hollow place inside him.

But this—this was something else entirely.

It was terrifying and exhilarating and raw, a thousand blades and a thousand sunrises all at once.

He couldn't stop looking at her.

At you.

At the life you had made together.

The birth had nearly undone him.

You had screamed, wept, clawed at him while he whispered promises he wasn't sure he could keep, while Cassian and Feyre and Nesta and the entire Circle had waited outside, tense and silent.

And when the last push had torn a ragged sob from your throat—when the world had gone still and the first furious wail had pierced the silence—

Azriel had fallen to his knees beside the bed, weeping so hard he hadn't been able to see.

You had only laughed, watery and tired, cradling the tiny, furious bundle to your chest.

"She's perfect," you had whispered, voice wrecked.

And Azriel had known it was true.

Because she was you.

She was both of you.

Now, hours later, when the rest of the world slept and only the stars kept vigil, Azriel brushed a trembling hand over your hair.

You stirred, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

"She's beautiful, Az," you whispered, and he realized you were crying again—silent, happy tears slipping down your cheeks.

He kissed them away.

"You are beautiful," he rasped. "You are everything."

You smiled, sleepy and radiant.

"Do you want to hold her?"

Azriel froze.

He had been afraid to ask.

Afraid to break the fragile, perfect moment by daring too much.

But you just lifted the tiny bundle, placing her carefully into his arms.

She fit there like she had been made for him.

Azriel stared down at her, at her impossibly small fists and soft, dark hair and the faint shimmer of wings tucked tight against her back.

A lump formed in his throat so thick he could barely breathe.

"Hello, little one," he whispered, shadows curling protectively around the three of you, soft as silk.

Your daughter yawned, a tiny, kittenish sound, and Azriel swore the whole world shifted under his feet.

He looked up at you, barely able to speak.

"Thank you," he said, voice breaking.

You reached for him, threading your fingers through his.

"Thank you for loving me," you murmured. "For fighting for us."

He pressed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes against the overwhelming tide of feeling.

There were no words big enough for this.

For the way he loved you.

For the way he loved her.

For the way you had carved a place for him in a world that had once held no place at all.

And in that quiet room, under the falling snow and the watching stars, Azriel made a silent promise.

He would love you both with everything he was.

He would shield you from every storm.

He would be your light, your sword, your wings, your home.

Always.

Forever.

Outside, somewhere far above, the stars shifted and burned.

And maybe—just maybe—they smiled down on them.

Because for the first time in a long, hard, beautiful life, Azriel was not alone.

He never would be again.

Taglist: @willowpains, @masbt1218, @antonia002, @bookishcait, @fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, @buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff,  @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch,  @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @kksbookstuff, @marina468, @tele86, @raccoonworld, Princesssunderworld, dinosandwaffles

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[batboysanonymous]

A Thousand Kisses Later

Cassian x Reader

Summary: He held her face like it was the most precious thing in the world, like he couldn't kiss her fast enough, like he had loved her for centuries and still hadn’t gotten enough.

The war had ended three weeks ago. Three long weeks since Cassian had come back from the front lines bloodied but breathing. Since Y/n had sat beside his healing body in the House of Wind, her hand glued to his, whispering promises she wasn’t sure he could hear.

Now, he wouldn’t stop touching her.

Not that she minded. Not when the pads of his calloused fingers brushed her cheek like a prayer. Not when his palms cradled her face like he’d crumble if he let go. Not when his lips pressed tiny kisses over every inch of her face—cheeks, chin, nose, brow—like it was instinct.

She was seated cross-legged on their shared bed, hair still damp from a bath he’d drawn for her, the scent of lavender clinging to her skin. Cassian had taken one look at her—soft, flushed, relaxed—and crossed the room like a man starved.

Now she was giggling, helpless under the affection of a war-hardened general who kissed like he didn’t know how to stop.

“Cass,” she laughed, eyes squeezed shut as he pressed yet another peck to her nose, then her cheek, then her jaw. “That’s the fiftieth one.”

“Fifty-first,” he murmured, lips barely brushing hers. “And that’s for calling me Cass.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—Lord Commander General Cassian of the Night Court—”

His groan cut her off as he buried his face in her neck, letting out a dramatic sigh that made her laugh harder.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he murmured into her skin, voice rasped from laughter and love. “In excessive affection.”

“I’m already drowning in it.”

He lifted his head and cupped her cheeks again, his grin boyish and wicked. “Good.”

Another kiss. This one to her temple.

And another. Her eyelid.

And another. The tip of her nose.

She melted in his hands, the kind of love-sick, soul-deep softness that only a mate bond could bring. His thumbs swept gently across her skin, and she looked up at him with stars in her eyes.

“I missed this,” she whispered. “Missed you.”

His expression crumpled with emotion so fast she barely caught it. But she did. Because she knew him. And he hadn’t let himself feel everything that needed to be felt—not yet.

Cassian settled beside her, tugging her into his lap, her legs over his. His wings curled instinctively around her, a shield of warm, powerful muscle and love. He rested his forehead to hers.

“I was so scared,” he said hoarsely, voice barely audible. “That I wouldn’t get to do this again. That I’d never touch you again.”

Her heart cracked open. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, nose tucked under his jaw.

“I know. I felt it too.”

Cassian pulled back just enough to cup her face again. She loved when he did that—how reverently he held her, like his entire world existed between his hands.

“I made a promise,” he said. “Out there. That if I made it home, I’d spend the rest of my life making sure you knew how much I love you. Every damn day. Every moment I get.”

Tears pricked her eyes, and she nodded. “You already do. Every time you look at me like that. Every time you touch me like I’m...everything.”

“You are everything,” he said fiercely.

He kissed her again—quick, soft, sweet—and another giggle bubbled from her throat. He grinned, lips brushing the corner of her mouth.

“You laugh like you were made for me,” he murmured.

She scrunched her nose. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It does to me.” He kissed her again. “Your laugh is my favorite sound. Second only to your moans.”

“Cassian!”

He smirked, clearly proud of himself, before pressing a kiss just under her ear. “What? I like all your sounds.”

“I swear,” she muttered, cheeks warm, “you are the clingiest, softest Illyrian warrior in history.”

“I almost died. I earned the right to be clingy.” His hand slid around her back, pressing her tighter against him. “Now hush. I’m not done kissing you.”

He tilted her chin up again, and she let him. Let herself fall into him, into the warm hum of their bond that wrapped around her heart like velvet. Kiss after kiss after kiss, until she was breathless and smiling and so, so in love.

She brushed her fingers through his thick hair, letting her other hand rest over his beating heart. Cassian kissed her palm, then nuzzled into it, eyes half-lidded.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

“You deserve everything,” she whispered back.

His arms tightened around her, his lips brushing her brow.

“And yet, somehow, I got you.”

They sat there for a while in the hush of evening, the world slowed to a heartbeat between them. He didn’t stop touching her. She didn’t want him to. Every brush of his thumb, every lingering kiss, every whispered promise—it was a prayer they both needed.

“You really want to spend the rest of your life kissing me like that?” she teased softly.

Cassian gave her a slow, roguish grin. “Absolutely.”

“What if I get wrinkly?”

“I’ll kiss every wrinkle.”

“What if I snore?”

“I’ll wear earplugs.”

“What if I—”

He kissed her. Full and firm and breathtaking.

“I’ll love you anyway,” he finished for her.

She blinked up at him, tears rising again. And then she laughed—light and unguarded—her cheeks squished in his palms, lips pecked again and again by the male who had given her everything.

“I love you, Cass.”

His eyes glowed. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

Again.

“I love you.”

He kissed her once more, a thousand soft promises in one lingering touch.

And she knew—without question, without fear—that she would never stop hearing those words from him. Never stop being held like that. Never stop being his.

And he—gods help him—would never stop kissing her.

Taglist:@willowpains, @fanficscuziranout, @pham-tastical,  @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff, @shylahstarzz, @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch, @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @marina468, @tele86, @raccoonworld

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[batboysanonymous]

Where You Left Me

Surrender Pt. II

Azriel x Reader

Summary: They took you from him, and Azriel has never known true need until your silence replaces the warmth of your touch, and he's left to bleed in the quiet that used to feel like home.

Azriel didn’t remember flying.

He must have. He must have launched himself into the skies the moment he found the shred of your tunic snagged in that tree. He must have flown over frozen forests and iron-spiked terrain, siphons crackling at his shoulders, wings slicing wind like blades. He must have followed the almost-extinct trail of your scent until he reached that cave mouth in the mortal realm.

But he didn’t remember any of it.

All he remembered was the way the shadows had gone still.

He hadn’t felt them do that since—

Since his father’s dungeons.

They had led him down, deeper into the rock and blood-soaked silence. Stone stair after stone stair. They had whispered something dark into his mind, something he didn’t want to understand.

She’s still alive.

And Azriel—who had survived war, centuries of torture, betrayal, and heartbreak—began to break before he even found you.

He heard your breathing before he saw you.

Not the soft, sleepy kind that lulled him to peace. Not the rhythmic in-and-out he’d memorized in quiet moments beside you.

This breathing was wet. Labored.

Painful.

Then he turned the corner, and his world ended.

Your body was shackled to the wall, limbs bruised and bloodied, hair matted to your cheeks with sweat and filth. Your knees had buckled long ago, forcing your weight onto your wrists—chained too high, too tight, skin torn. Dried blood caked your temple, trailing from a gash above your eyebrow. But it was your mouth that undid him.

Smeared with blood, swollen from—

He didn’t let himself finish the thought.

Didn’t let himself think of what they had done to you.

What you had endured.

Instead, he moved.

Silent as shadow, swift as death.

The chains fell first, sliced with red-hot siphon-forged steel. You crumpled forward without them. But he caught you.

Gods, he caught you.

And you cried out.

Not a scream. Not a word.

Just a soft, broken whimper—the kind that shattered the breath in his lungs.

“Y/N.” He whispered your name like it was a sacred thing. Like if he said it enough, you’d open your eyes and look at him like you used to. Like he wasn’t a monster. Like he was yours.

You didn’t.

You sagged in his arms, blood still oozing from your ribs.

“Please,” he whispered again, voice cracking, “stay with me.”

You flinched—barely.

But it was enough.

He scooped you into his arms and flew.

He didn’t register the flight back. He wasn’t sure his wings had even carried him. Just that one moment he was holding your battered body in the cold dark, and the next, he was crashing through the balcony doors of the House of Wind, screaming for Madja, for Feyre, for anyone.

Rhys had come first.

Then Cassian.

Then Nesta, her rage a thunderstorm Azriel could only distantly feel.

None of them mattered.

None of them were you.

He didn’t let anyone take you from his arms until Madja forced him to lay you down so she could work. And even then, he knelt beside the bed like a dog, shadows wound tight around his body, breathing like he had no idea how anymore.

They had to sedate you.

You screamed when they touched you.

You screamed until your throat went raw—until Azriel begged them to let him try.

And when he whispered your name and brushed his scarred fingers against your cheek, your sobbing stilled.

That broke him worse than anything.

He stayed.

Three days passed.

He didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. The others came and went—Rhys bringing food, Feyre forcing water to his lips, Cassian keeping a silent vigil at the door.

But Azriel didn’t leave your side.

Your body had healed. Madja’s magic had closed your wounds, repaired your ribs, cleaned the blood from your skin. But you didn’t wake.

Not really.

Not fully.

You twitched. Moaned in pain. Murmured things in your sleep that made his shadows recoil in horror. And all the while, Azriel held your hand and watched, and broke.

Because you were quiet.

And you had never been quiet with him.

He remembered, in agonizing clarity, the first time you touched him.

That laugh. That warmth. The ease of it.

You’d pressed your thumb to his wrist like it meant nothing.

Like it wasn’t everything.

And now you were here—barely breathing. And he couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be touched by you.

He bent over your bedside, knuckles white where they gripped the sheets.

“Please,” he said, voice cracking apart. “I never asked for you. I didn’t even believe I was allowed to hope for something like you.”

The words poured out, uncontrollable. Vulnerable.

“But you gave it to me anyway. You gave me—” His chest shuddered. “You gave me the kind of touch that didn’t take something from me.”

He looked down at your hand. It was limp. Cold.

“You gave me love like it was sunlight. And I—I let you walk away that day without telling you.”

He dragged in a breath that felt like swallowing knives.

“I thought I had more time.”

And then his voice broke entirely.

“I can’t breathe without you.”

His head dropped to the mattress. His shadows wrapped around your wrist like they were begging too.

“I need you to come back,” he whispered. “You can take everything. Just… come back.”

You woke the next night.

Not gently. Not peacefully.

You bolted upright, gasping, eyes wide and wild.

Azriel was there before you could flinch.

“Y/N,” he breathed, catching your face in his hands. “It’s me. It’s Azriel. You’re safe. You’re home.”

Your eyes found him—and something broke inside you. Your body collapsed into his chest with a sob so deep, so raw, it echoed through the room like thunder.

Azriel wrapped you in his arms.

And he held you.

Not like you were fragile.

But like he was.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, over and over, like a vow. Like a promise he was afraid to make.

You buried your face in his shoulder, your tears wetting his tunic.

And then—your fingers curled into his hair.

The tiniest touch.

But Azriel stilled.

And then he broke.

He held you tighter, rocked you back and forth, and finally—finally—let himself cry into your hair.

He didn’t ask for more.

He didn’t say another word.

Because this—this touch, this moment—meant you were still here.

And for a male who had never known softness…

That was everything.

Taglist: @willowpains, @masbt1218, @antonia002, @bookishcait, @fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, @buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff,  @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch,  @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @kksbookstuff, @marina468, @tele86, @raccoonworld

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[batboysanonymous]

Where Shadows Lie

Azriel x Reader

Summary: He was the one place she thought she’d never be broken again, until the truth shattered the fragile hope she’d just begun to believe in.

There was a time when Y/N thought she could live inside the way Azriel looked at her.

It wasn’t just the intensity of his gaze or the way the corners of his mouth curled when she entered a room—it was quieter than that. More intimate. Like every time his eyes found hers, they whispered you’re safe.

Their story had begun in silence.

In the shared pauses between missions. The comfortable rhythm of two souls who didn’t need words to understand each other. It wasn’t dramatic. There were no declarations, no desperate confessions under the stars. Just stolen glances, warm touches, soft brushes of knuckles against arms, until one night, he kissed her.

And when he did, it felt like her whole life had been leading to it.

That first kiss had been slow. Almost reverent. His calloused hand cupping her jaw, his thumb tracing the edge of her mouth before leaning in like he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

“I want this,” he’d whispered against her lips. “I want you.”

Y/n had fallen for him in pieces.

The way he read beside her, silently handing her books he thought she’d like. How he remembered her favorite tea and left it steaming on the counter every morning without being asked. The way his shadows curled protectively around her when she slept, never touching her skin but always near.

It wasn’t just the physical connection—it was the care. The sense that Azriel, for all his brooding silence and brutal strength, handled her like something precious.

It was only natural, then, that when they found each other’s beds, it felt like more than a fling. More than physical.

More.

And even though they’d never said what they were, she thought it was clear in the way he held her. In how he whispered her name like a promise against her skin. In the soft, rare smiles he only gave to her.

So when the curiosity began to creep in—the gentle suspicion, the insecurity born from something buried deep—she’d ignored it. At first.

But one morning, while lying tangled in his sheets, her head on his bare chest and his fingers idly tracing her spine, she found herself asking it anyway.

“Have you… been with anyone else? Since us?”

He went still.

For one sharp moment, her heart climbed into her throat.

“No,” he said, after a pause that was just a little too long. “I haven’t.”

Relief had flooded her chest. She didn’t question it. Didn’t want to question it.

Because she believed him.

Because he was Azriel.

She should’ve known.

The truth came not with thunder, but casually. Offhanded.

She had stopped by the River House one afternoon to drop off documents for Rhys, and Elain had been in the garden with Mor, chatting under the sun. Y/N had lingered with them, smiling, laughing, sipping wine.

It was Mor who said it.

“Do you remember that night Azriel came back late from Adriata?” she mused, plucking a grape from the bowl beside them. “He was with that healer—what was her name? Lira? Liana?”

Y/N stilled.

Elain nodded. “Liana, yes. She was sweet. They weren’t serious, I don’t think. It ended quickly.”

“When was that?” Y/N asked, before she could stop herself.

Mor tilted her head. “I don’t know… two months ago? Right after that mission with Cassian. Az was brooding for days after they ended things.”

Two months ago.

Right after that mission.

Right before she asked him if there had been anyone else, and he’d looked her in the eyes and lied.

The air vanished from her lungs.

Her hands went numb.

“I—sorry,” she mumbled, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I just remembered something I need to take care of.”

And she left. Fast. Before they could ask what was wrong. Before the nausea in her gut turned into something visible.

Back in her room, she stood in front of the mirror for a long time, staring at herself like she might find a version of Y/N who didn’t hurt.

The lie echoed in her head.

“No. I haven’t.”

The pause.

The way he kissed her afterward, like he was trying to bury the truth between her lips.

Coward, she thought. You could’ve told me. I would’ve forgiven you if you’d just told me.

She sat on the floor, numb. A slow, icy sort of pain creeping in—not from the fact that there had been someone else.

But from the fact that he hadn’t trusted her with the truth.

He had chosen her. Chosen to keep sleeping beside her, whispering into her skin, letting her fall deeper and deeper, all while knowing the truth could gut her.

And gods, it had.

She didn’t remember falling asleep that night. Only waking in a cold bed with his scent still clinging to the pillow, and a storm of heartbreak pressing against her chest like a scream.

-

The balcony overlooking Velaris used to feel like a safe place.

It was the kind of spot where the stars felt close enough to touch, where the wind was gentler, wrapping around her like a lullaby. The City of Starlight was quiet tonight, its heartbeat steady and unaware of the chaos that pulsed through Y/N’s chest. Her fingers were clenched around the railing, cold biting into her skin, but the pain was grounding. Real.

Unlike him.

The door opened behind her, soft footsteps padding across the stone. She didn’t need to look to know it was Azriel. She could feel him, like she always could, like her soul had memorized the rhythm of his.

“Y/N.”

Just her name.

But gods, the way he said it—like it hurt him to say it. Like it was the only thing that tethered him to this world.

She didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t. The anger in her chest warred with something softer, something weaker—love. She hated that it hadn’t died the moment she learned the truth.

A lie. One carefully chosen omission that burned brighter than any betrayal could.

She turned, arms wrapped tightly around herself as she faced him.

Azriel looked wrecked. His dark hair was wind-tossed, his jaw tense, his eyes shadowed with something she couldn’t name. Regret, maybe. Guilt, absolutely. His siphons flickered dimly, as if even they were unsure of their welcome.

“I asked you,” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “I asked you if there was anyone else. And you looked me in the eye and said no.”

His throat bobbed with the effort it took to speak. “I know.”

“You lied to me.”

“I know.”

A pause. Silence. The kind that stretched painfully between two people who once shared everything—breath, skin, hope.

“We weren’t even official,” she whispered, turning her gaze back to the stars. “That’s what I keep telling myself. That I don’t have a right to be mad. That you didn’t owe me anything.”

“I did owe you the truth,” he said immediately, stepping forward. “Whether we were official or not. I owed you honesty.”

She closed her eyes, pain blooming beneath her ribs. “Then why did you lie?”

There it was. The question that sat in her throat for days, weeks, the question that gnawed at her like rot.

He exhaled slowly. “Because I was afraid.”

She scoffed, stepping away from him. “You keep saying that. Afraid. Of what, Azriel? Of me?”

“Of losing you,” he said, voice shaking. “Of telling you something that would make you look at me differently. That would make you leave.”

“I’m leaving anyway,” she whispered. “Because I don’t know how to trust you anymore.”

His shadows writhed at his feet, agitated and restless.

“I didn’t love her,” he said, his voice breaking. “There was no love there. No meaning. It was before I knew—before I felt the bond. I swear to the Mother, I didn’t understand what you were to me until it was already too late.”

“That doesn’t make the lie better,” she said, her voice cracking.

Azriel flinched.

“I told you about my ex,” she continued, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. “I told you how he smiled and promised me things while sleeping with someone else. How I kept loving him even as he made me question my sanity. How he lied until I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

“I’m not him,” Azriel whispered.

“No,” she said. “You’re worse.”

The words sliced through him, and she saw it. Saw the way his shoulders sagged, how his eyes closed, how his wings dipped like they bore more than just his weight.

Because Azriel wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t careless.

He had lied out of fear, not malice. But that was the thing that broke her.

Because she had loved him so much, and he hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her the truth.

She left that night without another word. Flew until her wings ached. Until the wind stole her breath. Until the tears on her cheeks dried from the speed of her escape.

She didn’t go far. She couldn’t. Their bond tethered her to him like a golden thread she wanted to cut but couldn’t bring herself to destroy.

He sent notes. Small, quiet things tucked into her books, her satchel, left at the edge of her bed.

I miss you.

You don’t have to forgive me. But I will spend the rest of my life wishing you could.

I never knew what it was like to need someone until you. And now I don’t know how to stop.

Even if this is the end of us, I will still love you. Always.

She didn’t respond.

Not because she didn’t feel it. But because she felt it too much.

She’d built walls to survive what came before him. And Azriel had scaled them with patience and gentleness and midnight smiles. Only to tear it all down with a single lie.

It was two months before they spoke again.

He found her in the training ring, panting and covered in sweat, the air around her pulsing with rage she hadn’t been able to bleed out.

“You’re angry,” he said from the doorway.

She didn’t turn. Just kept throwing punch after punch at the worn training dummy. “Sharp observation.”

“Y/N—”

She turned then, breath ragged, fury burning in her eyes. “Do you think I wanted this? To still want you? To ache for you even when I hate what you did?”

Azriel stepped forward. “I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He swallowed, the pain clear on his face.

“But I never stopped loving you,” she said, voice breaking. “That’s the problem.”

His expression crumbled. “Then let me fix it.”

She stared at him for a long moment, chest heaving. “You can’t fix what you broke. But you can try to rebuild it.”

He nodded, slowly, like he didn’t quite believe she meant it.

“But it has to be different this time,” she continued. “No lies. No shadows. Just truth. Even when it’s hard.”

“I can do that,” he whispered.

“Then show me.”

The rebuild was slow.

Painfully slow.

Azriel didn’t push. He showed up. Quietly. Consistently. He brought her tea in the mornings, lingered in the corners of her world like a shadow with a heartbeat. When nightmares found her, he didn’t ask to hold her—but he sat outside her door until dawn.

And little by little, the walls started to crack again.

Not because she was weak, but because he was earning it.

One evening, as the sun dipped low over Velaris, she sat beside him on the same balcony where they’d once shattered.

The air between them hummed with unspoken things.

“I still think about it,” she said quietly. “About what it felt like when I realized you lied.”

Azriel didn’t flinch. “So do I.”

“I still hurt.”

“So do I.”

She looked at him then, and for the first time in weeks, she let herself really see him. The haunted look in his eyes. The exhaustion. The silent ache.

“I forgive you,” she said softly.

He blinked, like he hadn’t heard her.

“I’m not saying I’ll forget,” she clarified. “Or that I’m not still scared. But I forgive you.”

His throat worked around a word that wouldn’t come. His eyes shone.

“I don’t deserve it,” he rasped.

“No,” she said, touching his face. “But you’ve earned it.”

He kissed her then, gently, like a man trying not to break the very thing he loved.

And this time, when she kissed him back, it wasn’t hesitant.

It was home.

Taglist: @willowpains, @masbt1218, @antonia002, @bookishcait, @fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, @buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff,  @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch,  @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @kksbookstuff, @marina468, @tele86, @raccoonworld

Want to join my tag list? Drop a comment or check out this link to submit a specific series you would like tagged in! (Or if you just don't want to comment, that's okay too)

[batboysanonymous]

Shadowkissed

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel’s shadows have always been an extension of his soul, but none more than the one that refuses to leave your side, even when he’s away. It watches, protects, and lingers in the darkness, whispering promises of the mate who would burn the world to keep you safe.

The first time you noticed it, you had woken in the middle of the night, the dim moonlight casting long, jagged shadows along the walls of your bedroom in the House of Wind. You had reached for Azriel’s side of the bed, only to find it empty and cold. Gone on a mission, as he so often was.

But you weren’t alone.

A whisper of darkness slithered along the edge of the mattress, coiling in the space between you and the emptiness he had left behind. Not touching, not pressing—but there. Watching.

Your breath caught, but not in fear.

Because you knew it. Knew the way it moved, the way it pulsed and trembled like it was breathing. Like it was alive.

Like it belonged to him.

Azriel’s shadow. His favorite one, or so you teased him. And it never left you.

You lifted a hand, letting your fingers brush the air near it. It stilled, almost as if leaning into the phantom touch.

It wasn’t enough.

Azriel was gone. And though he’d promised to return soon, though he had murmured against your lips that he’d be back before you even had the chance to miss him, you had. Gods, you had.

But this shadow…

It stayed. It curled around the bedpost at night, keeping silent vigil over your restless dreams. It hovered at your back in the training ring, tensing whenever Cassian’s strikes got too close, or when another male lingered in your proximity for too long.

It coiled tighter, closer, when you walked through Velaris at night. A soft, slithering promise that if anything, anyone, dared to so much as breathe the wrong way in your direction, they would not live long enough to regret it.

And you had never felt safer.

"You know," Cassian said one evening, perched lazily on the balcony railing, "you might be the first person in history to be shadow-kissed."

You scoffed, tossing a grape at him. "I am not shadow-kissed."

Cassian caught it in his mouth, grinning. "Tell that to the one wrapped around your ankle right now."

You glanced down, and sure enough, a tendril of darkness was coiled there, looping loosely around your skin in a way that felt less like protection and more like possession. Like it needed the contact.

Like it needed you.

Heat licked up your spine.

Cassian smirked, watching the way your expression shifted, how your fingers clenched slightly in the fabric of your dress. He exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. "Gods, he’s so far gone for you, it’s painful to watch."

Your stomach flipped. "He doesn’t even know."

Cassian snorted. "Doesn’t know? You think Azriel doesn’t notice where his shadows go? Pa-lease. That male probably feels every damn movement it makes."

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but a familiar shift in the wind had your pulse stuttering.

The scent of cedar and cold night air curled around you before you even saw him.

Azriel landed with a predator’s grace, his wings rustling softly as they folded behind him. His gaze, sharp as a blade, golden as molten amber, went straight to you. Then to the shadow coiled at your feet.

Something flickered in his expression.

A quiet storm.

Cassian, ever the instigator, let out a low whistle. "Told you," he muttered, before clapping Azriel on the back and striding inside, leaving the two of you alone beneath the stars.

Silence stretched. Taut. Heavy.

Azriel was still watching. Unmoving.

And then, voice like rough velvet, he murmured, “It won’t leave you alone.”

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed. "I don’t mind."

His jaw tightened. "It should listen better."

A tremor rolled through the shadow, as if in protest. You glanced at it, then back at him, searching his face for the truth beneath his words. "You told it to stay, didn’t you?"

Azriel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He said nothing.

Didn’t need to.

The truth was in the way his hands flexed at his sides, like he was restraining himself. It was in the way his wings tensed, the way his breathing was just a little too controlled.

You took a step forward. His shadow curled tighter around your ankle.

"You knew it was with me," you murmured, "this whole time."

A slow, shallow exhale. "Yes."

Your heart pounded.

"You told it to protect me."

"Yes."

Another step. "Why?"

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

His wings flared just slightly, his control slipping. His shadows twined around his fingers like they, too, were struggling to hold him back.

"You know why," he rasped.

Say it.

The words hung between you, unsaid.

Azriel stared at you like he was already bracing for impact. Like he was preparing for rejection, for the inevitable unraveling of whatever fragile thing had built itself between you.

You reached for him. He stiffened, but didn’t pull away.

Foolish, foolish male.

Your fingers traced the ridges of his scarred knuckles, the calloused tips of fingers that had done unspeakable things. And yet—he trembled beneath your touch like he had never been touched before.

Like you were something sacred.

You lifted his hand. Pressed it to your chest, just above your racing heart. "Say it."

His throat worked around the words. His shadows curled around you like they could say it for him.

But then, barely a whisper, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it—

"You’re mine."

Your breath hitched.

A shuddering exhale left him, his control finally, blessedly breaking. His other hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His thumb brushed over your cheek, soft. Reverent.

"I will always protect you."

Your lips parted, your hands sliding up the hard planes of his chest, over the rapid thrumming of his own heart.

"You already do," you whispered.

He made a sound, half relief, half something darker, and then his mouth was on yours.

And gods.

It was devastating.

Azriel kissed like a male who had spent centuries wanting and never having. He kissed like he was dying and you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.

His hands mapped the length of your spine, pulling you against him, until there was nothing—nothing—but him. His warmth, his shadows, the soft, quiet tremor of his breath as he whispered your name like a prayer against your lips.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and he let out a sound that was almost a growl.

"Az," you murmured, tilting your head back, baring your throat to him. An offering.

His lips traced the sensitive skin there, his breath warm, unsteady. "You’re mine," he said again, this time with certainty, with possession. "And I'm yours."

And gods help anyone who ever dared to threaten what was his.

Because Azriel’s shadows had always been an extension of himself. But none more than the one that had never left you. The one that had sworn, just as he had, to keep you safe.

Forever.

Taglist: @willowpains, @masbt1218, @antonia002, @bookishcait, @fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, @buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff,  @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch,  @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @kksbookstuff, @marina468, @tele86, @raccoonworld

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[batboysanonymous]

The Quiet of Your Flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Summary: They said fire was cruel, devastating, but they never warned you how gentle it could be in the hands of the one who loved you most.

The wind outside the Autumn Court howled, lashing against the golden-streaked glass panes as if jealous of the warmth within. But inside, beneath the weight of roaring hearthlight and the hush of velvet silence, you were curled between the legs of Eris Vanserra.

His thighs bracketed your hips, strong and unmoving, a fortress of warmth around you. One of his arms was thrown lazily over your middle while the other toyed with the frayed edge of the book in your lap, fingers grazing your stomach in a rhythm you were certain was unconscious. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Eris knew exactly what he was doing.

Because he always did.

“I can hear your thoughts screaming,” you murmured, not looking up from the page.

The tip of his nose brushed against the back of your neck, his breath warm. “I’m contemplating how you look better in my colors than I ever have.”

You turned the page slowly, forcing yourself to ignore the butterflies that comment ignited. It was like this with him—always. Constant, quiet affection. In public, Eris was the untouchable flame, all snarled elegance and too-sharp words. But in private, when the world shrank to just the two of you and a fire lit to soothe his trauma-riddled bones, he became something else entirely.

Yours.

“You’re not even reading, are you?” you teased, glancing down at the book now abandoned in your lap.

Eris shifted behind you, and the arm around your waist tightened. His hand splayed across your abdomen, warm and possessive, while his head dropped to your shoulder.

“I’m reading you,” he said softly.

Your heart fluttered, then stumbled. Even after months of this—months of being mates, of learning the cadence of one another’s breaths and bodies—it never stopped catching you off guard when he said things like that.

“I should be annoyed by how smooth that was,” you said.

“And yet,” Eris hummed, “you’re leaning further into me.”

You hadn’t even realized you were doing it. Your spine had curved, your head now resting just below his jaw. The fire cracked softly behind you both, golden light pooling over the rug, over your bare feet tucked between his calves.

A silence settled. Not the tense kind—the kind you grew up dreading, fearing what came next. No, this was the gentle hush of contentment, where your body could breathe without defense, where your heart no longer had to beat like a war drum just to be heard.

Eris, always attuned to your moods, nuzzled the crown of your head. “Do you remember the first time you let me touch you like this?”

You did.

It had been a stormy night, not unlike this one, but everything had felt raw. New. You hadn’t trusted him yet—not entirely. Not the court, not the idea of soulmates. But he had waited. He’d read beside you with three feet of space between you both. Until, slowly, you’d crept closer. Inching, as if you feared he’d run if you touched him. But it had been him who stilled, holding his breath like a fragile thing when your fingers had brushed his thigh.

“I remember,” you whispered. “I didn’t think you’d let me.”

“You could set me on fire,” Eris said against your skin, “and I’d thank you for the warmth.”

Gods.

You turned then, adjusting until your legs draped over his lap and your body curled into his chest, your cheek pressed to the slow, steady beat of his heart. He welcomed you immediately, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you in like he couldn’t bear even a sliver of space between your souls.

This, you thought. This was who he was.

Not the High Lord’s heir with his biting tongue and crimson court. But the male who held you like he was afraid of waking from a dream.

“I love you like this,” you whispered. “When you let yourself be held.”

“I only ever wanted to be held by you,” he replied, his fingers already tracing the curve of your spine. “No one else ever touched me and made me feel... real.”

You stilled against him.

Because you knew what he meant.

How many years had he worn armor carved from silence? How many centuries had he been touched like a weapon, never a man?

Your hand slipped under his tunic, resting directly over his bare back. His body arched into the contact like it was instinct. Maybe it was.

“I want to kiss you,” he said.

You smiled, lifting your head. “Then kiss me.”

And he did.

It wasn’t rushed. It never was with him. Not in these moments, not when his hands were reverent and his mouth slow and certain. He kissed you like he was studying the pages of a book he never wanted to end. He kissed you like you were ink and starlight.

When he finally pulled back, your foreheads touched.

“You undo me,” he murmured. “Every time.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Then let me put you back together.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes glowing with something soft and golden. “You already have.”

You could’ve lived in that moment. Would’ve, if the world allowed. But eventually, your limbs tangled, and the fire’s glow dimmed, and you found yourselves stretched out fully on the rug, your head now pillowed on his chest while he read aloud.

His voice was a low, lulling timbre, reading stories of gods and mortals and beasts who found each other in darkness.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his.

He squeezed once. “You make it quiet,” he said, not looking away from the book. “In my head. You make it stop.”

“I know,” you said. “You do the same for me.”

No promises were made.

None needed.

Because this was the promise: the steady touch of his hand in yours. The press of your body against his. The warmth of his fire as it lit the darkness between your ribs.

The quiet of love unspoken, but always understood.

And when you both finally fell asleep on the rug beneath the ember sky, it wasn’t to dreams of courts or war or pain.

It was only each other.

And that was enough.

Taglist: @fanficscuziranout, @willowpains, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff, @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch, @okaytrashpanda, @marina468, @tele86, @raccoonworld

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[batboysanonymous]

Surrender

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel had spent centuries in the dark, wrapped in silence and solitude, convinced that touch, real, unguarded touch, was not meant for him. Then he met you.

Azriel had never been touched without reason.

Every brush of skin against his had been purposeful, wounds being stitched, a sword being passed, a hand yanking him out of the wreckage of war. Even among the people who called him brother, who claimed to love him, touch had always been a rare thing. A clap on the shoulder from Cassian after a battle. A quick squeeze of his forearm from Rhysand before a mission.

It had never been more than that. Never just because.

So the first time you touched him, it had nearly unraveled him.

It had been so casual. Unthinking. The kind of touch people gave without realizing they were giving it. You had been standing beside him in the House of Wind’s training ring, sweat still damp on your brow, laughing at something Cassian had said. And as you turned toward Azriel, still grinning, you reached out—just a small thing, a fleeting press of your fingers against his wrist, your thumb brushing over his pulse like it was natural, like it was nothing.

It was everything.

Azriel had gone still. So still it was a wonder his body hadn’t shattered from the force of it. His heartbeat had slammed against his ribs, his throat tightening as his mind scrambled to make sense of what had just happened.

You had touched him.

Not because you had to. Not because you needed something from him. Not because he was bleeding out or being dragged from the wreckage of a battlefield.

You had touched him because you wanted to.

And that terrified him.

Because the moment it happened, the moment your fingers met his skin, Azriel knew—he would want more.

It only got worse after that.

Because you kept doing it. And worse, you didn’t seem to realize what you were doing to him.

The way your hand found his forearm when you spoke to him, grounding him in the moment. The way you brushed your fingers over his back when you passed him in the halls. The way you linked your pinky with his beneath the dinner table when the conversation turned too dark.

Azriel wasn’t used to it.

Gods, he wasn’t used to it.

For centuries, he had believed he did not need touch, that it was something other people craved—people who were not made of knives and shadow. He had convinced himself he was fine without it, that his body did not miss something it had never truly had.

He had been wrong.

Because now that he had it, now that he had you, he didn’t know how to go without it.

It was a sickness, the way he hungered for it. The way he would find himself inching closer to you when you were near, his body gravitating toward yours like you were the sun and he was something desperate for warmth. The way his hands would twitch at his sides when you hugged Cassian, when you looped your arm through Feyre’s—jealousy, raw and sharp, at the way they could take your touch for granted, while he still ached at the very idea of asking for more.

Because that was the worst part—he didn’t know how to ask.

He didn’t know how to reach for something he had spent centuries pretending he didn’t want.

So he suffered in silence. Let himself drown in the feeling of your hands against his skin, your fingers brushing his, your body pressed against his when you leaned into him without hesitation.

He let himself starve, even as the feast was right in front of him.

One night, as the city slept and Velaris shimmered beneath the moon, you found him standing alone on the balcony of the House of Wind.

You had been looking for him, he could tell by the way you didn’t hesitate, by the way you stepped into his space as if you belonged there.

"Az," you murmured.

He turned, shadows curling at his feet. "Couldn’t sleep?"

You shook your head. "I could ask you the same."

His lips twitched, but he said nothing.

For a moment, there was only silence. Only the sound of the wind through the cliffs, the distant murmur of the Sidra below. And then—then, you reached for him.

Not just a brush of fingers this time. Not just a fleeting, casual touch.

You placed your hand against his chest, right over his heart, and stayed.

Azriel stopped breathing.

"Az," you whispered, your voice softer now. "Why do you always let me touch you, but you never touch me back?"

His hands clenched at his sides. "Because I don’t know how to stop."

The words left him before he could think better of them. Before he could bury them beneath his usual silence.

You exhaled, something flickering in your eyes. And then, to his utter ruin, you reached for his hand.

Not just to hold it. Not just to offer comfort.

You brought his palm up, pressed it against your own chest, against the steady, steady beat of your heart.

"Then don’t," you said simply.

Azriel made a sound, a broken, desperate thing. His fingers curled against you, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your shirt, as if memorizing the shape of you beneath his touch.

"I don’t know how to ask for it," he admitted, voice barely more than a breath.

You smiled, something unbearably soft. "Then don’t ask."

And you leaned forward, wrapping yourself around him.

Azriel broke.

His arms came around you fast, crushing, as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on. His face pressed against your hair, his shadows curling around your waist, twining with you like they knew. Like they had been waiting for this moment just as long as he had.

You held him just as tightly, your fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against his back, grounding him, anchoring him.

"I’ve got you," you whispered. "Always."

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling the scent of you, the warmth of you, the realness of you in his arms.

And for the first time in his long, long life, he allowed himself to believe it.

Taglist: @willowpains, @masbt1218, @antonia002, @bookishcait, @fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, @buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff,  @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch,  @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @kksbookstuff, @marina468, @tele86, @raccoonworld

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[batboysanonymous]

as much as I love writing...sometimes I get an itch for a good read myself. here are the stories I ALWAYS reach for, please check them out and give the authors some love ❤️‍🔥

───────────────────────────────

✧.* fluff ⋆ | ˚꩜｡ series | ⚠︎ angst | 🔞 smut | ↳ multiple recs

Rhysand

🔞 ✧.* ⚠︎ This Tempest, Ours by (@velarisdusk)

Cassian

🔞 ✧.*⚠︎ Lay All Your Love On Me by (@prythianpages)

Azriel

(@illyrianbitch) ↳ ˚꩜｡ Are We Still Friends? ↳ ⚠︎ Breathe

(@dumb-ster-fire) ↳ ✧.* Just a dress ↳ ✧.* His Unholy Voice

✧.* You've Got Stars in Your Eyes so Let's Paint the Sky by (@miryum) ✧.* Undercover Affection by (@surielstea) ✧.* Take Me Home by (@prythianpages) ✧.* Loving You (Loving Me) by (@tarotsoul) ✧.* Something Precious by (@velarisdusk) ✧.* Wanna be yours by (@heirofshadowsingers) ✧.* All's Well That Ends Well by (@azsazz)

(@pellucid-constellations) ↳ ✧.* Against the World ↳ ✧.* Knowing you

Eris

🔞 ˚꩜｡ ⚠︎ It's just to satiate the bond by (@daycourtofficial)

Multiple Mates (Why choose?)

(@daycourtofficial) ↳ 🔞 ˚꩜｡ Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one ↳ ✧.* ⚠︎ Blessed with love, cursed with folly ✧.* Heartbeat by (@readychilledwine) ˚꩜｡ ⚠︎ A Lesson in Heartbreak by (@nocasdatsgay)

[batboysanonymous]

Elriel? Gwynriel?

Nope.

Single Shadowsinger. 🤍

[batboysanonymous]

In the works ✍🏼

a soul crushing angst Rhys oneshot

!coming soon!

5/3 - Claws and Kisses: When a fiercely stubborn High Lord and his mate clash over the age-old debate of cats versus dogs, playful rivalry turns into something far deeper, and neither of them is prepared for just how much love can feel like home.

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[batboysanonymous]

Miss Possessive

Cassian x Reader

Summary: Y/n never doubted their bond, until the moment she saw another woman’s hands on her mate. Some fights are inevitable, especially when love is sacred…and hers burns hotter than any Illyrian flame.

Based on the song: Miss Possessive by Tate McRae

No, seriously, get your hands off my man Baby blues undressin' him Funny how you think that I don't notice it

The celebration at the River House was meant to be effortless, indulgent, a night to bask in the peace they’d fought so hard to win.

Y/n should have felt relaxed, watching Cassian laugh so easily. His presence was a storm and a sunrise all at once, and the pull of the mating bond was a steady, silken cord wrapping around her heart.

But then she saw her.

Blonde, lithe, her smile too wide, too bright, as if she belonged here. Her hand lingered on Cassian’s forearm longer than necessary. She tilted her head, giving him that demure little smile women wore when they thought they could win.

Acting like we're friends, we're the opposite I know what you are, tryin' so hard Runnin' 'round tryin' to fuck a star

Y/n’s fingers tightened around her wineglass. Her power hummed under her skin, itching to be set loose.

She forced herself to breathe through her nose. Cassian was oblivious. He always was, in moments like these—friendly, warm, trusting. But she wasn’t.

She saw. She felt.

And she wouldn’t stand for it.

Look at the floor or ceiling Or anyone else you're feelin' Take home whoever walks in Just keep your eyes off him

Her feet were moving before logic could intervene. The crowd parted around her like silk tearing, and the blonde’s laughter faded into nothing the moment Y/n stepped into the space between them.

Cassian’s smile faltered when he looked down at her. “Sweetheart.” His voice, that low rasp only for her. Her fury softened by a fraction.

“Cass,” she purred, threading her fingers into the leather belt at his waist, tugging him closer until his thigh pressed between hers. She could feel the heat of him, the solid strength of him, and if she’d had her way, she would have dragged him out of the room and shown everyone exactly who he belonged to.

Instead, she pinned the girl with a smile that was all teeth.

Yes, I'm Miss possessive Pretty girl, gon' learn your lesson Some fights you're never gon' win Just keep your eyes off him

“You seem to enjoy his company,” Y/n said, her voice like velvet over steel. “I wonder—does your father know you make a habit of pawing at another female’s mate?”

The blonde blinked, the color draining from her cheeks. “I— I wasn’t—”

Cassian groaned softly. “Y/n…”

But she wasn’t done.

Better, better keep your, keep your, keep your, keep your Better, better keep your, keep your, keep your eyes off

The girl opened her mouth, but Y/n’s gaze turned to ice. “I think you should leave.”

The silence between them thrummed tight as a bowstring. Slowly, the female backed away, her steps faltering, her eyes darting to the floor.

Y/n exhaled through her nose, only realizing she was shaking when Cassian slid his arms around her waist.

Yeah, I'll be nice up until I'm not And oh, so generous, tonight I forgot I'm telling you, you haven't seen the 1 AM side of me When I'm two drinks in, and you just can't leave me and my man alone

Cassian kissed her temple, sighing into her hair. “You are going to get me killed one day.”

She finally looked up at him. His hazel eyes sparkled with amusement, but something darker simmered underneath—a heat that answered her possessiveness with his own.

“I won’t share you,” she whispered.

He brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. “You never have to.”

Look at the floor or ceiling Or anyone else you're feelin' Take home whoever walks in Just keep your eyes off him

Still, the frustration hadn’t burned out completely. Her veins thrummed with it. She grabbed his hand, weaving through the crowd with purpose, tugging him toward the stairs.

They didn’t make it to their room.

She pushed him into an alcove, hands already yanking at his tunic. His grin was wicked and indulgent, but he let her take control, let her claim him.

Yes, I'm Miss possessive Pretty girl, gon' learn your lesson Some fights you're never gon' win Just keep your eyes off him

“You’re mine,” she hissed, biting his jaw, his neck, tasting him.

His breath hitched, hands sliding up under her skirts to grip her thighs. “I was always yours.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him—flushed, wild, hers.

Better, better keep your, keep your, keep your, keep your Better, better keep your, keep your, keep your eyes off

They kissed like it was a battle, tongues clashing, hands desperate. His scent filled her head, and the bond between them flared hot and sharp, a living thing that crackled in the space around them.

She ground against him shamelessly, wanting to mark him with her scent, her touch, her fire.

Cassian groaned into her mouth. “If anyone looked at you the way she looked at me…”

“I’d kill them,” she said without hesitation.

He laughed, pressing his forehead to hers. “My possessive little mate.”

Better keep your eyes off

They made it upstairs eventually, but the sounds that echoed through the walls were loud enough that no one dared look at Cassian the wrong way for a long, long time.

And if Y/n woke the next morning tangled in his arms, marked by his teeth, and wearing his shirt…

She didn’t feel a single ounce of guilt.

Not when he whispered, half-asleep, “Mine.”

And certainly not when she smiled and whispered back, “Yours.”

Some fights you're never gon' win Just keep your eyes off him.

Taglist:@willowpains, @fanficscuziranout, @pham-tastical,  @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff, @shylahstarzz, @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch, @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @marina468

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[batboysanonymous]

Not in Love (Except I Am)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: It wasn’t love. It was convenience. It was comfort. It was stolen shirts and shared beds and the way his gaze lingered when he thought she wouldn’t notice. Y/n had convinced herself of that, until the night Azriel stopped believing her.

Based on the song: No I'm not in love by Tate McRae

Swear I'm only sleeping at your house six times in one week, 'cause it's convenient.

Y/n wasn’t in love with Azriel. At least, that’s what she told herself. Every single night she spent tangled in his sheets. Every morning she woke up wrapped in his shadows, with his scent clinging to her skin long after she left his townhouse.

She wasn’t in love with him. She couldn’t be.

Only kinda dressing like you now, 'cause your clothes, they fit me — and that's good reason, oh yeah.

She wore his shirts because they were soft, oversized, smelled like cedar and clean air and a little bit like his laugh, rare, warm, and private.

She crashed at his house because it was closer, and she didn’t feel like flying home, and maybe because his bed felt safer than her own. She learned all the lyrics to the songs he hummed under his breath because they were catchy.

Not because they reminded her of him.

Not because every little piece of him had embedded itself so deep in her bones that she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began.

I told you one, two, three times, don't you read into us. Every friend of mine, I told them the same: No, I am not in love. I am not thinkin' 'bout you.

She told Gwyn. She told Emerie. She told herself.

I’m not in love with him.

And every time Azriel’s hazel eyes met hers with that soft, patient, knowing look, the one he only ever gave her, she repeated it in her head like a prayer.

The sun's not gonna come up, and I don't hate every girl your eyes go to.

She didn’t flinch when he flirted with someone at Rita’s. She didn’t notice when other females looked at him with longing. She didn’t care. Except… she did.

I am not in love. Sky has never been blue.

She never let herself wonder what it would be like if he kissed her. What it would feel like to press her mouth to the words she could never say out loud.

What it would be like to wake up next to him and not have to leave before dawn, pretending nothing happened.

Until the night everything unraveled.

It was late. A bottle of wine half-empty between them, his shadows curling lazily around their intertwined legs. Her head rested on his shoulder, his breath stirring the hair near her temple.

"Cassian tried to convince Nesta to spar without warming up," she murmured. Azriel chuckled, low and rough. "He’s either brave or stupid." "Definitely stupid." She tilted her face up, close enough to count the freckles across his nose. Her heart ached.

Only singing to your songs like, 'Uh' — we got the same taste, that ain't my fault.

"You’re tired," he murmured. "So are you." He didn’t argue.

They went upstairs without speaking. She slipped into his shirt — the gray one that was soft from too many washes, that smelled the most like him — and crawled into his bed. He joined her, the mattress dipping under his weight, his arm finding her waist as naturally as breathing.

If I slip and I somehow say it, you should know in advance I'm wasted.

She lay awake long after his breathing deepened, staring at the ceiling. Not in love. Not in love.

But the words didn’t stick anymore.

Morning came too soon. His body was pressed against hers, his face buried in her hair. She slipped out of bed and padded to the kitchen, needing space, air, anything but the crushing weight of the truth she couldn’t admit.

She didn’t hear him come in until his hand brushed her shoulder. "Y/n?" His voice was sleep-rough. She didn’t turn. "Go back to bed, Az."

He stepped closer. "What’s going on?" Her hands clenched the countertop. "I couldn’t sleep." A lie. He knew it. "You’ve been quiet lately. Distant." "I’ve been busy." Another lie.

He exhaled slowly. "You don’t have to do that with me. You know that, right?" She swallowed. "There’s nothing to talk about." "There’s everything to talk about."

She turned then, her chest tight. His eyes searched hers. Gentle. Devastating. "Y/n…what are we doing?" he whispered.

She broke. "We’re friends, Azriel. We’re friends who…who sometimes blur the lines. But that’s all." His jaw clenched. "Is that what you want?" "It’s what it has to be." "Why?" Because if I fall for you and you don’t catch me, I will never survive it.

He stepped forward, cupping her cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear she hadn’t noticed falling. "I think you’re lying."

Her breath hitched. "I’m not." "Y/n." His voice cracked. "Stop pretending. Stop hiding. Just…tell me the truth."

She shook her head violently. "I can’t." He rested his forehead against hers. "I love you," he whispered. She sobbed. "Az…" "I love you. I’ve been in love with you for so long, I don’t remember what it feels like not to be."

Her heart shattered. "Why didn’t you say anything?" He laughed bitterly. "Because every time I looked at you, you were wearing my shirt, sleeping in my bed, but telling me we were just friends. I didn’t want to lose you. Not even to honesty."

I am not in love, I am not thinkin' 'bout you. The sun's not gonna come up, and I don't hate every girl your eyes go to.

She trembled in his arms. "I thought if I said it out loud, I’d ruin everything." He tilted her chin up. "You could never ruin anything. Not with me."

I am not in love. Sky has never been blue.

She choked out a laugh. "The sky has never been bluer than it is right now." And then he kissed her. Soft at first. Reverent. Like she was something precious. Then deeper. Fierce. Desperate. Years of longing, of buried feelings, all spilling out at once.

They broke apart only when air became necessary. "Az," she whispered. He rested his forehead against hers, breath ragged. "Tell me you don’t feel the same, and I’ll let you go. I swear it. But if you do…don’t lie to me. Please."

She closed her eyes, the words tearing free from where they’d been trapped for far too long. "I love you. I think I’ve always loved you."

His breath shuddered out of him, and then he was kissing her again, spinning her in his arms, both of them laughing through their tears.

No, I'm not in love, not, not. Why would you think that? Why would you think that?

She pressed her forehead to his. "We’re idiots, you know." He grinned. "The biggest ones in Prythian."

She kissed him again, slow and soft, like a promise. "I’m not going anywhere, Az." "Good. Because I plan on loving you for a very, very long time."

I am not in love, not, not. I am not in love, love, love. Why would you think that? Why would you think that?

And for the first time, they both admitted what they’d known all along.

They’d never stood a chance.

Taglist: @willowpains, @masbt1218, @antonia002, @bookishcait, @fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, @buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff,  @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch,  @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @kksbookstuff, @marina468

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[batboysanonymous]

me, writing, throwing commas around like i’ve just won the lottery and i’m exulting in my winnings, needlessly, passionately, with no thought to the consequences,

[batboysanonymous]

I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory

[batboysanonymous]

me: i’m just going to write a short little paragraph while this idea is on my mind

me, a few hours later: 3.9 thousand words and i am done with part one!

[batboysanonymous]

More of You to Love

Cassian x Reader

Summary: You never thought a warrior like Cassian could crave softness, until his hands found every inch of yours like they were made for him, and his heart, foolish and full, begged you to never pull away.

Cassian wasn’t a gentle man. Not by nature, not by upbringing. His world had been forged in the steel of the Illyrian camps, molded by blood, death, and merciless survival. He knew how to fight. How to protect. How to endure.

But loving you… That was the one thing that had unraveled him completely.

Because you were softness in a world of blades. You were kindness where cruelty had reigned. And most of all, you were his mate—a gift from the Mother herself, and Cassian had never, not once, believed he was worthy of something as perfect as you.

You didn’t hear him come in. You were too focused on the mirror, on the reflection staring back at you with judgmental eyes. Your gown was too tight. The fabric clung to your hips in a way that felt unflattering, pressing into your waist like a taunt.

You hated it. You hated the way your body looked tonight.

Your fingers trembled on the laces, heart sinking with every tug that wouldn’t come loose. The voices in your head—insidious, cruel—whispered reminders of all the ways you didn’t measure up.

You’re not like the others. You’re too much. Too big. Too full. He could have anyone…Why would he want you?

“Need help with that?” Cassian’s deep voice cut through your thoughts, smooth and gravelly.

You stiffened. “Gods, Cass—don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He grinned, but it was softer than usual. Devouring. “Couldn’t help it. The view was too good.”

Your cheeks burned, and you turned away, fingers tugging harder at the stubborn knots. “The dress doesn’t fit.”

“Fits just fine from where I’m standing,” he murmured, stepping behind you, his breath warm against your neck.

His hands brushed yours aside, and you froze at the gentle way he touched the laces. Calloused fingers—strong and rough—were delicate now, undoing the knots with practiced ease.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, watching as he worked, the furrow in his brow, the way his eyes lingered on every inch of your skin with reverence, not critique.

But you couldn’t hide the shame in your voice. “It’s too tight, Cass. Nothing fits right anymore.”

He stilled behind you.

“I’ve… changed,” you said quietly. “I’m not like Mor or Nesta or any of the females you’re used to being around.”

Cassian’s hands dropped from your back, only to come around and cup your face, turning you to face him. His eyes… Gods, they burned with something between rage and heartbreak.

“Don’t ever compare yourself to anyone else,” he said, voice hoarse.

You tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let you. “You think I care about some godsdamned dress?” His hands slid down to your waist, gripping you tightly. “You think I don’t see you?”

He pulled you flush against him, your soft curves pressing into the hard lines of his body—and he groaned, like the contact undid him.

“You’re a dream I didn’t know I was allowed to have,” Cassian murmured. “Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see a woman who makes me weak. Who makes me crave peace. I see softness I want to sink into for the rest of my life.”

Tears stung your eyes, but he kissed them away, his mouth brushing over your cheeks, your lips, your neck.

“I love every inch of you. Every curve. Every dip.” His voice broke. “And you think you’re too much?”

His hand gripped the back of your thigh, pulling it up against his hip, grinding against you slowly, purposefully. “Sweetheart, there’s not enough of you.”

Your breath hitched, heart racing.

“I love you exactly as you are,” he whispered. “You were made for me.”

You turned into his embrace, burying your face in his chest. His arms locked around you, strong and safe, and you breathed him in—the scent of leather and cedar.

“I just… I don’t always feel like I fit,” you admitted quietly. “Next to you, I feel… too much.”

Cassian tilted your chin up, eyes gentle but firm. “You fit me better than any armor ever could.”

He guided your hand to his chest, right over his heart. “You feel this? It’s yours. Every beat, every breath—I live for you.”

Your lip trembled, and he caught it between his thumb and finger, kissing you softly, like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

When he pulled back, his smile was warm and boyish, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Dance with me?” he asked, extending his hand.

There was no music. No crowd. Just the two of you, barefoot and wrapped in the quiet glow of the stars outside the window.

You nodded, slipping your hand into his.

Cassian twirled you once before pulling you into his chest, swaying with you in slow, lazy circles. He hummed a tune under his breath, the sound of it rumbling deep in his chest.

There, in his arms, you didn’t feel too much. You felt perfectly held, perfectly loved.

And when he whispered, “There’s more of you to love,” it wasn’t a tease, or a jest.

It was a promise. A vow to cherish all of you—every inch, every moment, every heartbeat—for the rest of his days.

Taglist: @willowpains, @fanficscuziranout, @pham-tastical,  @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff, @shylahstarzz, @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch, @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @marina468