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We are so back!
After nearly a year, @moonpatroclus @cauldronblssd and I decided to revisit our bat boy series. We had free reign with this one and we thought, “What better way to finish the series than with a lovely view of Azriel’s back muscles?”
Thank you again to the.angel.incarnate for bringing our vision to life! They took our request for “slutty back” and made this masterpiece. So happy we could finish out our series with them <3
Art by @/the.angel.incarnate, commissioned by @panicatthenightcourt @cauldronblssd and @moonpatroclus
Please do not repost.
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Yours, Elsewhere

Azriel x female!reader
Summary: A mission gone wrong hurls Azriel into a parallel Velaris. There, he meets a woman who knew him intimately in her world. As they search for a way to send him back, grief tangles with growing affection. He teaches her how to breathe again; she shows him a version of himself he never knew could exist. But the Cauldron is cracking, time unraveling. He must leave—or risk destroying everything.
Warnings: grief, past death of a loved one, emotional angst, mentions of trauma, memory loss, canon divergence. Bittersweet but healing.
Word count: 11.6k
A/N: I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of soul-deep connection, something that survives even across worlds. Writing this fic was a journey of emotion, comfort, and quiet hope, and I truly hope it resonates with you. Also, English is my third language, so thank you for your patience with any little mistakes along the way. I’m always learning, and I’m just grateful to be able to share this story with you. Thank you for reading 💙
The spell left her fingertips just as he vanished.
The witch’s lips moved in a frantic whisper, the ancient incantation torn from her throat like a last breath, desperate and reckless. Magic sparked blue at her hands, arcing like lightning across the broken altar stones. It twisted into the air, weightless and burning, then launched toward the night sky.
But Azriel was already gone.
He didn’t see the light flare behind him. Didn’t hear the way the wind screamed as it bent around the surge of power.
His wings beat once, powerful and sure, and then the shadows took him.
Velaris.
His destination shaped itself in his mind, rooftops glistening with dew, the scent of citrus and moonflower in the air. The shadows wrapped around him like silk, folding the world inward and then outward until the mountains welcomed him home.
His boots touched stone.
He exhaled slowly, the winnow sliding off his skin like a second breath. Easy. Clean. Just like always.
The balcony beneath him was familiar, high above the Sidra, at the top of the House of Wind. The air was sharp with pine and river mist, a spring breeze curling over the tiles.
He glanced up. And paused.
The stars were wrong.
Only slightly. Barely noticeable. But Azriel had flown these skies long enough to know every constellation, every shift in the heavens, they were old friends, silent sentries. And now, the stars blinked like strangers.
Frowning, he stepped forward, shadows curling idly at his heels. The door was unlocked. Odd. He stepped inside. The House was quiet. Too quiet.
Not in the peaceful way it usually was but empty. Hollow. As if no one had passed through in days. No scent of food, no lingering traces of Cassian’s boisterous laughter or Feyre’s paint-streaked energy. Just silence.
Azriel reached for the bond. Rhysand.
No answer. He stilled.
He pressed harder, pushing through the mental link, summoning the familiar pulse of his High Lord's mind.
Rhys. Come in.
Nothing. Like throwing a stone into water that didn’t ripple.
He tried again Cassian? Mor? but each attempt came back with the same flat silence.
A cold unease began to thread through his chest. The shadows responded immediately, rising like smoke along his shoulders, alert and watchful.
Something was off.
He launched into the skies again, this time gliding silently over Velaris. It looked... untouched.
The buildings were the same. The Sidra still shimmered like liquid silver beneath him. People walked the streets below. But when he dipped lower, he saw the way they looked up.
Saw the expressions that bloomed across their faces. Not awe. Not fear. Shock.
One woman clutched her child tighter to her side, eyes wide as she watched him pass. A group of males at a café stopped mid-conversation, staring. One stood abruptly, knocking over his chair, his mouth falling open.
Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter. He landed in an alleyway behind the familiar stretch of the Rainbow, his feet hitting cobblestone with barely a sound.
He turned toward the street, and froze. A shop window reflected him.
His armor, his blades, his shadows, all exactly as they should be. But behind him, in the glass, Velaris was... different. Too bright. Too sharp. Like the color had been turned up just a little too high.
He blinked. Turned. The illusion held.
No, he thought. Not illusion. Not glamour. This is real.
The truth whispered through him like a crack in the foundation. He was home. But something was wrong with home. The streets felt narrower here.
Or maybe it was the way people kept staring, some openly, some with barely concealed glances over shoulders, as if they’d seen a ghost and didn’t want to be rude about it.
Azriel kept to the shadows. He’d just rounded the edge of the Rainbow when he heard the gasp. A sharp inhale, half-shocked, half-sucked through clenched teeth.
He turned.
She stood beneath the awning of a flower stall, a spray of wild violets clutched in one hand, her other frozen mid-reach.
Human. Or maybe half-Fae. Familiar enough to recognize the expression on her face: recognition slammed into disbelief, then sank quickly into pale, careful confusion.
She didn’t speak at first.
Azriel gave her a cautious nod, not slowing his stride.
She took a step toward him. "That’s not funny."
He stopped. "I beg your pardon?"
She stared. “Who put you up to this?”
Azriel tilted his head, shadows coiling tighter around his boots. “No one put me up to anything.”
Her hand trembled, still gripping the stems. “You shouldn’t wear his, I mean, your armor. That’s... sick. Even for Cassian.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said evenly. “Who are you?”
Her brows drew together, uncertain now, brittle. “This isn’t funny,” she said again, softer this time. “Is this some sort of cruel Solstice prank?”
“I don’t play pranks.”
“No, he didn’t either,” she whispered. “Not like this.”
Something in her eyes shifted. The anger cracked, just a hairline fracture and beneath it, something raw flickered into view. Fear. Or maybe hope.
She dropped the violets.
Azriel stepped forward instinctively, but she flinched, then shook her head, waving him off like she couldn’t bear to be helped.
“This has to be a mistake,” she muttered. “Or... or a glamour. Are you-? No. You can’t be...”
She looked up at him again, really looked, and he watched her decide something.
“You need to come with me.”
Azriel hesitated. “Why?”
She didn’t answer, just turned on her heel.
“I don’t follow strangers,” he called after her.
She paused at the corner. “You’re not following a stranger.”
She looked back. And for a moment, her expression softened not quite fond, not quite grief-stricken, but edged in something that made his stomach twist.
“You’re following a friend of hers.”
Azriel’s wings rustled. “Her?”
“She’ll know what to do with you.” A beat. “Or... what’s left of her will.”
He didn’t like the sound of that.
But the shadows, ever attuned to unspoken truths, whispered go.
So he followed.
────────────
The children were covered in paint.
It wasn’t entirely her fault. The sun was warm, the breeze soft, and after a long week of rain and restlessness, she had promised them something fun. So the easels were out, brushes flying, water cups sloshing precariously on the garden stones.
Y/N knelt beside a little girl with wild curls and green streaks on her cheeks, helping her mix blue and white into a swirl of sky.
"Like this?" the girl asked, tongue between her teeth in concentration.
"Perfect," Y/N murmured, smiling. "That looks just like a cloud before it rains."
Laughter bubbled nearby. The world, for once, felt light enough to hold.
So she didn’t notice the footsteps at first. Or the quiet tension just beyond the garden gate. Not until a shadow crossed her canvas.
She looked up.
Her friend stood there, a strange expression on her face. Breathless, like she’d been running, though the walk from town wasn’t far. And behind her, half in the sun and half in the shade, stood a male Y/N hadn’t seen in a very long time.
Everything stopped.
The paintbrush slipped from her fingers. Her breath caught on the edge of his name, but she didn’t say it. Couldn’t.
He looked the same.
The armor, the blades, the face she’d memorized long ago. The face she still saw in dreams, the one she sometimes whispered to when sleep clung too tightly. But there was something missing. No recognition in his eyes. No quiet pull between them. Just… calm. Measured wariness. And then there were these things... shadows?
He wasn’t hers.
Not really.
Her friend stepped aside, watching her carefully.
Y/N rose slowly, brushing her hands against her apron out of habit, though streaks of dried paint still clung to her palms.
Azriel’s eyes followed the motion.
She didn’t speak. Not at first. She just stared.
And he stared back.
One of the children tugged on her sleeve. “Miss Y/N? Is that the scary man you told us stories about?”
A huff of laughter slipped from her friend, almost hysterical. Y/N managed a breath.
"No, sweetheart," she said quietly. "He’s not scary at all."
Azriel tilted his head. “You know me.”
She swallowed, forcing her eyes to stay dry. “Not you, exactly.”
He looked down for a moment, then back at her, something almost apologetic in the tilt of his brow.
"I'm not supposed to be here, am I?"
She took a step closer, heart pounding, unsure what to do with it all. The sight of him. The voice. The way her body recognized him even if he didn’t recognize her.
"No," she said. "But you're here all the same."
The breeze picked up, rustling through the garden. The scent of lilac and paint and spring.
She didn’t cry. Not yet.
But the world felt suddenly too full, and too empty, all at once. "Come inside," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "We need to talk."
And he followed her, just like he used to. Even if he didn’t know why.
Y/N kept her voice steady as she called over to the other caretaker, a soft-spoken male named Tarian who’d been helping with the younger ones that day.
“Arios, would you mind staying a little longer? I need to step away for a bit.”
He glanced up from where he was braiding daisies into a toddler’s hair, his expression gentle but curious. His eyes flicked briefly to the male standing behind her, then back. He didn’t ask questions. Just nodded once.
“Of course. Take all the time you need.”
She offered a grateful smile she didn’t feel, touched a child’s shoulder in passing, and turned.
“Follow me,” she said without looking back.
Azriel obeyed in silence.
The garden gave way to the winding path toward the cottage she used for art and quiet reading. It was set apart from the others, tucked between climbing roses and silver-barked trees. Each step she took seemed more uncertain than the last, but her posture stayed rigid, collected. Just enough to keep from unraveling.
Azriel’s eyes moved over everything as they walked.
The cobblestones here weren’t the same. Laid in a different pattern, slightly darker in hue, almost as if the rain had never stopped soaking into them. The flowering vines on the archway above them curled in unfamiliar directions, lavender in color where they should have been white. And the House of Wind, though distant, didn’t quite look like itself either. The cliffs cradled it too tightly. As if the mountains had shifted just enough to close their grip.
Velaris. But wrong.
Beautiful still, but subtly off. A painting that someone had copied from memory rather than life. Familiar and foreign in the same breath.
He could feel the magic in the air too. Not buzzing. Not screaming. Just trembling softly at the edges of everything, like a note held too long on a string.
His shadows had quieted, uncertain of what to guard against.
He studied the woman in front of him. She moved like she was trying not to feel. Like her heart had shattered and she'd pressed the pieces back in place with nothing but breath and willpower. She wasn’t crying. But the tension in her shoulders said she could, at any moment.
“Are you alright?” he asked, voice low but clear.
She didn’t stop walking.
“Absolutely not,” she said.
Her voice didn’t shake. It didn’t need to. The words landed like a stone in his chest.
Azriel let the silence stretch. Not empty. Not awkward. Just necessary. He understood grief. He lived in the shadows of it.
But this was something else. This was her past colliding with his present. And whatever version of himself had once belonged to this world, it was obvious that he had belonged to her.
And now, somehow, so did the weight of his absence.
They reached the door to the cottage. She paused with her hand on the knob, inhaling slowly, the breath catching like a thread snagged on glass.
She looked at him, truly looked. Not at the armor or the blades or the shadows, but at his face. Like she was trying to find something in it. Or make peace with the fact that she wouldn't.
Then she pushed the door open, stepped inside, and let the light swallow her.
Azriel followed.
And for the first time since arriving, he felt the world shift slightly again. Not the magic. Not the timeline. Just his own heart. Something had cracked open.
And he didn’t know yet whether it was meant to be sealed again, or stepped through.
The door clicked softly shut behind them.
Inside, the air was warm with the faint scent of paint and clay and something citrus-sweet, orange peel maybe, left out in a little bowl on the windowsill. Children’s drawings lined the walls, some framed with pressed flowers, others curling at the corners from age or love.
Azriel stood just inside, uncertain of the space but unwilling to impose.
Y/N moved slowly. Not towards him, but toward the shelf where the water pitcher sat. She poured herself a glass with steady hands. Didn’t offer one. Didn’t look at him. Just needed something to do.
Azriel let the silence hold for a moment before speaking.
“I don’t think this is my world,” he said quietly.
She glanced at him, then back at her glass.
“I figured.”
He nodded, stepping forward. The wooden floor creaked faintly beneath his boots. He stopped a few paces from her, careful not to cross whatever invisible line she needed right now.
“There was a mission,” he said. “We were tracking a rogue spell-weaver. A witch who’d been bending too many old laws. I...” He exhaled slowly. “I might’ve said the wrong thing at the wrong time. I made her angry.”
Y/N set her glass down but didn’t drink from it. “And?”
“She was casting something. Ancient magic. I interrupted her. I thought I’d stopped her in time.” He gave a small shake of his head. “But something must have hit me. Something… twisted.”
She finally looked at him then, brows slightly furrowed. “You’re saying she sent you here?”
“I think so,” he said. “Not on purpose, maybe. But the spell left her hands just as I winnowed. I landed in Velaris. But not mine.”
He looked toward the window, out at the sky that wasn’t quite the right shade, at the garden path that curved too gently.
“I knew the moment I saw the stars. They’re wrong here. Familiar, but rearranged. Like someone shuffled the sky when I wasn’t looking.”
She said nothing for a long beat. Then, softly, “You’re a Shadowsinger there?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“And who… who do you work for?”
Azriel’s mouth twitched slightly. “Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. I’m his spymaster.”
Her breath caught. He could hear it, even with the distance between them. She looked down at her hands, fingers curling in against her palms.
He took a half-step closer. “I didn’t catch your name,” he said, his voice gentler now. “May I ask?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Swallowed.
Then, almost to herself, she said, “Your voice is exactly the same.”
Azriel went still.
Her eyes flicked up to his. “The way you speak. It’s like… like he’s standing here.”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t know how to.
She closed her eyes briefly, as if the air itself had become too heavy.
“My name is Y/N,” she said finally. Quiet, but clear. “I used to mean something to you. I mean, to him. In this world.”
Azriel let the weight of it settle between them.
“I believe that,” he said.
Azriel’s eyes lingered on Y/N’s face, on the way she held herself just a little too still, like one wrong move might shatter the fragile calm she’d built around her.
“If you don’t mind,” he said carefully, “could you tell me more about this place? This version of Velaris. Is Rhysand the High Lord here too?”
Something shifted in her expression. Not shock. Just quiet confusion.
“Rhysand,” she repeated, as if tasting the name for the first time. “I’ve never heard that name before.”
That struck deeper than he expected. He kept his face impassive, but inside, a slow ripple of unease moved through him. Rhysand had ruled for centuries. If no one here knew his name…
“Then who rules the Night Court?” he asked.
“Lord Tharanis,” she said. “He’s been High Lord since before I was born.”
The name meant nothing to him. Not even a whisper of familiarity. Another piece of the puzzle that proved it beyond doubt, this world wasn’t just a copy. It was a divergence. A different thread entirely.
Y/N must have seen something in his face, because she stepped away from the table and crossed to one of the nearby shelves, tracing her fingers over the spines of a row of books without reading any of them.
“There’s a witch who lives near the cliffs on the eastern side of the city,” she said. “She studies old magic. Real old. Quiet about it, but good. We could ask her to help. Maybe she’ll know how to get you back.”
Azriel caught the way she said it. We. But the tone didn’t hold warmth. It was kindness, not invitation. She wanted him to leave.
He watched her closely now, the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her hand paused over a small ceramic sculpture on the shelf but didn’t pick it up. She didn’t want to look at him again.
He took a step closer, his voice soft. “Are you afraid of what might happen if I stay?”
Her gaze stayed fixed on the shelf. “No.”
“Then what is it?”
Silence.
Then she turned, slowly. Her eyes met his, clear and unwavering.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said. “But you’re not supposed to be here. And… part of me keeps waiting for him to walk in.” She didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. “And he won’t.”
Azriel didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.
Her voice was steady now. Empty of drama, full of weight.
“My Azriel died,” she said. “Years ago. Not in battle. Not in glory. Just a quiet thing. Magic sickness. He didn’t even tell me until it was too far gone. He thought he could protect me from it.”
Her breath shivered at the edges.
“And he’s been gone long enough that I stopped dreaming of him. Until today.”
Azriel exhaled, low and slow. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Y/N gave the smallest nod, then sat down on the edge of a low bench, hands resting on her knees.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” she admitted. “You’re not him. But every time I look at you, my chest forgets that.”
Azriel lowered himself into the chair across from her. No armor between them now, no title. Just two people caught in something too large to name.
“I’ll help you find a way home,” she said again, quieter this time.
But Azriel wasn’t sure if she meant it for his sake, or hers. Maybe both. And maybe neither of them knew what it would cost when the way opened.
────────────
The room was small but clean. Simple linens on the bed, a chipped blue vase on the windowsill with a few sprigs of dried lavender tucked inside. The shutters creaked faintly in the wind as Azriel stood at the window, arms folded, staring out at the river.
The Sidra glittered under the early evening light, silver and shadowed, the current moving slow as syrup. In his Velaris, it danced faster. The curve of it was a touch different too, this one bent around a cluster of buildings that shouldn't exist. The skyline was off by inches, by centuries. He couldn’t stop cataloging it.
His shadows whispered around him, brushing the walls, curling through the corners of the room like restless thoughts. They brought him details he hadn’t asked for. The smell of something baking three floors below. The hushed footsteps of a couple arguing in the hallway. The flick of a candle being snuffed out in a room across the street. And whispers — always whispers — carrying scraps of names, old magic, things his mind could barely catch before they slipped away.
But he couldn’t focus.
He watched the light shift on the water, caught between the golden pull of sunset and the first hints of stars above. Stars that didn’t belong to him.
How many versions of Velaris were out there? How many Azriels? In this one, he had lived. Loved. And died.
He turned away from the window, ran a hand through his hair, let his fingers drag over his jaw.
He’d seen grief in Y/N’s eyes, coiled tight under her calm. But what haunted him more was the way she looked at him, like her heart didn’t know how to tell the difference yet.
He wanted to ask her. Everything. What he had been like. What he’d done. What they’d been.
But some part of him worried that asking would crack her open, and he wasn’t sure she’d ever put herself back together again.
Still, the questions clawed at him.
He needed to know. If not from her, then from someone who hadn’t loved that version of him with their whole chest.
His mind returned to the woman from earlier, the friend who’d brought him to Y/N in the first place. Sharp-eyed. Suspicious. Protective. She knew more than she’d said.
And if he and Y/N were going to visit the witch tomorrow afternoon, then this was his only chance to find answers before everything shifted again.
Azriel strapped his knives back onto his belt, out of habit more than necessity, and cast one last glance toward the Sidra.
The sky was deepening, thick with color. A world of strangers, and one familiar soul. He slipped into the shadows. And went looking for the truth.
Azriel found her near the edge of the old market, tucked behind a row of shuttered stalls. She stood alone by a railing that overlooked the Sidra, arms crossed tightly as she watched the river move in silence. The lanterns from the lower paths cast flickers of gold against her dark coat.
He didn’t try to be stealthy. He wanted her to see him coming.
She did.
“You’re not exactly subtle,” she muttered, her gaze flicking to his armor, his shadows, the stillness in the way he moved.
“I wasn’t trying to be,” Azriel said, stopping a few steps away.
She exhaled, jaw set. “If you’re looking for Y/N, she’s not here.”
“I came to talk to you.”
She hesitated. “Why?”
“Because I need to understand what this place is. What he was.”
The muscles in her arms tightened where they crossed. “You don’t get to dig through his life like it’s a map back to yours. He wasn’t a version of you. He was someone… And that someone was married to her.”
The moment the word left her mouth, her expression shifted, a slight widening of her eyes, as if she’d only just realized what she’d said.
Azriel’s voice was quiet. “Married?”
She flinched but didn’t deny it. Didn’t backtrack.
“Yes,” she said. “Since they were hundred-twenty-four.”
His breath caught. The word sat in his chest like a stone, unfamiliar and too big to ignore.
She watched him carefully. Noticing, perhaps for the first time, the way he didn’t quite stand like the Azriel she knew. How he held tension in his body like it was armor. How the shadows around him didn’t just cling — they listened.
“You really don’t know anything about this world, do you?” she said, softer now.
“No,” Azriel admitted.
And then, slowly, like the weight of his surprise had unlocked something in her, she began to speak.
“They grew up together. Their fathers were old friends, your father was a smith, hers a spice merchant. They were just… always around each other. Always in each other’s orbit. You used to tease her for stealing fruit off your plate. She used to braid flowers into your hair when you fell asleep in the fields behind her house.”
Azriel listened in silence, the image unfolding before him like a story written in a hand he almost recognized.
“He became a soldier,” she said. “Not a Shadowsinger, he didn't have those shadows. Just a fighter. Loyal. Brave. A little reckless, when it came to her.”
Azriel’s hands were still at his sides, but his knuckles had gone pale.
“He loved her,” she went on. “More than anything. He was quieter than most of the other males we grew up with. Thoughtful. Steady. But gods, when he looked at her…”
She trailed off, blinking fast.
Azriel said nothing. There was something raw sitting in his throat, but he didn’t know what name to give it.
“They were married under the spring cherry trees,” she added after a moment. “I stood beside her. I watched him shake when he kissed her.”
He closed his eyes briefly. The breeze off the Sidra caught the edge of his coat, pulling it slightly. His shadows stayed close, hushed, as if mourning someone they’d never met.
“He died nine years ago,” the friend said finally. “It wasn’t his fault. But it didn’t matter. She hasn’t been the same since.”
Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “And now I’m here.”
She looked at him again, really looked, and for the first time, her eyes softened. “You’re not him,” she said. “But you’re not nothing either.”
Silence stretched between them, and Azriel breathed through the ache of it.
“I don’t want to hurt her,” he said.
“I know,” she answered.
And they stood together at the edge of a world where two lives had almost, impossibly, collided.
Y/N shut the door behind her, turned the lock with trembling fingers, and let her back fall against the wood.
For a long time, she didn’t move.
Velaris was quiet beyond the window, the kind of stillness that always came after the children's laughter faded and the lanterns blinked to life across the Sidra. But the city felt foreign now. Tilted somehow. Too sharp in its familiarity. Like someone had redrawn the lines of everything she'd learned to live with.
She pressed a hand to her cheek and felt the tears that had dried there. She hadn't even noticed when they'd fallen.
Slowly, her feet carried her into the room that used to be theirs.
The walls were warm with the same soft blue he used to say reminded him of summer skies. Her fingers brushed the edge of the dresser, skimming over the old glass bottles and the cluster of pressed flowers still sealed in a frame.
She reached for the drawer beneath the bed. It groaned softly in protest. And there it was. The painting.
A small canvas, edges frayed from being held too many times. A portrait, clumsy, rough-edged, painted on a spring afternoon years ago when the breeze kept stealing her brush and he wouldn’t stop laughing. She’d made him sit still for it, half-scowling, half-grinning. His hand was on hers in the picture, even though she’d never meant to paint that part.
She cradled it in both hands now, sinking slowly to the floor, her back against the side of the bed. Her forehead pressed to the edge of the frame.
He looked so young in it. And now he was standing in her world again. Breathing again. Looking at her with the same eyes but none of the memory.
She had told herself she was fine. That she could handle this. That helping him find his way home was the right thing to do.
But the truth hit her like a blow to the ribs. He wasn’t her Azriel. Her Azriel was gone.
Gone in a way that left the world quieter. In a way that had hollowed out parts of her she’d never been able to refill. And now this new one, this stranger who wore his face and spoke with his voice, had stepped into her life like the echo of a dream she’d spent years trying to forget.
It was too much.
Her hand curled around the bottom of the frame, and her breath hitched.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I don’t know how to breathe around you.”
A shadow slipped through the crack beneath the door.
She didn’t see it. Didn’t feel the gentle shift in air as it moved, curious, cautious. It hovered in the corner of the room, keeping its distance like it understood grief by instinct alone.
She pressed her face into her knees, shoulders shaking.
“I miss you,” she whispered. “I miss you every day.”
The shadow watched, then slipped back through the wood and stone, weaving between alleys and eaves, past flower boxes and lit windows, all the way across Velaris.
It found him at the inn, standing at the window again, still staring at the stars that didn’t belong to him. And when it reached him, it didn’t speak. It didn’t have to.
He felt the truth curl against his ribs as the shadow touched his shoulder, cold with the ache of her.
She was crying.
And somehow, the sound of it broke something open in him too.
────────────
The sun was warm where it filtered through the trees, casting soft shadows across the cobblestone walk. Azriel stood near the gate of the care station, wings tucked in, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he waited.
He didn’t have to turn when he felt her approach. The shadows told him before her footsteps ever reached the stone.
Y/N’s pace was steady, but her shoulders were a little higher than usual, her chin set with quiet resolve. Her eyes met his as she stopped beside him, and for a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.
Then Azriel offered a soft, “How are you doing today?”
She looked at him for a long moment, then gave a small, honest smile. “Coping,” she said. “But… it’s hard. Seeing you like this. Every time I look at you, my heart forgets, for just a second, and then it remembers all over again.”
Azriel nodded, gently. “That makes sense. I'm sorry you have to go through this all."
She glanced at him sideways, searching. “And you? How are you doing in a world that doesn’t quite know you?”
His mouth lifted slightly. “Figuring it out as I go. Trying not to get too attached to the wrong sky.”
That surprised a breath of laughter out of her, small, but real.
“I thought maybe,” he said, “you’d feel better if I distracted you a little.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” she admitted, her voice softer now.
They fell into step, walking side by side down the shaded street that led toward the edge of the city.
“You mentioned a High Lady,” she prompted after a pause. “You really have one in your world?”
Azriel nodded. “Feyre. She’s my High Lady, and Rhysand’s mate.”
Y/N blinked, eyes wide. “You have a mated High Lady?”
“We do,” he said. “And she earned it. She was mortal once. Human. Fought through war and death to save our kind. Rhysand gave her the title because she earned her place beside him. Not behind. Not beneath. Beside.”
Y/N shook her head slowly, clearly captivated. “I’ve never even heard of a female high ruler. In our court, the males still hold the bloodlines. Always have.”
“Feyre shattered that,” Azriel said with quiet pride. “And she didn’t do it alone. Mor helped guide her. Amren too. Powerful females, each in their own way.”
Y/N’s brows lifted. “You’re surrounded by strong women.”
He gave a faint, rueful smile. “That’s an understatement.”
The wind stirred as they turned onto a narrower path lined with stone lanterns.
“I think I would’ve liked your Feyre,” she said after a moment.
“She would’ve liked you too,” he said. “She sees people. The quiet strength in them. The ache they carry. She would’ve seen yours right away.”
Y/N looked at him then, really looked, and for a brief moment, the weight behind her eyes eased.
Ahead, the path curved upward toward the rise of a mossy hill. At the top stood a narrow building nestled in wisteria vines, its windows darkened with age, a carved raven perched over the lintel.
“She’s in there?” Y/N asked.
Azriel nodded. “I can feel the wards already.”
They stopped at the base of the hill.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Are you?”
She took a breath that trembled slightly. Then nodded.
And together, they climbed toward the witch who might hold the answers, and the thread that would lead him home, or unravel everything they’d just begun to hold.
The climb slowed as they reached the top of the hill. The weight of the city seemed to fall away behind them, replaced by the heavy scent of moss and wildflowers. The air was cooler here, still enough that the faint rustle of leaves sounded like a secret waiting to be shared.
Azriel glanced at Y/N. She stood a few steps ahead, shoulders squared but tension visible in the tight set of her jaw, the way her fingers curled lightly at her sides.
He shifted, shadows flickering softly around his ankles, a quiet reminder of the darkness he carried and the light she tried to protect.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly.
She looked back, surprise flickering in her eyes, but her voice was steady. “I don’t know any other way forward.”
He nodded, stepping closer, feeling the subtle tremor in her breath. “Whatever happens in there, I want you to know...”
She cut him off with a small, sad smile. “You already know. It’s not the witch I’m afraid of. It’s what comes after.”
Azriel’s fingers itched to reach for hers, but he held back. “Then we face it together.”
She swallowed, eyes drifting to the carved raven above the door. “I’m not sure if I’m brave enough.”
“You’re braver than you think,” he said, voice low enough that only she could hear.
They stood side by side, the silence stretching between them like a fragile thread. Azriel’s shadows curled protectively, sensing her fear, her hope, and the impossible bond that held them here, tangled between loss and the chance at something new.
Y/N took a shaky breath, and without another word, she lifted her hand and knocked.
The door creaked open slowly, revealing a dim interior that smelled of damp stone, dried herbs, and something older, the scent of magic that had been rooted there long before Velaris rose around it.
The witch was already waiting.
She stood at the center of the room, pale hair swept into a thick braid, her eyes the color of moonstone. Everything about her felt quiet and vast, like a pond with no surface ripple — but Azriel felt the power gathered beneath her skin like coiled smoke.
“You’re not from here,” she said before they even stepped inside.
Azriel inclined his head. “No.”
She gestured them in, and the door shut behind them with a breathless hush. Y/N hovered just behind him, silent, wary.
“Explain,” the witch said, voice like frost curling up a windowpane.
Azriel took his time. He told her about the mission. The witch he’d cornered. The way she screamed in an old tongue as she’d vanished into shadow. The spell that had struck as he was winnowing away. And the moment he landed in Velaris only to find that the stars were wrong and nothing quite fit.
The witch listened without interrupting. When he finished, she moved to the shelves lining the curved wall, fingers gliding over jars and scrolls like she already knew what she’d find.
“That’s weaving magic,” she murmured. “Time-threading. Ancient. Nearly extinct.”
Azriel’s brow furrowed. “You recognize it?”
“Barely,” she replied. “It’s old enough that even most witches have only read about it in theory. Which means the one you angered was exceptionally trained… or dangerous beyond sense. Or both.”
Y/N swallowed, watching the way the witch’s shoulders tightened.
“So what does that mean?” she asked quietly. “Is there a way to undo it?”
The witch turned, scroll in hand. “Maybe. But not quickly. This kind of casting unravels space around it, rips a hole through layered time. You’re not just misplaced, Shadowsinger. You’re displaced. And you’ve dragged the thread of your world with you.”
Azriel stilled. “What are you saying?”
The witch looked at him like a storm just waiting to form. “The Cauldron can only bear so much. When a being slips through timelines like this, especially one bound to another world, another rhythm, the strain begins to tear at the core of everything. Realms blur. Boundaries weaken. If you stay much longer, the damage could become… irreversible.”
Y/N’s breath left her in a slow, unsteady exhale.
The witch's voice dropped lower. “One wrong soul in the wrong timeline is a ripple that doesn’t end. Eventually, the Cauldron cracks. And if that happens, it won’t be just you or this world that falls. The entire weave could collapse, all timelines, all lives. Every version of you. Every version of you and her.”
She didn’t have to gesture toward Y/N for the words to land like a blade.
Azriel’s voice was quiet. “Can you fix it?”
The witch hesitated. “I can try. I’ll need time. And help. I’ll reach out to every coven that still remembers the old languages. But we’re not talking about days. You have to be ready when the moment comes, and it will come suddenly. We may only get one chance.”
Azriel nodded once. “Understood.”
The witch gave him a long, unreadable look. Then turned her gaze to Y/N.
“I don’t need to ask how much it hurts to see him,” she said. “But I do need you to understand that if you keep trying to hold him here, even with your heart, the cost might not stop with you.”
The silence that followed was heavy. The kind that broke bones.
Y/N didn’t speak as they left the witch’s house. Not at first.
But when they reached the edge of the hill, with Velaris spread beneath them like a world pretending to be whole, she finally whispered, “You really do have to go.”
And Azriel, who had watched the edges of her tremble and steel themselves with quiet dignity, didn’t argue.
He simply said, “I know.”
The sun had shifted lower by the time they made their way down the hill, painting Velaris in a watercolor haze of lilac and pale gold. The path was narrow, flanked by wild heather and whispering grass, the city glittering below like a dream waiting to be remembered.
Y/N walked beside him in silence, gaze flicking to the horizon, her jaw tight with thought.
Azriel didn’t speak. He could feel the tension in her steps, the storm moving behind her quiet eyes. It was a familiar silence, but not a comfortable one. This wasn’t the silence they’d shared in the witch’s house, filled with fear and consequence. This one was quieter. Raw. Human.
“I know it’s dangerous,” she said suddenly, voice low, like she wasn’t quite ready to admit it out loud. “I know you shouldn’t be here. I understand what’s at stake, what could break because of this.”
He glanced at her, but she kept her eyes forward.
“And still,” she breathed, “some part of me was hoping you could stay. Just a little while longer.”
Azriel’s heart thudded against his ribs. He said nothing, waiting.
Y/N shook her head, her voice thinning with guilt. “It’s selfish. I didn’t even think about… Oh gods...” she stopped walking and turned to him, wide-eyed. “Is someone waiting for you back home?”
Azriel blinked. Then slowly, gently, he said, “No. No one like that.”
She looked away, swallowing hard, but not before he saw the flicker of relief that passed through her features. Relief and shame.
“My family,” he added, softer, “my court. They’ll be worried. But they can wait a bit longer… if staying here means I might help you heal.”
Y/N’s lips parted, but the words didn’t come. Her throat bobbed with the effort to speak.
“I won’t force anything,” Azriel went on. “While we wait for the witch to find a way back, it’s your choice. If you want me to stay away, I will. If it’s easier to forget I’m here, I’ll disappear into the city and you won’t see me again until it’s time.”
She looked at him now. Fully. The grief in her eyes shimmered, but so did something else. Something fragile and reaching.
“But,” he said, the barest trace of a smile curling at the edge of his mouth, “if you think maybe… maybe we could spend some time together, even just as strangers, I’d like that too.”
Y/N stared at him, and then, slowly, her lips curved into a faint, wistful smile.
“There were things,” she whispered, “my Azriel never had time for. Little things. I always told him we had forever.”
Azriel took a breath, feeling the tightness in his chest ease.
“Then let me do them with you,” he said. “I have time.”
The city glowed warmer below them now, the river catching the last light of day.
Y/N nodded once, more to herself than him. “He never got to learn how to paint. Or dance without armor on. Or ruin a cake recipe just because he always wanted to.”
Azriel chuckled, a low, quiet sound that made her eyes brighten.
“I’m excellent at ruining recipes,” he said. “That one I’ve already mastered.”
Y/N laughed — and it cracked something open.
They kept walking.
This time, they walked slower.
────────────
The next day dawned pale and bright, the kind of morning that smelled like clean air and promise. Velaris stirred gently to life as Azriel made his way to the care station, a small satchel slung over one shoulder, shadows curling lazily along his collar like drowsy cats.
The children spotted him first.
Cries of delight broke out across the garden as a handful of small figures dashed toward the fence, little hands waving, eyes wide. Y/N stood under the canvas awning that shaded the painting tables, her apron already dotted with a dozen different colors. She looked up, and despite everything — the pain, the weight of yesterday — her smile came easily.
“You came,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
“I said I would,” Azriel replied, glancing around. “Besides, I’m here to ruin your art supplies.”
“You’re about to be in a lot of trouble,” she warned playfully, already handing him a paintbrush.
The table was covered in bright pots of color, paper curling in the corners from the morning breeze, little hands dipping brushes into everything at once. Azriel found himself seated between two wide-eyed children, both whispering about how tall he was.
“Are you a warrior?” one of them asked.
“Sometimes,” he said, lips twitching.
“He’s going to paint with us today,” Y/N said from across the table. “Be nice.”
Azriel dipped his brush into something bright pink and started dragging uneven strokes across his page. Purposefully clumsy, exaggeratedly bad. The kids giggled with delight as his “painting” became a lopsided blob with what might’ve been wings.
“This is terrible,” Y/N said, leaning over his shoulder.
“I warned you.”
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
He didn’t reply.
Her voice lowered. “You’re better than this, aren’t you?”
He looked up, surprised to find her gaze already waiting for him. Calm. Patient. A little amused.
Azriel sighed. “A little.”
“Then paint something real.”
He blinked. “Real?”
“Something that reminds you of home.”
The children were still lost in their own work, but Y/N had settled across from him now, eyes steady, hands stained blue at the knuckles.
Azriel picked up a clean sheet, silent for a long moment. Then he began.
His brush moved slowly, deliberately this time. Thin strokes forming shadows first, not harsh, not frightening, but soft, layered darkness like the kind that gathered under quiet trees. Then came the mountains, sharp and proud, painted in indigo and deep green, rising in the distance.
A sky filled in next. Not just blue, but dotted with constellations, each one placed with careful reverence.
At the center, a single stone balcony, draped in ivy and overlooking a silver river. There were no people. Only light. Stillness.
Y/N didn’t say a word while he worked. She watched, hands folded in her lap.
When he was done, Azriel set the brush down and sat back.
“That’s the House of Wind,” she said quietly.
He nodded once. “It’s where I feel most like myself.”
She looked at the painting for a long time. “It’s beautiful.”
His voice was soft. “Thank you.”
There was a quiet between them, warm and full, not the silence of absence, but of something being gently built. In the background, a child was explaining to another that Azriel’s first painting was definitely a dragon.
Y/N smiled. “Tomorrow, you’re baking.”
Azriel raised a brow. “I’m what?”
“Ruining a recipe,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Like you promised.”
He chuckled, a low sound that stirred something in her chest.
“All right,” he murmured. “But only if you help me clean up the disaster.”
Y/N leaned her chin on her hand, watching him.
“Deal.”
Azriel wiped his hands on the edge of his tunic, smirking faintly at the streaks of paint across his skin. Most of it was probably from the children, but some, he admitted, was definitely from him.
“Should I help clean this up?” he asked, glancing at the mess of paper, drying brushes, and tipped-over jars of color.
Y/N had already started stacking the unused paper. She looked up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“No, you don’t have to. You’re a guest.”
“I insist,” he said simply.
She hesitated, then laughed under her breath. “You’re very stubborn, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
With a small shake of her head, she handed him a cloth. “Fine. Wipe the brushes gently. We try to save them as long as possible.”
Azriel took the cloth, his hands deft and steady as he followed her instructions. They moved quietly beside each other, the easy rhythm of shared work wrapping around them. For a while, it felt almost ordinary. Light spilling in through the awning, soft laughter still trailing across the yard.
Then, suddenly-
“Miss Y/N!”
A small voice broke across the space.
One of the children, a little boy with untied boots and paint on his chin, came barreling up to them. His eyes were wide, worried.
“It’s Lyla,” he panted. “She fell. Her knee’s bleeding. She’s behind the swings.”
Y/N’s face changed instantly — concern replacing ease. She set down the brushes and knelt to the boy’s level, brushing his curls back gently.
“Is she crying?”
He nodded. “A little.”
“Good job coming to get me,” she said, squeezing his shoulder before rising and heading off across the garden.
Azriel watched her go. The way she crouched beside the small, crumpled shape near the swings, her hands soft as she checked the child’s knee, her voice low and steady. The boy hovered near them the whole time, guilt in every line of his little frame. She pulled him close too, one arm wrapping around each sibling as she whispered something only they could hear.
Azriel didn’t know what it was, but both children clung to her like roots to soil.
He didn’t look away.
Not when she kissed the girl’s forehead. Not when she helped them both stand. Not when she walked back across the grass with her braid loose and her cheeks a little flushed from the sun.
“She’ll be all right,” Y/N said as she reached him again. “Nothing serious. A scrape and a fright.”
“You’re good with them.”
She gave him a small smile. “They’re easy to love.”
Azriel’s mouth twitched. “So are you.”
She froze just slightly. He looked away, but the words lingered between them, soft and unthreatening. Like a truth neither of them needed to acknowledge yet.
“I should let you go,” she said gently. “You’ve spent enough of your day here.”
Azriel’s brows lifted. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”
Y/N tilted her head. “You really don’t?”
He shook his head once. “Not until the witches find a way home. And even then…” He looked around at the garden, the half-dry paintings, the swing swaying slightly in the breeze. “I don’t mind being here. Not at all.”
Something in her chest eased. Not everything. But something.
“I could tell them a story,” Azriel said then. “If they’re tired. Something from my world. I could… make it sound like a fairy tale.”
Y/N studied him for a long moment. “You know any stories with dragons and starlight?”
He gave her a rare, small smile. “I know one with a High Lady who turned a battlefield into a blooming field of moonflowers.”
The surprise in her eyes turned to delight. “Go on, then. They’ll love that.”
Azriel turned toward the group of children now gathering under the big tree near the edge of the garden. The sun had shifted again, dappling light through the leaves, and as he sat down in the grass, a dozen eager faces leaned closer.
He looked back once, just briefly.
Y/N stood nearby, arms crossed loosely, watching him.
For the first time in a long time, in either world, Azriel let himself settle.
────────────
The wind howled low through the canyons of Velaris, carrying with it something strange, a pulse beneath the air, as if the city had drawn breath and forgotten how to exhale.
In a dim, windowless chamber beneath her ivy-covered cottage, the witch worked.
Scrolls lined every surface. Spellbooks lay open to pages so brittle they nearly crumbled beneath her hands. Runes flickered along the floor in fading gold, ancient symbols drawn in circles of salt and powdered quartz. Candles burned with sickly blue flames, their wax dripping sideways, as if gravity itself was beginning to tilt.
Her fingertips trembled. She had felt it again. The Cauldron.
Not in a dream, not in a vision, but in her own bones, a thunderous crack of power, distant but real. Like a ripple through the ocean of time itself. One timeline brushing too close to another, dragging its weight behind it.
She dropped the crystal she had been scrying with. It shattered.
“Damn it,” she hissed, rising to pace the circle.
Magic swirled in the corners of the room, uneasy. The Cauldron did not like to be tampered with. It hated interference, especially from mortals who meddled with the delicate weave of fates not meant to cross.
And yet… someone had done just that.
A witch. Skilled enough to rip one Azriel from his thread and toss him into the wrong tapestry.
And now, the Cauldron was fraying. Not yet breaking. But it would. Soon.
She raised her hands again, whispering the tracing spell. The map of timelines floated before her, glowing strings dancing in the air. One line flickered, silver and pulsing. Azriel’s.
It crossed where it should not.
“I need more time,” she murmured, eyes scanning a dozen different volumes, trying to remember where she had last seen the binding rite. “Just a little more…”
Outside, the wind shifted again, dry and sharp with something like heat. Magic was unraveling. And if she couldn’t fix it… The worlds would bleed.
In the meantime, Velaris held its breath in quieter ways.
The sun filtered through clouds like gold poured from a pitcher, softening the sharp edges of the city. Along the Sidra, the river murmured to itself, weaving through stone bridges and glass-lit walkways as if it had never heard of timelines or cracking Cauldrons.
At a quiet corner café by the water’s edge, Y/N sat across from Azriel, a half-eaten slice of honeyed pear tart on the plate between them.
Azriel had no idea how she’d convinced him to try it, only that the moment she wrinkled her nose and said, “You’ve never had this before?” he’d already agreed. Her smile had done most of the work.
Now, he sipped warm tea from a delicate mug far too small for his hands, letting the sweetness linger on his tongue. The sun caught in his hair, in the curve of her cheek as she laughed at something he didn’t know he’d said quite that funny.
He didn’t think about the witch’s warning. Or the ripple he felt in his shadows earlier that morning. Not right now.
“You’re staring,” Y/N said, her voice light but not teasing.
Azriel blinked, caught. “Just listening,” he said softly, and her expression flickered with something warmer than the sun.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly shy. “To what?”
“The river. Your laugh. Everything.”
That earned a softer smile. Not the kind she gave the children or her friend or even the strangers in the market. This one was quieter. More uncertain. Like she didn’t quite know where to put it.
Their plates sat between them, a shared little mess of tart crust and berry stains.
Azriel leaned back slightly, watching the boats drift past on the Sidra, their sails bright against the water. His wings were folded, his shadows quiet.
“How do you do it?” he asked after a pause.
“Do what?”
“Live like this. After everything.”
Y/N stirred her tea, eyes on the rippling water. “Some days I don’t. Not fully. But then… the sun still rises. The children still laugh. And someone has to be there to hear it.”
Azriel looked at her for a long time. Then, with a faint smile, he said, “I’m glad it’s you.”
Her gaze met his, steady and unsure at once. “And I’m glad you’re here.”
Azriel set his mug down, fingers brushing the rim once before he leaned forward slightly, voice soft in the lull between river sounds and city life.
“You know, back home,” he said, “Feyre, the High Lady, she painted stars on the ceiling of her house. Said they reminded her of hope. I never really understood that until I saw them in the dark once. Alone.”
Y/N smiled faintly, resting her chin in one hand. “And do they remind you of hope?”
Azriel’s gaze lifted to the river, to the way the light danced like silver thread along the surface. “They did,” he said. “Still do.”
But her eyes weren’t on the river.
They had fallen to his hands, gloved as always, even in the warm air. The fabric was worn, the seams faintly frayed at the knuckles. But where the glove slipped back from his wrist, she could just make out the beginning of raised skin. Scars. Twisting like old fire, etched deep and permanent.
Her Azriel didn’t have those scars.
She wondered how far they went. Up to his knuckles? His fingers? Were they from a battle? A punishment? A childhood that had taken more than it ever gave?
She didn’t ask. It wasn’t hers to know, not yet. And maybe not ever.
But something in her chest ached anyway, because she could feel how heavy it must be. Whatever weight those gloves hid, it pressed into the silence between them like an old bruise.
Azriel had noticed her glance. He always noticed.
But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift to hide. He only lifted the cup again, held it steady between those gloved hands.
Y/N looked up quickly, catching his gaze.
“I won’t ask,” she said, the words barely above a whisper. “But… I see you.”
Azriel stilled.
And then, with a quiet breath, like the softest exhale of his shadows, he nodded. “Thank you.”
They didn’t speak again for a while. Not because there was nothing to say, but because something deeper was already being understood.
Y/N sat with her legs tucked beneath her on the bench seat, a smile playing at her lips as she watched a little boy toddle past with a string tied to a stick, his makeshift dragon clattering behind him across the cobblestones.
“He reminds me of my brother,” she said suddenly, gaze drifting.
Azriel looked over from where he was peeling apart a croissant. “You have a brother?”
“I do,” she said, still smiling, though there was a soft melancholy to it. “He's in another court now. Duty called him. But before that, he was a terror. In the best way.”
She turned toward him, chin resting on her hand. “We used to sneak honey cakes from the summer festivals. Hide them in the garden under the old peach tree and pretend we were squirrels storing food for winter. Of course, we’d eat them all by sunset. I always had the crumbs on my face, and he never took the blame. Not once.”
Azriel chuckled quietly. “Did you get caught?”
“Every time. My father pretended not to know, but he’d bring out extra sweets at dinner. Said something about growing appetites.” She paused, her eyes twinkling. “That peach tree is still there. Overgrown and wild, but every year, it blooms just the same.”
Azriel watched her as she spoke — the way her hands moved, how the sunlight caught in her hair, how her voice lightened as the story unfolded. There was something brighter in her now. A part of her that had been submerged in grief when he first arrived, now slowly surfacing.
She didn’t look fragile anymore. She looked real. Whole, in a new way.
He smiled, quiet and genuine. “You loved him.”
“With everything,” she said. Then, after a breath, “Like I loved him.”
Azriel’s expression shifted, softening even more. “You’ve been smiling more,” he said.
Y/N glanced at him, caught off guard. “I have?”
He nodded, his shadows curling lazily along the floor beneath the table. “You laugh more too. The children said so yesterday.”
She leaned back, exhaling slowly. “I didn’t think I would, again. Not like this.”
Azriel didn’t say anything, but his gaze stayed steady on her.
She looked down at the tea in her hands, fingers tracing the rim of the cup. “It’s strange, isn’t it? That you could come here by accident and still... somehow bring light back with you.”
Azriel swallowed, the words landing like a weight and a gift all at once. “Maybe it wasn’t an accident.”
Y/N looked up at him and for a moment, the world around them slowed. The rustle of leaves. The breeze off the water. The soft laughter of someone nearby. It all hushed.
“Maybe not,” she whispered.
They sat in that quiet together, the sun warming their skin, and the scent of fresh bread and citrus between them.
And though neither of them said it aloud, they both knew, something was shifting. Not just timelines. But hearts, too.
The moment the breeze shifted, Y/N knew. It was as if the day exhaled, soft and cool, suddenly too still. The scent of citrus faded, replaced by something ancient and electric, like a storm not yet seen but already felt in the bones.
Azriel noticed it too. His shadows straightened, alert. Then, without warning, she was there.
The witch stepped out of the air beside their table, her robes dark and shimmering faintly with threads of starlight. Her face was as calm as the Sidra behind them, but her presence brought with it something colder. Final.
Y/N’s heart clenched.
She stood quickly, nearly knocking her tea. “It’s time, isn’t it?”
The witch nodded once. “Yes. I’ve found a way.”
Azriel rose more slowly, his jaw tightening as he faced her. “You’re sure it will work?”
The witch’s eyes glinted, old magic whispering in her voice. “As sure as I can be. But there’s no room for delay. The threads of your presence here have begun to fray the structure of this realm. I can feel the Cauldron straining, one more crack, and it won’t be this world that breaks.”
Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat.
It was happening.
It had always been coming, but hearing it aloud, seeing the truth in the witch’s steady gaze, it tore the air from her lungs.
Azriel said nothing for a long moment. Then he looked at Y/N.
He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t need to. The look in his eyes was enough. She tried to hold herself steady. Tried to breathe. But the witch’s words echoed inside her.
It’s time.
He was leaving.
Azriel turned back to the witch, voice rough but steady. “How long do we have?”
The witch considered. “A few hours. Sunset.”
Sunset.
That left so little, and somehow, far too much.
Y/N forced herself to nod. Her fingers trembled slightly at her sides, but her voice was level. “Where do we need to go?”
“I’ll find you again,” the witch said. “I just needed to give you warning. You’ll know when.”
She stepped back into the wind, and with a rustle of her robes and a flicker of violet magic, she was gone.
Silence fell again over the café.
The world kept moving. People still passed by, unaware that anything had changed. But for Azriel and Y/N, the day had shifted on its axis.
The end had a shape now. And it was coming fast.
The sun had begun its slow descent, casting the Sidra in liquid gold. The river flowed gently beside them, quiet and endless, its surface glittering like stardust.
Y/N walked beside Azriel in silence, her fingers brushing occasionally against the edge of his cloak. The breeze tugged at her hair, and for a while, all they did was walk, as if they could outpace time itself, if they didn’t speak, if they just kept moving.
But Azriel felt it in her. The way her shoulders curled inward just slightly. The soft tension in her breath. Her sadness folded itself neatly around her like a second skin.
And he felt it in himself, too. That ache.
Not the sharp pain of battle wounds or the burn of shadows in his blood, but something quieter, heavier. A kind of loss that hadn’t happened yet but had already taken root.
He glanced at her, then away. “You’ve helped me more than I ever expected.”
She looked up at him, lips parted as if to protest, but he kept going, voice low. “I came here thinking I’d just disrupted something. That I’d landed somewhere I didn’t belong. And I did. But it’s not just that.”
The shadows at his back stirred gently, like they, too, were listening.
“You’ve reminded me what gentleness looks like,” he said, his voice a near whisper. “You reminded me that healing isn’t just survival. It’s... softness. It’s letting yourself laugh again.”
Y/N’s eyes shimmered, but she kept walking.
Azriel stopped. She did too, a step later, turning toward him slowly.
“If there was a way,” he said, voice barely above the hush of the river, “I’d take you with me.”
The words hung between them, fragile and impossible.
His gaze dropped, and he exhaled softly. “But I know it wouldn’t work. It’s not that kind of magic. It’s not that kind of story.”
Y/N smiled. Not because she was happy, but because she wanted to give him something kind. Her eyes, though, they told the truth. They ached. They mourned.
Still, she stepped in close. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.
Her arms came around him, quiet and certain, and she pressed her cheek to his chest. Her hands flattened against his back, holding him there, like maybe she could memorize the feel of him before he was gone.
She inhaled, deeply, taking in his scent, the leather and pine, the faint trace of wind and steel and something only he carried.
Azriel hesitated only a moment before his arms wrapped around her too. Firm, steady, as if he could hold this second in place forever.
Neither of them spoke.
The Sidra flowed beside them, patient and unknowing. The sun dipped lower. And the minutes they had left slipped quietly by, wrapped in silence and warmth and the weight of everything that would never be said.
The witch emerged from the dusk, her presence silent but heavy with ancient power. Her eyes, gleaming with stars and secrets, settled on them both. There was no urgency in her voice, only a steady certainty as she said, “It is time. You must return.”
Azriel’s gaze shifted slowly to Y/N, searching her face as though trying to etch every curve, every unspoken word into memory. The shadows curled protectively around him, but the strength in his eyes softened with something almost like sorrow.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his fingers trembling just slightly as they traced the gentle line of her cheek. The skin was warm beneath his touch, grounding him in this impossible moment.
He leaned in slowly, closing the space between them with a kiss oh her cheek, soft and reverent, a whisper against her skin. The kiss spoke of gratitude and regret, of all the stolen moments and all the things left unsaid.
“Thank you,” he breathed, voice raw with feeling. “For everything. For this.”
Y/N’s breath caught, and for a moment the world seemed to hold its breath with them. Her hands twined in the fabric of his cloak, reluctant to let go, desperate to keep hold of this fragment of a life she never thought she’d have.
His eyes searched hers once more, filled with a fierce tenderness, before he stepped back, shadows rising like dark wings around him, cloaking him from the world.
The witch raised her hand, fingers weaving a silent spell, and a pulse of violet light rippled outward, wrapping Azriel in its glow. The air thrummed with the power of the Cauldron itself, fragile and fierce.
In the blink of an eye, Azriel was gone.
Left behind was the fading warmth of his kiss, the faint scent of leather and pine hanging in the quiet evening air, and Y/N — standing alone by the Sidra, holding onto the echo of a goodbye that still felt impossibly too soon.
────────────
The familiar hum of Velaris pulsed all around him—the distant laughter of street performers, the soft murmur of the Sidra’s waters, the gentle clinking of glasses from nearby taverns—but Azriel felt strangely untethered, like a ghost wandering through his own city. The days since his return blurred together, a fog swallowing his memories whole. Rhys and Cassian had told him he’d been gone for over a week, vanished without a trace, only to reappear as if nothing had happened. He couldn't remember what happened. But inside, Azriel knew something had changed.
There was a quiet, steady warmth beneath the surface, something healing, gentle, like a balm on old wounds he hadn’t realized were still raw.
Today, he was helping Feyre move canvases and crates into her art studio, the smell of fresh paint mingling with the scent of spring rain drifting through open windows. Feyre’s laughter was bright and easy, her presence grounding him even as a restless pull tugged at his chest.
His gaze drifted across the bustling town square just as he set down a heavy crate. And there, among the crowd, he saw her.
A fae, standing with an effortless grace that made the sunlight catch in her hair, turning it to molten gold. She was looking not quite at him, but through him, as if glimpsing into places only shadows could reach… a spark of recognition he couldn’t place, like a forgotten song playing just beyond hearing.
Azriel didn’t understand why his heart quickened, why his hand lifted almost instinctively in a hesitant wave.
The fae’s eyes widened, and then a soft, almost knowing smile curved her lips. She returned his wave before slipping quietly into a nearby shop, disappearing before he could reach her.
His hand dropped slowly, confusion settling over him like a shadow.
He didn’t know who she was. He couldn’t remember her.
But the pull, the silent thread connecting them, was undeniable, aching beneath his skin like a promise he couldn’t yet understand.
"You've been quiet all day," she said, her voice low and knowing. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
Azriel blinked, distracted. Across the square, he could see her through the glasses of that shop.
Feyre followed his gaze, then looked back at him, her brow furrowed. "Az?"
"I... I don’t know," he murmured, almost to himself.
"You don’t know what?" she asked.
But he couldn’t answer. The feeling was too strange, too sharp. His heart thudded in his chest, and before he could stop himself, the words left him like a breath, half-formed and distant.
"I need to go."
"Go where?"
But he was already walking away, crossing the street without looking back, the hum of Feyre’s concern fading behind him.
She had disappeared into a shop moments before, but he knew. He didn’t know why. Didn’t know how. But he knew.
The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped inside. The world quieted, holding its breath.
And then, there she was.
Closer now. Real. Solid. Her eyes widened, the same as before, but now with something else behind them. Something fragile, something infinite.
Azriel felt it again, deep in his chest. That pull. That thread. It trembled between them like spun gold.
She tilted her head, voice tentative, soft. “Do I... know you?”
He hesitated for a breath, then offered a small smile, one that felt strange and familiar all at once.
"I’m Azriel."
A beat of silence. Then she returned his smile, something in her gaze breaking open.
"I’m Y/N."
Their names, shared again for the first time. A beginning carved into the end.
And somewhere, just beneath the surface, the thread between them tightened.
Not remembering. Not yet.
But knowing, somehow, all the same.
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this is me trying



chapter 1: i had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting
cazriel x archeron!reader, modern au
summary: your sister, feyre, and her boyfriend offer you a place to stay in their guest room after you have a bad breakup. what she fails to tell you is that they live with two other attractive—and single—illyrian males
warnings: mentions of physical/mental abuse, PTSD, not too many tw for this chapter but more to come in upcoming chapters </3
word count: 3.7k
a/n: yes i did just upload another fic....but i had to post this too ok!! something a lil different and i'm excited to see where this goes <3
Feyre’s phone rings for the fourth time in the last two minutes, interrupting her first night alone with her mate in weeks.
Before she can grab for it, Rhys is snatching it off the coffee table to see who the annoyance is coming from. His brow quirks up at the sight of your name on your sister’s phone, as you’ve always been adamant about hating talking on the phone.
“Who is it?” Feyre asks, not moving from her spot on the couch.
“Your sister,” he replies, to which Feyre gives him a glare as if to say: That doesn’t narrow it down too much, ”It’s Y/N.”
“Oh?” she says, finally sitting up to reach for her phone in Rhys’ hand. “She never calls.”
“I know.” Rhys retorts, “That’s why I was so confused.”
Feyre swipes to answer your call, pressing the phone to her ear. She can hear a small sob escape your throat as she answers, making her heart sink with worry. You’ve done two things you never do all within the last two minutes: making a phone call and crying.
“Y/N?” Feyre says, voice laced with concern as she speaks. “What’s going on? Why are you crying?”
“F—Fey—“ you manage between sobs, voice wavering as you finally hear your sister’s voice. “I—I don’t know, I f—fucked up, I don’t have any—anywhere to go. E—Eris kicked me out a—and left me with all m—my things on the side of the r—road.”
“Okay, okay, it’s okay.” she says quickly, chest tightening as she gives Rhys a worried glance. “It’ll be alright, Y/N. Just—Just take some deep breaths for me, okay? Me and Rhys are going to come pick you up and bring you over here. You have your location shared with me, right?”
“Y—Yes, I—I should.” you stammer out, taking a long breath to attempt to calm yourself.
Feyre pulls her phone from her ear for a moment to look for your location, seeing you’re not too far from their place.
“Alright, we’ll be there in ten minutes.” she says quickly as you continue to sob on the other end of the call.
Before Rhys can question his mate, he’s being dragged out of their apartment and down to the garage where his car is. She explains everything on the way to Eris’ place across town, watching as his jaw flickers as she speaks. He’s to the apartment in record time, rolling up to the entrance to see you standing outside, backpack slung around your shoulder with four hastily packed boxes next to you–apparently enough to store all of your belongings. As they come to a stop, Feyre and Rhys both notice the newly bloomed bruises on your neck along with the redness of your cheek.
“Remind me again why I’m not allowed to go up there and kick his ass right now?” Rhys asks Feyre as he opens the door to get out.
“Because Y/N doesn’t want you to, and you should respect her wishes for now.” she says firmly, eyes narrowed on her mate as she follows behind him to help grab the boxes.
Rhys gives you a sad smile as you almost fall into your sister’s arms when she reaches for one of the boxes, sobs racking your entire body as you do. Tears prick Feyre’s eyes as she wraps you in a hug, tugging her arms around your shoulders as she mumbles to you about everything being alright.
As Feyre works to calm you down, Rhys throws the boxes into the back of his car. He nudges his mate once he’s done, urging the two of you to return to the car to get out of the frigid November night. Your sister helps you into the back before getting into the passenger seat before Rhys takes off. It only takes ten minutes to get back to their apartment, which you realize is even nicer than the luxury complex you’d stayed in with Eris for the last year, which is saying a lot.
You’d always known Rhys had money, but never knew he had enough to live in a place like this, especially in the penthouse. You’ve finally calmed down enough once you reach the top floor on the elevator, carrying one of the boxes and your backpack into the sprawling apartment. Wordlessly, the couple leads you to what looks to be the spare bedroom, setting all four of the boxes on the far side of the room before turning to you.
“I’m–I don’t know how to thank you both.” you start, taking a shaky breath as you clasp your hands together to stop their trembling. “I promise I’ll be out of here in a day or two, I just need to find a hotel or something and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Hotel?” Rhys retorts, raising a brow at you curiously, “You don’t have to do that when there’s a perfectly good room here. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need, we’re happy to have another roommate.”
You look at your sister then, eyes wide with disbelief. She nods, giving you a small smile of reassurance, “It’s really no bother, Y/N.”
Tears prick your eyes once again, and you almost fall over trying to engulf the two of them in a hug, thanking them profusely under your breath before they can change their minds.
“We can talk more in the morning, okay? You need some rest now,” Feyre says while smoothing your hair down, “We have some catching up to do when you wake up.”
Guilt gnaws at your chest when you look up at her, seeing a twinkle of sadness behind those leaden blue eyes. Eris has completely isolated you from your friends and family for over a year, making you feel bad for even thinking about spending a day away from him to visit with them every time you tried. You’d barely left the apartment you two shared in the last year aside from attending classes, thanks to the culpability that Eris had instilled in you.
The couple gives you one last hug before leaving you alone in the bedroom. Exhaustion has settled into your bones now, so you throw on a pair of pajamas that you’d stowed in your backpack before all but tossing your body under the covers. It doesn’t take you more than three minutes to fall asleep, fatigue taking over as soon as your head hits the pillow.
_________________________________
Early morning light creeps in through the curtains, shining into your face to draw you from your deep sleep.
It takes you a moment to remember where you are when you wake, sitting up abruptly in bed. You look around frantically before realizing that you’re safe and in your sister’s apartment, and that she so graciously offered you a place to stay for the time being. Your chest tightens with happiness twinged with guilt when you think about it, unsure of how you’ll ever be able to repay them for their kindness.
So, you decide to start by making them breakfast.
Luckily for you, Rhys left you an extra key card that gave you access to the elevator, lobby and apartment door before he left your room last night. Throwing on a pair of leggings, a sage green turtleneck sweater–one that covers the finger-shaped bruises on your neck–and your jacket, you head for the front door quietly. The grocery is only one block away, which you’re grateful for since you don’t have a car or any other form of transportation. It takes you less than twenty minutes to walk to the store, gather your ingredients and return to the apartment, spending fifty of your last one hundred dollars in the process.
Your heart leaps when you get back to the apartment and step into the kitchen for the first time, realizing how grand the space actually was. The kitchen is spacious and has ample counter space, making your mind wander to all of the group meals you could host in a place like this. You reign yourself in before you get too excited, setting your groceries out on the counter to get started.
It doesn’t take long for you to get lost in your own world in the kitchen, time lost to you as you mix together the ingredients for your favorite blueberry crumble muffins while waiting for your quiche to finish baking. You hum to yourself while folding the blueberries into the muffin batter, a feeling of happiness in your chest for the first time in a long time.
“Damn, something smells delicious.” an unfamiliar voice calls out from across the living room, making you freeze at the kitchen island.
As far as you knew, it was only you, Feyre and Rhys in the apartment, so who was the male talking to you from the living room?
Though you know there shouldn’t be any danger in an apartment as nice as this one, you can’t help but be thrown into fight-or-flight at the sound of another male that you don’t know standing behind you. For all you know, it could be Eris coming to drag you back to the hell that is his apartment. At least, that’s what your traumatized brain is telling you right now.
You hear heavy footsteps shuffling closer to you, but you’re frozen in place, unable to move to even attempt to defend yourself from whoever is coming up behind you. Your heart feels like it’s beating in your throat as whoever it is walks up on your right, turning to grab a mug from the counter to serve up the coffee you brewed earlier.
“I didn’t know you could cook like this, Fey–Oh, shit!” the male says when finally turns to look at you as you get the courage to look up at him, he stumbles back a step with wild eyes as he takes you in. “Sorry, I thought you were Feyre.” he says with a chuckle and a wry smile, “Who are you, though? Are you one of Az’s so-called study buddies? If so, I need to ask him if I can take a turn next time.”
You finally take in the male in front of you with wide eyes as you drop the wooden spoon back into the mixing bowl. He’s huge–even taller than Rhysand–standing at 6’7’’ at the very least, with large, bat-like wings to match. He’s rugged, but so beautiful, with wild black hair that’s halfway thrown into a bun, and fiercely golden-brown eyes. Once your eyes trail away from his face, you finally notice that he’s shirtless, only standing in a pair of plaid pajama pants, making it hard for you to pry your eyes away from his toned, broad chest littered with swirling tattoos that were similar to the ones you’d seen on Rhys in the past. Something in your chest seems to rattle when you take him in, but you try not to think about it.
“Is that any way to greet my sister, Cassian?” you hear your sister call as she trudges into the kitchen, a flood of relief flowing through you as she saves you from this situation.
“Sister?” the male says in disbelief, eyes wide as he looks between you and Feyre as she comes up to your side at the island. “Yeah, I guess I should’ve guessed that from the eyes. I’m Cassian, though. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Something like wonder swims in Cassian’s eyes as he stares down at you, a hint of curiosity gracing his features as he takes you in. You feel your heart rate spike at the unexpected attention, but push away any thoughts you have about it before it stresses you out too much, and give him a weak smile before looking back at your muffins, grabbing the tin to pour the dough.
“What’s all this for?” your sister questions as she takes in the food you’ve laid out.
Despite still being in the midst of cooking, you still managed to keep the kitchen spotless throughout the process, thanks to old habits of yours. Eris always hated when the kitchen was messy, so you made it a point to clean as you went, on the rare occasion that you had the inspiration to cook or bake while living there. Atop the pristine counters are two bowls of freshly prepared fruit (one filled with just berries because you know your sister hates the other fruit you typically add), a steaming pot of coffee and a plate of bacon and sausages. As the timer on the oven goes off, you pull the ham and cheese quiche off the rack to replace it with the muffins, setting a new timer for them quickly.
“A little thank you for last night.” you reply with a small smile as you turn to the sink to wash the mixing bowl quickly. “I wanted to make you guys something before I get out of your hair. I know the last thing you wanted to do was spend your Friday evening dealing with your pathetic little sister who got kicked to the curb by her boyfriend.”
“I’d rather spend my night doing that than have found out this morning that you were found dead somewhere because you tried to wander off and figure it out without help.” Feyre snaps, eyes narrowed on you as you frown at her.
Before you can argue, the front door to the apartment opens and closes softly, catching your attention, though nobody else is phased. Rhys and another male walk into the kitchen, both equipped with gym bags on their shoulders and damp hair dripping down their shirts. The unknown male catches your attention almost immediately, in the same way that Cassian had when you first took him in. He’s similar to Cassian and Rhys, but everything about him seems a little more put together but elusive, like he’s a secret waiting to be unraveled by you. His deep hazel eyes lock with yours and you swear he stumbles a step, but can’t be sure you’re not imagining it.
“Looks like someone was busy this morning.” Rhys remarks as he walks in, a gentle smile on his face as he looks to you. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to pass this meal off as a parting gift for us.”
You shoot a glare at your sister then, knowing she used her daemati abilities to tell her mate about your plans to leave.
“I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” you say firmly, “I’m sure I can find some hotel to stay in tonight, o–or I can see if Eris will let me stay one more night. But really–”
“Eris?” you hear Cassian say to Rhys from behind you, nearly choking on his gulp of coffee at your words before looking at Feyre. “I didn’t know this was that sister.”
That sister. As if you’re a common topic of conversation between them.
A mix of hurt and confliction flickers on your face as you look at your sister then, but you can tell she’s busy mentally threatening the large, winged male sitting at the kitchen table, who instantly backs down under her glare. The other male sits next to Cassian at the table then, and you don’t miss the way his jaw tenses at the mention of Eris, as if he knows him well.
“You’ll do no such thing, Y/N!” Feyre finally snips, shaking her head as she turns her attention back to you. “There is no reason for you to leave when we have a perfectly good spare room here. None of us mind at all, right?”
It’s then that you realize that the two other males in the room are not just guests, but are definitely Rhys’ friends who Feyre mentioned moving in with all those months ago.
“Yeah, we could use another roommate in all honesty,” Cassian says with a smirk, “I’m tired of being outnumbered by this disgustingly adorable couple. We need one more person on our single roommate team in this place.”
“Please,” your sister begs, grabbing for your hands quickly, which makes you flinch almost imperceptibly. Her face changes at that tiny movement, anger flashing over her features, but not towards you, “You’re not going back there. At least not right now.” she says quickly, before her voice lowers so only you can hear, “I can’t let him hurt you anymore. I watched you suffer for long enough without being able to save you.”
Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you look at her pleading ones, entirely torn between going back to something familiar and abusive, or walking into something foreign and safe. Many times before now, you would’ve chosen the former, but something feels different this time, like you might actually be able to rid yourself of Eris for good if you stay here. Plus, you’re too mentally exhausted to argue with your very persistent sister right now.
“If I stay here, you have to promise you won’t treat me like a child. You can’t lock me away and say it’s for my own good.” you say to her firmly, blinking back the tears in your eyes. “And as much as I do enjoy this place, you can’t try to keep me stuck in this apartment all the time.”
“Yes–Deal,” she says, nodding at you quickly. “I just–I can’t see you like that ever again. I want you to be safe.”
As you give her a smile, the timer for the oven goes off once more. You turn to get the muffins off the rack, shoving the mix of emotions you’re feeling in the moment out of your mind.
Once all of the food is out and ready, Cassian is first in line to get up to eat, grinning as he looks at the array in front of him.
“Cass, she never said that food was for you.” Feyre scolds, narrowing her eyes at the large male.
“Oh, right.” he says with a sheepish, embarrassed grin before turning to you. “That was rude of me, I’m sorry.”
Your heart flutters as the male looks at you with wide eyes as if he’s waiting for your approval. There’s something in his lopsided smile that has you feeling things in your chest that you’ve never felt before but—fuck, you shouldn’t be feeling anything for anyone right now, you just got dumped less than 24 hours ago. But you can’t help but melt under his apologetic gaze.
“N—No, please, take some!” you stammer, smiling up at him nervously. “There’s plenty there for all of you. I’m so used to making large meals that I’m sure there’s enough.”
Cassian flashes you another grin before turning back to the food, not hesitating before serving himself now. You finish cleaning up the rest of the dirty dishes from your cooking while they get their food. Another habit of yours, waiting for everyone else to eat first before getting your own plate. Eris and his asshole friends would always take advantage of that, would always finish off any meal you’d ever make, leaving you to eat a piece of toast or whatever you could scrounge up for dinner on nights that he’d make you cook for them.
When you finally look up from the dishes, the male you haven’t been introduced to is standing quietly by the counter, sipping a fresh cup of coffee as he observes you. You give him a shy smile as you try to shake off that feeling in your chest once more.
“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself.” you say to the male nervously, drying off your hands with the dish towel. “I’m Feyre’s sister, Y/N.”
“Azriel,” he says bluntly, giving you a curt nod.
A man of many words, you think sarcastically.
“It’s nice to meet you. Are you another of their roommates?” you question, and he simply nods again. “Please, help yourself to some of the food, I’m sure it won’t be the last time I’ll make you all a meal in this kitchen.”
“I think you should get your plate before me,” he replies, his tone almost challenging, as if he can see exactly what you’re doing. “I’ll eat whatever’s left. I’m not picky. Don’t want you to go hungry after going out of your way to make all of this for us.”
You shoot him a wry smile, swallowing thickly as you feel as though you’ve been caught. He only met you five minutes ago and he can already read you well enough to tell that you were used to not eating after slaving over a meal? That would definitely make for an interesting dynamic.
You serve yourself a helping of everything, aside from a muffin, cursing yourself internally for not making enough batter for more. Though when you were making them, you didn’t know there’d be two more people joining you, so it makes sense.
“No muffin?” Feyre questions with a furrowed brow when you sit down, eyeing your plate curiously. “Those are your favorite, are they not?”
“I wanted you all to be able to try them,” you justify, eyes flickering to Azriel as he plates his food. “There was only enough batter for four.”
“They’re great, everything is.” Rhys muses, winking at you kindly. “You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“Are you, like, a chef or something?” Cassian questions before you can reply to Rhys, continuing to stuff his face as he peers over at you. “Because this is all so damn good, restaurant quality.”
You blush at the compliment, smiling over at him. “I’m no professional, I just really like making really good food.”
Cassian grunts in agreement, smiling at you briefly before taking another bite. You don’t notice Azriel taking the seat next to you, his quiet steps making him almost invisible unless you’re staring at him.
It isn’t until you look back at your plate that you finally notice him next to you. With the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he focuses on his own food, half of a sliced blueberry crumble muffin sitting on his plate, and the other half sitting on yours.
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Because I Care
a/n: this was a request!
requested trope: "I didn't know where else to go"
pairing: Azriel x Reader
content warnings: language, drinking, moderate injuries, blood, caretaking
word count: 5.7k
synopsis: Desperate to prove your worth to your overprotective friends, you turn to the one male who never seemed to care whether you soared or plummeted after your first mission goes terribly wrong. As it turns out, he cares very much.
my masterlist
~ ~ ~
“Is it always like this?”
Azriel glanced at you from the corner of his eye as you fell into the wooden chair next to his, the legs scraping slightly against the sticky floor. You lightly fanned your face as you became all too aware of the heat radiating from your cheeks, the hot and stuffy air around you feeling suffocating.
The rest of your table had abandoned their seats, pairs of them scattered across the dance floor, with the exception of Mor who had no trouble finding a new dance partner after you left her.
“Pretty much,” Azriel murmured quietly, taking a sip of his dark drink you were fairly certain he had been nursing all night.
You watched the bodies of faeries move and grind against one another in a messy rhythm, the music from the band practically vibrating through the floor to drive their movements. “We didn’t have this in the Spring Court,” you said absently, your words faint as you watched in disbelief and a little bit of awe.
“You didn’t have taverns?” Azriel asked, not really all that curious, but not entirely disinterested either. You would take that as a win.
Azriel was an enigma that you were desperate to piece apart. Sometimes you caught yourself staring at him for a few seconds too long. Sometimes you would lay awake at night and replay your brief conversations together.
You were almost always searching for a way to befriend him.
He was the one person in the inner circle that still had not opened up to you. Everyone told you not to take it personally. They said that was just Azriel—that he would sooner clip his wings before he shared something personal about himself. You were okay with that—really, it was fine—but would a smile every now and then hurt?
He wasn’t unkind. He was polite beyond measure, actually, which was all the more infuriating when you really thought about it. He was just indifferent. Apathetic to your presence, to your existence, when he had inexplicably taken up residence in your mind for free.
Maybe it was the stories your mother told you as a child. Maybe it was the dreams you used to have of his very shadows. Maybe it was the way the very ground seemed to shift beneath your feet the first time you saw him, and you felt settled for the first time in your life when his shadows brushed against your ankles.
“Y/N.”
His voice dragged your mind back to the present, your surroundings tilting a bit as you refocused on the male beside you. “Yeah?”
You thought his lips might have twitched, but you weren’t certain. You weren’t certain of much at the moment, now that you had removed yourself from the adrenaline of the dance floor and you were left to sift through your thoughts that seemed buried in sand. Gods, his lips looked soft.
“How much have you had to drink?”
You blinked, eyes dragging up to meet his again. “Not sure.” You shrugged. “Whatever Mor gave me.”
“Dangerous,” he murmured, then downed the rest of his drink in one go. He sat the glass down with a small thud, tapping the rim. “Do you need help getting home?”
Your lips parted as you stared at him. Was he offering his help?
“No,” Mor huffed, her arms falling around you from behind. “You can’t take her from me.”
You shifted uncomfortably, suddenly tense from being between Mor and Azriel. Nesta may have spilled far too much personal information about the two of them one wine night in the library. The thought of the two of them together…it made your skin feel slimy. You felt nauseous thinking about it—or maybe that was all of the shots and mixed drinks sloshing around in your stomach.
“I think I want to go,” you mumbled, gently pushing her arms off of you.
Mor pouted, but when she looked at Azriel she shrugged. “Fine. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You nodded, unsteadily leaning into the quick kiss she pressed on your cheek before pushing her way back into the throng of dancing bodies.
You bit your lip as you looked at Azriel, suddenly nervous about being alone with him when you were this intoxicated—not because you didn’t trust him, but because you didn’t trust yourself. There was no telling what bullshit you might spew when liquor washed away your filter.
Azriel stood, extending his hand to you. You tried not to stare at the scar-mottled skin, tried not to think about just how far they extended up his arm. You had seen them at training, of course. You knew they were there, and you vaguely knew how he got them—yet another thing his family had shared, but not him. You had never touched him, though. Not without gloves covering his skin.
You realized Azriel was waiting after you sat there for too many seconds, and you quickly placed your hand in his to help you stand up. Thank the Mother for Azriel’s hand, because as soon as you stood, the floor started to slide beneath you.
Your grip tightened on Azriel’s hand, clinging to him to stay upright. Panic sluiced through you when he let go, but his arm came around you and he tucked you into his side, letting you lean heavily against his incredibly muscled body.
He was so warm. You could just stay here forever, actually.
“Alright,” Azriel murmured, shifting you once more and snapping you out of your daze—at least sort of. “Let’s get you home.”
You waved to Rhys and Cassian as you passed them at the bar, worried frowns creasing their face. Azriel shook his head, and he kept walking you toward the exit. Azriel might have been indifferent toward you, but at least he didn’t treat you like you were fragile.
You weren’t sure how you had made yourself the object of the entire inner circle’s worry. You were slightly clumsy and didn’t have an ounce of training to your name when you first arrived in Velaris, and maybe there were a few accidents at training that ended with a little spilled blood—but it had been over a year now. Now, you were fairly confident in your body. You knew how to wield it, how to trust it, how to use it as a weapon—you were no longer a floundering Spring fae servant girl.
You just wished your friends would treat you that way.
You stumbled forward as you stepped over the threshold and into the cool night air, Azriel catching you before you could tumble down the stairs. You blinked a few times, watching your feet closely as Azriel slowly led you down and onto the stone street. You loved the smell of the sea. You loved the fresh salt tinged air that covered Velaris, that made you feel more grounded than you ever did in the Spring Court.
Azriel smelled like the sea. He smelled like salt and cedar—a wonderful combination that you wished you could bottle up and sniff whenever you pleased. You tilted your head a little in toward his chest, your nose bumping against the side of his chest as you inhaled his scent.
“Are you sniffing me?”
If your skin wasn’t already burning from the heat of Rita’s and the alcohol rushing through you, you were certain you would be aflame now after being caught. You shrugged, pulling your nose away but leaning just a little more into him, making him huff as he readjusted his grip.
“Do you think I fit?”
“What?” Azriel murmured, entirely focused on guiding the two of you down the street. You wished he would just fly you. You’ve only flown with him a few times, and the feeling of his arms around you, holding you, protecting you—it made your head fuzzy just thinking about it. Or—more fuzzy.
“I just take up space,” you mumbled, words slowly meshing together just a bit. You had never been this drunk. Faerie wine had nothing on Mor’s drinks. You gestured wildly to the space around you. “But I don’t fit. I don’t do anything. Rhys won’t even send me on missions.”
“You’re still learning,” Azriel said softly, his voice almost gentle. “I promise, you fit.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but your throat felt funny and your mouth was starting to water. “Azriel,” you cut him off.
“Yeah?”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
~ ~ ~
You were never drinking again.
It would be a cold day in Hell before you ever took another drink from Mor. You still felt slightly detached from your body, and no matter how many times you rinsed your mouth and scraped your tongue, you could still taste the remnants of the night before.
Gods, you were mortified. You definitely owed Azriel an apology. You didn’t remember much after you spilled the contents of your stomach all over the streets of Velaris, but you were certain he was responsible for somehow getting you up to the House of Wind and into your bed. You awoke in your clothes from the night before, but your shoes were off and your hair was miraculously vomit-free, so you would celebrate the small miracles that were likely orchestrated by Azriel.
You found him at the breakfast table, another small miracle this morning. You weren’t sure how you lived in the same home as the male, yet could count on your hands the number of times you have had breakfast with him.
“Azriel,” you said softly, prompting his gaze to drag up from his oatmeal and berries to your slightly disheveled form. You had to force yourself to put on training leathers this morning, and you were certain he could tell that getting ready this morning was a series of haphazard events..
His eyes lingered at your feet briefly for turning his attention back to his meal. “Your shoe is untied,” he mumbled before taking another bite.
Your face flushed, looking down to find your left boot entirely undone. You cursed as you bent down to fix it, your embarrassment making you fumble through the routine movement. You stood back up quickly, brushing your hands on your thighs nervously as you stood there awkwardly, gathering the courage to talk to him.
“I’m sorry about last night,” you blurted.
Azriel’s spoon paused midway to his mouth, his lips falling shut as his eyes snapped toward yours again.
“Really sorry, actually,” you hurried out, stepping closer.
He lowered his spoon slowly, watching you for a few agonizing seconds. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, then resumed eating his breakfast.
You blinked a few times. It was a clear dismissal, but you couldn’t wrap your head around his fucking indifference. “Azriel—”
“Y/N,” he cut you off, his eyes glancing at you, “It’s fine. Stop worrying.”
Stop worrying. Wouldn’t that be nice, if you could just stop worrying. Maybe you were delusional, but you thought you might have defrosted his shell at least a little after stumbling home drunk with him. You didn’t have to be close, but you would have liked to be friends. Last night, you thought maybe—
The sound of his chair screeching across the stone made you jump, and you watched as his food vanished and his back disappeared down the hall to the training room.
Right. You were delusional, and if you were really honest with yourself, you had an even more delusional crush on the very Shadowsinger that didn’t seem to care whether you breathed the same air as him.
~ ~ ~
“Y/N.”
You spun around, your head pounding from the abrupt motion. You winced, rubbing at your temple before meeting Rhys’s gaze.
His eyes were narrowed as he watched you, suspicion clear on his face. “Are you okay?”
As if you were going to tell him you were still suffering from a hangover—a hangover caused by the drinks his cousin had supplied you with the night before, no less.
“I’m fine,” you assured, straightening your posture. You immediately snapped your mental shields into place as soon as you felt Rhys brush against your mind, and you sent the male a glare. “I said I’m fine, Rhysand.”
“Rhysand,” he repeated under his breath as he shook his head. “I need to ask you for a favor.”
You immediately perked up, excitement sparking in your chest. “What can I do?”
“I need you to take a visit to the Spring Court.” To check in on Tamlin, is what he didn’t say.
“What about Azriel?”
“I need him in Windhaven.” He studied you for a moment. “I can ask—”
“When do I leave?”
Rhys blinked at you. Suspicion and apprehension limned his eyes, and you rocked nervously on the balls of your feet. You probably should have asked a few more questions. “Tomorrow night,” he said slowly. “You know you can tell me no.”
You were quietly thanking the Mother he didn’t say tonight, but you would have gone even if he had. You weren’t missing this opportunity.
“No,” you hurried out. “I mean—I want to. I just thought—will me being from the Spring Court make me more of a liability?”
Rhys shook his head. “Azriel thinks it’s the opposite. You should blend in seamlessly since you were born there, and Tamlin…well he hasn’t done much to his wards since the war.”
“Azriel?” you asked quietly, your heart beating a little too hard and your skin feeling a little too warm.
Rhys definitely noticed, his eyes glinting as his lips twitched into a smirk. “Yes,” he said. “Azriel is the one that suggested we start sending you for Spring Court reconnaissance.”
“Oh.”
“Yes,” Rhys hummed. “Oh.”
You glared at him, stepping closer to stab a finger against his chest. “Not a word, Rhysand.”
He laughed as you walked by him, heading back toward your room to pack for your first mission. Rhys’s laugh slowly faded the farther you walked, but you couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across your face as you reached your door. Your first mission, and Azriel had vouched for you.
~ ~ ~
This was a catastrophic failure.
You grew up hearing horror stories about the Naga. The few Spring Court children you knew would taunt each other with threats of sending someone into the woods, serving them up as an offering for the terrifying beasts. Your nursemaid always assured you they only preyed upon mortals, but that never really made you feel much better.
Then Feyre was attacked by the Naga. You saw firsthand how rattled she was by the putrid creatures, and you were content to never venture into the forests lining the border to the mortal realm.
Those were the forests the Naga were meant to live in. They lied there in wait, ready to snatch any poor human soul that fell through the barrier.
They didn’t live in the forests that lined the Spring and Autumn Court border—at least, they weren’t supposed to. It made you question what the hell Tamlin was letting roam elsewhere in his court, and whether Beron was aware just how loose the High Lord of Spring’s grip was on his land.
That’s what you would tell Rhys. It’s all you could tell Rhys, since you had otherwise failed to learn anything else meaningful before one of the wretched creatures grabbed you by your ankle and dragged you through the forest. Their claws had sunk into your flesh, ripping your skin open for a trail of blood to drip down your ankle, now soaking the fabric you had torn from your tunic to tie around it.
Then there was the gash in your side, also staining your tunic and leathers with far too much blood, if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was throbbing too, and you weren’t sure if it was the aftereffects of the hangover from yesterday, the blood loss, or if you hit your head with the fall—likely all of the above.
You should have sensed the Naga.
You should have heard them. You should have been prepared for an ambush from anyone, and instead you were too confident while also too preoccupied by delusional thoughts and fears of fucking up. No wonder Rhys never sent you on a mission, and now that he finally had, per Azriel’s recommendation, you had utterly fucked it.
If any of them saw you like this, you were certain they would swaddle you in a mound of cotton and lock you in the House of Wind for decades before they ever let you step foot in the field again. You needed help, though. Gods, you needed it. Adrenaline was fueling every step, every second you spent running from where you had stabbed the Naga in its eyes, but it was waning, and panic was setting in.
You needed to get out of here. You needed out of these woods, and out of this court, and you needed help.
So you said a prayer to the Mother and winnowed.
~ ~ ~
Azriel had been friends with the ghost of anxiety for his entire life.
For five centuries it had walked behind him, and he had grown to accept its company. He knew how to acknowledge it for the day and then ignore it. He knew how to block out the dull thrum it sometimes sent through his head, begging for his attention, his fear—and yet, today was unusual.
His chest had felt tight the moment he stepped foot in Illyria. At first he thought it might have been because of Illyria and the camp he grew up in, but the band around his lungs kept growing tighter and tighter as the day went on. His heart was racing all day, and by the time he retired from the bullshit political nonsense Rhys had guilted him into handling, the slam of his own front door made him flinch.
Something felt wrong, but he couldn’t place what. His shadows were restless as well, scattering around the living room of the home he and his brothers grew up in as soon as he let them go.
He rubbed at his chest as he sat on the edge of the couch, still clad in his leathers and boots. He watched the faelights around him come to life, his shadows slowly slithering back to hide in the shadows of his wings.
Even the air around him felt heavy and thick—stagnant, as if it was waiting for something before it could move again. His mouth felt dry as he sat and listened to the silence of the house. A sudden gust of wind outside made him jump, and he shook his head. This was ridiculous.
He stood up to head to the bathing room, ready to rid himself of the chill he had harbored all day beneath the sweat that still somehow coated his skin. A shadow curled around his ear as he took his first step up the stairs, and froze.
The woods.
He turned for the back door immediately, checking his weapons as he moved, and he released a shaky breath as he stepped out into the frigid night air.
Rhys’s mother’s house was along the border of the camp. A blessing and a curse growing up. He and his brothers would often complain about walking farther than the other children to training every day, but it also gave them easy access to the forests where they could fuck around without getting caught.
He walked into those very forests now with far more trepidation than he ever did as a boy, his heart racing as he followed his shadows deeper into the dark and snow-covered woods. He hoped they would warn him if he was in imminent danger, if they were leading him into a fucking ambush—but the entire day had been strange, and he couldn’t be sure of what they saw.
He was also fairly certain he didn’t even need them to lead him, because the rope wrapped around his chest grew tighter and tighter with every step, as if pulling him to keep moving.
His steps only faltered once he saw a dark form lying in the snow, a light dusting covering the fae’s body. He moved closer slowly, still unsure why his shadows drew him here or who this figure was.
The world dropped from beneath his feet when he saw your face, when your scent fully hit him, when your blood suffocated him. The rope wrapped around his lungs snapped, a million frayed threads coiling around his ribs and flailing before going taught, twining with new threads that left him gasping. Threads that extended directly from his soul, and gods he couldn’t breathe.
He was crouching over your body before he really knew he was moving, before the world had stopped tilting and his mind had stopped spinning. His shaky hand brushed your damp hair from your face, revealing cuts and scrapes across your skin.
Your chest was slowly moving, air still going in and out of your lungs, and Azriel let out a shuddering breath of relief. He took in your bloodied ankle and your bloody leathers, and he wanted to hurl just thinking about moving you—just thinking about how the hell you had ended up here—but he had to get you out of the snow. He had to take care of you.
His mate.
Azriel shook as he fit his arms under your body. Your skin was cold and damp when your head lolled against his neck, and he probably gripped you a little too tight as he held you close. His shadows swarmed around the two of you, enveloping you in darkness and depositing you in the living room of his childhood.
Everything in him was screaming to get you the hell out of Illyria, but he knew this place had the best medical supplies—it was far more likely to be stabbed in Windhaven than at their cabin in the Steppes. He laid you as gently as he could on the worn and gray sofa, the cushions sinking beneath your weight. Drops of blood fell to the fabric as he let you go, and he inhaled a sharp breath when he noticed you trembling.
His shadows darted toward the fireplace, piling together kindling and wood for Azriel to drop a match in quickly. He didn’t even wait for the flames to catch before he went back to drag the couch in front of the slowly growing fire. He glanced at you once more, his fingers digging into the fabric of the couch with barely restrained anger and anxiety.
He would kill whoever did this—but first, he would take care of his mate.
~ ~ ~
Your face was warm. Too warm, really, to the point you were certain there was heat wafting off of you in waves.
One side of your face was pressed against soft cotton fabric, and your neck was stiff as you tried to move. You whimpered when your core twisted, something tight and hot pulling at your side. You started to shove the heavy wool blanket covering your body off of you, but it was quickly pulled back up, and you flinched when someone’s fingers grazed your bare collarbone—Mother, you had no clothes on under—
“It’s just me,” Azriel murmured softly from above you, circling around to kneel on the floor. His eyes were bright and glossy in the flickering light from the fire, and an inexplicable weight fell from your chest when you saw him.
“Where are my clothes?” you rasped.
He shifted to the side so you could see your clothes and boots draped around the hearth behind him. “I found you in the snow,” he said quietly, leaning back. “And your clothes were in bloody tatters.”
You swallowed, closing your eyes as fresh tears started to burn. You felt one escape from the corner of your eye, falling down the side of your face and into your hair. “Thank you,” you whispered, sniffing slightly. You slowly opened your eyes to meet his patient gaze, and something inside you shifted. “I didn’t know where else to go,” you admitted, your voice cracked and broken.
Visions of the Naga flashed through your mind, the raw pain from when they grabbed your ankle and sliced at your stomach sluicing through you all over again.
You were trembling when Azriel brushed some of your hair behind your ear, the gentle touch making your breath catch and your body freeze, the trembles stopping for a moment. He held a cup to your mouth, gently coaxing your head up slightly to guide your lips to the rim of it. “Drink this,” he murmured.
The water was cool and soothing against your throat, the liquid instantly washing away the sand that had filled your mouth. You took a few gulps before Azriel pulled it away, then helped you lie back down. “I asked one of the camp healers to look at you,” Azriel told you as he set the cup beside him.
Alarm flitted through you, your entire body turning tense.
Azriel glanced at you, as if he could sense your sudden anxiety, and his eyes softened. “It was a female,” he said, “And I was here. You were safe.”
You relaxed slightly, but the anxiety that she might tell Rhysand—that Rhysand might already know how epicly you failed—made your stomach turn.
“Y/N.” You turned to face him, your name on his lips making goosebumps skitter across your skin. His voice was so low, nearly lethal, and you held your breath before he asked, “Who did this to you?”
Mortification flooded your body, a sickly heat washing over you as you thought about just how badly you messed up. “It’s my fault,” you whispered.
His jaw clenched. “How could this possibly be your fault?”
“I didn’t think about the Naga—”
Azriel reeled back. “The Naga? Why were you anywhere near the Naga?”
Confusion swept over you, mixing with the fatigue that was still pinning you down. “Rhys said it was your idea to send me to Spring.”
“Yes—at the Autumn border. Not the Mortal Lands. Why would he send you—”
“I was at the Autumn border,” you hurried out, your heart beating hard in your chest.
Azriel went quiet, his lips parting slightly. His eyes glanced up and down your body as if he could see your injuries through the blanket, and a fresh fury lit behind his irises. “There shouldn’t be Naga anywhere near that border—and if there was, they wouldn’t go after faeries.”
You stared at him for a beat, at a loss for words. “I was unprepared—”
“This was not your fault,” he said, his words holding no room for argument. His hands curled into fists at his side. “I am going to kill Beron before Eris can even—”
“Azriel,” you said softly, hushing his words effectively. You glanced at the door, knowing you were far away from the main camp and his shadows were monitoring the house, but still worried someone might hear him. You came to him because you thought he would be the most calm, the least likely to overreact since he didn’t even really care about you, and yet here you were.
“You think I don’t care?” he rasped.
You blinked. “How did you—”
“Of course I fucking care.” He ran his hands through his hair as he stood up, his wings twitching behind him. “I probably care too much, but now—” He ran a hand over his face shaking his head. “Now it makes sense, I guess,” he said quietly, more to himself now.
He started to walk away, and in a panic, you reached for his hand, your clammy fingers wrapping around his warm and scarred ones.
Something inside you cleaved in two, the pieces falling away to reveal a crackling rope of energy that was connected to the male beside you. His soul was twined with yours, and you pressed your other hand to your chest as you felt him quietly glowing inside you. You scrambled to put the new scattered pieces together, your brain struggling to make sense of what your heart and soul knew.
Azriel squeezed your hand gently, and you slowly dragged your gaze up to meet his. “I’ve always cared,” he whispered.
“You knew?” you rasped.
He shook his head, his own breath shaky now. “Not until I found you in the snow.”
You pulled your hand away. “Then you don’t need to pretend.”
“I’m not pretending,” he argued, his voice pleading with you to hear him. “I promise, I’m not pretending.”
You sat up slowly, your back resting against the arm rest. You clutched the blanket to your chest, suddenly feeling so exposed. “I want a shirt,” you whispered.
Azriel moved in an instant, returning only seconds later with a soft black tee in his hands. He held it to you, and you took the fabric with one hand, then glanced down at your other holding the blanket in place. Azriel crouched beside you, offering his hand. “Let me help?” he asked softly.
You took a second to decide, embarrassment and shame and raw vulnerability making your arms shake as you finally handed him back the shirt. He smiled at you. A small, close-lipped smile, that was so soft and gentle it made you relax just a little.
He pulled the shirt over your head, pulling your hair out from the neckline before guiding one arm through the sleeve. He let the hem fall around you, and only then did you let the blanket drop and pushed your arm through the other sleeve.
You crossed your arms over your body, unease and apprehension still tugging at you. “I don’t understand,” you told him quietly.
Azriel’s throat bobbed. “The day you came here with Feyre,” he started quietly, “I felt something shift.”
You bit your lip, your pulse drumming in your ears as you waited to hear what he had to say.
His eyes shut, and his face screwed up slightly, as if what he was about to say shamed him. “I have a tendency to love what I cannot have,” he admitted quietly. His eyes opened again, and your heart cracked when you saw the sheen in his eyes. “When I saw you, there was a part of me that knew you were special. You were this strong and beautiful female standing in front of me, and I just knew—I knew it would be so easy to fall in love with you.”
He sniffed, and you had to blink a few times to keep your own tears at bay. He called you strong.
“So I kept you at arms length. I thought it would be easier. Fuck, was I wrong.” Azriel let out a self-deprecating laugh. “You are consuming, Y/N. Every smile, every word, every breath of yours sent me spinning. Sometimes, when you looked at me during training with such undiluted pride in yourself for learning something new, I would nearly faint. The way you interact with everyone, the way you treat everyone with kindness—everything about you pulled me in.”
You swallowed, your mouth feeling dry. “I honestly thought you wouldn’t notice if I just disappeared one day,” you admitted nervously.
Azriel looked stricken. “I would notice. Hell, I would tear the world apart until I found you.” He shook his head. “Y/N, everything about you is magnanimous. Every day that passed with you in my life shifted my center of gravity closer and closer to you, and now—” Azriel let out a shuddering breath. “Now I feel like a fool for pushing you away.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure whether you should share this so quickly with him, but he did save your life. He was your mate. “When I was a girl,” you said softly, “My mother would tell me stories about the Shadowsinger of Prythian.”
Azriel went still.
You laughed sadly. “They were meant to scare me. She was never really kind, never actually spent time with me or cared for my happiness. She was cruel, actually,” you added as an afterthought, the words tasting sour in your mouth. You shook your head. “But I would beg her not to tell that story, secretly hoping that she would. It usually worked.” You shrugged weakly.
“Why?” Azriel rasped.
Your lips twitched, more tears starting to burn at your eyes. “They made me feel safe,” you whispered. “They made me feel less alone, knowing that someone out there found friends in the darkness, and that maybe one day, I would too.” You wiped away a tear. “I dreamed about the Night Court my whole life, but sometimes, I would see your shadows.”
As if sensing your attention, one slithered away from Azriel to brush against your neck, its touch cool and comforting. “The first time I saw them, I nearly cried. When I saw you—” You sucked in a breath. “I just knew I was home,” you whispered, your face feeling warm.
Azriel’s hand reached tentatively for your face, his body leaning closer in the small space between him and the couch. His touch was gentle at first, his fingers grazing the side of your face as he watched you closely, until eventually he cupped the underside of your jaw.
You leaned into the touch, electricity sparking all along where his skin met yours. His eyes flicked down to your lips, and you found yourself nodding before he even looked at you again for permission. He leaned forward, his lips meeting yours in the most delicately soul-crushing kiss. His lips were so soft, and he tasted like the rose-hip tea you always saw him drinking, and you were fairly certain this is what heaven felt like.
The kiss was short, but even the brief minute pressed against him left you breathless and your heart racing.
“You are home,” Azriel murmured, pressing one last peck against your lips before pulling away.
His hand slid up to push your hair back, his fingers running along your scalp. You closed your eyes, his touch releasing the tension still lingering in your body. “You should rest,” he murmured, and you followed his guidance to lie back down easily.
You blinked slowly at him, your eyelids growing heavy as he ran his fingers through your tangled hair, but Azriel didn’t seem to care. “You can always come to me,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “Always. Because I care.”
You smiled softly, your eyes finally falling shut. “Yes, mate,” you mumbled.
You knew the warmth that flooded your chest would still be there when you awoke.
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Fate; Light and Shadow.
Happy early @gwynrielweeksofficial ! Just a little over a week until we get to celebrate our favorite Valkyrie and Illyrian duo!
There is something so profound about two loyal to a fault characters, who view themselves as something tainted and unworthy, finding acceptance and peace together. @lovelymoonflower1 and I are so excited to read their story, watch them fall in love, and hopefully see their mating bond snap. After all, they both deserve something as beautiful as that.
ART CREDIT carasalexandra
COMMISSIONED BY @oristian @lovelymoonflower1
PLEASE DO NOT REPOST
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Buried Beneath
A!Eris x O!Reader x O!Elain
Day 1 of @acotar-omegaverse-week : First Heat/Rut - So glad this is a convenient and not at all dangerous location for this to happen :) right :)
a/n: Straight(?) Vibes
warnings: oral (reader + Elain receiving); face sitting; light bondage; praise; unintentional orgasm denial/edging; a bathtub scene; erotic towel drying turned to hand job; cum play; threesome f/f/m; Eris is a bottom but not a sub; smut; knotting; overstimulation (Elain); fluff
word count: 9,340
~~~~
As beautiful as Autumn can be, you find its appeal to be best appreciated from aboveground.
The chalky oranges; jewel-toned reds and greens seem such a shame to abandon, and yet for some reason the vast majority of the Palace is situated below ground, wrapped in gnarled roots and damp, worm-riddled mud.
At the very least, it’s a relief you and Elain have found your way to the upper floors, at last able to see by the light of day rather that peering through dimly lit corridors that wind and twist at such gradual angles you hardly know you’ve gone in circles until a few hours have passed and you’re seeing the same sentry for the third time that day. He’d shown no signs of surprise when the two of you had crossed his path again, nor had he offered a single direction when you’d managed to pluck up the courage to ask for help.
It was like they were hoping you’d stay lost.
Thankfully Elain had caught the familiar scent of the outdoors, and she’d wasted little time dragging you swiftly through room after room of blood-red carpet and wrought iron chandeliers, finally locating a narrow staircase with enough room to fit one body without a single torch to illuminate the damp stone incline.
The reason for your haste? Both a fear of separation from the safety of your group and—
You catch a glimpse of Elain’s flushed cheeks, panting from the hurried exit, her chest rising and falling as she gulps down the fresh air. Heat gathers in your upper body, sweat surely beginning to saturate the fluttering, pale yellow linen swathing your body with only two copper pins keeping the fabric strung over your shoulders while a tie connected to the dress’s bodice wraps your waist, offering the illusion of shape.
This has never happened before.
Elain catches your gaze and her lips part an almost imperceptible fraction. Round, cocoa eyes are hungry and desperate, adrenaline flooding your bloodstream as well as-
“Your scent is changing,” you whisper through shallow breaths, attempting to steady yourself but it’s impossible. She nods, ringlets falling over her round shoulders as she straightens, “your’s too.”
You curse under your breath. “Can you tell where we are? Our rooms are in the Eastern wing, right?” Elain swallows, and you’re drawn to the pale skin of her throat, leading down to fine collarbones, and lower is… She turns, pacing over to the edge of the balcony.
“Shit.” Elain curses softly. Something sweet and breathless and an ache twinges in your lower abdomen, causing you to shift on your feet. Cocoa eyes latch onto yours and you can feel her hunger from here, pulling you closer, praying for those pins on your shoulders to break so the fabric will flood down your body and leave you bare and open for her to taste and touch. “We’re on the Western wing.”
A huff whines from your throat and you join her on the balcony, spotting the telling slant of shadow, the perfect circle of the sun concealed by heavy, grey clouds. You push onto your tiptoes, trying to spot a hallway or path that might somehow travel you to where you need to be. You can’t afford to become lost again, especially not in your current states. Who knows what might happen?
A hinge creaks from somewhere further down the walkway overlooking the court garden, the sound of armour clanking as soldiers begin their patrol of the upper castle, likely heading to relieve another group from their station.
The two of you share a panicked look. With how helpful the sentry had been below ground you don’t imagine this group will be any kinder.
Elain grabs your wrist and you dart away from the noise, searching for an open door or hallway to turn down. Even if you disappear from sight your scent will still remain. And with how heavy it’s becoming…you’d need one hell of a breeze to sweep it elsewhere. That or somewhere safe and off-limits, where the soldiers wouldn’t be permitted to enter.
Elain speeds her steps, and you see where she’s aiming—up ahead is a narrow opening. If you turn down there you’ll have gained precious time until the soldiers catch your scent.
With a last burst of speed you sprint around the corner, right as a distinctly male-voice sounds in the distance. You weren’t fast enough. You’ve been spotted.
You keep going, hurrying down hall after hall, taking as many turns as you can, darting up staircases and dashing down corridors. Thankfully there doesn’t seem to be a single other person nearby. Not even soldiers at the door. Strange?
Just a few paces ahead, a handle turns, and both you and Elain practically skid to a stop, in a panic to turn and dart down a hallway you’d passed only a short few moments ago. You’ve barely managed to turn on your feet however before a large hand snares its way around your upper arm and drags you back. Elain loses her grip on your wrist, and your eyes lock moments before you’re stolen over the threshold.
A tall, male body stands beside you, holding the door open just long enough for Elain to chase after you and pass herself into the room, hands quick to slide around your waist, locking at your lower back to keep a better hold.
The proximity has you beginning to spiral, spine arching to better press against her, arms looping over her shoulders and everything in your body is telling you to kiss her, to open your mouth and taste her somewhere.
The door clicks shut, a throat clearing soon after but what could ever be more important that taking in the female clutching onto you so tight? She’s perfect. Heat rolling from her in waves, and you can only imagine how hot she must feel beneath the heavy constraint of her clothing. A similar dress to your own: weighty, pinned together over the shoulders, wrapped around her waist, only hers has sleeves—large panels of fabric connected at her shoulders with another set of pins at her wrists.
“What do the two of you think you’re doing in the Western Wing?” Comes the stern, male voice snapping between you. You swallow, managing to tear your gaze from your lover’s, a droplet of sweat plummeting down your spine as you place the strict, narrow mouth; those stern, amber eyes; the shock of long, fiery hair.
“We need to get to the Eastern wing,” you force out, pulse spiking as Elain’s grip strengthens then turns lax, her forehead dropping to rest on your bare shoulder, nosing at the soft skin of your throat. “We got lost, and-” you swallow, breaths coming out in pants as Elain’s palm shifts to cup your waist, keeping your body curving into her own. “-and now we’re-…here.”
Eris arches a brow, mouth curled in a vaguely displeased line.
“You shouldn’t even have been brought here if you were going into heat,” he mutters, brows furrowing as his displeasure deepens, irritation flashing in his eyes.
“…heat?” You repeat under your breath. Amber eyes pierce into your own, and your legs weaken, shifting Elain in your arms. “It’s never happened before,” you attempt to argue, both relieved and pained when your lover forces herself to her feet, fingers clutching at the fabric surrounding your waist. “Just winnow us back to our rooms,” she snaps, half-hearted aggression curling her upper lip.
“Did you hear me?” Eris drawls, watching despassionalty. “You’re in the Western Wing. Reserved solely for the dominant bloodline. It’s impossible to winnow in or out of this wing.”
You’re going to tear the pins from Elain’s clothes before you can return to your private chambers.
The thought has your mouth watering, eager to have her on your tongue.
“You have an alliance with our Court, yes?” Elain forces out, and you’re grateful she’s taking the lead. You can barely stand. “If that’s the case then find a way to return us.”
“You’d have to make it to the lower floors. There’s nothing I can do about your mess.”
His words have a delicate fire coursing beneath your skin, thighs pressing together. How much of a mess is there between her own thighs anyway? Will it be enough to drown you when she’s sat atop your mouth? Will her own fingers come away slippery with slick when she slides them out from between your legs?
“Elain…” You pant, unashamed of the wanton sound. You need her so badly.
Eris sighs, taking a step toward the both of you, and your legs nearly give out as you catch a hint of his scent. Never has the scent of an alpha had such an effect on you. Perhaps it’s unusual, but you’ve always favoured the sweet, mouthwatering scent of an omega’s arousal to the heavy musk of an alpha. And yet his regular scent alone is so appetising.
You’ll blame it on the heat. The pheromones polluting your bloodstream and swirling around your skull. You can’t think straight.
“There’s a bed through that door,” Eris instructs, guiding you towards the left side of the room, double doors looming high, opening on command. “Once you’ve satiated the initial heat and your scents have dulled, you’ll stand a chance of getting to the lower floors.”
Sounds good enough to you.
Elain pauses however, and a whine works its way from your throat.
Cocoa brown eyes narrow, turning on the male at your backs. “These are your chambers,” she forces out, “your bed.”
“Elain, please…”
Eris watches from the threshold, shoulder leant against the door’s framework. “Would you like to try somewhere else?” The Heir asks, a bored look on his vulpine features. “For now this is your best option. Two omegas shouldn’t be roaming the Western Wing on their own, let alone as they’re going into heat.”
“Didn’t you hear her?” Elain huffs, aggression beginning to give to way to the arousal that’s steadily thrumming throughout her body. “This is the first time it’s happened. It began out of nowhere.”
“Are you sure?” Eris drawls, clearly disbelieving and skeptical. “You weren’t messing around with one another elsewhere in the castle? I could smell you from the opposite end of the wing.”
“Why would we be doing that?” You whine, panting and hot and so desperate to have Elain’s clothes out of the way. “There’s hardly anything of interest in this damned place.”
“And what are you going to be doing?” Elain snipes, her attention still piercing into the alpha, and you’re tempted to start working on her right now. Slipping yourself beneath the fabric of her dress—at least there’d be some cover, so it would be fine, right?
Eris rolls his eyes, pushing off from the doorframe, standing to his full height once more. “I’ll be taking a bath, and throwing those sheets out to wash once you’re done.” He pauses, hands on the doors, poised to shut you in and give you your privacy. “It’ll take a few hours if I’m to believe it’s your first. Find me in the study once you’ve calmed yourselves. It’s through the doors opposite.”
“What do you mean ‘a few hours’?” Elain gasps, and it’s your turn to fall into her, nosing up the length of her throat, considering where to kiss, and bite, and lick.
The Heir’s brows rise, “Have they taught you nothing?”
“Elain.” You hiss. It comes out as more of a moan.
Eris sighs. “Follow your instincts. And do not leave my chambers until I have said it is safe to do so.”
Finally the doors click shut, but neither of you have the mind to lock them as you stumble and trip your way over to the large bed, big enough to comfortably hold at least three fae-sized creatures.
“Why’d you talk for so long?” You whine, nearly losing your footing on the fabric of your dress as you fumble with the tie around Elain’s waist. “We need to be safe,” she pants, hands roaming your body, soft, mindless noises of pleasure already spilling from your lips as she drags the pale yellow linen up your thighs, shoving it further up your body and tossing it away as you fall into the bed.
“Did you double knot this or something?” You huff, fingers still struggling with the tie. A frustrated growl sounds in the back of your throat, and instead you go for the pins, tossing the bronze adornments to the side, one by one clattering on the floor until she’s free. Elain lays back on the mattress, fingers dipping beneath the dress’ waist to shimmy out of the loose constraint, frantically tossing it aside once she’s as bare as you are.
“Come here,” she pants, settling down into the pillows. “Set your perfect cunt up here.”
Arousal throbs between your legs and you crawl over to her, underwear swiftly discarded then she’s helping guide your thigh over her head, knees dipping into the bed either side her head, offering her the perfect view, with perfect access. It’s a combination of Elain tugging you down and your own thighs hurriedly parting that finally has her mouth sealing over your pussy, her tongue licking hungrily over your centre, kissing and lapping your clit.
Throat rolling, you bring your attention to her heat, able to feel her arousal on your fingers even through the cotton of her underwear. With rapt attention, you peel away the fabric, silvery strands of slick webbing between her hot cunt and the soaked gusset. A moan slips out, and Elain bucks her hips, equally needful.
You waste no time, pushing your own hair out of the way to part the damp, honey-coloured curls between her legs. She tastes divine.
Hot, wet, and delicious.
You shift atop your lover, pressing further between her thighs, licking wherever your tongue can reach, circling her clit, giving her some attention too.
The heat is unlike anything you’ve experienced before. Mutual hunger; mutual filth.
It seems to be a unspoken agreement to be as messy, and indulgent as possible.
Elain’s creamy thighs open further, legs bending at the knee and a fresh ache of arousal flutters in your cunt as the heels of her feet cross atop the back of your head, keeping you locked in place as she grinds against your mouth, spreading her slick across your skin: a primal marking of her territory. You couldn’t be more pleased.
But you could be having more of her.
You push her legs away, Elain too weak to muster anything other than a whimper of protest, and sit upright, basking in the hot suction of her mouth. Slowly, lazily shifting your hips back and forth. She whines, her rough palms detaching from your holding your hips in attempts to slip between her own legs, but you deny her further, moving so her wrists are pinned by your ankles.
“That’s it,” you moan, spine arching as her tongue flicks against your clit, circling again, trying for further approval. She’s rewarded with a high-pitched whine slipping from your throat, your nimble fingers gliding down over the soft curve of her stomach, playfully skating over her abdomen, zipping up the sensitive inside of her thighs.
Elain whimpers, hips bucking, desperate for more than just the teasing touches you’re giving her.
“You’re doing so good,” you moan, circling your hips atop her. “Move with me.”
Your arms band beneath her lower back, and she pushes to go with you, allowing you to keep her head pushed into the deep pillows with your cunt while you sit upright, the tops of her thighs falling over your shoulders. Your head dips forward, lips suctioning around her clit, and you’re certain a fresh wave of arousal spills onto her rosey mouth when she once more locks your head in place, the bare soles of her feet working to push you to her pussy. Craving the stimulation.
————
The tap turns ninety degrees anticlockwise, cutting off the cloudy stream of water pouring into the porcelain tub, upheld by four, golden-clawed paws. Steam rises from the pale, frothy surface, bath salts turning the water a calming blue, like the sky just before dawn. A few clusters of bubbles froth about in swirls, a byproduct of the salts, but Eris cares little for them.
All he needs is to relieve the stress from his bones, pent up from the past half hour alone.
Eris steps into the tub, thankful for the heated warmth of the bath as it soothes the rampant fire burning in his veins. Simmering with a flame so fierce it threatens to bleed from his skin and engulf him in that searing burn.
The cloudy water is a reprieve, already healing; resetting the tension captured in his shoulders, the tendon along his nape, the harsh clutch of muscle in his stomach, the jittery spasms contained to his thighs. He takes a deep inhale: slow, and measured. Separating each note from the fragrance—rose; bergamot; citrus.Something like the cleansing scent of salt mud just beneath—the kinds located in the simmering pools found up in the northern Winter Court volcanic mountains.
Still, their scents linger.
He can feel them tinging his hair, like woodsmoke caught in fabric.
Eris scrubs a hand down his face, long fingers flexing as they move to run through his hair. How incompetent are they, in the Night Court? A brief education is all it would have taken to prevent this occurrence.
Even through two sets of double doors he can smell them, the two omegas nestling in his sheets. The arousal is only growing.
The bath simmers, bubbles rising from the depths as heat releases from his skin like a furnace, slowly bringing the water to a rolling boil. He grits his teeth, frustration increasing, sweat slipping down the nape of his neck, mixing with salty bathwater.
A passing reminder of their fingers clutched in one another’s clothes flits through his head, and the boil increases, spitting out water that evaporates before it can hit the white towel rug that’s set besides the tub. He tips his head back over the curved porcelain lip, staring up at the ceiling as he slides further into the bath, legs crossing, heels propped up on the far side, arms bracketing the sides. Fingers gripping the porcelain.
Boiling Cauldron…
Eris heaves a breath, tongue pressing to one side of his mouth, poking at the inside of his cheek. His brows furrow. They’d been surprisingly aggressive, for two omegas in heat. He’s accustomed to wanting eyes, curving spines and swaying hips, small separations of a lower and upper lip. He’s accustomed to obedience, from omegas. None of the fire that so appetisingly burns in alphas. The devouring appetite that possesses one when want seizes them. The hunger they can touch him with.
And yet.
The harsh curl of Elain’s lip passes through his mind again, followed by the scratches from her lover. Desperate and hungry.
Salt leaks from his tip, mixing with the cloudy water.
————
“Elain…!” You whine, long and drawn out as your hips buck, desperate to wriggle free from the torturous constraints. “Elain…!”
Half-wild arousal has firmly seized the both of you, the supposed relief of a shared orgasm only heightening the wicked desires drawing you together.
Between the two of you, you’d torn three of the four copper-coloured cords from the bed posts, the curtains falling free when they were no longer constrained but neither of you had the mind to care for the destruction. What you hadn’t anticipated was that you would be the one suffering from the mutually arousing idea.
“Elain…please…” You bite your lip, surely dripping onto the pale sheets covering the mattress, the duvet and cover long-since shoved away to create small, wall-like structures along the perimeter. The cords bind your wrists together, feet spread apart, one ankle tied towards each of the lower bed posts. Your cunt is aching. Hips rocking helplessly.
She’ll only smack your hands away if you try to reach for yourself.
Her knees are dipping the mattress either your head, a sultry smile on her flushed lips, slim, pale fingers dancing as they stroke tenderly down the side of your face, brushing hair from your cheek, sticky with sweat. “But you look so pretty like this,” she answers in a light breath, her hips shifting as though considering finally sitting, but no, she remains out of reach.
Her lips quirk, a wicked glint in her soft brown eyes. “How much do you want it?” She asks, fingers finally dipping into your hair, and you lean as much as you can into her touch.
You can’t even press your thighs together.
“I want it!” You beg, hips rubbing against nothing, the ache so acute tears well in your eyes. If only she would slip her fingers inside of you. If only her tongue would soothe the dripping arousal from your pussy. “Please- want it so bad… so, so fucking bad.”
“No curse words, lovely,” she chastises, running the nail of her finger over that spot beneath your ear, just shy of your jaw. “That mouth is filthy for me, not the words you spit out of it.”
“Yes- yes! It’s for you- just for you…”
Pearly teeth pinch her lower rosey lip.
“Open your mouth,” she murmurs, fingers scratching as they thread through your hair, “tongue out.”
You obey without question, and your eyes slide shut in bliss when she parts herself with her delicate fingers, settling herself atop your perfectly parted lips. Wet, honey-brown curls share her arousal, spreading the mess delightfully further. She smells wonderful. Mouth-wateringly so.
Heady moans groan from her lips as she begins rocking gently back and forth, dragging her hips forward then carefully reclining back, basking in the hot comfort of your tongue and she uses it to her pleasure. Elain shifts, her thighs pushing wider as her pace increases, rocking faster, grinding, riding your mouth. Her lovely brows curve, teeth biting her lip, clasping you by your hair as she pulls you closer, tighter to the heat of her cunt, practically bathing you in arousal.
“My clit…” she pants, cheeks flushed as she rubs against your tongue, “I- you need to- ohh…” She cuts herself off with a moan as your mouth closes around her clit, sucking it between your lips, tongue occasionally lapping up her centre before returning to her pleasure spot. Elain gasps, eyes squeezing shut, body stiffening as she comes, the orgasm fluttering in her stomach, whimpering from her throat.
Her cunt pulses as sweet ecstasy blows through her body, temporarily rendering her incapable of any task save for bracing as the impact rushes through her.
Her thighs shake, body trembling, panting heavily as her flush deepens, a hazy lethargy softening her cocoa eyes into something feline, and lazy. You lick your lips, tongue flicking teasingly over her clit once more, a twinge of arousal being plucked through your lower abdomen as her breath hitches.
‘Please,’ you think, ‘please let it be my turn now…’
Elain smiles, but there’s still that mischievous glint in her eyes—a side of her she’s not shown before. Potentially a side she didn’t even know she had, until this heat overtook her. Her fingers release from your hair to trail down your cheek, thumb swiping across the slick wetness of your lower lip. You flush, aching for more.
“Elain…” you breathe, desperation bleeding through. “Elain please…I need you…your fingers- your tongue…”
“My cunt?”
“Please…”
Her smile sharpens into a grin, making to remove herself from your face so she can slot her legs with your own, but she pauses, blinking. Her flush deepens, and her throat rolls.
You blink, staring up at her. Your pulse spikes, recognising that look. “What?” You ask, breathless. What’s occurred to her?
Elain chews lightly on her lower lip, glancing over you, turning to peer at your spread legs, the sheets bordering the bed with that lingering scent.
She looks at you. “Shall we invite him?”
Your lips part, eyes widening by a fraction. “Eris?” Your cunt aches, and Elain wets her lips before giving a slight nod. Teeth push into your lower lip, a slow smile stretching across your mouth. “Should we?” You whisper, shared mischief only encouraging the wicked notion.
“Would you be okay with it?” She checks, shifting off your body. “Yes,” you reply, as if it’s obvious, then pause, peering down at her, “would you be okay with it?”
“I suggested it,” she replies, eyes glittering with hunger. Your teeth slide beneath the plate of one of your nails, “should we both go?” You ask, excitement and anticipation hardly stifled. Elain frees your ankles from the ties, moving to the ones at your wrists, “why not?”
————
Even from here, he’s attuned to the pitter-patter of bare feet dancing across the hardwood floor of the room connecting his bedroom to the washroom. Can hear the mischief contained in their light, hurried footsteps.
He scrubs a hand down his face. Has he been in here an hour already? No. It’s been less than twenty minutes since he got in. Surely it’s not passed so quickly for them.
A set of light knocks are landed to the double doors, but the handle dips before he can so much as reply.
He could have used magic to seal the doors, but he’s not quite sound enough to manage with the strength of the arousal that’s been insidiously creeping into the washroom, sedating him.
A head of cascading curls leans through the door, a single pale arm keeping herself balanced as she peers into the room. Brown eyes find his, and he knows he’s in trouble from the look alone. Eris’ brows furrow—now he has two half-feral omegas to deal with as they go through their first heat.
“You’re supposed to be in bed,” he drawls, but even he can hear the tension lining his voice. Can feel it working its was through his body in spite of the soothing heat. Elain’s head tilts, “you’re not lonely in here?” Her lips twitch, and an arm slides around her waist, a body pushing into her back forcing her further into the room as her lover peers in behind her. It’s an effort he doesn’t attempt to make to keep his eyes from glancing over them.
Eris raises a brow, “are those my sheets?”
“Would you have preferred us to leave them on your bed?” The second omega asks, arms still clutched tight around Elain’s waist.
“We won’t get into what I would prefer, when it comes to the two of you,” Eris drawls.
As soon as the words are out, he knows he shouldn’t have said them. But he’s been thinking on what the two of them could have been doing in his bed for the past half hour, and now they’re on his doorstep clothed in nothing but a sheet between them.
He can scent the reaction that gets from his tub. It’s immediate, and strong. Two sets of eyes exploring across what they can see, glancing with unabashed interest to the cloudy blue water concealing the rest of him. Further arousal gathers between his legs, cock stiffening painfully, begging for attention.
Their mouths look so soft, and hungry.
“And why is that?” Elain questions, her voice low and rough. Her lover’s hands creep higher, nosing up the trail of pink suction marks on her throat.
Eris’ mind blanks. What is she asking?
Right—what he would prefer with the two of them. Or rather, what he’s supposed to be keeping from them. He can’t be telling them of the thoughts passing through his head, of the two of them kneeling, sharing his cock between exploring tongues. Of them hauling him impatiently from the bath, shoving him into his own bed while salty bathwater still drips down his spine. How their nails might scratch as they push him where they want, and hold him still.
Between the two of them, they could put up a good fight…
They could be enough to pin him down.
Arousal ignites in his blood, his throat rolling as the temperature rises. But what are the chances two omegas in the midst of their heat would want that?
Eris keeps his gaze level, unflinching as he looks between the two of them. “I’m in no mood to fix your meddlesome behaviour. If you’re looking for an alpha who’ll roughen you up in the way you’re imagining, you’ll have better luck elsewhere.”
Elain tilts her head. “What if we want to roughen you up?”
Her lover leans closer, “what then?”
Eris sighs, head tipping back against the porcelain, running a hand through his hair. That sounds ideal.
And they’re working up quite the appetite.
————
Surely he must know the two of you can scent him.
Heat and pheromones be damned, his scent is delicious enough you’d be able to pick it out anywhere. Heady and musky, a combination that usually has your nose wrinkling now surely has slick arousal further dripping down your thighs.
“For a male as commanding as yourself,” Elain begins, risking a step forward, “you’ve yet to even plainly ask us to leave.”
Sharp amber eyes focus upon her but Eris only watches as she approaches, that same look of displeasure barely masking the hunger lying beneath.
Elain slides free of the sheet you’re sharing, and you wet your lips as she walks naked into the sparkling clean room, crossing the white towel rug on the floor. “It’s funny, don’t you think? That you, in such a position of power, would let us so close if you didn’t want us here.” She reaches out her hand and the tips of her nails graze his forehead before her fingers are sinking into his hair, running through the fine strands as she walks to be at the back of the tub, crouching down so she can run her hand across his chest, lips settling just shy of his pointed ear, two gold hoops linked in either lobe.
Now that Elain has slipped out of even his periphery, heat flushes your aching body as those sharp, amber eyes settle on you.
You take a tentative step further into the room, the sheet still clutched to your front, keeping close to the door.
“What are you afraid of?” Elain murmurs, both her arms now coming round to settle over his chest. You want to slip into the bath with him and settle over his lap, kissing Elain while his hands lift and lower you onto him. You could ride him until he passed out.
Only if he wanted…
Eris’ lips twitch, a glint in his sharp eyes. “Whatever plans your partner is currently making for me.”
You tilt your head, “you’d love them as much as we would.” Elain’s lips curve, an encouraging look in her lovely eyes and you take another step forward, “though I’m sure you’ve already devised some plans of your own.”
Eris quirks a brow. “I thought we’d agreed to not speak on my preferences.”
“And why is that?” Elain drawls, nails gliding teasingly across the pale skin of his chest, small scars flecking his shoulders and probably the rest of him, too. “We came with an invitation,” she whispers, and you settle at the side of the tub, fingers playing with the golden chain attached to the bath’s plug. “Not an expectation.”
It’s hell, how slowly he’s making the two of you go. But then those amber eyes are running over you, and his fingers trail in the bathwater before his palm turns upward, expectantly. You lean forward, allowing him to hold your jaw lightly, flushing as the wet pad of his thumb swipes across your lower lip, how Elain had done. You flick your tongue out, then graze the ridge of his nail with your teeth, nipping at his thumb pad.
“How much arousal has already set here?”
Your throat rolls, cunt aching, needing so acutely that arousal is bordering on pain between your legs. After all, Elain hadn’t given you relief after she’d ridden your mouth to her climax. You’d both been too fixated on the idea of a third to really consider how long you’d have to suffer for.
The words from your throat are low and starving, inclining into his touch. “Come and find out.”
Eris’ fingers curl beneath your chin, goading you forward, and your fingers snag on the plug as you shift, playing with the chain before pulling it free as your wetted lips slide against his own. Your hair falls forward, trailing along the surface of cloudy water, head tilting to fit atop his mouth, eyes shut and basking in the hot swipe of his tongue as he tests out the flavour coating your lips. He groans, and your cunt pulses, arousal so unbearably heavy you consider dragging him from the bathtub and riding him on the cold tile floor.
Elain’s hand leaves Eris’ chest, fingers tracing up the side of your throat, nails scratching beneath your jaw and the threads of restraint fray. Eris’ fingers follow Elain’s, gently cupping your throat. Less than a hold, just letting his long fingers settle like ghosts around your neck. His thumb swipes across your skin, before slipping around to your nape, amber eyes sliding open just enough to glance over your features, far enough apart to lick slowly across your mouth, taking up more of her flavour, holding your gaze as he tastes her.
The water is slowly draining from the tub, revealing more and more of him for your eyes to delight in: the discoloured stretch of scars along his powerfully built torso, burn marks marring his sides, all kinds of experiences etched in painful detail upon his body. At his back, Elain sighs, head leaning against Eris’ as your fingers rise to hold his jaw, tilting his head upright as you lean further forward, angling him just right so you can drink from him, hungrily closing the distance between you while Elain’s hands trail their way lower down his chest, grazing his nipples.
The alpha groans into your mouth, and you know both you and Elain can feel the tremble in the hand resting at your nape.
He’s just as desperate.
Just as hungry.
————
Thank the mother the water is finally draining. Now their hands can explore, and navigate, and play without the risk of burns.
When the omega at his front pulls away Eris finds himself almost breathless, something restless and agitated now settling in his bones. A craving that’s only growing every second their skin isn’t pressed against his own.
Shit.
He knows this feeling.
He knows the signs.
But how can he complain over his rut being triggered when their heat is so enticing?
Elain takes the female’s place at his side, her mischievous fingers trailing down the centre of his chest, teasingly trailing lower, lower, lower…until…
Eris drags in a slow inhale, gripping the porcelain as her finger brushes the very tip of his cock, flushed and hard against his stomach. Already his base is swelling, needing to be lodged inside somewhere hot, and wet, and…
“What are you fantasising about, General?”
Those eyes he’s always thought of as soft, and timid, now gleam with a keen sense. Like she can see through his pupils, through his skull, peering into his mind without need for spoken answers.
Like she’s caught her meal, but wants to play before devouring him.
“About knowing each of you well enough to distinguish arousal by taste.”
It catches the omega’s attention across the room, her footsteps hurrying as she returns across the floor, towels in hand. So what if he could evaporate the water from his skin—why pass up a perfectly erotic opportunity to have her rubbing that abrading fabric across every inch of sensitive skin?
Elain laughs, but it’s low and strained, standing as her lover joins her side, fingers mindlessly settling on her lower back. The second omega cracks a smile, glancing to Elain as she hands her a towel before unfolding her own.
Dark brown eyes drift back over to him. “Get up.”
————
It’s relieving when his lips curve, at last that mask of his fully dissipating as he gets to his feet, and your mouth waters as the droplets roll off, eyes slowly tracing down his chest, lips parting as you follow the trail of hair dusting his abdomen, leading down to…teeth push into your lip to keep from jumping him as he steps out of the bath.
“And you had the audacity to try and convince us you had no interest in joining,” you comment, raising a brow as you eye the heavy weight of his cock, lips curving with pleasure and relief.
“I did no such thing,” Eris remarks, making way for you as you slip behind him, the towel held between your hands, sandwiching it between you as you press against his back, at once relaxing as his scent filters through your lungs. “Mhmm, you said you could scent us from the other side of the wing when we arrived,” you murmur, hands wrapping around his chest, still holding two corners of the towel as you dry his front. “You’re asking us to believe you’re this aroused from the past half hour alone?” You ask, smiling as he shivers, your fingers barely grazing his cock.
Elain steps forward, drying his shoulders with teasingly light trails of the fabric, and his body begins to heat. Teeth tug on your lip as you lean your head against his back, taking a deep drag of his scent.
“Could you tell you liked it even then?” Elain asks, and you follow her drift, trailing further down to wrap your hand around Eris’ cock under the guise of drying him off. “No lying…”
“You won’t know if I’m lying,” he replies, and you can hear that vulpine smirk in his voice.
“Won’t we?”
Your lips tug upwards, recognising the familiar challenge in her voice. It’s light and breathless, perfect for deceiving. Your grip on him tightens by a degree, and you rub him down once, offering a slow, torturous pump.
His breath hitches.
“Yes,” he murmurs, throat rolling, “I thought-”
You rub over his tip, the bead of moisture gathered there absorbed by the fabric.
“What did you think, Eris?” You whisper.
His pulse spikes, and you curve your front into him as his hand wraps atop your own, fingers interleaving. “I thought I’d like to taste it.”
A pleasured sigh falls from your lips, and a noise of sweet amusement hums in Elain’s throat. Your grip on him loosens, allowing him to guide your hand up and down, slow at first, so as not to hurt him, but soon enough Elain is pulling the towel from beneath your fingers, and you moan when it’s finally skin against skin.
Precum drips from his tip, and Eris releases a trembling breath as your thumb swipes through it, smearing the arousal up and down his length, following his guidance. You shift, allowing the towel to drop out from between your front and his back, not wasting a second before pressing close, breasts flush to his back and he’s a wall of solid heat, that fits so perfectly against you.
“How much longer until we can taste you?” You drawl, drowsy hunger dripping from your words as you touch him, free hand splaying possessive fingers across his hip, teasingly skittering across his abdomen. Eris’ throat rolls, his voice thick with strain as he replies, “not long…”
“Mhmm…should I come round to the front and finish you off?”
Eris’ head drops forward, a choked groan straining from his throat and Elain’s palms cup his jaw, directing his gaze to her own. “Answer her,” she murmurs, swiping her thumb beneath the curve of his lower lip. You hum with pleasure, increasing the pressure around his cock ever so slightly.
Eris squeezes your hand, a heavy breath breaking from his lungs that verges on a groan. “Elain…”
You can hear the raised brow in her voice, the smug upward tug of her lips as she strokes her thumb across the crest of his cheek. “Go on…” Elain encourages, voice dropping to a seducing whisper, “she’s getting impatient.”
Shudders thrum through his body, and you band your free hand across his waist as the orgasm weakens his legs. Breath departs from your lungs as his hand snakes around your back, the span of his long fingers easily gripping the back of the top of your thigh as the pleasure sweeps through him and you don’t have it in you to keep from trying to shift so his fingers brush against the place you desperately need them.
Fucking Cauldron, you need those fingers inside of you.
Need him inside of you.
A whimper breaks from your chest—how come even he’s got to cum before you?
You make to pull your hand away, but Eris keeps you still. Then his fingers shift, and you whine as something wet twines between you. They’re being cruel now.
Finally he releases you, and your clit pulses with arousal as you peel your front from his back, heat and sweat beginning to stick you together.
“Bed now?” You ask, stepping back, minding the towel. “Please, I’m so-” The words are snatched from your mouth, cunt aching as you spot the cum now splattered on Elain’s soft lower stomach, the tips of her fingers already tracing delicate patterns as she gives you a look, silently making her request with a hint of a smile on her kissable mouth.
She’s used that look on you so many times before, and it never fails to have you obeying.
“Just a little bit longer?” Elain asks, and heat flushes your cheeks as your knees settle on the white towel rug, hands running up the backs of her thighs while her fingers slip into your hair.
“I’ll hold that,” Eris murmurs, gathering your hair from your shoulders, pulling it away from your face, “we can’t have you getting so messy already.”
“Can…can I…?”
Elain smirks, “lick it up.”
Your thighs part, hips swaying as if it’ll relieve even an ounce of friction as you run your tongue over her abdomen, licking up the droplets of cum Eris had released. Elain hums, pleased with your hunger, and Eris’ hands are so gentle while they keep the hair from your face, and if it weren’t for the thrumming pain between your legs you’d feel content.
“That’s it,” Elain murmurs, and Eris pulls you back by your hair when you try to lick between her legs, dipping down to lift you from the ground and up onto your feet.
It’s time.
Impatience simmers just beneath your skin, and you grip Eris by his arm, glancing at Elain. “Now can we please speed this up? I’m dying.”
“Dying?” Eris echoes under his breath.
“You’re one to talk,” Elain retorts, grabbing his other arm as the two of you haul him towards the doors. “You didn’t even get her mouth on you before you were reaching your peak.”
“You’ve been driving me mad since the moment you entered this palace, that’s hardly a fair comparison.”
You tug on his arm, speeding the two of them up, mind already partially scrambled from all the things you’ll be able to do once you’re through those double doors. All the ways you’ll be able to satiate the pounding ache between your legs, the throbbing pulse of your clit as slick webs between your inner thighs.
“Did you agree to join us because you thought we’d be fair to you, Eris?” Elain murmurs, sounding about as breathless as you, anger beginning to strip away sense entirely as anticipation consumes you whole.
The low chuckle that’s drawn from Eris’ throat has you relieved to see the bed—messy and tangled as the sheets are—and you drag him around to the foot before hurrying him to recline. “Lie down,” you urge, pushing at his chest, frustration simmering in your abdomen; tingling in your fingertips.
Eris smirks, pushing a shiver up your spine as his hot palms ghost against the sides of your waist. “Between the two of you, you’re certainly the more eager,” he drawls, lifting a brow. He leans closer, squeezing your waist to pull you up onto your tiptoes. “Tell me, are you going to be the one riding my face, or my cock?”
Pain aches between your legs, but Elain has crept up on the bed behind him, and her arms wrap around his shoulders once more, her lovely curls cascading forward over his chest as she lowers her mouth to his ear. “Maybe we should blindfold you and make you guess.”
Your spine curves as he hardens, cock pressing into your abdomen, heavy and hot between his legs and so deliciously sized.
Between the two of you, you haul him down onto the bed, his knees folding back over the duvet walls lining the mattress’ edge, his head falling between Elain’s feet. His hands are quick to slide up over her thighs, encouraging her to settle over him but she hovers, waiting for you to crawl over his lap.
You bite your lip, tongue swiping out to wet your mouth as you peer at the scene before you. How badly you want to taste him, to lick up his underside, flick your tongue over the slit in his head. What sounds would he make?
But you’ve been tortured long enough—any longer and the aches will become unbearable.
Sharp, amber eyes find you from between her legs, and heat flutters in your lower abdomen as he lifts a brow. “Too much for you, omega?”
Anticipation tingles just beneath your skin as you crawl up onto the bed, straddling his hips. “Your cock matches the size of your ego,” you murmur, hands splaying greedily across his lower stomach, tracing the hair dusting his abdomen with your fingertips, grazing the pale skin teasingly. Mouthwateringly appealing. “I’ll find a way to take you, Eris.”
Eris groans, a sound full of male arousal. His lips quirk, one hand taking hold of his cock while the other slides around your hip, “shall I help you on?” A smile plays on your mouth as you follow his pull, “such a generous heir.”
Your lips part as he rubs himself through your centre, coating himself in the slick dripping from your cunt and your breath hitches when he runs the tip of his cock against your clit, precum surely mixing.
“Stop teasing…” you whisper, flushed and breathless, hips shifting, restless from being so long without stimulation.
“Me, teasing?” Eris drawls, eyes glittering with pleasure as your breaths stutter, aligning himself with your centre. “I’m waiting on you to settle down and get comfortable. Elain’s waiting for you to feel some kind of pleasure before she lets me have even a lick of her cunt. And you were the one forcing yourself to wait instead of getting into that tub with me and riding me until the water turned cold.”
You tighten around nothing, hips shifting but now he’s taken a firm hold of you with both hands and you can’t even sink down. “Are you going to take it well, omega?”
“Let’s not pretend you’ll be putting in so much as an ounce of work here,” you murmur, but there’s a dizziness beneath your skin, perspiration along your spine. “Why don’t you lay back and obey, for once.”
Amber eyes swirl like whiskey, but it still takes a few moments for his hold to relax, to yield his control entirely.
You couldn’t be more relieved when he does.
Your thighs part, hips tilting as you guide him inside, heart fluttering between your legs as that delicious pressure fills you up.
He’s inside of you. Nestled in your cunt. Practically inside your stomach.
The backs of your thighs are pressed flush to the tops of his, and his fingers tremble as they hook into the dip of your calves. Elain’s smile softens as your eyes flutter, your hands splayed out helplessly atop Eris’ abdomen before finally settling above him. Her breathing stutters and you nearly drool as you watch his tongue flicker, lapping over her sensitive clit.
You shift in his lap, nails scraping across his skin and you lean into Elain’s touch as she runs her hands up your body. Her fingers circle your nipples, cupping the weight of your breasts delicately as breath pants from your lungs. Thumbs swipe across their sensitive peaks, and arousal tingles between your thighs as your clit brushes the coarse hair of his abdomen, slick and wet from your own arousal.
“Ride him with me,” Elain whispers, and you whimper as her lips brush atop your own, feeling each of her letters on your mouth.
Your hips tilt, working yourself into a slow, lilting pace, hands curling into fists on Eris’ stomach as his cock pushes against so many different parts. You tighten around him, squeezing, and your breath catches when- is that his knot?
Fuck.
Fuck.
A growl slips from your throat when Eris’ broad palms make to grip your waist, attempting to move you of his own accord. Strength finds you, and you cross his arms over his stomach, leaning your weight on his forearms to pin them in place as you start riding him, your heat demanding release. He twitches inside of you, a low noise sparking in his chest as the two of you take control: using him; returning pleasure.
Your hips buck, head hanging as searing heat blazes beneath your skin, sweat surely beginning to slide down your spine, strands of hair curling to your slick temples.
“Come…come here…” Elain pants, fingers tilting your jaw and you lift your head enough to allow her room to guide her breast to your mouth. You whine, hips slowing their pace in favour of circling her nipple with your tongue. She takes a light hold of your hair, sweet noises slipping from her flushed mouth as tongues work her closer and closer to another orgasm.
Beneath your hands, Eris tries to move, but your nails graze his flesh and he stills once more, allowing himself to be pinned beneath the pleasure.
“You’re being so good,” Elain murmurs, panting breathlessly as you switch to her other nipple, circling it with your tongue. Her eyes widen, lips parting and you feel the ghost of her orgasm sweep through your own body too. She cries out, teeth clasping her lip as her thighs tremble, forcing herself through every swipe of Eris’ tongue as he serves her the high.
Watching her—watching them—… you circle your hips, finally releasing the alpha’s arms, and you nearly find release on the spot when his hands reach—not for you, but for Elain. His fingers lock around her hips, keeping her seating as his mouth fully opens over her cunt, pushing her further over the edge into overstimulation.
Sweat rolls down your spine but you force yourself to move, sitting upright so your weight is pulling you onto him.
It doesn’t take much, not with Elain in such a state of mess before you.
The high has you fluttering around him, the pleasure doubled as he finds his release alongside you, hot cum filling you up, flooding inside of you and you shake. Even once the high is passed neither of you will be able to move. You probably should have considered it beforehand but neither of you were in any state to do so. You’ll just have to wait it out, until his knot is no longer lodged inside your cunt to move.
You can tell his orgasm has faded by the way his hands tremble, Elain shaking as she falls backwards into some pillows, leaving Eris flushed and panting on the bed. Your hips shift teasingly, circling to give him some more stimulation and his throat rolls, breath catching. You smirk, nails grazing a trail down his abdomen, “too much, alpha?”
Eris doesn’t reply, and wicked amusement dances in your chest.
“You did so well for your first round—ready for the next?” You ask, squeezing him with your cunt. Fuck, his knot is keeping you completely stuck to him.
“If I’d known you were going to be so insufferable once your heat had eased, I would have said much worse things to you while I had the chance,” Eris snaps, but it’s lacking the usual venom he puts into his words. Your lips kick up at the edge, shifting your hips once more, watching his jaw clench as pleasure sparks through him with the slightest stimulation. “I’m certainly not stopping you. Elain’s not stopping you. The only one-”
“Shut up,” Eris groans, scrubbing a hand down his face as you parrot his earlier complaints back to him.
You hum, observing the heir and your lover, both laying on their backs, flushed and panting. You eye the gleaming arousal on Eris’ mouth, and lean forward, running your tongue across his lip. He twitches inside of you, and your teeth gently tug on his lower lip, tasting the remnants of her orgasm on his tongue.
“How long do you think it’ll take?” You murmur, one hand gliding up his chest, fingers grazing across his right nipple. His breathing shallows as you do so, “longer if you keep touching me like that.”
“Does the heirling alpha need a break?” You coo, shifting to graze your lips along the column of his throat, teeth flashing as you nip here and there. Eris growls, amber eyes flashing, lifting into a sitting position, “I told you I wouldn’t act in line with your expectations.”
You tilt your head, peering at him. “And we told you this was an invitation, not expectation. If you don’t want to take charge then don’t. Put those habits to rest while you’re here,” you say, arms lifting over his shoulders. “Either you’ll fit with us or you won’t, that’s all.”
Your fingers slide into his hair, nails scratching soothingly. It takes a few moments, but the tension dissipates from his upper body, and his canines graze the tendon in your neck lazily before he’s settling on your shoulder.
Behind him, Elain is watching silently from the bed, and you hold her gaze. Cocoa eyes twinkle with mischief, thighs teasingly parting as her fingers slip between her legs, circling her clit. A mix between a whine and a growl gets caught in your throat as you frown at her, pouting. “Now you’re being mean, Elain,” you mumble, eyes sliding shut as you nose at the male draped over you, taking an inhale of his scent.
You peer at her again, “come over here.”
She smiles, slinking across the bed, draping herself over Eris’ back. You lift your chin as she dips down, slanting her mouth over your own, kissing slow, and lazily. The alpha between you sighs, his arms collecting around your waist, Elain’s ringlets falling over his back.
“Speaking of mean,” Elain murmurs between kisses, “you’re stealing all the stimulation. Greedy.”
You nip at her lower lip, left hand sliding into her hair. “It’s payback,” you mumble, amusement curving your mouth, “for making me wait so long.”
Elain grumbles, but kisses you again.
This should be the point Eris is taking you from his chambers to the lower floors, now that your arousal has temporarily subsided. It would probably be safer to do so; smarter. But it feels so comfortable, being tangled together. So right.
It’s not as though he’s going to take the initiative, and neither you nor Elain have the inclination to venture out on your own again.
Not when you’re so cozily tucked together in this make-shift mess of a nest.
~~~~~~~~
general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna @acoazlove
eris taglist: @feerique
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Matching PJ's
Pairing(s): Azriel x Reader
Summary: You and Azriel get matching PJ's for Solstice
Word Count: 1137
Warnings: Intense makeout session, fluff, Azriel being obsessed and possessive, suggestive.
A/N: I edited this so instead of the matching set, reader got something a little bit more spicy to fit with the theme in my head!
acotar masterlist | main masterlist
divider by @cafekitsune
The River House was abuzz with excitement, wine flowing just as freely as the conversation. Wrapping paper littered the floor as it finally came time to open present’s and you snuggled into Azriel’s chest leaning further into him as you sat on his lap and his arm wrapped possessively around your waist. Ever since you two mated you introduced a new tradition to the family from Winter Court where you were from.
After dinner everyone opened up Solstice PJ’s. Each couple of the inner circle picking out matching ones for a different mated pair. Cassian and Nesta just showed off their glittery gold pajamas that looked more like wrapping paper with bows and little bells attached than actual sleeping wear, Cassian giving off a final spin as everyone cheered and Nesta just rolled her eyes at his antics. Mor clapping the loudest at her choice of clothing for the couple.
“Thank you, Thank you.” He boasted before finally settling on one of the couches pulling his mate with him. “Alright! Y/N and Azriel’s turn.” Cassian grinned wildly. “Don’t worry guys, we picked some really good ones for you.” He said with a wink and you rolled your eyes at him, you’ve had some pretty awful and some pretty amazing pj’s ever since introducing this fun little game.
Cassian was determined to find something that would embarrass Azriel the few times he drew your names from the bowl. You stood up from your seat, catching the wrapped bundle from Nesta before making your way to the bathroom, Azriel following close behind you.
“Nothing can be worse than what they got Feyre and Rhys last year.” Azriel reminded you as you ripped open the gift, you chuckled at the memory of the neon green pj’s that came with sewn in lights the couple had been forced to wear all night.
“I wouldn’t underestimate Cassian.” You responded and Azriel hummed in agreement.
You both made quick work of shedding your clothes. Azriel’s eyes tracking every movement you made and when you were nothing but in your undergarments he couldn’t stop himself from pressing you up against the bathroom counter kissing you deeply as his hands settled on your waist, slowly moving down to your thighs with each slide of his tongue against yours.
You slowly forgot about the people waiting for you and whimpered softly against his mouth, tugging at the strands of his hair and he groaned, pressing his hips against yours.
Azriel lifted you up and set you on top of the counter, sliding in between your thighs and titled your head back with a slight tug of your hair so he could gain further control of the kiss. You let out another moan and tried to grip the counter behind you for support.
The sound of the soap dispenser falling into the sink brought you back down to earth and you pulled away from him. “You’re naughty, Spymaster.” You reprimanded, his eyes still glazed over with lust as he smirked. “Can’t help it.” Azriel breathed out slowly, his hands still settled on your waist.
You blushed embarrassed you almost let him fuck you while his family was still a few halls down. Azriel couldn’t help the male pride at your flushed cheeks and he nipped at your earlobes. You giggled and squirmed, finally pulling away from him and sliding off the counter. “You need to stop that!” You exclaimed, fighting a smile off. “Your family is just in the other room.”
Azriel made a show of putting his hands behind his back, and taking a mini step away from you. His eyes scanned over your body before you hid the magnificent sight away, sliding up the little nightgown Nesta and Cassian bought for you.
Once you were fully dressed Azriel had an even harder time taking his eyes off of you. He didn’t know what his brother was thinking when he bought the matching black and red set but he was going to kill him.
He wore black and red plaid pants, it hung low on his hips and he didn’t miss the way your eyes trailed down his V-line or his muscular arms as he slid the tight red shirt on. He was surprised at how mellow the set was until he saw you. It was a skimpy red nightgown, the same shade as his shirt. The thin straps crisscrossed in the back and black lace covered the hem and the low cut near your cleavage.
It accented your assets perfectly, barely covering that perfect ass and the tease of your gorgeous thighs had his cock straining in his pants. Cassian and Nesta had somehow gotten your exact measurements, the dress -if you could even call it that- hugged you perfectly like a second skin, highlighting every beautiful curve and dip of your body. You grabbed your clothes and Azriel’s, magicking them away to your house and turned to face him noticing the dark expression in his eyes.
You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face and gave him a little spin. “You like?” You asked cheekily and Azriel let out a pained sound. “You’re going to kill me.” He whispered, stepping close to you and pulling you into him as he kissed you even more passionately than before.
His grip tightened and his touch grew more demanding as he slowly walked you into the wall, his kiss left you breathless and his lips moved to your neck and then eventually your shoulder. “Azriel we have to go-“ You started but he cut you off with a growl and a firm kiss, demanding control as he let himself explore your mouth as if he had never tasted you before.
You went limp in his arms moaning embarrassedly loud. Azriel hiked one of your legs over your waist and soon a loud demanding knock echoed through the bathroom.
“Come on! Your five minutes are up, we don't need a repeat of Feyre and Rhysand from last year!” Morrigan yelled loudly. Azriel ignored her kissing you even deeper and holding you even tighter while she kept loudly knocking. Finally you found the strength to pull away. “Azriel.” You warned and he let out a groan of frustration but pulled away, setting you back down on the floor and brushing your hair with his fingers as you tried to make yourself look presentable. Before you left the bathroom Azriel gave you a look that promised he wasn’t done with you and you gave him a kiss on the cheek conveying your excitement.
Finally you opened the door and Mor gave you a knowing smirk before the three of you headed back to the living room. Whoops and cheers erupted as you made your debut and Cassian let out a long wolf-whistle at the sight of you.
“Looking nice Y/N.” Nesta smirked and Azriel cut down everyone’s excitement shortly, pulling you into his lap and shadows hid most of you from view, his hands gripping your waist with an intensity that you loved.
“You’re a dead male Cassian.”
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Time honored tradition for Eris to make specific animals for his siblings
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Cassian has been a protector, a shield, for a long *long* time, to many different people, but his brothers were the first.
(also, pretty unrelated, i think cassian should use chain blades. Bc they're SICK)
@cassianappreciationweek
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hello I just wanted to say I found your blog the other day and I’ve been binging everything and I am obsessed with 4th floor. So sorry for any spam notifs as I was reblogging it, just read it all at once and had to 😅
NEVER APOLOGIZE I love you I love people reading my fics I love spam likes and spam reblogs it’s so fun to watch in real time
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𝐸𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑛 𝑊𝑒𝑒𝑘 𝐷𝑎𝑦 4:𝑁𝑒𝑤 𝐵𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 💐
Lucien and Elain finally start something new and begin courting. Here they are on a first date at a beautiful garden. I feel like Lucien’s fiery personality would bring out Elain’s sassier side so I see a lot of banter in their future. This gorgeous art was done by mangomangoj (ig) thank you so much Jane it was a pleasure working with you.
Art by mangomangoj (ig)
Commissioned by me for @elucienweekofficial
Characters belong to Sarah J. Maas
PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, ALTER, OR USE FOR ANTI-CONTENT
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ACOTAR THIS OR THAT // CASSIAN VS. LUCIEN EDITION
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#i’m so tired of being sad all the time#i’m tired of being the sad friend#i’ve been isolating myself because I know I’m exhausting to be around#everhthing just sucks#if there was just an end date to my suffering I could handle it#but I’ve been in the trenches for a year and a half now and idk when it’ll change#maybe it never will!#maybe I’ll be unemployed forever#everything sucks#i’ve been isolating from people and things I love doing#time to listen to bo burnham until I feel better 🫡
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love lying in job applications. Like. What the hell, sure. I am suited to fastpaced high pressure environments. No i will not kill anyone if i get even a little stressed out
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INDEED.COM IS A BASTION OF DECEPTION AND DEVILRY
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I NEED A HERO, the bloodied knight returning to his lady.
Tip jar
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