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fxckmiup · 7 days ago

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PRETTY GIRLS

summary — acting like it never happened when the sun comes up is easier than leaving her husband

warning(s) — established relationships, lavender marriage, ongoing affair, milf wanda maximoff, age gap, alcohol consumption, dom!top!wanda maximoff, flirting, russian dialogue, neck kissing, biting, bratty reader, hair pulling, brief humiliation, choking, face grabbing, public shenanigans, probably underlying exhibition kink, hickies/marking, face slapping, begging, light condescension, ass slapping, doggy style, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), multiple orgasm, overstimulation, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, making out, asking to cum, orgasm control, implied multiple rounds, morning after, men/minors dni

authors note — inspired by pretty girls by renee rapp! highly recommend listening!

A hand snakes around your waist without any warning, but it doesn’t take you by surprise as you lean against the bar, waiting for your drink with haphazard disinterest. The tropical landscape around you is breathtaking; the palm trees and pale sand is truly something astonishing to experience personally, but even the twinkle lights strung along the loveshacks awning do little to hold your attention for long.

Your eyes glance down at the hand on your hip. The lilac wristband tells you that it's a coworker who's joined you at the resort's exclusive beach bar, and the dainty gold bracelet twisted around it narrows your options down to only one pretty girl on the trip. The thin chain is accented by three elegant letters — V, B, and T; her husband and her sons. She’s married, with two eleven-year-old boys that think the absolute world of her. They’d be astounded to know this isn’t the first time her arms linked around you like this; like you’re the one she’s married to. You're not. You’ll probably never be.

Wanda’s twelve years older than you. You remember that when she smiles at you, and the lines on her cheeks are deep and sweetly aged. The boys, William and Thomas, are twelve years younger than you. They’re good enough kids from what you’ve overseen and been told, but they assuredly reflect too much of their fathers short fuse to be perfect angels. That doesn’t bother you; not even when they visit the office and one of them routinely dissolves into a fit beyond your thin door.

Her husband, Victor Shade, is another executive beneath your company’s wide branch, but only one of six that are sanctioned within New Jersey, and only one of three who are sanctioned in the same Westview complex. It’s just you, Victor, and Wanda, and a sea of other employees, but none who share the same job description or Monday morning meetings. That’s left you with more than enough time to form a friendship, and disrespect her marriage on more than one occasion.

“Hi, pretty girl.” Wanda’s teeth scrape up the sensitive side of your neck without shame. You’re over three thousand miles away from home right now. None of the other executives had fancied a drink when you’d extended the offer after your scheduled excursion; rightfully so, the unrelenting sun had scorned your cheeks raw in the few hours you’d been out on the water, and the repercussions of the burn were catching up to you as your face felt scorching. “I’m officially yours until tomorrow.” She breathes the scent of you in, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t replace all of your resentment and sadness with burning desire.

This is how it went. This would always be how it went. The first time she’d told you that Victor wouldn’t mind her slipping away to be with you — though she’d called him that stupid nickname you despise hearing — she’d thought it would flatter you to know you weren’t going to be a secret kept fully in the dark, just beneath flickering candlelight. What’s pathetic is that it did at the time, and it still does now as your lips curve into a grin as you twist in her arms.

“Mmm, I like the way that sounds.” You hum, craning your head to sink your teeth into her neck. A satisfied hum tickles her soft skin when your tongue juts out to lick a sweet stripe along her collarbone, testing the faint remains of salt and tequila that had splashed out of her glass when you hit a rogue wave on the Caribbean. “I never got to tell you how hot you looked in that bikini.”

Wanda hums, she’s putty beneath your hands. She’s been wanting this all day. Her longing stares across the yacht weren’t discreet, nor were they ever. It’s a mystery how you haven’t been found out, but you thank every star that aligns when her desire is somehow concealed beneath the natural happenings of the world. It’s a treasure to have it all to yourself; to have her all to yourself.

She cranes her neck, pulling back to watch your face. ”Good thing I haven’t changed yet.”

You take the invitation to trail you gaze across her body. The bright orange straps of her bikini poke out from beneath a knit coverup. Your instinctive hum of appreciation warms Wanda’s chest, the taut apples of her cheeks flaming with lust. She leans in close, one single step all it takes for your chests to brush, pert nipples crashing together in the center of a Cancun bar. Wanda’s emerald gaze flickers to your lips, more specifically your cupid's bow, and her pupils blow with tantalizing want. Every stroke of her gaze over you is a test to your patience.

“Yeah. Good thing indeed.” Your drone, and if somebody tapped your shoulder and told you there were hypo-disks on Wanda’s exposed, freckled, sun kissed shoulders, you would’ve believed them. The ambient glow of flickering string lights washes across her sunburn like a shower of light, bringing attention to the darker patches and abstract spots around and beneath delicately thin straps.

Her waist is a silhouette beneath the coverup. The slender hourglass figure is hidden enough to evade stares, but not enough to be insignificant to your watchful eyes. Your own pupils are blown with arousal, lust wrapped around your spinal cord controlling your every movement at will. Her navel gleams at you, taunting you. A particularly wide hole has just enough of a shadow cast around it that your eyes can’t help but trace the dip in her skin, where your tongue has dragged a plethora of times.

“Your daiquiri.” A sultry voice cuts through the tension being established between you and Wanda, your stares charged and equally electrice as you evade the others eye in a game of cat and mouse, willing yourselves to see who’ll last longer before somebody pounces. You haven’t fed Wanda an ounce of alcohol yet; that’s what gives her the courage to kiss you at all.

You spin around, letting Wanda’s arms hold onto your hips. The bartender, the same one who’d asked your order initially, wore a charming smile on her lips and bright blue eyes. They didn’t shine as bright as Wanda’s. They weren’t as magically light and incandescent either. “Thank you, Kantyi.” Your eyes flickered to his nametag, a charming aura of suggestion wafting off of your buzzing frame. Not even Wanda’s possible grip, the pressure of her nails digging into her hips, the irritation rolling off of you could dissuade your show. Kantyi, who had definitely taken the hint that you were not open to his company, was thoroughly enjoying whatever was happening though. “Can I do a Cancun Blue for the pretty girl, too?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Kantyi dipped his head, perfectly in time with your pillowy lips wrapping around the clear straw, and Wanda’s nostrils flared beneath his oblivion.

Thankfully, he didn’t bother glancing back at you; slipping away to fulfill your order with a laugh jostling his shoulders. “Vestí sebya. (Behave)” Wanda hadn’t taught you many Russian phrases, but she’d taught you a few, and you’d gathered even more just from hearing the daily conversations that happen between her and Victor and the boys. This is one that she’s taught you specifically though, and it churns your belly with something electric until you’re squirming beneath it, thighs pinching together when a sensation of warmth spreads across your core beneath your bikini bottoms.

Your head lulls back, your hair sprawling across her shoulder. Wanda can’t decipher if you're flush from her touch, or simply that bad at applying sunscreen regularly. Her lips pull upwards regardless, and she smirks at you. Desire is bottled beneath your glare, sparkling impatience at the surface too. “What if I don’t want to?” You reply, your hips pushing back into hers to emphasize that point.

“Dostatochno pary chasov bez moikh prikosnoveniy, i ty ne smozhesh' nichego podelat', krome kak vesti sebya kak shlyukha. (All it takes is a couple hours without my touch and you can’t help but act like a slut)” Wanda marvels at your evident desperation, and it annoys you how easily she can read through your misbehavior. You don’t know what all she said. The music is loud, the waves are crashing just out of reach, and your Russian is choppy enough when she’s speaking it slowly to you. The last word hangs around you though. It’s one you’ve learned, never been taught, just slowly began to recognize when she used it interchangeably with English. Slut. You’re in the middle of an exclusive bar, on an all inclusive retreat with your company, and she’s brazenly calling you a slut with her fingertips creating half moon bruises on your hips.

“No.” You have a mind to reply, even when the majority of her muttering was gibberish to you. Wanda huffs in amusement. You’re cute, even when you’re attempting to provoke her. She’s falling for it too. How can she not when you bat your eyelashes at her, lips wrapped around a straw that sucks up a frozen beverage just a few shades too cartoony to match your core, but the sentiment is the same as Wanda imagines utilizing your tongue for other things.

“Don’t test me, detka. We’ve got an entire villa to ourselves, or have you forgotten? I can make you scream, as loud as I want, for as long as I want.” Wanda’s breath fans across the shell of her ear, but even without the heat and vibrato of her insinuations against your skin, you would’ve shivered anyways. A weight drops in your belly, turning into sparks of live energy and butterflies. Your clit throbs, the muscles in your thighs tense. ”I would rethink being a brat now.” Her eyes lock with Kantyi’s over the bar as she says it, and humiliation flames across your cheeks as your pliant eyes take in his bold amusement.

“Your drink.” His accent is heavy, it takes no genius to consider that English is his second language. It seems to dawn on Wanda, and her lips curve into a sickening smile that doesn’t convey an ounce of sincerity. It takes all of your might to conceal the whimper of defeat clawing up your throat, her reserve cracking as she bestows her best glance of indifference at the friendly bartender, pretending like she didn’t care that he’d just overheard a private conversation, one that makes her belly churn without the liquid confidence he’s still patiently extending.

“Gracias, Kantyi.” The way the words roll off of her tongue does you in completely. Her own Sokovian accent is muted, forgotten over time, only revisited when you wind her up with enough pleasure or a topic from her past comes to light; namely her mother or her other. But, the way she can encapsulate a Spanish accent without trying is maddening. She’s been pulling it out all week. Tripping you up when she sneaks up behind you and orders something strong and sweet in a dialect you haven’t stopped trying to learn since you were five.

The only thing that reminds you that this level of boldness is abnormal for her are the large gulps she takes of her margarita, not even letting her tongue taste the salt rim or savor the burn that splashes across the back of her throat and taste buds. She's fervent as she takes half the margarita down before she comes up for air, and by the time she’s glancing at you again, you’ve regained your flame of passion that she’d previously quenched.

”Do I make you nervous, pretty girl?” You bat your eyelashes up at her, choosing to simply feel the ripples of arousal in your belly rather than be controlled by them entirely.

In a single moment, Wanda’s fingers twist into the hair that’s still sprawled across her shoulder in tangled waves crisp from salt residue. There’s no way to replicate the waves that form when you get back to Westview, so you take full advantage of the humidity and beachy aroma. A gasp falls off of your lips at the dull sensation. She hadn’t been able to grab enough for it to hurt, or truly even phase your oversensitive nerves, but the undertones of the simple action spoke for what she would never dare to say. Not here, around all these ears and watchful eyes. She’d never say it, but the expectation remains — you’re hers, and she’s in charge.

“Pretty girl,” She turns the tables on you, and your mouth goes dry. Her emerald stare is intoxicating, warm with heat and explicit excitement. Her arm twists around your waist tighter now. You’re not wearing a cover up like she is. Your bathing suit top had been enough coverage in your opinion, but you’d paired the tankini with olive linen shorts. The very ones that make Wanda’s eyes gleam like shimmering jewels when she sinks to her knees in front of them. “Let’s not forget that I’m the one who makes you nervous.”

Wanda’s fingers ghost across your neck, like she’s fixing the clasp of your necklace. She’s not. Her fingertips feel heavy as they press into the side of your neck for a moment and then two. “I can feel your pulse, honey. Are you nervous right now?” She taunts you, and your throat bobs with a dry swallow. Your lips find your straw again, sucking down another quarter of your drink that’s beginning to melt beneath the heat of your palm and the humidity of Cancun. You’d even say that it was melting beneath the heat of sexual tension budding between you and Wanda, but that would be insane.

“I’m going to kill you.” Your eyes narrow into daggers, but you’re sure there's not even an ounce of venom conveyed in your expression right now. Your every sense is clouded with lust, pupils blown as evidence.

Wanda’s jaw hardens, and in a moment of confidence you hadn’t known she possessed, her fingers curled around your jaw, holding you firm. Her thumb presses into your cheek, but her ring finger and pinky hold the base of your neck, feeling the pulse in your jugular. It’s quick, unsteady. It only quickens even more when she squeezes just once, as if she’s not already holding you in a near death grip.

Your eyes become disks, an abyss of black that conveys what words can’t. You can’t even try. The confidence you’d held dissipated beneath her touch. It stood no chance of returning anytime soon when her hand slid lower, her fingers wrapping around your throat. She squeezed tight, holding the pressure there for a moment. She wasn’t restricting airflow, but that didn’t negate the total control she had right now in any way. She can feel your throat bob beneath her palm, and she hums in satisfaction.

Your body is aching for her. You’re desperate at this point. All day she’d been touching on Victor. All day you’d watched her flaunt around a yacht in that bright orange bikini and you couldn't even take a taste. Your nipples are sensitive beneath the triangle cutouts. Your core pulses with need. If your bathing suit bottoms were dry before, they’re not anymore.

“Finish your drink. It’s time to go.” Wanda’s eyes are darker than the sky beyond the loveshack. You think it’s a fitting name, considering your eyes flicker across the little bar for only a moment and you’re certain you witnessed three identical sights of people luring others back to private rooms. It eases the flush on your cheeks just the slightest bit, enough to encourage you to finish the rest of your drink in one breath.

Your head pulsed with a sudden cold rush, and for a single moment, Wanda laughed at your squinted eyes and scrunched nose. In the summertime, freckles brush her cheeks in bold clumps. They’re on display now, some scrunched up and half moon shaped as she mimics your expression. It’s a single moment of wholesomeness. A single moment that forces you into the ever typical spiral of what could be if you just tried. You knew that conversation well if you brought it up, so instead you settled for being okay with this arrangement — with getting her when the world can’t see her for who she really is.

Everyone was placed in the same private section of the resort, with a pebble path that led directly to the Loveshack. You’d walked the pebbled path for the last five days, sometimes barefoot, sometimes racing to catch up with Maria, already past drunk. Regardless of your familiarity, Wanda guided you the whole way back to the room with a hand on the small of your back.

You turn the corner toward her villa. It’s directly across the path from yours, but Natasha’s sits in the middle. The shape reminds you of a kuldesac. Wanda’s hand is around your waist now, she pulled you into her side affectionately. Your breath catches when her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your shorts. It’s not innocent to start, but it’s beyond what you could’ve expected when she pulls at the string holding your bottoms up. It unties with ease, and you hate that Wanda knows you don’t double knot anything.

“Wanda.” You seeth, your hips swaying awkwardly as you try not to think about the string beginning to slip down your leg. Every step shifts the loose linen, and with every shift the string loses its structure. If one side falls, it won’t take long for the other to as well, but now isn’t the time to stop and adjust your bathing suit. Somehow, the path is clear. None of your fellow executives are currently leaving or going, which is some kind of miracle because it means Wanda hasn’t pulled away from your embrace at all, but the idea of being so exposed in public is still unnerving no matter if an audience is present.

Wanda only laughs, her head tipped backwards as she lets her eyes close. Her jaw clicks when she opens her mouth to let the sound fall out, and you admire how the muscles in her chin strain and flex with the synchronized movements. You huff, digging your fingers into her side.

Wanda’s elation sobers instantaneously, and that lulled submission you’d felt in the bar overcomes you again in a rogue wave. “I’m getting really sick of your attitude, moya lyubov.” She seethes, and your mind goes fuzzy around the edges with muted electricity as it sparkles something innate deep in your core. Something about her aggregation when it’s channeled so intentionally into sexual release is encouraging to say the least.

”So do something about it.” Your repose is breathy, a desperate pant that holds no candle to the suppressing heat of Cancun’s humidity. It doesn’t affect Wanda in the slightest, but you don’t notice that.

She rolls her eyes at you, because quite frankly, it’s all that she can stomach doing when anyone’s around to see her engage in something so… not wrong, but… not who she claims to be. Her threats aren’t entirely empty. She’s not above prolonged punishment if it means settling a score in private, but something tells you there isn’t going to be much patience involved once you get into that hotel room.

“Where is Victor exactly?” You ask when she opens the door, the keycard between her nimble fingers like the string of your bathing suit had been. You don’t want to think about him, not when you’re minutes away from having her body beneath your wanting fingertips that twitch with the need to have her completely, but you can’t help but dwell when he’s scattered around the villa so easily. His suitcase by the closet, his cologne by the television, his trunks that don’t match Wanda’s bikini, but are also orange thrown over the back of the chair as the small table in the corner to dry. He could come back at any time. He knows. This has all been approved and discussed, but you can’t face him walking in on you while his wife takes you apart.

Wanda closes the door with her hip, and you make note of how hers seems to be lighter than yours as it swings shut with a heavy thud. It’s a satisfying sound. One that you’ll hear far too soon against tomorrow morning.

She pushes you up against the wall. Her hands are on your hips, holding them down against the cream walls that support you fully. The sudden collision of your body with the hard surface stole the breath from your lungs, wide eyes searching for answers in Wanda’s for a million questions and none at all. She laughed at the state of you, leaning in until her lips found that soft spot behind your ear.

“With Tony.” She sighed, marking kisses on your burning skin. The heat of her kiss is like a branding, but when she pulls away, there’s no mark left behind to prove she’d even been there at all. “He won’t be back until tomorrow.”

You’d never explicitly known that Tony Stark from one of the New York districts swung for the same team, but it didn’t fully surprise you as you nodded along to Wanda’s words blindly. Your hands clawed at her coverup, annoyed with the layers keeping you from her slowly bronzing skin. The Mexican sunlight was truly doing her well. As was the silence of a kid-free week outside of scheduled phone calls she was more than mentally prepared for.

“Great. Take me to bed now.” You demand, attempting to pry the cover up off of her shoulders. Your fingers force one sleeve down her shoulder, so close to seeing only orange straps, but you don’t get much farther than that.

You should’ve known it was coming. The slap that landed against your cheek with a force that burned between insignificant and uncomfortable. Wanda had practiced control over her blows, and that always startled you. Your eyes, practically permanently blown and wide beneath her gaze at this point, snap up to her with the same dumbfounded expression you’d worn countless times already tonight.

“I know you’re a desperate slut, but I thought you were at least capable of remembering how to ask for things correctly.” She snapped, finally at her limit with your continued disobedience. It was hot. The way her eyes darkened, became grey. She was an entirely different woman now. One you’re certain Victor has never met. “The next thing out of your mouth better be something sweet or I‘ll leave you like this until tomorrow. And we’ve got a long day tomorrow, baby. I can make your life a living hell until then.”

You know she can. She’d made every day this trip absolutely miserable even when she hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t because you wanted to be the one she held onto when you hit rocky waters on the yacht or she felt uneasy walking around the outskirts of the resort, but because you

d wanted to rip every piece of clothing off of her body like you had no sense of the law. Relationships be damned. You’re just glad you get to have her body when everything is all said and done with.

“Please.” It falls off of your lips like low hanging fruit that’s perfectly ripe. Wanda beams an sadistic grin, canine teeth digging into her plush bottom lip that curves upwards.

“What was that, pretty girl?” Wanda frowned, pretending as if she hadn’t heard you, as if she didn’t know what it was that you were begging for. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Please Wanda.” Your hips attempt to raise off the wall, press into hers. She doesn’t allow it. She slams them back down hard, her eyes slotted into unimpressed daggers. “Please touch me. Please. I’ve wanted you all day. You don’t know how hard it was to keep my hands to myself when you looked that damn good. Please, I… I need you.” There’s a wanting edge to your pleas, your mindless babbles, that finally breaks her reserve though not her harshness.

She’s still sinister beneath the dark lighting. She hadn’t reached for the lights when she’d guided you inside, and moonlight falls around the palm trees and white sand outside. The only shadow in the room comes from the bathroom light, and even then it's dimmed to the lowest possible brightness. You don’t need to see anything right now, and the things that you do need to see will assuredly be close enough to make out every intricate detail and fold with what you have to work with.

“You looked so pretty today.” Wanda hums as she unties the single knot keeping your tankini upright. It stays up for the most part on its own, but she doesn’t test its strength. Her hands are greedy as they force your arms above your head and pull it off. Your hair sweeps across your back when it falls,and you shudder at the soft sensations. “I could’ve kissed you right then and there.” Your belly warms, and your lips chase hers.

Wanda lets you kiss her. She lets your tongue explore her lips and her tongue, she doesn’t even pull away to chastise you when your teeth stake their claim on her lip. Her fingers are busy, working secretly beneath your distraction. The small act of pacifying you with a make out session pinned against the wall while she works your shorts and bottoms off is worth it. Even if it's bound to go to your head.

You whine when your core is exposed to the air conditioned villa in one abrupt motion. The linen shorts are eased down your thighs easily, and follows are you bathing suit bottoms that have been entirely untied by her skillful fingers. You think it’s a waste that she exerts her potential on frantically typing and responding to emails at the office. The slender digits with pronounced knuckles bearing deep ridges move fast and quick. You hadn’t even noticed she was working at your bottom half until suddenly nothing kept you concealed from her eye.

“Get on the bed.” Wanda demands, and there’s a hint of impatience in her tone that you’re finally getting somewhere. One that wall breaks completely, there will be only the frailest line between you, her, and anything even remotely holy. “On all fours.” She adds as an afterthought, stepping away from your body and letting you pass.

Her hand claps against the globe of your ass in a blow that's less controlled than the one to your face had been. A delicious sting spreads through the neglected flesh, and you’re certain a handprint resides on your skin that isn’t as tan as the rest of your body anymore. Wanda makes a soft noise, something between a chuckle and a hum as she watches you stalk toward the bed. Housekeeping came this morning. After you’d already left on your excursion and cracked over High Noons on the boat. Victor's body hadn’t touched these sheets yet, but something twists her belly with arousal when she considers him falling into sheets tainted with her love with you tomorrow night. That thought doesn’t make her as sick as picturing you in a bed that she’s taken him out of commitment to their marriage.

You’re vaguely aware of how she strips out of her coverup and bikini before you even have a chance to properly worship her in it like you’d anticipated doing, but you can’t bring yourself to care about the little things when the bed dips beneath her weight. She presses her knees on the edge of the bed. She’s not quite on it, but her weigh is hardly pressed into the floor anymore.

The orange bikini is discarded on the floor beside yours. You peek over your shoulder to steal a glance. Wanda doesn’t appreciate that. Her fingers tangle into your hair again, pushing you face first into the bed. Your head cranes to the side only so that you can breathe, and only because it's to avoid suffocation does Wanda allow you to have any kind of control.

Her fingers prob your entrance with no warning. You’ve gone from feeling like you were moving in slow motion to everything happening at once, but you don’t mind. There’s no capacity in your head to mind that she hasn’t even eased you into taking two of her fingers up to her second knuckle when she’s filling you so good, so deep, so unrestrained. You know this dance just as well as you know the conversation about becoming more than friends that hookup with her husband's permission. It starts slow. Stealing looks, stolen laughter. It builds from there. It becomes longing touches, whispers of innuendos. Somehow there’s more steps after that. There’s the whole eight counts you have to make it through before she’s willing to climb into bed at all, but once you get there, midway through, the melody changes. The beat that’s been building from the very first chord drops, and then when you think it softens, it blows even more, and everything that had felt muted comes screaming to life at you until it all goes quiet in one silent moment of settling aftermath.

“Fuck, you’re so warm. pretty girl.” The unnecessary use of that term drives you crazy. Your hands fist the sheets beneath your body, fight fistfuls painting your knuckles stark white. “You’re squeezing me so tight. Those pretty walls are just fluttering around my fingers, moya malen’kaya babochka. (my little butterfly)”

A guttural moan claws up your throat, and it's embarrassing how close you are already, but she’s been toying with you all day, she’s had you in the palm of her hand since she wrapped her fingers around your neck so brazenly in the crowded bar without a considerable amount of alcohol to guide her. All odds have been against you since this morning, but that had only sealed your fate. Anything she wanted out of your body, she was going to get.

Wanda seems to know that, because she didn’t shy away from the pressure she was applying to your g-spot or your clit when it became evident that you were on the verge of falling over the edge into pleasure. Her thumb, slick with residual arousal that had either damped your thighs or dripped onto the digit straight from the source, rubbed figure eights around your throbbing button. Exposed to her assault, your hips stuttered and rocked in time with Wanda’s ministrations, and before long, you were writhing uncontrollably.

“Please!” You beg, the familiarity of it washing over you. It came easier than it did when she had you pinned against the wall in the hallway. You sound so soft, so breathy and beside yourself with fireworks of red-hot pleasure that heel a lot like her hair looks in the summertime beneath burning heat. “Wanda, please, please, please. I’m sorry for being a brat! Please, just let me cum! Please, let me cum on your fingers?! Fuck, p-please. I can’t hold it, I-I can’t hold it. Please, may I cum!” You're desperate and it’s pathetic. So much about this is pathetic, but you can’t care about anything outside of her fingers jackhammering into your cunt now, the tempo suddenly different.

“Apologizing on your own? My my, maybe you are my smart girl.” Wanda crones and you whine high pitched, your back arching as you stick your ass out toward her fingers. Her hand slaps against your ass, once, twice, and then three times. It’s not an even succession, but it events out the total amount she’s distributed all evening. Something about that warms your heart. You cry out, and the way you clench around her fingers is entirely unholy. She considers your pleas for a moment, but with the consistent flutter, she can't deny you or herself the feeling of an orgasm. “Go ahead. Cum for me, pretty girl. Konchi dlya menya, krasotka. God, you’re my favorite. Good girl. Fuck, that’s it.”

Lust has become authenticity. This is who Wanda Maximoff is. Wanda Maximoff loves women. Wanda Maximoff has on inhibitions about living freely and genuinely. Her accent, the one that comes from her childhood, from Sokovia, coats her words, and it drives you over the edge like a single blade to the gut. Wild moans and curses fall off of your lips, and before you have a moment to recover, or even fully ride out the remaining flickers of the high that's still coursing through your melted veins, she’s on her knees on the mattress.

Her tongue laps at all of the juices you’ve spilled. The ones that have splashed your thighs, her fingers, the bedsheets below. The essence of you is everywhere now, and it's only traveling farther as she rubs her face into you. Her nose probes your entrance, her tongue jutting out to kitten lick your clit until she grows impatient and uncaring of your sensitivity and licks broader strikes from your core to your weeping, pulsing, ever so slightly gaping hole.

“Fuck, fuck!” You gasp, grinding your hips back into her face. Wanda groans, grabbing a handful of your ass. She squeezes, pulling it away from the other cheek. It’s humiliating, even without words partnered with it. You know she’s grinning coyly. It spins that coil right back up in your core. You gasp when she spanks you, pairing the sting with a harsh suckle on your clit. That’s all it takes. It’s embarrassing how quickly you’ve come undone twice now, but Wanda doesn’t register how much time has passed as she continued to lick you clean until you’re writhing, pushing her away and wrestling her onto the mattress until you can straddle her naked hims

She’s not usually clean shaven. Most of the time she supports a nicely trimmed bush, always mindful of her bikini lines, but never entirely hairless. She shaved this week specifically for Cancun, but she’s keeping up with it — for now at least. The smooth feel beneath your fingertips never gets old, but you wouldn’t want it every time.

You hover your lips over hers, your forehead flush against her own. Your breath fans across her lips. You still smell like strawberries. “Let me take care of you.” You trail your fingers along her thighs. She’s dripping. Stringy evidence of her arousal coats your fingertips before you even reach her labia. When you do, you can’t help but groan aloud, your eyes pinching shut as you sink into wet warmth. “Let me take care of you.” You pleaded softly, evening the playing field for a moment, though not entirely.

Wanda had no qualms, relaxing into the pillows beneath her head. “Be my guest.” She groaned, dropping her head slack when you wasted not a second before getting to work between her thighs like your life depended on it. Quite frankly at this moment — it does.

The next morning, after you’d gone back to your own villa across the path to shower and select an outfit for your hike, you’d run into Wanda and Victor at the coffee shop. You’d been with Maria. Victor caught your eye first, and he nudged Wanda at his side. She smiled, waving at you brightly. Nobody would know that four hours ago you had her coming apart beneath your fingertips.

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fxckmiup · 14 days ago

Text

Love Lies

pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel and his mate had a love that was once unbreakable - a bond forged in fire and devotion, something no force in the world could sever. But when whispers of doubt took root and Elain Archeron came to Velaris, the Shadowsinger was slowly torn away from the one he swore to love forever. As war brews in the shadows, the battle for Azriel’s heart and his mate’s survival begins.

______________________________________________________________

content warnings: angst, talk of revenge, death and mind manipulation, light smut

word count: 3.4k

Permanent taglist: @motheroffae @tele86 @demon-master-zero @thegoddessofnothingness @rosecobollway

Azriel permanent taglist: @kathren1sky-blog

Taglist @sinfully-yoursss @sillyfreakfanparty @phoenix666stuff @ quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @hellohauntedturnstudent @love-over-fears @kk191327 @i-am-infinite @historygeekqueen @yourdarkrose @fr0stfall @dnfhascorruptedme @azzydaddy

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

********

Chapter 22

The days blurred together, time slipping through the cracks like grains of sand.

You drifted between sleep and wakefulness, your body weak, your mind heavy with everything that had happened.

Azriel never left your side.

Not once.

He slept beside you every night, his body curled around yours, his wings a protective cocoon.

When you cried in the middle of the night, he was there—holding you, whispering reassurances, running his scarred fingers through your hair.

"I'm here, love," he murmured into your temple. "I'm not going anywhere."

And he never did.

The pain was suffocating.

Not just the physical wounds, though those still ached.

But the emotional devastation.

The betrayal.

The heartbreak.

The horror of almost losing him forever.

The memories of that night plagued you, haunting you in the quiet moments when your mind drifted too far.

And eventually—you had to talk about it.

One evening, as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, you lay in bed, Azriel beside you, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm.

The moment you shifted, trying to sit up, he was there—helping you, adjusting the pillows behind your back.

"Are you in pain?" he asked softly, watching you closely.

"No," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

You were hesitant, unsure how to bring it up.

But you had to.

"Azriel—" you swallowed hard, meeting his gaze. "We need to talk about what happened."

Azriel stiffened, his wings tensing behind him.

But he nodded, gripping your hand tightly.

"I know," he said quietly.

You took a deep breath, searching for the right words.

"When I saw you with her—" you hesitated, your throat tightening. "I know it wasn’t you. I know it was the spell."

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his entire body rigid with tension.

"But," you continued, voice shaking, "It still hurt."

Azriel let out a sharp exhale, as if the air had been punched from his lungs.

His hands tightened around yours, his thumbs brushing against your knuckles.

"I know," he rasped. "I know, love."

You looked away for a moment, gathering your thoughts. "Seeing you like that—half undressed, with your hands on her, kissing her, looking at her like she was the only thing in the world—" your voice broke, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

Azriel shook his head violently, his hands trembling around yours.

"Don’t," he choked out. "Don’t say it."

But you had to.

"And then you looked at me—" You let out a strangled breath, blinking away the tears threatening to fall. "You looked at me like you didn’t even know me, Az."

His breathing staggered, his face contorting with sheer, unrelenting agony.

"I know," he whispered, his voice barely there. "I’m so sorry, Y/N. I can never—" his voice broke completely, and he buried his face in his hands. "I can never undo that. I can never take that pain away."

He was shaking now, his wings trembling. "But I swear to you, I will spend the rest of my life making it right."

Tears slipped down your cheeks. "You almost lost yourself, Az."

He lifted his head, his eyes red, full of anguish.

"I know," he said again, his voice hoarse, raw. "And if I had gone through with it—if I had consummated that bond—" his breath hitched violently, "Even Helion wouldn’t have been able to fix it."

You nodded, your lips trembling. "I know."

And then—he shattered.

A broken, guttural sob ripped from his throat, and suddenly, Azriel was clutching you, burying his face into your lap, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"I almost lost you," he choked, his voice thick with despair. "I almost let her take you from me."

You ran your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him, even as your own tears fell freely.

"You didn’t," you whispered. "We’re here. We’re together."

His arms tightened around you, as if he was afraid you would slip away again.

And for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Just held onto each other.

Held onto what was left.

Held onto what still remained.

After a while, you finally murmured, "I think I need to go home for a little while."

Azriel lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed, filled with sadness. "Velaris is your home."

You gave him a small, sad smile. "No, Az. Dawn Court. I need to go back to where I grew up. To where I was before all of this. Maybe… maybe it will help me heal."

His breath hitched slightly, but he nodded. "I understand."

Then—you reached for him, cupping his face. "I want you to come with me."

His eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his features. "You do?"

You nodded, squeezing his hand. "Yes. We both need time, Az. Time to heal. Time to be away from everything. Time to be us again."

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

Then—he nodded. "Then I will go wherever you go."

Azriel lifted his head from where he had been clutching you, his hazel eyes red-rimmed, filled with anguish, with longing, with love. "I love you."

The words shook, raw and desperate, like they had been carved from the deepest part of his soul. "I love you, Y/N."

His voice was strained, thick with the weight of everything you both had endured. "And I will do anything—anything—to make sure we heal together."

His fingers brushed against your cheek, gentle, reverent, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

"I swear to you," he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours. "No matter how long it takes, no matter what we have to do, I will never stop fighting for us. I will never stop proving to you that I am yours."

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes burning with fresh tears.

"Az—"

But he wasn’t done.

"I almost lost you twice now," he said, his voice breaking. "I won’t make that mistake again. I will never let anything or anyone come between us. Ever again."

His hands cradled your face, his thumbs wiping away the silent tears that had begun to slip down your cheeks.

"I will spend the rest of my life proving to you that I am the male who loves you, who will always love you, who will always put you first. I don’t care how long it takes, Y/N. I don’t care if I have to fight every day to make you believe me again. I will never let you go."

A soft sob broke from your lips, and you collapsed against him, burying yourself in his warmth, in his strength, in the place that had always felt like home.

He held you tightly, his arms wrapping around you, his wings curling around you both like a shield.

"We will heal together," he whispered into your hair. "I promise."

*****

The knock on your door came just as you finished packing the last of your things.

You knew who it was before you even opened it.

"Lucien."

Your voice was soft, full of affection and warmth as you took in his familiar amber eyes, the streak of burnished gold in his red hair catching the light.

He looked good.

Calmer.

More at ease than you had seen him in weeks.

Lucien offered you a small, almost hesitant smile before stepping inside, his eyes scanning the packed bags.

"So, it’s official then," he murmured, hands in his pockets. "You’re leaving."

You nodded, swallowing against the sudden tightness in your throat. "Just for a little while."

"I know," he said quietly, his gaze flickering over your face as if he was memorizing every feature. "Still doesn’t make it any easier."

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, stepping toward him.

"Lucien," you said, voice gentle, full of gratitude. "I don’t know where I would be right now if it weren’t for you."

His eyes softened, but he didn’t speak.

"You took care of me when I couldn’t take care of myself," you continued, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. "You fought for me. You believed in me. You… you never gave up on me."

You reached for his scarred hand, squeezing it tightly. "Thank you."

Lucien exhaled sharply, his throat bobbing as he tried to mask his emotions.

"You don’t have to thank me," he said gruffly, but his fingers curled around yours, holding on tightly. "I would do it again. A thousand times over."

His voice dropped into something rough, something raw. "I love you, Y/N."

Your chest ached, your heart swelling with warmth and deep, unwavering affection for him. "I love you too, Luce."

"No," he said, shaking his head, his grip on you tightening just slightly. "You don’t understand."

His amber eyes burned with something deeper, something unshakable. "I love you, and I always will. As long as I am alive, you will always have me."

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and Lucien wiped it away with his thumb.

"No tears, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice teasing, lightening the heaviness in the room.

"I don’t want to cry. I just…" you sighed, pulling him into a tight hug. "I just want you to be happy, Lucien."

"I’m getting there," he murmured into your hair. "Slowly. But I am."

You pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his face. "How are you coping? With what happened?"

Lucien hesitated, his jaw tightening just slightly.

But then he let out a quiet breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It was hard at first," he admitted, his voice lower now, tinged with something unreadable. "But talking with Helion helped."

His eyes darkened, his expression shadowing. "She wasn’t going to stop. Not until you and Azriel were both dead. And I couldn’t—" he cut himself off, shaking his head. "I couldn’t let that happen."

You nodded, understanding his burden.

"And Feyre and Nesta?"

Lucien exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "We talked. I made amends with them. They’re not banishing me."

He smirked then, and your brows lifted.

"Okay… what’s up?" you asked suspiciously. "What is with the smirk?"

Lucien’s eyes gleamed with something mischevious, something lighter.

"Well," he drawled, rocking back on his heels. "There is a certain artist that is in business with Feyre that I don’t want to stop seeing."

He winked, and it clicked instantly.

Your jaw dropped. "No."

His smirk widened. "Yes."

"Lucien!" you gasped, grinning despite yourself. "Your old flame?"

"What can I say?" he said with mock arrogance, adjusting his cuffs. "I’m trying to make up for what I once lost."

For the first time in so long, you felt truly happy for him.

"I’m proud of you," you told him honestly, grabbing his hands again. "You deserve happiness, Lucien. And if she makes you happy, don’t let her go."

"I don’t plan on it," he said lightly, but there was depth in his words.

He pulled you in for one last, tight embrace. "I’ll see you when you and Az come back from Dawn Court."

"You better," you whispered into his ear.

And as you pulled away, watching him smile for the first time in what felt like forever, you knew—

That even in the darkest of times, light could always be found again.

*****

The soft glow of sunrise bathed the rolling hills of Dawn Court, painting the sky in hues of gold, peach, and lavender. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of citrus groves and blooming jasmine.

Azriel stood beside you on the balcony of the estate overlooking the valley, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

It had been weeks since you’d arrived.

Weeks of quiet, of peace, of learning to breathe again.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you both felt free.

The weight of Velaris, of war, of betrayal, of loss, had begun to slip from your shoulders.

Here, in the land where you had been raised, you were rediscovering who you were.

And in doing so—Azriel was rediscovering himself, too.

In the early mornings, you would take him to the gardens, showing him the places you had played as a child, the trees you used to climb, the lakes you used to swim in.

You would tell him stories of your past, watching as his shadows curled around your wrists, their movements no longer anxious, no longer restless.

At midday, you would visit the temples, kneeling before the pools of shimmering water, the same places you had once learned to heal.

Your gifts, the light within you that had been dulled by heartbreak and pain, began to return.

And when Azriel woke in the night, drenched in sweat, his body shaking from memories of Alatar’s spell, of Nettlewisp still lingering in the shadows of his mind—

You were there.

Your hands glowing softly as you pressed them to his temples, easing his pain.

Your touch soothing the remnants of nightmares that tried to consume him.

"It’s okay, love," you would whisper against his brow, pressing kisses into his hair, his cheeks, his lips. "I’ve got you."

And slowly, steadily, Azriel began to believe it.

That he was not tainted.

That he was not damaged beyond repair.

That he deserved to heal, just as much as you did.

And that he could.

With you.

The days in Dawn Court were spent in laughter, in warmth, in quiet, in touch.

Azriel would take your hand in his, pressing soft kisses to your fingertips, your palms, your wrists.

He would lie with you beneath the shade of olive trees, watching as the sky shifted from blue to dusk, memorizing the sound of your voice, the way your laughter carried in the wind.

He would press you against the soft grass, make love to you beneath the open sky, whispering between each kiss, "You are mine. You have always been mine. I will never let you go again."

And you would answer each time with soft, reverent touches, with whispered declarations of love, with sighs of pleasure that filled the air around you.

Because you had found each other again.

And nothing, nothing would ever take you from him again.

One evening, as the sky turned to twilight, you sat on the balcony of your childhood home, Azriel beside you, his wings stretched lazily against the railing.

"We could stay," he murmured, brushing a stray curl from your face.

You smiled, leaning into his touch. "We could," you agreed.

Azriel exhaled deeply, watching the distant horizon.

"But it’s not home," he finally said.

You knew what he meant.

Dawn Court had given you peace, had given you time.

But home was with him.

"No, it’s not," you whispered, tracing the scarred planes of his knuckles. "Home is waiting for us in Velaris. In our cabin."

Azriel swallowed hard, emotions flickering in his gaze. "Are you ready?"

You thought about it.

Thought about everything you had endured, everything you had lost.

Thought about Elain, Alatar, the pain, the betrayal.

But then—you thought about everything you still had.

Everything you and Azriel had fought for.

You nodded. "I’m ready."

Azriel’s fingers tightened around yours.

"Then let’s go home, love."

And as he swept you into his arms, winnowing you both back to the city beneath the stars, back to the home you had built together—

You knew.

That no matter what had been lost, love had found its way back.

The cabin stood untouched, just as you had left it, nestled deep in the mountains beyond Velaris, surrounded by whispering trees and crisp, fresh air.

This was where it had all begun.

Where you and Azriel had first truly fallen into each other, into the love the Mother had woven into your very souls.

And now—you were home again.

From the moment you stepped inside, the need to be close, to touch, to feel, was unbearable.

It was as if the mating frenzy had struck anew, as if your bodies and souls were desperate to remember every inch of each other.

You didn’t make it past the threshold before Azriel had you pressed against the wooden door, his hands gripping your waist, his lips devouring yours.

"I missed you," he murmured between kisses, his voice rough with hunger, with love, with longing. "I missed this."

You whimpered against his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair as he lifted you into his arms.

"Show me," you whispered.

And he did.

Again.

And again.

That first night, you never left the bedroom—Azriel made love to you beneath the stars shining through the open windows, the firelight dancing across your tangled bodies.

"Mine," he growled as he thrust into you, his hands gripping your thighs, your waist, your breasts. "I’ll never stop proving it to you."

And you let him.

Because you were his.

And he was yours.

For as long as the stars burned in the sky.

The next seven days and nights were spent in a dreamlike haze—one filled with breathless laughter, stolen kisses, and bodies intertwined beneath the blankets.

You couldn’t keep your hands off each other.

Not for longer than a few minutes.

When Azriel cooked, you would come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing kisses to his spine.

"Distracting me, love?" he would tease, grinning as he turned to catch your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

"Always," you would whisper against his mouth.

When you bathed together, he would trace every inch of your skin, his hands memorizing you all over again.

"I need to feel you," he murmured against your shoulder, his lips skimming the water-slicked column of your neck. "I need to make sure this is real."

When you hiked through the forest, he would pull you onto his lap at every rest stop, whispering filth into your ear, pressing soft, reverent kisses along your jaw.

"You're never leaving my sight again," he murmured against your temple.

"Good," you whispered back.

Each night, you returned to the fire, your bodies entwined, moving in perfect rhythm, slow and deep, urgent and desperate, tender and raw.

It was worship.

It was devotion.

It was love, in its purest form.

And every morning—Azriel would wake with you in his arms, his hands tangled in your hair, his lips pressed against your skin.

*****

The sun rose slowly, casting a soft golden glow across the room.

Your body was sore, deliciously spent, your limbs tangled with Azriel’s beneath the sheets.

His wings curled around you, his warmth seeping into your skin as he nuzzled into your hair.

"Good morning, love," he whispered against your neck, his breath hot, his voice husky from sleep.

"Morning," you murmured, your eyes still heavy with exhaustion.

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another, then another.

"Az," you sighed, shivering as his lips trailed up the curve of your neck.

"Mmm?" he hummed, dragging his nose along your pulse, inhaling deeply.

"What are you doing?"

"Memorizing you."

Your chest tightened, your heart aching in the best way.

He tilted your chin, forcing you to look at him.

His hazel eyes burned with warmth, with reverence, with undying love.

"I love you."

His voice was strong, unwavering. "I will never love anyone else. I will never want anyone else. You are my heart, my soul, my forever."

“You are my home, Y/n”

Tears filled your eyes, spilling over before you could stop them.

"Say it again," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Azriel cupped your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

"I love you, Y/N. I will love you until the end of time."

You pressed your forehead against his, letting the moment settle deep into your bones, into your very soul.

"I love you, Azriel," you whispered back. "I always have. And I always will."

And as he wrapped himself around you, as the morning sun bathed your cabin in golden light, you knew—

The nightmare was finally over.

You were home.

With him.

Where you belonged.

********

Thank you so much to all the readers who have stuck with me through this series! I hope you have enjoyed it!

I will be finishing Cassian's Leather and Lace story and Lucien's Echoes of Yesterday stories over the next week.

And I have about 8 stories coming for Azriel, Cassian and Lucien coming over the next month so if you want to be on my permanent taglist, drop me a comment below!

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fxckmiup · 14 days ago

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Shadows of the Exile

Azriel x female!reader

Y/N, a skilled healer from the Dawn Court, was exiled 200 years ago by Ianthe to another world. With war looming and an ancient enemy, Koschei, threatening to raise an army of the dead, Rhysand brings Y/N back to help with the coming conflict. As tensions rise, Madja plans to train more healers, but doing so would mean stepping away from the Inner Circle. With Y/N's return, she and Azriel are forced to confront their pasts, and an unexpected bond begins to form between them—one that neither fully understands, but both can’t deny.

This story contains themes of violence and other triggering topics. Please read with caution. Warnings are included within chapters. But let me tell you this, slow burn, absolute slow burn!

finished series

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Epilogue

Taglist: @princesssunderworld @tele86 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @rose-girls-world @iluvyewman-blog @gluecksbaerchieee @lreadsstuff

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fxckmiup · 14 days ago

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A New Place

Azriel x Archeron!Reader

Summary: Your birthday felt ruined until you met someone new.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Angst

─────────────────────────

They forgot. They forgot that it’s your birthday.

You really couldn’t blame them considering they all have their own lives and issues to deal with, but it didn’t make it any easier.

The main problem you have isn’t really that they had forgotten your birthday, it’s actually that they had celebrated every other holiday and birthday no matter what was going on. They dropped everything for everyone. Except for you.

So to say it hurts is an understatement. The forgotten sister, as per usual. Always left behind and pushed to the side. You suppose it makes sense considering you’re the youngest of your sisters. Always pushed to the side, whether it was intended or not.

For the last three years, things had gone from bad to worse, to just about perfect for your family. But not for you, you felt like a burden. Birthdays are supposed to be special, to celebrate whose day it was. It certainly didn’t feel like it right now.

Wandering through the River House, not a single soul in sight. Everything felt too quiet. No breakfast being made, no presents—not that you expected to get any—and none of your sisters to greet even. They were who you wanted to see right now.

Instead, you make your way to the kitchen and grab an apple instead. As you were about to leave to go for a walk, you hear loud laughing coming from the front door. In walks your sisters, their mates following close behind.

As they make their way to split off from each other, you only get a few smiles and greetings. Nothing else. That’s how you know they have forgotten. So you give them a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Once they’re all out of the doorway, and not giving you a second thought, you take that as your sign to finally go for your walk. The walls now feel incredibly claustrophobic.

What you don’t notice is a certain pair of hazel eyes studying you as you tug on your coat, and pull the door open. The spymaster’s calculated gaze, noticing everything no matter how discrete you think you’re being. His shadows agitatedly circled him as you passed the threshold.

─

Dress brushing the cobblestone streets of Valaris as you stroll down and take in your surroundings, relishing in the fresh air and sunlight warming that previous coldness you felt from the negative start to the day.

Walking past shops, bakeries, and cafes. Passing an oh-so-familiar bookstore before doubling back to head into. You think that maybe browsing for an hour or so could help brighten your already tiring day. Without realising you’re already ambling your way over to the shelves.

Picking up many books, reading their synopsis, and then putting them back in their previous places, you finally find a book that interests you. Feyre’s money isn’t mine. A sour taste fills your mouth at that thought, so you decide against getting it.

Exiting the lovely bookstore with a wave to the cashier you think it might be time to make your way back to the house. Maybe you’ll be able to fix up some food once you’re back. Mindlessly dawdling you through the crowded streets, then deciding to take the long way. There’s no need to be home any earlier than needed.

Moving by stores you’d never seen or heard of before, peering in through the windows, but not daring to go in. A sign catches your eye, ‘Benny’s Bar’ read above the doorway. From the outside, it looks similar to one that you remember in the human lands, just not nearly as beat up. A drink or two couldn’t hurt, hopefully, they’re not too expensive.

You enter, not giving yourself enough time to argue, and the strong scent of alcohol quickly invades your senses. Ignoring it you meander over to the bar.

The interior is much nicer than what you see from the street, with dark wood floors, and the walls a deep shade of green. The same wood as the flooring extends up the wall behind the bar, lined with long shelves, and all kinds of liquor. The tables scattered around the room were well worn, in a charming and homey way, with mismatched chairs pushed under them. Old paintings that seem to have been passed down for generations are pinned up around the room. The lights dim but not dingy, giving the place a warm glow without being too bright.

Passing by the fae, face down on the tables, and loud groups either brainlessly arguing with one another or laughing their asses off, either way, their conversations were unintelligibly slurred. Glancing at the clock hung above the door frame, you wonder just how long they had to have been since it’s only two o’clock. A loud breath escapes you, registering that you’re joining them. Disregard that thought and slide onto a stool regardless of the depressing realisation.

You finally grant yourself a minute to have a proper look at the people working. A large, muscular, older-looking male is behind the bar pouring out drinks, while also barking orders at a couple of younger males out the back, in the kitchen. A tall, black-haired female, her face lips set in a firm line, as she saunters around the room, handing out the drinks the larger male poured. Another stocky male makes his way around the room to wipe down tables and booths, while also pushing in chairs and picking up dirty plates and empty glasses

But the fae who sticks out to you is a female with deep blue skin, and hair a darker navy shade as she walks by some large cabinets with a heavy-looking crate in her arms. Once she notices your presence, a charming smile stretches across her lips and makes her way over to you. Your lips quirk up in response.

“Hi, Love, what can I get you?” her voice has a lovely rasp to it. However, your face heats for an entirely different reason, not having any experience with taverns in general, but also not much with alcohol either.

Contemplating your answer, your hands wringing together in your lap, “What do you recommend?” your words come out softer than intended. Her smile softens slightly, and it makes you tense up, now feeling out of place. “Don’t drink much?”

Her words cause a soft huff to pass your lips. “Not really.” your shoulders slump forward, but her smile brightens once again as she heads over to the alcohol-filled shelves that line the wall behind her. Grabbing a bottle of clear liquid, and a tall glass. She takes the lid off with a pop, and pours out a small amount, slowly sliding the glass across to you. She watches you, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

You pick up the drink, lift it to your nose, and instantly recoil. The smell felt like it singed your nose hairs. A soft chuckle escapes the female's lips. “I wouldn’t recommend sniffing it,” she leans over the counter as if to tell you a secret, “It’s easier if you down it in one go.”

With a slight nod, you lift the glass to your lips, follow her advice a down it in one go. It burns your throat as it slides down, and your nose scrunches slightly in response. “Didn’t taste easier.” a snort escapes her. “Unfortunately this bar doesn’t have any of the fancy sweet drinks that others do.” Your lips curve up. “I’m Benny by the way.” The Owner. Your grin grows a little and you give her your name.

─

Hours later you’re in the same spot, conversation is flowing easily with Benny—who hasn’t left her spot behind the bar since you entered. Refill your drinks when needed. The alcohol is easier with every drink you have. The bad morning your day started with is like a distant memory. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see It’s now dark out.

Sloppily turning to the clock to see the time—11:30—then back to face the female in front of you, now aware of the fact that you had spent your entire birthday in a tavern, you let out a long sigh. Benny tilts her head to the side from the sound, but as she opens her mouth to speak you beat her to it.

“It’s my birthday.” you blurt out, words coming out slurred, but you brush it off and continue. “My entire family forgot. Didn’t even wish me a happy birthday before I left the house.” a small sniffle followed your words.

Benny frowns. “I know who your family is, honey,” you stiffen and she resumes. “You never know, they could have a surprise birthday waiting for you.” trying to lighten your mood at least a little bit, and it makes you straighten briefly before your shoulders curl inward once again. Not believing her words. And by the way, Benny shifts on her feet, you know she doesn’t even believe it.

“Unlikely,” you mumble. Finger swirling around the edge of your empty glass. Benny lets out a huff, tapping her fingers on the wooden bar before she turns around and grabs a different bottle from the shelf, a rich brown one. She also grabs another glass before turning back to you.

She pours a generous amount into both glasses, and rather than bringing it straight to her mouth she holds it in the air, seemingly waiting for you to do the same. So you mirror her movement. She clinks her glass with yours, “To you! Happy Birthday, Love.” Both of you finish your drinks in one go.

“Thank you, Benny.” Looking over your shoulder another sigh exits you. “I should head back now.” Turning back to her. She nods.

As you slide off your seat, swaying as you straighten your dress, readying to leave. “If you need a place to stay, I have an apartment upstairs that needs an owner.” she offers just as you are about to turn away. “I know I don't know your current situation, but a new place to stay might do you some good.” A smile tugs at your lips.

“I don’t have money to pay for it,” You reply. Yes, your sister and her mate have more money than one ever could imagine, you still couldn’t help but feel like you’d owe them if you used any more of it than just drinks you had today.

Benny dismisses your words with a wave of her hand. “Don't worry about that, I have an opening to work here.” she gestures to the bar. “If you don't, I could always help you find a different one.”

Your smile softened slightly. “Thank you, Benny,” repeating your words from earlier. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And with that, you wave her goodbye and exit the tavern. Swaying and stumbling drunkenly over the uneven cobblestone streets, as your mind churns with the thoughts that your family are most likely gathered in the living room, after sharing a lovely family dinner. They’ll probably judge you for the fact that you had a couple of drinks too many, that thought makes you feel a little queasy.

─

After a long time of manoeuvring your way through the nearly empty streets, you finally find yourself staring at the front door of the River House. Dread fills you thinking about what kind of conversation you’re about to have.

With a heavy sigh, you push the door open, stepping inside. The first thing you hear is their loud laughter. The door closes behind you louder than expected, and you grimace. The voices quiet down as you stumble your way towards the sitting room. From the doorway you see all heads turn to you. Everyone’s here. Even Lucien and Varian are seated next to their partners.

“Y/N!” Feyres's cheery voice breaks you from your thoughts. “Your back.” You step closer, her nose flares subtly, and her smile falters. But Nesta’s the one who says something. “You smell like a Tavern.” Her tone is sharp enough to make you flinch.

“I had a couple of drinks.” your reply words slurred, shrugging your shoulders drunkenly, and an uncomfortable silence follows.

“More like the whole bottle.” Mor seemingly trying to lighten the mood, her joke makes a couple of people snicker.

“We didn’t even notice you were gone.” Amren deadpans. Heads whipped in her direction at her statement, ready to scold her. “It’s true. Don’t even try to deny it.” Her voice is harsh.

Your brows pull together at the fact that no one tried to argue, and your nonchalance falters, giving way to frustration and anger at the entirety of the situation and your ruined day.

“It’s my Birthday.” your voice a near growl. Everyone’s eyes widen both at your admission and at your unusual tone of voice. Usually so soft-spoken, and gentle. The complete opposite of right now. Another disappointment.

“I was willing to chalk it up as stress from your own lives.” Your breathing ragged. “But you've been sitting here for hours and like Amren said, you didn’t even realise I was gone for something as small as a family dinner!”

Your eyes flit around the room as you continue, “Oh, and not to mention the fact that you have all taken the time to celebrate every other holiday and birthday! I guess my day isn't important enough to remember compared to the festivities that hardly even get recognized by the general public!” You practically spat your words.

Now you take a moment to look around at them. Feyre’s face is contorted in guilt, Elain looks as if she might cry, Nesta’s staring at her lap, and everyone else is either wide-eyed or unable to meet your gaze.

The lack of response further fuels your rage. The only person who looks as if they might say something is Azriel. His usually stoic features falter, but he hesitates. A look crossing his face that you couldn’t quite make out. Not wanting to linger on that any longer, you turn your gaze back to the rest of them.

You scoff. “Nothing?” Looking up at the ceiling, too many emotions are warring in you and are far too much for you to handle in your drunken state.

At the extended silence, you turn on your heel and make your way back to the entrance. No one even calls after you. That's enough for you to grasp the fact that you can't stay here. Not anymore.

The door slamming behind you, rings throughout the house. It didn’t matter as the cool nighttime air slammed into you, the lingering effects of the alcohol wearing off entirely.

Your arms wrap around yourself to keep the cold out as you amble down the streets of the City of Starlight, the stars shining above you now not bringing the same comfort as they once did. Once again you find yourself outside a familiar building. Making your way inside, Instantly finding who you unconsciously were looking for.

Benny turns towards the entrance as the door shuts, her face falls as she takes in your expression. She quickly makes her way to her, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, and leading you to a more private corner of the tavern.

“Is your offer still on the table?” Your voice is hoarse and watery. Benny gives a nod, ushering you passed the kitchen and up a set of stairs.

A new place. Already feeling more at home than with those who are supposed to care for you.

─────────────────────────

a/n: I know there isn’t any interactions between Az and Reader yet but there will be! This didn’t come out exactly how I wanted, so I might came back to this at some point, and there might also be some spelling mistakes. The editing took longer than expected so sorry for the delay. I’ll try and get a part two out as soon as I can, hope you enjoyed. <3

taglist:

@tiredsleepyhead @blackgirlmagicforever

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fxckmiup · 14 days ago

Text

Creature Fear

And if had been clean, if there had been no strings between you, this would have been easy. But, with Azriel, you had never expected the strings to disappear. They would always be there—at least, they would for you.

An angsty piece inspired by Creature Fear by Bon Iver (2.3k words)

With another kick slamming into the muscle along the Shadowsinger’s thigh, you heaved in a breath that assaulted your lungs. It burned and tasted of iron as you panted, but that was simply the natural flow of training.

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

You weren’t picturing Azriel with his hands on her waist, swaying to the rhythm of a song you couldn’t recall. You weren’t replaying how his lips touched her ear or how his fingers tilted her jaw to the side. No part of your brain was rehashing the smile she sent him, an expression given just moments before he led her out of Rita’s.

No, you weren’t thinking of the events the night prior as you swung at the man before you.

He ducked—a pity, really.

“Something on your mind?” Azriel asked, words rushed as he moved around your attempted hits.

You grunted. “No. I’m training. That’s why you dragged me out here.”

“Right.”

Another jab at his face. He dodged it. You used your leg to sweep at his ankles.

“Are you even going to try?” you goaded, frustration creeping into your tone.

Azriel hopped back in the ring, but when you only followed his escape, he released an impatient sigh and grabbed at your shoulders, flipping you until your back met the ground with a soft groan.

“What’s the matter?” he huffed out above you. “You’re antsy. Your moves are sloppy and you really seem to want to hit me.”

“I have hit you.”

“Y/n,” Azriel warned.

You ticked your jaw to the side, still out of breath as his chest pressed to yours. This was not an unusual position for the two of you. In fact, it was a position you had found yourself in just last week, only there was far less anger and far more pillows. And it had been dark—quite romantic if anyone had asked you, but no one was asking you.

Because the relationship between you and the Shadowsinger was not public knowledge, and it certainly was not exclusive. No strings, Azriel had said against your mouth when you had come together the first time. And then it was we’re just blowing off steam and only one more time and we can’t tell anyone. It was unclear why Azriel needed a concrete reason to sleep with you each time he did it, but the underlying message was clear: you were not in a relationship.

It was just sex.

And sure, that was fine the first time—maybe even the second and third. But you had been lying to yourself when you agreed to the arrangement in between heavy breaths and rushed fingers. Azriel was not something you could do halfway, and you knew that from the start. You’d been half in love with him from the moment you met him. This had only been the nail in the coffin.

“Get off of me,” you demanded with forearms pressing into Azriel’s chest.

He was unrelenting. “No. Tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“Nothing’s wrong. You’re crushing my ribs. Get off.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, luckily, believing me has nothing to do with your ability to get off of me.”

Azriel traced his eyes along each dip and high point of your face with a scrutinizing gaze before he finally heaved himself up, landing in a seat beside you. You sucked in a dramatic breath and propped yourself up on your palms.

“Is it something to do with the information Rhys is having you decode?” Azriel asked, tucking his knee in the crook of his elbow.

The side of your mouth twitched as heat licked up your throat. “No. Azriel, I told you everything’s fine. I was just trying something new Cassian wanted me to practice.”

“Cassian wanted you to practice being reckless and untrained?”

“That was incredibly rude.”

Azriel breathed out a semblance of a laugh. You heard his wings shift as you kept your eyes trained on the floor, but that reprieve was short-lived as a hand met the curve of your jaw. Azriel pressed at the skin there until your gaze was level with his, and then he continued his search.

You humored him—for a moment—allowing your friend to furrow his brows at the distance you were trying to create between the two of you.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Azriel, noth—”

“Stop lying to me,” he interrupted, sliding his hand back until his fingers wove into the hair at the base of your neck. “I know you. Something’s wrong.”

Your chest was beginning to feel fuzzy and the heat in your throat had melted into a blissful warmth. It was always so easy to be around Azriel, and it would be just as easy to lean forward and whisper that against his lips. Since that line had been crossed all those months ago, you had been tempted to take what you wanted several times.

But those liberties were only afforded to you in the dark aperture that was Azriel’s room. He only touched you like this when no one else was around, saving the gentleness of his fingers in the public eye for strangers in pleasure halls and nightclubs.

You were nothing like the girl he took home the night before. She had probably woken with him wrapped in orange morning light when you were always scampering away in the bleak blues and greys that made up the middle of the night. She was probably soft and delicate and not training for battle at the crack of dawn.

No, to Azriel, you were only a friend and you were convenient.

You knocked his hand away. “I told you I’m fine, Azriel. I’m just having an off day. Leave it alone.”

Azriel, who had flinched when the back of your hand met his arm, opened his mouth to speak without sound to follow. You were already on your feet by the time he could have formulated a response.

You hadn’t spoken to him in three days.

Three days of avoiding every room he frequented. Three days of avoiding his shadows as they attempted to beckon you to the training ring, the kitchens, and the balcony where he would inevitably get you to go into town with him. Three days of driving yourself insane.

This was always going to end poorly, but you hadn’t expected you to feel so angry. Hurt, yes, but anger was not something typically in your repertoire—especially not associated with Azriel.

The way he touched that woman played on a loop in your mind, reminding you how it had been so easy for him to do that in front of so many eyes. That, unlike you, there was no shame accompanied by his lazy fingers. He had touched you with those same hands, with that same tenderness, just the morning after—but no one was around to see it.

It did hurt, but it was also infuriating.

Maybe the angry heat was just a placeholder for the pain, something easier to digest, but you didn’t care to parse out the origin.

On the fourth day of stewing in your frustration, you were ending the night in bed with a candle and a book you could hardly focus on, reading and then rereading the same page as your jaw sat sewn together.

The knock on your door was unexpected and unwelcomed

You didn’t have it in you to speak to him.

You opened the door despite that.

The man on the other side looked shocked for a moment, blinking as the wind from your arrival hit his eyes, and then he looked restless, bringing his hands up as if you were about to slam the door in his face.

“Can I come in?” he asked, eyes darting over your shoulder to your bedroom and then back to you. “I know you’re avoiding me. I miss you. Let me come in.”

“I’m not—”

“Please, y/n.”

His tone, rushed and panicked, made your brows come together. You opened the door a fraction wider to let him in. He stepped forward three times and then remained in place as you turned to close the door behind you. When you turned to face him once more, your senses were overwhelmed.

Your back was pressed to the wood and familiar hands pressed divots into the skin of your waist. Azriel was kissing you—not hurried as he usually was when you met for these reasons, but almost savoring the feel of you against him. In your shock, your hands had landed on his chest, fisting his sweater between your fingers. Having him here, like this, distracted you for a moment.

It felt natural.

It was good.

When Azriel deepened the kiss, you snapped back to your anger, remembering the sly way he had guided that woman out of Rita’s. You flattened your palms against his chest and pushed, hard. The Shadowsinger stumbled back with wild eyes, and it was then you saw the state of him. His rumpled clothes and the way his hair stood up as if he’d been running his fingers through it. The rings he typically wore were each missing from his fingers and he was completely unarmed, not even the Truthteller strapped at his hip.

“I—I shouldn’t have done that,” Azriel spoke, clearing his throat as he ran his hand along his jaw. “You’re angry at me. I came in here to ask—I wanted to make it right. I didn’t mean to—”

“Azriel, stop. I’m not angry at you.” A lie. You were angry at him, but there were no grounds to be. You straightened out your posture and fixed your nightgown where he had wrinkled it with his fingers. “We don’t… do it this way. I come to your room.”

“I haven’t seen you in four days,” Azriel reasoned. “I miss you. I said that.”

You ground your teeth together, unable to look him in the eye. “I’m sure I’m not the only woman in Velaris that could warm your bed.”

Azriel stuttered over his words before replying, “That’s not what I meant. You’re—You are my friend and I miss you because you have gone to lengths to avoid me. I would like to know why.”

Your gaze flashed up at the crack in his voice. He stood with his palms open to you, his arms hanging by his sides.

“Friends don’t do what we were doing. Things are different between us now, Azriel.”

“They don’t have to be. We agreed—no strings.”

Anger grew and festered. They don’t have to change because he wouldn’t want them to. He would want a woman like the one at the pleasure hall. He would want anyone but you.

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling equal parts unfair and justified. “Because the world works exactly how you want it to, doesn’t it, Azriel?”

He paused, his pleading expressed now dumbfounded. “What?”

“You just get to have your pick of women each night and if none of them work out you know I’ll be waiting at home for you? That your friend will be available if all of the women you’ll actually acknowledge in front of our family aren’t interested?”

“No, I—”

“I’m not some backup plan, Azirel. What, no one else available tonight? Did you happen to round on the Archeron sisters as well? I’m last again, right?”

As the words spewed from your mouth, you knew you would come to regret them. Azriel looked more and more confused and affronted at each accusation you made, but this was easier than crying and professing your love. Azriel had said no strings attached, and if you couldn’t avoid love, he would have to deal with anger. That was an easier string to sever.

“We’re stopping this, if that wasn’t obvious.”

Azriel’s breath seemed to escape his lungs in one fell swoop. He took a step forward and shook his head. “Is this about that night at Rita’s? Y/n, I would never have—”

“No, you said no strings, right?” you bit out. “So you’re allowed to do whatever and whoever you want. This has nothing to do with that. I’m just… I’m just done.”

Gods, you weren’t making sense. Why had he kissed you when he walked in? You felt like you were going to cry and that was not something you wanted to do in front of him. “Okay, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Azriel almost begged. He looked ruined and so tired. “We can go back to how it was before.” The prospect seemed to pain him. “Just—tell me how to fix this between us. I can’t… lose you. Not to this.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” you lied. “Let’s just—let’s just stop.”

“Okay. Okay, we can stop and—”

“And you need to get out.”

Azriel blinked at you, brows furrowed. “But we still—Y/n, I want to talk about this.”

There was an incongruence in the way he was looking at you. If it had just been about sex, this would have been simple, clean. For you, it would have hurt, but for Azriel, it would have been a small variable being removed. But he was looking at you as if the world was ending, and you couldn't comprehend that.

He had been holding another woman earlier this week.

His hands twitched now.

He needed to leave before you cried.

“Get out, Azriel.”

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fxckmiup · 14 days ago

Text

Why me?

Azriel x rhys sister! reader!

angst/eventual comfort (there will be 2 more parts to this series with an eventual happy ending)

Summary: When you walk in on Azriel and Elain the mating bond snaps leading you to flee to Autumn with Eris so you can be free of Azriel. Your absence causes Azriel to come to some drastic realisations, but is it already too late and has your time in Autumn led to you moving on?

They always said fate is a cruel mistress, but you never believed that to be true, until you saw Azriel about to kiss Elain on the night of the solstice. Fate had allowed you to survive all these years. Fate had brought you and Rhys, Azriel and Cassian. She and the mother must be scheming together to conspire against you because the minute you saw him with her you had felt something shift within you, and you knew that the mating bond just snapped.

After all these years of being Azriel’s closest friend and confidant. After the first few years after your and Rhys' mother first brought him home and you would sit in silence with him, keeping him company when he was too uncomfortable to speak much. After he almost got exiled from Illyria for slaying the men who were trying to clip your wings at camp. After he made a bargain with your father, the high lord, his lifelong servitude for your safety. After you decided you realised you were in love with him after you watched him give away his freedom for your wings.

After years of Azriel defying orders during the war to let you know that your brother and Cassian were alive. After he dragged you out of your depression after your mom and sister died. After watching him pine after Mor for centuries, while you pushed down your feelings. After him being the only thing that kept you going when Rhys was under the Mountain. After befriending Feyre and her sisters.

All you could think is why? Why me? Why now?

You run out of the room before they can see you, breathing heavily and rapidly with tears streaming down your face. The room was spinning, your body processing what was happening a lot quicker than your thoughts which were in completely disarray. You have no idea where you were running to, all you knew is that you had to run faster. Away from Azriel and Elain, away from this cruel situation, and away from this mating bond you knew you were going to have to eventually reject against your will.

You are about to pick up the pace when you slam into wall. It was not a wall, but Rhys’s chest. He's grabbing both your arms as you sink to your knees, unable to control your breathing. He tries to hold you up when you lock eyes with him and the only words you’re able to get out are, “it’s him. He’s my mate. And- he’s with-” You begin to hyperventilate on the floor while sobbing into Rhys’s chest, his arms rubbing soothing circles over your back. Rhys had known about your one-sided love for Azriel since the beginning. He was the one who had to stop you from killing your father when you found out that he had basically enslaved Azriel, the reason for your anger apparent to your overly perceptive brother. You told him to stay out of it then and he has tread lightly throughout the years, but you knew if it came down to it he would cut Azriel down where he stands for ever disrespecting you if it came down to it.

Despite the storm brewing in his violet eyes, his voice is soothing and comforting, “I’ll take care of it," he says. You hug him tightly, thankful for his support, but you knew in your heart you couldn't handle staying in the Night Court and seeing Azriel and Elain every day. At least not while the mating bond was still fresh, not when it had reopened old wounds that had never fully closed. "Rhys I can't be in this court. I need to go. Tell everyone that the situation in Autumn worsened and you needed to send someone to keep the peace. Tell them whatever you need, I just need to get out." You gave him a pleading look and he knew by looking in your eyes that you had made your mind. He gives you a solemn nod and just says, "Okay, but write to me if you need anything and don't be gone for too long. This is only a temporary solution. Use your judgement and be safe okay?" "Okay," you nod back and give him a hug before he starts angrily walking to go handle the Azriel situation.

You immediately winnow to your room and send a letter to an old friend calling in a favour. You quickly packed your things, getting ready to leave the Night Court until you can fully process this staggering new information. You close your final chest, when Cassian comes barreling through the door tears beginning to form in his eyes. "YOU'RE LEAVING WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE?" The mother must really have it in for you today. You schooled your features into indifference, "Cassian I need to go. This mission is crucial for the stability of the courts." You try to make it sound believable, but you're honestly so overwhelmed and so exhausted that you end up sounding monotone. "But-" Nesta walks in and shushes Cassian. While you had initially been closer to Feyre, you and Nesta have recently grown closer even starting a book club together bonding over your love for trashy romance books. Nesta looked at you up and down. It felt like her eyes were bearing into your very soul. She gave you a knowing look and something akin to pity flickered in her eyes, "It snapped for you didn't it? He has no idea?" Cassian's eyes went from glassy and pleading to confused, he sat down, and you watched everything finally fall into place for him. He jumps up, wings on alert, "Oh my god. IM GONNA KILL HIM-" You and Nesta run to hold him down. "NO-"

Mor and Feyre come barging in, trying and failing to hide the disbelief written across their faces. They were followed by a sauntering Amren, who looked as unphased as ever. From the looks of it, Rhys had told Feyre via mind to mind, who told Mor while Amren had been in the room and of course had already known everything, as she always does. Great you had intended to leave silently and now the entire house knew about the predicament that you're in. Mor looks at you guilt written on her features, she slowly begins to approach you. "We couldn't let you leave like this without saying goodbye first." She hugs you and tears begin to well up in your eyes. Then everyone else comes in and it turns into a group hug. Even Amren begrudgingly joins. Too emotionally exhausted to say anything more you thank everyone and get ready to winnow to the one court you know Azriel wouldn't follow you to when a shadow frantically darts to you and holds your wrist down against your desk.

Where there is smoke there is fire, and where there are shadows there is a shadowsinger. You fight against the shadow, but it frantically circles itself around your wrist. Desperate to hold onto you, when Azriel comes in looking as frazzled as you had ever seen him. You nor Azriel had never left for a mission without saying bye or at least communicating to one another. This was a first and to say it bothered him was an understatement, he was frantic. His shadows were radiating off of him, rapidly swirling and darting around the room in a way you had never seen before.

You really didn't want to talk to him, but his shadow was preventing you from leaving. You didn't even want to look at him. It hurt. Everything hurt. Being in his presence was already a stab to the heart, but Elain following seconds behind him is what twisted the knife and put you in the grave.

It would have made it easier if you actually hated Elain, but you didn't. She was honestly a lovely, kind, and beautiful person and you could see why Azriel would fall for her. Which honestly made it so much harder to deal with because while you considered yourself to be all rough lines and hard edges, Elain was smooth and perfect in a way you knew you would never be. Not after everything you had endured in your long life.

The moment you guys met eyes, everyone else in the room had gone eerily silent a mix of not trying to look like they were listening too hard and a mix of not trying to give away what they now knew. You tried, you tried really hard to stay mad at him, but it's hard to remain mad at someone when the very fibers that make up your soul are screaming at you to be near them.

"Why would you just leave without saying anything?"The audacity he has to look hurt when he wouldn't have noticed you were gone if Rhys hadn't gone and busted him with Elain. Emotions swirl around inside of you, none of them good all of them lethal if you fall victim to them. He didn't know it but your relationship with Azriel was on a knife's edge and it was taking everything in your right now to maintain whatever composure you had left. As stoicly as you have ever spoken to him you respond, "It's urgent. Autumn could fall if I don't go and that would send Prythian into chaos. It's my duty to go." The air in the room stilled. You were a lit match, and his presence was gasoline; if he got any closer, it would not be good for anyone.

"You should have told me first. Autumn isn't safe, if you wait a few days I could accompany you and together we could-" Azriel frantically begins to rant. He's pulling on a lose thread, not realising what he's unraveling. You immediately shut him down, "No. I need to do this myself and frankly I don't need to disclose all my missions to you." He looks at you apalled.

This isn't the you that he knows, the one who can decipher what he is thinking from a single glace. The one who he can speak to without words as though it was a second language. The one who offers him peace when the world becomes too difficult to bear. The sharpness of your tone is grating and he begins to wonder how he was able to turn the one good constant in his life against him. His chest feels heavy with emotions he cannot even begin to decipher. Panic? Fear? Despair? So much despair. It becomes overwhelming. He is usually fairly good at compartmentalising his emotions. What in mother's name is happening to him?

You break him out of his downward spiral by clearing your throat and looking at the shadow currently frantically swirling and holding your wrist down like an anxious child crying and clinging onto it's mother anytime she's not near. The shadows had always been rather fond of you. A look of surprise and then shock coats his features as he appears to be struggling to reel his shadow in. Certain shadows have defining features, and you recognise this one to be the one that would always dote on you. When you and Azriel were kids and his shadows were far and few there was always one that favored you the most. When you're wings were almost cut off and you isolated yourself to your chambers, the shadow had stayed with you until you were comfortable enough to be alone. You hadn't been able to recognise it since you had never seen it this frantic.

"I can't reason with him. He's refusing to leave you." Azriel admits defeated. At this the shadow releases you and starts frantically swirling around Azriel, darting away from Elain when she reaches a hand out to try and help, and immediately comes to you and perches itself on your wrist. "Take it with you," He says sheepily. "He was always more yours than mine anyways. He cries in your absence and only makes himself known in your presence."

Azriel nervously laughs trying to get rid of the tension in the room, it was so thick a knife couldn't cut through it. The rest of the occupants of the room didn't look at him worried that their eyes would reveal to the spymaster the secret that was now only secret to him.

You don't care if he doesn't know how what he's saying affects you. All you know is that you're in pain. There are stories of fae that have been driven to madness by an unrequited mating bond, you had thought them dramatic but right now you can feel it taking a physical toll on your body. You need to leave. You have to go against everything your body and heart are telling you to run to him, to be with him, to never let him go. You have to chose yourself and whatever is left of your dignity. At this point you're fighting every emotion you have ever felt towards Azriel tenfold, praying to the mother you don't explode and cause irreparable damage.

"It's not your duty to look after me. I am well equipped to handle my own missions and I certainly don't need your shadow to look after me. So if that is all, I must now be on my way." Azriel's face is a mix of hurt and confusion, something you had not seen in all your years of knowing him. His mouth opened to say something to you, but Elain put a gentle hand on his shoulder and you had summoned every ounce of self-restraint you possessed to stop yourself from lunging at her when someone there was a burst of air and the smell of cedar and oak permeated the room.

"Am I interrupting something? Surely the Night Court's entire political standing isn't dependent on a lover's quarrel?" the biting tone matched the mischievous eyes and the fox-like grin. Elain looked like she wanted to explain herself when Eris looked her way and cooly responded, "Relax, what you do or don't do with my brother is none of my business, but I would at least give it a try before invoking a blood duel those aren't really great for pr. Not like you're court already has the best reputation as is."

Mor blanked. Elain hid behind Azriel. Amren and Nesta raised a brow. Cassian scowled. Both Feyre and Azriel straighted on alert and were about to take a step forward to take care of the intruder when he lifted a hand to stop her. "I kid. No one in this court can take a joke it seems." He would have been charismatic if he wasn't... well Eris. He held his hands up, although his smile remained and sarcastically said, "I am here on business to escort your wonderful princess to my personal estate to ensure her safe keeping for her time in Autumn."

While Rhys had always been scarily perceptive, he had met his match with Eris. He has been in the room for a minute, maybe two max and he had already begun to look for the cause of the tension in the room. His eyes scanned everyone, only halting once they reached the shadowsinger on seemingly high alert with Elain right behind him. He looked back to you and his eyebrows raised. He figured it out.

Azriel's wings fan out, casting half the room in shadow due to their span. "Why would you be her escort. We are perfectly capable here in Night to maintain the safety of the members of this Court." He was glaring Eris down, he might as well have been puffing his chest out at this point. Cauldron knows what he's doing or what he thinks he's going to get out of this.

You already knew Eris was going to toy with him from the glint in his eyes. "I believe it, but when my dear, old friend, who I hold in such high esteem, writes to me calling in a centuries-old favour, how could I refuse? Even without the favour, there are very few who can resist the will of the Princess of Night. She's as formidable as she is convincing as you would know." Good to see that Eris is still as calculated and provoking as ever. Now if Azriel had known he was your mate, Eris would be a dead man but right now he just stood there glaring him down with a look so cruel it sent shivers down your spine.

Eris just shrugged it off and rolled his eyes. "Well it was lovely seeing all of you but we must be going now." With a wave of his hand all your luggage had disappeared and he holds out his left hand to you. You give your family a curt nod, not meeting Azriel's gaze. You turn your back on them and take Eris' hand and then the world falls away.

The stars in Autumn don't compare to the ones in Night. It's hard to believe that it was even the same sky. The same sky that your family and Azriel are under right now. You're just realising now that you had never given Azriel your solstice present, not leaving it under the tree because you wanted to give it to him personally. Your mind begins to stray to a cruel place, questioning what if he had known all this time and didn't tell you to avoid having to reject you.

Eris snaps you out of your spiral before it can consume you. "Are you in the same situation as my brother or does he just not know he's your mate. Frankly, you guys should start a support group because I don't know which is worse." He says trying to lighten the mood in the most Eris way possible.

You feel weary in your bones from the exhaustion of the night and you lash out at Eris. "I know you weren't hugged enough as a child, but can you please refrain from the comments for one evening?" Your voice drops along with your demenour, "The bond snapped when I walked in on him almost kissing Elain. I needed an out. Thank you for being one Eris." Tears began to well up in your eyes. It was just too much everything was too much. Eris slings an arm over your shoulder and leads you to his manor. "Come on princess, I have hot chocolate and mulled wine on the stove and cookies in the oven. Well Lucien does but that's just semantics. You have tomorrow to cry over that overgrown bat and his emotional constipation."

The manor is a large cream Tudor-style manor with dark brown wood lining all the doors and windows. You walked in and were immediately hit with the warmth and the smell of maple cookies and cinnamon. For all of Eris' brashness, his home was very warm and welcoming. You saw Lucien pulling cookies out of the oven, his head snapped to you and he ran over to pull you into an embrace. You guys are practically in the same situation now; unrequited mating bonds really bring people together, apparently.

You just realised that Lucien is here, celebrating with Eris instead of in Velaris. You look to him confused and ask, "Shouldn't you be in Velaris?" He responds with an immediate retort and a raised brow, "Shouldn't I be asking you the same thing?" Touché.

Cut off by the sound of a cork popping, you guys turn to see Eris uncorking a bottle of wine. He then pulls out two identical ones, branded with the signature Autumn maple leaf. He then somehow fits a bottle each into his almost comedically large wine glasses, also adorned with maple leaves and foxes on the stem.

He brings over the glasses of wine handing one to you and one to Lucien. He raises his glass and goes, "Here's to us. When the mother challenges us, we laugh in her face and keep going. Here's to being misfits and outcasts and being so much better than everyone else." Half the time no one knows what Eris is saying, but you'll drink to it. Everyone in your family has found their mate or person and here you are on Solstice drinking a bottle of wine from a fox glass. How the mother has her ways, maybe fate bribed her to give you a harder time with the amount of times you've defied her over the years.

Solstice wasn't all bad. You laughed and drank with Lucien and Eris. Telling them the story of you and Azriel, drunkenly crying your eyes out with Lucien who responded with his own sad backstory. Eris looking at the two of you crying with a murderous look, when you forgot why you were crying and ran outside to try and domesticate a fox with Lucien on your coattails. You guys had succeeded much to Eris' dismay as he now had an entire den of foxes in his home. Eris only proclaimed it was bedtime when the sun had started to rise. He carried Lucien into bed first, who was much to drunk to protest. Then it was your turn, you insisted you needed no help but he got fed up and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

He threw you onto your bed and then paused, his eyes glued to your right wrist. You look over to see what had drew his gaze and were shocked to find a stowaway shadow hiding on your wrist. It was the shadow. Immediately you remembered why you were here and felt the part of your that was missing from Azriel's absence. You try shooing it away wanting to send it back, you don't want Azriel to know the state you're in or worse have the shadow tell him about the bond.

"I don't think he controls this shadow anymore. Maybe it's because this is probably his first one." His first shadow? What does that even mean? "His first shadow should have a connection with him on a soul-level. It's basically an external manifestation of himself in it's purest form unlike the rest of the shadows. The first shadows rarely show themself, since they're the ones who called the other shadows in the first place. Not much is known about shadowsingers, but if he's leaving you his first shadow I wouldn't give up hope just yet."

You are about to give a retort, but he cuts you off. "I didn't say don't move on and try to live your life for yourself. Just don't be too closed off when the time comes. Goodnight, princess. I hope you had a good solstice." Eris says as he closes the door of your new bedroom behind him and you drift off to sleep before you could think too much about his words.

Part 2

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fxckmiup · 14 days ago

Text

Loving You (Loving Me)

SUMMARY: In the five centuries of his life, Azriel has never had someone take care of him the way that Y/N does, and he can't seem to stop those dark, unworthy thoughts from resurfacing.

WARNINGS: Mentions of feelings of unworthiness and loneliness. Azriel thinking he does not deserve to be loved the way he is :(

PAIRING: Azriel x Reader

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

MASTERLIST

At first, Azriel thought nothing of it.

The honeymoon phase, he told himself. It made sense, it was expected. His past lovers had all been the same during that time — always obsessed and seemingly in love.

Seemingly.

But after a few months, they always started to change. They'd distance themselves first, take a while longer to reach out, to see him. Then, they'd get blunt and annoyed quickly with him. They wouldn't want him close, wouldn't shower him in affection. Wouldn't let him touch them.

And then, eventually, they'd leave. Maybe on the odd occasion, they'd butter him up and get a little splurge on his account, or go to him just for their release. A few had cheated, some just left. Nothing for Azriel had ever lasted past a year and a half, and now it was nearing the three-year mark and he was confused.

Y/N was a lovely female. Kind, funny, smart, gorgeous. Azriel thought her kindness and wit was what attracted him to her in the first place, and in the three years he’d known her, he’d only started to love her more.

It wasn’t like he thought deep down she was a horrible person, but Azriel had grown accustomed to how things typically worked in his relationships, and none of the above had yet occurred.

That being said, for a good century he had sworn off any form of relationships that occurred past a one night stand. Azriel was tired of the heartache, the disappointment. He had never intended to fall in love with Y/N, had never intended to grow attached.

But her smile was contagious, her laugh infectious. Her very presence started becoming enough to cast light on his dark days, the soothing tones of her voice disrupting the swirls of dark thoughts and coaxing him back to peace.

She was his peace. And the worrying realisation of just how hard he’d fallen was beginning to cripple his soul and mind.

His thoughts continued to spiral as he laid on his stomach with his face smushed into Y/N's pillow. She sat straddling his lower back, her bum on his and his shirt long gone as she massaged the tender knots out of his shoulders, taking extra care to mind his precious wings.

That was another startling realisation to Az. Just how quickly he had allowed her close to him, to his wings that he had never let another lover touch before.

Her hands on his skin coated him in familiar warmth; like a blanket of safety pushing to protect him from harm and negativity. She'd been doing it for thirty minutes now. Azriel had been watching the clock. And not once had she complained.

He supposed it was due to how sick he’d been feeling the past few days. Migraines, sore muscles, and the occasional fleeting moments of nausea. He’d lost his appetite and strength pretty quickly and Y/N had been on the ball with it — at his feet with a sick bucket, coddling his head to her chest with a cold compress against his skin.

She’d been in talks with Madja every few hours, double checking when Azriel could take his next dose of tonic to keep the fever at bay. She'd done it all and Azriel couldn’t quite understand it.

From past experiences of being sick or recovering from battle, the only person to have ever taken proper care of him had been himself. And now, his lover was doing what nobody else ever had, and Azriel was confused.

It wasn’t that Y/N was an overwhelmingly kind and compassionate person, because she was. Her caring and nurturing behaviour was nothing out of the ordinary for her, but Azriel had never experienced such care from a romantic partner before.

It was like Y/N had forgotten about the training, errands and the gruelling twelve-hour shift she’d just got home from, but Azriel hadn’t.

"Come on, I'll do you." His words came out gruffly, muffled slightly by the pillow that restricted the fluid movements of his lips. He could feel Y/N shake her head from above him. She sunk the balls of her palms into the backs of his shoulders.

"You need to relax and rest." She argued, hoping her reasoning would be enough for him not to ask again.

Azriel shook his head and shuffled beneath the weight of her body. Y/N lifted to her knees, allowing him to turn beneath her and onto his back. Azriel's eyes were bleary and sleepy as he blinked to gain his bearings. He stretched for her hips, hands finding them with ease.

He admired her for a few moments then, dressed in a pair of panties and one of his old training t-shirts that she changed into the second she got home. There was a dotting of kohl smudged below her eyes and a couple of tiny blemishes that were starting to show through the worn, minimal makeup.

He knew she'd had a long day, could tell the second she got in and pretended that she was okay for his sake. Her hair was tied back low on her neck, stray strands wildly framing her face. She looked tired, burnt out. Azriel just wanted to look after her.

"Bad day?" He finally asked.

Y/N blinked twice and shrugged, head rolling as her shoulders raised and her cheek met it. "Busy," she told him. "Nothing I'm not used to."

Azriel squinted.

He knew she was used to it — the long days with early starts and late finishes, the ones without a break in-between, where she didn’t get to eat, save for a few grapes she managed to steal every now and then. He knew she was used to the tiring work that came with owning her store, but that didn’t mean it was not exhausting her.

He squeezed her hips gently. "I know you're used to it, Angel. It doesn’t make it any easier, though."

She didn’t say anything. Her hands were back on his, encouraging them to sneak up her shirt to feel her skin. She was warm, soft. Y/N pouted down at him. "Want a kiss." She said, eyes glassy with affectionate need.

Azriel copied her expression absentmindedly, reaching up to caress the side of her face. "I don’t want to get you sick, gorgeous. Why don't you let me run you a bath and you can relax?" He offered, hazel eyes gently caressing her and she let hers flitter closed for a moment, like she was pondering over her answer.

She shook her head.

"You're the sick one. I'm going to run you a bath, and then I'm going to make you some soup for your throat. Know it's still hurting you."

Azriel didn’t say anything — knew that whatever he argued, she'd bite back better. His body sunk into the sheets, head in the pillow as a heavy huff of annoyance and adoration slipped from his mouth.

When Y/N said she'd run him a bath, Azriel didn't expect it to be overflowing with bubbles or for every possible available surface to be littered in glowing candles. But the bathroom was decorated with such and Azriel was overcome with an overwhelming amount of adoration for his love.

She let him take his time there, relaxing and soothing his muscles while she cooked up some magic for his throat. Getting out of the bath, Azriel most definitely did not expect to wander into the kitchen to see what he did.

Y/N behind the stove, dishing up the soup with two fresh rolls from the bakery a mile from them. She set the faelights dim for him — knew they were hurting his head — and there were more candles around the living room.

The coffee table was littered with them mostly, along with the book he was currently reading and Y/N’s crafts box. He noticed she got out her favourite blanket — the soft one that Azriel swore was made from angel wings.

And he looked at her, starry-eyed and all, his shadows working in the same sense of lovestruck. She had a gentle smile on her lips when she noticed his presence and Azriel was fucked.

He couldn’t stop the rush of emotion that consumed him. His eyes turned glassy, nose tingling and heart aching. Azriel thought he was easily the most loved male in the world and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He couldn’t help the single tear that slipped down his face but he wiped it before she noticed. Because Azriel never thought he would ever be deserving of the love she happily gave him.

Azriel approached her, arms wrapping around the middle of his love and he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, his shadows circling her in love and gratitude. "Thank you, for all of this. I love you so much." He rasped into her skin.

He could feel her body warm against his touch, just as it always did when he told her how he loved her. She had never expected to hear it, but the first time he told her, she’d cried into his chest and swore to treasure their love forever. Azriel had cried then, too.

She smiled, reached down to hold her hand over his. "I love you, too. And you haven't got to thank me, this is just what you do when you love someone."

When you love someone.

She shrugged her own words off like they were the most obvious thing she'd ever said, and perhaps they were, but Azriel couldn’t stop falling harder for her.

He'd loved people before, he knew that. But now, looking back, he wondered if anyone had ever loved him before her.

Azriel didn’t remember a time that a previous lover put him before themselves. Where they cared for him and put his needs first. Where they showered him with care and adoration just because.

No one ever loved him as she did.

The tears started to pool again as he pulled away and helped her carry their bowls and drinks to the couch. They sat close, dipping pieces of bread into the creamy soup Y/N prepared and chatting idly about the newest commission she had received today.

Azriel was struggling to focus though when Y/N took a glance at the clock and carried their empty bowls back to the kitchen. He craned his neck across the back of the couch to see what she was doing, but her back was to him as she ran the sink tap and rummaged through the cupboard.

What he did see was her shuffling back to the living room with a small glass of water and a curled open palm carrying three little white pills atop it.

Y/N settled beside him, handing him the glass with a tired smile and offering him the pills. "Madja said these will help better with your head and throat." She curled into the sofa, her knees to her chest and close to Azriel's side. Y/N propped one arm against the back of the pillows and her fingers found the longer hairs at the nape of Azriel's neck, gently scratching through the soft locks.

He watched her for a moment, completely dumbfounded and speechless if he was honest.

Something like Y/N taking care of him when he was sick shouldn't have had him feeling so fucked and in love, but it did. He was teary-eyed because his love was taking care of him off her own back. Because she wasn’t complaining once or making anything about herself.

Because she was loving him beyond the words of saying it.

And he cried.

Y/N was stunned at the sight, thought maybe he was about to sneeze, but his body started to tremble and shadows began to comfort him, and she realised what was going on. So, gently, she pried the glass and pills from his scarred hands and placed them blindly on the coffee table before reaching back for him.

"Hey," she cooed.

Her hands caressed the damp and flushed skin of his cheeks to bring Azriel's gaze to meet her reassuring one. "Why are you crying, Az?" Her words were asked in a light and airy voice, one that wasn’t serious as she chuckled softly, but he still knew she was concerned for him.

He shook his head and pulled her into his side, laughing at himself too because, why was he crying?

"I’ve just never had anyone look after me before. I’m incredibly lucky to have you, love. No one has ever loved me like you do before."

Her hand was sprawled across his gently heaving chest and she kissed his neck with a soft peck, offering a squeeze. His hand brushed comfortingly up and down her arm but neither of them really knew why he was the one trying to comfort her.

Y/N swallowed, reaching her right hand across her chest to find his hand that lingered over the front of her shoulder, and she interlaced their fingers, squeezing. "I wish I could show you how in love with you I am... no words can describe it." She admitted, bashfully.

Azriel squeezed her hand, using his other to wipe his face and he laughed again, because he was so in love that it hurt. He never once imagined himself falling for someone like this only three years into knowing them. It hurt so fucking good because he knew this was it for him. She was it for him. Together against the world. Their future, their everything.

And whether or not a mating bond snapped, his love for her would never change. Nothing could stop him from loving her the way he did.

Because she saw him. His darkness, his light, his good and bad. She saw it all and still chose him, still loved him. Despite all that he was and everything he’d done.

He swallowed down the heaviness of that fact.

"I know, baby. It’s the same for me."

His raw voice sent a shiver through her spine and her own eyes were watering with salty drops of emotion. It hurt her, too. More so knowing nobody had ever treated him right, nobody had ever taken care of him and loved him like he always deserved.

"I'm always gonna love you like this, Az. Always gonna put you before me. Put us before anything else. You're it for me, I hope I'm it for you, too."

He grinned, craned his neck to look down at her through hooded eyes. "You were it for me from the moment I laid eyes on you, Y/N. Nothing will ever change that. Mating bond or not. Nothing could ever keep me from you.”

She breathed shakily, tears slipping but she nodded her head. He didn’t get the chance to stop her before she was leaning up and smacking a kiss to his lips, eager and sweet. He didn’t pull away either, as selfish as it was. And his shadows circled them, inching their bodies closer and closer.

“Thank you,” Azriel whispered against her lips. “Thank you for always choosing me, for loving me.”

And her heart lurched. “Thank you for trusting me enough to.”

A/N: So this is an old fic from an old fandom, slightly rewritten and edited to fit Azriel's character. I have a few ideas for some ansgty pieces but you guys are yet to expereinece the full wrath of my angst fics and I'm worried you'll all hate me bc I don't like to add happy endings..... but we'll see!

Thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a like and reblog so others can read it too! 🤍

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fxckmiup · 14 days ago

Text

Shadows of the Exile - Epilogue

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: Y/N uncovers a secret journal filled with years of dreams and confessions about her. As they share memories, laughter, and intimacy, their bond deepens into something undeniable—a shared life, rooted in love, fate, and playful passion.

Warnings: soft domestic fluff, emotional vulnerability, love confessions via secret journal, fated mates energy, implied smut, suggestive dialogue

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: And that's it! I hope you enjoyed this series! Make sure to like and reblog :)

series masterlist

It started with her toothbrush.

Well, technically it started months ago—when nights in Azriel’s room became every night, when her clothes found a quiet corner in his wardrobe, when her favorite mug somehow ended up on his nightstand. But the toothbrush was the moment Azriel looked at her over his shoulder, half-dressed, shadows curling lazily around his bare back, and said:

“Just bring the rest of your things. It’s our room now.”

Y/N had raised a brow. “Oh? Our room?”

He’d smiled—crooked and slow. “You’ve basically annexed it already. May as well make it official.”

It was true. His bed was bigger, warmer, and always smelled like cedar and sky and him. And she’d stopped pretending to “head back to her room” weeks ago.

So, one golden afternoon, while Azriel was on a short patrol, Y/N padded barefoot down the Town House hallway with an armful of her things: a soft robe, her healing salves, her favorite teacup, and a stack of worn herb journals bound in green twine.

The room—their room—was quiet, sunlit, familiar. The curtains moved in the breeze like lazy thoughts. She smiled to herself as she set the journals on the edge of the dresser and opened the drawer beside the bed, meaning to slide them in next to his scattered bookmarks and spare gloves.

But her hand stopped.

Inside, tucked neatly beneath a folded handkerchief and a smooth river stone she’d given him months ago, was a small leather-bound journal. Dark, unmarked, worn at the edges like it had been held too tightly, too often.

She hadn’t seen it before.

She hesitated, fingers hovering. She didn’t mean to pry. But something tugged at her—like a whisper brushing the back of her neck.

Y/N slowly lifted the book out, thumbing over the edges. Azriel’s scent clung to the pages—ink, smoke, and shadow. Her heart stuttered in her chest.

The page she opened was dated almost 4 years ago.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. She touched my hand today. I think I forgot how to breathe.”

Y/N froze.

It was her. It was all her.

She sat on the edge of the bed, journal open in her lap, the room silent but for the gentle rustle of pages. Each entry was a sliver of the man she loved—quiet confessions, fleeting fears, hope wrapped in hesitation. A slow unraveling of a heart too careful to speak, but bold enough to write.

“If she ever finds this, Cauldron help me.”

She smiled through the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.

“Too late,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I found it.”

She turned the page slowly, carefully, like it might crumble beneath her fingers. The date at the top read:

Six years ago.

Y/N’s brows knit together. Six years ago, she hadn’t even been in Velaris. Hadn’t returned to Prythian. Hadn’t even heard Azriel’s name spoken aloud in centuries.

Her breath caught as she began to read.

“It happened again. A dream, or maybe more. She’s never clear—just light in the corner of my eye, laughter I’ve never heard in waking hours, the smell of something sweet and wild I can’t name. But every time I wake up, I swear I’ve touched her. Like I’ve lost something I never got to have.”

Y/N’s fingers trembled slightly.

“Rhys says I need more rest, but I know it’s not just my mind. My shadows know her. They curl toward the scent of dawn and pine like they’re trying to find something I can’t remember. It’s madness. I’ve never met her. But I miss her like a memory I’m not allowed to keep.”

A soft sound escaped her—a half-laugh, half-sob.

She pressed her hand over her mouth, eyes shining as she stared down at the page. She didn’t notice the door opening behind her. Didn’t hear the footsteps.

Not until his voice, quiet and rough from the threshold:

“You found it.”

Y/N startled, turning sharply to find Azriel standing in the doorway, shadows tight around his shoulders, golden eyes flicking between her and the open journal in her lap.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air was thick—not with tension, but with something older. Deeper.

Fated.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Then finally:

“Az… this was six years ago.”

His throat bobbed, and he nodded. “I know.”

“But I wasn’t here.”

Another pause. Azriel stepped closer, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if she’d bolt. “You weren’t,” he said quietly. “But something of you was.”

Her lips parted, but no words came.

He exhaled, looking down. “I used to dream of you. I didn’t know it then. Just… fragments. Feelings. A laugh I’d never heard but couldn’t forget. Shadows would tug toward empty space like they knew you already.”

He looked up again, eyes raw. Honest.

“When Rhys brought you here... I didn’t know why I felt like I’d been waiting centuries. But now I do.”

Y/N rose slowly, the journal still clutched in her hands. Her gaze searched his.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Azriel gave a small, helpless smile. “Because how do you say I dreamed of you before I knew you were real without sounding insane?”

She stepped closer until their foreheads nearly touched, her voice barely a whisper:

“You don’t sound insane. You sound like my mate.”

His eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years.

“You were always real to me,” he murmured. “Even when you weren’t here.”

Azriel’s shadows had quieted, like even they knew this moment was too fragile to disturb.

Y/N gently closed the journal and held it to her chest, not quite ready to let it go. Azriel watched her, his hands clenched loosely at his sides, as though unsure if he was allowed to reach for her.

But then she offered the journal out, not to return it, but to share it.

“You should keep it close,” she said softly. “But… I’m glad I read it. I’m glad I know.”

Azriel took it from her like it was something sacred. His fingers brushed hers, lingered.

“I never expected you to find it,” he admitted.

She smiled gently. “Then you probably shouldn’t keep your emotional confessions in the sock drawer.”

That earned a small laugh from him—quiet, disbelieving, and real.

Y/N turned back to the open drawer, where her stack of herb journals still sat on the edge, waiting to be tucked into place. Slowly, almost ceremonially, she slid them in beside his things.

“Well,” she murmured, “I guess it’s official now. Shared drawer. Shared room.”

Azriel placed his journal gently on top of hers—no hesitation this time.

“Shared life,” he added.

There was a pause. A heartbeat.

Y/N’s eyes shimmered, but she blinked it away. She reached behind her and picked up a smaller book from the floor—bound in worn rose-colored leather, her name etched faintly on the inside cover.

She offered it to him. “This is mine. One of my old ones. Dawn Court plants and remedies. A few dreams, too.”

Azriel took it slowly. Flipping it open, his eyes scanned her neat handwriting, the occasional ink smudge, a tiny pressed flower between the pages.

“You’re giving this to me?”

She nodded. “You kept pieces of me before I knew you. Let me give you something now. On purpose.”

Azriel set both their journals gently back into the drawer, tucking hers beneath his, like it belonged there all along.

Then he turned to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close until there was no space left to fill.

“You know,” he whispered into her hair, “you don’t have to sneak your things in anymore.”

“I know,” she whispered back. “But it was more fun that way.”

Just as the last trace of laughter left the air, Azriel’s voice broke the comfortable silence, warm and inviting.

“I brought your favorite dinner. From that little place near the Sidra. I thought... maybe we could have a cozy night in. Just the two of us?”

Y/N smiled, a soft, fond expression crossing her face as she looked at him. "A cozy dinner sounds perfect. I’ll be there in a minute."

She slipped into the kitchen, the soft scent of the meal lingering in the air, mixing with the fading light of the evening. Azriel had already set the table by the time she arrived—nothing too extravagant, but enough to make the space feel warm and welcoming. The dim lighting, the neatly placed dishes, and the quiet clink of silverware on plates spoke volumes about how much he cared.

"You didn't have to do all this," Y/N remarked with a small smile, leaning against the doorway.

Azriel shrugged, a little self-conscious. "It's just dinner. But I'd love it if you'd join me."

There was nothing extravagant about the way he’d set the table—no overly romantic gestures or grand flourishes, just the simplicity of sharing a meal together. Yet, somehow, it felt perfect. The warmth of the candlelight reflected in their eyes, the quiet hum of comfort as Y/N slid into the chair across from him.

As they sat down to dinner, a light chuckle escaped Azriel’s lips. He leaned back in his chair, looking at Y/N with an amused expression.

“I heard something interesting from Cassian and Mor today,” he said, his voice laced with teasing amusement. “Apparently, they’ve been betting on... well, on us.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, setting her fork down. “Us? How?”

Azriel couldn’t help but grin at the curiosity in her voice. “Well, it started with Cassian being too certain that after we accepted our mating bond, all the... intimate things we’ve done were confined strictly to the bedroom—or maybe the bathroom. He’s pretty convinced we haven’t ventured beyond that.”

Y/N burst out laughing, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the sound. “Cassian really thinks that?”

Azriel smirked. “Oh, yeah. He’s dead sure we’re the most boring of the bunch.”

Y/N’s laughter softened, but her eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. “And what did Mor say?”

Azriel leaned forward, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Mor, of course, took the opposite side. She bet that we’ve done it everywhere. In every room of the house. No boundaries. Guess she know a lot more about you than Cassian.”

Y/N’s grin widened as she thought about their quieter days in the Town House, when they had only shared stolen moments, hidden beneath the weight of their own unspoken feelings.

Her gaze shifted toward the table. Her heart picked up a beat, and the quiet realization hit her: There was still one place, one spot, where Azriel hadn’t—well, “ravished” her, as he liked to say.

She smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. She leaned toward Azriel, her voice low and teasing.

“Well, it seems Mor won,” she said with a sly grin. “But there’s still one place where you haven’t... completed the mission, Azriel.”

He blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

She glanced at the dinner table, then back at him, her lips curling into a playful smile. “Right here, at the table.”

Azriel stared at her for a moment, his mouth going dry. “Here?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her gaze meeting his, full of challenge. “Yep. You’ve been pretty creative everywhere else... but you’ve never tried the dining table, have you?”

His breath caught in his throat. The playful shock in his eyes quickly shifted to something darker, more possessive. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” she purred, her voice a teasing whisper as she leaned in closer, her fingers brushing the rim of her glass. “After all, if we’re going to be real about this, you have to make up for the fact that we haven’t fully tested every surface yet.”

Azriel’s gaze went dark with that intense, simmering hunger that never failed to make her pulse race. He straightened, his chair scraping softly against the floor as he leaned toward her, their faces now inches apart.

“You’re playing with fire, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper full of barely contained desire. “But if that’s the challenge you’re setting... I think I can show you just how hot it can get.”

Y/N chuckled, savoring the playful tension between them. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Azriel’s smile was slow, mischievous, as he stood, offering her a hand. “Let’s finish this dinner first, but after that... you’ll be the one needing to recover. Not me.”

Taglist: @princesssunderworld @tele86 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @rose-girls-world @iluvyewman-blog @gluecksbaerchieee @lreadsstuff

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fxckmiup · 14 days ago

Note

Hi there! I have a request for a ff if you’re still taking suggestions. I would love to read a ff of Azriel x Mate!reader and they decide to keep their relationship private from the IC, (Maybe because of the whole Elain situation, I’ll leave it up to you!)and maybe they have a little baby aswell! And the IC end up finding out and want to get to know Azriel’s family. Sorry if this is so bad, feel free to ignore if you hate the request xx

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A/N: Hi Love! I'm so fucking sorry for how long this request took me to get too! I genuinely love it but it took me forever to decide which direction to go in I swear I rewrote it like four times so I hope you like the version I ended up with! Thank you for request <3

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 1584

Warnings/Tags: Angst, IC Fighting, Rhysand lowkey painted as bad guy (but it's only for plot don't come after me that's my husband.) Happy/Hopeful Ending

Summary: Azriel has hidden his daughter and mate from his family but an accidental run in in Velaris ruins it all.

acotar masterlist | main masterlist

The door to my shared bedroom with my mate opened with a soft click. Yet I knew he was coming the second he set foot in our home. The spymaster himself purposefully made his footsteps loud enough for me to not be startled and yet not too loud in case I was resting.

I had been sleeping a lot during this pregnancy. The physical aspect of carrying our second born is much harder than carrying our first, and I was barely pregnant. I forced my eyes open in the dim room, wanting to lay my sight on the male that had captured my heart entirely no matter how tired I was.

Azriel smiled softly when his gaze met mine and he quickly and quietly put his coat away before sliding under the massive amount of blankets I was buried under. “Hi.” I murmured my voice raspy from sleep as Azriel adjusted us so that I was halfway laying on his chest, one of my legs thrown around his and the slight baby bump barely poking him in the stomach. His hand's immediately finding my belly and resting there.

“Hi.” He whispered back and I immediately tilted my head to look up at him at the slight shift in his voice.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, concern layering my tone.

Azriel just huffed a sad laugh under his breath as he gave me a rare smile. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “My observant little mate, you know me so well. Did I wake you?”

“No you didn’t. Azriel, tell me what’s wrong?” I panicked pushing myself up further so I could look at him properly. Something was…off about him. From the exhausted way he carried himself to bed, the way he had tugged me impossibly close and breathed me in as if it was his last time.

I knew he had spent the whole day with our daughter before dropping her off at my sister’s for a sleepover so I could have a peaceful night but the way he was acting- especially after the hurt I’d felt from him early in the day only to have him shut me out-

“Nothing’s wrong my love, everyone’s safe and ok.” Azriel assured me, repeating the words over and over again until my breathing evened and he placed a comforting kiss on the inside of my wrist before holding my hands close to his chest and pushing me to lay back down all cozied up next to him. These hormones were going to kill me.

“Ayanna and I ran into my family this evening.” Azriel started and my chest cracked open. No wonder he was so sad. Azriel loved and cared about his family deeply but ever since we’d met he’d taken extra care to make sure I stayed hidden from his family.

Rhysand had used Azriel’s own loyalty and respect towards him to make him leave the middle Acheron sister alone and it had completely broken him. It had only cemented the self doubt running rampant through his mind. Adding another layer to his hardened and yet sensitive heart.

It had shattered the new couple before it even started and Azriel had vowed to keep his High Lord’s orders to himself despite the devastation it caused to himself and Elain. Elain was almost as good as my mate in hiding her emotions but not nearly enough and Azriel had cursed himself even further. Because in his mind he was the monster that had crushed the innocent girl in his brutally bloody hands.

I had worked a lot with Azriel over his insecurities and self doubt. The male had barely even touched me when we first met, terrified he would scar another beautiful thing but I had coaxed him out of his shell and his family was something I could never really talk to him about, he shut down and went to a dark space that took days to get him out of.

In reality Azriel was terrified you’d be taken away from him, ordered halfway across the continent, just one day waking up and you and your beautiful daughter would just be gone? And there was a chance it could’ve been Rhysand’s fault? Or his own?

He loved his family, he loved his brother’s with every fiber of his being. But in the end his terror won, old wounds speaking louder than logic because he couldn’t handle it if there was even the slightest possibility Rhysand made the only good thing disappear from his life, because Gods he wouldn’t survive it and the world around him would shatter under his wrath.

I traced my fingertips underneath Azriel’s shirt, trailing soothing touches down those muscled abs until he came back to me. Clearly stuck in his own head. “How’d it go?” I asked.

“Horrible.” His voice cracked and my heart ached at the sound, mating bond screaming at me to do something other than just snuggle in bed. But I knew Azriel just as well as he knew me, instead of pressing him for more information I placed a gentle kiss on the juncture of his throat as he stared at the ceiling. He’d talk when he was ready.

A few minutes passed by until I heard the pain in his deep voice echo around the room again. “They were…angry. At me once they figured out Ayanna was my daughter. They were hurt and asking me why I didn’t tell them-” He paused, swallowing. “The look on Cassian and Rhysand’s faces-”

A few tears rolled down his cheek. The only other time I’ve seen the Shadowsinger cry was at our mating ceremony and the birth of our daughter. I brushed them away with the pads of my thumbs as he continued.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore. The betrayal on every single one of their faces. Ayanna was just confused of course, tugging on my shirt and hiding away. The shadows hid her from view and it only worsened the situation. Cassian accused me of not trusting him. I just felt so…ambushed so I let down my shields and threw everything I’d been feeling at Rhysand and Feyre.”

“I didn’t even stick around to hear the aftermath. Just went to the park for a few hours with Aya to cool down.”

“Nesta found you?” I presumed. The Lady of Death having grown quite close to my mate in the House of Wind. He nodded, continuing the rest of the story. Apparently Feyre had shared the information with the family and had promptly yelled at her mate for a few hours.

They’d all been hurt and angry at Azriel, at each other, and at Rhysand. Cassian and Mor having been the most bent out of shape, stinging even worse with how close they were.

I offered to talk more about it even as my eyelids were unwillingly drooping lower and lower. He just chuckled, wrapping his arms around me and giving me a strong kiss before he ushered me back to sleep once again.

——————————————

A soft knock echoed throughout the house and I left the tea table,, leaving Azriel to enjoy the outrageously sweet tea my daughter had made, she obviously got her sweet tooth from him.

“I’m assuming your Cassian and Mor.” I said by way of greeting as soon as I pulled the heavy oak door open. I knew the Inner Circle would come crawling out of the cracks after a few days and it warmed my heart to see and meet some of Azriel’s closest friends.

“And you’re my brother’s mate.” Cassian breathed out, Mor still finding her words next to him. “The one and only.” I joked with a small hand flourish that did nothing to defuse the tense air suffocating us. Grief etched into the fae’s very faces. “Can we come in?” Morrigan asked clearing her throat.

“Are you here to fight with him?” I questioned in return. A wince crossed over Cassian’s pained face. “Gods no, we just- we want to talk.”

I smiled softly, it was time for my mate to reunite with his family, to fully be present with them and stop hiding behind his indifferent facade. “He’s playing with Aya in the kitchen.”

Cassian practically rushed inside as soon as I opened the door wider, the male wearing his heart on his sleeve and I could see how much this entire ordeal affected him. Mor stepped in the threshold with more caution, taking a deep breath as she faced me.

“Rhysand and Feyre would’ve come you know but-”

“But if you bombard Azriel then he’ll shut down and pull away?” she chuckled half-heartedly, sparing a longing glance in the direction Cassian had gone. “Sounds like Az.”

“He didn’t want this to happen, none of us did.” She whispered softly. I knew she was talking about the High Lord and I nodded in understanding even though Rhysand and I would definitely be hashing it out later. “I know.”

Mor took a steadying breath and walked by, allowing me to finally shut the front door. Before she rounded the kitchen she turned to me once again. Pulling a brand new plush teddy bear out of whatever pocket realm she kept it in. “For Ayanna. Whenever you and Azriel are ready for us to meet her.”

I smiled, taking the gift and following the blonde into the kitchen, I knew without words that Azriel didn’t want to properly introduce our daughter until everything was resolved with his family despite the accidental meeting yesterday and I gave the fae’s their space. He’d already sent the three year old upstairs and I gave Azriel a quick kiss on the cheek before making my way up there as well.

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fxckmiup · 14 days ago

Text

Silent Lullabies Masterlist

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: There's an attack on Velaris and you and Azriel are struggling to reconnect after sudden events that leave the both of you broken beyond repair.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

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fxckmiup · 15 days ago

Text

The Cost of Deception- Azriel x fem!reader (3/3)

Summary: After years of silence, Y/N and Azriel unknowingly track the same target, only to find themselves face-to-face once more. Betrayal runs deep, and neither is willing to forgive, but the mission must come first—if they don’t destroy each other first.

See masterlist

Part 2

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI (I will mention when it starts and ends), angst, mentions of trauma, fighting, injuries, mentions of SA

A/N: Well guys, this is the finale! I truly hope you enjoyed reading this mini series as much as I enjoyed writing it for you my little angst lovers😘

Five years ago. The first time Azriel realized something was wrong, it had been too late.

Y/N had sent him the documents—a set of encrypted files from the Spring Court that she had painstakingly secured. He could still hear her voice in his mind, low but brimming with excitement.

"Az, I got it. All of it. This will change everything."

The pride in her voice had been unmistakable, her trust in him unwavering. She had worked tirelessly to secure that intel, putting herself in harm’s way to serve the Night Court. How could he not have trusted her completely? She was one of his best operatives, her sharp mind and steady hand unmatched in the chaos of espionage.

But when the information led them straight into a trap, resulting in the deaths of ten of their spies, everything had crumbled.

The ambush had been brutal, a coordinated strike that targeted their most vulnerable operatives. Three were killed on the spot. The others, hunted down in the following days, were slaughtered before they could escape. The loss was devastating, not just in lives but in the trust that bound their intricate network together.

When Rhysand summoned him, Azriel had gone with a heavy heart, knowing there would be questions he wasn’t yet ready to answer.

Rhysand’s violet eyes, usually so calm and understanding, were hard and cold. “Explain this, Azriel. How did this happen?”

Azriel had no answers. He had only fragments of a puzzle he hadn’t yet pieced together.

For days afterward, he barely slept. He pored over the documents Y/N had sent him, searching for inconsistencies, for anything that could explain how the information she’d provided had been so catastrophically wrong. He sent his own spies into Spring Court territory to investigate, desperate to uncover the truth.

It was one of his scouts who returned with the key.

“Someone fed her false information,” the scout explained, laying out the details. “A contact in the Spring Court deliberately set her up. They knew she’d take the bait. They knew exactly what to feed her.”

Azriel’s hands tightened into fists as he stared down at the report. The pieces clicked into place—agonizingly, unmistakably. Y/N had been played. She had been set up by someone who knew her movements, someone who had deliberately sought to discredit her.

But by the time Azriel uncovered the truth, it was too late. The network already knew of the failure. Y/N’s name had been whispered in the shadows, accusations of betrayal spreading like wildfire. The loss of their spies was fresh in everyone’s mind, their trust shattered.

Ten lives lost.

The number weighed heavily on Azriel’s soul. He could still see the faces of the operatives they’d lost, their smiles and laughter now memories that would haunt him forever.

He had tried to explain the situation to Rhysand, to tell him what he had uncovered. But Rhys’s expression had been grim, his voice unyielding.

“It’s not about what she intended,” Rhys said. “It’s about what this looks like. If we don’t act decisively, the entire network will fall apart. Our enemies will exploit this weakness.”

Azriel wanted to argue, to fight for Y/N. But he couldn’t deny the truth of Rhys’s words. The network’s survival depended on trust, and even the smallest fracture could cause everything they’d built to crumble.

And so, with a leaden heart, Azriel made the choice.

He spread the lie that Y/N had knowingly provided false information. He destroyed her reputation, painted her as a traitor, and watched as the court turned its back on her.

Azriel woke with a start, the memory still clawing at his mind.

The forest was quiet, the faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds the only sounds. He sat up slowly, his sharp eyes scanning the area. The campfire had burned down to embers, casting a faint orange glow against the dark silhouettes of the surrounding trees.

And there she was.

Y/N lay on the other side of the fire, her head resting on her pack, her body curled slightly for warmth. Even in sleep, there was a tension in her posture, as though she couldn’t fully let her guard down.

Azriel’s chest ached at the sight. She looked so small, so vulnerable in the dim light, and yet he knew how strong she was. How much she had endured because of him.

Because of the lies he had told.

He had tried not to think of her after her banishment. But she had haunted him anyway. Every report from the Night Court’s spies about her whereabouts, every whisper of her struggles, had found its way to him. He couldn’t help but keep tabs on her, even when he told himself it was better to let her go.

The guilt ate away at him, day by day. He told himself it had been necessary, that he had done what was required to protect the court. But the justifications rang hollow in the dead of night when he lay awake, her name a constant refrain in his mind.

And then there were the dreams.

They started innocently enough—memories of missions they had completed together, of the way she had laughed when they argued over strategy. But they soon turned darker. He would see her standing in the rain, her eyes filled with betrayal as she asked, “Why?”

He had never answered her then. And now, he didn’t know if he ever could.

Azriel leaned back against the tree behind him, his gaze never leaving her sleeping form. The firelight cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the faint parting of her lips. She was beautiful in a way that made his heart ache, a quiet, unassuming beauty that had drawn him in from the start.

And now, after everything he had done, she was here.

His shadows curled around him, their whispers faint and indecipherable. He let them surround him, a comforting presence in the silence. But even they couldn’t soothe the turmoil within him.

Azriel clenched his jaw, his resolve hardening. He had to make things right. He had to tell her the truth, to explain why he had done what he did. Even if she never forgave him, even if she hated him for the rest of her life, he owed her that much.

He would fix this. Somehow, he would find a way to atone for his sins.

But for now, he let himself watch her for a little longer, committing every detail of her to memory—the rise and fall of her chest, the soft curve of her mouth, the strands of hair that had fallen across her face.

The past could not be undone. But perhaps, in the fragile, uncertain future, he could find redemption.

Y/N woke to the low rustle of leaves and the crackle of a small fire. The pale morning light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. Her body ached from the cold, uneven ground, and the memories of her restless sleep haunted her like ghosts.

She pushed herself up, glancing toward the source of the sound. There he was, Azriel, seated on a fallen log, nibbling at a piece of dried fruit with his shadows coiling lazily around him. He didn’t look at her immediately, but the minute her movement caught his eye, his gaze snapped to hers.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly, his voice as smooth as ever but tinged with something heavier. Guilt.

She didn’t respond, instead dragging herself to her feet and brushing the dirt from her tunic. The smell of breakfast—though plain and meager—made her stomach churn, not from hunger but from the knot of anxiety that had been a permanent resident there ever since she’d agreed to this mission.

Azriel shifted, his shadows curling toward her as though they could sense her discomfort. “You should eat something,” he said, holding out a piece of bread.

“I’m fine,” she said flatly.

“You’re not,” he countered, and his tone, while gentle, left no room for argument. “We’ll be moving soon. You need your strength.”

She clenched her jaw but took the bread anyway, sitting on the opposite end of the fire. They ate in silence, the tension between them a living, breathing thing that no amount of chewing could cut through.

To her surprise, it was Azriel who broke the quiet. “My shadows went far last night,” he said, his voice low. “They’ve scouted ahead. We’re close to Malrik’s place—closer than I thought. We should reach it by midday.”

She nodded but didn’t look at him, focusing instead on the bread in her hands.

Azriel continued, pulling out a map from his satchel. He unfolded it carefully, smoothing the edges on his thigh before spreading it out between them. “This is the layout the messenger gave me,” he said, his scarred fingers tracing lines and markings. “We’ll enter here, through the eastern ridge. It’s less guarded, but it��s steep, so we’ll need to move quickly. Once inside, you’ll take the northern passage—it leads directly to Malrik’s study. I’ll handle the guards and meet you there.”

He paused, glancing at her as though expecting a response, but she remained silent, her eyes fixed on the map.

When he finished his rundown, the silence returned, heavier now, pressing down on them like the weight of the forest itself. She could feel his gaze on her, the way his shadows hesitated, unsure whether to reach for her or retreat.

Finally, she sighed, dropping the last bit of bread into her lap. “Spit it out,” she said coldly.

Azriel blinked, as though surprised by her bluntness, but then his composure cracked.

“I didn’t mean—” he started, the words tumbling out of his mouth so fast she barely caught them. “I didn’t mean for it to—Y/N, I swear, I didn’t—”

“What?” she interrupted, frowning.

He tried again, but the sentences came just as rushed, just as scattered. His shadows swirled around him, reflecting his inner turmoil, and it was so unlike him—this babbling, this loss of control—that she almost didn’t recognize him.

“Azriel,” she snapped, cutting him off. “Speak normally.”

He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself. When he opened them again, they were filled with something raw, something she wasn’t sure she wanted to see.

“I was the one who spread the lie,” he said finally, his voice low but clear.

Her breath caught in her throat. She had known—of course she had known—but hearing it from his mouth was a different kind of pain, a dagger twisting in a wound that had never healed.

“Not this again,” she muttered, rising to her feet. “I told you, I don’t wish to speak of it.”

“Please,” he said, standing as well. “Please, Y/N. Just hear me out.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, she considered walking away, leaving him to his guilt and his shadows. But something in his voice—desperation, maybe, or the faint echo of the bond they once shared as comrades—made her stop.

“You have five minutes,” she said sharply. “Then we’re leaving.”

Azriel nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He didn’t sit back down, didn’t even look away from her as he began.

He told her everything. The ambush, the deaths, the documents he’d compared, the spies he’d sent to investigate. He told her about the trap laid by the Spring Court, about how they had used her as a pawn without her knowledge.

And he told her about Rhysand. About the conversation in the forest, about the decision they had made together. About how he had spread the lie to protect the network, to protect the court.

By the time he finished, Y/N’s hands were trembling with rage.

“You destroyed me,” she said, her voice shaking. “Do you understand that? You didn’t just ruin my reputation, Azriel. You ruined my life.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No, you don’t,” she snapped. “You don’t know what it was like. To be cast out, to be hunted by the same people I fought beside, to have nothing and no one because of you.”

Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to keep going. “You made me a traitor in their eyes. You made me a traitor in my own eyes. Do you know how many nights I spent wondering if I should just end it all? Wondering if it would hurt less than this?”

Azriel flinched, his shadows recoiling as though her words had struck them as well. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “Y/N, I’m so—”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” she spat. “Sorry doesn’t change what you did. It doesn’t bring back the years I lost, the ME I lost. If I hadn't been exiled, if I had been in such a weakened, depressed state, I would have never fallen into Malrik's trap, I would have never been raped by him!"

Azriel closed his eyes, seemingly battling the rage and inner turmoil within him before exhaling and looking at her once more. "Y/N...I- I didn't know. Please, I.....I swear if only I knew that this would happen- he will die soon enough but....I know it's not enough. It never will

He took a step toward her, his hands outstretched, but she stepped back, her anger flaring hotter.

“I hate you,” she said, her voice deadly calm. “I hate you, Azriel. And after this mission, I never want to see your face or hear your voice again.”

She turned away, her hands shaking as she began to pack her things. Behind her, she could feel him deflate, his presence shrinking as though he wanted to disappear into his own shadows.

But she didn’t look back.

She couldn’t.

Not when the pain in her chest threatened to consume her all over again.

The silence left in Y/N’s wake was deafening. Azriel sat there, staring at the small fire he’d stoked earlier to ward off the morning chill. The flames flickered, but their warmth did nothing to thaw the icy pit in his chest.

Her words echoed in his mind: “I hate you.”

His shadows curled tighter around him, almost as if they could shield him from the sharp edge of her dismissal. But they couldn’t. Nothing could. He had heard those words from others—enemies, strangers—but never from her. Never from Y/N, the female he had…

Azriel swallowed hard, forcing himself to push away the thought. Whatever he had felt, or still felt, didn’t matter. Not now. Not when he’d destroyed her life.

He packed up the remnants of their meager breakfast in silence, every motion mechanical. His shadows flitted about, scouting ahead, as they always did. But even they seemed subdued, their whispers softer than usual, their presence a dull hum in the back of his mind.

When he finally stood, he caught sight of Y/N a short distance away, packing her own belongings. She moved with quick, efficient motions, her face set in a cold mask. It hurt more than it should, that distance.

Azriel forced himself to focus. The mission. They had to finish this mission. It was the only way he could begin to atone.

As they trekked through the dense forest, Azriel’s shadows returned to him, bringing snippets of information. Malrik’s stronghold wasn’t far now—a few hours’ travel at most. The path would grow more treacherous as they neared the base, but they could manage it. They always had before.

Azriel glanced at Y/N out of the corner of his eye. She walked ahead of him, her posture rigid, her focus locked on the path. The sunlight filtered through the canopy, catching on the strands of her hair, turning them into threads of gold. Even now, even with the weight of her anger pressing down on him, she was beautiful.

He tore his gaze away.

They didn’t speak. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Azriel’s mind churned with everything he wanted to say, everything he should say, but the words tangled in his throat. What was the point? She’d made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with him.

His shadows stirred, tugging at his senses. He halted, raising a hand.

Y/N stopped immediately, her body tense. “What is it?” she asked, her voice sharp.

Azriel tilted his head, listening to his shadows. “Scouts. Two of them. About a hundred paces ahead.”

Y/N nodded, her hand already on the hilt of her blade. “We take them out?”

“No,” Azriel said quickly. “We avoid them. We’re too close to risk alerting Malrik.”

Her lips thinned, but she didn’t argue. They veered off the path, moving in silence through the underbrush. Azriel’s shadows guided them, weaving a path around the scouts’ position.

They were a good team, even now. Azriel couldn’t help but notice how seamlessly they worked together, how her movements complemented his, how she trusted his shadows without question. It was a painful reminder of what they had lost—and what they might never regain.

“We’ll approach from the south,” he continued, pulling the map from his pocket. “Malrik’s defenses are weaker there. Once we’re inside—”

“Azriel.”

He stopped, startled by the sharpness in her voice.

“Save it for when we’re there,” she said, not even looking at him. “I don’t need a play-by-play.”

His grip on the map tightened, the paper crinkling under his fingers. He stuffed it back into his pocket, his shadows curling tighter around him in response to the sting of her dismissal.

The rest of the journey passed in tense, stifling silence.

By the time they reached the edge of Malrik’s territory, the sun was high overhead, and the air had grown heavy with the scent of damp earth. Azriel crouched low, scanning the terrain ahead as his shadows flitted out, scouting for traps or hidden sentries.

Y/N knelt beside him, her movements quiet and precise. She didn’t speak, didn’t ask questions, just waited for his signal.

Azriel swallowed the ache in his chest and focused.

“We’ll go in after nightfall,” he said, his voice low. “There’s too much open ground to cover right now. We’d be spotted.”

Y/N nodded curtly, her expression unreadable.

He wanted to say something else, anything to fill the silence, but the words wouldn’t come. She wouldn’t want to hear them, anyway.

So he stayed quiet, letting his shadows do the talking as they scouted the area ahead. And as he watched her, sitting there with her face turned away from him, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever find a way to reach her again—or if he was destined to lose her for good.

The dense forest around them seemed to grow darker with every step. The shadows clung to the trees like they belonged there, a creeping stillness settling over the air. Y/N pulled her hood tighter, the familiar weight of her weapons reassuring against her sides. She wasn’t nervous—no, she refused to let herself feel anything close to fear. But the sharp edge of anticipation coiled in her stomach, and she didn’t know whether it was the thought of facing Malrik or simply walking beside Azriel that made her insides twist.

He was silent, as usual. Not that she minded. The less they spoke, the easier it was for her to focus. And yet, her gaze kept sliding to him—to the way his wings curled in, tight and guarded, like even they knew the weight of what he carried. His face was a mask, his jaw clenched as he scanned their surroundings, shadows slipping over his shoulders and whispering things she couldn’t hear.

She hated how he could still look like that. Like the male she used to trust with her life. Like the male who had destroyed it.

“We’re close,” Azriel said quietly, his voice cutting through the stillness. He motioned ahead to where the trees thinned, revealing a steep ridge that overlooked a sprawling estate.

Y/N stepped up beside him, peering through the canopy. The estate was larger than she’d expected—a fortress more than a house, with high stone walls and watchtowers at every corner. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their movements precise and disciplined.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s fortified himself well.”

“Malrik always did think himself untouchable,” Azriel replied, his voice neutral. But she caught the edge of something beneath it—bitterness, maybe. Or regret.

“Maybe he is,” Y/N muttered, adjusting the straps of her weapons belt. “Or maybe he’s just another coward hiding behind walls.”

Azriel didn’t respond. He unfolded a map from his satchel, spreading it across a flat rock. Y/N crouched beside him, her eyes scanning the layout of the estate as he pointed to various entry points.

“There’s a blind spot here,” he said, tapping the eastern side of the wall. “The guards rotate every twenty minutes. If we time it right, we can get in unnoticed.”

“And once we’re inside?” Y/N asked, her voice clipped.

Azriel’s shadows darted across the map, as if outlining the paths he’d already memorized. “We split up. I’ll head to the main hall to find the records Malrik’s been keeping. You take the east wing. That’s where he’s likely hoarding the weapons.”

“And if we run into him?”

Azriel’s hazel eyes flicked to hers, steady and unyielding. “Don’t hesitate.”

Y/N snorted, straightening. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

The words hung between them, heavier than she intended. She saw the flicker of something in his expression—guilt, or maybe pain—but he quickly turned away, rolling up the map and tucking it back into his satchel.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded, drawing her daggers. “Let’s get this over with.”

They moved in silence, sticking to the shadows as they descended the ridge. The air grew colder the closer they got, the stone walls looming larger with every step. Y/N’s pulse quickened, but she forced herself to stay calm, to keep her breaths even.

As they reached the blind spot Azriel had mentioned, his shadows darted ahead, slipping through the cracks in the wall. He held up a hand, signaling for her to wait, and she crouched low, her fingers curling around the hilt of her dagger.

Seconds stretched into minutes.

Y/N’s heart thudded in the silence, her breaths measured but tight. She glanced at Azriel, who seemed completely still, his focus on the shadows reporting back to him. She envied that stillness, that ease with which he could disappear into himself. Because as the minutes dragged on, her mind began to wander—back to a time she had no choice but to keep moving or risk falling apart.

The banishment.

The loneliness.

She could still feel the cold of those nights when she had no roof over her head, no safety to retreat to. When even a small fire risked drawing too much attention, and the ache of hunger became as familiar as the weapons she now carried. Her hands tightened around her daggers at the memory of how she’d survived—scraping by on instincts she didn’t know she had, enduring humiliation and pain she refused to dwell on.

She thought of the faces that had turned away from her, the whispers that had followed her wherever she went. Traitor. Liar. The words had been knives, sharper than anything she’d ever wielded. She’d grown used to the weight of them, to the constant ache in her chest.

But it hadn’t just been anger that kept her going. It was exhaustion, too. Exhaustion from holding herself together, from waking up every day and deciding to fight through it all when no one else would fight for her.

Her jaw clenched as her gaze slid back to Azriel. He had been the cause of it all, the one who lit the spark that burned her world to ash. And now, here he was, standing beside her as if they could somehow go back to what they once were.

She almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

Azriel’s shadows returned then, pulling her from her thoughts. His hand brushed her arm—a silent signal.

“Now,” he murmured, motioning for her to follow.

The fortress was eerily quiet, save for the faint murmur of guards’ voices echoing down the stone corridors. The scent of damp stone and oil lanterns lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood Y/N swore she could almost taste.

She moved in Azriel’s shadow, her steps silent as they crept deeper into the heart of Malrik’s stronghold. His wings were tucked tightly against his back, his shadows a living entity around them, cloaking their movements in secrecy.

Azriel gestured for her to stop as they approached a fork in the hallway. His hazel eyes flicked between the two paths, and his shadows darted ahead, scouting for threats. Y/N leaned against the cold stone wall, her breathing steady but her pulse thrumming.

She hated how familiar this all felt—the stealth, the tension, the thrill of being on the hunt. It reminded her of the missions she used to carry out with the Night Court’s spymaster. Back when they were partners. Back when she trusted him.

The memory twisted like a knife in her chest, and she pushed it away.

Azriel’s hand brushed her shoulder, snapping her focus back to the present. He pointed to the left corridor. “Records room is this way,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Weapons cache is down the other hall. We’ll split up.”

Y/N nodded, already moving toward the right corridor.

“Be careful,” Azriel said softly, his voice carrying a weight she didn’t want to acknowledge.

She didn’t look back as she replied, “Always am.”

The weapons cache was heavily guarded, but Y/N had faced worse odds before. Fear was a luxury she had abandoned long ago, replaced with cold, calculated precision.

She slipped through the shadows, her steps light and soundless, each movement deliberate. The first guard never saw her coming. Her dagger slid cleanly between his ribs, a swift and silent strike that left him slumping to the ground.

The second turned at the faint noise, his eyes widening as he opened his mouth to shout, but Y/N was faster. She lunged, one hand covering his mouth as the other drove her blade into his chest. His muffled cry died on her palm, his body going limp as she lowered him to the floor.

The third guard wasn’t as easy. He rounded the corner just as Y/N straightened, his eyes locking onto her.

“Hey—!”

Y/N’s dagger flew before he could finish, embedding itself in his throat. The gurgling noise he made as he crumpled to the ground sent a shiver up her spine, but she ignored it, her focus already shifting to the task at hand.

Blood pooled around the bodies, dark and glistening in the dim light of the lanterns lining the walls. Her boots left faint imprints as she stepped over them, barely sparing the corpses a second glance. This was the life she’d chosen—or, rather, the one that had been forced upon her. Hesitation had no place in it.

The cache itself was a hoard of nightmares. Weapons of every make and size were stacked in chaotic piles, from polished swords to crude, rusted spears. Crates were scattered across the room, many of them stamped with ominous markings that hinted at their contents.

Explosives.

Y/N’s stomach twisted as she crouched beside one of the crates, prying it open with the tip of her blade. Inside, bundles of volatile materials were packed tightly, ready to unleash devastation. She could almost see the destruction they could cause—the lives they could end—if they fell into the wrong hands.

Or if she used them.

She inhaled deeply, steeling herself as she began assessing the room. The eastern wall was load-bearing, its stonework already showing signs of strain from age and poor maintenance. If she planted the charges there, the entire wing would collapse, taking everything—and everyone—in it.

Perfect.

Her fingers moved deftly, securing the charges Azriel had handed her earlier. She worked in silence, her ears attuned to the faintest sound, her eyes constantly flicking to the shadows that seemed to grow longer with every passing second.

The room was too quiet now.

The eerie silence crawled under her skin, each hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She tried to shake off the unease, forcing herself to focus. The quicker she finished, the quicker she could leave this place behind.

But as she reached for the final charge, the sensation of being watched became impossible to ignore.

Her hand froze mid-air.

Y/N’s gaze darted around the room, scanning the shadows for any movement. The faint glow of the lanterns danced across the stone walls, casting flickering shapes that played tricks on her mind.

You’re imagining things, she told herself. Just finish the job.

But her body betrayed her, every instinct honed from years of survival screaming at her to move, to run, to fight.

She tightened her grip on her dagger, rising slowly from her crouch. The weight of the silence pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating, until the sound of a faint, deliberate step shattered it.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she spun, her blade already in hand, ready to strike.

But the room was empty.

No guards. No footsteps. Just the dim glow of the lanterns and the distant rumble of activity somewhere deeper in the fortress.

Y/N let out a slow, shaky breath, cursing herself for faltering. She had a job to do, and paranoia wouldn’t help her survive it.

Still, as she finished setting the last charge and turned to leave, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.

And that whoever—or whatever—was watching her wasn’t finished yet.

The last charge was set, and as Y/N’s hand pressed the final button to trigger the detonators, a strange, primal sense of satisfaction pulsed through her veins. The fortress would fall. Malrik’s reign of terror would come to an end.

She turned swiftly, ready to leave the weapons cache and move to the next part of the plan, but something in the air had shifted. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

It wasn’t just the oppressive silence anymore. No, this was different—more sinister. The shadows felt alive, watching her every move.

“Y/N,” Azriel’s voice broke through her thoughts, low and urgent.

She spun, meeting his eyes in the dim light of the hallway. He looked… different. His usual calm and composed demeanor was replaced by a look of steely focus, his shadows swirling around him as if responding to some unspoken command.

“There’s no time,” he said, his voice low but determined. “Malrik knows we’re here. We’ve been compromised.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. She’d known the plan wouldn’t go off without a hitch, but she hadn’t expected it to unravel so quickly.

“Then let’s move,” she said, voice tight.

Azriel’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, searching her face, his shadows curling around her like a protective blanket. He didn’t speak, but she could see the question in his eyes: Are you ready for this?

She didn’t respond. Instead, she moved, leading the way down the narrow corridor with Azriel right behind her.

As they neared the center of the fortress, Y/N’s mind raced. She couldn’t help but think back to the years she spent trapped under Malrik’s control—the constant fear, the manipulation, the pain. She’d survived, but at what cost? Her mind was still scarred by those years, and her body still carried the marks of his cruelty.

The thought of confronting him made her hands shake, but she pushed it down. This wasn’t about her. It was about ending this once and for all.

They reached the heart of the fortress just as the first explosion rang out in the distance, shaking the ground beneath them. The walls trembled.

Malrik’s voice echoed through the halls, distant but unmistakable. “You think you can destroy me? You think you can bring me down? You’re nothing. Just like the others who tried before you.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold.

Azriel’s eyes met hers, and for a split second, she saw the fear in them—something she hadn’t seen from him in a long time.

He was worried.

But she couldn’t afford to think about that. They had a job to finish.

As they rounded the corner into a wide open room, the smell of smoke and the distant crackling of flames reached her nose. But it wasn’t the fire that caught her attention—it was the figure standing in the center of the room, waiting for them.

Malrik.

The man who had taken everything from her.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The man who had shattered her life was standing there, his smirk twisted in that all-too-familiar way. The air around him seemed to crackle with malice, his presence almost suffocating.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice oozing with mock sweetness. “I was wondering when you’d come. How predictable. You can’t outrun your past. It’s always waiting for you.”

A surge of rage hit her, and she took a step forward, her fists clenched at her sides. Her thoughts blurred as her heart hammered in her chest. The years of pain, of torment, everything she’d endured flooded back to the surface in a tidal wave.

Before she could even react, the room seemed to shift, the shadows thickening around them, and suddenly, Malrik’s forces were everywhere—emerging from the walls, from hidden doors, and from the shadows themselves. They were ready.

Azriel moved immediately, his shadows cutting through the air, but there were too many. They’d underestimated him, and they’d paid the price.

Y/N stepped back, pulling out her daggers, her mind focused on the fight ahead. But as she squared off with one of Malrik’s soldiers, her chest tightened. The memories of her past flooded in, overwhelming her—the nights in his cell, the screams, the betrayal, the suffocating darkness that held her captive.

It was too much.

She froze. The soldier in front of her lunged, but her body didn’t react. Her hands were shaking, the blades slipping from her fingers as a wave of panic and dread washed over her.

“Y/N!” Azriel’s voice pierced through the chaos, but it sounded far away. His voice broke her from her stupor, but the damage was done.

A soldier’s blade grazed her side, sending a jolt of pain through her body. She stumbled back, the world spinning as the wound burned.

She tried to move, but her legs wouldn’t obey. The memories, the horror, the terror she’d endured—it was too much.

Azriel was at her side in an instant, fury and panic flashing in his eyes. He pushed her behind him, his shadows swarming as he fought to protect her, but Y/N’s body refused to cooperate.

“Focus, Y/N!” Azriel growled, his voice thick with urgency. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

But the battle raged around them, and in her frozen state, Y/N could do nothing but watch as Azriel fought off the soldiers with deadly precision.

Then, Malrik’s voice boomed across the room.

“Enough.”

Y/N’s heart stopped. She could barely see through the fog of her own mind, but the cold, terrifying presence of Malrik seemed to surround her, like a suffocating blanket. She tried to focus, tried to force her body to move, but it was too late.

Azriel was already too far into the fight.

And then, with a roar, Malrik advanced. The final confrontation had begun.

The air around them felt thick with tension, suffocating and heavy. Malrik’s figure loomed ahead, like a dark storm cloud about to break. He was everything Azriel despised—cold, calculating, cruel—and his presence in this fortress was a testament to the devastation he had caused over the years. But now, standing before him, there was only one thing Azriel could think of: Y/N.

The woman who had been broken by Malrik’s hands, scarred by his touch, now stood at the mercy of his soldiers, her body stiff, her mind still imprisoned by the ghosts of her past. Azriel’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, and a sharp wave of fury surged through him. Malrik had caused this. Malrik had taken everything from her, and Azriel would be damned if he let him take more.

“I won’t let you have her,” Azriel’s voice was low, barely above a growl, as he faced Malrik in the center of the crumbling hall. His shadows twisted around him, responding to his fury. “Not again.”

Malrik’s smirk was maddeningly calm. His pale eyes gleamed with dark amusement, as if he knew exactly what he was doing—pitting Azriel’s deepest rage against him, throwing him off balance. But Azriel wasn’t going to be distracted. Not this time. Not when Y/N was in danger.

The soldier closest to Y/N lunged at her, but Azriel was already in motion. His blades sliced through the air, a blur of lethal precision, and the soldier crumpled to the ground without so much as a sound. But as he moved, he saw Y/N falter—her hand trembling, her gaze distant.

Her past was haunting her again.

Azriel’s blood ran cold, and his shadows surged forward, protecting her in a shield that held the remaining soldiers at bay. His mind was consumed with thoughts of Malrik and what he had done to her—the rape, the violence, the years of torment that had scarred her beyond recognition. Azriel had heard the stories, but hearing them from her mouth had been like a blade to his chest. The image of that bastard touching Y/N, breaking her, was enough to drive him into a rage that could level this fortress.

“I’ll make you pay,” Azriel muttered under his breath, his voice a venomous hiss.

Malrik’s gaze shifted toward him, an almost smug expression crossing his face. “You think you can stop me? You think you can kill me after all this time? You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Shadow-cursed.”

Before Azriel could respond, Malrik’s soldiers descended on them, weapons raised. Azriel didn’t hesitate. His shadows lashed out, tearing through the attackers with deadly force, but the numbers were overwhelming. They were everywhere—more than Azriel had anticipated. He could feel the weight of every strike, every dodge, every move, but he couldn’t stop. Not while Y/N was at risk.

Every slash of his blades, every strike, was fueled by the image of Y/N’s face when she had spoken of her suffering. He wanted Malrik to pay. He wanted him to feel every ounce of the hell he had put her through, to feel the agony, the loss, the betrayal.

But Malrik wasn’t a mere man—he was a threat unlike any Azriel had faced before. He had the resources, the men, and a weapon that Azriel had no way of anticipating. Malrik fought like a predator—cold, calculating, never wasting a movement. And Azriel was starting to realize the full extent of what he was up against.

Malrik didn’t need to speak for his presence to become overwhelming. The moment Azriel made an opening to strike, Malrik’s weapon swung in, a heavy, dark blade that shimmered unnaturally in the dim light, cutting through the air with a sound like the crack of a whip. It connected with Azriel’s side, a painful, burning slice that sent him stumbling back, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Is this the great Azriel?” Malrik sneered, advancing. “The so-called ‘Shadow of Night’ brought down by a mere blade?”

Azriel’s fury flared. “I’ll show you what happens when you mess with the wrong people.”

He fought with everything he had—his daggers cutting through flesh, his shadows warping around him, but Malrik was relentless. Every time Azriel gained an inch, Malrik took it back, pushing him farther and farther back. His soldiers surrounded them, and the walls seemed to close in as the fight dragged on, each passing second feeling like an eternity.

But in the chaos of the battle, something broke through—the sound of Y/N’s scream. It wasn’t just any scream. It was filled with pain, terror, and helplessness. Azriel��s heart stuttered, his blood running cold. He whipped his head around, his shadows moving with lightning speed to shield her once more.

Malrik’s men had swarmed her.

“No!” Azriel roared, cutting down anyone in his path as he made his way toward her, but by the time he reached her side, it was too late.

Y/N’s face was pale, her expression empty, her eyes distant—frozen in the grip of her past. One of Malrik’s soldiers had her pinned, and another raised a blade, ready to end her.

Azriel’s fury ignited. It was as if a switch had been flipped in his mind. His shadows exploded outward, a torrent of darkness and power, cutting down every enemy in sight, his focus on nothing but protecting Y/N. His blades flashed, severing limbs and spilling blood in an instant.

Her past was haunting her again.

“I’ll make you pay,” Azriel muttered under his breath, his voice a venomous hiss.

“Is this the great Azriel?” Malrik sneered, advancing. “The so-called ‘Shadow of Night’ brought down by a mere blade?”

Azriel’s fury flared. “I’ll show you what happens when you mess with the wrong people.”

But in the chaos of the battle, something broke through—the sound of Y/N’s scream. It wasn’t just any scream. It was filled with pain, terror, and helplessness. Azriel’s heart stuttered, his blood running cold. He whipped his head around, his shadows moving with lightning speed to shield her once more.

Malrik’s men had swarmed her.

“No!” Azriel roared, cutting down anyone in his path as he made his way toward her, but by the time he reached her side, it was too late.

Y/N’s face was pale, her expression empty, her eyes distant—frozen in the grip of her past. One of Malrik’s soldiers had her pinned, and another raised a blade, ready to end her.

Azriel’s fury ignited once more, burning through him like wildfire. It felt as if the ground beneath him had cracked open, his heart beating out of his chest as his shadows swarmed, tearing through the soldiers with a speed and precision that left no room for mercy.

But as Azriel turned back to face Malrik, his mind sharpened with clarity, rage, and something darker—something primal. Malrik stood at the center of the chaos, watching with a twisted satisfaction in his cold eyes.

“You think you can stop me, Azriel?” Malrik laughed, his voice laced with arrogance. “You’ll never be enough. You’re weak, just like your pathetic allies. And when I’m done with you, I’ll make her scream again. She’ll remember—”

Azriel didn’t wait for him to finish. He lunged forward, daggers flashing in the dim light. But Malrik was prepared. His blade whipped out, clashing against Azriel’s with a violent crack. The force of the strike sent Azriel staggering, but he recovered in an instant, his shadows lunging forward to bind Malrik in place.

“You’ve caused enough destruction, Malrik,” Azriel growled, every word soaked with hatred. “It ends today.”

But Malrik wasn’t finished. With a growl, he twisted in the shadows’ grip, his body moving in unnatural, serpentine motions. He freed himself, ripping through the darkness with an ease that sent chills down Azriel’s spine.

“You can’t even begin to understand what I’ve done,” Malrik said coldly, a cruel smile on his lips. “And I’ll do it all over again—just to watch her break.”

Azriel’s vision blurred with rage. He attacked again, this time with more precision, his daggers slicing through the air with the fury of a storm. But Malrik was faster, stronger—his blade moving with deadly force, striking against Azriel’s, knocking him back.

The two of them collided in a clash of shadows and steel, neither giving an inch. Azriel’s heart thundered in his chest as he fought, shadows dancing wildly around him, his daggers flashing in the dim light, but Malrik was always a step ahead. Each strike felt like an eternity—every wound, every bruise, only fueling Azriel’s determination.

Azriel’s shadows tried to bind Malrik again, but Malrik’s blade was relentless, cutting through the darkness like a hot knife through butter. Every time Azriel thought he had the upper hand, Malrik shifted, ducked, or twisted, evading the strike with terrifying precision.

It was like fighting a monster—a nightmare that would never end.

And then, in a moment of vulnerability, Malrik made his move.

With a wicked grin, Malrik struck—his blade slashing across Azriel’s chest, cutting deep. Azriel gasped, staggering back as the blood welled from the wound. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as pain exploded in his side, but the fury inside him burned brighter.

“Is this all you have, Azriel?” Malrik taunted, his blade dripping with blood. “You couldn’t protect her before, and you won’t protect her now.”

Azriel’s vision clouded, the anger overwhelming every thought, every instinct. He wasn’t just fighting for victory—he was fighting for Y/N, for the woman who had been torn apart by this monster, for the woman who had been broken and rebuilt, piece by piece, by his hands.

“You don’t deserve to breathe,” Azriel hissed, his voice dripping with venom.

Malrik’s grin faltered as Azriel’s shadows surged forward in a final, desperate push, coiling around his legs, his arms—binding him tight. The shadows felt like iron chains, relentless and unyielding.

Azriel lunged forward, his blades flashing in the flickering torchlight, and with a scream of pure fury, he drove both daggers into Malrik’s chest, pushing deep until he felt the life drain out of him.

Malrik’s body slumped to the ground with a sickening thud.

Azriel stood over him, chest heaving, blood dripping from his wounds. His hands trembled as he pulled his daggers from the lifeless corpse. His gaze never left Malrik, not even as the life left him.

But as the adrenaline slowly faded, it wasn’t satisfaction that Azriel felt—it was the cold weight of loss.

The moment Malrik’s body crumpled to the ground, Azriel’s breath was ragged, his body pulsing with pain. The battle was over—Malrik was dead—but the victory felt hollow. The blood dripping from Azriel’s chest, from his side, was a constant reminder of the price he had paid. His vision was fading, but there was no time to stop. Not when Y/N was still in danger. Not when the woman who had been broken by this monster lay crumpled on the cold stone floor, barely conscious, her body barely clinging to life.

Azriel’s shadows moved around him, reaching out to steady him as his legs threatened to give way under him. His chest ached with every breath, but his eyes were locked on Y/N. He didn’t care about the blood pooling at his feet. He didn’t care about the pain. All that mattered was getting her out of here. Getting her somewhere safe. Somewhere she could heal.

His shadows crawled around her, pulling her body closer to his. He felt the weight of her fragile form in his arms, heard her ragged breaths, felt her pulse weakly under his touch.

“No. No, Y/N. Stay with me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice shaky with raw emotion. The words were a plea—a command, a desperate cry. He couldn't lose her. Not like this. Not when they had just begun to fight back.

His hands shook as he cradled her, his blood mixing with hers, staining his skin, but he barely noticed it. Every drop of blood that soaked into his clothes only made the urgency in his chest burn hotter. His mind raced. He had to get her out. He had to get her somewhere safe.

Azriel’s last reserves of strength came crashing down on him. His wings trembled as he winnowed them both through the wreckage of the room, out of the hell that Malrik had made, and into the air. He was barely conscious himself, every breath a struggle. His vision was a blur, dark spots dancing before his eyes, but there was no other option. He couldn’t stop.

Velaris. The House of Wind. His only goal.

He landed with a jarring force, the impact almost sending him to his knees, but he stayed upright, clutching Y/N close to his chest. His body screamed in protest as he stumbled, blood dripping down his sides. He felt every injury, every slice from Malrik’s blade. But he couldn’t focus on that now. Not when Y/N was slipping away.

The doors to the House of Wind burst open, and Azriel’s heart nearly shattered as he rushed through the threshold, stumbling into the quiet hall.

“Azriel!” Rhysand’s voice cut through the panic in his mind, but Azriel couldn’t focus on the High Lord’s words. He couldn’t hear anyone. His only thought was Y/N, her fragile form in his arms.

“Get the healers. NOW!” Azriel shouted, his voice raw, frantic. His blood dripped from him like a scarlet trail as he moved, shaking, toward the stairs. The whole world seemed to pulse and fade with each breath, but he couldn’t stop. Not until she was safe.

“Azriel—”

Rhysand’s voice broke through again, but Azriel didn’t hear him. He was past the point of reason, his shadows thrashing around him as if they were as panicked as he was. The darkness roiled with his fury, his desperation. His wings were heavy with blood and exhaustion, but he wouldn’t let himself stop.

“Get out of my way,” Azriel growled, his voice an animalistic snarl as he shot a glare at Rhysand, his High Lord, the one person who had ever been his brother. The one person who should have commanded Azriel’s respect, but now? Nothing mattered but Y/N. His shadows twisted in response, threatening to lash out at the High Lord’s form. Azriel didn’t know what he’d do next, but he couldn’t stand still. He couldn’t wait.

He needed help. He needed someone to save her.

“She needs a healer, Rhys!” Azriel’s words were urgent, his voice thick with barely controlled panic. “Now!”

The shadows wrapped tighter around him, their darkness spreading out into the room, as if trying to force the world to bend to Azriel’s will. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this.

Rhysand’s expression flickered, and his gaze turned dark with understanding. Cassian appeared almost immediately, his face full of concern as he rushed toward them.

“What happened?” Cassian’s eyes darted between Azriel and Y/N, his hand brushing over Azriel’s bloodied chest.

“It’s Malrik,” Azriel muttered, his voice weak but fierce. “He—he’s dead. He’s dead, but... she... She needs help now.”

Cassian’s eyes hardened, and he nodded sharply. “I’ll get the healers.”

Azriel couldn’t think anymore. His mind was slipping in and out, and the world around him was dimming. The pain in his body was overwhelming, but it was nothing compared to the sight of Y/N, barely breathing in his arms. Her pulse was faint under his touch. She was fading.

Her body shuddered, and a weak sound escaped her lips. Azriel's heart shattered as he leaned in closer, his hands trembling as he pressed against her skin. “Y/N, please...” he whispered, his voice cracking, raw with grief. “Stay with me. Don’t leave me... don’t leave me alone.”

But she wasn’t responding. Her eyes flickered, and he could see the fight in her slowly dimming. She was slipping.

"Please," Azriel begged, his voice a tortured plea. "Please, Y/N... just stay awake. Stay with me. I’m here. I’m right here."

Her eyelids fluttered weakly, and Azriel’s heart skipped. He could hear the frantic movement around him, the Inner Circle gathering close, but nothing mattered. Nothing mattered except for Y/N.

Cassian and Rhysand spoke, Mor ran to get Amren in case the ancient female knew anything that could help, but Azriel didn’t hear them. All he could focus on was the weight of Y/N’s body, her breath shallow and shallow. He couldn’t let her die.

He wouldn’t survive if she did.

Azriel’s head swam as he willed himself to remain conscious. His injuries were severe—he could feel the blood seeping from the gash in his chest, his side throbbing in agony—but none of that mattered. He had no time for his own pain.

Y/N needed him.

And then, finally, the healers arrived.

“Azriel, we need space,” one of them said, their voice calm but firm.

Azriel barely registered the words. He shook his head desperately. “No,” he snapped. “She stays with me. You heal her, now.”

But the healers weren’t backing down. Rhysand’s powerful voice cut through his panic. “Azriel. Let them help.”

Azriel’s breath came in ragged gasps. His vision was closing in, everything feeling like it was slipping away. The tension in his body coiled tightly, the shadows vibrating with his distress. He had no idea how he was still standing, but there was nothing—nothing—that would tear him away from Y/N.

“No one takes her from me,” he hissed, his voice almost feral. His wings twitched behind him, and he took a step back to allow the healers to do their work, but his hands never left her body. He didn’t trust anyone else. Not right now.

As the healers began their work, Azriel sank to his knees beside her, his shadow-covered wings stretched out protectively over both of them, and he whispered through clenched teeth, “Please, Y/N. Don’t leave me.”

And then, finally, darkness overcame him.

The world was blurry when she woke up. Her vision swam in and out of focus, her head pounding as if a hundred hammers were smashing against her skull. She groaned softly, the weight of her limbs and the ache in her body dragging her back into consciousness. The first thing she noticed was the softness beneath her. The feeling of fine sheets, the coolness of the air. This was not the place she’d last remembered. This was not the battlefield, the ruins where Malrik had been.

Where am I?

The question was sluggish, curling in her mind. She turned her head, the movement slow and cautious, and she immediately regretted it. A sharp, agonizing pain coursed through her body, but she pushed through it. She was alive. That much she knew. But she could feel the heaviness of the room, the faint scent of healing herbs in the air. Something was off, but there were more immediate concerns.

The flicker of motion caught her eye. A woman was standing beside the bed, one that didn’t exactly seem familiar but was clearly there with intent. Y/N tried to push herself up, but the dizziness almost made her collapse again. She gripped the side of the bed and blinked at the woman.

“Where am I?” Her voice sounded strange—weak, like she hadn’t used it in ages.

The woman—who Y/N now recognized as Amren, one of the Inner Circle—raised an eyebrow, her cold, calculating gaze flicking over Y/N’s form. There was no warmth there, no sympathy. But that was to be expected. Y/N knew of Amren. The woman was an enigma, someone who remained aloof from others.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days,” Amren said with her usual bluntness, the words heavy in the air. “It’s no surprise, considering the state you were in when you arrived.” She didn’t look concerned, just matter-of-fact. “The healers are doing their best to keep you alive.”

Y/N's heart dropped at the word state. The last thing she remembered before everything went black... Malrik’s blade. The fight. Azriel. She bit down on the pain that wanted to crawl up her throat, her stomach twisting into a tight knot as the realization began to seep in like a slow poison.

“Azriel…” she whispered, her voice faint, trembling. “Where is he? What happened to him?”

Amren hesitated, just the smallest flicker of emotion crossing her cold features before she turned to the door. “That’s Mor’s department. She’ll have more details for you.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened at the mention of his name. She struggled to sit up, the pain ripping through her body. She could barely see straight, but she had to know. Had to. She needed to hear it from someone who had seen it all, who knew what happened.

Before Amren could stop her, the door to the room opened. A figure appeared in the doorway—Mor, her presence commanding, yet there was a tiredness in her eyes that Y/N hadn’t seen before. The High Fae’s gaze flickered to her briefly before moving to Amren, her wings twitching behind her.

“Well, any news?” Amren asked, her tone like steel, unbothered by the situation. She was a woman of few words, but those words always carried weight.

Mor sighed, her eyes dark and weary. “No change. He’s still unconscious. The shadows are restless. They won’t stay still. It’s like they’re trying to drag him back to the fight.” She paused, glancing at Y/N. “And... Y/N, I’m glad you’re awake, but I... I didn’t think it would be this soon.”

Her voice softened when she saw Y/N’s frantic gaze locked onto her, and she moved closer to the bed, her face full of concern despite her usual guarded demeanor. Y/N couldn’t shake the sense of impending dread that settled in her chest, the heaviness of it threatening to crush her.

“Who are you talking about?” Y/N asked, the words strangling her as they left her mouth. She knew, but she needed to hear it. She needed confirmation.

Amren and Mor exchanged a glance. It was brief, but there was an unmistakable hesitation in it.

“Azriel,” Mor said, her voice soft but steady, the name carrying a weight Y/N hadn’t expected to hear. "He’s been unconscious for the same amount of time as you. Both of you... you looked like absolute shit when you were brought back. He could barely hold you, Y/N. He was badly wounded."

Y/N felt her heart stop. The breath caught in her throat. He was hurt? The memory of their last moments together came flooding back. Azriel, fighting with everything he had to protect her, to save her. He’d come for her. He hadn’t left her behind.

He hadn’t left her.

The room seemed to spin as the emotion she’d been holding back finally began to crack open. “He saved me?” The words were raw, broken, like she was speaking through a jagged breath. “He didn’t leave me behind? Even after everything? After—?”

Mor stepped closer, her hand on Y/N’s shoulder. There was something unspoken in her gaze, something that softened her usual sharp edges. “Of course not,” Mor replied. “He would never leave you behind. Not in a thousand lifetimes.”

Y/N’s chest felt tight. She wanted to scream, to shout, to cry, but her body refused to let her. It was as if everything inside her had been frozen in place—until now. The realization that Azriel had come for her, that he had fought for her, that he hadn’t abandoned her in the chaos, was almost too much to comprehend.

But as soon as the weight of that truth sank in, a surge of panic tore through her.

“Where is he?” Y/N demanded, sitting up, her body screaming in protest at the movement, but she didn’t care. She needed to know. “I need to see him. Now.”

“Y/N, you’re not—” Amren started, but Y/N wasn’t listening. She could barely hear anything over the pounding of her heart.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her knees buckling beneath her as pain shot through her entire body. Her head spun, but she didn’t care. She was not staying here, helpless and stuck in this room. Not when Azriel—he—was out there, fighting to stay alive.

Before anyone could stop her, Y/N surged forward, pushing past Mor and Amren as she stood on shaky legs. The pain was unbearable, but it didn’t matter. She grabbed Mor’s arm, holding onto her with a desperation that surprised them both.

“Lead the way,” Y/N’s voice was fierce, even though it cracked. “I don’t care about anything else. Take me to Azriel. Now.”

Mor blinked at her in surprise, clearly taken aback by Y/N’s sudden surge of strength, but she didn’t hesitate for long. The urgency in Y/N’s voice was undeniable, and after a beat of hesitation, she nodded.

“Fine,” Mor said, her voice softening for a moment before she turned and motioned for Y/N to follow. “But you’re not going to like how bad he looks. We can’t risk you falling apart again. You need to be ready for this.”

“I don’t care!” Y/N snapped, her voice hoarse, filled with panic and fear. “Just take me to him.”

And without another word, Mor led her through the winding halls, her heart pounding with every step. She could hear the distant sound of voices, of the chaos that seemed to have erupted in the house. But Y/N’s focus remained on one thing—Azriel. And nothing would stop her from reaching him. Not the pain, not the fear, not even the weight of everything that had happened.

She was going to get to him. And she was going to make sure he knew, once and for all, that she would never leave him behind.

The door opened with a soft creak, and Y/N’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the only thing that mattered—the figure lying on the bed, unconscious and battered beyond recognition.

Azriel.

Her heart stopped for a brief second, a sharp pang of panic squeezing the breath from her lungs. It was him. It was really him. She stumbled into the room, leaning heavily on Mor, her legs shaking beneath her from the strain. But once she crossed the threshold and saw him, the world seemed to blur. Nothing else existed in that moment, not the soft hum of the room, not the presence of others who quietly lingered in the shadows. It was just Azriel, the male she needed, the male who had saved her.

The sight of him like this—a shell of the warrior she knew, pale and drained of life, bandaged and broken—made her chest tighten painfully. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, too slow, too weak, and it felt like a distant echo of the man she remembered.

Her legs gave out then, and Mor helped her gently onto the edge of the bed. She sat down slowly, careful not to jostle him, her hands trembling as they hovered near Azriel’s. The room felt suffocating now, as though the weight of the air, of the uncertainty, was too much to bear. The presence of others in the room—Rhysand and Cassian—faded to the background as she focused solely on the man lying in front of her.

She didn’t acknowledge them. She didn’t need to.

Her fingers brushed against Azriel’s hand, as if she was afraid the touch would somehow shatter the moment. The warmth of his skin was faint, but it was there. It was enough. She took his hand in both of hers, holding it gently, and she let her breath steady before speaking, her voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the room.

“Azriel,” she breathed, her voice soft but desperate. “Please, come back to me. I can’t do this without you. I can’t... I won’t let you go.”

She swallowed, trying to keep the trembling from her voice, trying to keep her composure, but the fear was there—thick, suffocating. “I need you. You saved me, but now... now it’s my turn to save you. Please, don’t leave me here, don’t leave me to fight this alone. You’re my strength, my anchor. Without you, I’ll be lost.”

She leaned closer, her face hovering just above his. The words came easier now, spilling from her lips in a quiet flood. “I know we’ve been through so much, Azriel, but I... I need you. We have so much left to do, so much we haven’t said to each other. I—I can’t lose you. Not now.”

The words hung in the air, like a fragile prayer, but she felt them burn in her chest. She didn’t want to let go of him. Not now. Not ever.

Then, as if the universe had decided to remind her that she wasn’t alone, the sound of someone clearing their throat broke through the quiet. Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t noticed Rhysand and Cassian standing at the other side of the room, their watchful eyes fixed on her and Azriel.

Rhysand’s voice was soft, but there was a tightness to it. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t know what to say. What could she say?

It was Rhys who spoke again, his words careful, each one deliberate as he took a step closer to her and Azriel. “I should have told you before. But you deserve to hear it now.” He paused, a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, perhaps—before he continued. “I had a hand in your exile, Y/N. I thought duty came first, and I made a choice. I forced Azriel to do what he did, and... I regret it. So much. Especially after seeing what he’s gone through since.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes flickering to Rhysand. She wanted to say something—wanted to scream at him, to ask why, to demand answers—but the words felt too heavy, too loaded. And besides, Azriel’s life hung in the balance, and she wasn’t sure she could focus on anything else just yet.

Rhysand looked at her with a quiet, raw honesty. “I regret it, Y/N. I did it because I thought it was best for the Court, for all of us. But I see now that I was wrong. I never should have forced Azriel into that position. Never.”

Cassian stepped forward then, his face hardened with regret, his voice a little rougher than usual. “None of us knew, Y/N. Not Mor, not Amren, not any of us. We didn’t know how bad it was, how much Azriel was suffering. We didn’t know the weight he was carrying. But I’m begging you—please, understand that none of us knew. And we all want to make it right.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. Her mind was reeling, trying to process the weight of what they were saying. But through the fog of her thoughts, one thing became painfully clear—she couldn’t afford to focus on this. Not right now. She couldn’t afford to let this divide them further. Azriel needed her.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Y/N muttered, her voice shaking, but there was no anger in it, just a quiet, resigned exhaustion. “We’ll talk later. Right now, just... just don’t let him die. Please.”

Her gaze flickered back to Azriel’s pale face, the shadows that still clung to him like a dark promise, and she squeezed his hand tighter, as if to will him to wake up.

“I have unspoken words to share with him,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking on the words. “I’m not ready to lose him. Not yet.”

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. The room fell into a heavy silence as Y/N sat at Azriel’s side, her heart beating in time with his shallow breaths. And as the moments ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity, she could only hope, pray, that the male she loved would come back to her.

That he wouldn’t let go.

Not yet.

Two more days passed. Forty-eight hours.

Two days that felt like an eternity.

In all that time, Y/N had never once left Azriel’s side. Not once. Even when she was being treated for her own injuries, she would make sure to sit beside him afterward, her gaze never straying too far from his unconscious form. She ate her meals in his room, and when the healers came to check on him, she would watch, her heart in her throat, praying for any sign of improvement.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness, but she refused to leave him, not when he had done so much for her, not when he had saved her life and brought her back from the edge of death itself. No. She would stay with him, even if it felt like time was dragging on and the world outside seemed so far away.

And then, on the second day, when the shadows had grown restless and the light of the room began to shift as dusk approached, it happened.

Azriel woke up.

Y/N felt it before she saw it—the subtle shift in the air, the way the shadows calmed, the way his chest gave that faint rise and fall, like a fragile whisper. Her heart skipped a beat, and in a heartbeat, she was at his side, her hand gently brushing against his, as though afraid that touching him too much would shatter the moment.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, the darkness of his irises blinking against the light, the weakness in his expression making her heart break all over again.

"Azriel," Y/N whispered, her voice a breathless exhale of relief.

He blinked again, and then a small, tired smile crept onto his face as he realized she was there. “You’re awake,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice rough from disuse, but still so much like the Azriel she knew.

She nodded, her hand shaking as she cupped his cheek, gazing at him as if afraid he might slip away again if she let go for even a second. “I’m awake, I’m here,” she whispered, her breath hitching in her throat. Her heart felt too full, and in that moment, she didn’t care who saw or heard. Azriel was awake, and that was all that mattered.

But as her gaze flickered to the door, ready to call for anyone—healers, Rhys, Mor—Azriel’s weak hand reached out and grasped hers, gently but firmly, stopping her before she could move.

“Please,” he said softly, his voice barely audible, but it held a quiet desperation. “Stay with me... just a little longer.”

Her heart ached at the plea in his voice, but she nodded, sinking back into the chair beside him, her fingers still intertwined with his. Azriel pulled her closer, his hand guiding hers to rest at his side, his tired eyes locking onto hers.

“I need more time like this,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion, but there was a softness in his gaze. A vulnerability that she wasn’t used to seeing from him. “More time with you. I know it’s probably an illusion. I know I don’t deserve this... but...” He paused, his eyes flickering with the weight of unsaid words. “Please, let’s talk. Let’s get this out in the open, so I can stop carrying this weight.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her chest tightening at his words. She opened her mouth to protest, to say they could talk later, that she didn’t want to push him when he was so weak, but Azriel cut her off before she could speak.

“No, Y/N,” he said, a rare intensity flickering in his eyes despite his exhaustion. “I can’t keep pretending. I need to say this now.”

She could see it—he was determined. He had to do this now, or it would consume him.

“Alright,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, though her hand tightened around his. “We can talk. But not about everything. Not now, Azriel. Not when you're like this.”

He gave a soft, sad smile, nodding. “I’ll go first.” His gaze softened as he exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts. “I never got the chance to properly express myself before... but I need you to hear this now.”

He took a breath, his voice steady despite the tremor in his body. “After your banishment... I made sure you weren’t alone. I made sure you were never without what you needed, even when I couldn’t be there for you. It was me who left the money on your doorstep every month... it was me, Y/N. I couldn’t do anything for you in the first year because I thought you didn’t want me anywhere near you. I thought you hated me. And I... I couldn’t bring myself to face you, to tell you how sorry I was. How guilty I felt for what happened. But I made sure you had what you needed... I just couldn’t tell you. I didn’t deserve your smile. I didn’t deserve to be a part of your life anymore."

His fists clenched as he sighed. "That's why I never....never knew of what Malrik did to you. Because the first year I tried- truly tried justifying my horrible actions and staying away from you. I swear Y/N, if only I knew-"

He took a shaky breath, his fingers tightening around hers. “I want to make this right. I will make it right, Y/N. When I recover, I will personally make sure Rhys understands what I’ve done, and that I’ll fix everything, whatever it takes. I’ll make sure you’re taken back to the Night Court. And if you’ll have me, if you’ll allow me... I’ll make sure you rejoin my team. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I understand if you say no. But I’m asking for the chance... a chance to prove myself to you.”

Y/N stared at him, the words settling over her like a heavy weight, the truth of them sinking into her chest. She wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to forgive him, not yet, not when everything still felt so raw, so painful.

But then, she brushed the strands of hair from his forehead, her fingers gentle as they touched his skin, the warmth of his body grounding her in the moment. She let out a slow sigh, her voice quiet but firm.

“I don’t forgive you, Azriel,” she said softly. “And I will never forget what you did. But... I’m willing to give you a chance.” She met his gaze, her heart a tangle of emotions she didn’t have words for. “To prove yourself. To show me you can do better. To show me you care.”

Azriel’s eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders relaxing, as if a weight had been lifted. “I’ll do anything,” he whispered. “Anything to prove it to you.”

And for the first time in days, Y/N felt a flicker of hope.

The days seemed to stretch on, slow but comforting, and with every passing moment, Y/N and Azriel began to discover a new rhythm between them—one they had never experienced before. There were no rushes, no expectations, only the quiet bond they shared that had begun to grow roots in the fertile soil of time. Each small gesture, each word spoken, was a step forward, a step toward something neither of them had ever dared to hope for.

It wasn’t just their conversations that made the days feel different—it was the way they spent time together. They no longer avoided each other, as they once had, but instead leaned into the comfort of shared silence. In the mornings, they would sit side by side, Azriel with his books and reports, Y/N with a cup of tea in hand, and they would just be there together. There were no grand confessions or dramatic exchanges, just the small moments of connection that seemed to fill the spaces between them.

Y/N found herself smiling more than she had in years. She had come to love the quiet moments with Azriel. It wasn’t even about the things they talked about, but the way they could just exist together without the burden of the past hanging over them. Every laugh, every quiet word shared, began to heal something deep inside her.

But the true magic of their bond happened when they opened up about their fears—things they had never told anyone before.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in shades of gold and pink, Y/N found herself sitting across from Azriel in the garden. The air was cool, the breeze gentle, and for the first time in a long while, the weight of the world seemed to fall away.

She spoke of her time in exile—how she had tried to survive, tried to find meaning in the solitude that had been thrust upon her. Azriel listened, always patient, always present, never once interrupting. And in return, Azriel began to share more—about his guilt, about the constant weight of responsibility he had carried, and about the painful truths he had buried deep within him. They both found a kind of solace in these conversations, a silent understanding between them that spoke louder than words.

Azriel leaned back against the stone bench, his eyes searching the darkening sky. “Do you ever wonder if we’re just... doomed to repeat our mistakes?” His voice was low, almost contemplative.

Y/N glanced at him, sensing the underlying vulnerability in his question. “I think... we all have our demons. Some of us just face them sooner than others.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted to her, his expression softening. “What if I told you that I spent so long running from my mistakes, I almost forgot how to face them head-on? I didn’t just fail you—I failed myself, too. I thought I could keep it all under control, but I’ve learned... the hard way that control is just an illusion.”

Y/N’s heart ached as she heard the pain in his voice. She had never imagined Azriel would carry such heavy burdens on his own. She reached out, placing her hand on his. The touch was gentle, a silent offer of comfort. “You’re not alone in this, Azriel. You never have been.”

His hand squeezed hers, and for a moment, they were silent, both lost in their thoughts. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though; it was a quiet understanding between them, an unspoken connection that neither of them had ever felt with anyone else.

Azriel broke the silence after a while, his voice steady but with an underlying emotion. “I’m sorry for everything, Y/N. I was selfish. I pushed you away when all you ever needed was someone to stand beside you.”

Y/N’s eyes softened as she looked at him, her heart swelling. “I was angry, Azriel. I hated you for what you did, for the way you left me in the dark. But I see now... I see how much you’ve changed. How much you’ve done to make things right.”

Azriel looked down at their intertwined hands, his voice rough. “It’s not enough, Y/N. I can never undo what I did. But I’ll spend every moment from now on trying to prove to you that I’m not that person anymore.”

Y/N was quiet for a long moment. She had been angry, so angry, for so long. But now, as she listened to him, felt the sincerity in his words, the anger began to lose its grip on her heart. She had always known that deep down, Azriel wasn’t the one she should be angry at. He was just another soul trying to find his way, just like she was.

“I believe you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s going to take time. I need time to heal, too.”

Azriel nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. “We have time. As much time as we need.”

Azriel kept his word. He did everything in his power to make things right, though his efforts often went unnoticed by the rest of the world. He took the time to visit every corner of his network—his spies, his workers, the people who owed him loyalty—one by one, and confessed his shame. He told them all of his mistake, how he had failed Y/N, how he had allowed her to be exiled and how that decision had broken him.

And when the time came to speak with Rhys, Azriel was firm, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes.

“I don’t care what it takes,” Azriel had said, his gaze unwavering. “If Y/N isn’t allowed back into the Night Court, then I will leave. I will go with her. I’m done with this court, if it means losing her.”

Rhys had looked at him, his face unreadable for a moment, but then he spoke, his voice soft but firm. “You think I wouldn’t accept her back? You think I would make you choose between this court and her?”

Azriel met his gaze, his jaw tight. “You tell me. You’ve made your position clear before. I won’t let you tear us apart.”

Rhys had exhaled, his shoulders loosening. “It’s not like that. I never wanted to keep her from you. And if you think for one second that I would let anything come between the two of you, you’re wrong. But there’s more to this than just your promise, Azriel. There’s the matter of what’s right.”

Y/N had overheard part of the conversation, her heart stirring in her chest. She had known, deep down, that Rhys had his reasons, but hearing him speak so openly, so honestly, about what he would do for her... it made her heart ache in a way she hadn’t expected. For all their tension, their difficult history, there was a part of her that understood the weight of the choices Rhys had made.

When the conversation ended, it was like a door had been opened—a door that had been locked for so long. Y/N wasn’t just being accepted back into the Night Court; she was being welcomed with open arms, with an understanding that she had a place here. That she wasn’t just Azriel’s, but part of something bigger, something that had always been hers.

Weeks Later

Y/N walked into the training courtyard, the soft hum of the day’s activities filling the air. Her body had healed, her strength returning with each day. Azriel was already there, practicing his forms, his movements fluid and precise. He looked up as she approached, his eyes softening when he saw her.

She had learned, in the time since their conversation, how much he had done—how much effort he had put into making things right. And while the road to healing was still long, she couldn’t deny the shift in their dynamic. She had seen him work tirelessly, not just for her, but for himself. He had made amends where he could, he had spoken with those who needed to hear it, and he had taken responsibility for his actions in a way that left her with no choice but to respect him all over again.

“You’ve been training all morning,” she teased, her lips quirking into a smile as she approached him.

Azriel’s mouth twitched into a grin, though his tired eyes showed the weight of his own healing journey. “Someone has to keep up with you,” he replied, his voice laced with affection.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully and watched him for a moment. “You’re getting better,” she observed. “But you still need to catch up to me.”

He chuckled softly. “Maybe I’ll get there one day.”

She stepped forward, her fingers grazing his arm lightly. “You’re already there,” she murmured, the words almost too soft to hear.

Azriel’s gaze flickered to her, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. He stepped closer, closing the space between them, and reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly. “It’s been a long time coming. I know I can’t undo what’s been done... but I’m going to spend every moment I can making sure you know how much I care. How much I regret the things I did.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered in her chest, her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t just the apology that moved her, it was the sincerity in his eyes. She had never seen Azriel so raw, so open. And it made her believe in him again.

“I believe you,” she whispered. “And I know you’re trying. But we have time now... time to figure this out together.”

A gentle silence passed between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a quiet understanding, a promise without words, that they would move forward, together.

The conversation with Rhys had been long and difficult, but when Azriel emerged, there was a calmness to him that hadn’t been there before. Y/N could sense the weight of it, the way he stood taller now, as though he had finally cast off the chains of guilt and shame that had bound him for so long.

Azriel met her eyes across the room, his gaze softening as she stood from her seat. He walked toward her, his movements slower than usual, as though every step was a testament to how far they had come.

“I never thought it would feel like this,” Y/N said, her voice quiet as she stood before Azriel, her heart pounding in her chest. “To be accepted back... to have everything feel like it’s slowly coming together.”

Azriel stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not perfect. It never will be. But we’re here. We’re together now.”

Y/N smiled softly, a tear slipping down her cheek as she looked up at him. “And that’s all that matters.”

As Azriel cupped her face in his hands, their lips met in a kiss that held the promise of all the things they had yet to say, all the healing yet to come. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was a quiet, slow kiss that spoke of time, of patience, of the love they had built in the silence between them. And as they pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other, both of them knew—this was just the beginning.

"Show me how much you've changed, Az" she whispered before feeling him gently scoop her up in bridal style and go down the hallway.

(SMUT STARTS HERE)

Once inside his bedroom, Azriel towered over her, "Are you sure you want this?"

Y/N only nodded her head, hands resting on his chest. "Yes, fuck me, Azriel."

He smiled gently and shook his head. "No, I won't fuck you. I will make love to you."

He didn't give her a chance to reply before leaning down and in one quick motion capturing her lips, her gasp. Y/N's hand's went to his shoulders, one of them holding Azriel by the nape of his neck, bringing him closer down to her as she felt his arms tighten around her, their bodies pressed flush against one another.

Their kiss deepened, and Azriel’s movements were slow, deliberate. There was no rush, no sense of urgency between them, only the quiet, steady rhythm of two souls coming together after years of separation, of scars and healing.

Y/N felt her breath hitch as Azriel’s hands gently skimmed over her skin, his touch almost reverent, as though he were cherishing each part of her. His fingers trailed along the curve of her waist, his touch light, as though testing the waters. She felt the heat of his body against hers, the solid weight of him comforting and grounding.

With a gentle pull, Azriel guided her to sit up on the edge of the bed, never breaking their kiss. His hands moved to the fabric of her clothing, his fingertips brushing against the soft material, but his motions were cautious, careful—almost as if asking for permission. He didn’t need to speak it; his touch was enough. Y/N felt the weight of the past between them, but in this moment, it was a distant memory. There were no walls between them, no walls to break down.

Her hands moved to his chest, pushing his tunic off his shoulders, the fabric falling to the floor in a heap. She could feel the hard lines of his muscles beneath her fingertips, the smoothness of his skin, but there was a tenderness in how they undressed each other, a silent understanding that this wasn’t about passion or lust alone—it was about something deeper. It was about trust. About healing.

Azriel’s breath was warm against her skin, and his hands moved to the buttons of her dress, his movements slow, deliberate, as if every action held meaning. Each layer of clothing that fell away was like another barrier they had broken down, another step closer to one another. And as her dress pooled around her feet, she felt more exposed than she ever had, but not vulnerable. Not with Azriel. With him, it felt like coming home.

He took a step back, just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with desire but filled with something deeper—something tender, something that made her heart ache in a way she wasn’t expecting. The vulnerability between them was raw, but it was comforting, something she hadn’t realized she needed until now.

“I won’t rush you,” Azriel murmured, his voice low, like the sound of a night wind through the trees. “This is about us—about us being here. Now.”

Y/N nodded, her breath catching in her throat as she gazed up at him, her hands resting lightly on his chest. The weight of everything they had been through—everything they were still going through—hung in the air, but it no longer felt like something they had to carry alone. It was a shared weight, something they would hold together.

And as Azriel lowered himself onto the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms, the soft press of his lips against her forehead was the promise of something far more profound than what either of them had ever experienced. This wasn’t just a physical connection; it was emotional, it was spiritual, and it was a healing that neither of them had expected.

Their bodies moved together, slowly, with care, the gentle rhythm of their movements speaking volumes. It wasn’t fast or frantic—it was a dance of patience and love, a stark contrast to the turmoil and chaos of their past. They were no longer the broken, scarred people they once were. Together, they were something new, something rebuilt. Each caress, each kiss, was a quiet declaration that they had found something real.

"Azriel..." she moaned an hour and two rounds later as the male in question had his head inbetween her legs, lapping up all her juices, his fingers also massaging her clit while his eyes never left hers. Oh those dark, intense eyes....

Y/N clenched his hair harder as Azriel began thrusting his tounge deeper and faster. He had kept to his word, fucking her gently, lovingly, leaving love bites and marks all over her chest, stomach and thighs. Of course she hadn't forgotten about him either, once again riding him just like that night at the inn but this time....slower, gentler, as she kissed his lips, his face, his neck and chest, hearing him groan and moan, her name spilling out of his mouth like some sacred prayer.

And now, he was intent on licking her clean. Y/N sucked in aharsh breath as she felt his other hand drift upwards, to her breasts, gently grasping and fondling them. Her thighs squeezed his head and Azriel rolled- visibly, literally rolled his eyes and groane dinto her mouth, causing her to cum all over his face.

Azriel lifted his wet, dripping face as he crawled upwards on her body, kissing along her scars, her marks, her curves, her 'imprefections' as he growled loving praises at ehr like, "Delicious" "Absolutely divine" "Mine" "Fucking hell" and Y/N could barely hide her blush.

But all of her thoughts went out of her head when she felt his thick, once more hardened and angry cock gently sliding inside her overstimulated lips. Her arms immediately went up to his neck as brought him down and whispered, "Now, will you fuck me Azriel?"

She heard a true, genuine, laugh from him as he replied with his smug voice. "Whatever you wish, beautiful." before picking up his pace.

And when they finally came together, it wasn’t with the force of their past storms, but with the calm of the peace they had found in each other. It was tender, it was slow, and it was everything they had been waiting for without even realizing it.

(SMUT ENDS HERE)

In the stillness of the room, only the sound of their steady breathing filled the air. The world outside seemed far away, as if time itself had slowed down to honor this moment between them. Azriel’s hand gently traced the curve of Y/N’s back, the soft movement a promise that he would never let go again, not after everything they had been through. His touch was warm, grounding, and as her fingers played with the fabric of his tunic, she felt an overwhelming sense of peace—something she hadn’t known she was missing until now.

They lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the past slowly but surely lifting. There were no more words to be spoken, no more apologies to be made—just the quiet, unspoken understanding that they had found their way back to each other. The road ahead was uncertain, but it no longer felt daunting. Together, they would face whatever came next, not as two individuals, but as a united force, stronger for the healing they had both undergone.

Y/N sighed softly, her head resting on Azriel’s chest, the steady beat of his heart echoing in her ear. She could feel the peace settling over her, like a gentle tide washing away the remnants of all the pain, all the loss. She had once thought she couldn’t move forward, couldn’t heal. But now, with Azriel beside her, she knew that healing wasn’t about forgetting—it was about letting go, trusting, and opening up to the possibility of something more.

Azriel shifted slightly, lifting his head to look at her. His gaze was soft, filled with a warmth that made her heart swell. “We’re going to be okay,” he murmured, as if reaffirming the truth they both knew deep down. “Together.”

Y/N smiled, her fingers gently brushing his cheek. “Together,” she whispered back, the word tasting like the beginning of something beautiful.

And as the quiet night stretched on, they remained in that peaceful embrace, a new chapter unfolding before them, ready to be written with all the love and healing they had fought so hard to find. The future was no longer a place of uncertainty. With each other, they had found their way home.

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Taglist: @darkbloodsly @moonfawnx @clementine111002 @galaxystern08 @batboyslutt @circe143 @tele86

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fxckmiup · 15 days ago

Note

Heyy!! Could I request a Azriel x witch reader. Like Blackbeak clan (I’m reading the TOG series & loving Manon & the 13 rn) & maybe she’s like another spy or one of Amren’s friends from another world and he doesn��t trust her at first but she ends up helping the IC with koschei or something n he finds himself more interested in her

Touch Me and Bleed- Azriel x fem!witch reader (oneshot)

Summary: A Blackbeak witch, loyal to a distant queen and bound by blood and war, crosses into Prythian to hunt a death god. Azriel doesn’t trust her—but when shadows meet iron, loyalty and hatred blur into something far more dangerous.

A/N: This was a very exciting thing to write!! Thank you so much anon for requesting such an interesting idea. I hope you enjoy it🫶

Warnings: violence, blood, angst, some sprinkle of fluff? open ending (happy-ish?)

See masterlist

The rift pulsed against the quiet stone at the edge of Velaris, its shifting light painting faces with harsh, unnatural shadows. The Inner Circle stood close, watching.

Azriel arrived last, moving like a shadow melting into the crowd. His wings folded behind him, but the restless stir beneath his skin told a different story--unease, suspicion, something like anger.

Koschei had been creating more headaches for everyone in the past few weeks--his dark influence seeping into the mortal realms, twisting the dead into unholy servants and corrupting the very fabric of the Shadowlands. Villages near the border reported disappearances, strange creatures prowling at night, and whispers of a power growing beyond control. The Inner Circle knew time was running out. If Koschei wasn’t stopped soon, the entire realm would drown in his rising tide of death and chaos.

That is exactly why Amren had proposed to call in one of her "otherworldly strange" friends (Cassian's words). Of course, Rhysand and Feyre wouldn't allow anyone in without a proper briefing about them. Amren had insisted that there is no one better suited for this than her apparent friend, Y/N.

And Amren didn't shy away from giving all the essential informations about her to them.

Y/N Blackbeak. An Ironteeth witch--Azriel still couldn't understand how does one have sharp iron teeth and claws--part of the Blackbeak coven. Or was. Apparently, there used to be three different covens which were later on all united together with the Crochans under one queen. Manon Blackbeak. This great shift had happened during a huge war that they were all in.

Y/N is very loyal to her "sisters" and even more so to her queen. That part Azriel understood. Rhysand held his loyalty the same way: earned in blood, kept through sacrifice. But this witch didn’t come from their courts, their histories. She belonged to a different world entirely.

She was known for being one of the most ruthless among them. A hunter. A killer. Not gifted with elegant magic, but with precision, instinct, and a taste for blood. Her body was a weapon--iron teeth, iron nails, every strike calculated. Countless deaths were tied to her name, most of them earned in silence.

She had tracked monsters across war-torn mountains in her world. Killed gods, if the stories were true. But what made her dangerous now wasn’t myth--it was knowledge.

She had seen Koschei before. Fought things he made. Abominations born of rot and death-magic. And she’d survived. More than that--she remembered. She knew how he moved, how he hid pieces of himself. She knew the scent of his work. The feel of it in the earth, in the bodies he left behind.

“She doesn’t use shadows or spells,” Amren had told them. “She doesn’t need to. She finds things that don’t want to be found. And when she does, she ends them.”

After the death of "The Thirteen", she took the place of Asterin Blackbeak as the new second-in-command to queen Manon. Her "Wyvern" (whatever creature that is, Azriel still hasn't understood that part either) is the largest and most ruthless-just like her apparently.

"And what exactly happens when she walks in here? Do we just you know- greet her like a normal guest or-"

"Just because she is from another world and a witch, doesn't mean that she is an abnormal creature, Cassian." Amren hissed back, cutting off Cassians curiosity.

Azriel's head snapped back up, coming back to reality, his shadows whispering faintly at the edge of his senses like they’d felt something shift in the air. He narrowed his eyes toward the glowing rift, watching the edges throb and flicker--unsettled, like the veil between worlds was starting to tear.

"In any case, I believe she is very unique. I mean I know that your friends have all been quite unique but with the way you described this specific friend has me very interested. I mean, an ironteeth witch? drinks men's blood? wish I could do that sometimes. And I'm sure I'm not the only one excited, right Nesta?" Mor winked at the female beside her who only gave a small nod.

“She’s close,” Amren muttered, fingers moving in sharp, precise patterns as she worked the ancient sigils surrounding the portal. They pulsed faintly beneath her hand, reacting to her touch like blood answering a heartbeat. “The rift is thinning.”

“Great,” Cassian said, rolling his shoulders. “Because nothing says ‘safe and sane’ like summoning a death-witch with a wyvern from another dimension into Velaris.”

Feyre arched a brow. “You’re the one who wanted to spar with her, remember?”

Cassian threw her a grin. “I said I might spar with her. If she doesn’t bite.”

“She probably will,” Mor added brightly, brushing a curl over her shoulder. “Amren made her sound like a feral bat crossed with a blade.”

Amren didn’t look up. “She’s more refined than that.”

“Sure,” Rhysand drawled, his tone easy but his stance alert, shadows curled near his boots. “Refined in the way a storm is refined. Or a plague.”

“She’s not here to impress any of you,” Amren snapped, her eyes flicking briefly to Rhys. “She’s here because Koschei is getting smarter. Bolder. And she’s one of the only people who’s fought the things he leaves behind and walked away.”

Azriel said nothing, but his jaw tightened. That was the part that stuck with him—the walking away. He’d seen what Koschei’s creations did to people. The kind of twisted, broken things they left behind. You didn’t just walk away from that unless you were something worse.

Nesta finally spoke, quiet but firm. “And what happens if she’s not what you think she is?”

Amren didn’t flinch. “Then you kill her.”

A long silence settled after that.

Mor blinked. “Wow. Casual.”

Feyre stepped forward slightly. “Let’s assume she’s not a threat.”

“We don’t assume,” Azriel said, voice low. “We watch.”

Rhys nodded once in agreement. “The moment she steps through, we gauge her. Carefully. No grand welcomes.”

“She won’t expect one,” Amren said, almost amused. “She hates this kind of thing. Told me once that ‘warm greetings are for weak hearts.’”

Cassian whistled. “What a ray of sunshine.”

Azriel tuned them out after that. The voices blurred at the edges as his attention zeroed back in on the portal. It was changing now--deepening, folding in on itself, the color shifting from silver to blood-red, then back again. Whatever lay on the other side was moving closer.

His shadows recoiled. Not from fear--no, they didn’t fear. But they recognized what was coming through. A presence that wasn’t born of this realm. A presence used to war and silence and blood.

Azriel’s hand hovered near the hilt of his dagger.

And then--

The rift pulsed once, hard.

The air thinned.

The ground vibrated.

And something stepped through.

The pulse echoed like a drumbeat in Azriel’s bones.

The portal split open with a hiss--no thunder, no blaze of magic. Just a tearing sound, like skin peeling from flesh. The air went sharp with the scent of iron.

And then she stepped through.

Boots first. Blood-crusted, weather-worn. A slow, deliberate step. Then another.

Her leathers were torn at the seams in places, dark with dried blood and soot. Her iron nails caught the lamplight--glinting like small, wicked blades. Her eyes were pale gold, colder than ice, older than winter, and her mouth--Gods, those teeth--flashed in a quiet sneer as she looked them all over.

Behind her, the creature emerged.

Azriel had seen many beasts in his life. He’d fought through battlefields soaked in gore. But the thing that slithered half-formed from the fading rift, a massive wyvern, its wings frayed at the edges, claws curled into the stone, was not a beast. It was a weapon. A dying one, perhaps, flickering and insubstantial in this realm, but no less terrifying.

It let out a low, guttural noise--like a growl, like grief--and folded its wings as it took position at her back.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Then Y/N Blackbeak tilted her head, eyeing the group like she was picking which one she’d kill first if she had to.

Her voice, when it came, was rough like gravel. “This is Velaris?”

Cassian blinked. “I was expecting more screaming.”

“I’m disappointed too,” she said flatly.

Mor let out a breath that was half laugh, half disbelief. “Charming.”

Rhysand stepped forward, calm but cautious. “You must be Y/N.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Depends. Who’s asking?”

Rhys inclined his head. “High Lord of the Night Court.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked to Feyre, then to Amren. The only one she seemed to acknowledge was Amren, who gave her the faintest nod.

Azriel watched her every movement. The way she stood--not like a diplomat, not like a soldier. Like a predator. Relaxed but alert. Ready to rip out a throat if needed.

He didn’t trust her. Not even a little.

But damn if he didn’t believe the stories.

“So,” she said after a beat, iron nails glinting as she flexed her fingers. “Which one of you is going to point me to Koschei’s rot?”

Azriel’s voice was out before he thought to stop it. Cold. Controlled.

“That depends. Are you here to help… or hunt?”

Y/N turned to face him fully for the first time.

And smiled.

There was no warmth in it. Only teeth.

“Why not both?”

Rhysand’s expression didn’t shift, but Feyre stepped closer, the edge in her voice barely masked.

“And what exactly do you want in return for this help?”

Y/N’s head tilted slightly, as if she were listening for something only she could hear. Her wyvern gave a low growl in response--its translucent shape pulsing faintly behind her like it barely existed in this realm at all.

“I want nothing,” Y/N said, voice flat. “No gold. No favor. No alliance.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes. “Then why are you here?”

“I owe a debt,” she replied, finally looking away from Rhysand to glance at Amren. “To her. She saved my life once. This repays it.”

A beat passed.

Cassian’s brow shot up. “Wait--what?” He looked between them. “When the hell did that happen?”

Amren didn’t even glance his way. She waved a small, dismissive hand like swatting a fly. “None of your business, brute.”

The silence that followed was thick, uncomfortable. Even Mor’s smile had vanished.

Azriel’s shadows stirred at his shoulders, quiet but tense. He didn’t take his eyes off Y/N, not because he thought she would strike, but because he could tell she could. Her posture hadn’t changed, but her presence filled the entire courtyard like a second sky pressing down on them.

Nesta, beside him, said nothing either. But when he glanced her way-

It startled him.

Not fear in her eyes. Not suspicion.

Admiration.

A subtle tilt to her chin. A slight parting of her lips. The faintest crease in her brow like something about the witch had unraveled a knot she hadn’t realized she carried.

Azriel had never seen Nesta look at anyone like that- not even Feyre. Not even Cassian.

It pulled at something in his chest, something he refused to name.

Then Amren stepped forward.

“As I told you, Rhys,” she said, casually brushing nonexistent dust off her tunic, “I would never bring someone here I didn’t trust.”

She gave the High Lord a pointed look.

“Well- actually, she only trusts me,” Amren added with a sharp smile. “And I trust her. Which should be enough.”

Rhysand exhaled slowly. He gave her a long, unreadable look. Then a single nod. Barely perceptible, but permission all the same.

That was when Feyre cleared her throat, wrapping her arms around herself like the temperature had dropped a few degrees. “Right,” she said, voice brisk, steady. “Let’s go in, shall we?”

Y/N said nothing. She didn’t smile. Didn’t thank them.

She just turned toward the House.

And the wyvern followed.

The doors to the House of Wind shut behind them with a soft thud, the sound echoing through the wide, vaulted chamber. It was quiet in a way only high places could be: thick with power, history, and something more fragile beneath.

Y/N walked with the same quiet dominance she’d arrived with. She didn’t gawk at the vaulted ceilings or the glowing lights that flickered overhead. She didn’t ask questions or offer comments. Her wyvern trailed a few steps behind, its form wavering, too large for the space and too ghostly to care.

Rhysand led the way, flanked by Feyre. Neither said a word as they entered the informal war room, but every step radiated the tension of two rulers trying not to snap the moment a guest said the wrong thing.

Cassian leaned against the long table in the center, trying too hard to look casual. Mor took her usual seat, legs crossed, eyes glittering with a mix of curiosity and calculation. Nesta moved silently to a shadowed corner, where she could observe everything without being in the middle of it.

Azriel didn’t sit. He remained standing, hands behind his back, shadows curling faintly around his boots. Watching.

Y/N didn’t sit either.

She stood at the far end of the room, her back straight, eyes scanning the windows like she was mapping exit routes.

Feyre spoke first. “Amren says you’ve seen Koschei’s work. What exactly did you encounter?”

Y/N’s response came without hesitation. “Plague-spirits. Hollowed corpses. Men turned inside out, walking on bones they didn’t grow with. Magic that smells like rot and sounds like begging.”

Mor blinked. “Sounds delightful.”

Y/N ignored her. “It was worse near rivers. He favors places that border things—life and death, land and water, flesh and memory. Thresholds.”

“That lines up with what we’ve seen,” Rhys said, glancing at Feyre, then back at Y/N. “And you’re sure what you saw is the same as what’s happening here?”

“I know his scent,” Y/N said simply. “You don’t forget that kind of rot.”

The room went quiet again.

“Why didn’t you kill him in your world?” Azriel asked, voice low.

She turned her head toward him. Not hostile. Not cold. Just… empty. Like the question was too simple for the weight it carried.

“Because he left before I could. Slipped through one of the last cracks between our worlds. I followed him.” A pause. “Eventually.”

“So this is a hunt,” Rhysand said, folding his arms.

Y/N didn’t answer. Just glanced at Amren.

Amren, lounging in her chair like none of this mattered in the slightest, rolled her eyes. “She’s not here for revenge or power plays, Rhys. I already told you.”

“Yes,” Rhys said quietly, “but it’s different hearing it from her.”

Y/N’s lip curled. “I am not your subject. I do not kneel to your throne.”

Feyre bristled, but Rhysand just nodded once. “Good. Then we’ll speak plainly.”

Azriel watched the exchange unfold in silence, but every word pressed at him like a blade against skin. He didn’t like her tone. Didn’t like her indifference. But something about it, the calm detachment, the bluntness, it rang true. She wasn’t playing them. If anything, she was already halfway out the door.

Nesta leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees, eyes still fixed on Y/N. “You don’t care what happens to this world.”

“No,” Y/N said. “But I care what happens to Amren. And if she’s staying in this realm, then it’s in my interest to make sure it doesn’t turn into Koschei’s personal graveyard.”

Cassian let out a soft breath. “She saved your life?”

Y/N’s head tilted slightly. “She pulled me out of a god’s mouth. You don’t forget that.”

Cassian blinked. “Holy- wait, an actual god’s-”

“None of your business,” Amren said, sharp as a blade. Her expression didn’t waver. “Let it go.”

Silence again.

Azriel’s gaze drifted--not to the witch, but to Nesta.

There was that same look in her eyes. Admiration, yes--but also a flicker of something like recognition. Like she’d found something of herself reflected in the Ironteeth woman standing so calmly across the room.

Nesta didn’t mask it. Her jaw was tight, but her eyes were clear. Like she'd been waiting for someone to say the things Y/N had just said and mean them.

It unsettled him.

Not because he didn’t understand it.

Because he did.

Then Amren rose, smoothing down her tunic with a quick flick of her hand. “As I said, Rhysand,” she said, her voice taking on that ageless, steel-edged quality that still made the room hold its breath, “I wouldn’t bring someone into this court if I didn’t trust her.”

She turned to face him fully. “Well- she doesn’t trust any of you. Only me. But the sentiment stands.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Feyre cleared her throat, glancing at Rhys before offering the smallest of smiles. “Right. Well then… let’s go in, shall we?”

That was when Y/N finally stepped forward, calm and deliberate. She didn’t wait to be offered a seat- just took one, dragging the chair slightly apart from the others as if claiming neutral ground. From her small, worn satchel, she pulled out a thickly folded map. She spread it across the table in one sharp motion, weighing the corners down with nothing but her iron-cool presence.

It was a detailed map of Prythian, far more detailed than any Azriel had expected. But what caught everyone's eye weren’t the borders or mountains- they were the markings. Circles in black ink. Crossed-out towns. Arrows pointing to rivers, forests, patches of nothingness. Strange notations in a language none of them recognized.

"Amren was kind enough to have this sent to Erilea, my world, a few days prior so that I could get a good analysis and idea of what world I'm dealing with. I prefer to know what kind of battlefield I’m stepping onto before I start bleeding.”

Cassian let out a soft grunt that might’ve been impressed. Feyre leaned forward, brows drawn tight.

But before anyone could speak, Y/N turned her head and looked directly at Azriel--unflinching, sharp-eyed. Then, without a word, she raised both hands, slow and deliberate. The iron claws that had glinted moments before shimmered once, then retracted beneath her skin, leaving behind plain, clean nails.

She held his gaze as her jaw shifted with a soft click. When she parted her lips again, the iron teeth were gone, no fangs, no metal gleam. Just the unnerving stillness of a predator who had momentarily sheathed her weapons.

A show of restraint. Or a warning.

Azriel wasn’t sure which.

But it silenced the edge in him just a little. Not harmless. Never that. But perhaps… something else. Something controlled. His shadows recoiled and settled, just barely.

Then her voice cut through the quiet.

“I’m not staying long,” Y/N said. “Manon expects me to be back within forty-eight hours by our time. That translates to approximately three days here, give or take the way time bends between realms. Though I would say Erilea and Prythian are quite close. Hence the short time difference."

“You’re really just here to leave again?” Feyre asked, a mix of surprise and wariness.

“I’m not a diplomat. I don’t do tea and chatter. I was sent to deal with Koschei, nothing more.”

Azriel hated it, how direct she was. Hated how something in him respected it, too. No games. No fawning. Just teeth and strategy.

Rhysand finally spoke, his voice low. “And what have you learned about his movements so far?”

Y/N leaned over the map, tapping one of the circles in the north. “Koschei doesn’t spread like war. He spreads like sickness. Slow. Precise. Rotting the foundation of whatever he touches until it crumbles from within.”

She moved her finger down the map. “He doesn’t take cities. He takes people. A village falls quiet, and by the time you notice it’s gone, the surrounding land is already turning.”

She pointed to a forest near the border. “This was your first disappearance, yes? And this-” she tapped an area far west, “is where your scouts found bones that didn’t match any native species.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed. How the hell did she know that?

Cassian stepped forward now, tone sharpening. “So. What’s the plan?”

Y/N straightened. “The plan is to split into three teams. Exactly two per group. Koschei moves through mirrors-reflections, still water, glass--and he splits his attention. We need to do the same. Three fronts, three targets, three strikes.”

She looked around the room. “I’m leaving it to you to decide who goes with whom. I’m unfamiliar with your strengths, your tempers, and your… alliances.” Her eyes flicked to Mor, then Azriel, then Nesta.

“I assume your rulers,” she added, glancing at Feyre and Rhys, “will remain here to maintain court stability.”

Feyre opened her mouth to protest, but Rhys lifted a hand. “She’s right.”

Feyre scowled but said nothing more.

Y/N rolled the map to a smaller region now, tapping three points in a triangle. “These are the weak spots. I believe he’s testing them—probes, leaks, trying to open small rifts. We need to hit all three before he gets a foothold.”

“The groups will need a balance of flight, magic, and brute strength,” she continued. “One to track. One to strike. One to watch the shadows.”

Azriel felt her eyes flick briefly to him at the last one, but she didn’t linger.

Nesta, still watching from the edge of the room, finally spoke. “He’s drawing people in with promises, isn’t he? Not just killing--corrupting. Offering them something they want.”

Y/N’s expression shifted for the first time. Almost… approving.

“Exactly,” she said, tapping once on the table. “That’s how he breaks them. Promises them their lost lovers, their children, their second chances.”

She turned her head and pointed across the table. “Honestly, I’m starting to really like her.”

Nesta didn’t respond. But her mouth twitched.

And Azriel—

Well. He’d never admit it aloud. But he didn’t hate the sound of that either.

Then Mor clapped her hands together, breaking the moment. “Right, then. Who goes with whom?”

Cassian clapped his hands as well, eyes flicking around the room like he already knew how this would go. “Alright, we’ll need to be quick about this. I say we move at first light tomorrow.”

Amren snorted. “First light. Of course.”

Cassian leaned in, arms crossed over the table. “I’ll go with Nesta.” His tone left no room for argument. Nesta didn’t flinch. Didn’t smirk or roll her eyes. She only nodded, sharp and sure.

“Mor and I will take the eastern flank,” Amren said, like the matter had been settled long before anyone else had opened their mouths. Mor raised a brow but didn’t argue. She merely winked and added, “You’re lucky I like danger.”

That left Azriel.

And her.

Y/N was still standing beside the table, gaze down on the map, not watching the others as much as sensing them. When her head lifted, her eyes met Azriel’s again--dark, quiet, measuring.

Rhys glanced at them both, something unreadable in his face. “That leaves Azriel and Y/N.”

Of course it does, Azriel thought.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

Cassian’s brow twitched. “You two gonna be alright playing nice together?”

Y/N turned slightly, her arms folding across her chest. “I don’t need nice. I need effective.”

Azriel’s voice came quiet, colder than he meant. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”

He saw it, barely, but it was there. A flicker of amusement behind her gaze. As if something about his retort pleased her.

She looked back down to the map. “Our target is here,” she said, pointing to the most remote of the three points: deep forest bordering one of the lesser-traveled mountain ranges.

Azriel knew it well. Dark, damp, prone to heavy fog and worse things hiding in it.

Perfect.

She tapped the ink with a clawless finger. “This was the first place I smelled his work. It’s old, but still warm. We’ll go there first.”

“And if he’s already moved?” Feyre asked.

“Then we follow the rot.” Her words were flat. Practical.

There was silence for a beat too long. Then Rhys nodded once. “We move at dawn. You all have until then to prepare.”

The meeting broke apart slowly. Chairs scraping, boots scuffing against stone. Azriel lingered at the edge, eyes still on the map. He could feel her beside him-- still, quiet, like the eye of a storm waiting to shift.

Nesta passed him as she left, but she paused only long enough to glance once back at Y/N.

Admiration. Clear and open. Azriel had seen Nesta sneer, seen her freeze people out with a look, but this was the first time he’d seen her… intrigued. Her mouth pulled into something faint. Respect, maybe.

And for some godsdamned reason, that unsettled him more than anything else.

Y/N spoke softly, without turning. “You don’t trust me.”

Azriel didn’t respond. Not right away. His shadows flickered, tense and restless.

“I don’t need you to,” she added, “but if we’re walking into something that’s already watching, I’d prefer we don’t bite at each other’s heels.”

He exhaled through his nose. “I don’t trust easily.”

“Neither do I.” She finally looked at him again. “But I’ll watch your back, Shadowsinger. You don’t have to like it, but it’s true.”

Azriel studied her, his jaw tight. Everything about her was sharp. Edged. But something about her steadiness, her refusal to flinch or flatter, scraped against the part of him that recognized survival.

Maybe not trust.

But understanding.

“I’ll see you at dawn,” he said finally, and walked away.

Behind him, he thought he heard her say, quiet as a whisper, “Try not to be late.”

Velaris didn’t seem quite as bad as she’d expected.

When Amren had mentioned it was part of the Night Court, Y/N had pictured something darker. Bleaker. A city crawling with shadows and dripping with pompous fae magic. But now, as the sun began to bleed gold into the sky and the breeze carried the scent of sea salt and distant pine, she found herself… tolerating it.

Maybe even liking it. A little.

She stood on the narrow stone balcony just outside the guest chambers they’d given her, already dressed for the road, boots laced tight, leathers snug. She hadn’t slept, not that she needed to. Her arms were folded as she leaned against the railing, fingers tapping absently with normal, unarmed nails. Below, Velaris still slumbered, lanterns casting soft glows across misted rooftops, the city slow to wake.

Above, circling sluggishly against the pale sky, her wyvern drifted in lazy, slow arcs.

“Firkhan,” she murmured.

He didn’t respond, not with words. He never had. But his shadow passed overhead, his translucent wings shimmering like heat waves, a ghost of the beast he’d once been. In this world, he was weaker—his body flickering at the edges like smoke caught in wind. The magic here resisted him. Or maybe he simply didn't belong.

None of us do, she thought.

Firkhan let out a low, rumbling screech that had no business sounding so mournful.

Y/N exhaled through her nose, eyes scanning the horizon.

It had been a long time since she’d stood still like this.

The war back in Erilea had carved her open and left iron in the cracks. She could still hear the shrieks of the Valg, the clash of blades against darkened armor, the hiss of Maeve’s shadows as they crumbled under fire. She remembered standing beside her sisters—her real sisters—when the skies rained blood. She remembered the silence after.

The silence that came when the Thirteen fell.

She hadn't asked for Asterin’s place. She hadn’t even wanted it. But Manon had given it to her anyway. Just looked her in the eye one night after the dust settled and said, “It’s yours now.”

And that had been that.

Manon never needed to explain herself. Y/N had only bowed once and borne the weight ever since. And she’d worn it like armor.

It was Amren who had broken that stillness.

A letter. Sealed in blood and old magic, slipped through the rift by means Y/N hadn’t asked about. The words had been few. No begging. No threats. Just a reminder:

"You owe me."

She did. Amren had pulled her from the mouth of a god...literally. Not during the war, but long before it, in the ruins of a temple swallowed by something old and hungry. Not out of kindness, but out of something older. Something sharp and mutual. They’d looked at each other across a pool of blood and ancient bones and understood one another without speaking a word.

They were both creatures carved from hard places, bound more by debt than affection. But it had been enough. Still was.

So when the next message came—a name she recognized, a darkness she thought she’d buried—she didn’t hesitate.

Koschei.

Of all the cursed gods and rotting immortals, he was the one that lingered. The one she hadn’t finished.

Manon hadn’t argued when she asked to go. Just stared at her for a long time before saying, “Two days. Then you return.”

Two days, Y/N repeated silently.

Firkhan screeched again, drawing her attention skyward.

And then—

A voice behind her. Rough, quiet, unmistakable:

“You’re up early.”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t turn immediately. She didn’t need to. That voice was etched into her mind now--low and razor-edged, like something dragged over stone. Y/N slowly turned her head, casting a sideways glance to where he stood just outside the balcony doors.

Azriel.

The infamous spymaster of the Night Court. Cloaked in shadow even when he wasn’t calling on them, quiet as death, and about as warm. She’d done her research, of course. Amren hadn’t sent her in blind, Y/N had asked for details. Files. Observations. Whatever the Night Court had been willing to share, she’d devoured it.

And Azriel… was the one she’d paid the most attention to.

Not because she feared him, but because she understood him.

He moved like someone who had once been caged. Who still wore the scent of blood under his leathers, even if the rest of them had grown soft on peace and pretty skies.

She met his eyes now, unbothered. “We’re supposed to be out in twenty minutes. I assumed punctuality was something your court still valued.”

His lip twitched, maybe irritation, maybe amusement. “It is. I wasn’t expecting you to be ready before sunrise.”

She turned her head back toward the view. “I didn’t sleep.”

He stepped forward, coming to stand beside her. A brief moment of silence passed as they both watched the wyvern circling above.

“That’s… your wyvern?” Azriel asked eventually, nodding toward the faint shimmer in the sky.

“Firkhan,” she said simply.

He waited, clearly expecting more.

“He’s not meant for this world,” she added after a beat. “Too much fae magic in the air. Too much softness. It's like trying to keep a blade sharp in a pool of silk.”

Azriel’s brow ticked up at that, faint amusement flickering in his gaze. “We don’t have creatures like him in this realm.”

“I know,” she said. “Closest you’ve got are the Illyrians and the Peregryns in the Dawn Court.”

That earned her a sharper look. He leaned his forearms on the balcony railing, the shadows around him twitching slightly in what might have been surprise.

“You’ve done your research,” he said.

Y/N smiled. Tight, without humor. “Wouldn’t you, if you were walking into a court of fae strangers with enough power to burn cities?”

His silence was answer enough.

She let her gaze drift toward him for a moment longer before adding, “And besides, if I’m going to kill alongside someone, I prefer to know whether they’ll be useful or deadweight.”

Azriel’s mouth twitched again, but he said nothing.

Not yet.

A scream shattered the morning quiet.

Both their heads snapped down toward the street below, just in time to see Cassian scrambling backward behind a thoroughly unamused Nesta. The General was pointing toward the cobblestones in front of the townhouse where a very large, very real wyvern had landed, folding its shimmering wings with calculated menace. Firkhan’s golden eyes locked on Cassian like he was a meal. Or a nuisance.

Possibly both.

Y/N let out a small, rare smirk. “Looks like someone found breakfast.”

And with that, she pushed off the balcony railing and strode back inside, her steps light but unhurried. Azriel followed silently, a shadow at her heels.

They had a war to plan.

By the time they stepped outside, the others had gathered in the courtyard, surrounding the wyvern with varying degrees of wariness and awe.

“He's massive,” Mor said, eyes wide, chin tilted up as she took in the full wingspan. “Like, bigger than a Illyrian war-drake. And shinier. What do you feed him?”

“Illyrians,” Y/N replied without missing a beat.

Cassian let out a scandalized noise. “I knew it.”

“He’s joking,” Feyre added with a half-smile, though it sounded more like a question than a reassurance.

“Am I?” Y/N murmured.

Rhysand’s gaze slid over Firkhan with an assessing sharpness. “He looks like he’s holding together better than I expected, considering the dimensional rift.”

“He’s managing,” Y/N said. “Barely. It’s a miracle he survived the crossing.”

“He’s... beautiful,” Feyre offered, still watching Firkhan as if she was trying to sketch him in her head.

Nesta, standing closer now, spoke softly. “Can I pet him?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused. “You want to pet a wyvern?”

Nesta shrugged. “He hasn’t eaten anyone yet.”

From the side, Amren clicked her tongue. “He still might.”

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh and nodded. “Be my guest. He likes boldness.”

Nesta stepped closer, hand extended, slow but sure. Firkhan lowered his massive head, sniffing her fingers, his breath warm and metallic. For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then—he nudged her hand gently.

“He’s called Firkhan,” Y/N said, watching closely. “He’s been with me since before the final war in my world. Saved my life more times than I can count.”

Nesta’s hand moved along the wyvern’s scaled snout. “He’s… calmer than I thought.”

“He likes you,” Y/N replied, surprised at the truth in her own words. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve got steel in you. Rage. Will. Maybe even a little magic that doesn’t play by the rules of this world.”

Nesta’s eyes flicked to hers. “Magic, huh?”

Y/N gave a small smirk. “You seem like you have a little witch within you too, Nesta Archeron.”

Nesta gave a dry laugh. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing someone’s called me.”

A low, possessive sound cut through the moment.

Cassian stepped between them, gently but deliberately, inserting himself between Nesta and Firkhan...and Y/N by extension. “That’s enough fun for the morning,” he muttered, not quite glaring.

Y/N merely raised her brows. “Protective, aren’t you?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Cassian, I’m fine.”

“You say that now. Wait until he decides you look like lunch.”

Firkhan let out a chuff of breath, clearly unimpressed.

Y/N chuckled and stepped back. “He’s already chosen. You’re the one who keeps acting like prey.”

Before Cassian could reply, Rhysand clapped his hands, voice cutting through the morning fog. “Final checks. If you’re flying, make sure you’re not forgetting anything. Azriel, you’ve got maps. Cassian, try not to start another screaming match with a creature three times your size.”

“Ha ha,” Cassian muttered.

As everyone scattered to gather gear and double-check weapons, Y/N tilted her head toward Nesta. “Come,” she said, gesturing for her to walk alongside Firkhan. “I want to show him someone who isn’t terrified of their own power.”

They moved in silence for a few paces, Nesta still stroking the wyvern’s jaw, until Y/N added quietly, “There’s strength in softness too, you know.”

Nesta’s hand stilled. “You sound like Feyre.”

“I sound like someone who’s lost too many sisters,” Y/N replied. “Hold tight to the ones still breathing.”

Nesta didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

A breath later, Cassian was back, looming beside them with his hand brushing Nesta’s elbow. “We ready?” he asked.

Y/N gave him a slow nod. “Ready as we’ll ever be.”

With one last look at Firkhan, she turned on her heel and strode toward Azriel, who stood waiting with a folded map in his hand and that unreadable expression in his eyes.

Let the hunt begin.

Y/N snatched the map from Azriel’s hand before he could so much as blink.

A collective pause rippled through the group at the sharp sound of paper being pulled taut. She didn’t bother looking at him. Her voice rang out, clear, cutting through the morning air like a blade.

“Now, listen up.”

The conversation and casual banter died instantly. Even Firkhan, coiled on the rooftop like a silent, glimmering sentinel, went still.

They all gathered closer around her. Illyrians, High Fae, and the strange quiet creature that was Amren. Y/N didn’t care what court they were from. What power they wielded. She only cared that they listened.

“As I said,” she continued, spreading the map across the stone garden table with a sweep of her hand, “we’re splitting into three groups of two. Each one will target a different pressure point. Koschei doesn’t leave openings. But like all things that rot, he seeps.”

She tapped her claw-not iron yet, but sharp nonetheless-against the eastern coastline of Prythian.

“Amren. Mor. You’re headed to the tidal cliffs along the Sidra’s curve. We believe one of Koschei’s old mirror-anchors lies buried there, used to siphon spirit energy from the ocean’s pull. If we’re right, breaking it will sever a part of his reach.”

Amren gave a faint smile. “I’ve always liked smashing mirrors.”

Mor only smirked, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Let’s just hope it’s not cursed.”

Y/N ignored them, turning to the next mark: near the border of the human lands, deep in the ruins of an old battlefield.

“Cassian. Nesta. You’re heading to the Forgotten Vale. The blood magic he’s been using, it’s rooted there. That place remembers the dead. There’s something in the soil Koschei is feeding from. You’ll need to burn it clean.”

Nesta’s chin dipped in acknowledgment. Cassian gave a grunt that could have been agreement or displeasure, likely both.

Y/N circled her finger over a third spot, one nearly forgotten in the dense wilds west of Velaris.

“And Azriel and I will be heading into the Wildmere. There's an old forest there, twisted by his influence. His shadows have grown bolder, breeding in the dark. If he’s hiding his heart, the core of his power, it’ll be there. Azriel can track what others miss. I’ll know when we’re close.”

She looked up at last, scanning their faces.

“No one is to speak of this beyond this moment. Koschei has ears in the cracks of reality. This plan doesn’t get whispered about. Not even to your mates.”

Rhysand’s mouth twitched at that. Feyre, wisely, said nothing.

“Any objections?”

There was a beat of silence. Cassian opened his mouth.

Y/N didn’t even look up. Her voice was cold and firm. “No arguments.”

Cassian blinked, about to protest. “I wasn’t even- ”

“No.”

Cassian shut his mouth. Mor snorted. Azriel might’ve smiled, but if he did, it was gone in an instant.

Y/N rolled the map closed with a snap and tucked it back into her satchel.

“Well then,” she said, straightening. “Now that that’s settled- ”

Her eyes gleamed. The wind stirred behind her, brushing her hair back from her face.

“Let’s go kill a god, shall we?”

“Have you ever killed a god before?”

Azriel’s voice broke the morning silence as they walked toward the far side of the garden. Y/N didn’t look at him. Instead, her nails tapped lightly against her thigh, a small, knowing smirk playing at her lips.

“Why? Are you scared?” she asked without turning.

He chuckled softly, a dry edge to his words. “You act like that’s something you do every day.”

She sighed, the weight of a grim past settling in her tone. “No, I haven’t. But an ally of ours did. She killed every god in our universe. She’s now a queen, and they call her the Godskiller.”

Azriel’s guarded expression shifted as curiosity sparked in his eyes. “A queen called Godskiller? That’s not a title you hear every day.”

Y/N met his gaze steadily. “She earned it.”

They reached the clearing where the rift shimmered faintly. Azriel’s eyes dropped to Firkhan, the wyvern pacing with a restless grace.

“Is this thing coming with us too?” he asked, nodding toward the great creature.

Y/N corrected him smoothly. “His name is Firkhan. And yes, he’s coming. I don’t trust your High Lord and Lady one bit. Besides, Firkhan’s senses and ability to circle high above will give us an edge. He can smell death and rot, things even your shadows might miss.”

Azriel considered her words and nodded. “Fair enough.”

Y/N softened her voice and gave a quiet command. “Firkhan, come closer.”

The wyvern’s immense form swooped down beside her, shimmering faintly--still somewhat translucent in this realm.

Azriel glanced back at the pulsing rift. “Ready?”

She nodded once. Azriel inhaled deeply, the familiar shadowy mist beginning to gather around them. With a swift motion, he winnowed them away, the world blurring and folding as shadows swallowed their forms—carrying them instantly to the other side.

The world reassembled around them in fragments of shadow and cold.

Azriel’s boots hit soft earth, damp with rot. A canopy of gnarled, twisted trees loomed above, their blackened branches clawing at the morning sky. The air here felt… wrong. Thicker. Alive, almost buzzing faintly beneath his skin.

This was Wildmere. Or what it had become.

He scanned the surrounding glade, one hand instinctively brushing the hilt of Truth-Teller. The shadows slithered closer to his heels, nervous.

Beside him, Y/N landed with feline ease, already surveying the tree line. Her iron boots didn’t make a sound on the mossy ground.

"Charming," Azriel muttered.

“Better than what I imagined,” she replied flatly, adjusting a strap across her chest that held her curved blade. “I thought it'd reek more.”

“It will,” he said, eyes narrowing on the shifting darkness between the trees. “Give it time.”

A beat of silence. A low, reverberating thrum drifted through the earth like a pulse.

“Let’s move,” Azriel said, stepping forward.

“Wait.”

He turned just enough to glance back at her.

Y/N lifted her chin toward the sky. Then she murmured a string of guttural syllables, words Azriel couldn’t place. Not ancient Fae. Not anything he’d heard before.

High above, a shadow detached from the clouds.

Firkhan.

The wyvern gave a low shriek, answering her call, before rising higher and disappearing into the canopy overhead: circling, watching.

Azriel arched a brow. “That an Ironteeth spell?”

She smirked faintly, brushing past him. “Just a language. One your kind never bothered to learn.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. “What’d you tell him?”

“To hunt. To scream if anything smells like rot or fear.”

Azriel fell into step beside her. “And what do we do in the meantime?”

She glanced sideways, expression unreadable. “We walk into a haunted forest ruled by a half-dead god, of course.”

He huffed a soft laugh, surprised by it.

They moved forward, deeper into the Wildmere. And above them, Firkhan circled silently, a predator beneath the rising sun.

They walked in silence for nearly an hour.

The deeper they moved into the forest, the more the light changed. It wasn’t just the thick canopy blocking out the sun, it was the shadows themselves. They clung to bark and roots like oil. And even the wind sounded… wrong. Too soft. Too deliberate. As if the forest was listening.

Azriel had tracked monsters before. He knew the scent of darkness, of unnatural magic. But here, in Wildmere, everything reeked of rot and memory. Of something old, curdled with patience.

Beside him, Y/N didn’t speak. She moved like she belonged here, her steps precise but unhurried, hand never far from the hilt of her blade. Her wyvern, though mostly out of sight, cried out occasionally above the trees--long, distant shrieks that echoed like warnings.

He cast her a glance. “You’ve been quiet.”

Her gaze didn’t shift. “You’ve been brooding.”

Azriel let out a quiet huff. “That’s just my face.”

That earned him the ghost of a smirk. Barely.

He tilted his head. “You don’t seem bothered by this place.”

“I’ve seen worse,” she said simply, ducking under a low-hanging branch.

“Than a forest poisoned by a death god?”

“Have you ever walked through a battlefield of broken gods and still-breathing corpses?” she asked, voice low. “This is peaceful compared to that.”

Azriel didn’t respond. Mostly because he didn’t doubt her. And partly because the way she said it didn’t sound like a boast. Just fact.

Still--he couldn’t help it.

“Why did Manon send you?” he asked quietly. “Not that I’m doubting your skill. But you don’t strike me as someone who gets sent. You strike me as someone who chooses.”

She slowed, just slightly, and he almost regretted the question.

“She didn’t send me,” Y/N said after a moment. “Amren called in a debt. Manon allowed it.”

Azriel studied her profile, the way her jaw tensed when she spoke Amren’s name. “You don’t like being in anyone’s debt.”

“No,” she said. “And I repay them quickly.”

Another cry from above. Firkhan, a low snarl this time--long and deliberate.

Both of them stopped.

Azriel’s shadows rose instantly, curling around his shoulders like smoke. His siphons flared with silent readiness. Beside him, Y/N’s hand had already gone to her weapon.

“East,” she said softly. “Something’s moving.”

He listened. There--just beyond the curve of a withered tree, something shuffled through the underbrush.

Azriel didn’t draw Truth-Teller. Not yet.

Instead, he turned toward her. “You ready?”

Y/N’s eyes glittered. “You tell me, Spymaster. Have you ever killed a god before?”

Azriel allowed a slow smile. “Not yet.”

They moved together, soundless and sharp. Into the dark.

And Wildmere waited.

Azriel's senses were on high alert as they ventured deeper into the Wildmere. The air grew heavier, thick with an unnatural stillness that made every step feel deliberate. The trees, twisted and gnarled, seemed to lean in closer, their bark slick with a strange, iridescent sheen.

"Do you feel that?" Y/N's voice broke the silence, low and cautious.

Azriel nodded, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his blade. "Something's not right."

Without warning, the ground beneath their feet trembled. Azriel's shadows recoiled, sensing the disturbance before he could fully comprehend it. The trees around them began to shift, their trunks bending unnaturally, roots uprooting and twisting in the air like serpents.

"Stay close," Azriel ordered, his voice firm.

But Y/N was already moving, her eyes scanning the shifting landscape. "It's the forest," she said, her tone a mix of awe and wariness. "Koschei's magic is warping it."

Azriel watched as the forest seemed to breathe, the trees pulsating with an eerie rhythm. The air grew colder, and a low hum resonated from deep within the ground.

"We need to find the source," Azriel said, determination setting in.

Y/N nodded, her expression hardening. "Agreed. But we must tread carefully. This place is alive with his influence."

They moved cautiously, the forest around them shifting and changing with every step. The path ahead was unclear, obscured by the ever-changing landscape. Azriel's shadows flickered nervously, reacting to the unnatural magic permeating the air.

As they pressed forward, the trees began to close in, their branches intertwining above, blocking out the light. The air grew thick with a palpable sense of dread.

"We're close," Y/N murmured, her eyes narrowing as she scanned their surroundings.

Azriel felt it too--a presence, ancient and malevolent, watching them from the depths of the forest. He tightened his grip on his blade, ready for whatever lay ahead.

But for now, they could only move forward, deeper into the heart of Wildmere, where Koschei's magic twisted reality itself.

"The deeper we will go, the worse it will get."

Azriel didn't look at her as he led the way, shadows curling around him like arrows, ready to be sent out whenever he commands them to. "How do you know that?"

Y/N only followed him, shifting her clean nails for iron ones "It seems like you know nothing about this place, Shadowsinger, the Wildmere was not always like this. It’s not just forest--it’s memory. What you see here? Twisted bark, blackened moss, silence that’s too loud? This place remembers what it used to be. And Koschei is feeding on that pain."

Azriel’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look back, but his steps slowed slightly. "Memories don’t kill people."

"They do, when a god gives them teeth," she murmured. "You’ll see soon enough. This entire forest is a grieving thing. You walk long enough, it’ll show you what it’s lost. What you’ve lost. Then it’ll ask for a price."

Azriel didn’t respond at first. Shadows slithered along his shoulders, shifting uneasily at her words. But after a pause, he finally said, "And what did it show you?"

Y/N gave a low chuckle--hollow and without humor. "Nothing yet. But it will. The forest always finds a way in."

They walked in silence after that, the mist growing thicker around them, the trees leaning in just slightly more than they had a moment before.

Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath their feet, and a low, mournful wail echoed through the forest. Azriel's shadows recoiled, sensing the disturbance before he could fully comprehend it. Y/N's hand instinctively went to her blade, her posture alert.

From the depths of the forest, a figure emerged: a massive, spectral stag, its form translucent and shimmering with an ethereal glow. Its antlers were adorned with chains of sorrowful faces, each one contorted in silent screams. The creature's eyes, hollow and endless, locked onto them.

Y/N's voice was a whisper, barely audible. "The Forest's Grief."

Azriel's gaze remained fixed on the apparition. "What is it?"

"A manifestation of the Wildmere's sorrow," she replied. "A guardian of lost souls. It feeds on despair and regret."

The stag took a step forward, and the ground beneath them seemed to pulse with each movement. The air grew colder, and the wailing intensified, as if the very forest was mourning.

"We can't kill it," Y/N said, her voice steady despite the growing dread. "We must offer it something, an acknowledgment of its pain."

Azriel's mind raced. What could they offer a creature born of sorrow? What could appease a being that thrived on despair?

The White Stag’s antlers cracked the air like thunder, pure magic slamming into the ground at their feet. Azriel flew back with the force of it, wings snapping wide to steady himself before he hit a gnarled tree trunk. The bark hissed where the Stag’s power had touched it, blackened, rotting.

Y/N stood her ground.

Not because she was unmoved.

Because she was thinking.

Its eyes burned with a light too ancient to belong to this world. Azriel’s shadows shrieked in his head, tangled around his arms and throat like they were trying to drag him away from it. From her.

“It wants something,” he growled, stepping forward, siphons flaring.

Y/N’s iron nails gleamed as she bared her teeth. “No shit.”

Another blast surged toward them. Azriel dove in front of her on instinct, shield raised from his siphons, but the magic slipped through, not touching flesh, but memories. His knees buckled.

A flash, his training pit. Then Elain, eyes wide with something unreadable. Then the Blood Rite, Rhys’s body limp in a river of red.

Gone.

Azriel gasped.

“Azriel.” Y/N grabbed his arm, grounding him. “It’s not attacking the body, it’s taking.”

He staggered upright. “Taking what?”

“Weight. Pain. Regret.” She turned toward the beast, blade now in hand, her iron claws retracted. Not her nails, her steel, that curved obsidian blade she'd claimed from the barrows of her world. “It doesn’t want blood. It wants burden.”

The Stag’s eyes flicked to her, then him. Waiting.

Azriel’s heart pounded. “So give it something.”

“I don’t- ” She hesitated. For a breath. “It’s not a trade. It’s a toll. It wants what we carry.”

Azriel clenched his fists. “I’m not offering it my damn memories.”

Y/N stepped forward, still not lifting her sword. “What if we offer it something false?”

“It’ll know.”

The White Stag stomped once. The ground split open just behind them, roots writhing like serpents. A scream tore from the soil, as if the forest itself was in pain.

“You’re right,” she hissed, glancing back. “We can’t outsmart it.”

The air changed then. Sharp. Electric. The stag charged.

Azriel lunged forward, wings snapping out. “Move!”

But Y/N didn’t run. She pivoted, blade slicing the air, not toward the creature, but downward, across her own palm.

Blood met steel.

Magic pulsed, raw and bright.

“Old gods don’t want lies,” she snarled. “They want truth.”

She threw the blood at its hooves.

The White Stag froze, the spray hitting the ground in front of it, blood soaking the roots. The earth went still.

Azriel stared.

The stag lowered its head.

And stepped aside.

Breathing hard, Y/N turned to him. “We have ten seconds. Run.”

They did.

The woods twisted behind them, the stag’s magic lashing at their heels like wind made of bones. Branches grabbed, thorns sliced, shadows pulled at them, but they made it through.

By the time they stumbled out of the cursed clearing, sweat-slicked and gasping, Azriel’s siphons were flickering low.

Y/N collapsed to one knee, gripping her still-bleeding palm.

Azriel dropped beside her, eyes scanning her face. “You alright?”

She exhaled a slow breath. “That thing fed on grief. If I had offered it any more, I wouldn’t have walked out.”

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter. Protective. Watchful.

“Next time,” he said, voice quiet, “warn me when a mythical forest god might try to eat my soul.”

Y/N’s laugh was hoarse. But real.

“No promises, Shadowsinger.”

Then, as if just realising what he was seeing, Azriel looked at her palm in surprise, "You have blue blood? How- how is that possible?"

Y/N glanced at her palm, still glowing faintly under the streak of cobalt. She arched a brow.

“I don’t know, Spymaster. Maybe because I’m secretly made of frost and moonlight. Or perhaps it’s just a fashion statement in my world.”

Azriel didn’t so much as blink at the sarcasm.

She sighed and flexed her fingers, watching the blood thicken, already beginning to seal. “I’m an Ironteeth witch. We all bleed blue. Has something to do with how we were made. Something ancient. Unnatural, some say.”

He looked vaguely unsettled by that. His eyes dipped again to the wound--only to find the blood already drying, the torn skin knitting back together.

“That was… fast,” he muttered. “My wounds take at least two days to heal. Even with my shadows.”

She scoffed, rising to her feet. “Maybe that’s because I’m not a Fae.”

Behind her, she heard the sound of his wings folding in as he followed, close but never too close. “You got something wrong, at last,” Azriel said, his voice lighter than before. “I’m not a Fae. I’m an Illyrian.”

That gave her pause. She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him in her periphery. “Is there a difference?”

He shrugged. “Illyrians are winged warriors. Fae in general aren’t born with wings. Or this,” he added, tapping a siphon. “We’re something... rougher. Less polished.”

Y/N kept walking but filed that away.

Why he was explaining it to her, she didn’t know. Why she cared to listen, she knew even less.

But the forest was growing darker around them. The trees closer together, their roots rising like gnarled veins through the soil. Firkhan circled above, a pale, faint shape against the thickening clouds.

She could still feel the residue of the stag’s magic trailing behind them, something old and heavy pressing against her spine like a ghost they hadn’t fully outrun.

“We’ll need to stop soon,” she muttered. “Even I can’t see what’s waiting in that dark.”

Azriel merely nodded, his shadows already fanning out ahead of them like scouts.

And still...still, Y/N found herself glancing at him again. At the siphons, the wings, the strange shadows that whispered things she couldn’t understand.

Not Fae. Not human. Not like anything she’d ever known.

Maybe she wasn’t the only weapon born in the dark.

They had found a small clearing, the air thick with the scent of moss and damp earth. The trees here were spaced just enough to allow a semblance of comfort. Y/N dropped her pack, her senses still alert, scanning the surroundings.

"Seems as good a place as any," she muttered, settling down and beginning to unpack.

Azriel nodded, his gaze lingering on the shadows between the trees. "Stay vigilant."

Just as they began to relax, the ground beneath them trembled. A low, guttural growl resonated from the depths of the forest. Before they could react, the earth split open before them, revealing a massive, serpentine creature with scales that shimmered like obsidian.

Its eyes glowed with an unnatural light, and its maw dripped with venomous saliva. The creature hissed, its tongue flicking out, tasting the air.

Y/N stood, her expression hardening. "An Ironfang Basilisk," she said, her voice steady. "Rare, territorial, and deadly."

Azriel's wings twitched, ready for combat. "Can we fight it?"

Y/N shook her head. "Not unless you want to end up petrified. We need to outwit it."

The basilisk advanced, its massive body coiling and uncoiling with terrifying speed. Y/N's hand went to her belt, drawing her obsidian blade. "Get ready," she whispered.

Azriel's shadows flared, forming a protective barrier around them. "On your mark."

With a swift motion, Y/N hurled a handful of enchanted dust into the air, creating a blinding flash. The basilisk recoiled, momentarily disoriented. Seizing the opportunity, Azriel winnowed behind the creature, striking at its exposed flank.

The basilisk howled in pain, thrashing wildly. Y/N darted forward, her blade flashing as she targeted the creature's eyes. Another strike, and the basilisk let out a deafening screech, its body convulsing before it collapsed, lifeless.

Breathing heavily, Y/N wiped the blood from her blade. "That was too close."

Azriel nodded, his expression grim. "We can't afford to be caught off guard again."

They gathered their belongings, moving deeper into the Wildmere, aware that more dangers lurked in the shadows.

The forest pressed in around them, thick and suffocating, but the small clearing they found was enough to catch their breath--for now. Y/N didn’t dare let them linger longer than thirty minutes. The Wildmere was too dangerous, too unpredictable.

Azriel kept his senses sharp, shadows coiling around him like watchful serpents. He glanced at her as she settled against a gnarled tree root, clearly still on edge despite the brief reprieve.

“Firkhan,” she murmured.

Azriel’s head snapped upward, just as a flicker of movement slipped through the dense branches above. Then, like a ghost wreathed in moonlight, the wyvern descended--Firkhan’s translucent scales shimmering faintly in the dim light, his nearly invisible form momentarily solidifying. His golden eyes caught the glimmers of shadow and leaf, glowing softly.

Y/N leaned against him, her voice low and certain. “Firkhan says he’s sensed something… great. Something close. It’s why we’re here—the heart.”

Azriel watched the creature with quiet awe, the way it moved so effortlessly between worlds, half-seen, half-spirit. He wondered what this beast actually looks like back in his world. His gaze shifted back to Y/N, and something about the way she steadied herself in this hostile place made him respect her even more.

They sat in a tense silence for a few moments before Azriel’s curiosity overcame the quiet.

“So,” he started carefully, “how did you come to know so much about this place? This ‘heart’ we’re searching for?”

Y/N’s eyes flickered with faint amusement. “Let’s just say I’ve had more than my share of dark forests and shadows. I’m sort of a spymaster too, born into war and betrayal. I come from a world where the gods are dead, and their shadows still haunt the earth.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed. “Your world... it’s different from ours.”

She nodded slowly, eyes distant as if recalling a lifetime in a single glance. “Very different. It’s a place where gods once ruled openly, but they were all killed--we have Aelin to thank for that.”

Azriel had no idea who this Aelin was but from the sound of it, she seemed to be quite the powerhouse.

Y/N then looked back at him. "Koschei has been slowly but surely infecting our world too and even though I had fought some of his creations, now I see how much more of a great threat he is in your world."

Azriel nodded his head, then, a question struck his mind. "You said Amren had saved you from a god's mouth. How and when did that happen? How do you even know Amren?"

Y/N smiled. Not a cold or cruel smile, but a real, nostalgic smile as she replied "Yes. It was a very long time ago and honestly, I would rather not speak of it. As for Amren, well, she doesn't just know me. She knows my sisters and my queen, Manon too. It's why Manon even allowed me to come here in the first place, because she trusts her and knew that if Amren calls, it's a serious issue because there is nothing Amren can't handle."

Azriel smirked slightly as his eyes drifted to Firkhan, watching the giant beast lay its enormous wing over Y/N. He hesitated, then found himself sharing a piece of his own story, the weight of his loyalty pressing on his chest. “My High Lord, Rhysand--he’s more than just a ruler to me as well. He’s fierce, loyal, relentless. We’ve fought wars, endured betrayals. He’s the reason I fight… why I keep moving forward.”

Y/N gave a small, approving nod, as if recognizing a familiar kind of pain. “Loyalty’s a rare currency in my world too. Trust is harder to earn than blood. Manon’s trust is the only thing keeping me grounded, reminding me there’s more than just survival.”

The forest around them seemed to close in, the shadows thickening as the conversation took a more personal turn. Their voices dropped lower, sharing fragments of childhoods marked by loss, hardship, and resilience.

“I grew up among shadows,” Y/N said softly, “raised to be a weapon, a spy. Not for glory, but to survive. It’s a hard life, but it teaches you to see what others miss.”

Azriel nodded, feeling the weight of those words. “I was born to serve in the shadows too. But my shadows aren’t just weapons—they’re pieces of me. I use them to protect, to hunt. Rhysand gave me purpose beyond the darkness.”

She tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “And what about your world? Prythian… it’s beautiful, but scarred. What keeps you fighting, if not loyalty?”

Azriel considered that. “Hope. For a future where the shadows don’t own us. Where people can live without fear. Rhysand believes in that future. I do too.”

Y/N smiled faintly, a rare softness crossing her features. “Hope is a dangerous thing. But maybe it’s what keeps the strongest alive.”

Azriel caught the subtle change in her expression--something almost like longing, buried beneath years of hard edges.

But then, Y/N chuckled slowly, "No wonder I knew the Night court would be the most troubled the moment I received the map from Amren."

Azriel raised an eyebrow. "And did you look into the other courts?"

"Of course I did. What kind of an idiot would go into a foreign world without researching everything from there? Personally, I would love to visit the Summer court for a much needed vacation but obviously that won't be happening so..." Y/N sighed rolling her eyes "It hurts my ego to says this but, I am slightly jealous of your world for having these nice courts. Even though I bet they are all posh and pampered."

Azriel couldn't hide his smile as he replied, "Well, if you do ever come back, just make sure to stay far from Autumn. You don't want to mess with them."

Y/N raised a challenging eyebrow. "Oh? and why is that?"

Azriel’s lips twitched into a small smirk. “They’re… complicated. The Autumn Court has its own rules and its own kind of darkness. Subtle, but dangerous. Like a web that traps the unwary.”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Sounds like my kind of place.”

He studied her for a moment, intrigued by how easily she adapted, how she seemed to carry the weight of two worlds without breaking. “You make it sound like you belong everywhere and nowhere at once.”

She met his gaze steadily. “Maybe I do. Or maybe I’m just a survivor.”

They fell into a thoughtful silence, the sounds of the forest pressing in around them--shadows shifting, leaves whispering in the faint breeze.

Azriel finally broke the quiet, “So, what exactly are we looking for in this heart of Koschei’s power? What does it even look like?”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. Something ancient. Something that pulses with his corruption. Maybe a source of his influence. Destroying it might weaken him... or maybe even kill him. Honestly? I have never killed a god before either so this is a first for me too."

Then, she shook her head, sighing in frustration. "I should have asked Aelin for some tips, how on earth does one even kill a god?"

Azriel leaned forward, very intrigued. "Who is Aelin exactly? is she that Godskiller queen you mentioned last night?"

Y/N looked at him and just nodded, seemingly not trusting him at all to give any important information.

Fair enough. Azriel has been doing the same anyway.

The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths and fragile understanding. But Y/N was quick to break the spell.

“Enough,” she said abruptly, rising to her feet, voice firm. Firkhan, as if already knowing his job, snuggled to Y/N one last time before flying back up.

Azriel watched her for a beat longer, curiosity sparking anew. She was more than the witch he thought he’d met. Something about her unsettled and intrigued him in equal measure.

He stood, shadows coiling like eager serpents around his fingers. “Ready?”

She nodded, determination flickering in her eyes. Together, they moved deeper into the Wildmere, stepping quietly into the thickening dark.

The trees grew stranger the deeper they walked—twisting into near-impossible shapes, branches bending down like fingers to scrape at their shoulders. The air turned dense, humming like a living thing. Firkhan circled silently above, his massive form barely visible except when moonlight slipped across the translucent shimmer of his wings.

Y/N felt it before she saw it.

A shift in the world’s breath. A stillness too complete. Even the shadows underfoot recoiled, Azriel’s included.

“Something’s wrong,” she murmured.

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter. “You feel it too?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, her steps slowed as they entered a clearing.

At first, it looked… harmless. A meadow nestled between craggy hills, dotted with faintly glowing mushrooms and blanketed in tall, silver-bladed grass. Too quiet. Too still.

Then-

A mirror rose from the ground.

Seven feet tall. No frame. No stand. Just a hovering pane of glimmering glass, and the faint shimmer of a thousand reflections dancing across its surface, not theirs. Strangers. Dead things. Nightmares.

Azriel stepped slightly in front of her. “Is that…?”

But Y/N had already stopped. Her jaw set.

“The Mirror of Maw,” she said flatly.

“You know what it is?”

“It’s not from your world. Or mine. It was pulled through a rift, I think. I’ve only seen a drawing. They say it shows your deepest fear… and then tries to break you with it.”

Azriel’s wings shifted. “Break you how?”

As if in answer, the glass rippled, and his mother’s face appeared, beaten and bloodied. Behind her, two Illyrian boys, children, chained to stone.

Azriel staggered back a step, inhaling sharply.

Y/N didn’t flinch. She knew it was coming.

Then the glass turned again, this time to her.

Not Manon. Not Asterin. Not even the Valg.

Her reflection turned into her own face—wild-eyed, monstrous, fully shifted. Alone. Blood-soaked. Surrounded by the fallen bodies of her coven. Her sisters. Manon. All dead. By her hand.

She blinked.

Azriel hissed, “We need to destroy it.”

“No,” she said immediately. “If we do, it’ll shatter outward. The shards will reflect us infinitely and... trap us.”

He turned his head sharply. “Then what?”

“We have to walk past it.”

Azriel stared. “Seriously?”

Y/N shifted her nails into long, gleaming iron claws. “Don’t look into it. Not directly. Don’t let it know you’re afraid.”

Azriel’s wings flexed, his face pale. “It already knows.”

“Then pretend.” She took a step forward.

The ground beneath them twisted, pulling them in different directions. Illusions bloomed, not just in the mirror, but in the air, hovering projections of past sins and private nightmares. The air sang with the sound of screams not their own.

Azriel clenched his jaw and followed, shadows thick around him, muttering, “What kind of god builds things like this?”

“The kind that never wanted to die,” she whispered.

They moved forward. Step by step.

Each footfall brought a new vision. Azriel gritted his teeth against a sight of his brothers drowning in tar. Y/N fought against a phantom image of Manon turning her back on her.

But then-

The mirror lashed out.

Not with glass, but with reflection. It warped into a massive beast of pure light and shadow, built from every fear it had shown them. It struck like a viper.

Y/N lunged with a snarl, dodging the strike and raking iron claws across its neck. The illusion beast didn’t bleed. It cracked like glass, shrieked like a violin.

Azriel shouted her name, his shadows tangled with the form, but they passed through.

“Don’t fight it like a warrior,” Y/N shouted. “Fight it like it’s a lie.”

Azriel paused, narrowed his eyes, then did the unthinkable.

He closed them.

And drove his knife into his own thigh.

The pain was real. Grounding.

The creature paused.

Y/N followed his lead, slicing her palm with her iron claws, letting the blue blood spill onto the grass. Her breath steadied.

“We are real,” she growled. “You’re not.”

The mirror-beast began to shake.

Then, it shattered in a silent implosion, collapsing into a pool of starlight, then into nothing at all.

Y/N and Azriel stood in the silence, panting, bleeding.

She smirked faintly. “Creative. I’ll give the bastard that.”

Azriel wiped his blade, glancing down at her hand. “Blue blood again.”

She raised a brow. “And you didn’t faint this time.”

He gave a breathless chuckle. “Progress.”

But they both knew, the forest was watching.

And the next trial was already waiting.

By the time the next challenge came, they were ready for it.

After the Mirror of Maw, neither Y/N nor Azriel had let their guard down again. Every step through Wildmere became a calculated risk. They learned quickly that brute strength wouldn’t be enough. This place demanded wit, patience, and endurance.

One moment, they found themselves navigating a river that whispered their greatest regrets in voices not their own—a siren-like hallucination that tried to lure them beneath its surface with promises of absolution. Another time, they were stalked by phantom duplicates of themselves, twisted versions that mirrored every move seconds before they made it—forcing them to fight with instinct instead of thought.

Once, they even found themselves in a grove where time reversed for everything but them—fruit rotting and unrotting on the branch, rain falling upward, Firkhan caught in a loop above them until Y/N used a sliver of her iron blade to slash the air and break the loop’s hold.

But none of it was enough to bring them closer to the heart.

They’d pushed through challenge after challenge, but the twisted forest still swallowed the path ahead in shadows. And worse—Firkhan hadn’t smelled anything yet. No pulse of dark magic, no sulfur, no blood-thick scent of Koschei.

The wyvern had descended three times, enormous wings stirring the trees like thunder. Each time, he’d only blinked those golden eyes and shook his head once before vanishing back into the sky, invisible against the dark clouds.

And now—

“I’m way past the time Manon had assigned for me.”

Y/N’s voice came low, clipped, frustration curling in every syllable as she leaned against Firkhan’s warm side. The wyvern lay curled in a hollow of moss and stone, his translucent wings tucked close to his body like an exhausted sentinel. His presence was the only steady thing left in the wild.

Azriel stood a few feet away, checking the perimeter, his shadows flicking with agitation.

“She’ll understand,” he said eventually.

Y/N scoffed. “You don’t know her.”

“No,” he said, turning slightly. “But I know what it’s like to feel like you’re failing someone who trusted you.”

That shut her up. For a breath.

Then- “We’re going in circles, Azriel. This place, this whole cursed forest, is playing with us.”

His jaw clenched. “And we keep playing back. That’s the job.”

“Is it?” She pushed off Firkhan’s side, iron nails catching the moonlight. “Because I didn’t come here to get toyed with by a dead god’s leavings. I came here to destroy something.”

“So did I,” he said, voice sharp now. “But stomping around like you’re going to slice your way through a thousand-year-old maze of magic isn’t going to get us there any faster.”

She met his stare. “What would you rather I do? Sit here and braid flowers into Firkhan’s mane while we wait for Koschei to start breathing down your High Lord’s neck?”

His wings flared slightly behind him. “I’m saying you’re not the only one who wants to end this.”

They stood like that for a moment—breathing hard, not from exertion, but from restraint.

Y/N turned away first. Ran a hand through her hair. “I just... I don’t fail. I can’t afford to.”

Azriel’s voice came softer. “You think I can?”

She looked at him then. Really looked.

His face wasn’t unreadable this time. The tension in his jaw. The shadows pulled close to his shoulders like a shield. He was just as tired. Just as haunted.

A long silence passed between them.

Then, Y/N sighed, letting her claws retract.

She leaned back against Firkhan, whose massive head nudged her gently, a low rumble of reassurance vibrating through the stone beneath them.

Azriel sat down beside her a moment later, silent.

Neither of them spoke again for a long while.

Only the forest did--breathing, pulsing, watching. Waiting.

And somewhere beyond it all… the heart still beat.

Waiting to be found.

Y/N turned her head to him. "You seem frustrated."

Azriel sighed letting out an angry growl "I have been trying to reach Rhysands mind, to talk to him, talk to anyone at this point, but it hasn't been working and I don't understand why."

Y/N looked straight ahead. "It won't work, so don't tire yourself out."

Azriel looked at her in confusion. "And why is that?"

Y/N didn't look at him at first. She simply leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as the low hum of Firkhan’s breathing rumbled behind them like distant thunder.

Then she said, voice level, “Because Wildmere was designed to be a prison. Not just for creatures or for gods, but for anything that might try to enter or leave without permission. Communication magic, winnowing, tracking, it all dies here. Gets eaten by the forest.”

Azriel stared at her. “You knew?”

She gave a small shrug, iron nails lightly tracing the ridges of her palm. “I suspected. The way the air feels… it’s thicker. Charged. Whatever magic was used to curse this place is ancient and primal. Older than either of our worlds can probably remember.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me that earlier?”

Now she looked at him, her gaze flat and unapologetic. “What would you have done? Turned back? Panicked? Told Rhys to call it off?” A pause. “We’ve made it this far. Would knowing you couldn’t call home have changed how you fought through the last three trials?”

Azriel opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Because no,it wouldn’t have. Not really.

“I’ve survived in places where even thoughts aren’t safe,” she continued. “You adapt. You stop relying on help that isn’t coming. You move forward.”

A beat of silence.

“You really don’t trust anyone, do you?” he said, not accusing,just observing.

Y/N gave a soft huff that might’ve been a laugh. “Trust is expensive. I spend it rarely.”

Azriel looked away, shadows curling tighter around him as if shielding him from something unsaid.

Firkhan snorted, shifting beside them, his massive head lowering into the moss.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” she added after a moment, more quietly. “I just didn’t see the point of wasting breath on something neither of us can change.”

Azriel finally nodded, slow and grim. “Then I won’t waste breath on it either.”

They both sat in silence again, the moment heavier now, not angry, just worn. Both aware of how alone they truly were in this cursed, forsaken place.

Finally, Y/N murmured, almost to herself, “If he really buried his heart here… then he meant for no one to ever leave with it.”

Azriel’s eyes glinted in the dim light. “Then we’ll make him regret underestimating us.”

Y/N’s smirk was faint, but there. “Damn right, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel didn't know where this came from but it seemed like his mouth didn't listen to his brain as he blurted out "Do you have a mate?"

Y/N looked at him, wide-eyed, and then bursted out laughing.

Azriel was confused. "What?"

Still chuckling, Y/N looked at him once more. "We are witches. We don't have any mates."

Now it was Azriel whose eyes widened. "What- I mean...how? Doesn't everyone have a mate?"

Firkhan’s head lifted slightly, golden eyes glinting in the dark. He let out a low rumble that raised the hair on their arms.

Y/N stood, brushing moss from her trousers. “Enough talk. Time’s up.”

So she didn't like this one. Maybe this was too intimate of a matter for her. Or maybe she thought he didn't need to know this information.

Azriel didn't push, he rose beside her. “Let’s move.”

And once again, the forest swallowed them whole.

Suddenly, Y/N stopped and turned around to look at Azriel, eyes wide, as if she just realized something.

Azriel's brow lifted in suspicion. "What?"

Y/N, opened her mouth, eyes lost somewhere else as if she wasn't even talking to him.

Suddenly, Y/N stopped mid-step and spun around to face Azriel, her eyes wide, too wide. Not with fear, but realization.

Azriel’s brows furrowed, instantly alert. “What?”

But Y/N didn’t answer right away. Her gaze wasn’t even focused on him. It was distant, like she wasn’t seeing the twisted forest around them but something deeper, some hidden truth unfurling at last.

Her lips parted, and when she spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “We’re being played.”

Azriel blinked. “What do you mean?”

She began pacing in a small circle, muttering mostly to herself. “We’ve been moving through challenge after challenge: endless, brutal. And they haven’t lessened. Not once. If anything, they’ve become more unpredictable. More desperate. But what if…”

Azriel stepped closer, shadows crawling silently across the ground. “Y/N.”

She looked up sharply, something wild and sharp behind her eyes. “What if the heart isn’t a place?”

Azriel stared at her. “Explain.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, gathering her thoughts, the pieces slotting together. “Koschei’s power is rooted in rot, decay, illusions. We assumed the heart was hidden deep within the Wildmere, that all this--the challenges, the madness--was just a wall we had to break through. But what if that’s the lie?”

Azriel tilted his head. “You think the heart is… everywhere?”

“No,” she said slowly, her voice gaining certainty, “I think the heart is within the challenges. Part of them. A piece hidden in every test, every horror we’ve faced. It’s like we’ve been walking through pieces of his soul.”

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, processing. “That’s why it’s been getting stronger, more chaotic. We’ve been stepping closer each time, not geographically, but… spiritually.”

“Exactly.” Y/N looked around at the ancient trees, the corrupted mist, the way the earth pulsed subtly beneath them. “This forest, it is him. It listens. It watches. We’re not searching for a location. We’re awakening it.”

Azriel let that settle for a moment. “Then what do we do next?”

She turned in a slow circle, iron nails flexing. “We speak directly to it.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “Koschei?”

Y/N smirked darkly. “Oh, he’s listening. Has been from the start. I say… we stop playing by his rules.”

Then she raised her voice, sharp and clear, her tone cutting through the forest like a blade:

“I know what you are. And I’m done dancing for you.”

Azriel’s grin was slow, dark, and full of promise. “Now that sounds like a plan.”

From the trees above, a low vibration answered--something old and furious, stirred at last.

And as if Koschei had been waiting for this realization all along, the scenery shifted, pulling Y/N and Azriel into somewhere else entirely.

The forest screamed.

Not with sound,but with movement. The trees began to shift.

Azriel had seen countless battles, had faced terrors that would break the spine of any ordinary warrior,but nothing had prepared him for this. For the way the earth itself groaned beneath their boots, how roots curled like skeletal fingers to drag them under, how the sky had turned a deep, bruised violet above their heads.

They had found the heart.

Or… it had found them.

Firkhan roared from above, his massive body circling violently in the sky, wings slicing through the thickening clouds. The wyvern’s translucent body was flickering between visible and invisible, the magic in the air distorting even him.

Azriel’s shadows lashed out, trying to scout ahead, but they shrieked back into him,blinded, confused.

Y/N stood beside him, her eyes blazing silver. Her iron claws were already out, gleaming. “It’s here,” she breathed. “He knows.”

And then-

The forest exploded.

Not with fire. Not with weapons. But with bodies. They came from the trees. Not beasts, not soldiers. Specters. Hollow things made of bark and blood, faces frozen in silent screams. They didn’t speak. They didn’t breathe. They simply lunged.

Azriel met the first with a flash of his blades, shadows curling up around his arms like a second skin. He fought silently, efficiently, but even he felt the press of chaos. Every time one was cut down, another took its place. They didn’t bleed. They didn’t die easily.

Beside him, Y/N fought like a creature out of myth. Her claws shredded through the phantoms, her movements fast, brutal. And when one got too close, she snapped with her iron teeth, tearing through bark like it was wet paper. But for each one she felled, more came.

"This is endless!" Azriel snarled, kicking a phantom back into a tree, only for it to melt into mist and reform again.

“They’re not meant to be beaten,” Y/N hissed, spinning and driving her claws into one of the specters. “They’re meant to wear us down.”

A blast of dark magic burst from a tree’s core ahead. The bark cracked and peeled back, revealing the heart. Not a heart of flesh—but a pulsing core of black and gold light. It glowed like molten metal, rhythmically beating in the trunk of a tree that stretched impossibly high.

Y/N’s eyes locked onto it. “That’s it.”

But then, the air grew cold. So cold, even Azriel’s Illyrian blood shuddered.

Koschei.

His presence slid over them like a serpent winding around a neck. He didn’t appear physically--just a voice, low and ancient, curling through the trees.

“You are too late. The forest is mine.”

Y/N staggered, clutching her temple as his voice clawed through her mind. Azriel grabbed her, pulling her behind him with one arm while shadows leapt to shield them.

“I’ve got you,” he growled.

“No,” she rasped, pushing away from him, blood now dripping from her nose. “We need to end it. Now.”

She stumbled forward,right into the path of one of the phantoms. It slammed its twisted arm across her ribs and threw her into a tree.

“Y/N!”

Azriel moved before he could think, slicing through two specters and diving toward her. She was curled at the base of the tree, blood blooming from her side, gasping through clenched teeth.

He dropped to his knees beside her, shadows wrapping around them both. “Don’t move. Don’t- ”

“It’s cracked,” she hissed. “My ribs- ”

Azriel didn’t let her finish. His hands pressed to her sides, shadows curling protectively. “Stay down. I’ll hold them off.”

“You don’t have time- ” she gasped.

But Azriel had already stood, wings flaring wide, blades glowing with shadows that roared to life.

The sky above them split, Firkhan descending like death on wings.

And still, the heart pulsed.

Still, Koschei whispered.

Still, the battle raged.

And somewhere in that madness, Azriel made a promise, not aloud, but in the marrow of his bones.

She would not fall here.

Not in his watch. Not in Koschei’s cursed forest.

Not when he had anything left to give.

Azriel’s wings unfurled fully, casting long, looming shadows over the shattered ground beneath them. Firkhan roared above, his distorted, flickering form cutting through the bruised sky like a living thunderstorm. The phantoms surged closer, an endless tide of twisted bark and blood, their silent screams a chorus of despair.

Azriel’s blades sang through the air, shadows coiling like serpents with every strike. He moved with lethal grace, a dark storm in human form, but even he knew brute force alone wouldn’t shatter this nightmare. The heart, pulsing with molten black and gold, throbbed in the center of the ancient tree, a beacon and a curse. It wasn’t just power, it was the very soul of Koschei’s corruption.

Y/N’s breaths came shallow and ragged at his side, blood darkening her iron claws and the forest floor beneath her. Azriel’s sharp gaze flickered between her and the heart, determination hardening his jaw. I have to end this. For both of us.

The specters pressed in tighter, relentless as the dark tide. Azriel’s shadows whipped out, forming a swirling barrier that absorbed phantom claws and bark-like shards, buying precious seconds. He knelt beside Y/N briefly, fingers brushing her cheek with a tenderness that belied the fury in his eyes.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, voice steady but fierce. “I’ll end this. I promise.”

She managed a weak nod, her silver eyes flashing once more with that fierce, untamed light. You always do, they seemed to say.

Azriel surged to his feet, wings beating the heavy, cursed air. He pushed forward, moving as close to the heart as he dared, the twisted bark of the tree pulsing beneath his fingertips. The core radiated an unbearable heat, not warmth, but something corrosive, devouring from within.

Koschei’s voice slithered through the trees again, low and venomous, “Foolish shadow. You think you can grasp what is eternal? What I have bound in blood and bone?”

Azriel ignored the whispers, focusing every fiber of his being on the heart. He reached deep into the shadow realm, calling to the ancient power of his bloodline, the shadows that were more than darkness, but living essence, sharp as blades and deep as night.

With a roar that shook the forest, Azriel’s blades ignited in spectral shadows, glowing with a fierce light that cut through the murk and decay. He struck the heart, first once, then twice, each blow sending waves of black and gold rippling outward.

The forest screamed in agony.

The phantoms faltered, howling in silent rage as their source was wounded. But the heart fought back, tendrils of shadow and rot lashing out, trying to bind Azriel in eternal darkness.

He faltered for a moment, pain biting deep as the corruption tried to seep into his soul. But Azriel’s resolve only sharpened, this was not just a battle of strength, but will.

Summoning every shred of shadow and steel, he drove both blades deep into the core, channeling his fury and hope. The heart shattered in a cascade of molten shards, exploding into a storm of blinding light and shadow.

The forest convulsed, roots recoiling, the corrupted mist dissipating like smoke on a wind long overdue.

Koschei’s voice broke, fractured and fading, “This isn't the end, shadowsinger...”

Azriel stood panting, wings folding back slowly, the oppressive weight lifting from the air. Around them, the twisted trees began to straighten, the pulsating heartbeat of corruption silenced at last.

Y/N groaned softly beside him, pain etched deep but the fire in her eyes undiminished.

Azriel knelt, reaching for her again, a tired but triumphant smile tugging at his lips.

“We did it,” he said quietly, voice thick with exhaustion and relief. “It’s over.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the forest breathed free.

And Azriel, shadowed and scarred but unbroken, swore he’d never let darkness claim them again.

Azriel sank to his knees beside Y/N, his breath heavy but steady despite the toll the battle had taken. The pulsating black-and-gold heart was no more, but the wounds it left behind were still fresh, both on the land and on them. Y/N’s breaths were shallow, each one a sharp stab of pain radiating from her cracked ribs and the blood staining her side.

He shifted his cloak gently, carefully trying not to jostle her too much. Shadows coiled around his hands, soft and cool, weaving delicate threads of healing energy. It was a power Azriel had kept mostly for defense, but now, with grim determination, he called upon it to mend what the heart’s corruption had broken.

“Hold still,” he murmured, voice low and firm. The shadows pressed against Y/N’s skin, knitting flesh and bone together like a masterful seamstress, sealing cracks in her ribs and staunching the bleeding. The pain didn’t vanish instantly--far from it--but it dulled, becoming a dull ache beneath the magic’s careful touch.

Y/N’s silver eyes flickered open, meeting his with a spark of gratitude mingled with exhaustion. “You… you always come through,” she rasped.

Azriel gave a tired, crooked smile. “I’m not done yet. You’re too important to lose.”

He eased her into his arms, careful and protective, letting his wings envelop them both like a shadowed sanctuary. The forest around them was already beginning to heal, corrupted leaves wilting and new green buds pushing through the undergrowth, nature reclaiming what had been twisted.

“We need to get out of here,” Azriel said quietly. “Stay with me. I’ll carry you.”

Y/N nodded, eyes fluttering closed as the healing shadows continued their work, easing the sharpness in her chest.

Azriel rose, wings spreading wide to shield them from any lingering threats. His steps were steady but swift, moving through the forest with the grace of a predator, the shadows parting before him like a living cloak.

Every heartbeat was a reminder--this victory was hard-won, but survival meant moving forward. And he would carry Y/N through whatever came next.

As the forest’s twisted grip loosened behind them, Azriel’s resolve hardened. He wouldn’t just survive--he’d make sure the darkness they’d faced never rose again.

Once they were out, Azriel winnowed them back. The familiar air of the House of Wind wrapping around him like a balm after the suffocating, corrupted forest. He carried Y/N carefully in his arms, her weight lighter than he expected, though the bloodstains on her side told a harsher truth. The others were gathered in the main hall, the tension in the room thick—like the air before a storm.

Mor and Amren stood near the tall windows, exchanging hurried words. Nesta and Cassian leaned against the hearth, faces drawn and exhausted. Rhys and Feyre were by the stairs, eyes sharp, concern etched deep.

The moment they entered, voices rose in a chorus.

“You took so long,” Cassian’s voice was rough but relieved.

Azriel’s gaze flicked to him. “How long?”

Cassian’s grim smile faltered. “Five entire days.”

Feyre stood up from the couch, coming closer to Azriel. "We've all been trying to reach you but we couldn't get an answer."

Azriel sighed, "It was the damn forest, the air in the, it's magic, I couldn't reach any of you either because of that."

A murmur rippled through the room. Y/N stirred slightly, getting down but still leaning against Azriel for support. He stiffened but didn’t pull away.

Rhys narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. “You’re injured. Are you alright?”

Y/N’s silver eyes flickered open. “I’m fine,” she said, voice steady but faint.

She looked at Amren and asked, “When can you open the portal again? I need to go back home.”

The room quieted at her words.

Azriel’s mouth opened, then blurted out before he could stop himself: “Do you really?”

Everyone turned, surprised by his tone.

He cleared his throat, voice rough. “I mean, you are injured after all.”

Y/N gave a small, wry smile. “Manon will be both worried and pissed. She already is. I’m way past the assigned time. I bet they all think I’m dead by now.”

Amren’s eyes glinted. “Give me a few hours.”

Y/N nodded, easing down onto the couch Feyre offered. Azriel never left her side, standing like a silent guardian.

Tea was brought, warm and fragrant, a sharp contrast to the cold metal taste of battle still lingering in his mouth.

The group settled, the fire crackling softly as they began to recount what had transpired in their separate quests. Mor and Amren spoke of the tidal cliffs, how the mirror-anchor shimmered beneath the waves, how the ocean roared with a power Koschei had tried to steal. Nesta and Cassian told of the Forgotten Vale’s haunted soil, the blood magic that bled from the earth itself, and how fire had cleansed the curse—though at a heavy cost.

Azriel’s mind wandered, watching Y/N carefully as she sipped her tea, the faintest flicker of pain crossing her face when she moved too sharply. He remembered the forest’s pulse, the way the heart had throbbed like a living wound beneath the bark, and the relentless onslaught of phantoms that had threatened to tear them apart. He thought of the shadows he’d summoned, not just to fight but to heal, to hold her together when the world had tried to unravel her.

In the quiet moments between their words, Azriel’s thoughts circled around a single, stubborn truth: they had survived, but the cost was far from over. The forest’s corruption was gone, but Koschei’s reach remained—fractured, yes, but dangerous.

"So, I guess my debt to Amren is paid at last."

And Y/N was leaving.

Azriel shouldn't care, after all, she did come here for the mission in the first place. But.... the moments they shared, the conversations they had....Azriel couldn't ignore that. His interest, his curiosity kept rising when he looked at her. She was everything and more that they said about her, yes. But she was also so different. He still had so many questions, so many conversations that he wanted to have with her.

Amren returned then, sharp-eyed and satisfied. “Alright, it’s ready.”

Y/N exhaled through her nose. Relief, maybe. Or weariness. Or regret.

They all followed her into the garden behind the House, bathed in the violet hue of the setting sun. The Sidra shimmered below, and the distant wind caught in the high pines.

Firkhan was waiting, perched like a statue of obsidian and smoke on the cliff edge. The wyvern’s translucent wings had returned to full visibility, glittering faintly in the fading light. He huffed once as Y/N approached, nuzzling her side gently--carefully--where she was still bruised. She placed a hand against his snout, murmuring something in her own language. Something old and sacred.

Y/N exhaled through her nose. Relief, maybe. Or weariness. Or regret.

Cassian, arms crossed but expression oddly soft, offered a nod. “You ever want to visit again, I’ll save you a sparring spot.”

Y/N smirked, the silver in her eyes brightening. “Only if you promise not to cry when I flatten you.”

Nesta arched a brow. “She’s serious.”

“I believe her,” Cassian muttered, half to himself.

Feyre stepped forward next. “Thank you, for what you did. What you gave. It wasn’t your war, but you fought like it was.”

Y/N inclined her head. “It became my war the moment I stepped into that forest.”

Rhys gave a small, approving smile. “And you walked out of it.”

“Barely,” Azriel murmured under his breath, but she heard it.

Amren was last. She held out a small, shining obsidian coin- an anchor token, Azriel recognized. Rare, dangerous, used for long-distance magical travel when gates were unstable.

“Send my regards to Manon,” Amren said. “Tell her I haven’t forgotten that bottle of blackfire she owes me.”

Y/N’s grin returned, sharp and wild. “She’ll pretend she has. But I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”

Amren gave a snort and turned, already bored with sentiment.

Y/N ran her hand along Firkhan’s scales once more, then turned to Azriel. The others, sensing something in the air, quietly stepped back. Shadows deepened in the corners of the garden.

He hadn’t moved.

“You’ll be alright?” he asked, voice low.

“I’ve survived worse.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

A pause. Her silver gaze met his. “I’ll be alright,” she said again, gentler this time.

Azriel nodded, but his jaw was clenched. There were still a thousand questions clawing in his throat. Not about war. Not about magic. About her.

She studied him for a long moment. “You could visit, you know.”

He blinked. “I- what?”

Y/N shrugged one shoulder, casual and not at all casual. “We’ve got plenty of cursed forests too. Would make you feel right at home.”

His mouth lifted in the barest smile. “And a brooding spymaster with too many shadows won’t draw attention?”

“I think we’d survive the scandal.”

Another silence, but not uncomfortable.

Then she looked to the sky. “Firkhan’s ready. And… they’ve waited long enough.”

Azriel’s hand twitched at his side. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t stop her.

But gods, he wanted to.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, one last time.

She turned to look at him over her shoulder.

His shadows curled around his boots, uncertain.

“I meant what I said. Back in the forest. I wasn’t going to let you fall.”

Something flickered in her gaze. “I know.”

And then she stepped away. Climbed onto Firkhan’s back with the ease of a queen mounting a throne. No crown. No farewell.

Just fire in her blood and steel in her spine.

Firkhan launched into the air with a blast of wind and light, his wings cutting through the violet dusk as they entered the portal and vanished completely.

Azriel watched until they were gone.

Until the stars blinked open, silent and still.

And still he stood there.

Because the thing he wouldn’t say--the truth clawing quietly beneath his skin--was that he hadn’t expected to care.

Not for the shadows she had walked through.

Not for the strength behind her teeth.

Not for the ghost of her laughter when no one was listening.

But he did.

And now she was gone.

She came into my world like a storm with no warning. And left just as fast. But storms leave marks behind. And something tells me… this isn’t the end of our story. Not yet.

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