mcuamerica

[mcuamerica]

Aww this little series is so good! I want more!!!

Can I be added to the tag list??

Crush | Azriel x reader [Masterlist]

Oneshot-Series: Every part of this story can be read separately.

Summary: When a big bad Illyrian warrior falls head over heels in love with a sweet baker lady from Velaris.

A/N: I love this story so much you guys, it's literally all fluff and I'm channeling all my impossibly high standards into this to cope with the disappointment that are real-life men.

Feel free to drop a request if you have any scenarios in mind that you feel would make a good addition to the story and lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

Warnings: all the fluff, somewhere along the lines of grumpy x sunshine, some SMUT (*)

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Just a Little Crush - Everyone secretly longs for Azriel, but Azriel only longs for her.

Every Time We Touch* - Azriel gets with his crush, the lucky bastard.

Body and Soul - Azriel and his love spend some time discovering each other’s stories and bodies.

Apple Pies and Family Ties - Azriel brings a girl home to meet his family for the first time ever.

Flour Prints* - The recreation of Feysand’s infamous paint scene followed by an important step in their relationship.

A Matter of Firsts - Azriel and his love get into their first fight.

Starfall Nights - Starfall is tough without her mother. But this year is special.

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last updated: March 2025

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More moodboards made by my sweet @itsswritten ❤️

[mcuamerica]

Biscuits & Jam | Cassian x Reader

Pairing: Cassian x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dawn Court's best tinker/blacksmith and the Night Court's Lord of Bloodshed work on weapons together... but spending all that time together leads to something more. Requested by @runnergirl234 here.

Warnings: pure fluff, soft Cassian, mentions of battle

The bell above the door to your shop chimed once and you glanced up from the weapon you were boxing. “Hello.” You said, noticing the wings and the leathers on the male. He most certainly is not from the Dawn Court. From his wings alone you know he is Illyrian. And Illyrians don’t travel to the Dawn Court for many reasons. “How can I help you?” You asked, smiling at the warrior. 

“You’re not going to step back and cower?” He asked and raised his eyebrows. His gravelly voice does something to your knees, but you stand your ground. 

“No… is that a normal occurrence with females for you? Because that sounds like a problem.” You said, your heart seizing when he let out a loud laugh. 

“Oh, you’re funny.” He said and sent a breathtaking smile your way. If you didn’t know better, you would think there was a tug on your ribs, towards this male. But… it couldn’t be. “It’s a common occurrence for anyone outside of my home Court.” He said. 

His dazzling smile, the stubble along his jaw, the golden flecks in his hazel eyes. You shook your head slightly, taking in his leathers again. “You must be General Cassian.” You said, pushing the box to the side. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. How can I help you?” You asked again, though your heart rate picked up since the first time asking. 

“I was tasked with finding the best blacksmith to recreate some weapons.. Thesian directed me to you.” He said and set the bag he was carrying down on one of the work tables. You walked around the counter, noticing how much he towers over you as you looked at the weapons. His body heat radiates towards you. You are a dawn court resident, you’re used to the heat in the summer. In these circumstances, you can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by it. Why is he so attractive? 

“I’m honored that Thesian has such faith in my abilities.” You said and looked at the weapons. Your eyes widened slightly. “Is this Iridam?” You asked. “Where did you find this?” 

“These have been in our supply rooms for quite some time. And it so happens they are perfect weapons to killing Attors.” He said. “Is there a way to replicate them? I can provide more of the stone.” He said. 

“Metal… it’s metal.” You corrected as you looked at the craftsmanship of the sword. “I can… but… can I ask why you want swords?” You asked. 

“Because it’s what we’re trained with for the most part. Why? Do you have a better suggestion?” He asked, but with no condescension in his tone. 

“I think a shotel would work better for Attors. Especially if they are flying. Easier to catch on the curve.” You said. “I suppose that’s what I would make for ground soldiers… but I assume you are wanting them for more Illyrians.” You said.

“No… a shotel actually might be better… especially with the… metal. I know it’s more prone to bending anyway.” He said. “How many can you have ready by the end of the week?” 

“I’d say about 20, if I finish the orders I have today.” You said. “It’s only me.” You said and shrugged. 

“I could help… make it 40?” He asked and you looked up at him. 

“Oh… I couldn’t ask you to put your own labor-“

“If it means I get to spend more time with you, I’d very much like if.” He said. 

Heat rushed to your neck as you stumbled over your next words. “Oh… okay.” You said and gave him a small smile. “I would like the help… but do you have the metal?” You asked, changing the subject so your heart doesn’t leap out of your chest. 

“I’ll go grab it. And… I have a few other ideas for a couple mechanisms. Thesian mentioned you weren’t just a blacksmith. Maybe I can run them by you?” He asked. 

“I’ve never really been to war. But I’d be happy to help.” You said and smiled softly. 

Cassian came back later in the day when the shop was closed. You had finished all your orders and closed down for the week, knowing it would take most of your time with the order. Plus, if a certain General was going to spend his time with you, you didn’t want any distractions. 

“So, how did you get into this business?” He asked. 

You looked over to him and gave him a small smile as you took the metal from his hands, careful not to make contact out of fear you may scare him. 

“My father was a blacksmith. And believe it or not, he was very happy when I decided to take over the business.” You said. “My mother and him are living their lives out on the coast now, along with my younger brother. Plus, when I was a child, I loved to take things and put them together. It was always a lot of fun for me. Challenged me. My teachers hated that I would change the way they taught us how to make things. But it always turned out I made it a better way. And quicker too.” 

“The Master Tinker…” A soft smile came to his lips.  “Does your family survive off of what the business made?” He asked. 

“I send them money every now and then, but they’re well off. My mother was the daughter of an emissary. When he passed, she received all his funds.” You explained. “But, she was never close with her father. And we didn’t live that well when I was growing up. This shop was all that I knew.” 

“It’s honorable for you to continue the business. Even if you didn’t need to.” Cassian said. “Do you get a lot of business?” 

“Yeah, I do. Ever since Thesian came back from Under the Mountain, he decided that I was his #1 recommendation for a blacksmith.” You said. “And I also love to make new concepts for designs. I’ll spend all night up just thinking of exactly how to make something work.” You explained. 

“Like what?” He asked, leaned a little closer to you. 

And so you went off on a tangent, rambling to Cassian about the new device you were trying to create. Something like an easy device to carry a faelight when someone with less power needs it. “Like the lights on the wall. But portable. I just can’t get it to bind quite yet. But I’m almost there.” You said happily, turning around. You stumbled and held onto the mold in your hands as you ran into Cassian’s chest. 

“You are incredible.” He whispered. 

Your breath hitched and your eyes widened as you looked up at him. 

“Oh… sorry.” He said and stepped back, clearing his throat. That would have been incredibly creepy… if you weren’t undeniably attracted to the male. “I just.. I’d love to hear more about your devices.” He said. 

You gathered yourself as you set the mold on your work table. “Sure.” You said quietly, then proceeded to talk about all of the inventions you had helped make. “I’m terrible at making potions though. And burning magic and metal is difficult work.” You finally finished. 

He was still staring, but continued to work on the mold in front of him. “You know… if you’re ever wanting somewhere else to reside… I think there may be a place for a Master Blacksmith in the Night Court.” Cassian finally spoke. 

“Oh… I appreciate the offer. But I love being in Dawn…” you said. “I always have been one to work late into the night and not in the early morning like most residents.” You corrected. 

The thought of you being so far away once Cassian went back home hurt. He couldn’t describe it, but he was going to miss you. 

By the end of the week, you had been enthralled by Cassian. He opened up to you about his childhood, how he made his way to General of the Night Court armies. You also learned that his favorite food was biscuits that Rhys’s mother had made one time. And he loved them even more if they were covered in homemade jam. 

While you weren’t an expert baker, you had some skill when it came to the kitchen. You also had a close friend that had a farm on the outskirts of the city. So, you left a note for Cassian when he would arrive later and made your way there. You picked up the jam that you requested. Your friend happened to have his favorite on hand, etherberries. They were similar to the strawberries that you loved, but had a slight tart aftertaste that Cassian said he found interesting. 

When you made it back, Cassian was already there and working on the shotels. 

“I have a couple things to do upstairs.. Why don’t you come up when you’re done with this one?” You asked him. 

He shot you that breathtaking smile and nodded. “Of course.” He said. 

You knew it would take at least 2 hours for him to finish what he was working on, so you had just enough time to make the biscuits. You wanted to thank him for the company he gave you during the week. His kindness and his helpfulness. The people of Dawn were sweet, and always nice to you, but having Cassian around was different. It was like his praise and attention meant more. And maybe it did. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you wanted his constant praise and amazement all the time. When he left, it would be bittersweet. He would be leaving to help defend his Court but he would be leaving you. And you weren’t sure you were ready to say goodbye. 

You made sure to hide the smell of the biscuits so Cass couldn’t smell them, and when he came upstairs finally, you had a clean towel draped over them. The jam was hidden precisely so he couldn’t see either. You were nervously bouncing on your heels when he made his way up and washed his hands. 

There was something endearing about him being the one covered in soot, smelling like fire and metal. It was only ever you here before. You never got the chance to actually have anyone other than friends over. And even that wasn’t too often. You were so busy, especially now that Thesian decided you were the best tinker and blacksmith in the Court. 

But Cassian being here was different from when your friends were here. This meant something. What, you couldn’t place. But it did nonetheless. 

“So… what have you been working on up here all the time?” He asked as he sat down at the counter, leaning his strong forearms against the stone. 

“Well… I wanted to thank you for your help this week. And I know you’re going to say it’s for you and your Court anyway… but it was very kind. I.. I enjoyed your company while you were here.” You said and pushed the bowl towards him, then lifted the towel off of the biscuits along with revealing the jam. “So I wanted to make this for you. I hope you like it.” You said, a warmth creeping up on your neck. 

“I can’t.” He said, his tone slightly more serious than you had heard it before. 

Your gaze snapped up. Maybe you had presumed that he would like these. This was something dear to him. You overstepped in thinking he would like these. Especially coming from you, a female he only met a few days ago. “Oh… okay.. That’s.. That’s fine.” You said, a knot working its way into your throat. “I’ll set them aside for myself - later… someone.” You cleared your throat and shook your head. 

“No.. (Y/N) that’s not what I meant.” He whispered and stopped you from pulling away the bowl, his hand on your forearm. “I can’t accept food from you.” He said. 

You furrowed your eyebrows and tilted your head. “I’m sorry if I overstepped-” 

“I can’t accept this because you are my mate.” He said gently, his eyes bearing into yours. “And considering the look on your face, you don’t know that. I wouldn’t want to accept it without you knowing-” 

“Eat.” You stopped him, staring right back into those gold-flecked hazel eyes. 

He paused, searching your eyes. “What?” You hadn’t seen him this stunned yet. 

“I may have not realized… but I know it. Deep down, Cass. I know you’re my mate. And the Mother has blessed me with you as a mate. I’m not going to sit back and wait. Eat.” You whispered. “If you want-” 

Before you could even finish the sentence, Cassian was uncapping the jam and spreading it over the biscuits. You felt the bond snap completely into place as he took the first bite, letting out a ludicrous sound of delight. 

“These are fantastic.” He whispered, finishing the biscuit and moving the bowl aside. “And I can finish these later… But I need to have a taste of my mate first.” His voice was low and gravelly. Like he needed water. But you weren’t going to question what he needed as you rounded the counter. You giggled as he pulled you close to him and his lips landed on yours. You could taste the buttery biscuit and sweet, but tart, jam on his lips. And when you opened your mouth for his tongue, you could taste him. You sunk into his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulled you on his lap. 

Lets just say that neither you, nor Cassian, left your shop for the next month. 

A/N: I'm picturing this takes place after Frost & Starlight.

Also, there is going to be one more part to this just because I want to develop them actually being mates and working together. Not sure when that will come out, but soon hopefully!

[mcuamerica]

You know… for how much they talked about hair being a liability, there’s no hair pulling at all.

[mcuamerica]

I promise I’m working on the Cassian ask AND the Azris fic I mentioned. I’m just super busy at work and getting time to write is hard 😩 but it’s happening I promise!

[mcuamerica]

Jealous Shadows

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Azriel's shadows have always been loyal, always obeyed him without question. Until now. Until they start misbehaving whenever another man so much as looks at you.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,066

Notes: This is my first fic, I hope you like it! :)

~~~~~

The first time it happens, you don't think much of it.

You're at Rita's with the Inner Circle, nursing a drink at the bar while Cassian and Mor dance somewhere among the crowded space. The music thrums through the air, and the conversation hums around you when a male slides into an empty seat beside you.

"Didn't think someone like you would be sitting alone," he says, flashing a grin.

You don't even get the chance to respond before a flicker of something moves between you.

The male frowns, swiping at his hair, which has suddenly transformed from being neatly styled to sticking up in wild angles, as if an invisible force had run its hands through it... aggressively.

You blink in surprise.

He mutters a curse, trying to fix it, but the moment he smooths it down, the strands spring right back up. His frustration grows, hands swiping over his head repeatedly.

"I- what the hell?" he grumbles. "Is this air cursed or something?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a laugh.

And then you feel it.

A cool, familiar brush against your wrist.

Slowly, you glance down—just in time to see a shadow curling around your fingers before slipping away.

Your stomach flips.

You don't even need to turn around to know exactly where Azriel is.

~~~~~

The second time it happens, it's harder to ignore.

You and Azriel are training in the House of Wing, and the session has drawn some attention—mainly from a visiting group of Illyrians who very clearly wanted to spar with you.

One in particular, a cocky warrior named DAIN, is relentless. He lingers, circling the ring as Azriel corrects your stance, his gloved hands light against your arms.

"You sure you don't want a real sparring partner, sweetheart?" Dain calls, grinning. "I promise I'll go easy on you."

Azriel stills.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly before he steps back, shadows slithering at his feet. "She's training," he says evenly, but there's an obvious warning beneath the words.

Dain chuckles. "Training is nice and all, but I'd be happy to teach her a few things myself."

Something cold coils around your ankles.

Before you can react, the shadows yank. Not hard. Just enough to make you stumble backwards, right into Azriel's chest.

Your breath catches.

His hands steady you, fingers gripping your waist for a fraction of a second before he forces himself to let you.

You glance up at him, about to ask whether or not that was intentional, but his jaw is tight, hazel eyes locked on Dain.

Azriel's shadows have started to shift.

Not the lazy, fluid movements they usually have—but sharp, possessive flickers that wrap around you. One curls over your shoulder, while another drapes across your wrist, looping around like a claim.

You shiver, pulse skittering.

Dain seems to notice, too. His smirk falters, his eyes flicking between you and the swirling darkness. "Uh-"

The shadows snap toward him.

Not touching—just close. Close enough to make him step back.

You swear you hear them hiss.

Dain swallows hard. "Right. I, uh, should probably-"

Azriel doesn't blink. Doesn't move.

Dain takes the hint. He all but scrambles away, muttering under his breath.

And just like that, the shadows slip away, leaving you cold.

You whip around, crossing your arms. "What was that about?"

Azriel frowns, too casual. "What was what?"

"Oh, I don't know," you say dryly. "Maybe terrorizing a man into running for his life?"

His brow furrows, like he truly doesn't know what you're talking about. "I didn't do anything."

You narrow your eyes. Then one last shadow curls around your wrist before darting away like a child caught misbehaving.

Azriel glares at it.

Your lips part. "You have got to be kidding me."

His expression darkens as more shadows flick around you, playful now.

Azriel sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. "They don't usually-"

"Get jealous?" You finish for him, holding back a smile.

Silence.

His throat bobs.

And then—quietly, almost too quiet—you hear his shadows whisper something.

A name.

Your name.

And you realize—maybe it's not just his shadows who are jealous.

Your breath hitches. Azriel's wings rustle. And he looks like he's about to bolt.

Which is just unacceptable.

You cross your arms, tilting your head back to study him. "You know, I think your shadows like me more than they like you."

Azriel exhales sharply. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" You smirk, glancing down as a shadow curl lazily around your wrist. You give it a little wiggle, and the shadow clings tighter.

Azriel scowls at it. "Traitor."

A laugh bubbles out of you. You can't help it.

The great and terrifying Shadowsinger, bested by his own shadows.

"Oh, this is too good," you say, beaming up at him. "All this time, and they've secretly been on my side."

Azriel mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. His wings twitch again. His shadows flick in annoyance—except the ones still clinging to you, moving to curl around your waist like they never want to let go.

You bite back a grin. "I mean, it makes sense." You gesture vaguely at them. "They probably just think I'd be a much better master."

Azriel gives you a deadpan stare. "That's not how this works."

"I don't know," you hum, pretending to consider it. "They seem pretty happy right now."

As if to prove your point, one shadow playfully loops around your fingers.

Azriel glowers. "You're encouraging them."

You give him an innocent smile. "Would I do that?"

He sighs, but you catch it—the way the corner of his mouth twitches. The way his gaze softens, just a little.

And then, so softly you almost miss it, he murmurs, "They have good taste, at least."

Your breath catches.

Your teasing falters for half a second before you recover. "So, you admit they like me more?"

Azriel exhales, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

You grin. "And you love it."

He doesn't answer. But the way his shadows linger—curling, warm, content—tells you everything you need to know.

~~~~~

Cassian walks in moments later, takes one look at Azriel's shadows practically cuddling you, and immediately points.

"I knew it!" He boasts.

Azriel pinches the bridge of his nose. His shadows flick toward Cassian, clearly unimpressed.

And you?

You just laugh.

Because really—Azriel might deny it all he wants, but his shadows?

They don't lie.

[mcuamerica]

The shadow man’s secrets

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 3.5k | warnings: mentions of shackles and kidnapping

Summary: based on this request - the spymaster of the Night Court is harboring a secret and Nesta Archeron is determined to figure out what it is. What happens when she discovers the secret isn’t a what but rather a whom?

A/N: thank you to this request!! It’s late but this fic was so fun (wanted it done for Halloween but 🤡) Happy free day for @sjmromanceweek!

Something was going on with Azriel. The other members of the Inner Circle might not have noticed, but Nesta sure did. The shadowsinger always kept things close to his vest, his personal life a secret to his whole family. Nesta was certain he had an entire life they had no idea about. 

But something had happened recently and Nesta couldn’t quite pinpoint what it meant. 

Nesta had run into Azriel the other morning as if he were just coming back into the house, even though she knew he had spent the night at the House of Wind. It left her so confused, she spent the rest of the day confused and stuck in her own head. 

These days he seemed to have less shadows following him about, the light allowing Nesta to see more of his face. The bags beneath his eyes had lessened and he seemed brighter. Azriel had even been a bit more vocal at family gatherings. 

She hadn’t said anything when she saw him, merely nodded at him in greeting before he disappeared once more. She had turned the brief interaction over and over in her mind, searching for any detail she may have missed. 

“He’s seeing someone.”

Cassian choked on his smoothie, a chunk of banana getting caught in his throat. The mated pair had been enjoying a quiet breakfast until the realization hit Nesta hard and fast.

Yes. He was seeing someone. Someone he cared about. 

“You can’t be serious. We’ve talked about this.” Cassian looked down at the smoothie he spilt on himself, dabbing at his shirt with a towel as he spoke. The topic had come up before, but Nesta hadn’t felt so resolute and convinced as she did now.

“Cassian, I’m sure of it.”

“Have you seen this mysterious fae?”

“No, but-“

“Nesta,” he sighed, throwing the towel onto the counter, “Azriel’s love life has been a mystery to all of us for a long time. Believe me, if he’s keeping secrets, I want to be the first to know.”

Nesta let the words hang in the air, taking a bite of her bowl of oats. She watched Cassian’s face for a moment, an idea forming. 

“Let’s find out.”

The couple made a plan they felt quite proud of: they’d covertly ask Rhys about Azriel’s upcoming schedule, and on the nights he was staying at the House of Wind, they would stay up and follow him out.

It sounded so easy, surely within a night or two they would catch where he snuck off to, finding him with a lover, putting an end to Nesta’s curiosity.

Cassian was quite proud of himself when asking Rhysand about their brother’s schedule. He had been debating all sorts of reasons as to why he should know Azriel’s whereabouts from planning a surprise for him to wanting to make him a nice meal. He knew Rhys would see through those reasons, so he went for a much simpler reason.

The two were lounging lazily in Rhys’s office, the deep purple curtains blowing softly in the breeze. Rhys had hummed after Cassian asked about Azriel’s schedule, finally looking up at his brother before Cassian quickly sputtered out.

“You know, so Nes and I can have alone time.”

Rhys tilted his head, analyzing Cassian’s face as he took the question in. He leaned back in his chair, a slight creak as his weight shifted.

“Since when have the two of you ever cared about having an audience?”

Cassian rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs, anticipating the question. He leaned in conspiratorially, dropping his voice as if Azriel would hear. “Well, we were talking and we felt a bit bad after everything at Solstice, ya know? We’ve been trying to be more delicate.”

Rhys rubbed his eyes, clearly not swayed on the reason, but not sure if he cared enough to know the full truth. “He’ll be gone Saturday through Tuesday, otherwise he has no commitments that aren’t small and local.”

The two continued on their ‘meeting’ - mostly drinking while Rhys reviewed mind numbing documents. It was rare Cassian got to spend time alone with Rhysand these days. Nyx and Feyre kept his brother’s attention nearly every moment of the day.

He didn’t harbor any ill will about it, but the crackling fire and silence transported Cassian back to a much younger body. One with less scars and aches, less sure of himself. How every evening of his youth was accompanied by Rhys and Azriel, the three complaining about whatever fresh new horrors training had laid upon them that day.

Had Az felt this distance with Rhys or even Cassian? Sure, he lived in the House of Wind with him, but the general hardly saw him. Guilt flooded his chest, trying to remember the last time he devoted any attention to Azriel directly. 

Cassian spent the rest of his afternoon in Rhys’s office, thoughts far away from the brother before him. 

-

For the rest of the week, Cassian went out of his way to seek out Az. He found him for meals, looking for him to do work together, asking to go on flights together. The sudden clinginess had met little resistance from Azriel, just confusion from the shadowsinger. 

During the night, Cassian would leave his brother, and he and Nesta waited, lurking the halls of the House of Wind to see what they would find. 

The first three nights were unsuccessful, the mated pair falling asleep in the hallway during their shifts before giving up and retreating to their beds. It felt odd staying up so late with little results, but the pair were determined to catch Azriel.

On the fourth and groggy night, the pair had changed to watching in shifts. Nesta took the first watch and would wake Cassian to take the second watch. Cassian agreed easily, exhaustion overtaking his body quickly after the extra training he had been doing with Azriel.

Cassian hadn’t slept for that long when he felt Nesta tugging the bond intently. He reluctantly got up, letting the bond drag him through the halls of the house. He finally found his mate standing at the balcony doors, urging him to hurry up.

“He just took off - we have to follow him.”

Guilt stirred in Cassian’s chest, an unpleasant pang creeping back in that he had a hand in his brother’s loneliness. He didn’t want to follow his brother, and wanted to afford him some privacy in the company he kept these days. 

But the general scooped up his mate anyway, wings taking off, slicing through air currents. Cassian’s wings flapped slowly in the wind, trying to stay as silent as possible as the two flew over Velaris. His hands gripped tighter around Nesta as the air got colder, the altitude rising to hide between the clouds.

They followed Azriel to the outskirts of Velaris, watched him land at the gate to a small, quaint home. It was charming - a white house with wood trim, a round door, and a small garden in the front. Cassian glided in the air, watching Azriel walk into the home before he closed the door behind him.

After a moment, the pair made their descent, landing softly on the ground. After setting Nesta down, the two slunk through the night, making little disturbance as they made it to the front door.

Nesta pressed her long ear to the door, listening for any movement before gently reaching her hand out and twisting the knob. It moved with ease, a quiet one could only find in the dead of night.

The mated pair crept in, slowly shutting the door behind them before gazing at each other, a silent now what? exchanged in their glances.

They both took in the dark house, scanning across the bookshelves that littered the common room. Books were strewn about the place. Papers were scattered everywhere. Mugs sat out on the tables, lonely tea bags left in the bottoms of them.

This was certainly not Azriel’s home, Cassian thought. Azriel’s room was incredibly bare boned, not even appearing to be lived in. But this place, with a worn couch and still warm fireplace, called out a level of domesticity Nesta doesn’t think she’s ever had.

Cassian began tracing his thumb across the spines of books, none of the titles familiar to him. He was just about to sit on the couch when Nesta pulled him away, dragging him to a staircase. He wanted to stop the madness, guilt sinking into his gut at the invasion of privacy, continuing on in spite of what he knew was wrong. 

The hallway was small, Cassian’s wings tucking in tight to squeeze through. Paintings hung on the walls, but it was too dark to make out the subjects. At the top of the stairs was a hallway which had three doors coming off of it. Cassian pointed his finger at the doors, moving his hand between them in decision. Muttering something under his breath, his finger landed on the door in the middle. The two began making their way to the door, until they heard shuffling from behind it.

The two quickly changed direction and moved into the closest room, closing the door quickly behind them. Cassian’s wings barely fit through the door, but he managed somehow, turning to gaze at the door, half wondering how he’s going to get out. Nesta’s hand on his arm made him still, the soft dig of her nails an unwelcome feeling for the first time.

Cassian turned, taking in the room they chose. Just as cozy as the rest of the house, the room was filled with knick knacks and trinkets, the place seeming well loved. He wasn’t certain what had stopped Nesta until his eyes landed on the bed, finding a female’s form covered by a large comforter.

The female slumbered, her breathing heavy as Nesta watched her. Her mind whirled, doubt creeping in that they had gotten this all wrong. Azriel had a girlfriend and that was that.

Nesta knew Azriel was a bit odd, always keeping secrets. A secret girlfriend shouldn’t surprise her, but the air still held a note of sinister to it.

She began turning away, pushing Cassian to go back to the door, when the female shifted, her foot moving out from the blanket and Nesta’s blood ran cold.

“Cass.”

A faebane shackle laid across her ankle.

She turned to Cassian, pointing her index finger at the shackle but it was too late. Something cold wrapped around her shoulder, a deep voice in her ear whispering, “what are you doing?”

Nesta let out a scream from deep in her soul before turning to find the shadowsinger behind her. He was towering over her, and it was then Nesta understood the icy rage so many had described him having. His shadows were slithering all around him in agitation, his stare making Nesta’s stomach plummet. She shot out a fist, instinct kicking in before Azriel caught her hand, holding it tight.

Hazel eyes had targeted onto hers, his hand holding tight around her fist as she tried to push him off her.

“Let her go, Az.” Cassian’s jaw clenched, preparing to fight his brother. Cassian was shocked at this secret life his brother had. He knew that the shadowsinger had an unsavory job, but he never thought his brother could resort to this.

“Not before she tells me what the two of you are doing here.”

“What we are doing here? You’ve kidnapped someone, Az!” Her free hand flung out to the direction of the female on the bed, surely drugged by how the rocuse hadn’t woken her. Azriel’s eyes followed Nesta’s hand, his jaw ticking at having been caught. 

“She’s none of your business.” Any warmth Azriel had shown Nesta was gone from his voice, a cold timber that nearly made Nesta collapse.

Cassian put an arm around Nesta’s shoulders, trying to pull her away from Azriel. “Brother, what are you doing? Why is she-“

“She’s none of your concern.” Azriel’s voice was clipped, sharp with agitation. He stepped toward them, his shadows peering over his shoulder making him seem a foot taller. “Now, why are you two here?”

Cassian growled at his brother, forming a shield in front of Nesta. His blood was roaring, Illyrian drive revving up in preparation for anything. Azriel stood his ground, a menacing shadow towering over Cassian. 

The general looked back at the bed, the split second he spent watching the steady rise and fall of the female’s breathing lasting almost a lifetime.

A hundred possibilities moved through Cassian’s mine, a slideshow of what ifs and regrets. He knew the best course of action now was to flee, to run, to get Rhysand. If Azriel had gone rogue, truly going off the deep end, were Cassian and Nesta enough to fight him?

He didn’t wait to find out. Cassian turned his back on his brother before grabbing Nesta’s waist. He carried her to the balcony in a sprint, crashing through the doors before taking to the skies with Nesta in his arms.

“Cassian, we have to go back! We have to save her.” Nesta’s words were accented with her fist making contact with Cassian’s shoulder.

“Nesta, if what we saw was real, we have to tell Rhys. We can’t fight this by ourselves.”

The General had never flown so fast before, yelling for Rhys in his mind only to get no response. The pair landed on a balcony outside the River House that Cassian knew led directly into Rhys’s study. After setting Nesta down, he opened the door, stopping as he saw both of his brothers already conversing.

“Cassian,” Rhys purred, irritation twinkling in his eye the only hint at his annoyance. “How lovely for you two to join us.”

Nesta wasted no time as she stormed in, squaring up to Azriel. The shadowsinger still towered over her, but she did not back down. 

“I trusted you.”

Her finger jabbed into his chest. It didn’t do anything other than pain Nesta’s finger, but she did it again to drive the point home.

“I trusted you with my friends, the priestesses, my sisters! I trusted you!” Each word was emphasized with a jab of her finger into his chest. He snarled back at the accusations, but remained quiet.

“Was this because of Solstice?” Cassian chimed in from behind his mate. “Certainly there were better options than this!”

“Do you find me so inloveable I’d resort to- what exactly?” 

“Sit down, all three of you.” A High Lord’s command had the three fae tensing. They all sat promptly, Nesta moving her chair closer to Cassian.

“Rhys, look into my mind, you have to know what I saw.”

Rhys held up a hand, his jaw setting in annoyance.

“I was woken up by Azriel, something that hasn’t happened in centuries. Now, I want to hear from all of you what happened.”

Cassian and Nesta began speaking at the same time, their words jumbled on top of each other. Rhys sighed before he looked to Azriel. “You woke me up, I’ll hear your side first.”

“This situation is no one’s concern.”

Rhys raised his eyebrows. “Well, if there’s no concern, why did you wake me?”

Azriel opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by Nesta. “None of our concern? You had a female hostage, Azriel!”

Azriel bared his teeth at his sister in law, “she is not some female and she is not your concern.”

Cadsian and Rhys stared in shock at Azriel’s outburst, neither brother getting a word in before three light taps hit the wood of the door. All four fae turned as the door opened, a female in her pajamas coming into view.

“Um, hi.”

All heads turned to the doorway to find Feyre escorting a female in. Hair unbound, she wore a long shirt and nothing else, exposing her legs to the cold air. 

Azriel stood quickly, knocking his chair back to get to the door in three quick strides. He reached out his hands, gently placing them on her shoulders. The female raised her hands, rubbing his in a soothing motion.

“You don’t have to.”

Azriel was met with a glare before a soft “I know” could be heard if Nesta strained her ears just enough.

“It’s nice to meet you all, despite the strange circumstances.”

Cassian looked on in confusion, each moment curiouser than the last. Nesta watched the reactions of everyone around her - Azriel stood in the doorway next to a confused Feyre, and Rhys sat back in his chair, arms crossed at the chest.

“None of you know me, but it feels like I know all of you from how much Azriel speaks of you.”

Azriel cut in, his hands going back onto her shoulders, his wings wrapping around her in a possessive stance. Shadows circled the pair incessantly, twitching in agitation, huddling close to both as if protecting them.

“She is my mate.”

The room was completely quiet at the revelation, no one moving to break the spell of the atmosphere. Azriel’s shadows swirled around the room, whether fighting or dancing, Nesta couldn’t tell.

“I think you killed them.” A soft giggle came from her, unable to help herself as she saw the most famous family in the Night Court at an utter loss for words.

“Hush, you.” Azriel gently squeezed her arm, watching the faces of his family. They all stared back, jaws practically hanging off the hinges. It was Cassian who spoke up first, his hand scratching the back of his head.

“Then why was she chained to your bed?”

A sad smile graced her lips, the endearingly sleepy look gone. “Oh, um, it’s quite a story. My brother could wield the shadows, but when he died a few years ago, his shadows just flocked to me.”

Cassian looked more closely, and could tell a slight difference in the shadows in the room. He didn’t think much of them initially, assuming they were just Azriel’s, but now he could make out two distinct groupings of darkness: one pool was erratic, moving with no plotted course, the other seemed to follow them, trying to corral them closer.

It was truly a sight to see. He was mesmerized by them, like a child watching fish pass by in a tank.

“Then why the shackles?”

“Oh!” Nesta wanted to roll her eyes, not expecting Azriel’s mate to cause her such anguish in such a short span of time. “I’ve been having issues lately where I shadow walk while dreaming. It’s really not ideal.” Hands moved to her bag, pulling out a set of keys that jangled as they came free. “Azriel thought of it - but he ensures I always have a set of keys nearby should I need to escape.”

”And why have you been a secret from us?”

“My fault, again. I don’t have the best hold on my shadows and they like to tell me everything so I’ve basically been a homebody unless Azriel’s around.”

They stared blankly, the three fae still not quite wrapping their heads around her existence.

“It’s just really difficult taking in all the new information all the time like how my High Lord is smiling and how he has his shoes off beneath the desk and how Nesta’s nails are digging into her palms-“

“I think that’s enough, dear.”

Azriel ran a soothing hand down his mate’s hair, the action soothing her shadows.

“But I promise he’s not hiding me against my will. In fact, that’s my house you two broke into.”

The color drained from Cassian’s face as he leaned forward, “I’m so-“

Her hand waved him off. “Azriel warned me his family was nosey. I figured it was only a matter of time until he found out how nosey you lot were.”

Cassian looked sheepish, leaning back in his seat, avoiding the gaze of both of his brothers.

“Will we see you again?” Nesta sounded almost sheepish, insecure. She didn’t want to convey how badly she wanted to know Azriel’s mate. She always held a soft spot for the shadowsinger, and she wanted to probe more answers out of her.

Azriel and his mate shared a glance between each other, the adoration shining in their shared look. It was enough for Nesta’s hackles to fall back down and be satiated.

For now.

“I’m sure you will.” Despite the hour, despite the fact they broke into her home, she was all smiles and brightness.

“Now, I’d like to escort my mate back to bed. Surely the two of you-“ Azriel pointed fingers at his brothers, “should do the same.”

Azriel led his mate to the balcony before gently picking her up, carrying her off into the night. The three fae sat in silence, watching his form get smaller and smaller. The doors stayed open, the soft wingbeats and giggles carried through the house on the wind.

Header by @tsunami-of-tears

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-angst @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl @quiet-loser @thegreyjoyed @paankhaleyaaar @acoazlove

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124 @slytherintaco @userxs-blog @emryb

[mcuamerica]

Ahhhhgggghhhh I saw Brave New World today and it was sooo goood!!! The little hints to CA:TWS were so good!! I’m so impressed with how amazing this movie turned out. Woooooo

[mcuamerica]

[mcuamerica]

I am working on this! Little by little it’s getting written. Might be longer than I expected haha

Hey! Would you be willing to write a fic with Cassian x dawn court reader? Like maybe they are mates and she is a tinkerer or something and she helps to design weapons and gives them to Cassian to try out and he gives her suggestions on how to improve them? If not that's okay! Hope you have a great day/night!

Aww I love this idea! I will work on it this weekend and tag you when I put it out!

[mcuamerica]

Hey! Would you be willing to write a fic with Cassian x dawn court reader? Like maybe they are mates and she is a tinkerer or something and she helps to design weapons and gives them to Cassian to try out and he gives her suggestions on how to improve them? If not that's okay! Hope you have a great day/night!

Aww I love this idea! I will work on it this weekend and tag you when I put it out!

[mcuamerica]

I cannot believe there's absolutely no way to watch free shows and movies anymore, there are too many paid streaming platforms and pirating websites have viruses and ads preventing you from watching it uninterrupted((.)) id rather follow the rules and purchase media moving forward because it is too inconvenient. Seriously, free and no ads or viruses with 1080p streaming is DEAD.

[mcuamerica]

There’s nothing like the feeling of starting a new fantasy world…

Getting to know all the characters.. the world… the “villain” who you know will turn into a love interest…

Ugh I’m so excited!!!

[mcuamerica]

I’m starting fourth wing tomorrow (maybe tonight…)

[mcuamerica]

This is terrible!! So sorry this happened. I hope you get your page back!

:( not sure if this will show in the tags bc it’s a new blog but…….

hi it’s rhysazriel, my account was banned and deleted and though i’m waiting to hear back if they’ll reinstate my account it’s seeming very unlikely :(((

if any of my fellow mutuals come across this pls reblog and spread the word bc i’m still very much here just on a new account now :(((

[mcuamerica]

The Burning Season *Sneak Peek*

Sequel to Keep Moving Forwards

Azriel x Reader Fanfiction

Hi friends,

I’m thrilled to share that I’m working on the sequel to the "Keep Moving Forwards" fic, titled "The Burning Season"! The story is shaping up in ways that I’m really excited about, and I hope you’ll love where it’s headed as much as I do.

To give you a little something to look forward to, here’s a sneak peek of the first chapter. It’s still a first draft, but I couldn’t resist sharing it with you all.

Enjoy, and stay tuned for more updates on "The Burning Season"!

Word Count: 4411

Keep Moving Forwards Master List

The Autumn Court loomed before you like a gilded cage, its opulence masking the suffocating bile that festered within its walls. The towering gates of the manor rose high, their intricate carvings of leaves and flames catching the last rays of sunlight as if to distract from the long shadows they cast. Beyond them, the court stretched out in all its golden grandeur – elegant, beautiful, and utterly devoid of life. 

Lucien rode beside you in silence, as he had for much of the four-day journey. His russet eye flicked to you now and then, gauging your readiness, though the quiet tension in his shoulders showed the lingering unease. His posture might have seemed casual to anyone else, but the whitening of his knuckles on the reins told another story. He knew, as well as you did, that once you crossed those gates, every step, every breath would be scrutinized. Measured. Judged. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Lucien said softly, his voice barely rising above the crunch of the gravel beneath the horses’ hooves. “There’s still time to–” 

“To what?” you interrupted, your tone sharper than intended. His words broke the quiet like a branch snapping underfoot, the first spoken between you in hours. You inhaled deeply, trying to temper the sudden edge in your voice. “Run? Hide?” You turned to meet his gaze, letting your expression harden. 

Lucien’s mechanic eye whirred slightly as it narrowed in on you, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You aren’t running,” he said at last, his tone clipped. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“Then what did you mean?” you countered, your voice a notch cooler now. The long days of travel and the weight of what awaited you behind those gates–it all clung to you, heavy and stifling. 

Lucien hesitated, his gaze flicking back to the gates as they creaked open, the sound grinding against your nerves. “I meant,” he said slowly, “that you’re not alone. There are still… some of us who want to help you.” 

You didn’t respond immediately, letting the words hang in the cooling evening air. The servants by the gates were already watching, their eyes curious but carefully averted, the perfect veneer of Autumn Court decorum. You couldn’t afford to crack. Not here. Not now. 

“I don’t need your help, Lucien,” you finally said, your voice neutral. “Not for this.”

Lucien’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t argue. He simply nodded, his russet hair catching the golden light, and turned his attention forward. The tension was palpable, the air almost charged with it, but you were grateful for the silence. Anything more might have betrayed too much of the swirling discontent brewing within your stomach. 

The gates groaned fully open now, revealing the sprawling marble courtyard beyond. The Autumn Manor loomed ahead, its towering walls carved from rich, blood-red stone that seemed to smolder in the fading sunlight. Ornate patterns of flames and falling leaves etched into the walls flickered as if alive, catching the golden light that seeped through the dense canopy of trees surrounding the estate. Every inch of the manor radiated power – crafted to awe and intimidate. 

The ground stretched seemingly endlessly, bordering by towering iron gates adorned with twisting branches of gold and bronze. The leaves, painstakingly detailed, glittered like they had been kissed by the first frost of the season. Beyond the gates, perfectly symmetrical rows of flame-colored maples lined the marble paths leading to the manor, their branches arched overhead to form a canopy of what looked like fire as sunlight filtered through the trees. 

Fountains dotted the courtyard. Jets of water sparkled like liquid amber, cascading into basins made of polished white marble veined with copper. Statues of regal stags and vixens stood poised mid-leap, their eyes inlaid with gems that glimmered like firelight. 

The manor itself towered over the grounds, a sprawling estate of dark stones and gilded edges. Massive windows glinted in the low light, their panes framed by wrought iron twisted into intricate patterns of ivy and flame. 

As you stepped through the gates, the crunch of gravel under the horses’ hooves echoed like a warning. The symmetry and perfection of the grounds felt oppressive, every detail screaming of control, of power wielded to maintain the illusion of beauty.

In the distance, the spires of smaller towers rose around the main manor, connected walkways draped in crimson and gold banners. Each tower had its own distinct design – one bearing a spiraling etching of leaves, another crowned with a bronze stag. A central tower loomed above them all, its peak tipped with a flaming brazier that sent tendrils of smoke curling into the darkening sky. 

The main entrance was grand, yet uninviting. Tall double doors of dark mahogany, banded with blackened iron, stood closed at the top of a wide staircase. Each door bore a massive carving of a blazing tree, its branches curling outward as though to ensnare anyone who dared approach. A faint heat radiated from the doors, almost as if the flames carved into them were waiting to burn. 

Despite the splendor you may have felt if you had not been arriving in the circumstances in which you found yourself, there was no warmth in the Autumn Manor. It was a place designed to dazzle, to overwhelm, to remind anyone who entered that they were the mercy of the court’s power. It felt alive in the way a predator watches from the shadows – beautiful, poised, ready to strike.

You had expected that when you arrived, Caelum, Philip, and Eris would be lined up on the steps, their noses held high as they peered down upon you, judgment radiating from them. Perhaps there would even be fanfare–trumpets blaring in an ostentatious display of power meant to remind you of the weight of the court you now entered, and that you had lost. But the stairway was empty, silent. No welcoming party, no pomp or grandeur. Only the wind sweeping through the courtyard, scattering leaves that twisted and twirled across the gleaming marble steps, as if mocking the absence of the family you dreaded most. 

The large double doors of the manor groaned as you made your final approach, the sound deep and foreboding, echoing across the quiet courtyard. A tall, spindly male stepped through the yawning doorway, his sharp, angular frame a stark silhouette against the dim interior behind him. His hair, a smattering of dark curls, looked untamed. He wore a forest-green vest, embroidered with golden strands that traced elaborate patterns across his chest. Brown trousers and polished boots completed his attire, his appearance as poised and deliberate as the manner in which he descended the steps. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, and his gaze was steady as he looked down at you, assessing. 

Lucien dismounted first, the sound of his boots hitting the gravel loud in the stillness. You moved to dismount your own horse, but before your hands could find purchase in the saddle, Lucien was there. His hands curled firmly about your waist, lifting you down with ease. For a moment, you peered over your shoulder at him. His face was neutral, his expression carved from stone, though his russet eye glinted faintly in the fading light. You wondered if the mask he wore–the one to shield himself from the wrath of his family–had already settled into place. There was no warmth in his gaze, only a quiet resolve. 

Your boots hit the gravel, and your legs wavered beneath you, unsteady after the long journey. You inhaled sharply, steadying yourself before you turned to straighten your coat, tugging it firmly into place about your waist. You caught Lucien’s fleeting glance, the faintest twitch of disapproval crossing his face as his gaze flicked to your trousers. 

It was a small victory, one you refused to relinquish. The memory of your spat with Lucien still fresh in your mind, his sharp tone echoing as he’d reminded you this morning that ladies of the Autumn Court wore skirts–skirts, not trousers. His worse had dripped with exasperation as he added that propriety demanded you follow custom. But you had been resolute. Days of travel on horseback? There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d endure it sidesaddle. In the end, practicality had worn out, though not without Lucien muttering something about you being as stubborn as wildfire. 

Now, as you stood beside him on the cobbled drive, the weight of the manor looming ahead, you felt no regret for your choice. Trousers or skirts, they wouldn’t change what waited for you beyond those doors. But they gave you one small edge, the reminder that you had already chosen not to yield. 

The male at the top of the stairs cleared his throat, his sharp eyes flicking between you and Lucien before he stepped aside, gesturing to the open doorway. “Lord Lucien,” he said, his voice cool and measured. “Welcome back to the Autumn Court.” 

The words were polite, but they carried a chill that sank into your bones, cold and unrelenting. The kind of chill that made you wonder if the walls of the manor held more than secrets–perhaps they held the echoes of the screams of those who had dared to challenge its masters. Still, you tilted your chin up and met his gaze without flinching, letting him see that you would not bow so easily. 

He didn’t acknowledge you further, nor speak your name. Of course, he wouldn’t. You were a female, and in the Autumn Court, such formalities were reserved for those deemed important. Here, silence was as much a weapon as it was a dismissal. 

Stable hands appeared from seemingly nowhere, their movements quick and precise as they led the horses away without a word. The sharp clink of harnesses and muffled thud of hooves on gravel faded. You felt a pang of sadness rush through you. While running wasn’t an option, having the horse so near that you could perhaps mount it and ride back home was a quiet but welcomed ease. Now, all you could do was walk forwards. 

The male at the door shifted as you passed, his sneer slight but unmistakable as his gaze lingered on you, on your trousers. You saw it out of the corner of your eye–the way his mouth curled, the disapproval etched into every line of his face. Good. Let them feel uncomfortable in your presence. Let them see that you would not shrink to fit their mold. 

The air inside the Autumn Manor was heavier than the crisp, spice-tinged breeze outside. It pressed down on you like a physical weight, thick with the scent of aged wood, faint smoke, and something cloyingly sweet–like apples left too long in the sun. The entrance hall stretched high above you, a cavernous space. Towering columns carved to resemble twisting trees lined the room, their branches spreading across the vaulted ceiling in an intricate lattice of gold and copper. 

The floor beneath your boots was polished stone, its dark, glossy surface veined with streaks of fiery orange and crimson, as though the essence of Autumn itself had been trapped within. A massive chandelier hung overhead, its countless crystals catching the low faelight, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls like restless spirits. Shadows now seemed to make you feel closer to home, as though in a bit of every dark dancing sprite there was a bit of Azriel. 

The walls were adorned with tapestries that depicted court history–battles won, alliances forged, and betrayals punished. Each thread shimmered faintly, enchanted to keep the images vibrant. One tapestry in particular caught your eye: a burning forest, flames consuming everything in their path, with shadowy figures fleeing the inferno. A High Lord stood at the edge of the flames, his hand raised as if commanding the destruction. The detail was so precise, you swore the embers flickered. 

As you moved deeper into the manor, the air grew warmer, the scent of spiced wine and roasted meats wafting toward you. It tugged at your stomach. After days of cooking stew over the fire pit, and burnt coffee, any food that wasn’t smoke covered made your mouth water, though the thought of breaking bread under this roof made your throat tighten. 

The servant who had sneered at you outside led the way, his footsteps muffled on a long, richly woven carpet that stretched through a narrow hall. The walls were lined with gilded mirrors, their frames resembling curling vines, and the reflections within them seemed warped, distorted–as though the manor refused to show anything as it truly was. Every so often, a flicker of movement would catch your eye in the corner of a mirror, but when you turned to look, there was nothing there. 

At the end of the hallway, that you, Lucien and the servant trudged in silence, the doors to what you assumed were the dining room loomed. You could hear voices beyond the mahogany doors as the servant wrapped his long fingers around the leaf shaped handles and pushed them open.

He stepped inside, and then gestured Lucien and yourself in. 

The conversation at the table ceased abruptly, like a string pulled taut and then severed, as seven sets of eyes turned toward you and Lucien. All male. All sharp as honed blades. The air in the room shifted, the crackle of fire in the hearth at the far end suddenly deafening in the silence. You prayed none of them noticed the subtle bob of your throat as you swallowed hard, forcing your fear into submission. 

At the head of the table sat Eris, his fiery hair glowing like embers in the firelight as he rose with the grace of a predator preparing to pounce. His feline features curled into what might have been a smile–though sincerity rarely graced his face. “Y/N, Lucien,” he greeted, his voice smooth, his fingertips pressing lightly against the polished wood of the table as though poised to leap into action. “I’m glad to see your travels went well.” 

“No issues,” Lucien replied curtly, his tone devoid of any emotion. His shoulders were tense but his expression remained impassive, the perfect mask of indifference. 

You let your gaze flicker across the table, assessing its occupants. To Eris’s right sat Philip, reclining in his chair with a casual arrogance that made your teeth clench. A chalice rested loosely in his hand, its rim stained with a dark liquid that swirled as he raised it to his lips. He sipped slowly, deliberately, his piercing amber eyes never leaving you. There was something about the way he watched you, as though he were savoring not the wine, but the tension in the room, feeding on it.

Opposite Philip sat the two remaining brothers of the Autumn Court, their features echoes of Eris’s sharp cheekbones and cold stares. The resemblance was uncanny, though neither carried Eris’s sly cunning nor Philip’s overt malice. Their attention, however, was no less disconcerting, their gazes like needles pricking at your composure. 

Farther down, two males you didn’t recognize occupied the seats nearest Philip. 

And finally, at the end of the table, closest to where you stood, was Caelum. You didn’t need to look at him to feel his presence. It was a weight, an almost tangible force pressing against your skin, the bond humming faintly in the back of your mind like a persistent itch you couldn’t scratch. Your gaze swept past him as if he weren’t there, your refusal to acknowledge him as deliberate as the steady breath you drew in to fortify yourself.

Eris’s gaze lingered on your for a moment too long before he gestured toward the two empty chairs near the end of the table. “Please, join us,” he said, his tone laced with a warmth that felt anything but genuine. 

Lucien inclined his head stiffly, taking his seat. You followed suit, lowering yourself into the chair beside him, though every nerve in your body screamed to remain standing. Still, you folded your hands neatly into your lap, raising your chin to meet Eris’s gaze evenly. You would not shrink. 

The table before you was an extravagant display of food, laden with dishes that seemed crafted for more spectacle than sustenance. Platters of roasted meats—quail, pheasant, and venison–glistened under the warm glow of enchanted flames. Bowls of root vegetables, glazed with honey and dusted with spices, filled the air with a sweet and earthy aroma. Freshly baked bread, its crust golden and dusted with flour, was arranged in precise rows alongside small pots of spiced butter and golden figs. Fruit pies, their latticed tops shimmering with sugar, sat alongside crystal decanters filled with what you assumed to be dark red wine. 

The warmth of the meal made your mouth water. 

As you settled into your seat, a servant appeared at your elbow, silently. Without asking, a plate was placed before you, heaping it with a modest sampling of the feast. The presentation was immaculate, each portion seemed carefully chosen. 

“Eat,” Eris instructed. He gestured towards your plates, his expression unreadable. “I’m sure you must be hungry after such a journey.” He looked towards his own plate which had been picked over. 

You inclined your head, careful to remain neutral. “Thank you,” you replied. Grateful enough to avoid offense, distant enough to not let on anything more. 

The aroma of food was intoxicating, and your stomach panged painfully. Still, you refused to let your hunger betray you. Lifting your fork, you took a measured bite, the flavors rich and perfectly balanced, the meat tender enough to melt on your tongue. It was exquisite–better than anything you had eaten in days–but you forced yourself to eat slowly. You wouldn’t scarf it down like someone starved. They would not see you be desperate, nor grateful.

Across the table, the conversation resumed, a low murmur of voices that ebbed and flowed like a tide. The males spoke as though you weren’t there at all, their words circling trade routes, shipments of goods, and disputes with neighboring territories. Philip’s voice rose above the others, smooth and assured as he dismissed the concerns of one of his brothers with a lazy wave of his chalice. Eris countered, his tone sharper, his arguments more calculated, though neither seemed particularly concerned with reaching a resolution. 

You kept your gaze lowered to your plate, chewing slowly as their words drifted around you. They were all talking, yet none of them were speaking to you–not directly, not even obliquely. It was as though your presence at the table was no more significant than the polished plates or the flickering candles. A part of the decor. 

Except for him. 

You didn’t at Caelum. You wouldn’t. To meet his gaze, to acknowledge his presence, would be giving him something he so clearly didn’t deserve. So you kept your eyes fixed on your plate, feigning indifference as though you didn’t notice the weight of his stare. As though you didn’t feel the bond’s faint hum, tugging at the edges of your focus, trying to pull you toward him. 

But he didn’t look away. His continued silence, his silent demand for attention, pressed against your nerves like a dull ache. You swallowed the now over-chewed piece of meat, the texture turning to ash on your tongue. Your hand tightened around your fork as you reached for another bite, determined to ignore him. 

Then came the sharp pinch at the back of your skill. A thin, slicing pain that made you wince, the barrier in your mind trembling under the intrusion. His voice brushed against your consciousness, soft yet insistent. It’s good to see you again. 

Your eyes flicked up sharply, meeting his gaze across the table. Hard as stone, your stare locked on his. His face, once impassive, now softened into something almost pitiable–a faint, awkward smile pulling at his lips as his fingers fidgeted with the edge of the tablecloth. He looked…small, and yet the sight of him only stoked the fire simmering in your chest. You stopped chewing, holding his gaze, daring him to say  more, to explain himself. Then, deliberately, you resumed chewing each bite slowly and forcing yourself to appear unaffected. 

But the pain in your skull remained, a persistent ache, as though he had slipped a knife between the fragile layers of your mental defenses. The bond, fragile as it was, felt like a fraying thread being pulled taught, threatening to snap or unravel. Being this close to him, his presence pressing in on all sides, made keeping him out infinitely harder. Every twitch of his mind brushed against yours, like an unwanted whisper close to your ear. 

I’m sorry, his voice murmured, slipping past your defenses again. About what happened before. It hasn’t been fair to you.

Your grip on your fork tightened, your knuckles whitening around the handle. Fair. The word rattled in your mind, sharp and jagged. The audacity of him to speak of fairness. Of regret. Of some form of remorse. Caelum, who had in cold blood ended the life of someone you’d loved in front of you. Caelum, who had torn apart everything you had built for yourself, everything you cherished, simply because he could no longer have what he felt he was entitled to. He had no right. No capacity for genuine contrition. His apology, weak and hollow, was nothing but salt on wounds he’d inflicted already. 

You didn’t respond. Your silence was not surrender–it was defiance. And though the bond continued to hum faintly, pressing against every crack in your defenses, you refused to let him see the chaos he stirred within you. If he wanted absolution, he would find none here.

“How nice,” Philip’s voice rang out over the table. “To have the entire family together for dinner.” 

Your gaze lifted reluctantly, meeting the sour, curdled smile that spread across his face. His eyes were fixed solely on you, the scrutiny in them palpable, as though he were silently daring you to leap across the table and strangle him where he sat. He looked at you with the kind of satisfaction that only a predator could muster when its prey was cornered. 

Eris stiffened beside him, his movements barely perceptible–a tightening in his shoulders, a flicker of tension in his jaw. His eyes darted to yours, a silent plea: Don’t rise to it. This is bait. 

Philip turned his attention to his brothers, but his words were meant for you. “She has my likeness, wouldn’t you say?” He gestured toward you lazily, as though presenting a prize or specimen, before narrowing his eyes and dissecting your features with a deliberateness that made your skin crawl.

You fought to remain still under his scrutiny, though it was like being pinned beneath a magnifying glass. Somehow, his gaze stripped you bare, peeling back layers of armor you had so carefully built, exposing the vulnerabilities you tried to bury.

“In the nose mostly,” Philip mused, tapping his one sharp, beak-like nose with a finger. “She has that Vanserra nose.” The smirk that followed was nearly as cutting as his words. Your fingers itched to reach up and shield your own nose, but you resisted, instead forcing yourself to remain impassive. You didn’t look like him. You knew it. And yet, the power of his words left you feeling as though he’d written some undeniable truth. 

“I don’t know how I didn’t see it before,” he continued, his tone light but laced with mockery. “She looks like her mother as well. An uncanny resemblance, truly…except for a few features.” 

The mention of your mother was a spark in the pit of your stomach, the flame flickering, threatening to flare. You clenched your hands under the table, forcing the heat to simmer down. 

“Though,” Philip went on, his gaze sharpening with cruelty, “she doesn’t have her mother’s more…persuasive demeanor.” 

The flame in your stomach burned brighter, hotter, but you swallowed it down, pressing the fire deep inside where it couldn’t escape. His words hung in the air. You didn’t dare ask what he meant–what memory of your mother he was twisting for his amusement. To engage would be to play into his hands. 

Instead, you raised your class, taking a slow sip of wine to steady yourself. Let him wait for a reaction that would never come. 

Across the table, Eris’s gaze flitted back to you, watching carefully with his own features schooled to disinterest. But in the tightness of his mouth, the barely there crease of his brow, you saw it: the faintest glimmer of approval. 

Philip watched you, his gaze heavy with anticipation, as though the silence following his every word was a stage he had set, awaiting the performance he thought he deserved. But you gave him nothing. The flicker of irritation in his amber eyes was brief, but it was there, a small crack in his self-satisfied facade. 

When your lack of acknowledgement stretched on, Philip raised his chalice high, the polished metal gleaming in the faelight. “A toast,” he declared, his voice edged with mockery, “to family reunited, all thanks to Caelum, my son.” 

The room stilled. Caelum, his focus broken for the first time, blinked as though startled from a dream. He nodded stiffly at Philip, the smile tugging at his lips tight and unconvincing. His gaze, however, drifted back to you almost immediately, his attention tethered to you as if by invisible strings. 

When no one else moved, Philip tilted his head, his tone turning light but not without its barbs. “Come now,” he urged with an exaggerated laugh, “let us be grateful for all the wonderful gifts the Mother has given us.” 

The tension in the room strummed, thick as the smoke curling from the fire in the hearth. Philip’s words hung in the air like a taunt, daring someone–anyone–to challenge him. 

And so you did. 

You lifted your chalice, your fingers steady despite the fire simmering in your chest. The faintest of feline smiles curled your lips as you tipped the glass in Philip’s direction, your head inclining with mock graciousness. 

“To family,” you said softly, your voice even, though the weight behind it held masses. 

The smile on Philip’s face twitched, faltered for the briefest moment, before he masked it with a laugh. But his laugh rang out hollow, and his eyes burned with something darker as he watched you sip your drink, unrattled by the weight of his gaze.

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll 

@fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx 

@romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf 

@annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd 

@scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books 

@slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @405rry 

@sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra 

@skylarkalchemist @darling006 @rhysandorian @loglady00 @caninne @weepingwerewolf @that-one-bibliophole @hauntedpiratenacho

[mcuamerica]

Snooping Shadowsinger

Read on AO3

Summary: Azriel finds a solstice gift in your closet. He wants to open it.

Warnings: Fluff, anxiety, mild smut at the end

Word Count: 1.9k

Author's note: Let's pretend this came out before Christmas, okay? Okay, enjoy ❤️

💙🌲💙🌲💙🌲💙🌲💙

Azriel shuffled through the items in his drawer, searching by feel more by sight. He was running late, the warmth and softness of your body had kept him in bed later than usual. He recently discovered a new aversion to the cold skies of Velaris, or the cold anywhere. Not only for himself, but for you. He wanted you to feel warmth when he arrived back at the house after a long day to wrap you in his arms, and he honestly would prefer to just not leave you at all.

Spring could not arrive quickly enough. But first, Azriel would celebrate his first solstice with his mate. It was a week away, and he knew you were excited. He would keep his complaints on the weather to himself.

Sighing, Azriel closed his drawer and turned toward the closet. "Y/N," he called as he opened the door to the sizable space filled with a generous mix of both of your clothes. "Did you put my sheath somewhere?"

"Your... shit?" You called from the bathroom, the sound of water muffling your voice.

"No, love, my sheath," Azriel emphasized. "For my dagger? The one that goes over my ribs."

"Oh, no, you know I don't touch your daggers."

"I know, I-" Azriel crouched on the floor and spotted the dark leather mixed with the rest of his clothes from the day before. He'd been changing into a sleep shirt last night when you'd slipped into the closet behind him and, well, neither of you made it to bed with any clothes. "Found it."

You said something in reply, but Azriel didn't hear, his eye catching on a bit of silver paper deep in a corner of the closet. Pushing a pair of boots to the side, he discovered a small box wrapped up with an elegant bow. He blinked. A solstice gift.

The water turned off in the bathroom and Azriel quickly pushed the boots back to where they had been mostly hiding the gift from view. He picked up his sheath and the rest of his discarded clothes before exiting the closet. 

As he closed the door, you appeared in the bedroom, hair still wet and wrapped in a fuzzy towel. Azriel's heart jumped. You had been mated less than a year, and he wondered how long it would be before he could he could see you and not want to immediately pull you closer.

His desire must have been obvious on his face because you stepped towards him with a mischievous grin and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

"You're going to be late," you murmured, stepping back.

Azriel reached out to grab your hips before you got out of reach. He tugged you back towards his chest, and pressed his lips to the top of your head. "I'm already late, what's a few more minutes?"

You chuckled and pulled away, but not before giving Azriel a deep kiss that set the bond humming in both your chests.

"You'll make me late, my love, and you know I can't be late today."

You were right. Rhys had told you at dinner last night that the deal with the Spring Court would go through after all. A solstice miracle, you'd called it. You had to be there to make sure the signing went smoothly.

"When do you think you'll be back?" Azriel asked.

"Around midnight, probably. Don't wait up for me, okay?"

"I won't," Azriel lied. He'd always wait up for you. Your eye roll said you knew it, too.

A few minutes later, you had winnowed off to the Spring Court and Azriel had finally trudged up to the roof of the House to train with Cassian and the Valkyries. But he found he couldn't focus, his mind kept drifting to the box he found on the floor of the closet. The solstice gift. 

Was it for him? Surely you hadn't been so careless as to leave his gift so poorly hidden. But then, it was your first solstice together, maybe no one had told you yet about his inescapable habit of peeking and prying. He was sure that he told you to give your gifts to Rhysand for safekeeping. Maybe you hadn't had a chance yet? Maybe you'd--

Azriel was startled from his thoughts as his back hit the dirt.

"Awake now?" Emerie's voice sounded above him. She was crouched by his side, an annoyed look on her face. "Aren't you the one always going on about keeping focused, even while sparring?"

Azriel huffed and to rose smoothly to his feet. "I also tell you to finish your fights. Don't let your opponent get back up."

"Who said I was letting you get back up?"

Azriel tried to brace his legs into a more study position, but there wasn't time as he felt another sharp kick to the back of his knees, sending him back to the dirt. He turned to see Nesta, meeting her too-satsified smirk with a glare.

"Leave the poor male alone, his mate had to leave town this morning." Cassian called over to them, unable to stifle his laugh.

Azriel bit his tongue. That wasn't an excuse he'd accept from any of Valkyries, and it certainly wouldn't be one he'd accept from himself. He stood back up, dusted himself off, and mumbled an apology to Emerie for being distracted.

He kept his footing for the rest of the session, but it wasn't easy. You'd left a gift in their closet. He needed to know more.

Cassian followed him down the stairs after training. "Are you okay? You know Y/N will only be gone a few more hours, and Rhys is with her. They'll be fine."

"I know, it's not that." Azriel knew you could take care of yourself even without Rhys.

Cassian put his hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Then what is it?"

Azriel sighed. Maybe he was being ridiculous. Maybe Cassian could help him make sense of it.

"I found a solstice gift in our closet this morning."

"From Y/N?"

Azriel nodded.

"For you?"

"I'm not sure," Azriel admitted. "Why would she just leave it there for me to see?"

"Are you sure she meant for you to see it?"

"Well, I mean, it was hidden, but not very well." Azriel sighed.

"Brother, nothing is hidden 'well' from you. Maybe she didn't think you'd notice."

Azriel hummed uncomfortably. "What if... What if she did want me to notice? What if it's like a test or something to see if I would open it?"

Cassian laughed. "Well, are you going to open it?"

Azriel didnt answer. Cassian laughed harder. "Please tell me you're not actually going to open your solstice present from your mate a week before solstice!"

"I could redo the wrapping. She'd never know."

"She'll smell you on it!"

"It's in our closet, it will already smell like me." Azriel narrowed his brow thoughtfully. "But I guess I could have my shadows open it, and they could see what it was. That way I wouldn't really be looking."

Cassian's laughter died. "Azriel, you can't be fucking serious."

Azriel began to pace. "It's our first solstice, Cass. I just want it to go well."

"And you think snooping in your gifts will make it go well?"

"I... I don't care about the gift, but you know I don't like surprises. What if I don't react the right way and she gets upset? Or what if she's spent too much gold on it? Or not enough? Gods, it's not like I'd expect something expensive. But what if I spent too much on her gift in comparison and she feels bad?"

"Az-"

"Fuck, I did spend a lot of gold on her gift. Maybe--it's just--why would she leave it there in our closet?"

A shadow curled around his ear, whispering your arrival a heartbeat too late. Azriel turned and his heart dropped as you stood at the balcony with Rhysand, a mixture of guilt and amusement crossing your face.

"Surprise, we're back early," Rhys said dryly. "We thought Tamlin would want to make signing the deal more of an event, but apparently not."

"You were the one who wanted to make it more of an event," You accused. "Now get out, I need to scold my mate."

Rhys shot Azriel an apologetic look before taking back to the skies, Cassian following close behind. You chose to ignoring his muttering of "stupid, stubborn bat" as he he passed.

When they were out of earshot, you cocked your head at Azriel.

He sighed. "I guess you heard all that?"

You didn't say anything, just started up the stairs and gestured at him to follow.

In your room, you went straight for the closet. Azriel stood by the bed, feeling a wave of guilt as you reappeared with the gift in your hands.

"Y/N, I'm -"

"Read it." You held the gift up to his face, your fingers holding away the bow that he could now see had been covering the gift tag.

To Rhysand, From Y/N

"Oh." Azriel said lamely. Well, that explained why you hadn't given it to Rhys. You put the gift back in the closet, and he found he couldn't look you in the eye when you returned.

You pushed him lightly to sit on the bed and crawled onto his lap, tilting his face back and forcing him to meet your eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

You felt his anxiety through the bond. "Love, I'm not actually mad at you."

"But I said-"

"I know what you said. It's not a big deal, I promise. You found a solstice gift, and you were curious. Honestly, even if you'd opened it I wouldn't have been mad, but I guess I'd have to get another glitter explosion spell."

Azriel choked on his laugh. "You're getting Rhys a present that explodes glitter for solstice?"

"Yes," you said seriously. "He'll finally have something real to pick off his clothes."

Azriel couldn't help the grin forming as he thought of Rhys covered in glitter. He looked back to your eyes. Soft, warm, and light with love.

"I am sorry, really," Azriel began again. "I don't want you to think that I don't trust you or anything, I'm just... Nervous."

He cringed internally at his own words but you just nodded.

"I know," you murmured, running you hand soothingly down his cheek. "I know you, love. And Cassian warned me about your snooping before your birthday this summer."

Azriel felt a blush rise to his face. You smiled and kissed his slightly pink cheek.

"Also, I got you a very nice present," you teased. "It is appropriately expensive, I promise. And you can act like you hate it for all I care because I know you will still be with me no matter what."

"I will," Azriel promised.

"And I will be with you. You're stuck with me, my sweet, snooping Shadowsinger."

Azriel felt the last of his anxiety fade as he pressed his lips to yours. He rolled you onto the bed pressing you to the mattress as he kissed you harder.

"Maybe I can give you one of your solstice gifts right now," he said, kissing down your body, removing your clothes as he went.

"I don't think it counts as a solstice gift if you give it to me everyday anyway." 

"Smart ass." He shook his head at you before removing your undergarments and dipping down to lick at your core.

With your taste on his tongue, and your sweet moans reaching his ears, he knew you would be the best solstice gift he'd ever have.

💙🌲💙🌲💙🌲💙🌲💙

Thank you for reading, let me know what you think! ❤️❤️

[mcuamerica]

Azriel: Pretty Boy

Azriel overhears y/n tell people her type is a pretty boy and az doesn’t believe he fits that.

Angsty yet crack.

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

Azriel was the spymaster, it was his job. He was good at it, he was proud of his job, he wore it with honor. 

But, Azriel wasn’t proud of spying on his wife. 

It was girls night at the House of Wind, he knew he wasn’t welcome as you were adamant it was just for you and the girls. However, he couldn’t help the morbid curiosity with what happened at girls' nights. 

As soon as he got in, he immediately regretted it. This was your trust and privacy, the girls and you deserved that privacy. 

He was about to turn around when he heard Mor ask: “So, Y/N, what’s your type?” 

He froze at the question, obviously he knew you loved him. But he never considered you having a type before him. 

“Azriel, obviously.” You said instantly, causing his chest to warm. 

“Yeah but like….if it wasn’t Az, who would you go for?” 

And there the warm fuzzy feeling went. He was going to kick Mor’s ass.

“You hoping I say you?” You giggled causing Feyre, Nesta, Elain and Amren to share their own laughs. 

Mor rolled her eyes. “A girl can dream.” She laughed. “But seriously, what was like…your dream type?” “You know my answer.” “Okay ignoring Az.”

“Good luck getting her to do that.” Amren snorted. “She had a crush on him since they met.” 

“Oh shut up.” You said with no real malice. 

He tried not to laugh, you were the only person to ever say something snarky towards Amren and get away with it. 

“It’s true, you’d constantly wax poetic to me about how dreamy he is.” Feyre laughed. 

No matter how many times Azriel had heard the story of your long time crush, it never got old to him. He was sulking during the time you two had met and he had no idea the beautiful woman that harbored feelings for him, which he still regrets to this day. 

“So, Y/N. Your type?” Mor, the she-devil asked. 

“Pretty boys.” You said with no hesitation. 

His stomach sank. Pretty boys? You liked pretty boys? But he’s not that?

He shrugged it out and left, thinking and contemplating the whole way home. He tried to brush it off and ignore it. But it was silently eating away at him. He knew in order to get the reassurance he needed wanted, he was going to have to confess he broke the one rule you gave him. 

Let’s just hope you didn’t castrate him. 

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

You came home around 3am. You were never out that late unless it was girls night. You shucked your sweatshirt off. Loving the fact that Azriel had stoked the fire in your living room. You saw him sitting on the arm of the couch, he must’ve known you were coming home soon. He always stayed up for you (despite you telling him not to) but he usually lounged in cozy chair by the fire. 

“Hello my love.” “Hey baby.” He said back. “How was girls night?” 

“Good! So fun and so very needed.” you chuckled. You had been so stressed these past few months. You looked at Az, who barely cracked a smile, “what’s up?” 

“I need to confess.”

“Okay…?” You looked very confused as your husband seemed uncharacteristically serious at the moment. 

Okay, it’s Az. He’s always serious but not with you. 

“I just wanted to talk.” “You’re scaring me baby.” You said quietly. Some past trauma from past relationships coming into your head about how you’d always feel ambushed when they would break up with you.

“I snuck into the House of Wind to listen on girls' night.” 

Your eyes widened. “Why?” 

He shrugged. “Curiosity.” He swallowed. “I just wanted to know what the hell you guys get up to. I was thinking I would come in on a random conversation but the one I heard has been eating at me since I left.” 

Your brows furrowed. “We didn’t talk about anything bad.” You struggled to remember anything serious or concerning for your husband to hear. Unless it was your friend's sex lives, that can be traumatizing. “You said your type was ‘pretty boys’. I’m not…that.” He fumbled for words. 

The tension in your shoulders and stomach released. You were upset he snuck in on a private conversation with you and your friends. However, you will talk to him about that later. But right now, the big baby needed some reassurance. 

“You know if you kept listening, you would have heard the rest of the statement.” 

He snapped his head up to you. “What?” 

“That I have the prettiest boy of all in my house. Except I would’ve accidentally lied because he was spying on us.” You raised a brow and pinned him with a look that both aroused him and frightened him. “But my point is, my pretty boy is my husband. And I wouldn't have it any other way.” 

Well now he felt silly. And yes he would use that word because you use it all the time and it has become part of his vernacular. 

“Can I hold you?” was all he asked 

“Oh baby, you don’t have to ask.” You said walking up between his legs. He caged you in, his knees hitting the side of your butt, arms around your waist. He put his head in between your tits, his chin resting on them and looking up at you. He was getting a foul double chin from you but he didn’t notice and you’ve been with him long enough to not care about that stuff. 

You cupped his cheeks. “You are my prettiest boy. I’m so happy to look at you every day.” You pressed a soft kiss against his nose. 

His cheeks turned crimson and he dug his head into your chest to hide. You smiled softly. 

You wound one hand into his hair to scratch his scalp, the other around his broad shoulders. 

“So you snooped when you weren’t supposed to and got your own feelings hurt for nothing?” You asked, smiling. 

He snorted from your chest. “I guess so.” 

“So what did we learn?”

“...to not assume.” He grumbled. 

“That’s not it.” “Don’t sneak in on private conversations.” “Especially when…” 

“When your wife tells you not to.” 

“And don’t invade my privacy. We may be attached at the hip but don’t invade.” 

“I’m sorry baby.” He said quietly, you felt it in the bond too. He meant it with his soul. 

He pressed a light kiss between your tits. You scratched his head. He practically purred as he gripped your lush hips tighter. Wrapping you so tight on his arms. It was home for the both of you. “You’re forgiven, pretty boy.” 

He may have pissed you off, but now you call him ‘pretty boy’ constantly.