#ACOTAR Illyrian

[prickles-the-penguin]

Another example of me cooking for a man—Rhysand from ACOTAR 🦇💜✨

Yes I tried to draw bat wings

[acomaflove]

Rhysand and Azriel: *walk into the room laughing*

Feyre: SHHHHHH! You’ll wake the baby.

Rhysand, whispering: I thought Mor was babysitting Nyx tonight?

Feyre: She is.

Rhysand:

Feyre:

Azriel:

Rhysand, LOUDLY whispering: THEN WHO IS THE BABY?!?

Feyre: *points to Cassian passed out on the sofa*

Rhysand: You did not just refer to a 500+ year old war general as a BABY.

Feyre: Correction: An Illyrian Baby.

[works-of-heart]

Lucien when he had his hair braided back, wearing Illyrian leathers!

I've needed to draw him like this!

This is the man that fought back through the shore to get back to Elain!! No wonder she was ogling him!

[rainingriversofyou]

Azriel - A Court Of Thorns And Roses

Recreation of “Fallen Angel” by Roberto Ferri

Artist: moonrosesxart 🖤 [original art below]

Fallen Angel, 2011 - Roberto Ferri

[serpentandlily]

Beneath the Ashes (I/II) - Azriel x Reader

Beneath the Ashes Part I - Azriel x Illyrian!Reader

Summary: Azriel finally finds the girl he’s been looking for all these years—his mate. But unfortunately for him, his mate happens to be an Illyrian who, upset over the fact that he’s turned his back on his own people, wants nothing to do with him. (Enemies to lovers vibes, angst)

a/n: based on this REQUEST. This is going to be a two part story because I kind of went a little too hard writing this haha. Thank you for your request and the inspiration! (Also I know a lot of you asked to be on a taglist for this story but since it’s only 2 parts I’m not gonna make one)

warnings: misogyny, sexism

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Part I of II

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Azriel was not happy, to say the least. Not as he landed on the cold, hard ground of one of the Illyrian war camps in the northern region of the mountains. He internally cursed at Cassian for still being on his mating honeymoon with Nesta because now he was being forced to do things Cass would normally be in charge of—primarily dealing with the Illyrians.

It wasn't a secret that Azriel hated Illyria and all its people. Hated that he came from such a barbaric, backwards culture.  He knew Cass was trying to do all he could to break the traditions Illyrians held, but Azriel had always told him they were a lost cause. If he could never see these damn mountains again, he'd consider it a blessing.

But, evidently, that was not a blessing he'd be allowed—at least, not until Cassian returned. For now, he was the one who was being sent out on these missions by his High Lord. 

Rhys had gotten word that some commotion was happening in the camp that had its people up in arms about something. He had asked Azriel to go check it out and who was he to turn down a request from his brother? So here he was. He was just hoping to get this over with soon. 

He had tried sending his shadows ahead of time to collect intel, but they had been acting weird ever since they returned to him. They had swarmed him with their cryptic messages.

Beautiful.

Our master must see. 

Permission to kill, master?

Needless to say, Azriel had no fucking idea what any of that meant. He had given them no such permission to kill, at least, not until he could see for himself what was transpiring here. 

He was passing by the training rings, ignoring the stares of the brutes who were working out and sparring within them, when he heard several sets of loud voices. He quickened his pace, following the voices into the residential section of the camp until he finally beheld what was causing the commotion. 

Three males were on the porch of one of the cabins, restraining a female Illyrian, who was thrashing around like a wildcat, screaming, "Let me go, you assholes!"

Another male Azriel recognized as the War Lord of the camp was standing on the steps leading up to the small cabin, arms crossed and a sneer on his face. A male next to him was holding a blubbering Illyrian toddler, whose arms were outstretched towards the female with tears pouring down her chubby cheeks. 

None of them had noticed him yet which Azriel used to his advantage. His shadows were already wailing when he let them loose. They spiraled towards the group, swirling around the males holding the female and yanking them away from her. All of their heads snapped in Azriel's direction except for the female. She tumbled to the ground but quickly scrambled to get up and rushed towards the male next to the War Lord, not even sparing a glance at what had caused the males to unleash her. 

She went to grab the little girl from the male holding her but was quickly held back by the War Lord with a growl. The War Lord twisted her arms behind her back, holding her in place, but his glare was firmly set on Azriel.

Azriel's face displayed no emotions as he stalked forward, his hand ghosting over Truth-Teller. 

"Shadowsinger," the War Lord bit out in greeting. The other males quickly got to their feet and stood at attention. 

"Silas," Azriel said, not bothering to address him properly which made the male bristle, "Care to explain what is happening here?" 

"None of your business, Shadowsinger," Silas hissed. "I have it under control."

"Doesn't seem like it," Azriel replied, coolly. 

The female was still trying to break out of Silas's grip, cursing under her breath. He tightened his hold on her, causing her to hiss in pain as he twisted her wrists in his hands. Azriel's shadows seemed to hiss in response, poised to attack as soon as Azriel gave them permission. 

Azriel's gaze fell on the female, noting the frustrated tears in her eyes. It seemed like there had been a scuffle. Her hair was half falling out of her braid, she had scrape marks on one of her cheeks, and a bruise was beginning to form on her jaw. One of her wings was flared out proudly while the other drooped to the floor at a weird angle. His fists clenched at the sight and when she finally looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, the breath was completely knocked out of his lungs. 

Despite her tattered appearance, she was single-handedly the most beautiful female he had ever laid eyes on. He stood frozen for a moment, taken aback before he shook himself out of the spell she seemed to cast on him, realizing how inappropriate of a time it was to be ogling her. 

"Let her go, Silas," Azriel commanded in a dark voice.

"I don't take orders from you," Silas spat out. "Besides, this female has been breaking the law for months now. We're taking her into custody." 

"Fuck you," the female barked out, stomping on Silas's foot. The male cursed and went to strike her on the back of her head but Azriel's shadow caught his wrist in their grasp before he could. 

"I said," Azriel growled, lowly, causing the males to shift in place, "Let her go." 

"Fine," Silas sneered, though a tiny bit of fear flashed in his dark eyes. He pushed her to the ground in front of him. She was quick to spring back to her feet and rush towards the toddler who was still screeching. The male could hardly keep hold of the little girl.

"Let the babe go, too," Azriel snapped. The male scoffed but set the little girl down. She immediately ran to the female who bent down with her arms wide open, catching the little girl and standing with her firmly on her hip. The little girl's cries quieted down and she buried her small face in the female's neck. 

"Would anyone like to tell me what the hell is going on here?" Azriel snarled, taking another step closer. Half the males mirrored his step back and he fought the urge to chuckle. 

"Like I said," Silas snapped, "This female has been breaking the law—”

“What law?” Azriel asked, firmly.

“Females are not permitted to live alone nor own houses,” Silas barked out. “She has ignored our warnings—”

“My father left the cabin to me in his will!” The female shouted, causing the small toddler in her arms to whimper. She stroked the girl's hair, shushing her. “It belongs to me.”

“I don’t care what your father promised you,” Silas growled. “It is against the law for you to be living here alone. You must surrender the cabin and go live in the barracks with the other unwed females of marrying age. Your sister will be placed under the care of the matron.” 

“Like hell I’m leaving her under the care of that female! You’re just going to have her wings clipped and force her to do grueling chores all day! She stays with me!” 

“You are out of line! I knew your father wasn’t raising the two of you right. Ever since your mother passed away—”

 “Don’t you dare say another word about my parents!”  

The War Lord lunged towards the female with a growl but Azriel shadowed between them, unsheathing Truth-Teller and pressing it against the male’s throat. 

“Lay a hand on her and I’ll gut you right here in front of all of your brutes,” Azriel snarled. 

Silas stepped back with a scoff. “You want to stick your nose in our business? Fine, then she’s your problem. I expect her out of this house by the end of today, Shadowsinger, or there will be worse consequences.” 

He stormed away, his entourage trailing behind him while sending glares to the female. Azriel waited until they were out of view before he turned to look at the female but she was gone from next to him, already walking up the steps to the cabin with the babe—her sister—on her hip.

Azriel went to follow her but she stormed into the cabin and slammed the door in his face before he could so much as utter a single word. He let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before he knocked on the door. When Rhys had mentioned a problem happening in this camp, he hadn't expected to deal with something like this. It would’ve been much easier if it had been a problem he could solve with his fists. 

When she didn't answer, he knocked harder—nearly causing the door to shutter. 

It flung open a second later, a seething female behind it. "I already told those assholes I'm not leaving. If you're here to tell me to pack up and move, you can kiss my ass."

Azriel had to stop his lips from twitching into an amused smirk at her words. He wasn't used to dealing with female Illyrians that had attitudes. Most of them kept their heads down and stayed quiet. His mother had been like that....

"I'm not here to tell you that," Azriel answered. "May I come inside?" 

She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms and staring him down. He found himself even more amused at how she was trying to intimidate him. Most fae avoided him and his gaze. But a female, whose head barely reached his shoulders, seemed to be completely unfazed by him.  

"No, you may not," she snapped. "Anything you need to say to me can be said perfectly fine from where you're standing." 

“Can I at least bring a healer to come check out your injuries?” He eyed the scrapes on her face, the bruise and her drooping wing. Azriel’s chest ached at the sight and anger pulsed under his skin. He wanted to turn around and go rip those males apart limb by limb for laying a hand on her.

“I don’t need your help, shadowsinger,” she spat out.

"Fine," Azriel sighed. "I was sent by the High Lord because there's been reports of someone here causing disarray. I'm going to assume that someone is you." 

She shrugged, nonchalantly, her eyes flickering between his own and the shadows swirling around him that wouldn't shut up about how beautiful she was, how brave....They were singing her praise. It confused him. His shadows had never acted like this before. 

When she failed to answer, Azriel cleared his throat, uncomfortably. “Will you answer my question?”

“Aren’t you the spymaster?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Shouldn’t you be able to gather intel yourself and not rely on a lowly Illyrian female?”

“A lowly Illyrian female?” Azriel raised an eyebrow at her crass words towards herself.

“Isn’t that how you and all the High Lord’s dogs view us?” Her tone was biting, her eyes filled with hate.

Azriel shifted, at a loss for words. He was used to being met with hostility by the Illyrians, but never usually from the females themselves. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

It was a lousy response, but he truly had no idea what to say. She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him and moved from the doorway, grasping the door. 

“Even if I could help you, I wouldn’t care enough to do so,” she snapped. “Now, if that is all, you can kindly escort yourself off my property, shadowsinger. Thank you.”

The door slammed in his face a second later.

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Azriel returned a few hours later with a letter from the High Lord in his hands. He stormed through the camp, once again ignoring all the glares sent his way. He pushed his way inside the main war tent where Silas was sitting at his desk, twirling a dagger in his hands. His dark eyes looked up at him as he walked in, narrowing.

“You’re back,” Silas said, voice dripping with disdain. “I noticed that the female has still not been relocated from the cabin.”

Azriel strode forward and slammed the letter down on his desk. Silas’s eyes dipped down to it, quickly reading the short message before he looked back up at Azriel with a sneer. “What is this?”

“A notice from the High Lord and Lady,” Azriel answered, face unreadable. “Any laws that forbid a female from living alone or owning property are hereby revoked. This repeal shall be set in motion immediately.” 

"I can read just fine, Shadowsinger," Silas snapped. "I meant what the fuck is this? Does Rhysand think he can just snap his fingers and remove laws that have been around for centuries? I refuse to allow this."

"You'll address the High Lord properly or I'll cut your tongue out for your disrespect," Azriel growled. "The High Lord and High Lady can do whatever they want. You will abide by these new laws or your title of War Lord in this camp will be revoked." 

Silas looked like he wanted to say more, a vein in his forehead pulsing, but he only tightened his hands into fists and let out a long breath. "Very well then, Shadowsinger. I assume you've already informed Y/n of this?" 

"Y/n?"

Silas smirked. "You ran to tattle on us to the High Lord and didn't even know the name of the bitch you—"

Before anything else could come out of the War Lord's mouth, Azriel stalked forward and kicked his desk over, causing both Silas and all his paperwork and trinkets to smash on the floor. The War Lord let out a pathetic gasp in fear, scrambling to his feet and pressing himself against the back of the tent.

"Talk about her like that again," Azriel snarled. "And I'll rip out your throat."

Silas quickly tried to school his composure but Azriel could still see the lingering terror in his eyes. Silas straightened out his leathers before glaring at him. "It's nice to see the Illyrian is still in you after all this time, Shadowsinger. Once a brute, always a brute—isn't that what you like to say?" 

Azriel felt his pulse spike at Silas's words. He hated being reminded that he was Illyrian, even more so being compared to the worst of them. He wasn’t even sure why such rage had sparked in him in the first place. Silas's lips twitched into a smirk as he saw the way his words striked through him. But Azriel didn't wait around to hear what else the asshole had to say, letting his raging shadows swoop him into their darkness. 

He stepped out of the shadows and onto the porch of the cabin he had been at earlier. He took several breaths, trying to calm himself before gently knocking on the door. After no one answered for a moment, he lifted his fist to knock again but the door was pulled open, leaving his hand to hover in the air. He dropped it to his side, narrowing his eyebrows as he was met with no one.

"Hewwo."

Azriel nearly jumped in fright before his gaze dropped to the toddler that stood in the doorway. It was the little girl from earlier, Y/n's sister. He swallowed harshly, eyes darting around the foyer of the cabin in hopes that her sister would pop out any second but no one came. He wasn't good with children, and wasn't used to being around them. Nyx was the only child he had ever really been around and he was still a baby. 

Azriel sighed and crouched down on his haunches, making him more eye level for the little girl. Her shoulder length hair was the same color as her sister’s, her eyes too. The resemblance between the two of them was undeniable. 

"Hello there," Azriel said as gently as he could. "Is your sister home by any chance?" 

“Mhm,” the little girl hummed, busy watching the swirling shadows all around him. 

"Do you think you can go get her for me?" 

She shook her head no, her hair bobbing with the motion. 

"Why not?" Azriel asked, keeping his voice light.

"Cause I'll get in trouble," she said with a little lisp. "Mm not 'pposed to open the door." 

Azriel smiled at her, trying to appear friendly. He was surprised that she didn't seem scared of him or his shadows, as most kids were. "Don't worry, I won't tell her you opened the door for me. It can be our little secret."

She looked to be contemplating his promise, her little nose scrunched up. One of his shadows whisked forward and started swirling around her tiny frame. To Azriel's surprise, the little girl giggled, swiping her hand around to try and catch it. 

"Suri, what are you—Get away from her!" 

Y/n came thundering down the hall, yanking her sister away from the doorframe. Azriel stood to his full height, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as she glared at him before turning to look down at her sister.

"Suri, go to your room." 

"No," Suri pouted, crossing her little arms. "I wanna play with the shadows."

Azriel's lips twitched. This was quite possibly the first time a child had ever seemed anything but scared of his shadows. It was oddly endearing. 

"Go to your room," Y/n commanded in a stronger voice. "Now."

Suri stomped her foot but did as she was told, disappearing from his view. 

"What are you doing back here?" She hissed, once her sister was gone. 

Azriel pulled out the other parchment paper he had brought with him, the same notice he had given Silas. He held it out for her. "I came to deliver this." 

She took the paper from him, glancing at him suspiciously. Azriel watched as her pretty doe eyes scanned the parchment, reading Rhysand's elegant script. To his surprise, she started to chuckle to herself. She handed it back to him, her face twisted into a mocking smirk. 

"Do you honestly think this is going to stop them from trying to kick me out of this house?" She asked him, sarcastically. His eyebrows furrowed. "I'm guessing you're going to patrol this camp for a week or two to make sure they're adhering to the notice and then you'll wipe your hands clean of this all, pretending the High Lord solved everything. But you know the day you stop showing up here, Silas will be at my doorstep." 

"I can assure you that we'll do everything we can to make sure all the WarLords follow these new laws," Azriel said, his face unreadable and his voice detached. She shook her head with a smile that lacked any warmth. “I promise you that.”

"Right," she drawled out, "Well, thank you so much for your help, shadowsinger." 

She went to shut the door but Azriel stuck his hand out, catching it before she could. His gaze fell to her drooping wing, still bent at an awkward angle. "Please, let me bring a healer to attend to your wing." 

Her wing could heal on her own. It would probably only take a day or two, but just seeing it made Azriel's chest ache. He knew the pain she must be in. 

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't pretend like you care about my wings." 

"I've broken a wing before, too," he explained. "I know how much it hurts. Please, let me help you." 

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Do you want to know the difference between my wings and your's, shadowsinger? Your wings healed. You get to fly. Mine will never heal."

Azriel's gaze dropped back to her wings, now noticing the two scars—clipped. Her wings had been clipped. His heart dropped into his stomach, rage bubbling to the surface instead.

"Who?" he growled, his voice ice cold. 

"Like I said," she bit out, "Don't pretend like you care." 

"I do care," Azriel replied, fists clenching. And it was true, he did. Wing clipping was a heinous crime, one that had been outlawed since Rhys was sworn in as the High Lord of the Night Court. Of course, sometimes the practice of wing clipping still took place in remote camps that slipped through the cracks. "Wing clipping has been forbidden since—"

"I am well aware that wing clipping is forbidden," she snapped. "But like your stupid little notice, no one cares. And the High lord and all of his cronies, you included, Shadowsinger, have made it very clear that you don't either." 

"We do care," Azriel argued. "We do. But we cannot keep watch of all the camps at all times. We rely on people reporting it—" 

"Oh, spare me from hearing your excuses," she cut him off with a growl. "Do you want to know who did this to me? Here's a clue—go look in the High Lord's desk for a letter addressed from me. I've been sending one every single day for the past six years so there's bound to be at least one still around." 

"Six...six years?" Azriel questioned, quietly. "You've been sending a letter every day for six years and not one of them was ever answered?"

Sure, Rhysand had been gone for fifty years, of course and the rest of them had been unable to leave Velaris thanks to him. Then, they had been busy with the war and didn’t have time to deal with inner court problems. But it had been two years since then and she was still sending letters. Letters looking for justice for what happened to her. Letters gone unanswered.

"Not a single one," she huffed.

"Y/n...I am so sorry—"

"Save it," she barked out. "Now, if we're done here, I'd like you to leave." 

"Please, let me help you—"

Azriel choked in surprise as something within snapped. He couldn’t breath, taking a single step back as a golden thread weaved its way through the space between him and the female standing before him. 

Before his brain could even process what just happened, the door was slammed in his face. But Azriel stood frozen on her porch. Frozen in shock because he had finally found his mate. After all these years, he had finally found the person he had been searching for. 

And she absolutely hated him. 

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Your wing had healed enough by the next morning that you could lift it off the ground, though it was rather painful to do so. Your pride made you suck it up, not wanting to go to the healer and have anyone touch your wings. No one had laid a hand on your wings since the day they were clipped and you wanted to keep it that way.

You got ready for the day, putting on one of your mother's old white, chemise dresses. It fell to the top of your boots, swishing around your ankles. You layered a dark blue skirt over it before putting on a front lace-up corset. You grimaced as you did up the buttons under your injured wings before you tightened the corset until it fit snuggly. Lastly, you threw on a cloak. It was snowing outside today and the last thing you needed was to freeze to death.

You stepped in the hallway, the cabin quiet. You went to wake up Suri to get her ready for the day. Normally she was still asleep, so you were surprised when you heard her voice the closer you got to the door to her bedroom. 

"Bad doggy," she babbled, her voice muffled through the door. "You can't go in there." 

Your eyes widened, realizing she was talking to someone or something. You quickly slammed her door open, eyes darting around in concern. Suri jumped as her door banged open, spinning around on her bed to look at you. A small shadow wisped behind her, like it was hiding. 

"Suri?" You questioned. "Who were you talking to?" 

"Issy!" Suri sang out, jumping off her bed in her little pajamas. She still called you issy, unable to pronounce your name easily or the word sister. "The doggy came back!"

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "The what?"

The shadow darted out from behind Suri, swirling around her and causing the little girl to giggle, "Doggy!"

Your eyes narrowed. One of Azriel's shadows had not only lingered behind, but had been staying with your baby sister. You felt your pulse spike with anger. As if it could sense your emotions, the shadow stopped swirling around and instead pressed itself on the floor like it was bashful and guilty. 

You scoffed, "Go back to your master! We don't want you here." 

The shadow wisped upwards, disappearing through the ceiling. A realization had you clenching your fists. Suri pouted. "Issy, you scared the doggy away!" 

"That was not a dog—" you cut yourself off with a sigh. "Suri, go brush your teeth and your hair while I get breakfast ready, okay?" 

"No," Suri grumbled, her tiny nose twitching. "Not unless you get doggy back!" 

"If you do as I say, I'll make you strawberry pancakes for breakfast." 

"Strawb'rry pancakies!" Suri squealed, the shadow momentarily forgotten. Satisfied with your deal, your sister rushed off to get ready. You left her to it, stalking outside through the backdoor. You walked a few paces away from the cabin, staring up at the roof, using a hand to block the rising sun from your eyes.

"I know you're up there!" you shouted. "Don't bother trying to hide!" 

Footsteps were heard and then there was Azriel, peering down at you from his perch on your roof. His annoyingly beautiful face was near unreadable, his hair in a bit of disarray like he'd ran his hand through it one too many times. Dark circles were underneath his hazel eyes and those familiar shadows were whirling around him.

"Why are you on my roof?" You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"Good morning, Y/n," Azriel said, his voice low and husky from disuse through the night. "I've been keeping watch. I wanted to make sure none of those males would bother you again." 

"I already told you I don't need or want your help, Shadowsinger! Now get the fuck off my roof," you snarled at him. You didn't want him here. You didn't want his stupid shadows near you or Suri either. Besides, since when did he care what happened to you or any other Illyrian females? He had turned his back on his own people the day he ran off to the High Lord's perfect little city, pretending like he wasn't one of you, wasn't Illyrian. 

Easy for him. He was a male that could get siphons to use his powers correctly, a male who hadn't been forced down and clipped. He could fly wherever he wanted, go wherever he wanted. He had money and resources you wouldn't even bother dreaming for. Azriel could wipe his hands clean and pretend like he hadn't been born in these mountains and hadn't left anyone behind to suffer when he left. 

It was one thing to escape this brutalizing, barbaric way of living. It was another to gain power and influence within the court and not bother to help your own people. Azriel was a traitor and he could go to hell for all you cared. 

You hated him for it. Hated him and all of his friends. Hated the High Lord and Lady who did little to help anyone here. Hated the General for leading your father to his death in the war. You hated them all.  

Azriel let out a quiet sigh. "I know you don't need my help, but I... I can't just leave knowing those males might come back and hurt you again. I made you a promise and I intend to keep it."

"I don't care about your stupid promises," you bit back. "Get off my roof and go home, Azriel. You're not wanted here." 

"I know you hate me and I know we've all let you down," Azriel replied, guilt shimmering in his eyes. "I'm going to do everything I can to make it up to you, Y/n. I promise." 

"Again with the promises! Your words mean nothing to me," you grumbled, tossing your hands in the air. "I don't have time for this. You know what? You want to spend all of eternity sitting on my roof, you go ahead! But I would really appreciate it if you would just fuck off!"

You didn't bother waiting for his response, storming back into your house and slamming the door shut behind you. 

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A week went by and Azriel kept watch over you the entire time. Every day you would walk outside and peer up at the roof to see him perched there, oftentimes twirling his dagger in his hand lazily. He'd give you a small smile that looked more like a grimace and you'd roll your eyes and go back inside. 

You hated that some part of you did feel better knowing he was there. You knew his reputation and you knew none of the males in this camp would bother you as long as he was there. But it still infuriated you to see his face every morning. To see him shake the snow off his wings. To see him glare down at everyone in your camp like you were all beneath him. 

You especially hated how much Suri had come to love his shadows, always chasing them down the hallways of the cabin. You just wanted him gone. 

And it seemed like you got your wish two weeks later.

It was nighttime, the house quiet now that you'd coaxed Suri into going to bed. You were getting ready for bed yourself, dressed in a nightgown and putting out the fire when a series of soft knocks caught your attention. You frowned, pausing to look at the door. Who would be coming by at this time? Certainly no one good. 

You were debating on ignoring it when a dark shadow whisked its way underneath the door. 

"Y/n," Azriel called out. "It's just me." 

You rolled your eyes and opened your door, knowing he wouldn't leave until you did so.

"What?" You eyed him, taking in his disheveled appearance. You wondered how he survived spending the night in the snow. Just the small draft that came in from opening the door had you shivering. You hugged yourself, your hair blowing gently in the ice cold breeze.

Azriel seemed at a loss for words for a second, his eyes roaming down your body before he met your gaze. His cheeks turned a bit pink as you raised an eyebrow at him. He swallowed, his throat bobbing with the motion.

"I need to leave for a few days," Azriel finally said. "The High Lord is sending me on a small mission. I...I would feel a lot better if you'd let me take you and your sister somewhere else while I'm gone. I can set the two of you up in a nice inn or tavern in Velaris. Or you could stay at my personal residence. Just for a few days." 

You stared at him utterly perplexed. "You're...you're joking, right?" 

He shook his head looking dead serious. "No, Y/n, I'm not. I worry what will happen if I'm not here to watch over you. Please, just...just let me help. It might be nice for Suri to take her to Velaris and let her see the city." 

"You're out of your mind," you hissed. "I'm not leaving my house and certainly not with you. I already told you I don't need your help."

You went to shut the door but Azriel reached out and grabbed it before you could.

"Please, I just want to help—"

“Azriel, I have survived here on my own for the past two years since my father died in the war,” you growled. “You can't sit on my roof forever. If you truly wanted to fix things, you would've done so centuries ago. So just leave, Azriel. And don't bother coming back." 

“I do care,” Azriel pleaded. “Please—”

"I am not leaving," you snapped. "I am not letting those stupid males run me from my own home. I don't know why you even care! And stop with the whole 'I promised you' thing. You don’t even know me!”

He opened his mouth to say something else but you slammed the door shut in his face. You locked the deadbolt before letting out a sigh. 

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Azriel was worried. Worried and scared and angry. Worried that Silas and his goons would bother his mate while he was gone. Scared that they’d hurt her. And angry at just the thought of that. His chest ached as he thought about his mate and her clear hatred towards him. He couldn’t blame her for it. She was right. He had abandoned Illyria a long time ago. 

But that needed to change. He needed that to change. Not just for his mate’s sake but for her sister, for Nyx, for all the females and children whose lives were awful because of the males in charge of all their camps. 

She had been the wake up call he needed. He had the privilege of being a male in Illyria. He got to keep his wings. Got to work at having a different life then the one he was born into. His mate hadn’t had those opportunities. She was flightless, stuck to the ground and stuck in her miserable camp. 

Azriel wanted nothing more than to just grab her and her sister and get them far away from Illyria. To bring them to his apartment in Velaris where he could take care of them, could keep them safe. 

But his mate didn’t trust him. 

He would do anything to prove himself to her. Prove that he did care for her and all the other Illyrian females. No matter how much hate he was met with, he’d keep crawling back until he earned her forgiveness and a chance to give her a better life. 

She deserved that more than anything. Not just because she was his mate but because she had been so strong all these years, standing up to males twice her size and keeping her sister’s wings from being mutilated like hers had been. She didn’t choose to be Illyrian anymore than he did. 

And Gods, he wanted her to stop hating him. He wanted her to give him a chance. Just one chance to show her what she truly deserved. He had learned so much about her by just watching her this week and he knew that no other female would come close to capturing his heart and attention the way she had in just that short span of time he’d known her. 

Azriel knew he didn’t deserve her or her forgiveness. He knew she was too good for him. Too beautiful, too pure of heart. He could see that just by the way she took care of her sister and the other females in her village, despite the torment it brought her from the males. 

He let out a sigh, his eyes still locked on the camp of Autumn Soldiers. He was doing a reconnaissance mission. Beron was up to something again and these soldiers had been spotted on the coast. 

It had been two days since he left his mate and so far, nothing had been unknowingly sent down the bond except for her normal moods she fluctuated with during the day. 

He just needed to finish this mission and rush back to Velaris to drop off his report to Rhysand before he could get back to her. He normally liked to take his time on his missions but this was quite possibly the first time he ever had a want to get back faster. He was hoping to sneak into the River House and set his report on Rhys's desk without seeing anyone. He'd been ignoring and skipping family dinners for the past week and knew they'd have a lot to say about it. 

Azriel faltered as a wave of fear crashed through him. No, not fear. Terror. Unbridled terror and then pain. He sucked in a breath, nearly falling from the tree he was perched in. He was frozen for a second before he realized what was happening---his mate was in danger. 

It took him less than a second to decide to abandon the mission and shadow all the way back to the Illyrian mountains. Azriel let out a curse when he stepped out of the shadows in front of his mate's cabin to see it covered in flames. Someone had set it on fire and it was quickly crumbling under the flames. His heart was beating in his chest as he strained his ears to make sure no one was inside.

But then the most heart-stopping, chill inducing sound was heard ringing through the camp.

His mate's screams.

He sprinted towards the sound, his boots pounding against the cold hard ground. It led him to the town center where a crowd had formed, males hollering and shouting encouragement at whatever was happening. 

Azriel pushed his way through the crowd, shoving aside male after male until he reached the front. His heart dropped in his stomach as he beheld what was happening before him. 

His mate on her knees, holding up the tatters of her shirt to maintain her dignity. Silas standing behind with a whip in hand, raising it in the air again. Blood all over the white snow around his mate, staining it red. Tear streaks running down his mate's face, her beautiful face pale and twisted in pain. One of Silas's commanders holding a crying and screaming Suri, her tiny fists pounding on his chest. 

Azriel wished he knew what happened next. Wished he had this memory to look back on whenever he remembered the rage he felt. But one second he was standing there staring at his mate in horror and the next second, he was surrounded by dead bodies with Truth-teller in his hand dripping with blood. The camp had fallen silent and his ears were ringing, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. 

Suri had been dropped in the chaos and had rushed towards her sister, throwing her small arms around her neck as she sobbed.

And his mate.

His beautiful mate was staring right at him, eyes wide from witnessing the carnage he had just unleashed in this camp. Silas laid dead behind her, his shadows still ravaging his body. Slit throats, broken necks on all the other males that laid dead at his feet. But his mate was looking at him.

Azriel took a step towards her, watching her carefully as she weakly wrapped an arm around her sister's body while her eyes never left his. And he knew the mating bond had just snapped for her, could see the realization in her eyes. 

"N-no," she stammered out, her voice cracking. "No. Not you. Not...Not you! Anyone but you!"

Azriel could feel her dread pouring down the bond amidst the pain and terror she felt. He felt his heart crack in his chest, heard his shadows wailing as they too felt her pain and sorrow. 

But his broken heart at finding his mate and hearing that she didn't want him was not important in this moment. Not as his mate's eyes rolled to the back of her head and she slumped to the ground.

Azriel rushed forward, scooping both his unconscious mate in his arms and her crying sister before disappearing in a whirl of screaming shadows. 

[nestastits]

Rhys is so funny now that I think about it. Little him was bringing home tortured orphans like stray cats and telling his mama “this one good, I keep him?🥺” 😭😭😭

[surielstea]

Guilty Pleasures

Based on this request.

Pairing: Azriel x Vanserra!Reader (fem)

Summary: Readers secret relationship with the Shadow Singer can’t be suppressed when Azriel finds himself in Readers room after a meeting with her brother, Eris.

Warnings: smut | pwp | minors dni | p in v | rough sex | mating press | controlled orgasm | creampie | praise/degradation | name calling | pure filth

3.4k words

The Forest House is crawling with night dwellers. That's what Eris had told me when he woke me up this morning, throwing a gown at me and telling me to get dressed before attending the meeting between Night and Autumn. Since my brother was the new high lord I could do little to argue with him, if he wanted me to participate I would be forced to do so. I was the farthest from the throne, and even less, a girl.

Though Eris seemed to look past the imbalance of power between us, even if it was blatantly obvious I had no choice but to do exactly as said.

I may not have not been the strongest fire wielder in my family, hel, Lucien practically started glowing whenever he conjured fire, but then again he's always been a little different from the rest of us. Without flame, I was dealt with the same cunning tongue as my father. It was a wicked trait to inherit, but also my best weapon. I could do more damage with my words than a sword because let's face it, internal wounds never really heal, and my father made sure he taught me that.

So I put on the deep green dress and tied the corset around my waist and bust tightly, keeping my retorts to myself about the style of the dress, wishing it wasn't so flashy. But this was a meeting with the Lord of Night he was flashy if anything, and so was the rest of his court. So I understand what Eris had been planning.

When I stepped into that meeting room I made sure I was making an entrance. Whatever discussions that had been ongoing before I walked in ceased. As his courtier, I was familiar with the members of Rhysand's court, specifically the two Illyrians flanking his left side. I flash the blue-siphoned male a sinister smile, reveling in the way his eyes drank me in, trekking down me from head to toe with an incomprehensible amount of lust, the kind that's guaranteed to have dropped panties before.

When his eyes return to mine I playfully look away with a smirk, making it clear that I'd caught him in the act. I take my place next to Eris at the other end of the table, his side comparably smaller in group size, void of friends and family like the High Lord of Night. But Eris did what he had to in order to survive, even if that meant pushing everyone else away— well, everyone but me. Because even with sheer determination, he wasn't able to get rid of me, who has been clinging so tightly to him since I was a child.

The meeting had already begun by the time I walked in so I didn't waste my time trying to catch up. I was only there to make an appearance, Eris had claimed it puts people at ease when they see a familiar face, invoking a more positive response. That was all I managed to pick up when he was explaining his schemes, I knew they'd stay true to our alliance. They needed us, we had one of the strongest armies, and even if they were guaranteed a win they didn't need to add bodies to the death toll.

The Shadow Singer's eyes tracked my every movement, he stared as I played with the ends of my hair, and practically started drooling when I flicked my eyes up to look at him every now and then. Gods he was so obvious, and they called him a spymaster?

I smirked down at my lap at the idea, picking at my nails to distract myself but it did little to help when I could practically feel his need for me from across the room.

The meeting went on for what felt like hours. I thought it'd be fairly straightforward when Eris explained it to me yesterday, I guess I underestimated the dramatics of the Night Court's strongest. Not to say it wasn't entertaining, but I found myself nearly laughing at some of the remarks made throughout the meeting.

Eventually, it was brought to an end. Rhysand had inevitably agreed to continue the alliance, just as Eris had suspected, and soon everyone was filing out of the meeting room.

I had beelined straight back towards my bedroom, aching to rip myself free from my revealing dress, in need to slip back beneath my sheets and go back to bed.

But as soon as I entered my room, I noticed there was someone's presence already occupying it. I was startled, staring at the Shadow Singer as he gazed at all the trinkets lined on my shelves. Most of them were souvenirs Lucien had collected for me during his travels across the continent. I was always jealous of him for that. While he was out exploring the world, I was still here, stuck in the same house I was born in.

"What are you doing?" I immediately question and Azriel whirls around, facing me with pure stoicism.

"Got lost," He shrugged.

"This is my room," I say with stern brows. He looked around the space, at the books on the shelves, the messy papers on my desk, and my unmade bed that was calling my name.

"Is it?" His eyes returned to mine and he took a bold step forward.

"Yes, if you need me to call a maid to escort you back to your room I'd be happy to oblige," I offered him a kind smile but he only continued with his strides, another pace, slowly closing the distance.

"That's kind of you," He takes one more step and suddenly I have to crane my neck up to look at him, my chest nearly pressed to his. "But I don't think that's necessary," He leaned against the door, closing it to peering eyes. At the newfound privacy, my smile widens and I practically tackle him to the ground, my arms sling around the nape of his neck as his lips crash onto mine.

I melted into the kiss and I swore for a moment he was holding up most of my weight. His hand comes to the back of my head, pulling slightly at my air and forcing me to back away.

"Gods, I missed you," He confesses through a breath. I beam, rising onto my toes and pecking him, pulling away as quickly as I came.

"I missed you too, Az," I murmur, pulling him so much closer. He stumbled forward and my back came into contact with the door, trapped between him with no exit. I couldn't find it in myself to complain.

His lips find mine again, like magnets pulling us together we slot into each other perfectly, filling every crevice and meeting every rendezvous of his touch. I reacted to his kiss in such a way that the first time our lips collided I thought I had lost my mind. It made me feel powerful and made me feel I was capable of so much more.

"It's been too long," I murmur as his hands trail down my sides, putting pressure on my waist, brushing along my hips, then curving along the side of my ass before reaching my thighs and hoisting me up.

"I know love, I know," He sighed onto my lips. I open my mouth wider, inviting his tongue as I wrap my legs around his torso while he holds me up.

His tongue dances with mine, like the last two warriors left on a battlefield, needy and restrained, torturous and passionate.

"I need you," I confess into his mouth and he grunts lowly at the words. "That meeting was cruel," I mumble while he begins to kiss down my neck.

"I know," He repeats, his voice desperate and raw. "The whole time I've been here I've only wanted to rip your dress off and fuck you on the floor," He admits and the apex of my thighs thrums with a chant of need.

"Then what are you waiting for?" I retort with a foxlike smirk. He pushes off the door, and rather than the floor he carries me over to my bed.

I grin against his lips in anticipation as he begins untying the back of my dress, the corset loosening and allowing me to breathe fully.

He pulls me free from it entirely, tearing my dress off and discarding it to the floor before he mounts over my mostly nude body. He lays me down, his lips coming to mind in a moment of need. I begin unbuckling his pants, tugging at them with needy movements. He helped, taking off his shirt for me while kicking off his pants.

His hands roam my body, over the curve of my breasts, past my waist, then finally to my hips where he found the waistband to my pink undies, toying with the lace.

"You wear these just for me?" He purrs into my mouth and I nod, capturing his lips with mine yet again. He pulls the lace down my thighs, allowing the cool air to hit my soaked cunt. I gasped as two of his fingers immediately delved through my folds, drenching his hand.

"Gods, you're soaked baby," He admires and I flash an embarrassed smile. He smirks at the reaction, pressing his dripping fingers to my clit with rough circles. My breath hitched before I let out a string of moans, pawing at the imprint in his boxers with an unquenchable need.

"Please," I beg.

"I have to stretch you out first," He tuts and I whine in protest. "I know, but it'll hurt otherwise be patient," He explains. Tears well in my eyes as I look up at him with a dramatic pout.

"I want it to hurt," I confess. "Make it hurt, I swear I'll be good." My pleads are met with a stern look from him. I palm him, my hand wrapping around the tent in his boxers, gripping him slightly and he grits his teeth at the feeling.

"I'm not stopping when you tell me it hurts," He threatens and I nod in agreement, my hunger becoming too strong to ignore as I pull down his boxers and his heavy cock slaps up against his abdomen.

My mouth waters at the sight, my pussy thrumming against his hand with anticipation.

He swipes his length through my folds and I revel in the feeling of his warm length running through my cunt, the ridges of his thick member adding friction to my sopping folds as I continue to lube him up.

"You sure?" He says, looking at me pointedly and I nod. "Be a good girl and use your words." He prompts and I swallow thickly.

"Yes, Az," I plead. "I want you," I add and before I know it he's aligning his tip and pushing the head of him inside of me.

I gasped, clawing at his tan back, drawing blood with my nails but he didn't seem to mind the marks I made as he pressed into me.

When Azriel fucked, he fucked good and hard. He didn't relent his pace and he only sped it up. He knew I was teasing him in my dress earlier, how tortuous it was to have me in the same room as him yet he couldn't have me, not how he wanted to have me. Not like this.

He made each of his movements rough and pleasurable. He snapped his hips into mine, my base meeting his as he began to roll his hips into me. "There Az, right there," I cry out as he finds a sensitive bundle of nerves nestled deep inside of me that only he could reach with his impressively long cock that he's molded me to, so it's only him I can seek pleasure with.

"Yeah? Be a good girl and open wider for me," He says and I do just that, spreading my legs as far as I can, allowing him to his me deeper as his balls slap against my ass. "Atta girl, taking me so well," He hummed and I smiled hazily up at him. It didn't hurt, or maybe it did and the pain hadn't settled in over the adrenaline— but all I felt was pleasure, I was too wet for there to be any discomfort.

"You feel so perfect wrapped around my cock baby," He admires, looking down and watching the way he disappeared inside my entrance. "Fuck, you're so tight," He grunts, bringing his scared hand down and pressing it to my stomach. I mewled at the feeling of him rubbing harder against my walls, clamping down around his base and making it harder for him to drive into me.

"You feel that? Feel how deep I'm in your pretty pussy?" He smirks and I nod with a whimper leaving my lips. He continues his brutal pace, pushing me up onto the bed with the force that he was fucking me with.

He grabs the back of my thighs and pulls my legs up, putting me into a mating press.

I wailed at the new position, practically feeling him thrust into my womb. "So good," I murmur and he only smirks.

"Yeah? You like it when I'm using you like this?" He asks and I flutter my lashes up at him, tears dripping down the sides of my face.

"Yes, love it when you use me Az," I confess and he twitches at the words. "All yours," I sigh out.

"That's right," He leans down to press a kiss at the corner of my jaw. "My perfect little slut," He purrs at the shell of my ear and I gasp, my orgasm nearing rapidly. "You like when I call you a slut don't you? Dirty girl," Azriel rolls his hips over mine as he speaks, creating a loss of words to form on the tip of my tongue, being replaced by moans and screams instead.

I pulse against his cock, my puffy pussy twitching around his base as he continues his vile movements.

"I'm gonna— Az, m'close," I warn and he kisses me with a smile, toying with me, seeing how long I can hold myself back from sweet release.

"Not yet baby, want you to cum with me," He directs and a whimper falls from my lips in defiance, the pain beginning to set in as I drag out my climax, forcing it away per his demand. I squeeze around his tighter, attempting to spur him on to find his release quicker.

"Az— s'too much, it hurts," I cry out and he smirks against my skin, nipping at the side of my neck before lifting up to meet my teary gaze with his lustful one.

"Poor girl, you said that's what you wanted." He kissed up the side of my face, licking away my salty tears. "Keep to your promise and I'll let you cum soon, alright?" He offers and I rapidly nod. "Good."

He presses me into the mattress, my thighs still at my sides as he folds me in half and forces his the head of his cock into my cervix. I gripe at the feeling, writing beneath him but fighting off my impending orgasm nevertheless. Moans spilled from my swollen lips and he basked in them, in all the noises I made as his cock pushed deeper into my cunt.

He twitches and I thank the gods, the signal meaning he was close and my torture would end soon.

"My perfect little slut, so good for me," He croons, his words ghosting over my lips but not quite attaching them, loving the way I gasped out with moans into his mouth.

I clench tighter around him and he grunts, his jaw feathering as he grits his teeth.

"Go ahead, make a mess all over yourself." He allows and I immediately meet his request, my release dragging screams out of me. I don't even know when my hands got into his hair but I pull at it as my climax takes me full throttle and I fall beyond words to describe just how glorious the euphoric feeling is.

"That's it, keep milking my cock just like that," He groans in pure pleasure, his warm seed seeping into each and every one of my crevices as his thrusts slow and he attempts to pull out from my tight cunt that was still clenched around him, not wanting him to disappear quite yet.

But eventually, he removed himself from me and I was left panting on the bedspread, pulsing around nothing.

"Alright, let's get you cleaned up before I have to leave." He scoops me up into his arms and I whine, my brows bunching into a knot as he carries me into the connected bathing chambers.

"I don't want you to leave," I whine and he settles me down onto the cold bathroom counter.

"I don't want to leave either." He meets my gaze, looking down at me with soft eyes that contrast with his rough movements from only a moment ago. "But I have a mission passing through here next week," He said, grabbing a cloth from beneath the sink and wetting it with warm water. "Maybe we can meet at an inn and stay there for a few days," He plans and a small smile spreads across my face.

"I hope you know I'm not planning to leave that bed the entire time we're together," I hum and he smiles cheekily, his dimples making an appearance. I cup his jaw in my hands, admiring the panes of his face as he begins to wash the insides of my thighs.

"Sounds like a perfect plan to me," He flicked his eyes up to mine, away from my pink folds, still irritated from his harsh actions. I gasp slightly as he runs over my clit with the cloth, my legs jolting with overstimulation.

"Sorry, I was so rough," He uttered, continuing his gentle ministrations. I shake my head, not accepting his apology.

"Felt good," I tilt my head back as if reminiscing about five minutes ago. "I wish you could stay for another round." My fingertips dance down his chest. He looks at me sternly, catching my wrist before it can get too low and placing it on his broad shoulder.

"You know I won't be able to leave if I get back in that bed with you," He stated and I nodded, biting into my lower lip.

"Exactly," I say and he hoists me up into his arms, discarding the dirtied cloth into the hamper and placing me back down onto my bed.

"I'll see you next week, alright?" His shadows bring me a pair of clean panties and the softest nightgown from my wardrobe.

"Next week is too far away," I groan and flop back onto my bed while he hikes my undies up my thighs and snaps them against my hips with a satisfying sound.

"I think you'll survive," He lifts me upright. "Arms up," He casually muttered and I did as he said, lifting my arms so he could slip the comfortable nightgown over my head.

"I don't think I will," I sigh once the gown is past my head and he offers me a soft, reassuring smile.

"Maybe I'll sneak by sooner," He dips down and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. "If you're lucky," He warns as I wrap my arms around the nape of his neck and pull him onto my lips, kissing him with the same amount of heat as earlier, but also with an addition of love, my last ploy of getting him to stay. But he knew what I was doing, and he pulled away before he could fall for it.

"I'm sorry baby," He whispers and I frown. "I'll move things around and I'll come earlier than next week," He says but my frown remains. "And we'll spend days in bed, how's that sound?" He offers and a small smile forms over my pout. "Yeah? Good?" He asks and I nod with a cheeky grin. "Okay, I'll see you soon my love," He presses one last kiss to my lips, relishing the taste of me against him one more time.

"Bye Az," I murmur against his lips. He pecks me once again before shadows swarm around him and he is consumed by darkness, slipping through my grasp and leaving me alone.

But he'll be back sooner than next week, and his promises gave me more than just one thing to look forward to.

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[isa-sketches]

Cassian

(I might go back and change a few things but for nooow. I'm pleased. Im considering a scruff?? or beard idk. ) Edit: Updated here

[ladylokilaufeyson5]

Never Yours

NEVER YOURS | Azriel x Female!Illyrian!Reader

SUMMARY: You’ve known Azriel was your mate for a long time, but you never enlightened him to the fact. When you find him kissing someone else you decide to take a trip to the Illyrian war camps to take your mind off of the shadowsinger. But the thing about shadows – they always follow.

WARNINGS: Angst. Swearing, mentions of blood and injuries, reader doesn’t know how to deal with her emotions properly. Illyrian males are sexist and pieces of shit (not our batboys tho<3). Azriel is a mean but it’s kinda justified if you think about… 

WORDS: 5.4K

I’m thinking of writing a part two where everything is sorted out. Let me know if that’s something you guys would like :))

“He’s supposed to be my mate,” you whispered, voice cracking, echoing that of your heart.

“I know,” Mor murmured, one hand stroking through your hair, the other rubbing your back comfortingly, careful to avoid your wings. There was nothing else to be said.

A choked cry left your throat. You had thought that maybe, maybe Azriel had known. Maybe he looked at you and felt the connection – felt the bond that tied your souls together. You had thought that those long looks and small smirks he sent your way meant something more than friendship.

But when you’d walked in on him kissing Elain… it was like the world had stopped. They hadn’t even noticed you. Granted, you’d been in the room for a second and then rushed out as soon as your brain actually registered what you were seeing… But he had chosen someone else. You had waited too long to tell him, and now… now you had lost him.

“I have to go,” you hiccupped, rising out of Mor’s embrace. “I’ll, um… I’ll see you later.”

“Are you sure?” Mor asked, worry and concern visible on her face as she stood up as well. “You can stay here, if you’d like.”

You looked around at Mor’s apartment in Velaris, the one she stayed at when she needed time to herself. Everyone had their own home in the city, because while everyone loved the inner court dearly, sometimes everyone could get on each others’ nerves.

You shook your head at Mor’s offer. “No, thanks,” you mumbled. “I just… I just want to be alone right now.”

Mor pursed her lips but did not argue. She gave you a tight hug before you left, making you promise not to do anything stupid, and to get home safe. 

As you walked through Velaris, you could have sworn that the stars didn’t shine as bright, that the music wasn’t as loud, that the laughter was less frequent. It was as if your city knew the way your heart ached and ached, and was trying to reflect that. You hated the way it felt, the way your soul cried and wept, screaming at the Mother for giving you a mate that would not love you back.

You should have told him when you first realised. When he grabbed your hand to help him up after he’d bested you in training (a rare occurrence, as you were both pretty evenly matched and most duels ended in a draw), and when it snapped into place for you. You’d looked into his hazel eyes and felt like you were home, felt like all of your problems could melt away if you just got lost in them. You’d felt like a fool not realising, like the bond was always there, but now a veil had been lifted and you could see it clearly. Azriel hadn’t noticed anything, and so you pretended that you hadn’t, either. Because Elain had already arrived, and you could tell that there was already something between them. And having the mating bond rejected – well, that wasn’t something you thought you’d survive.

You had only told Mor. The thought of telling anyone felt wrong if it wasn’t Azriel, but Mor was your dearest friend, and she had trusted you with her deepest secret, so you could trust her with yours. You insisted every day that you should tell him, always nagging and never relenting, but you couldn’t. Not when he got closer to Elain and you could see the way his eyes lit up whenever she entered the room, the way his shadows would fade away when she came near.

You needed to get away. You’d have to see either one of them tomorrow, one way or another. If you stayed at the River House then you were bound to see Elain, and if you stayed at the House of Wind, then you’d definitely see Azriel. You both lived there, after all, and he was in every hallway you turned down, every room you walked into. You couldn’t bear seeing either one of them, not for a while. You had to leave.

You flew straight to the River House with a plan forming in your mind and entered without knocking, stalking straight to Rhys’s office. He was sitting at his desk, a pen in his hand, and his head raised as you entered.

“You know, most people would knock–” he started, but you interrupted.

“Send me on a mission.”

Rhys looked taken aback. “What?”

“Send me on a mission,” you repeated. Rhys looked at you questioningly, and talons delicately scraped down your mental shields in a silent request. Always a request, never a demand from him, but you shook your head and made sure your mental defences were as strong as possible. “Stop prying.”

It wasn’t a nice thing to say – Rhys only wanted to help you. You’d known him for over five hundred years, and you knew that while, yes, he and the other two Illyrians were huge busybodies, if you had something going on, he wouldn’t ‘pry’. He’d try to help in any way possible.

Rhys could clearly sense your bad mood. You weren’t exactly hiding it. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“If I wanted to talk about it, then I would have come in here and started talking about it,” you retorted.

Rhys’s lips pursed. “Is this about Azriel?”

You scowled and snapped, “That’s none of your business.”

“You know, I’m sure if you just spoke to him–”

“It doesn’t matter,” you spat. “Either you send me on a mission, or I’m taking my vacation leave.”

Rhys sighed, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind. Sending you away would only fuel your unhealthy coping mechanisms, but forcing you to stay… well, he didn’t want to hurt you like that.

“Fine,” he relented. “There’s an Illyrian War camp that needs… overseeing. They say they’re training the females, but every time I receive information from… other… sources, they say otherwise.”

You wondered if this ‘other’ source was the shadowsinger that you were currently trying not to think about.

“So you want me to get them to train the females properly?” you asked, and Rhys nodded.

That would get you maybe two or three days away from Velaris, possibly four or five if you played your cards right. Maybe by then you would have calmed down and been able to come up with a plan as to where to go from there. How to survive the crushing of your heart; of your soul.

“I’ll leave tonight,” you decided, but Rhys levelled you with a hard stare.

“Y/n, it’s already late,” he scolded. “Just wait until morning. You need rest.”

You were tempted to retort, tempted to tell him that you weren’t a baby and could take care of yourself… but he was right. You needed your strength for the Illyrian camps. The males tended not to take nicely to female warriors, and seeing as you had escaped the clippings in your childhood, they’d more than likely strike if you were tired.

“Fine,” you muttered, relenting only because it was logical.

Rhys studied you, his eyes watching you closely. Even though he generally relied on being able to look into someone’s mind to discern their thoughts, Rhys was pretty good at reading people and their body language. It was part of being a soldier, being a leader.

“You know, anything said here will stay between us,” he murmured.

For some reason, you had a feeling that he knew. Maybe you hadn’t been careful enough at hiding it in your mind, burying it beneath thoughts of your duties and upcoming birthdays and celebrations and whatever else you could come up with to hide it all.

But you didn’t want to talk about it. That was why you were here, after all – you were running from… everything.

“Thanks,” you uttered before leaving.

You could have sworn you heard Rhys sigh as you closed his office door.

With the luck of the Mother or Fate, Azriel wasn’t at the House of Wind when you arrived that night, nor was he present when you left the next morning at dawn.

The flight to the Illyrian mountains was a long one. You could have easily winnowed to the Illyrian camps, but you wanted to drag this trip out as long as possible. Besides, flying meant planning time, and planning meant that you’d be able to tackle this situation at the war camp more efficiently.

You arrived at the camp just before sundown, touching on the ground in front of the camp warlord and eight of his shoulders. Rhys had told them beforehand that you were coming, but they were obviously infuriated that a girl was going to tell them what to do.

“Devlon,” you greeted.

The warlord had his arms crossed and a frown on his face, causing a small grin to tug at your mouth. Whenever you came to one of the war camps, usually one of the bat-boys would accompany you to make sure they didn’t miss out on you burning it to the ground if you decided to. But now that they were training the females, you’d felt less inclined to do so, even if only slightly.

“So, the High Lord decided to send you to make sure we’re completing our duties,” he sneered.

You raised your chin slightly, the smug grin on your face growing a little bit. “Indeed he did.”

You looked around at the fighting rings, seeing (as you had been expecting) only men fighting and training. The wind pushed against them and they pushed back just as hard, swords clashing against each other, steel shining in the light of the setting sun, dimmed only by the clouds passing overhead.

“We do not need you to oversee us,” one of his men said, stepping forward and flashing his teeth at you.

It was a threat, the way he stood and the way he spoke to you. You could tell he was itching for a fight, and, luckily for him, you were, too.

“You clearly do,” you chided. “I don’t see any females in the rings.”

“Why don’t you get in there, then?” he snapped, rage practically wafting off of him. “Why don’t we see if you’ve really got what it takes, huh?”

You smirked to yourself, pleased with the way this was going. You’d been training and fighting for over five centuries with the best warriors Prythian and the lands beyond had ever seen. This male here was either unaware or too arrogant to realise he would not leave the ring a winner.

“Alright,” you agreed. “Weapons, or fists?”

“Fists,” the male growled.

You walked with him to the ring, eyeing the males who stopped what they were doing to watch. You peered over the edge and down into the valley below, the sheer drop making you want to snap your wings out just in case.

“If, and when, I win this fight,” you began, “you will begin to train the females following the schedule that your High Lord gave to you.”

The male before you grunted, his eyes full of rage. “And when I win, I will send you back to the High Lord in pieces,” he spat.

You simply rolled your eyes, enraging the male even more. Devlon stood outside the ring, his arms crossed and eyes watching you. Was it childish, this behaviour? Accepting a challenge from an Illyrian brute? Absolutely, it was. But you didn’t care. You had to do something to take the edge off, to make you forget the way Elain’s hand rested on your mate’s chest as she kissed him, the way your mate’s hand settled on her waist.

“You know the rules,” Devlon commanded. “No weapons, just your bodies and your wits.”

You grinned at the male, and before you knew it, the fight began. The two of you circled each other slowly, carefully, trying to gauge the other’s weakness. This one, he favoured his left side, which would be useful for you to know for when you were ready to end this. But for now? You just wanted a fight.

The male lunged at you while your back was at the ledge, just as you’d expected him to. He was hoping for a clean win, shoving you into the valley below, but you knew when he was going to strike. The slight shift in his weight as he leaned back told you that he was about to pounce and you side stepped easily, watching as the warrior turned back around in an instant.

This Illyrian was big, as most were, but you’d been fighting against a bunch of big idiots (namely Cassian, Rhysand, and the other one you didn’t want to think about), so you knew how to use your speed, and how to use their own strength against them. 

He lunged again, and this time you came to meet him. You blocked his attack and threw a punch, but he dodged it and grabbed your arm, flipping you onto your back. After a quick manoeuvre you had his legs trapped within yours and you pushed, dragging him to the floor. All of this happened within the span of seconds, and then the two of you were back in defensive positions, circling each other once again. As the sun sank beyond the horizon, fires were lit. You could see the flames’ light washing over your opponent, painting him orange and gold.

This time, you took the offence, throwing punches and kicks his way, fierce and unrelenting. He blocked all of your attacks before you feinted left and struck right. You hit his side as hard as you could, before punching him square in the nose.

You felt no little amount of glee as you heard and felt his nose crunch under the force of your hit. Blood gushed down his face and onto his training leathers and you danced back, prompting him to try to land a hit on you. His eyes were filled with a fiery wrath at being bested, and by a female at that. That was why he had challenged you in the first place – he didn’t believe that a female could beat him, let alone hold her own against him. And here you were, proving him wrong.

You could end it. Right now, you could end this fight, have this male’s face in the mud and the girls training. But you wanted to prolong this, wanted to feel every hit he struck, feel everything before you tired him out.

So you continued the fight, and you even allowed him to get a few good hits in. He got your jaw at one point and you felt your lip split – and yet you continued. You were going to be covered in bruises tomorrow, but it wouldn’t matter. No one in this camp would challenge you again, and you’d be able to lose yourself in the battle.

As the fight wore on, you began to notice the shadows flickering in the darkness. You tried to convince yourself that it was just the fire, the wind and flames messing with your mind, but… you felt him. You felt Azriel in those shadows, watching and waiting.

Unfortunately, while you were concentrating on those shadows, your attacks became sloppy. You struck at the male with your fist and had to hold back a wince as he hit your wrist and got you in the stomach, partially knocking the air out of you.

Voices arose after the blow, and the male turned his head to the crowd which contained males and females alike. But what captured everyone’s attention was the shadowsinger standing at the edge of the ring, fists and jaw clenched and looking like he was planning all the ways he could rip this male’s skin from his body. Shadows curled around him, whispering in his ear and sliding over his wings and body.

Azriel’s hazel eyes slid to yours and you looked away, and back to the male. You should end this. Your lip was still bleeding, as well as a cut on your eyebrow. Your wrist was most definitely sprained, and you were sure you had at least a few bruised, if not broken ribs.

But you wanted to continue. You weren’t done yet, especially not with him here, knowing that you flew all the way out here just to get into a boxing match. It wasn’t fair that he was here, that he was ruining this. It wasn’t fair that he distracted you with his shadows, it wasn’t fair that he distracted you with his mere presence. It wasn’t fair that he kissed Elain even though he was your mate, even though you’d loved him in secret for at least twenty of her lifetimes. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking fair.

But… you knew you had to end it. If it went on any longer, you’d only tire yourself out and give the male more of a chance at winning. So you sighed deeply before pelting him with attacks, not giving him a moment to recover. You secured your hands on his shoulders before hoisting your body up and around, wrapping your thighs around his neck and pulling him to the ground. You squeezed your legs tightly, cutting off the airflow to his lungs. He flailed about a bit, trying to escape, and a few seconds before he lost consciousness, he tapped your leg three times, encouraging you to let go and stand up.

“Well, that was fun,” you exhaled. “Let’s not do it again anytime soon.” You turned your gaze to Devlon, his eyes shining with hatred. “The girls start their proper training tomorrow. I’ll be overseeing it, watching what you teach them and how you teach them. Understood?”

Devlon just grunted and left, his gang of males following him. You turned to the house that used to be Rhys’s mother’s and stalked towards it, sensing Azriel follow behind. You were furious that he was here – you’d come to the Illyrian war camps to escape him, and yet he’d followed you here. Had Rhys told him that you’d be here? Had Rhys sent him after you to make sure you didn’t fail? Or had your high lord sent him because he knew that Azriel was the source of your whirlwind of emotions?

The thoughts swirled around your mind as you opened the door. You were tempted to shut it in Azriel’s face, to force him to find somewhere else to sleep, but… he hated these war camps as much as you did. This house, it was a sort of refuge here, somewhere the two of you could feel safe out in Illyria. It was the essence of Rhys’s mother that gave you comfort, you knew. The woman who was more of a mother to you than your own was, the woman who protected your wings and made sure her son and his friends trained you in self defence. The woman who took you, Cass, an Az in, who gave them a home.

So you left the door open for him to follow, and he entered the home. It was just as you had left it the last time you were here; the hallway to the bedrooms that no longer smelled like Rhys’s mother; the small table next to the even smaller kitchen; the dishes that were clean thanks to the shadowsinger behind you, because the rest of you hated cleaning up.

You opened some of the cupboards, looking for the first aid kit. You found it shoved behind a mace and grabbed it, placing it on the table and opening it. You looked inside for the mirror but found it missing, and you sighed through your nose. Cleaning up your lip and eyebrow was going to be difficult now, but you’d figure it out. 

You sat on one of the wooden chairs and assessed your injuries. Split lip and eyebrow – those would need cleaning and bandaids. You assumed you wouldn’t need stitches as it didn’t feel deep, nor did it sting in the way it would if you did require stitches. Your knuckles were split, and your wrist was sprained. Those would require bandages, which you luckily had lots of. There wasn’t much you could do about the ribs – maybe you could get Madja to do a look over once you returned to Velaris.

“Why are you here?”

Azriel’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You’d almost forgotten he was here – almost, only because you could feel the string that tied you together. In a crowded street you’d be able to find him, you knew it. If you tugged on it (which you’d never done) you knew he’d be able to find you, too.

“Rhys sent me on a mission,” you replied nonchalantly.

While you had come here to escape him, it didn’t mean you had to be rude and ignore him, but you could speak as little as necessary. Azriel stayed silent and watched as you struggled to clean your wounds. He sighed and walked over, kneeling between your legs and taking the cloth from your hand, dabbing at your eyebrow. You tensed under his touch and he raised an eyebrow, pausing his actions. He’d done this too many times to count – patching you up after a fight. You all helped each other after a battle with whatever was needed, but this time, it felt… different.

“Why did you follow me?” you asked.

“Why did you start a fight?” he responded.

You glowered at him and a small smile lifted the corner of his lips. He continued to wipe the blood away, and you two sat in silence as he worked. He pulled a bandaid out of the kit and with featherlight fingers, pressed it to the cut on your head. He smoothed it out gently, and the sting was barely noticeable.

“Are you going to answer my question?” he asked, grabbing the cloth again and rinsing it before moving it to your lip.

“Are you going to answer mine?” you retorted.

Azriel chuckled lightly and placed the cloth against your mouth. You hissed as it stung, and the shadowsinger pulled back with a murmured apology. He returned to his task, dabbing lightly and carefully wiping away blood. With his hands practically on your mouth, you could barely think. All you could feel was the cloth on your bottom lip, your mouth separated from the pads of his fingers only by the material.

“You weren’t in the house,” Azriel finally answered as he moved away from your lip and rummaged around the kit for a bandage. “You didn’t tell me you were leaving, so I asked Rhys where you were.”

So Rhys did sell you out. You frowned at the thought, disgruntled by the fact that he sent Azriel after you. Noticing the look on your face, Azriel added, “It took a while for him to tell me, you know. He didn’t tell me what camp you were going to, so I found you myself.”

You scowled at him. “I can take care of myself, Azriel.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” he questioned, ignoring your statement and reaching for your hand to start the bandaging.

Your scowl deepened, and you pulled your arm away from his grasp. “You’re not my keeper, Azriel. I don’t need to tell you anything.”

Azriel eyed you for a moment, clearly seeing that something was bothering you, and trying to figure out what it was. You didn’t normally talk to him like this. Of course, he and the other two Illyrians could be overprotective mother-hens, and you would remind them that you were a warrior, just like them, but your words never had as much venom behind them as they did tonight.

“If this is about my confidence in you,” Azriel began, “I do believe you can carry out this mission on your own. I just…” He sighed and rubbed a hand down his face as if he was considering his next words. “I just wanted to be here.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You hate it here.”

“So do you,” he retorted. “And yet you asked Rhys to send you here.”

“I asked Rhys to send me on a mission, not here specifically,” you countered.

At the glint in Azriel’s eyes, you realised you’d been trapped.

“Why did you ask him to send you on a mission?” he queried.

You scoffed, “None of your business.”

You snatched the bandages from his beautiful, scarred hands and stood up. The shadowsinger rose to his feet as well, towering over you. You took a step to brush past him, intending on wrapping your wrist and hands in one of the bedrooms, when his wing snapped out, blocking your way. You glared at the male, and his eyes held concern.

“Are you avoiding me?” he questioned. 

“No,” you lied, trying to push past him again, only for his arm to stop you this time.

You took a deep breath in through your nose, staring daggers at Azriel. Azriel, who was supposed to be your mate, your other half. Azriel, who was looking down at you with pain in his eyes. Azriel, whose dreams you sometimes saw through the bond, the dreams of his past which pained you whenever you thought of it. Azriel, whose pain you could feel now, running down the bond as you tried to leave him behind.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Azriel reminded you. You opened your mouth, but he continued, “I answered yours, so you answer mine.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, suppressing a wince as your wrist moved wrong. It was starting to swell, and if you didn’t bandage it soon, the others would never let you hear the end of it. It would be, “you need to take care of your injuries, Y/n” and, “you know better than to leave a wound unattended.” You’d be driven mad, because they would never let it go.

“Why did you start a fight?’ Azriel asked again, quietly and gently.

You let out a breath. “Beating that male would assert my dominance, something that you males are always doing.”

Azriel frowned slightly, and you wanted nothing more than to smooth the wrinkles in his forehead away and assure him that everything was fine.

“You could have ended the fight the second you entered the ring,” he stated. “Why didn’t you?”

You shrugged, not meeting his eyes. You couldn’t tell him. He wanted Elain; sweet, beautiful Elain who could be the perfect wife. Elain, who was soft and gentle, Elain who liked to bake and garden. Elain, whose skin was porcelain and unmarred, whose hands were calloused by tending to her garden. Elain, the woman who spoke eloquently and politely, who was able to get him to smile so easily with simply her presence. Elain, the one who made his shadows disappear entirely.

Not you, the Illyrian female whose hands were calloused by weapons and centuries of training. Not you, the female whose physical scars reflected those of her inner scars. Not you, the female who was rough and sharp, with jagged and brittle edges, the female who had been shaped by battles and wars, the female who had witnessed and brought death to many. Not you, the female who his shadows danced around, as if they could sense the darkness within.

You didn’t answer, instead deciding to refuse to meet his gaze and looking around the house, which you now realised felt too small with the two of you in it. A hand rested underneath your chin and forced you to look up and into his hazel eyes.

“Please, tell me what I did,” he begged. “I hate… I hate this. I hate you not talking to me.”

Your breathing hitched as he stared at you, his eyes conveying the hurt that you could feel pulsing down the bond, even if he was unaware of it.

“You kissed Elain,” came out of your mouth before you could stop it.

Azriel froze, and you wished you could have just kept your stupid mouth shut. “That’s it? That’s why you’re upset with me?”

It sounded so silly. You knew it sounded worse to him, because he didn’t know. He didn’t know that he was your mate, that you’d been in love with him ever since you’d learned his name. You didn’t own him, anyway – he had his own free will, and he could kiss whoever he wanted to. But it didn’t stop the ache in your heart whenever you thought of him with someone else.

When you didn’t respond, Azriel took a step back, his hand leaving your chin. You looked down in shame, feeling Azriel pull away.

“I can kiss who I want, Y/n,” Azriel said.

“I know that,” you insisted, looking up, “but–”

“There is no ‘but’, Y/n,” he argued. “You can’t get upset if I’m with someone else. Why do you even care?”

He spat the last word and you felt anger bubbling up at him and his tone. You could care if he was seeing someone. You had the right to give a fuck about his love life.

“You don’t know how much it fucking kills me, Az!” you snapped loudly. “You don’t know what it’s like, being in love with you for practically my whole life and thinking that maybe, maybe you felt the same, and then having the bond snap in place, and feeling like it was always supposed to be like that, like the Mother or the Cauldron or Fate or whatever thought that I was enough for you…”

You trailed off, breathing heavily and feeling guilt and embarrassment spread through you. You weren’t supposed to tell him like that – you weren’t supposed to lose your cool and yell at him that you loved him and… and reveal that he was your mate.

“The… the bond?” he repeated slowly, the only time you’d ever actually heard him stumble over his words. “Y/n, what do you mean, ‘the bond’?”

You sighed and rubbed your arm, once again looking away. “The mating bond. You’re my mate, Azriel.”

He was silent, and you made no attempt to change that. This was it, the moment where he accepted or rejected the bond, the moment where he either made your heart and soul feel whole, or he ripped your heart out of your chest and crushed it.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

Your head snapped up at his words, at the icy rage dripping from them. Azriel’s eyes were hard and dark, staring into you and your soul. You saw him searching through every feeling, every connection to you that he could find.

And then you felt it. The tug on the string that tied your souls together, pulling you towards him. His eyes widened slightly, and his lip curled up into a snarl. “You lied to me.”

“Omitting the truth isn’t lying,” you retorted.

“I had a right to know,” he hissed, and you took a step back.

He shook his head, scoffing at you and your choices, making you feel small and inferior. You hated how easily he could do that, how easily he could make you feel irrelevant and insignificant. It reminded you of how the other Illyrian males tried to do so, not that they ever could. But Azriel had your heart and soul, and everything he said or did affected you in some way or another.

“Well, enjoy the rest of your mission,” he fumed, the cold fury still clouding his eyes. 

Before you could say anything he disappeared into his shadows, leaving you alone in the house as if he had never been there in the first place. For the second time in two days you felt a crushing feeling in your chest, a physical pain that made it hard to breathe. You felt empty, like a part of your soul was missing. 

And it was. Azriel, the other half to your soul, he was gone. And you knew you’d always be able to feel that emptiness, that hole that was so Azriel-shaped it hurt. You were going to feel it forever, no matter how far you went or how long you didn’t see him. It wouldn’t matter if you crossed oceans and lands and skies – you would always feel like you wanted to rip your heart out, if only to ease the pain.

You would always miss what was never yours.

[thrumugnyr]

Pants Brawl for @officialrhysandweek Day 2: Illyrian Warrior

[theredcrane]

Couldn’t resist drawing Feyre in some Illyrian gear after reading acotar!

[acomaflove]

Prompt: Why did you join the Night Court army?

Cassian: I’m Illyrian, so I didn’t have many other career path options.

Azriel: I had no say in the matter.

Rhysand:

Rhysand:

Rhysand: Honestly, 50% was that I had no choice………and the other 50% was daddy issues.

[jennastokesart]

🎶The Shadowsinger🎶

Azriel is one of my favourite characters in ACOTAR. I tend to be drawn to the non-major characters who still have an aura of mystery to them….like Eris, Lucien, Elain.

I was actually a selective mute for the first 11 years of my life and always just observed people, hiding every chance I could. I also burnt tf out of my hands as a child (of my own stupidity though). That might explain my little obsession with Azriel. I’m drawing strange parallels 🥴😅

I’m looking forward to showing you the makeover from my friends’ direction. This one is actually brilliant. But it’ll be on the new TikTok/Reel.👀💙

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy 😈😏

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Two — Azriel x Reader.

Summary: Azriel comes back for a little more practice. But this time, he wants to learn more than just kissing.

Word count: 7k.

Warnings: Some violence, injury detail, mention of blood. Smut 🌶️ some touching and fingering 😏

“Is that painful?”

“A little. Keep going.”

Rhysand’s hands are gentle when, a week later, you lay face-down on his couch, naked from the waist up. You wince as his fingers skate over jagged, poorly healed scars. You can picture the look on his face without needing to glimpse it; pursed lips and a furrowed brow and barely contained rage.

But he doesn’t let that rage seep into his hands as he smooths a pleasant, cooling salve into what remains of your wings. Which isn’t much.

“Sorry,” he murmurs at your slight jolt. “Almost done.”

There are very few people you will trust with touching your back. It’s too personal for you to visit the camp healer for such treatment, however trained and skilled he may be. But Rhysand—

“I swear to you, Y/N.” His voice is deep, stoic, warm breath fanning your shoulder. “When I’m High Lord, this will be outlawed. Females will not go through this under my rule.”

He promises it every single time he helps you with this. And he means it. Which is why you trust him implicitly with the act.

“I know.” You murmur against a couch cushion. “Thank you.”

“All done.”

As he wipes his hands on a rag, you ease yourself into a sitting position, clutching your shirt to your bare chest. As always, a crackling fire breathes heat into Rhysand’s mother’s home, and the feeling is pleasant, soothing.

“I haven’t seen your mother recently.” You mention, waiting for Rhys to turn around so you can slip your shirt on. It’s not that he hasn’t seen more private parts of your body over the years, nor that you particularly care, but he does you the courtesy, anyway. “Is she well?”

A soft, loving smile curls at his lips. “She is.” And then the smile widens into a full-blown grin. “My father wants her closer to home. She’s with child.”

“Seriously?” You blink, and then you’re throwing yourself at Rhys, sheer happiness and excitement filling you. “Rhys, that’s amazing. You’re going to have a brother or sister.”

“Sister, I hope.” He snorts, squeezing you, and yet also minding your still-bare back. “We need more girls around here.”

“Well, boy or girl, you’ll be the most incredible big brother. I just know it.”

And you absolutely do. Rhys has always been that sort of presence in your life; caring and loving and protective. Stern sometimes. A shoulder to cry on. A giver of warm, much-needed hugs.

You lean into one of those hugs now, not caring nor thinking about the fact that your top half is naked and pressing against him. That is, until the front door opens behind you, sweeping a gust of icy air indoors.

You turn just in time to see Azriel kick the snow from his boots. And then he pauses in the doorway, staring between you and Rhysand.

There’s been no mention of the kiss that night a week ago. Things haven’t been strange nor awkward. Just…normal. As if it never happened.

You’ve combed over it in your mind a little, though. Maybe more than a little.

“I told her the news.” Rhys announces, pulling away from you. A beaming grin still lights up his face.

Azriel’s mouth immediately tilts up, matching his enthusiasm as he smiles at you. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

“Oh, incredibly.” You shrug your shirt on. “I’m bound to get far more stimulating conversation from a newborn babe than I do from you three idiots.”

Rhys swats you and Azriel snorts, and then you’re pushing to your feet and heading towards the small kitchen area. “I’m making tea. Do either of you want some?”

“No, I’m heading out to visit my mother.” Rhys stands. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, though.”

“Give her my love.” You tell him.

Azriel dips his head. “And mine.”

With a chipper goodbye, Rhys is dipping out of the cottage. Shutting the door behind him seals the heat inside once more, and already you have some soothing release from the pain in your upper back.

“Tea?” You offer again over your shoulder.

“Please.” Az approaches you from behind, stopping mere inches away to tie the strings at the back of your tunic. “Cass won’t be joining us. He ran into Sacha on the way here.”

You snort. Cassian’s most recent fling is coming up to a week-long stint, now. It won’t be long before cracks begin to show, and the whole thing is called off, and another female or male takes Sacha’s place. Rinse and repeat.

“I wonder which one of them will break it off. My money’s on Sacha.” You ladle a generous helping of sage tea into two cups and hand one to Az. “How are things with Kaeda?”

You can’t lie — you’ve wondered it a fair few times over the past week. Which is only natural, right? To question if the…help…that you gave Azriel was of any use. But so far, he hasn’t mentioned a damn thing.

He takes a long, pensive sip of his steaming drink. And then shrugs. “I’ve not really had the chance to see her.”

Immediately, you cock an eyebrow. Because Az seems to have had plenty of time for you and Rhys and Cass over the last seven days. Even spared one of those days to fly you to the local market to pick some things up for your father. It hasn’t been a particularly busy week for any of you — slow, even — and you’re almost positive he’s had a spare few minutes to land a kiss on his romantic interest.

Leaning your back against the wall, you shoot him a look. One that says, that’s not going to fly with me, Shadowsinger. “Wanna try that again?” You say. “The truth this time, please.”

He sighs, pressing back against the opposite wall. It must be so annoying for him that you can read him so well. Azriel doesn’t like being read. At all.

“I’m just…not confident enough yet. So, I’ve been avoiding her.” He admits. “I think I need more practice.”

You stare at him. Study him. You’re not sure if he’s implying what…what you think he might be implying. “You’re a good kisser, Az.” You tell him. “Trust me.”

The firm, truthful tone of your voice has his cheeks reddening slightly. He lowers his gaze to the floor. “But I don’t feel like one. And that’s the key to it all, isn’t it? Confidence. I’m just not there yet.”

Fair enough, you think. He’s not wrong. But the direction in which this seems to be going has your heart doing a strange, anticipatory flip in your chest.

“So…” You drag the word out. “Are you asking to practice on me again, or? Because I can totally steal one of the sparring dummies from the training ring and guide you that way—”

“Forget it.” He cuts your teasing off with a roll of his eyes.

“No, wait, I’m sorry.” You bite back a laugh. “I’m taking it seriously, I promise. Tell me what you need.”

He purses his lips, eyeing you for a long moment. You allow him to do so, even if it makes you feel a little naked.

“All I know,” he says, “is that I’m comfortable with you.”

The words are…strangely heavy. Vulnerable. He means them, and you know that, but they’re so weighty that for a moment, you can’t speak.

You suppose you’re so accustomed to your friendship with him — the familiarity and comfort of it — that you don’t think too often about how good it feels to be such a support for somebody. It makes you feel good. Useful. You want to always be able to help him like that.

So, you know you’d offer him anything, do anything he needs.

“If you need to practice on me some more, Az...�� Your voice is strangely raspy. “I’m right here.”

He swallows. “But I don’t want it to seem like…like I’m using you.”

“It doesn’t.” It really doesn’t. You keep it to yourself that you need this in your own, little way. “I’d tell you if I felt like that.”

His eyes scan your face, and he seems satisfied with the truth that’s displayed there. He licks his lips and swallows and shifts from foot to foot. And then he says, simply, “Okay, then.”

And you guess this is happening right now, like it happened right then a week ago. So, you place your mug of tea on the counter and push away from the wall. Azriel does the same.

He steps a little closer. Pauses. “Do I need to do anything different to what I did before?”

“No.” You answer, probably a little too quickly. “No, you were great.”

He blushes again, and he seems to be fighting the urge to look away. But he maintains the eye contact like a champ and closes the space between you.

His scent, his warmth, is like a blanket that’s draped over you. You want to wrap yourself inside it, build a fort out of it, hide in it.

Azriel’s hands tremble as he lifts them to your face. He seemed to enjoy that last time — the feel of your skin beneath his. You enjoyed it, too. You tilt your head up just a little.

His thumb makes contact with your cheekbone, brushing a gentle sweep over the area. He leans down—

But then the door flies open, and a snow-covered, pissed off Cassian stomps in.

“Sacha and I are finished.” He announces, not seeming to notice yours and Azriel’s compromising position. “Let’s go to the mead hall.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The mead hall is packed and noisy, exactly how Cassian wants it. He’s in a foul mood, and so a higher volume of people means he has a good choice of who to pick a fight with.

When he gets like this, there’s not really any stopping him.

Luckily, your father isn’t there tonight, so you’re comfortable sitting wedged between Az and Cass without his paranoid, judgemental stare. But you don’t want to be here — the males are too drunk and boisterous, and you seem to be one of very few females present. It makes their leering gazes far more apparent.

“It was a total misunderstanding.” Cassian says from beside you, leaning over you a little so that Az can hear, too. “Yes, I might have called her the wrong name—”

“I would have thrown you out on your ass, too.” You cut him off, rolling your eyes. “At least know the name of who you’re fucking before you dive between their legs.”

“I do know her name. I just got confused—”

He stops mid-sentence and looks up as, from behind, a pair of rough, meaty hands land on your shoulders and squeeze. You immediately recoil at the touch, turning to glimpse the mammoth of an Illyrian male whose name you think is Tanin. Not that you care.

He stinks of ale and sweat as he leans down and smells your hair. You tense. Cassian tenses. Azriel tenses.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” Tanin slurs. “When are you going to let me dive between your legs?”

And there it is. Cassian’s excuse for a fight.

He’s out of his seat and on him quicker than you can even register, slamming Tanin down on the adjacent table amidst plates of food and goblets of ale. Blood goes flying as he pummels his fist into the bastard’s face, and then he’s grabbing a goblet of ale and pouring it over Tanin until he’s coughing and spluttering.

“How about you wash your filthy fucking mouth out?” Your friend snarls, diving in to land another punch. “Piece of shit.”

You turn to Azriel in mild alarm. Usually, he would have jumped in by now, pulled Cassian off before he can do too much damage. But the shadowsinger merely watches the affray with something akin to satisfaction on his face. You sigh in exasperation. This will quickly get out of hand.

“Cass.” You stand, reaching for your friend. “Cassian—”

But your voice is barely heard beneath all the yelling and jeering, and then Tanin is fighting back, landing a hit on Cassian so hard that he stumbles backwards — falls into you and knocks you to the floor, right amongst the gathering, boisterous males.

There’re feet everywhere in all directions, catching you in the side and stepping on your hand and knocking you back down whenever you try to get up. Suddenly, the fight is no longer between Cassian and Tanin. Males are punching each other for the sake of it, and more and more of them join in, not even knowing why they’re brawling. It’s the Illyrian pastime.

Just before another foot can swing into you, you’re aware of strong arms lifting you and plucking you straight from the centre of the chaos. Azriel shoves a drunken lout who backs into you, and then he’s dragging you away, his eyes fierce and blazing.

“You’re alright?” He asks over the shouting, his gaze roving your dirtied, creased tunic.

Your hand is throbbing from being stepped on, but the ache is already dulling. You nod. “I’m fine. Where is Cass?”

“Here.” Cassian suddenly appears behind you. His hair has mostly escaped the knot he’d tied it into, and his lip is badly split, blood gushing down his chin. He spits some onto the floor, and his words are thick and almost unintelligible as he cups his mouth and says, “Pieth of thit got me good.”

You scowl, knocking his hand away to grip his chin. “Serves you right. That fight was completely unnecessary.”

“I dithagree.” His eyes glitter, but then he grimaces and pulls away to spit more blood out. “Dammit. I think I need thitches.”

He definitely does. The gash in his lip is deep and pouring. And with the fight still merrily going on around you, it won’t be long before someone tries to drag him back into it. And Cass will happily oblige.

“Go to the healer and get that seen to.” Azriel tells him, not unlike a stern parent. He grips him by the shoulder and steers him out of the door, dragging you with him by the other hand. “And then sober up. I’m taking Y/N home.”

“And apologise to Sacha.” You add.

Cassian grumbles, but the fact that he doesn’t protest is a positive. He can sometimes be so stubborn that it makes you want to split his lip yourself. It would seem he’s had enough drama for one night.

“Fine.” He spits blood onto the dirt path. “Maybe Satha will take pithy on me.”

The fact that neither you nor Az agree is downright hilarious. But nor do you correct Cassian’s drunken, skewed thinking. Nights like these are a common occurrence, and to some degree, you just have to let your friend get on with it.

Cass turns, and you catch him quickly by the hand. “Thank you.” You tell him, because he was defending your honour, after all. “Love you.”

He grins a bloody grin, and then winces as it tugs at the wound. “Loveyouthoo, thweetpea.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ You don’t feel like going home and facing your father tonight, and with Rhysand’s mother’s cottage at your disposal, you don’t have to. It’s not unusual for you to spend nights away from home; usually he doesn’t care enough to even question it. But if he does, you always tell him the same thing — you spent the night with one of your many female friends. No males present. Such a little liar, you are.

But you’re content with that lie as you sink into the couch, your eyes flicking over to Azriel in the kitchen. He stirs a cup of tea silently, pensive as always. He’s asked about your wellbeing at least seven times since you stepped through the door.

You’re fine, you’ve answered each time, and it’s true. With him, you’re always fine. It doesn’t stop him worrying, though.

His footsteps thud against the floor as he approaches you, and he holds out a steaming mug. “Drink this. I put plenty of honey in it.”

Your lips twitch into a fond smile, and you accept it, taking a warm sip. “I was on the floor for a matter of seconds, Az. I have a bruised hand, that’s all.”

He knows this, of course, but trying to get him to stop fussing would be like beating a dead horse, and you really don’t mind being taken care of, anyway. Azriel settles into the space beside you, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. You lean into his side.

For a few moments, it’s comfortably silent. And then he snorts softly. “Cassian’s going to have a hard time apologising to Sacha when he can barely form a legible sentence.”

You laugh, tipping your head back against his shoulder. “Maybe she really will take pity on him.”

“If only she’d been there to witness his gallant display of coming to your defence. It might have impressed her.”

“Or put her off him for good.”

“The heartbreak would drive him into someone’s bed, I’m sure.”

The two of you share another laugh, and then silence blankets the small cottage. You’re always content like this, just…existing with Azriel. No need to be a certain way or do a certain thing, like you have to in your own home. With your closest friends, you have the freedom of being yourself unapologetically.

You finish your drink, and then Az is pulling you down with him, his wing draping around you. You’ve fallen asleep like this countless times — with all three of your friends at least once — and it’s one of the few places you feel truly safe.

But as you lie there, basking in Azriel’s warmth, your eyes don’t grow heavy. Rather, they continuously creep over to that spot in the kitchen you stood in with Az earlier, your bodies inches from each other, your lips very nearly meeting but not quite touching thanks to Cassian’s abrupt arrival.

A strange sense of disappointment hits you. Disappointment that you didn’t get to feel that heated kiss a second time.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” you murmur, knowing Azriel is just as awake as you are. “That we got interrupted.”

He turns his face slightly, chin brushing the top of your head. “It’s not your fault that Cassian has terrible timing.”

Your shoulders shake as you give a little laugh. No, no it isn’t. But amongst your disappointment — which is selfish, really, because the kiss was never for your sake —you feel guilt, also. Guilt that you didn’t get to help Az, despite that being what he needed.

You tip your head back enough to look up at him. “I’m still happy to help, you know. The offer is still there.”

For a couple of seconds, he merely stares down at you. His fingers absentmindedly twiddle a strand of your hair. And then he says, a hue of pink colouring his cheeks, “I still need the help.”

And in that moment, he looks so genuinely perturbed by his own inexperience that you can’t bear it. You’ll do anything, say anything, to put him at ease. To help him realise that these things are different for everyone. There’s no time frame he should be keeping to. Twenty years of age or thirty or forty or fifty, he could have come to you with these things worrying his thoughts, and there would never be any judgement. Only understanding. Only what he needs.

So, you slowly sit up, folding your legs beneath you and turning so that you’re facing him. “Would you like to practice now?”

He eyes you and swallows. And then he nods. “I would.”

You offer him a reassuring smile. “Come here, then.”

Just as you had, he pushes himself up into a sitting position. You can tell he’s tense by the way his wings fall about him; his shoulders squared. You reach for his hand and squeeze it gently.

“We already did this once, Az.” You remind him. “Just do what you did before.”

He nods — more to himself than to you. And then he’s scooting closer. His palm settles at your jaw.

He doesn’t go in for the kiss immediately. You allow him to do whatever he needs to do, whatever feels right. He seems content, for the time being, with dancing his fingers over the skin of your cheek, your jaw, your neck and the shell of your ear. His hand, scarred and callused, climbs and falls, explores each area with rapt attention. He takes note at the way your eyes momentarily flutter closed — an inadvertent reaction to his fingers skating over the pulse point of your throat.

“Is that pleasant?” His voice is deep, husky.

“For me, yes.” You clear your throat. “But I suppose not for everyone. Everybody has sensitive areas. That’s one of mine.”

You’re shamefully disappointed when, after a moment, his hand moves back up. It finds its place at your jaw again, and Az cups your cheek.

“Okay,” he whispers, and leans in.

There’s no chance for you to utter a word as he dips his head and presses his lips to yours. This time, there’s no quick, chaste peck to test the waters. Azriel dives straight in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that robs the breath straight from your lungs.

His mouth paws at yours, and you give yourself to the sensation, submitting fully to the practice. You want Azriel to take what he needs — to get a desired result from this — but as you kiss him back, you can’t help noticing the stiff, tense set of his body.

He’s not relaxed, not at all, and it shows. Something about this is bothering him, holding him back. Nerves, probably. Maybe even second thoughts. Whatever it is, you want him to communicate it, be honest about it.

So as much as you really, really don’t want to, you pull away, your face hovering a mere hair’s-breadth from Azriel’s. He seems to blink, and he licks his lips and stares at you with unguarded concern in his eyes. You know he’s already thinking a million things at once, wondering if he put a foot wrong.

“What is it?” You ask, making a grab for his hand. “You’re…tense. This is no different to what we did last week.”

Your friend stares back at you, conflict a war on his face. And for a split second, you start to think that he is having doubts, that he’s regretting having gone along with this.

And that…that would hurt. You’d understand, of course, because he’s your friend, and this is simply about helping him — but it would definitely hurt.

You don’t want to think too much about why that might be.

Rejection is never pleasant, you suppose.

“Az…” you chew your lower lip. “You can tell me. Whatever it is. If you want to stop this and just…talk…or do nothing at all…then that’s fine, too—”

“Kissing isn’t the only thing I’ve never done.”

The words leave him in such an abrupt gust that you’re stunned into silence.

You stare at him wordlessly.

Of course, it’s not that you haven’t considered that over the past seven days. Up until a week ago, you’d simply assumed that Azriel must have had a whole wealth of experience when it came to kissing people. And you’d turned out to be wrong. It wasn’t unusual to question whether there was more you didn’t know.

But you also knew perfectly well that sex didn’t require kissing. Az could have slept with a whole host of different people, and yet chosen — for whatever reason — to not kiss a single one of them.  He could have built up knowledge and experience in plenty of other areas without ever having explored what many would consider to be the first step.

You’d considered that Azriel might not have any sexual experience. And then you’d surmised that he most likely had.

That, it would seem, is not the case.

He looks more uncomfortable than ever, lowering his gaze and rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand. You want to tell him that none of that matters, that it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but the words simply will not come.

“I’m just…completely inexperienced. In every way.” He admits gravelly. “I’ve come close to doing things, but…I always overthink it. I don’t know how any of this is supposed to…to progress.”

Makes sense. It’s a daunting thing to explore, and even more so when you don’t trust easily. It’s perfectly reasonable that Az has protected himself from that pressure.

“Have you…” You clear your throat, desperate to make sure you’re handling this correctly, decently. “Have you ever done anything at all?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I’m completely well-versed where my own pleasure is concerned, Y/N, trust me. It’s with another person that I have no fucking clue.”

Right. Got it.

Swallowing down a ridiculously huge lump in your throat, you give a slow, pensive nod. “Alright. Well…these things just…evolve naturally. One thing leads to another. The absolute worst thing you can do — with kissing or anything else — is overthink it. Do that, and it’s over before it begins. You just…follow your body’s lead and do what feels natural.”

Good fucking advice, if you do say so yourself. Azriel’s still-unsure expression is the only thing that stops you from giving yourself a well-earned pat on the back.

“Right. Follow my body’s lead.” Az sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. He clears his throat. “Can we continue?”

“If you want to continue, Az, we’ll continue.”

A small, soft smile lifts his lips, and it melts your heart a little. He’s genuinely grateful for your patience and understanding; you wonder if he truly knows that you’d give him, his kind heart, the entire world if you could.

But before you can sink too far into your mushy thoughts, Azriel’s hands are at your face once more, and he’s angling it up towards him.

You wait. Allow him to make the first move. He does.

He kisses you like your lips might disappear before his very eyes if he doesn’t. His mouth slants over yours, and that coiled tension is no longer making his body rigid and unnatural. He’s heeding your advice, relaxing into it, and this time, he doesn’t hold back.

His thumb sweeps your cheek, and his tongue sweeps your lip, and you’re opening up for him, allowing him to slip it inside to meet yours. At once, his taste is overpowering you, mixed in a little with the mulled wine he drank at the mead hall. It’s a song to your senses, and you’re desperate to hear it, feel it, from start to finish.

Perhaps that’s why you’re not really aware of the way your bodies move. Az is shifting on the couch and so are you, and while one of his hands remains at your face, the other moves down and slides gently to the scars on your back. It seems, for a moment, that he might tug you closer, but in one swift movement, he’s laying you down, and he’s tucked between your legs and hovering over you so closely. He cushions the remains of your wings, always concerned about your comfort.

Kissing him like this feels wildly different to kissing him sat up. It feels…intense and yet tender. Fast and yet slow. Like this could go anywhere and everywhere all at once. And part of you wonders if it should go nowhere. Perhaps you should stop. Helping Azriel gain confidence is one thing, but he’s your closest friend, and never before have you had your closest friend more or less lying on top of you, his body moving against you, while his mouth dances over yours.

Bizarre, really.

But you still continue to kiss him back.

Your hand moves up to cup the back of his neck, and you kiss him harder, graze your tongue over his lower lip—

He pulls his face away from you abruptly. Perhaps that was a step too far—

But something in the way he stares down at you, panting heavily, tells you it wasn’t.

“Where do you like to be touched?” He asks you, so gutturally that the words vibrate through you.

And they damn well catch you off guard.

You blink up at him, flustered, not sure you heard right. “I…what?”

Azriel then licks his lips. “I mean…where do you think Kaeda would like to be touched?”

Kaeda.

You’d forgotten about her. The reason that Az is even kissing you in the first place. Because he wants to be good for her.

The thought stings a little. You try to shake it off. “That…that’s something you’ll have to learn from Kaeda herself.”

He stares back at you. Studies your face. And he looks so…so genuinely daunted, that you search for something, anything, to put him at ease.

“But me…” You clear your throat. “I like to be touched in lots of places.”

He’s still staring at you in that strange, intense way. After a beat, he asks, “Will you show me?”

It’s your turn to stare at him then. You’re starting to think that perhaps the world has been turned on its head. You and Azriel, to each other, are familiarity and comfort. You’ve seen each other at your best and at your worst, been there for some damn near humiliating circumstances. This is the male who has bathed the blood of your own cycle from your skin and held your hair back when the cramps have turned your stomach. He’s listened to some of your most embarrassing stories without humour or judgement; just understanding. To him, you are an old, well-worn, well-loved pair of boots.

And he wants you to show him how to touch.

Never, under a million fucking sunrises, could you have predicted this would happen between you.

But you’re not recoiling from the request. You’re just…surprised. You’re not balking from it, nor running out of there screaming.

Nor has Azriel ever balked when you’ve asked for his help, his guidance. Not once.

You angle your body up slightly, just to get a better look at him. And you study him a moment longer. “…Az, are you…”

“I know what I’m asking, Y/N, and I’m sure.” He says without pause. “Show me how a female should be touched.”

Suddenly, you feel like the nervous, inexperienced one. You can totally say no, of course — Azriel would put a stop to it immediately if you did. But you don’t want to.

You want to do this. Want to help.

Your hand cups the back of his neck once more, and then you’re tugging his face down, pulling his mouth onto yours.

The kiss starts out slow and soft. There will be no rushing this for either of you. It’s an exploration, a way to trace the maps of each other’s mouths. You’re both desperate to know more, feel more, before this goes any further.

So, you follow your own advice. You told Azriel to trust in his body, follow its lead, and you now do the same. You want this to progress naturally, like…like it isn’t a transaction. Isn’t something that you agreed on beforehand.

There is no breaking from the kiss this time, even when you’re panting into each other’s mouths. Azriel’s hand is firm and pleasant at your jaw, and your tongues are intertwined, and you’re kissing like you want this specifically with each other. A fact you will not ruminate on,

You nip gently at Azriel’s lip, and this time, he does not pull away. He hums quietly — seemingly unaware of doing so — and applies a little pressure to your mouth. Kisses you harder.

And it’s then — then that you reach for the hand that’s settled at your jaw. You curl your fingers around Azriel’s wrist, and slowly, you drag that hand down.

You think you might be shaking a little, but you don’t give the nerves too much thought. Azriel allows you to guide him. His fingers brush over your neck, content to explore the soft skin there, but you keep that hand moving. The warmth of his palm permeates the fabric of your tunic, and the feeling is pleasant against your chest.

When you finally close his hand over the swell of your breast, you break away just to whisper onto his mouth, “I like being touched here.”

Azriel’s eyes bore into yours, heated and blazing. He swallows.

Clothed you might be, but there’s no undergarment between your shirt and your breast. The weight of Azriel’s hand falls heavy over the swell, and there may as well be no barrier of clothing with how delicious it feels.

His gaze remains on yours as he cups you in his palm. And then his thumb inches in, grazing over your nipple. You suck in a short breath at the contact, your back arching a little.

Azriel pauses. “Is…is this okay?”

“Yes,” you say, a little too quickly. “It’s more than okay, Az.”

A soft smile appears on his lips. You smother it with yours, pulling his face closer once more. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to kiss him again, or what you’re supposed to do amidst any of this, but it feels like the right thing.

This time, there’s no hesitation. Your kiss is hot and needy, and you find yourself bunching the fabric of Azriel’s shirt in your fist as he begins to more confidently explore your breasts.

He squeezes them, palms at them, traces the turgid peaks of your nipples, and you happily arch into it all. But then, without any guidance from you, his hand is leaving your breasts. Travelling down.

And you don’t breathe a word. You figure if he has a question, needs direction, he’ll ask. You kiss him as if you were always made for kissing him, and his fingers are dancing over your stomach, down and down.

“What…” he tugs his lips from yours, his fingers now at the waistband of your breeches, “what about here? Do you like being touched here?”

You stare up at him. And you’re supposed to be guiding him, aren’t you? So, panting, you fold your hand over his and move it down. Away from the waistband. Between your legs.

You fold his hand over the very centre of you. And you wonder if he can feel your heat through your breeches. It feels blazing to you, and torturously so. Like a fire has been lit between your thighs. You’re growing wetter by the second, and your scent must be filling the room.

“Here.” Your voice doesn’t sound like yours. It’s deep, smoky. “Right here.”

Azriel watches you closely. Watches your face as he applies pressure to your heat. His thumb presses down.

And you’re not thinking about his intense stare as a soft moan falls from your mouth. Your brow is furrowed, lips parted, and you want more.

“There?” The shadowsinger murmurs, repeating the action. Your moan is louder this time.

“Can you…” Already, you’re panting, but he’s not…not close enough. You grab his hand again, and you’re moving it back to your waistband. To the button on your breeches.

His eyes meet yours. He doesn’t need to be experienced to know what you’re asking from him. Sure, he could probably do this through your clothing, but surely skin-to-skin is better for his experience.

That’s what your selfish mind is telling you, anyway.

“You don’t mind?” Az asks. “I appreciate your help, but…I want you to be comfortable. I don’t want you to feel you have to do anything—”

“Azriel.” You clasp the back of his neck. “I really, really do not mind.”

For him, it will always be about making sure that you’re positive.

Your needy expression must tell him that you are.

You capture his mouth with yours, and this time, the moan comes from him. Kissing seems second-nature to him already. This one is fast and passionate and desperate, and yet he leans into it, gives himself to it entirely.

You don’t know how long you kiss for, but it’s possible that Az needs the time to build up to the moment. To get the nerve to actually cross that line.

You don’t push him or rush him. If he decides that this can’t go any further, you’ll stop immediately. You can see to the ache between your legs yourself.

But then, as his tongue rolls with yours, you feel his fingers at that button. Azriel pops it open. Your breeches part.

You lift your hips a little — a small encouragement. Az follows it. His touch is warm against your skin. His fingers slip past the waistband.

He pulls back to look at you. And he rasps, “Tell me what to do.”

“You can’t do anything wrong,” you pant. “Just…explore.”

He nods. Nods again. Draws in a slow, steeling breath.

And then he explores.

Not once does he look away from you. Not once, as his fingers slip between your folds. You bite down on your lip, not wanting to startle him. This is about him. This is about him.

His fingers dip tentatively through your damp heat. He drags them upwards, drenching himself with your wetness.

“You’re soaked…” He seems surprised by the fact. As though it’s unthinkable that your body would react in such a way to him. He explores more. “Really soaked.”

“Yes, Az.” You breathe. “That’s a good thing, trust me.”

He pauses his movements. And he’s entirely serious as he says, “I always trust you.”

And fuck, the sentiment makes you want to kiss him again, so you do. You yank him closer and slide your mouth onto his, and then his fingers are moving between your folds again.

They inch upwards with ease. And then one of those fingers is brushing over your clit.

You have no control over the way your hips jerk, bucking up into Azriel’s touch, or over the noise that rips from your throat.

Azriel pulls back to study you yet again. And repeats the action with more intent. “There?” He asks, and then adds, “Your scent reminds me of…of pears.”

“I don’t know whether I should say thank you, but yes, gods, there.”

Once more, his finger presses against your clit, and you’re gasping. His head cocks slightly, like he’s genuinely intrigued by your reaction. He watches you closely as he begins to circle the sensitive little nub.

You’re not wholly aware of the fact that you’re tipping your head back — not until Azriel is guiding it forward with his free hand and fastening your eyes on his once again.

“Can you look at me?” He clears his throat. “I just—want you to look at me.”

You swallow, and you nod. And you stay looking at him.

Even as his finger circles your clit again, and you feel the sensation like a lightning bolt through your entire body.

The pleasure is shocking. Your hips buck up into the sensation, and it seems to reward Azriel with confidence. His hand moves into a steady rhythm, his palm seeming to cup you and rub against you as his finger works at your clit.

You will not last like this. You never do. The stimulation is far too much, and you’re writhing beneath him, already feeling that tight, warm coiling in your lower belly — the sign of imminent release.

“Fuck,” you pant, rocking against Azriel’s hand. “Gods, Az, I’m gonna—”

Your words are lost, swallowed by his mouth closing over yours. Azriel kisses you, and he begins to move his finger in quick, flicking movements, and you’re gone, gone, utterly fucking gone, your body a swirling, weightless form as stars burst behind your eyelids.

The climax hits you so thoroughly that you shout into Azriel’s mouth, and you're grabbing at his shirt, simply needing to hold onto something as your hips undulate, desperate for more of the sensations he’s wringing from you and yet so incredibly sensitive that your body is already beginning to tremble.

And the second Azriel notices that you’re shaking, slumping back down against the couch cushions, his fingers cease their movements. He tears his mouth from yours and drinks in your expression.

“Are you okay?” He breathes heavily. “Was that…good?”

Good did not come close to describing what it was. There’s something magic about those fingers that still linger between your folds. You’re sure of it.

“More than good.” You gasp, your head falling back. “I just…need a moment.”

He pauses, before slowly, gently, tugging his hand out of your breeches. You think a whimper leaves you at the loss of contact. It’s an effort not to grab his hand and put it right back where you want it.

But instead, Azriel moves it up to your face. He brushes a strand of hair from your eyes, and his chest is heaving as much as yours as he leans down and brushes his lips over your cheek — an affectionate gesture. One he’s done a thousand times before.

It kind of…rips you from the moment, just a little. Reminds you that this is your closest friend who’s hovering above you. Who’s just made you come so hard, you saw stars. Who’s only doing this to learn.

You open your mouth — to say what, you’re not sure — but you’re stopped in your tracks by the door bursting open behind you.

You and Azriel move away from each other just as Cassian waltzes in. His lip is stitched up, but there are fresh marks at his neck; ones he seems incredibly proud of. You quickly fasten the button on your breeches before he can notice.

“Sacha and I worked things out.” He announces with a shit-eating grin. And then he pauses. Frowns. “Why does it smell like pears in here?”

azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden

[readychilledwine]

Hellos. Could do something where the reader is azriel mate and they are kidnapped. She sacrifices her wings to save his life. And mention how az is angry that it happened and whatever u think will look good. Thank you.

👀👀👀👀 I, uh, may have a thing for shattering my own heart only to pick up the pieces. So yes. Yes, I can. Hopefully, you enjoy it, and I did it justice, dearest!

Beauty in Pain

Azriel x Illyrian reader

Warnings - not over descriptive mentions of torture and dismemberment, Azriel goes feral, depression, the usual unedited by an outside source.

Word count -2030

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

You were better trained than this. 

That reminder was echoing inside your mind like a war drum, beating senselessly into your thoughts as you were dragged down the barely lit pathway under the temple. You knew no one was coming. Faebane had blocked the mating bond, blocked your ability to call Rhys or Feyre. You'd be lucky if they found you, alive or dead.

It had started a routine mission. Head to the war camps, ask the leader for reports, speak with the females, head home to your mate.

Your mate. The one you prayed had felt the bond grow cold despite the many promises to never shut each other out. The one who'd slaughter every single male involved in this when he found out where you were, who had you, and what they planned to do or will have done.

You didn't fight as they laid you face down on the concrete block in the room. They had planned this, planned how long to keep you on a specific dose of faebane, no food, and no water. Planned the beatings used to weaken you on a cycle. You felt it and flinched as two sets of hands roughly grabbed your left wing. 

You were prepared to be clipped as a form of torture for the information they wanted. You knew it was coming. But as blinding pain left you with no choice but to scream out for your mate, for your brother, for Rhysand, you knew the plan was worse than you had imagined.

But you did not yield. You bared the pain, allowing it to try and break you until the world grew cold and dark.

—-----------

Azriel was pacing Rhysand's office. He had not slept in the 7 long days you had been overdue for, at the very least, a check in, after the missive Rhys and Cassian had received.

They have not started training the females. I will be home or rewrite soon. I promise. The three Illyrian males had trusted you to handle it. They had trusted you would be safe, unharmed, respected. 

And despite every alarm ringing in his heart, mind, and soul, Azriel had not gone to you right away. 

Rhysand's eyes glazed over, his face dropping slowly as he received whatever message he was receiving. He came back to them slowly, moving without speaking as he started grabbing weapons and tossing them to Azriel and Cassian. 

The High Lord's voice was dealthy calm as he finally spoke. "A set of wings, freshly removed, was just found outside of my mother's cabin. There's no signs of (y/n) anywhere in any of the camps the twins searched. The only thing reported to them was in the northernmost camp."

Rhysand breathed deeply. "A female was carried through the camp, unconscious with her head and body covered. That same night the camp heard screams from midnight until early into the morning."

Cassian's breath caught in his throat before he immediately grabbed Rhysand's arm. "Take me there, now." 

"How long ago," Azriel's voice had gone cold and detached. "How long ago did that happen? How long has she been sitting Mother knows where with untreated wounds or dead?"

Rhysand refused to look at Azriel, reaching to grab his brother's hand, before finally whispering. "4 days."

—------------

The rescue had turned into a bloodbath. There was zero question as a panicked shadows all but dragged the three of them to an abandoned temple.

It reeked of her blood, her sweat, her tears. 

It held an almost haunting aura as if the terror and pain of her screams had scarred the ancient stone, marking it to forever echo her agony to anyone walking inside.

Azriel didn't want to ask questions. He didn't want prisoners. He wanted payment in blood. 

He had cut through every single male that appeared in their path before Rhysand and Cassian even had a chance to interfere on his way to the dungeons his shadows were pleading with him to get to quickly. 

And now one last male stood between him and the cell she laid unconscious in. "Move or be moved," Rhysand told him coolly. "I would not push your luck." 

The male stared at a blood soaked Azriel. His shadows were curling over his shoulders like snakes waiting to strike. His wings flared wide in dominance and anger. His 7 siphons glowing. 

The young male moved, allowing Rhysand to grab him and winnow him away to the Prison before Azriel could beat him to death as well. Cassian moved quickly to the door, opening it with the key they had found, before entering the small cell containing his sister.

The anguished sob that left Cassian was the only confirmation Azriel needed. "Y/n," he heard Cassian tapping your body. "Come on, sis. Wake up."

Dying. Azriel's shadows confirmed. Infections. We cannot safely winnow her. Rhys is bringing a healing team. Need more space. 

Azriel moved into the cell, holding the scream in his throat as he was overwhelmed with the urge to run to you. Cassian had you cradled into his chest, rocking you back and forth before looking up at Azriel, eyes rimmed with tears. "We need to get her somewhere that Madja can use to work on her. Rhys is bringing her and a team of healers here." Azriel held his arms out, a silent demand in the movement. 

Cassian only nodded. Standing and carefully transferring your beaten and bleeding body into Azriel's arms, following him out of the room.

—---------------

3 long weeks of silence had passed in the House of Wind. 

No one had gone to Azriel's room.

No one had spoken to him without the male lashing out.

There was nothing they could do to comfort him but allow him to be with you.

When you first got home, while you were lying unconscious with Madja, Helion, and Lucien looking after you, Rhys had managed to get out of the male Azriel allowed to live one very simple thing. 

You let them torture you, let them completely take your wings, to force you to look into death's eyes, and you had allowed them to do it to protect Azriel. You had refused to give them his schedule to visit the camps. You refused to tell them when he'd be there alone again. You refused to tell them which pathway he flew in using or where he'd shadow-walk himself to first.

You had lost your wings to protect him. Your husband, your mate.

Azriel had lost it then, guilt eating away at him, and began beating the male to death with his bare fists as Cassian and Rhysand just watched. They knew what was echoing in his mind. She will live, Madja had said, but she will never be the same. Her wings can't be reattached or saved, no one has the ability to give her back what was taken.

You hadn't spoken to Azriel, Rhys, or Cassian when you finally woke up. You only sat in your window, staring at the sky. 

The one you'd never feel going through your hair again. The one you'd never touch again. The one you'd never taste again.

It was funny, you thought to yourself, to have been protected and trained to ensure this never happened, only for the moment it did to come 500 long years later. 

It had been a full week later when Azriel cornered you in the shower and just held your naked body for you two to speak. Another week passed before you allowed him to kiss you and hold you without him having to force the contact. You had yet to show interest in leaving the bedroom the two of you shared. 

You felt familiar scarred hands on your bare shoulders, wrapping around to your collarbones before running up the front of your neck and tilting your head back. "Dinner alone tonight or dinner with our family?" His voice was scratched from the crying you two had been doing. His eyes were swollen and red. "I already know the answer, I just need to verbally hear it."

"I wish to be alone." He nodded. Taking the cue and leaving you to your window as he sat back on the couch, head falling into his hands, as he began to cry again.

You watched his shoulders shaking, listened to his almost silenced sniffling. You knew things had forever changed in your relationship. 

There would be no more missions for you.

No more trips with Amren away from him.

No more walking Velaris alone.

There would be no more date nights spent flying.

No more jumping from high places together, allowing yourselves to fall until the last possible second, only to spread those precious wings.

There'd be no more wing play late into the early mornings, edging each other with small touches in certain places until you were both begging for relief.

But you knew deep down, more than anything, there would be a new Azriel. One that would have one more thing to hold against himself. One that would have one more moment of his life to look back on and use as an argument for how he wasn't enough.

And you couldn't have that. You would not stand for it.

You couldn't have the broken male you had spent time healing with, growing with, and struggling with. You could not have the one who blamed himself for every little thing again.

You stood on slightly unstable feet, and walked to your closet, a shadow trailing you. Rhys had immediately replaced your clothing, ensuring you would not have to go through ordering it yourself, and had the twins place the new materials into your closet. A simple black dress was what you picked. It would stop right above your knees, hug your torso beautifully. You closed the closet door, calling for Rhys silently in your mind and jumping as his hands appeared behind you. "I need help." You whispered. 

His eyes searched yours before nodding and helping you change into the dress. Allowing you to use him to balance. A kiss was placed on the back of your head as he laced it up. Gentle, but full of emotion. And he winnowed away. 

You left the closet, walking to Azriel on the couch slowly with a pair of his trousers and a black button-up shirt in hand. "I changed my mind. I'm craving that cake, the almond one with the vanilla frosting."

Azriel scoffed lightly. "I am not leaving you to go get cake. I will ask Rhysand-"

"I need you to fly me there, Az. I want to go get the cake, eat it at the Cafe with coffee, and then I want you to take me for a walk on the Sindra. And maybe go to that book store. The used book one."

He was silent before looking at you. His hazel eyes were full of question. "Y/n-"

"If my mate will not take me, I will ask my brother. I want cake, and I want my husband to take me to get it."

"I don't think you understand how heartbreaking not being able to truly fly is going to be, my heart."

You only repeated yourself, voice smaller this time. "If my mate will not take me, I will ask my brother. I want cake." You paused, eyes welling with tears. "I deserve cake and coffee. If I want cake and coffee for dinner, I expect my mate, the male who married me and bound himself to me, to take me."

Azriel nodded. Grabbing the clothing from you and he changed in silence. He stood on the balcony waiting as you took calming breaths and walked outside for the first time in many weeks.

"I am not responsible for the setback in your mental health after this." 

"No, but you are monetarily responsible for my cake and purchases. Let's go." He took you in his arms, holding you close to his chest and took off hard. 

And in that moment, you both knew something new had begun. You were laughing as he concentrated way more than usual to fly. You were smiling at how this allowed you to feel his body heat, to hear his heartbeat, to touch his face. 

You were laughing at how he began genuinely laughing at you. Not understanding where the sudden joy filling the bond and over flowing it like a faucet set to run for too long came from.

It wasn't until he paused in the sky, hovering so he could look down at your smiling face did you both realize something.

Losing your wings was just the beginning. 

[works-of-heart]

My submission for day 3 for @elucienweekofficial Adventure!

Elain is in the middle of a vision as they are approaching Koschei, it takes over her body as she's stunned. Lucien, her mate. Fights valiantly at her side to protect her during this vulnerable situation.