#acourt of thorns and roses

[illyrian-dreamer]

Overwritten – Part 10

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel.

Words: 1,889

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Part 10 ∇

You waded through the depths of the woods, the crisp air consuming you.

The ground was damp, the tree’s mossy and the cold bit through your clothes. But at least you felt something, allowing the sensation to blanket what writhed within.

Silent tears streamed down your face as you made you way further into the woods. Hybern had won, he had turned you to a weapon born in a cell, insidious enough to even hurt children. Months of treatment and the strides of progress were revealed now for a certain truth – it was not enough. You weren't enough. Not strong enough, no loving, or caring, or kind enough to overcome what he had made you. Not good enough for your family. And certainly not good enough for Azriel.

So you walked and walked, cyclical thoughts swirling in your head as you stumbled through the thicket, leaving the faint sound of the city behind, uncaring that you were lost.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the faint glow of dawn peeked through the branches, that you realised exhaustion was quick on your tail. Stopping at a clearing, you slid your back against a mossy ash tree, blinking through crusted tears and heavy lids that begged for sleep. Your vision reeled, the ground now uncertain and you wondered when the last time you had a drink of water was. Blinking faster now, you tried to steady your vision on the open grass in front of you.

And Hybern, who stood at the centre of it.

You choked on your own breath, scrambling to your feet.

His wicked grin shone through the dim light of dawn, at contrast with the climbing dark trunks that surrounded the clearing. Strapped to his body was  a plethora of weapons, the silver of swords and knives almost as bright as his smile.

“Impossible,” you gasped, your hands clenching to fists as you began to shake.

“Possible,” he responded, his eyebrows raising as he fingered the handle of his sword, the large weaponed sheathed at his waist.

You were quick to think to grab a rock from the ground, throwing at directly at his head. Hybern’s figure rippled like watery smoke as the rock shot straight through him.

“Liar,” you snarled, anger brewing in you. This was the first moment of peace you had found since you could remember – how dare he disturb it.

“I may be of your mind Y/N, but that does not mean my strikes will hurt any less.”

“Leave me alone,” you seethed, making to leave in the direction you had come.

“I will follow you,” he called, stopping you in your tracks. Turning, you found amusement written on his face. You wanted nothing more than to take his own sword and spear it straight between those smug eyes.

“Do it,” he provoked.

“What?”

“Kill me. See if you can.”

You shook your head. Perhaps if you shook hard enough, he would disappear.

“I’m surprised you’re yet to try,” he drawled, slowly pacing towards you. You watched silently, fuming, readying for when he might attack.

“Or perhaps it’s because you know you’ll fail.” His taunt earned a snarl from you.

“Why not try, dear Y/N? You’ve already lost everything important to you, what else could there possibly be?”

“Fuck you,” you spat.

“Ah, there it is,” he smiled, his eyes narrowing and focusing on you. “Fight.”

“No.”

“No? I suppose I forgot how wonderfully stubborn you are. After all, you were near impossible to break in my dungeon. Have I truly changed you that much?”

You glared at him, and he watched you back. “Pitiful,” he spat, turning in his tracks to leave you to brew in your own insanity.

With a deep breath, you tried to control the shake in your voice. “I’ll kill you when you’re brave enough to appear in the flesh.” Hybern stopped then, turning back to face you with a quirked brow. “Mark my words, you pathetic excuse of a male. I will kill you – the real you.”

Hybern tipped his head back a laughed. “Oh Y/N. You truly are as broken as you look.”

Red flashed before your eyes, your anger bubbling to the surface.

“You won't last to ever find the real me.”

You frowned, dissecting his works. This version of Hybern, a figment of your mind, was hinting to you, warning you. It was clear then – you needed to fight him, beat him, kill the plague he planted in your mind if you were to ever truly recover.

You didn't need to be told twice.

Launching into a sprint, you speared for the King, a cry ripping from your throat. He merely grinned, unsheathing his sword, swinging directly where you dove. You slid to your knees, narrowly missing the strike, the silver of his weapon glinting before your eyes, impossibly real.

With a grunt you rolled to your side, dodging again and Hybern stuck his sword in the ground, intending to have speared you. You glared back, the sheer audacity of a grouse death making you see red. This was not a fair fight, or at least not yet.

Darting behind him, you swung a low kick to his back, sending him off balance with an opportunity to swipe a weapon. You secured a hand knife, the closest item in your reach. Shrugging, you raised cold eyes to Hybern who had now steadied himself. This would have to do.

“Thief,” he spat.

“Cunt,” you replied.

Hybern growled, raising his sword high before launching for you, the loud swoosh of his weapon sounding above his yell.

And so began the dance between you two. You were light on your feet to avoid his strikes, circling and calculating for your own opportunity to attack. Your innate skill and tactics surprised you, and you realised there were years of training that innately prepared you now. You would have to thank your family for that if you made it.

“Don’t be a coward, Y/N. Remember, I don't exist, I’ll never grow tired.”

You gritted your teeth – Hybern was right, you were only exhausting yourself. Trembling with adrenaline, you kept your distance, your heart pounding in your ears as you tried to decide what to do.

“Pitiful, the lot of you,” he spat again. “Your court is weak, your family too. And your mate, willing to die for his true love? How utterly pathetic.”

Primal anger flushed within you, boiling your blood and you tossed the knife to your dominant hand, gripping it’s handle. “Don’t you dare speak of him like that.”

“I enjoy watching him come undone because of you, Y/N. I knew all along the Spymaster was the weakest link of the Night Court. Always putting others first, always suppressing his own needs and desires. All I had to do was push him right to the edge.”

A different kind of strength found you then, like a lone prized trophy in a barren cavern. You may not be worthy of love, but Azriel was the most deserving of all. You would die to defend that.

And so you launched for the evil King, arm raised with the blade pointed straight for his heart. Airborne, you careened towards him, you vision narrowed as the pathway to freedom honed in your vision. He wasn’t real, this wasn't real. You would overcome him for the sake of your mate, love and determination fuelling you as you launched to kill the King of Hybern.

It was a reeling shock to feel the King’s sword pierce clean through your middle. Your eyes widened with shock as you looked down, the handle resting at your stomach, Hybern’s hand already soaked with the red of your blood.

He grinned famously, your widened eyes finding his as your head swirled and you let out a strangled sound. There was no pain to be felt, yet your blood poured, warming you as your breath stuck in your throat.

“It’s as I said,” he smirked, lifeless eyes holding yours. “Pathetic.”

And perhaps because he was talking, or perhaps because he underestimated you, but he was unprepared for the short knife that quickly stuck in the side of his neck.

You delighted in watching Hybern’s artery generously bleed as much as your stomach did. And there was an odd moment where you clung to each other, neither of you willing to be the first to fall, both of you nearing closer and closer to death.

“Y-you b-bitch,” he stuttered with fury, gasping for the air that never reached his lungs.

You could feel him slipping from your mind – the roots that infected even the deepest corners beginning to wither and rot. He was dying, leaving your reality, flushing from your system after the months of poison and torture that had fixed him there. A sickness that finally had a cure.

You laughed, cackling as you watched those hideous eyes glow red for a final time before a white casting fogged them over. He let you go then, crumpling to the floor, his body withering before your eyes. A gust of wind blew over, sweeping his figure to ash and taking the remaining of his body with it, leaving you alone in the clearing.

Falling to your knees, you clutched at your own stomach, Hybern’s sword no longer lay within, the remnants of the weapon turned to dust along with the King. But your blood covered your hands, it’s warmth pooling around you, gushing at an alarming rate.

“Stop. Stop!” you begged to no-one, pressing on your own wound. You would surely die any moment now. 

So you cried – cried for the loss of your love, cried that you never had the chance to remember the life you had, or to ever recreate the joy and love you knew surrounded you. There was so much that could have been, and grief would be that last thing you ever felt in this world.

Through the blur of tears and the closeness of death that begged your eyes to close, it was Azriel’s scent mixed with that of your blood that told you he was near. In fact, he was not alone. 

“Real or fake?” your voice quivered as you body began to give, falling slowly to the mossy ground. Azriel caught you, pulling you to his lap quickly as he scanned over you.

“Real, my love. As real as can be. Where does it hurt?”

You frowned. “The blood–“

“What blood? I see none.”

You trembled in your mates arms as he cast an urgent look back to his family. Rhysand shook his head gently, tapping his temple to show Azriel your injury did not extend past your mind.

Azriel sighed in relief, stroking you hair as he held you close. “There is no blood my love, its not real.”

“My stomach! He– he–”

Azriel soothed you, rocking you closely. You were too delirious, too confused and exhausted to comprehend what was real or not.

“I killed him Az, for you,” you whimpered, your body convulsing with heaves of exhaustion. “We’re safe now.”

Azriel cradled your face, kissing your forehead before pulling you closely to him again. “Rest now, my love.” he soothed, and that was the last thing you heard before slipping into numbing darkness.

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Part 11>>>

AN: Thank you so so much for your patience with this chapter lovelies!! And of course for the ongoing support ❤️❤️ I sincerely hope you liked it!

I always love hearing what you think, so don’t be shy to drop a comment. And also if you’d like to join the tag list :) 

[shoko-arts]

I follow @copypastus a while ago and I fell in love with Beron Vanserra design that was made XD It was very charming, I think what I liked most was the tail! and why not make Lauren (my OC) react to this design :³

[assriels]

lose control | chapter i

pairing: azriel x day court!reader

word count: 4.4k

warnings: minimal porn WITH plot (i promise there’s a purpose lmao), friends with benefits & conflicted emotions, a lot of az and reader’s thoughts, slow burn, pining, angst if u squint

summary: azriel sneaks into your study and your all too familiar dance continues. though, this time feels different, and his century long effort to tamp his feelings down begins to unravel.

a/n: this first chapter is a lot longer than i intended lol but strap in bbs its just getting started (takes place from before to after war with hybern)

prologue

When Azriel saw the familiar roofs of the Day Court palace, one flickering faelight lamp illuminating the sheer white curtains leading into your study, he sighed. He didn’t know why he was here for the second night in a row. The mission Rhys sent him on was supposed to be a quick one, and it would have been had he not drawn it out for longer than he had to. 

It was his second night in the Day Court, and though he had finally sent word back to Rhys about the details of his task well done and that he’d be home as soon as possible, he still found himself here. Still gliding through the familiar air of your residence, wings instinctively – traitorously – bringing him to the balcony of your study rather than to his home court. 

He landed smoothly on the railing of your balcony. Your wards were open to him, just like the night before and every other night for the last century. 

Azriel sighed again as he peeked through your doors in the cover of shadow – trying, and failing, not to feel like a creep – watching as you hunched over your desk, endless sheafs of paperwork littering your desk in a way that always had him questioning how you managed to be so organized and efficient. An ornately carved mahogany and gold kiseru pipe balanced precariously on a porcelain stand, tendrils of white smoke curling in mimicry of the shadows at his feet. 

It was a bad habit you had, smoking. One he knew you had tried to kick on many occasions, only for it to come rearing its ugly head at times where you  and stress were one and the same. Whatever you had just been working on must have been especially irritating. Azriel had a feeling he knew what it was; his own work tipping him off to the rumblings of a Prythian-wide conflict, soon unavoidable. 

He stealthily made his way into your study, noticing immediately the way your shoulders were fraught with a tension that you tried to chase away with a roll of your neck. He was momentarily shocked at the sudden urge he felt tingling in his fingertips to massage away the ache, but he ignored it, tucked it in the back of his mind like he always did with the rest of the sudden urges he had to cross the unspoken line you both drew between lovers and friends. 

If you noticed his presence, you didn’t show it, opting instead to roll your shoulders back in a display of obvious discomfort, a sigh escaping your lips for the third time since Azriel had arrived.

“You misspelled ‘Prythian’,” he said, amusement peppering his words as he peered over your shoulder at some missive you unsuccessfully attempted to write. 

Again, if you were surprised at his sudden appearance, you didn’t let on.

“I thought spies were supposed to be sneaky,” you quipped back, turning your head to look at him with a look of annoyance that was so obviously exaggerated. “I wasn’t aware that being an expert in grammar and usage was in your job description.”

When he felt his lips curve upwards in a smile he couldn’t ever seem to fight in your presence, he ignored – yet again – the affection he felt bubbling beneath the cage of his ribs. 

“Long night?” he asked, plopping himself down into the seat on the other side of your desk. He didn’t miss the fact that you had at some point replaced the chair with one big enough to accommodate his wings. 

Your facade fell quickly and you slumped against your own chair, your exhaustion overcoming every muscle fiber in your body, fingers twitching to reach for the pipe on your desk, “You could say that. You?”

This was a conversation that he had had with you countless times, a preamble of niceties to the wonderfully sinful intensity that would ensue as the hours passed. But Azriel found himself enjoying the mundane, near domestic conversations with you more and more lately, almost as much as he enjoyed everything that would come after.

He hummed an affirmative to your question before a comfortable silence filled the space between you. After a few moments, you rose from your seat, spine cracking while you stretched away the tension coiled in your limbs. Azriel greedily allowed himself to drink you in, hazel eyes skating the plain white t-shirt you wore, now wrinkled by the way you had no doubt been hunched over your desk all day. He tracked the way the hem of your shirt lifted above the waistband of your knit pants as you stretched, granting him a peek at the smooth skin he had plans to run his hands all over later. 

“Will you help me put these away?” you inquired with a yawn, gesturing to the books scattered around your workspace. The tension bled from your shoulders as a breeze ruffled your hair, relaxing your taught muscles. Gone was the tense, all-business Warmaster of Day, replaced by the somewhat petulant, but easygoing Y/N. 

He stood from his seat and stacked a pile of books under his arm as he followed you to your bookshelves. Azriel knew where every title went, slotting them back into place with the ease of someone who had memorized every inch of your study. 

It was your turn to ogle at him, watching lecherously as the muscles in his arm rippled while he shelved a book back into its rightful place high on your bookcase. He had discarded the jacket of his leathers somewhere on the back of a chair, giving you a full view of the way his tight black undershirt left nothing to the imagination. His physique seemed to be sculpted by the gods themselves, wide shoulders tapering down to strong hips. His wings were relaxed, though he was always mindful of your things, careful to keep his wings in check so he could avoid knocking anything over in your decidedly not-Illyrian sized space. 

“Are you going to make me put them all back myself? Or are you done staring?” The leather strap securing one of his siphons to his bicep stretched as he shelved another book; you briefly wondered how that thing didn’t snap right off every time he flexed. Which he was clearly doing on purpose now as he teased you.

You scoffed, “I wasn’t staring.” A lie. “I was making sure you were putting everything back where it should be.” Another lie. You knew better than anyone that Azriel had personally spent extra time committing your bookshelves to memory, always sneakily stealing one to read while you worked. 

He mumbled something under his breath – “Whatever you say” – as he huffed a laugh and continued his task. You both worked in a comfortable silence that only existed between two people who knew each other the way you and Azriel knew each other. It was nice, you’d admit, just being able to exist in the same space. 

Once upon a time, this would have never happened between you; your interactions had once only consisted of explicit rendezvous that would have anyone blushing to remember. But as your…relationship with the shadowsinger progressed, more time was spent enjoying each others’ company and you fell into a neat, wonderfully blissful routine with him. You didn’t see him often by any means, encounters always spaced by a few weeks or more if one of you was busy, but you couldn’t deny that it was nice having him around, especially now that it seemed like his visits to you were becoming more frequent as of late. 

Though a pervasive contentment permeated the silence between you, the air was still fraught with delicious anticipation. No words were exchanged, but every stroke of his fingertips low on your waist, and every not-so-accidental brush of your hand against his spiked the tingling, electric tension in the room. It made your heart beat quicken, and every time you felt Azriel steal a not-so-subtle glance in your direction you swore your heart would stop entirely. Anticipation was a slow, cunning killer. 

“I’ve been meaning to read this,” he said, breaking the silence, beautifully scarred fingers tracing the spine before he slotted it out of place. Azriel flipped idly through the pages, eyes quickly scanning its contents. 

You leaned over, shoulder kissing his, to peer at the title he unshelved, “Oh? Take it then, it’s yours. I’ve read it too many times.”

Azriel’s brow creased as he considered your proposal, “But then what excuse would I have to come back?” It was hard to miss the teasing lilt in his voice, dripping with suggestion and promise. 

You rolled your eyes, by now too used to the innocent flirting that had bled into your friendship. 

“As if you ever needed an excuse,” you mumbled coyly. “Consider it a loan then. Once you finish reading it, then you’ll have to come back to return it.”

“Better read fast then, huh?” 

You could practically feel the wicked suggestion oozing from his voice, dripping like honey as he pressed his chest to your back to reshelf the last book right in front of you. You leaned back against him, savoring the feeling of his breath on your neck as his lips barely grazed the curve of your jaw.

He felt the vibration in your chest when you hummed, his hand dragging from the bookshelf to hold your waist, fingers playing a coy little game as they fiddled with the hem of your shirt. 

“You know that’s not where that goes,” you sighed, attempting to tamp down the urge to give in to him immediately. This dance – this game – was always the best part of your nights with him, pushing and prodding in just the right places until one of you finally caved. 

“No?” He asked, fingers splaying wide on your lower belly, pulling you back flush against him. “Where does it go then?”

The deep timber of his voice sent a shiver up your spine, but you were determined to make him wait a little bit longer, even if the feeling of how hard he already was in his pants was growing increasingly more difficult to ignore. As one of your hands laid atop his to intertwine your fingers, your other one stretched up to point at an empty space on a shelf two heads above you, “Right there.”

You had meant to sound more definitive and not nearly as breathless, but Azriel wasn’t even really paying attention, too busy nipping at that spot just below your ear that he knew drove you insane. Right there, indeed. 

A small noise of appreciation fell from your lips before you could stop it. Azriel’s free hand skated up your side, tracing the curves and divots of your waist, following the line of your outstretched arm before his fingers encircled your wrist, pinning it to the bookshelf, right underneath the empty slot where his misplaced book was supposed to be. 

All your resolve crumbled in that moment, your senses overwhelmed by his scent, his body, by the way he disentangled your fingers so he could track his touch further beneath your shirt. You keened when he toyed with your nipple over the fabric of your bra, pushing your hips harder against his until he groaned. He spun you around to face him then, arm still pinned above your head. 

The look in his eyes – pupils blown wide and dark – was pure, unadulterated desire that had your legs squeezing together. He looked ready to devour you, what with the way his plush lips parted in awe, heavy lidded eyes mapping the contours of your face. It always amazed you how quickly you could rile him up like this. 

But gods, he loved it and he didn’t care that you were looking at him so smugly. He got drunk off the way you moved, the way you smelled, the way you let your idle hand smooth up his chest so you could cup his jaw. How could he not revel in your attention when it set his entire body aflame? 

Your lips were a hair’s breadth from touching, breaths mingling as both of you waited for the other to make the first move. 

But when you tilted your chin up chasing his mouth with yours without letting them touch, he was a goner, muffling the sound of his name on your lips with his own. You tasted like coffee and honey, and something so undeniably you that made Azriel groan; so familiar and so, so good. He could spend the entire evening like this, letting your hands roam where they pleased while he kissed you endlessly. 

Yet, when you tugged at the fabric of his shirt, he let his greedy mind wander to the fantasies he had conjured on the nights he wasn’t with you, fucking into his hand as he thought of all the ways he’d want to take you next. Though he liked the idea of taking you against your bookshelf with both of your hands pinned above your head, he craved your touch far too much. Maybe next time, he told himself as he released his grip on your wrist. But this time…

His arms hooked smoothly beneath your legs and he lifted you effortlessly off the floor. Instinctively, your legs locked around his waist as he kissed you, all teeth and expert tongue smoothing over the places he knew made you dizzy.

“Azriel.” His name whispered against his own lips was a plea that made him want to drop to his knees. Your voice made his blood rush, made his brain foggy with heady desire, made his fingers tremble. 

Azriel knew that everytime you two did this – played this risky game – you toed the line between lovers and friends, pushed the boundary just a little further to satiate your need for each other. A maelstrom of emotions wreaked havoc on his composure; every kiss, every touch had his heart beating with feelings that transcended the lust that often clouded his vision when he was with you. 

It terrified him. It exhilarated him.

Azriel was well aware that the feelings that had begun to blossom in his chest were not ones that followed the guidelines of your arrangement, even if he couldn’t quite pinpoint what those feelings were just yet. But he knew this was supposed to be casual, no strings attached, and nothing about the feelings that were roiling around in his heart was casual. 

He couldn’t help the way he always felt like he was searching for you, thinking of you, wanting you. You were the north of his compass, the sun to his earth, and he could do nothing to loosen the vice you had on him. He could say that it was because the sex was incredible – it was – but he knew that wasn’t the only reason he sought you – and only you – out time and time again, after all these years. 

It hurt his head to think too deeply about what these burgeoning feelings were, especially with the way your teeth were taking his earlobe between them as your arms wound tantalizingly around his neck, whispering obscenities in his ear about how good you wanted to make him feel. He shuddered with wanton hunger, hands grasping desperately at your waist. 

He felt his chest tighten with an emotion he thought he had locked up long ago as your fingers played with his hair, a sweet, gentle gesture that was in stark contrast to the way he urged your hips to grind against his. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, whispered against your lips as he kissed you. 

Despite his sentiment, Azriel continued to kiss you like his life depended on it, like you would be the last breath he took before plunging deep into open waters. You gratefully matched his fervor before pushing on his chest. He pulled away from you, chest heaving against yours with long shuddering breaths of restraint. 

Confusion tumbled around in your mind as you searched his face for any sign of reluctance. When you didn’t find any, you were tempted to pull him back into you, but comfort was paramount and you didn’t push him – never pushed him. Not once in the hundred years you two have been navigating this treacherous dance of being friends(?) with the benefit of pleasure did either of you take more than what was given.

You were panting, “We can stop, if you don’t—“

He cut you off with another press of his lips to yours as if he couldn’t resist any longer, his hand tender against your jaw, “That’s not what I meant.” His voice was soft and steeped in too much affection; it made your heart stutter traitorously in your chest. 

You didn’t have time to ask him what he meant, though; he was already blazing a trail of open mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, inquisitive hands palming at every inch of you he could.

Even if you had the wherewithal to ask, he wouldn’t have answered. Azriel wasn’t sure even he understood what he had said, only that there was a feeling in his gut that he was on the precipice of change, that there was something in the air that told him he wouldn’t be able to go back to the way things were. Despite having made this decision over and over and over again in the last hundred years he’s been alive, something about this time felt different. Again, it terrified and exhilarated him. 

But he didn’t want to think about it anymore, not when all he wanted to think about was you, pliant under his touch and crooning for more. All reason be damned.

Your fingers wound themselves in his hair, pulling not-so-gently this time, “Azriel.”

Gods, the way you said his name would send him to an early grave, and he’d die happy if it was the last thing he heard. He pulled your shirt off and unclasped your bra in record time, mouthing at your breast as his expert tongue tweaked your nipple while his hand traveled down your body and beneath the waistband of your pants.

He grinned against your skin when he felt how wet you were beneath your tiny little underthings, so slick and ready. Ready for him. Him. 

The thought pulled a growl out of him from deep within his chest. Possession roiled in his gut like a monster uncaged. He would’ve taken you right there, against the stack of books lining your shelves, but he knew from experience that it wouldn’t end well. He’d make a mess — of you and your bookshelves — and you’d whine in protest afterwards and lament that you’d have to reorganize everything all over again.

So instead, he steadied you against him and flew from your study’s balcony to your room’s; it was faster than navigating the too long hallways of the palace to get to your bed. Your shriek of his name, a mixture of delight and shock, tickled his ears with the wind that whipped briefly across his face.

When he tossed you somewhat unceremoniously onto your bed, a smirk curled his lips at the miffed expression creasing your brows.

“We have corridors you know,” you fussed, still reaching for him as he climbed over you. He chuckled a bit at your petulant grumbling before his lips attached to the column of your neck. His voice was a low rumble as he nipped at your skin, placating you, “That way was faster.” 

The urgency in his actions made you giddy, though you would never admit it. Azriel always wanted for you in ways that reminded you of your young adulthood. Like two desperate young lovers stealing away into the hidden depths of the night to explore each other under the cover of a secret tryst. 

Even after nearly a hundred years, the thrill of him never subsided. 

The rest of the night was a blur as you lost count of how many times you were gasping his name between orgasms. He took you slow despite the way he had moved with such desperation before. He moved with you like he had nowhere else to be – like there was nowhere else he wanted to be – letting his hands and mouth wander and worship your body as he coaxed wanton moan after moan from your lips. He gave you everything you needed, but still you asked for more, always wanting more, more, more of him as your fingers danced gently around the base of his wings to elicit the sounds of his pleasure that made you tremble. 

And Mother be damned if he didn’t feel the same way. 

Azriel could never get used to the feel of you around him, beneath him. It was like he forgot who he was, pleasure driving him to the brink of insanity as you came around his fingers, his tongue, his cock. He thrived off the way your bodies moved in perfect, beautiful synchrony. And every time you pulled him in for more, he lost himself in you once again. You were heaven on earth, coaxing praise after praise from his lips in the throes of a passion he was addicted to. 

In those moments, nothing else mattered. Not the burgeoning anxiety sprung from an amalgam of unidentifiable feelings. Not the worry that someday this arrangement between you could end. None of it mattered. Nothing but you and him in the space you arduously carved out for yourselves. 

In the afterglow, your body molded to him with practiced ease and Azriel pointedly ignored – yet again – the way his heart fluttered beneath his ribs when he felt the perfection of you slotting yourself against his side, head resting comfortably on his chest. One of his hands found its way in your hair, gently massaging your scalp as the other stroked up and down the thigh that you had thrown haphazardly across his hips. 

You were breathing hard, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. It was in these fleeting, post-coital moments where you both were entangled in that strange limbo between strangers and lovers. A purgatory that existed for only you and him.

The ever-watchful spy, he took a moment to observe you teetering on the edge of sleep. It was a sight he had long since committed to memory but never tired of: delicate eyelashes fluttering with the struggle to stay awake, cheeks rosy from exertion, lips plush and parted. He knew this relationship between you was such a mess, but Azriel found himself caring less and less about the logistics of it all, especially in moments like these where he had the privilege of bearing witness to your most vulnerable moments.  

If this was casual, then so be it. 

His hand slid up your leg once more to cup your ass before squeezing hard enough to make you open your eyes. You leveled a glare at him, but it was less threatening than you had hoped it would be, fatigue settling in your bones.

“Do you need anything?” Azriel asked softly into your hair, hand returning to its previous soothing ministrations. 

You hummed, eyes slipping shut as you settled in closer to him, feeling his heart steady and strong beneath your ear. You shook your head, “I’m okay.”

You patted his chest in thanks before allowing yourself to yield to your growing tiredness, breath evening out. Azriel watched for another moment as you fell sleep, cheeks dusted with heat and hair sticking to the skin of his neck.

He didn’t kiss your head or whisper sweet good nights into your ears like a real lover would, but he did settle further into your mattress, head turning to bury his nose into the crown of your hair, allowing himself the sweet reprieve of falling asleep wrapped in your warmth. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

It was early, early morning when you woke, Azriel’s arm heavy on your waist as he slumbered on his stomach. His wings were relaxed and fanned out across the bed, blanketing you beneath. His lips were slightly parted and you swore you could hear little snores escaping his throat that he would vehemently deny. You smiled, endeared at the sight. 

The wild, terrifying, and ruthless Shadowsinger of the Night Court snored like a baby. 

In the moments before day fully broke over the horizon, you allowed yourself to take him in, memorizing the contours of his face, a habit you had formed in the last century of becoming acquainted with the spymaster. You were always amazed at how much more peaceful he looked without the semi-permanent crease between his brows. 

Azriel truly was beautiful, a thought you kept close to your heart, but one you knew everyone possessed. When he wasn’t being so insufferably stubborn and cryptic, he looked so content. Creeping sunrays warmed his back as he lay ignorant of your wandering gaze. A foreign ache settled in your chest as you watched him. His words from last night came crashing into you: “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

The night before, he had reassured you time and time again that he wanted you, so you didn’t quite understand what he had meant. You hated to think that he was becoming bored, that this was the last time you’d have him like this. The possibility that you wouldn’t get his late nights and early mornings anymore hurt, and you weren’t quite sure what to do with that knowledge. 

You had never really thought about your feelings for Azriel; you had always written off your encounters as part of your flimsy agreement to be casual, despite the increasing affection that had wormed its way into your heart. A seed of uncertainty began to sprout within you. Was this casual? The late night conversations and flippant flirtation confused you, as did the pang of discomfort you felt when you imagined a life without Azriel in it. 

You sighed to yourself. It was entirely too early to be decoding something he had said in the heat of the moment. Even when his mind wasn’t clouded with lust and desire, he was difficult to understand, so you ignored the heavy feeling in your chest and instead refocused your attention on the sleeping Illyrian in your bed. 

His wing was heavy around you, but it wasn’t an unwelcome presence. Briefly (and somewhat enviously) you admired the strength he no doubt had to have possessed to wield such large extremities so gracefully. But before you could get too carried away in your imaginings of his strength (and other things he could do with it) you tweaked his nose in an effort to wake him. He scrunched it in protest, but allowed his eyes to flutter open, gaze and consciousness adjusting to piece together his surroundings. 

When he realized he was in your bed, he relaxed again before pulling you in by the waist, “Morning.”

His voice was thick with sleep as his eyes fought to stay open. There was an undercurrent of domesticity that both of you pointedly decided to ignore as you scooted in closer to him, “Morning. Did you sleep well?”

He hummed an affirmative, letting his eyes slip closed once more. He was silent for so long that you thought he might’ve fallen asleep again, but then he sighed in contentment, “What time is it? Have you been awake for long?”

“It’s early,” you responded, allowing yourself to brush some of his hair away from his forehead, smiling at the way he melted at your touch. “I woke up only a few minutes ago.”

You both stayed like that for a while, nose to nose as you listened to him breathe and fight the exhaustion that you knew plagued his waking hours. Azriel shifted before he sat up, stretching his wings and groaning as his back cracked pleasurably.

“Do you have to go?” You inquired, not willing to ask him outright to stay, but also hoping that he would anyway. 

Azriel glanced at the clock on your wall and hummed in contemplation. In all honesty, Rhys was most likely expecting him to come back last night, and he really probably should go. But, he told himself, if that was the case he was already late and staying another few hours wouldn’t make a difference. 

“Not for a bit.”

He reveled in the wicked smirk that curved your lips as you shifted to straddle him, “My favorite answer.”

chapter ii (wip!)

taglist: @hauntedstudentobservationus @div94 @sidthedollface2

[losingbooks]

"Each of Tamlin's movements was precise and efficient, his powerfully muscled legs eating up the earth."

[lady-whistledown-of-velaris]

Lady Whistledown’s VELARIS PAPERS

Issue 389, article 4

Dearest Citizens,

Dedicated readers will know that, on occasion, your beloved author is lucky enough to receive news from beyond the borders of the Night Court. Such correspondence was cut off for fifty years, but no longer! And for one of our first dispatches from the outside world, I suggest you brace yourselves, because I have quite the story.

The High Lord and Feyre Cursebreaker made a visit to the Prison. Yes, that Prison. Inhospitable, dark, dangerous… Visitation rights to that remote, barren island have been a mess for centuries—just ask any otherworldly millennia-old creature, and they’ll tell you it is impossible to visit their relatives without becoming a prisoner themselves!

But the wind and stone have their own language, and lucky for you, dear reader, this author speaks it. It’s amazing what secrets the incarcerated might spill when they haven’t had a conversation in centuries.

I will cease patting myself on the back to share what I’ve learned, which is the reason why Rhysand and Feyre went to the Prison: they visited the creepy, enigmatic Bone Carver. However, not even I, who loves to divulge a good secret, will tell you exactly what they spoke of. Your author has tempted the ire of the High Lord and his court for centuries, but spilling dangerous information may be a step too far. Although the conversation topic is off-limit, I think you will be pleased to learn that the Lady and the High Lord seemed much closer upon their return.

We cannot help but wonder, what is Feyre Cursebreaker’s role in the Night Court? What does the High Lord expect from her? So many questions…you can rest assured that all will be revealed in time.

On a less dramatic note, this past week has certainly been a blessing for all the romance fans out here, since the infamous Sellyn Drake released their first novel in fifty years, The High Lord Who Loved Me! I will keep this article free of spoilers, but I can’t wait to share my thoughts with all of you, especially about the rumours claiming that the main love interest is inspired by a certain dark-haired and starry-eyed High Lord.

Ever yours,

[arthoenerd]

Mor FanArt!💓

[toffifeegirl]

[emanuellygs]

-Você é um desgrasado nojento. -Preciso perguntar a Tamlin se esse tipo de elogio conquistou o coração dele

Corte de espinhos e rosas pag. 379

[duvetdaybooks]

Starting watching the BBC version of the musketeers tv show again today and oh my god I just found my dream Cassian actor. May I present Luke Pasqualino...

[wiggowally]

I don’t have a type

All I want is a naked Illyrian male or fae, your choice. ;)

[tthesan]

@faenet event: archetypes → the suriel: Blind Seer

Character with a sacrifice of sight that has greater cosmic knowledge.

[illyrian-dreamer]

Stay with me

Azriel x reader

Summary: You’ve been kidnapped by Hybern’s army, and Azriel gets injured during the mission to rescue you. 

Thank you lillithathecat for requesting 24. Soulmates - one risks their life for the other + 26. Tending to injuries.

Day 4/5 for 500!! Enjoy! 💗

Warnings: Violence, injuries

Words: 1,963

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“Azriel!!” you screamed, thrashing against the arms of the soldiers that held you back.

He had come to save you – just as Hybern had expected. Like an angel of the night, he swooped at the army below, slitting throats with his sword and choking others with his shadows. You tried to scream for him, to warn him this was a trap, but it was already too late.

Azriel spotted you then, hovering in the air for just a moment before making for your direction. He didn't get far as a quiver of arrows shot through the air, piercing his wings.

You knew those arrows would be laced with Faebane, and your eyes widened in terror. Azriel roared as he flapped against the pain, blood now spilling from multiple wound sites. You screamed his name again, watching your angel fall from the sky.

Cassian appeared in front of you then, and Feyre close behind him as she winnowed into place. He looked past you, grunting as he swung his sword at the guards, not giving them a chance to fight back as they fell to the ground. You heard more yelling, and turned to see Feyre’s water wolves unleashed onto the rest of Hybern’s men.

Your heart pounded in your ears as you tried to spot Azriel amongst the fight, panic rising in your throat as you could no longer see the troughs of his wings. On instinct, you launched into a sprint, heading straight to where he had fallen – before a strong hand caught your wrist.

“Hey! Are you alright?” Cassian’s ran his eyes over you with concern, his chest heaving from the fight.

“Azriel!” was all you could shriek as you pulled against his hold.

“I know, it’s alright. Rhys has winnowed him back to the camp.”

You stopped pulling, your eyes darting between Cassian’s as you tried to process through your panic. “Take me to him.”

Cassian flicked his eyes down to your bloodied lip and bruised face – Hybern’s army had showed you little mercy as their bait. “You’re injured.” was all he said.

“I’m fine,” you growled. “Take me to Azriel, please.”

Feyre appeared beside you both, and she placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “The wolves will finish the rest of them. Let’s go.” Air and wind ripped around you as she winnowed you back to the base camp.

The moment your feet hit the ground, you were running to find Azriel. You could scent his blood, bile rising in your throat as you raced against the clock.

Bursting into the medical tent, you saw him sprawled on his stomach, his grunts filling the tent as his body jerked in pain, the Faebane spreading. You broke at the site of his wings, the skin of them shredded and withered as the poison worked fast. Rhys was beside him, holding his brother’s hand as he spoke softly, likely working to ease his pain.

“Azriel,” you rasped, your face crumpling as you rushed to him. Closer now, you could see the way his brows pulled as he panted and sweat. “Y/N,” he gasped, trying to raise his head.

“Shh, don’t try to speak,” you said, eyeing his back and watching his wings twitch another time. Something snapped in you then, and instinct took over as you fetched ointments and bandages and got to work.

Your hands shook as you hovered over the first of many arrows you would need to remove. “This is going to hurt,” you warned, before pulling on the wooden stem, clenching your teeth as Azriel sounded a yelp. You cried for him as you discarded the arrow, pressing on the wounds to stop the bleeding and rubbing ointment to halt the spread of the poison. Sweat stung your eyes as you tried to focus, doing your best to ignore the voice that questioned if it would be enough to save him.

“Where is Madja?” you gritted, pulling another arrow which caused another jerk from Azriel. He had stopped yelling now, and you knew he was slipping further into exhaustion.

“She’s on her way,” Rhys said tightly, his eyes glowing as he continued to manage Azriel’s pain from his mind. Feyre stood beside you, replacing the bandages and dressings you needed as she watched your handiwork with a pained expression.

You didn't respond as you ground your teeth, pulling out the last of the arrows.

“There,” you said, moving to crouch at Azriel’s face, his eyes blinking in and out of sleep. “They’re all out.” You couldn’t help the instinct it was to softly stroke the side of his face. “Madja will be here soon.”

“Thank you,” Azriel said, his voice weak. ‘A-are you ‘k?”

“I’m fine, Az,” you said softly with a broken smile. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Good,” was the last thing he said before finally giving in to exhaustion.

Stepping back, your ran shaking hands over your face as you tried to breath. You were riddled with worry as you paced the tent. What if Madja doesn’t have the right antidote? What if she doesn’t arrive in time, and he dies in his sleep? What if his wings never heal?

“Hey, hey,” Rhys caught you then, steadying your shoulders. “It’s going to be alright.”

You broke then, falling to your knees as the events of the past day caught up with you. You had been snatched from your own tent and beaten by Hybern’s army. They had used you as bait, promising to kill anyone you would try to retrieve you. You begged Rhys mind to mind for him and the rest of the circle not to come – you would rather have died than risk their lives. But they had come anyway – Azriel now at death’s door because of it.

Rhys’s and Feyre were on you then, rubbing your back and reassuring you softly. You couldn't hear them over the sound of your own cries.

“He might die,” was all you could get out, your voice strained and broken.

Feyre held you close, as Rhys took your hands in his. “You’ve done an excellent job at removing the arrows, Y/N. Azriel is stronger than you think. Madja will be here soon, he’ll survive this.”

You looked back at Rhys, your expression longing, desperate to believe him.

Feyre pulled you up gently, her arms firm around your shoulders. “You’re injured too Y/N. Why don't we have you checked by a healer, hmm?”

She wasn't wrong, your body ached with bruises, blood crusted at your lips and nose, and you were sure you had a few broken ribs. But panic rose at the thought of leaving Azriel’s side, and you shook your head stubbornly. “I won't leave him.”

Feyre exchanged a look with her mate before nodding. “I understand,” she said gently.

Madja arrived shortly after, bustling over Azriel’s back while he slept. She came with a specially brewed liquid, and asked you to feed it to him while she reapplied his patches. You felt awful waking him from the rest he needed, but Azriel had grunted in acknowledgement, swallowing the liquid as you bought the vile to his lips. You gently placed his head back down on the cot, stroking his hair as you hoped painless sleep would find him again soon.

The rest of the Circle had come to the tent to hear Madja’s update – Azriel was stable, and she credited your work to remove the Faebane as soon as possible. His wings would take months to heal, but he would be able to fly again. Your body sagged in relief, tears falling once again as you glanced at the large Illyrian who slept through the quiet conversation.

You refused to leave his side, watching him take deep breaths in and out, each one a blessing. He was so brave, so selfless, and it shook you to think he had risked his own life to save yours. You were rather new to the Inner Circle – and Azriel, while polite, had always been quiet and reserved. While you had previously considered him a friend, the extent of his sacrifice showed you he meant so much more.

Slumped in a chair beside his cot, you finally nodded off to sleep in the early hours of the morning. You don't know how long it was before you jolted awake at the sound of Azriel stirring. Leaping up, you immediately went to him, crouching at his side.

“Y/N?” he coughed, voice hoarse.

“I’m here.”

Azriel blinked at you, trying to focus after hours of sleep. “You’re alive?”

“Alive and safe, thanks to you.”

“Thank the Cauldron,” he said gruffly, before trying to raise himself. A grunt escaped him, and he fell back down in his cot, not yet strong enough to sit up.

You bought a soft hand to his arm, rubbing it gently. “How’s your pain?”

“I’m alright,” he answered, an obvious lie.

“Madja says you’ll make a full recovery.”

Azriel hummed at that. You couldn't believe he was concerned with your wellbeing before his own.

“Azriel,” you said, blinking upwards to try and stop the tears that brewed. “I’m so sorry.”

He frowned at you then. “Whatever for?”

“You risked your life for my own. Your wings” you waved a hand to his back. You were glad he couldn't yet see the splatter of dressings and dried blood that covered them.

Azriel sighed, closing his eyes. “I had to get you back.”

You blinked at him, one slow tear rolling down your cheek. “I asked Rhys for you not to come.”

“I know,” he replied, opening his eyes again, their hazel glow boring into yours. “You’re a fool to have asked.”

You laughed then, clutching at the sharp pain at your ribs. Azriel smiled back softly.

“You’re smiling,” he said gently. You finished your laugh, returning his smile as you nodded. “You have a beautiful laugh.” You were sure it was the exhaustion that willed him to say it, but never the less, a blush tinged your cheeks so quickly you had to look away. Azriel reached for you then, and you clasped his scarred hand between your own.

“I was so worried about you,” you admitted, pain returning to your eyes. He closed his lids again, a hint of his smile still there. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

You frowned now, pulling your hands back to wrap around your stomach. “I couldn't stand the thought of you dying for me.”

“It’s my duty.”

“I know. But, what a waste.”

Azriel’s eyes snapped open. “Don’t ever say that again.”

You swallowed, guilt working its way through you. “Promise me you won't ever do something so reckless again.”

“No,” he said tightly. “It wasn’t reckless, Y/N. It was necessary.” Azriel took a quick breath before continuing. “You’re very important to me.”

You sighed at his response, shaking your head and placing one hand atop of his. “You’re important to me too Az.”

Azriel’s eyes bored into yours as you shared a silent moment. He cleared his throat then, flicking his gaze to your chest. “You need to see a healer,” he remarked, eyeing the way in which you clutched at your ribs.

“No,” you said quickly. “I’m fine right here.”

Azriel nodded, before a painful cough racked through him.

You blinked, realising he might like some privacy. “You should rest some more” you said shyly, straightening yourself as you got up to leave.

A scarred hand caught your wrist.

“Don't go.” Azriel’s voice was soft, and it was the most vulnerable you had ever seen the Shadowsinger. “Please, stay here with me.” he added, eyes pleading.

You smiled now, once again stroking his face. “Always.”

--------

✨Comment to join the ACOTAR tag list ✨

Tag list:@kennedy-brooke @cosmic-whispers @jazmin2211 @psychobookaholic @fieldofdaisiies @marina468

[shoko-arts]

Lauren: -I'm going out for a few minutes, keep an eye on Lilith, don't burn the house down!

*Beron 2 minutes after Lauren leaves*

Beron: -"My wife and I made this"

[acourtofobsessed]

Praying that the ACOTAR movie(s) will be a more Game of Thrones/Lord of the Ring style film rather than Twilight...

[newchica]

Tagged by @mtkthedreamer  thank you, darling ;)

Nicknames: The weird one

Gender/pronouns: Female.

Star sign: Libra

Height: around 168 cm, I think?

Time: The right time :D

Birthday: Someday, when leafs are golden red and yellow when a coolllla breeze chills your face and you inhale of the air of change.....*whispers* poetry

Favorite bands: Sleeping at Last, Imagine Dragons, Twin Shadow, Bastille

Favorite solo artist: Can’t think of any, mostly because I like only one song from a certain artist but I’m not hooked on their other songs...

Song stuck in your head:  Carry your throne by Jon Bellion; Dream by Imagine Dragons; Saturn by Sleeping at Last

Last movie you watched?: Friday the 13th (I like to rewatch it for extra spooks)

Favourite movie genres: comedy and then horror

Why did you create your blog?: First for fun, then it became a Diabolik Lovers related blog :)

What do you post?: All kinds of stuff to be honest but mostly related to DL as I said

Last thing you googled?: horoscope reading ;p

Other blogs: no

AO3: nope

Hobbies: reading, writing, doing my own little research, traveling, daydreaming, sports and drinking red wine :D

Do you get asks?: sometimes yes :D I really enjoy communicating with others :D

How did you get the idea for your URL?: It was a quick decision so here’s NewChica :D

I follow: 323

Followers: 413

Average hours of sleep: 7 to 8, it depends, sometimes only 4-5, sometimes up to 10 hours

Lucky number: 22

Instruments: guitar

What are you wearing?: dark-green jeans, white and black striped tank top and a simple button-up shirt on top

Dream job: something in medical area

Dream trip: Asia

Favorite food: omelet

Favourite condiment: everything that makes food spicier

Significant other?: I started this year being single and I feel fabulous :D

Last book I read: Heartless by Marrisa Meyer AND A court of thorns and roses series (3 books) by Sarah J Maas

Favourite Authors: SARAH J MAAS (at the moment, I have a long list of authors who I adore)

Top 3 fictional universes: The universe of the lunar chronicles, Acourt of thorns and roses series and some universe in my own head :D :D :D :D 

I tag @luna-loves-otome  @alice-miku @everybodylovesraina @queen-of-nerdland @mythicamagic  

Just be free to do this Q&A thing and tag your friends :D

[sakuranko]

A Court of Thorn and Roses Colouring Book

https://www.instagram.com/p/BZ6OjGZlIvq/